£*!• .^^ % "'" %^ ,<^^ ^'.^^'* ^^ ^^ *I(^ '• %,# /^ :^^\.^ * ^^ .A."' ^ ^^^KOtth."'^ A MANUAL OF ENGLISH PEOSE LITEEATUEE AUTHORIZED AMERICAN EDITION. Iluviriij received from Messrs. Ginn & Company, Publishers, of Boston, Neiv York, and Chicago, payinent for the cop%jright in America of my '' Manucd of English Prose Literature," I assigii the publishing rights in that country to them. W. MiNTO. University o? Aberdeen, May 1SS7. A MANUAL OF ENGLISH PROSE LITERATURE BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL DESIGNED MAINLY TO SHOW CHARACTERISTICS OF STYLE BY WILLIAM MINTO, M.A. PKOFESSOB OF LOGIC AND LITERATURE IN THl^ UNIVEUSITI" OF ABERDEEN AUTHORIZED AMERICAN EDITION BOSTON, U.S.A.: PUBLISHED BY GINN & COMPANY. 1889. Bequest Albert Adait OleraOIUI Aug. 24, 1033 (Not ayailable ioi' QKoH » .ngtt) PREFACE TO FIRST EDITIOI^. The main design of this book is to assist in directing students of English composition to the merits and the de- fects of our principal writers of prose. It is not, however, merely a collection of received critical opinions. It may be of some value to the inquirer after general informa- tion, as well as to readers more advanced than those kept specially in view. The characteristics of the work are briefly these. It deals with prose alone, assigning books of fiction to the department of poetry ; it endeavours to criticise upon a methodical plan, fully explained in an Introduction ; it selects certain leading authors for full criticism and exem- plification ; and it gives unusual prominence to three select aiithors of recent date. Little need be said to justify taking up Prose by itself. In criticising Poetry we are met by very different con- siderations from those that occur in the other kinds of composition. What is more, many people not particularly interested in Poetry are anxious for practical purposes to have a good knowledge of Prose style ; and when Prose and Poetry are discussed in the same volume, Prose is generally sacrificed to Poetry. In excluding Piomance or Fiction from a Manual of VI PREFACE. Prose Literature, I follow a division suggested by the late Professor George Moir, in his treatises on Poetry, Romance, and Ehetoric. Eomance has a closer affinity with Poetry than with Prose : it is cousin to Prose but sister to Poetry; it has the Prose features, but the Poetical spirit. The advantages of criticising upon a methodical plan in terms previously defined, will be at once apparent. Criti- cising methodically is like ploughing in straight lines : we get over the field not only sooner, but to much better pur- pose; besides, it is easier to see both what we accomplish and what we miss. As regards the defining of critical terms, it was a favourite position with De Quincey that "before absolute and philosophic criticism can exist, we must have a good psychology." The present work makes little pretension to be philosophic, much less to be abso- lute ; but it is an attempt to apply in criticism some of the light thrown upon the analysis of style by the newest psychology. I am aware that methodical critical dissection is considered by many a cold disenchanting process. But however cold and disenchanting, it is indispensal)le to the student : it is part of the apprenticeship that every work- man must submit to. Before learning to put a compli- cated mechanism together, we must take it to pieces, and study the parts one by one. If the student goes to work at random, picking up a hint here and a hint there, he is completely at the mercy of every pedantry that comes to him under the sanction of a popular name. The only true preservative against literary crotchets and affectations, is a comprehensive view of the principal arts and qualities, the principal means and ends, of style. It may be said that criticism on a uniform plan tends to destroy individuality ; that a book constructed on sucli a plan can be nothing but a featureless inventory. This can happen only if the plan is narrow, and if specific modes of the various qualities of style are not dis- tinguished with sufficient delicacy. Uniformity of plan. PREFACE. Vll SO far from destroying individuality, is really the best way to bring individual characteristics into clear prominence : if all are subjected to the same examination, the range of the questions being sufficiently wide, individualities are thrown into relief with much greater distinctness than they possibly could be by any other process. In the following work, the account of each author contains a preliminary sketch of his character ; the analysis that follows may be viewed as a means of tracing the outcome of that character in his style, and of making his peculiar- ities felt more vividly by bringing him into extended comparison with others. The student should be warned emphatically against such blind guides as declaim against the cramping influ- ence of rules for composition, and urge us to work out our own individuality without regard to the precepts of the schools. Sound principles of composition do not repress genius, but rather do genius a service by preventing it from dissipating itself in unprofitable eccentricities. There is every room for variety within the conditions adopted in the following work : indeed their chief recommendation is that they recognise diversity of style according to diver- sity of subject and purpose. Students often put the ques- tion, What should we do to acquire a good style ? A principal aim in this Manual is to make students familiar with the fact that there are varieties of good style. In- stead of aiming blindly at the ac(piisition of " a good style," the writer or the speaker should first study his audience, and consider how he wishes to affect them ; and then inquire how far the rhetorical precepts that he has learnt will help him to accomplish his purpose, and how far rhetorical teachers can direct him to the causes of siiccess in those that have best accomplished the same ends in the same circumstances. Eegarding the prominence given to the modern authors, I have only to repeat that the work is intended mainly Vlll PREFACE. for students, and to say that the most rewarding study for them, in the first instance at least, lies in the more recent (which are also the higher) developments of prose style. With the same eye to the primary destination of the work, I have said comparatively little about prose writers anterior to the age of Elizabeth. The biographies of the various writers are brief ; but every pains has been taken to make them accurate. The biographies of the three selected modern men will be found to be more complete than any hitherto published. January "25, 1872. PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION. The alterations that I have made in revising this book for a second edition have been mainly in one direction. I have here and there omitted or modified passages that might have seemed to countenance the idea that goodness or badness in style might be pronounced upon witliout reference to the effect aimed at by the writer. This I have done to prevent the slightest suspicion tliat the criticisms in this book consist in the dogmatic application of any absolute standard of style. In spite of the toler- ably plain disclaimer in my first Preface, this absoluteness of view has been not only suspected, but alleged. It is true I have not been able, after diligent search, to find tlie quotations by which the allegation was supported ; nevertheless, I wish to place the purpose of the book in this respect beyond the possibility of honest misap- prehension. Since the first edition was issued, Mr Trevelyan's biography of Lord Macaulay has appeared, and Mr " H. A. Page " has published two volumes on the Life and "Writ- ings of I)e Quincey. My sketches of Macaulay and De Quincey can, in consequence, no longer pretend to be "more complete than any hitherto published." Dcccmhcr 22, 1860, ri^EEACE TO THIED EDITION. For this issue the book has been revised throughout. The chief changes made have been in the short sketch of the life of Carlyle, whicli one is able now to treat with greater freedom as well as fuller knowledge. The estimate of his character has been allowed to stand, with only a few verbal alterations. I have to acknowledge many excellent suggestions for the extension of the work from critics wdio have spoken favourably on the whole of its plan and execution. At another time I may be able to give effect to some of these suggestions: mean- time, the tolerably rapid sale of a large edition encourages me to believe that the book is found useful in its present shape as a contribution to the study of a wide subject. Nobody can be more sensible than myself that I have dealt with only a part of the subject. July 1S86. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION". Elements of Style, Vocabulaiy, The Sentence, . The Paragraph, Figures of Speech, Qualities of Style, Intellectual Qualities — Simplicity ami Clearness, Emotional Qualities — Strength, ..... Pathos, ..... Tlie Ludicrous, .... Elegancies of Style— Melody, Harmony, Taste, Kinds of Composition, .... Description, ..... Narration, ..... Exposition, ..... Persuasion, ..... PAnR 2-14 2 3 II II 14-25 15 19 20 23 24 26-28 26 27 28 28 PART I. DE QUINCEY— MACAULAY— CARLYLE. CHAP. I.-THOMAS DE QUINCEY. Life, ClIAIlAOTER, Opinions — criticisms. 31 38 46 xu CONTENTS. Elemknts of Style — Vocabular)^ Sentences, Paragraphs, Figures of Speech, Qualities of Style— Simplicity, Clearness, . Strength, Pathos, Humour, Melody and Harmony Taste, . Kinds of Composition — Description, Narration, Exposition, CHAP. II.— THOMAS BABINGTON MACAUIjAY. Life, Character, Opinions, . Elements of Style — Vocabulary, Sentences, Paragraphs, . Figures of Speech, Qualities of Style — Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, Patlios, The Lmlicrous, Melody, Harmony, Tnste, Kinds of Composition — Description, . Narration, . . Exposition, . , Persuasion, . , CHAP. III.-THOMAS CARLYLE. Life, Character, Opinions, . 131 136 140 Elements of Style — Vocabulary, Sentences, Paragraphs, Figures of Speech, Qualities of Style — • Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, Pathos, The Ludicrous, Melody, Harmony, Taste, Kinds of Comi'Dsition- Description, Narration, Exposition, , Persuasion, . CONTEN rs. Xlll 147 149 152 152 159 161 162 163 163 ' • 167 169 173 177 179 PAET II. PEOSE WRITERS IN HISTORICAL ORDER. CHAP. I.— PROSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. Foduteenth Century (Mandeville, Chaucer, Wicliffe, Trevisa) Fifteenth Century (Pecock, Fortescue, Capgrave, Caxton Fabyan, &c.), ...... First Half of Sixteenth Century (Berners, More, Elyot, Hall, Tyndale, Covcrdale, Latimer, Foxe, &c. ), Third Quarter of Sixteenth Century (Ascham, Wilson, North, Holinshed, &c. ), . . . . . 183 1S6 189 197 CHAP. II.— FROM 1580 TO 1610. Sir Philip Sidney — Life 200 Character, ..... 201 Opinions, ..... 203 Elements of Style (Personification), . 204 Qualities of Style (Pathos, Humour), 207 Kinds of Composition, . 212 XIV CONTENTS. KicHARD Hooker — Life Character, . , . Opinions, , . . ElenR'nts of Stj'le, Qualities of Style (Confusion, Pathos, Kinds of Composition, John Lyly, Euphuism analysed, . Other Writers — Church Controversialists (Whitgift, prelate, Parsons), Chroniclers (Stow, Speed), Historia')is (Hayward, Knolles, Daniel), Antiquaries (Camden, Spelman, Cotton), Maritime Ch7-07iiclcrs {liakhiyt, Purchas, &c. ), Miscellaneous (Raleigh, Burleigh, Dekker, James I., Ovcrbury), Melody), artwright, Martin Mar CHAP. III.— FROM 1610 TO 1640. Francis Bacon — Life, ..,.,.. Character, ...... Opinions, ...... Elements of Style, ..... Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Clearness, Strength), . Kinds of Composition (Narration, Exposition, Persuasion), Other Writers — Divines under James (Field, Audrewes, Morton, Donne), Divines under Charles I. (Hall, Chillingworth, Hales), Chronicler (Baker), ..... Antiquarians (Usher, Selden), ffiitonaw (Herbert of Cherbury), Miscellaneous (Ben Jonson, Wotton, Sandys, Lithgow, Bur^ ton, Butter), ..... CHAP. IV.— FROM 1640 TO 1670. Thomas Fuller — Life, . Character, . . Elements of Style, Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Humour), Perspicuity, Pathos, Wit and 264 265 266 269 CONTENTS. XV Jeremy Taylor — Life, .... Character, Opinions, Elcineuts of Style (Imagery), . Qualities of Style (Pedantry, Strength, Pathos), Kinds of Conipositiou (Descriptiou, Exposition, Persuasion), Abraham Cowley — Life, ........ Character, ....... Elements of Style, ...... Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Strength, Wit and Humour), Other Wkiters — Theology (Sanderson, Pearson, Baxter, Owen, Fox, Bunyan, &c. History (Clarenuon, &c.), . Miscellaneous (Howell, Heylin, Earle, Sam. Butler, Fellthani, Browne, More, Wilkins, Digby, Walton, Milton, Gauden, Hobbes, Harrington, Sidney, Needham), 274 275 277 278 2S1 287 289 290 292 294 ), 299 304 305 CHAP. V.-FROM 1670 TO 1700. Sir William Temple — Life, ..... Character, .... Opinions, .... Elements of Style (Sentences and Paragraphs), , Qualities of Style (Precision, Dignity, Pathos, Wit, Taste), Kinds of Composition (Narration), John Dryden, .... Other AVriters — Theology (Barrow, Tillotson, Stillingfleet, Sherlock, South, Sprat, Burnet, Penii, Barclay, Ellwood), Philosophy (Locke, Cudworth, Cumberland), History (Bitrnet, Mackenzie, Pepys, Evelyn, &c. ), . Misccllaneoiis (L'Estrange, Blount, Charleton, Halifax, Boyle, Newton, Ray), . . . 316 31S 320 321 327 331 332 336 340 341 343 CHAP. VI.— FROM 1700 TO 1730. Introductory Remarks, Daniel Defoe — Life, . Character, Opinions, Elements of Style, 346 347 349 350 35' XVI CONTENTS. Qualitips of Style (Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, The Ludicrous), ..... Kinds of Composition (Description, Narration, Exposition), Jonathan Swift — Life, ....... Character, ...... Opinions, ...... Elements of Style (Similitudes, Allegory, Ironj'), Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, Pathos, Satire), ...... Kinds of Composition (Persuasion), . . , Joseph Addison — Life, ....... Character, ..... . Opinions, ...... Elements of Style (Sentences), Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Obscurity, Wit, Melody, Taste), Sir Richard Steele — Life, ........ Character, ....... Pathos, ....... Humour, ....... Other Writers — Theology (Atterbury, Hoadley, Clarke, Toland, Collins, Wool- ston, Tindal, &c.), ..... rhilosophy (Mandeville, Wollaston, Shaftesbury, Berkeley), History (Echard, Strype, &c.), .... Miscellaneous (Bentley, Hughes, Budgell, Arbuthnot, BoL- INGBROKE, &C.), . 354 359 361 362 364 365 371 375 377 378 380 381 383 392 393 394 396 400 404 407 407 CHAP. VII.— mOM 1730 TO 1760. Samuel Johnson — Life, ..... Character, .... Opinions, .... Elements of Style (Sentences), Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, Pathos, Ridicule, and Humour), . Kinds of Composition, Other Writers — Theology (Morgan, Chubb, Butler, Warburton, Leland, Lardner, Foster, Wesley, Whitefield, &c. ), rhiloso2)hy (Hutcheson, Hartley, Edwards, Hume), History (Hume, Smollett, ]\liddleton, &c.), , Miscellaneous (Franklin, Melmoth, &c.). 413 415 417 418 421 427 429 433 436 438 CONTENTS. XV 11 CHAP. VIII.— FflOM 1760 TO 1790. Edmund Burke — Life, ....... Character, ...... Opinions, ...... Elements of Style (Figures of Speech), Qualities of Style (Strength, Ridicule, Bad Taste), . Kinds of Composition (Description, Persuasion), . Oliver Goldsmith — Life, ....... Character, ...... Opinions, ...... Elements of Style (Sentences, Epigram), Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Strength, Pathos, Wit and Humour), ..... Other Writers — Theology (Horsley, Porteous, Campbell), Philosophy (Keid, Tucker, Price, Priestley, Beattie, Campbell Lord Kajnes, Blair, Adam Smith), Hintoi-y (Robertson, Gibbon, Boswell), Miscellaneous [y^ si\])o\Qi, "Junius" (Francis), Home Tooke Lord Mouboddo), .... 440 443 446 44S 452 458 461 462 464 465 468 473 474 48 1 4S6 CHAP. IX.-FIIOM 1790 TO 1820. William Palby — Life, ........ 492 Cliaracter, ....... 493 Opinions, ....... 494 Elements of Style (Paragraphs), .... 494 Qualities of Style (Simplicity, Pers])ii'uity), . . . 497 Kinds of Composition (Description, Exposition, Persuasion), 499 Robert Hall — Life, 504 Character, ....... 5°5 Opinions, ....... 506 Elements of Style, ...... 507 Qualities of Style (Abstruseness, Clearness, Strength, Pathos), 507 Kinds of Composition (Persuasion), .... 512 Other Writers — Theology (Simeon, the Milnera, Foster, Parr, Watson, Wakefield), 513 PhilosophT/ (Stewart, Brown, Bentbam, Coleridge, Malthus, Ricardo, Alison, Disraeli), . . . . $16 History (Mitford, Gillies), ..... 520 Miscellaneous (Cobbett, Mackintosh), . . . 520 acviii CONTENTS. CHAP. X.— SELECT WRITERS OF THE EARLY PART OF THIS CENTURY. Theology (Clialmers), ...... 523 llistory (James Mill, Hallam, Alison), .... 525 Philosophy (Hamilton), ...... 530 Miscellaneous (Jeffrey, Sydney Smith, Lamb, Lander, Hunt, Hazlitt, Wikou, LockLart), ..... 532 A MANUAL ENGLISH PROSE LITERA^TUEE. INTRODUCTION. In the case of the authors chosen for full examination, and to some extent also in the case of the others, the various peculiarities of Style are taken up in a fixed order ; ;ind it may help the reader's memory to state this order at tlie beginning. The preliminary account of each author's Character is intended mainly as an introduction to the characteristics of his style ; and while it gratifies a natural curiosity in repeating what is known of his appearance or personality, does not profess to be a complete account of the man in all his relations, public and domestic. The analysis of the style proceeds upon the following order : Vocabulary, Sentence and Paragraph, and Figures of Speech, which may be called the Elements of Style ; Simplicity, Clearness, Strength, Pathos, Melody, Harmony, and Taste, the Qualities of Style ; Description, Narration, Exposition, Persuasion, the Kinds OF Composition. Upon each of these subdivisions we shall make some remarks, endeavouring to justify the arrangement wherever it seems to be open to objection or misapprehension. ELEMENTS OF STYLE. VOCABULARY. Command of language is the author's first requisite. A good memory for words is no less indispensable to the author than a good memory for forms is to the painter. Words are the material 2 INTRODUCTION. that the author works in, and it is necessary above everything that he should have a large store at his command. Probably no man has ever been master of the whole wealth of the English vocabulary. The extent of each man's mastery can be ascertained with exactness only by an actual numerical calcu- lation, such as has been made for the poetry of >Shakspeare and Milton. This has not yet been attempted for any of our great prose writers ; and until some enthusiast arises with sufficient industry for such a labour, we must be content with a vague estimate, formed upon our general impresi^)n of freshness and variety of diction. The simple fact of holding a place among the leaders of liter- ature is a proof of extraordinary mastery of language. But can we, without actual numeration, distinguish degrees of mastery 1 ]\Iost probably we can. We could have told from a general im- pressitm, without actually counting, that Shakspeare uses a greater variety of words than Milton. We can perceive, without referring to the enlargement of dictionaries, that our language has increased in scope and flexibility since the middle of last century. In like manner we can fix relatively any author's command of words. We may say with confidence that Defoe is more copious and varied than Addison, and Burke than Johnson ; and, although our judgment of modern writers is more liable to error, we may venture to say that De Quincey, Macaulay, and Carlyle show a greater command of expression than any prose writers of their generation. It is interesting, also, to observe on what special subjects an author's expression is most copious and original. Perhaps no one has an equal abundance of words for all purposes. From the in- evitable limitation of human faculties, no man, however " myriad- minded," can give his attention to everything. Inevitably every man falls into special tracks of observation, reflection, and im- agination ; and each man accumulates Avords, and expresses him- self with fluency and variety, concerning the subjects that are oftenest in his thoughts. Were we to apply the test of arithmetic, we should find that two men using very much the same number of words upon the whole, have the depths and shallows of their verbal wealth at very different places. To mark out fully where a vocabulary is weak and where it is strong, we should have to anticipate the qualities of style and the kinds of composition. A man that can write freely and eloquently in one strain or in one species of composition, may be dry and barren in another strain or another species of composition. Most writers have some one vein that they peculiarly and obviously excel in. Thus Addison is rich in the language of melodious and elegant simplicity, Paley in the language of homely simplicity. ELEMENTS OF STYLE. 3 De Quincey in the language of elaborate stateliness, Macaulay in the language of brilliant energy. Here it may be well to point out — and the caution is of such importance that it may have to be repeated^ — that the divisions in the following analysis are not, in the language of the logicians, mutually exclusive. Following Professor Bain's Rhetoric we con- sider style under three different aspects — approach it from three different sides ; but we do not treat of different things. In each of the divisions the same things are examined, only from different points of view. Each of these divisions, were our examination to be ideally thorough, should exhibit every possible excellence and defect of style. We might take up all the notable points in an author's style under what we have called the "Elements of Style" - — the choice of words, plain and figurative, and the arrangement of these in sentences and paragraphs. We might, again, take up everything remarkable under the " Qualities of Style " — simplicity, clearness, and so forth : a style is good or bad according as it pro- duces, or fails to produce, certain effects. Finally, we might com- prehend the whole art of style under the " Kinds of Composition " : every excellence of style is either good description, good narration, good exposition, good persuasion, or good poetry. The divisions are far from being mutually exclusive. Were we to say in one department all that might be said, we should leave nothing for the others. The sole justification of having three, and not one, is practical convenience. There must of necessity be occasional rei)etitions, but each department has certain arts of style that are best regarded from its own particular point of view. THE SENTENCE. The construction of sentences is an important part of style. Sometimes, indeed, it is ex])ressed by the word sti/le, as if it con- stituted the W'hole art. With a nearer approach to accuracy, it is sometimes called the mechanical part of style. This designation may be allowed, if sentence-building is loosely taken to include the construction of paragraphs and the general method of a discourse. It is probably true that the construction of sentences and of para- graphs, in so far as they are intended for the commnnication of knowledge, may be sul)jected to more precise rules than any other processes of the art of composition. The principles on which these rules are founded are capable of extension to the method of whole chapters or essays. But it must be borne in mind that a writer can benefit from direct precei)t chiefly as regards the easy, clear, and complete communication of what is in his thoughts ; for any effect of style beyond this, precepts are of comparatively little service. Special Artifices op Construction. — One may doubt whether it would be practicable to make anything like a comprehensive 4 INTRODUCTION. collection of all the forms of sentence possible in English. At any rate, it has not yet been done. Writers on composition have hitherto attempted nothine; more than to distinguish a few well- marked modes of construction. I. The Periodic Structure. — "A period," says Campbell, "is a complex sentence, wherein the meaning remains suspended till the whole is finished. . . . The criterion of a period is this : If you stop anywhere before the end, the preceding words will not form a sentence, and therefore cannot convey any determined sense." This is the common definition of a period, and it is jirobably difficult to go farther without committing one's self to general statements that will not apply to every period. At the risk of being slightly inaccurate, it might be well to go a little deeper into the substance of the periodic structure. What exactly do we imply by saying that the meaning is suspended till the close 1 We imply that the reader's interest is kept in suspense till the close. And how is this done 1 Generally, it may be said, by bringing on predicates before what they are predicated of, and, which is virtually a similar process, qualifications before what they qualify ; letting us know descriptive adjuncts, results, conditions, alternatives, oratorical contrasts, of subjects, states, or actions, be- fore we formally know the particular subjects, states, or actions contemplated by the writer. Thus, in the following sentence — "On whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his invention ; " the subject — in this case the key-word — is reserved to the last, and the adverbial adjuncts of the predicate are stated before the predicate itself. A statement is made in a form showing that it has a bearing upon something to follow, and our curiosity is awak- ened to know what that something is. " On whatever side we con- template Homer." The next statement, " what principally stri'ces us," contracts our curiosity into a more definite field, and thereby sharpens our interest. Still it points us forward. There is a jiro- gress from the indefinite to the definite, and, in the case of this particular period, a growing interest, which is not relieved till Ave reach the very last word. In a loose structure of sentence, which may be called the natural or usual structure in English, the pre- dicate follows the subject, and qualifying adjuncts follow what they q\ialify : we know the subject before we know the attribute predicated of it or annexed to it. In a period, on the other hand, the writer, stating the predicate or qualifying adjuncts of a word before the word itself, may be said to circumvent that word — to make (as the Greek periodos signifies) a " circuit " about it, to bring its predicate or its adjuncts, as the case may be, from behind it and place tliem before it. ELEMENTS OF STYLE. 5 Campbell speaks of the period as a " complex " sentence. If the above view of the period is accepted as substantially correct, "complexity," in the grammatical sense, must be regarded as an accident of the period, and not part of its essence. The statements of other vvTiters on composition vt^arrant us in applying the term period to sentences that are not complex. Professor Bain simply says that, " in a periodic sentence, the meaning is suspended until the close," and makes no mention of a periodic sentence being neces- sarily complex. And Whately gives, as an example of periodic structure, the following " simple " sentence : " One of the most cele- brated of men for wisdom and for prosperity was Solomon." It would be well if the a])pIication of the term periodic were a little extended. When qualifying adjuncts are brought in before their exact bearing is known, and in such a way as to stimulate curiosity, a peculiar efiect is produced; and we sliould be justified by the derivation of the word " periodic " in applying it to all marked cases of such anticipation. Practically, indeed, the word is applied in the wider sense. If Campbell's definition were rigor- ously adhered to, the term periodic could be applied only to sen- tences that keep the reader in suspense up to the very last word. But, as a matter of fact, the term is applied much more widely. We speak of writers as having a periodic style, although their works contain few complete periods, according to Campbell's "criterion of a period." Since, therefore, the narrow definition of the term is practically disregarded, it would be well to come to a formal understanding of its latitude. The term "period" might still be retained for a periodic sentence, rigorously complete or nearly so. But it would probably better suit the prevailing application of the term "periodic" to accept it as a name for such anticipations as I have roughly indicated — to call every style " periodic " where such anticipations habitually occur. Of this periodic style, the most eminent of modern masters is De Quincey. In the loose sentence — in a sentence so constructed as to be noticeably " loose " — qualifying and explanatory adjuncts are tacked on after the words they refer to. This might be copiously exemplified from the writings of Carlyle, and, in a less degree, from Addison. The effect of the 'periodic structure is to keep the mind in a state of uniform or increasing tension until the denouement. This is the effect stated in its ultimate and most general form. Tlie efiect that a reader is conscious of receiving varies greatly with the nature of the subject - matter. When the subject is easy and familiar, the reader, finding the sentence or clause come to an end as soon as his expectations are satisfied, receives an agreeable im- pression of neatness and finish. When the subject-matter is un- 6 INTRODUCTION. familiar, or when the suspense is unduly prolonged, the periodic structure is intolerably tedious, or intolerably exasperating, accord ing to the temper of the reader. In impassioned writing the period has a moderating effect, the tension of the mind till the key-word is reached preventing a dissipation of excitement. Dr Blair says that the periodic style is " the most pompous, musical, and oratorical manner of composing," and that it " gives an air of gravity and dignity to composition." The Doctor pro- bably had in his eye such periodic writers as Hooker, Sir Thomas Browne, and Johnson. Undoubtedly long periodic sentences give great scope for pomp, music, gravity, dignity, and such eflfects, but these are not necessary attributes of the jieriod. A period, as we have defined it, need not be long ; and a lively interest may be sustained as well as a grave interest. Advantages and disadvantages of the periodic structure. — To some extent we have anticipated these in considering the effect of the period. In light subjects, neatness or finish is generally regarded as an advantage. Yet even in this a caution is needed ; rounded neatness, if it recurs too frequently, may become tiresome. The caution can probably be given in no more definite form than Hamlet's : "Be not too periodic neither, but let your own discretion be your tutor." In unfamiliar subjects, care must be taken that the considera- tions kept in suspense be not too numerous or too abstruse. De Quincey has vividly described " the effect of weariness and repul- sion which may arise from this single vice of unwieldy compre- hensiveness in the structure of sentences." " Those who are not accustomed to watch the effects of composition upon the feelings, or have had little experience in voluminous reading pursued for weeks, would scarcely imagine how much of downright physical exhaustion is produced by what is technically called the perioMc style of writing. It is not the length, the direpavToXoyla, the par- alytic flux of words. It is not even the cumbrous involution of parts within parts, separately considered, that bears so heavily upon the attention. It is the suspense, the holding on of the mind until what is called the dTrASovts, or coming round of the sentence, commences. This it is which wears out the faculty of attention. A sentence, for example, begins with a series of i/s; perhaps a dozen lines are occupied with expanding the condi- tions under which something is affirmed or denied. Here you cannot dismiss and have done with the ideas as you go along ; for as yet all is hypothetic — all is suspended in air. The con- ditions are not fully to be understood until you are acquainted with the dependency : you must give a separate attention to each clause of this complex hypothesis, and yet, having done that by a ELEJIENTS OF STYLE. 7 painful effort, you have done nothing at all ; for you must exercise a reacting attention through the corresponding latter section, in order to follow out its relations to all parts of the hypothesis which sustains it." These remarks point to the abuse rather than to the use of the periodic style, and were directed against a prevailing style in newspaper "leaders." It is obviously necessary, for the avoiding of perplexity, not to bring in too many or too abstruse considerations before their bearing is made known. A writer with the least regard for his readers, should see that by so doing he exacts too severe an effort of attention. It may safely be laid down that the longer a period is, the simpler should be both the language and the matter of the suspended clauses. Still more must this be kept in view when the principle of the periodic structure is extended to paragraphs or chapters. Mr Herbert Spencer in his ' Essay on the Philosophy of Style,' and Professor Bain in his Rhetoric, advocate what we have de- fined as periodic structure, on the ground that it enables us to apprehend the meaning of a complex statement with less risk of confusion. The advantage of placing qualifying words before the object that they qualify is briefly stated in Bain's Rhetoric, under the " order of words." The legitimate use of the periodic structure in impassioned prose is best seen in the so-called "prose fantasies" of De Quincey. II. Sentences studiously Long and studiously Short. — No small element in the mechanical art of sentence-building is the adjustment of the length of the sentence. One of the greatest faults in our early writers is that their sentences are too long. They did not know when to stop. They seem to have been afraid to let a sentence out of their hands till they had tacked on all the more important qualifications of the main statement. They thus frequently ran on to a most cumbrous length ; and when they did proceed to a new sentence, frequently took no pains to connect it with the preceding main statement, but started off in pursuit of some subordinate idea suggested by one of the qualifying state- ments. So defective, indeed, were they in sentence-structure, that it is dangerous for a beginner in composition to spend much time in their company. And one great part of this deficiency was, that they did not know when to end a sentence, or, in other words, thJ^ they had not the art of beginning a new sentence at the proper point It would be absurd to prescribe a definite limit for the length of sentences, or even to say in what proportion long and short should be intermixed. Here, too, discretion is the tutor. Only it must be borne in mind that a long series either of very short sentences or of very long sentences is tiresome. The distinction between the "periodic .style" {style pcniodiqup) 8 INTKODUCTION. and the " abrupt style " {style coupe) depends to a great extent upon the length of the sentences. The Periodic style (as we see from its description by De Quincey) implies something more than the use of the periodic structure ; it implies long periods, elabo- rately constructed, holding " a flock of clauses " in suspense, and moving with a stately rhythm. So in the Abrupt style, the short sentence is an important feature, although, as appears in the style of Macaulay, it is not the only feature. i The use of a startling series of short sentences may almost be said to be a feature of English oratory. We find it in the journals of the Elizabethan Parliaments ; and, later, in the writings of Bolingbroke, in the published speeches of Chatham, and in the speeches and writings of Burke. The long sentence, formed of several members gradually increas- ing in length so as to make a climax in sound, would universally be designated oratorical. It was much affected by Cicero. III. The Balanced Sentence. — " When the different clauses of a compound sentence are made similar in form, they are said to be balanced." The artifice of constructing successive clauses upon the same plan is said to have l)een introduced into our language from the Italian. Wherever it came from, it begins to appear noticeably about the middle of the sixteenth century. In Elizabeth's reign it became very fashionable. It was one feature of Lyly's "Euphuism." It held its ground through the reign of James, appearing even in booksellers' advertisements and in the titles of maps. One of John Speed's maps is entitled, ' A new and accurate map of the world, drawn according to the truest descrip- tions, latest discoveries, and best observations, that have been made by English or strangers.' The advantages of the balanced structure are pointed out briefly, but fully, in Pain's Rhetoric. It is a pleasure in itself ; when i.ot carried to excess, it is a help to the memory ; and, when the bal- anced clauses stand in antithesis, it lends emphasis to the opposi- tion. We find also in practice that it serves as a guide to the proper arrangement of the important words. Under a natural sense of effect the important word is often reserved for the last iplace, the best position for emphasis. Further, in impassioned prose, as in Raleigh's invocation to Death, and IJe Quincey'a imi- tations — the invocations to Opium and to Solitude — balance has something of the effect of metre. 1 While speaking of these general distinctions of style, we may note a third, the Pointed style, consisting in " the profuse employment of the P.alaneed Sen- tence, in conjunction with Antithesis, Epigram, and Climax." How far these distinctions are frnin being distinctive, in the sense of indicating incompatible modes of composition, may be judged from the fact that Dr Johnson often em- ploys all the three "styles" in one paragraph. ELEMENTS OF STYLE. 9 In the case of balance, much more than in the case of the periodic structure, it is necessary to beware of going to excess. There is almost no limit to the means of disguising the periodic structure. The reader may be entertained with such variety in the parts of a period, that he enjoys its bracing effects without knowing the cause. But the balanced structure cannot be so disguised : it is like metre — to disguise it is to destroy it. Clauses are constructed on the same })lan, or they are not ; corresponding words occupy corresponding places in their respective clauses, or they do not. And while the balanced structure is prominent, and thus apt to fatigue the ear, it is very catching ; it has a great power of enslaving whoever employs it heedlessly. Several of our writers, such as .Johnson, "Junius," and Macaulay, allowed their ear to be captivated, and not only employed balanced forms to excess, but often added tautologous and otherwise questionable clauses from an irresistible craving for the familiar measure. IV. The Condensed Sentence. — "This is a sentence abbrevi- ated by a forced and unusual construction." Anything so violently artificial as this can be used but seldom without giving offence. It was a favourite artifice with Gibbon. In the present day, when used at all, it is used chiefly for comic purposes. Readers of Dickens and his imitators are familiar with such terms as " drew tears from his eyes and a handkerchief from his pocket." Occasionally we find it in works of more serious pretensions, as in Mr Forster's Life of Goldsmith ; but nobody now uses it for serious purposes so often as Gibbon did. General Considerations. — I. The Emphatic Places of a Sentence. — " As in an army on the marcli, the fighting columns are placed front and rear, and the baggage in the centre, so the emphatic parts of a sentence should be found either in the be- ginning or in the end, subordinate and matter-of-course expressions in the middle." There is nothing more urgently required for the improvement of our sentences than a constant study to observe this principle. The special artifices that we have mentioned are good only for certain modes of composition and for particular purposes, and become offensive when too often repeated ; but it is difficult to conceive when there would be an impropriety in placing important words where the reader naturally expects to find thejp. The reader's attention falls easily and naturally upon what stands at the beginning and what stands at the end, unless obviously in- troductory in the one case, or obviously rounding off in the other. The beginning and the end are the natural places for the im- portant words. This arrangement is conducive both to clearness and to elegance : it prevents confusion, and is an aid to justness of em[)hasis. As important words need not occupy absolutely the 10 INTRODUCTION. first place nor absolutely the last, but at the beginning may be preceded by qualifying clauses, and at the end may be followed by unemphatic appendages that are not of a nature to distract attention, we are not required to make unnatural inversions or to take unidiomatic liberties of any kind. If a writer finds a construction stiff and unnatural, he may be sure that he has not succeeded in throwing the emphasis where it should be thrown ; if he has not buried the important words in the depths of the sentence, he has probably done worse : he has probably drawn off the reader's attention from the words altogether, and fixed it where it should seldom or never be fixed — upon the form. The following out of this principle is not so easy as it appears. One is safe to assert that it will never be carried out thoroughly till it is made an important part of school drill. Without some such long and early training, a scrupulous purist in this respect might hang as long over his sentences as Lord Tennyson is said to hang over his lines, and commit blunders after all. In bring- ing sentences into harmony with this principle of arrangement alone, there is a field for endless variety of school exercises in composition. II. Unity of Sentence. — Upon this point it is especially dangerous to lay down any abstract rule. Irving's statements, that "a sentence or period ought to express one entire thought or mental proposition," and that "it is improper to connect in language things which are separated in reality," are much too dogmatic and cramping. Separate particulars must often be brought together in the same sentence. The only universal caution that can be given is, to beware of distracting from the effect of the main statement by particulars not immediately relevant. " Every part should be subservient to one principal affirmation." The advice not to overcrowd a sentence may have to yield to a law of the paragraph concerning the due subordination in form of whatever is subordinate in meaning. " A statement merely explanatory or qualifying, put into a sentence apart, acquires a dangerous prominence." Most of the faults specified by Blair as breaches of "unity" occur i^ connection with other arts of sentence-structure. " Ex- cess of parenthetical clauses" is an abuse of the periodic structure, objectionable only in so far as it imposes ton severe a strain upon the retentive powers of the reader. It is a fault often committed by De Quiucey, whose own powers of holding several things in the mind at once without confusion sometimes Ijetraycd him into for- getting that all are not equally gifted. The fault of not "bring- ing the sentence to a full and perfect close" — so flagrant in our ELEMENTS OF STYLE. 11 early writers — is not likely to be committed by any one aware of the value of the end of a sentence as the place for important words. The specialties of the sentence in Narrative and in Description are examined at length in Bain's Rhetoric (The Sentence, sec. 25). He says that " tlie only rule that can be observed in distinguish- ing the sentences is to choose the larger breaks in the sense." THE PARAGRAPH. Professor Bain was the first, so far as I am aware, to consider how far rules can be laid down for the perspicuous construction of paragraphs. Other writers on composition, such as Campbell, Lord Karnes, Blair, and Whately, stop short with the sentence. De Quincey, a close student of the art of composition, felt the importance of looking bej^ond the arrangement of the parts of a sentence, and pliilosophised in a desultory way concerning the bearing that one sentence should have upon another. " It is use- less," he says, in one of his uncollected papers, "to judge of an artist until you have some principles in the art. The two capital secrets in the art of prose composition are these : ist, The philo- sophy of transition and connection ; 2dly, The way in which sen- tences are made to modify each other ; for the most powerful effects in written eloquence arise out of this reverberation, as it were, from each other, in a rapid succession of sentences ; and because some limitation is necessary to the length and complexity of sentences, in order to make this interdependency felt : hence it is that the Germans have no eloquence." These "two capital secrets" cor- respond very much with Professor Bain's two first rules of the paragraph. I have examined at considerable length the paragraph arrange- ment of Macaulay. Very few writers in our language seem to have paid much attention to the construction of paragraphs. Macaulay is perhaps the most exemplary. Bacon and Temple, from their legal and diplomatic education, are much more meth- odical than the generality. Johnson is also entitled to praise. But none of them can be recommended as a model. FIGURES OF SPEECH. In most treatises on composition, the consideration of figurative language occupies a large space. Of the small portion of Aris- totle's Rhetoric devoted to composition purely, it constitutes about one half. So in the works of Campbell, Kames, and Blair, par- ticularly in Kames's ' Elements of Criticism,' the origin, nature, limits, minute divisions, the uses and the abuses of figures of speech, are examined and exemplified at great length. And yet these later writers profess to be much more concise than "the 12 INTKODUCTION. ancient critics and grammarians," and to have discarded many vexatiously subtle subdivisions. The chief thing wanted in the ancient divisions and subdivisions was some broad principle of classiflcatiou. This is supplied by referring figures to their origin in the operations of the intellect. A proj)er basis for a classification is found in the ultimate analysis of these operations. When the classes thus instituted — Figures of Similarity, Figures of Contiguity, and Figures of Contrast — have gathered up all the figures that belong to them respectively, very few remain unclassified. Some of those that do remain are dis- tinguished from the others on a different principle. Such figures as interrogation, exclamation, and apostroj^he, are departures from the ordinary structure of sentences, and thus arc distinguished from such figures as are departures from the ordinary application of words. According to the distinction of the old grammarians, they are "figures," as distingushed from "tropes." So much for the classification of figures. It is not quite complete — it leaves hyperbole, climax, innuendo, and irony unclassified ; but it is a great improvement upon the old chaos. The truth is, that the subjects included in books of composition under the head of Figures of Speech do not admit of a logical classification. Under that head rhetoricians have gradually ac- cumulated all artifices of style that do not belong to the choice of plain words and the structure of sentences. Such an accumula- tion could hardly be other than heterogeneous.^ One of the ancient terms it might be well to revive and redefine in accordance with its derivation and original application — namely, the word " trope." At present, when used at all, it is used loosely as a kind of general synonym for a figure of speech. By Quintilian it was defined as an opposite to the term figure — designating, as we have just seen, extraordinary applications of individual words in contrast to irregular constructions of sentence. Such a distinc- tion is of no practical value — it would be useful to have a special term for irregular constructions of sentence ; but it would be im- possible to restrict the word figure to such an application. Apart from that, the word trope is not treated with much delicacy when set up as an expression for all " figures of speech " (in the wide sense), except irregular constructions of sentence. I would propose to rescue the word from an application so promiscuous, and to settle it in its original application as a name for a much narrower class of artifices. Interpreted by its derivation, trope signifies a word " turned," 1 Had paragraph structure been sooner recognised, the so-called figure of speech, "climax," would probably have been referred to the ]iaragraph as a special artifice in paragraph construction. Climax is no more a figure of speech than the periodic, the balanced, or the condensed structure of sentence. ELEMENTS OF STYLE. 13 diverted from its Drdinary application, and pressed, as it were, into special service. Novs^ only a limited number of figures of speech consist in this extraordinary use of single words ; it would be con- venient to have a conanon designation for them. What could be more proper than to use for that designation the existing word tro])e 2 To vindicate the restriction of a term to a special class of figures, even when that restriction is warranted by the derivation of the term, we must show that occasions arise for speaking of that class of figures collectively. In this case such a vindication is easy. There are writers, such as De Quincey, who use comparatively few formal similitudes, and yet use metaphor, personification, synec- doche, or metonymy, in almost every sentence. On the other hand there are writers, such as JMacaulay, whose diction in its general texture is plain, but who employ a great many formal similitudes. Both classes of writers are figurative, but the one class is rich in tropes, the other in similes. The want of such a word as trupe, thus defined, has led to an abuse of the word metaphor by popular writers. Metaphor has been taken to supj^ly the want. In strict language, metaphor means a similitude implied in the use of a single word, without the formal sign of comparison ; but it is often loosely used as a common designation for synecdoches and metonymies as well. The temptation to such an abuse is withdrawn by reviving the original meaning of the word trope. The chief points that we shall notice under Figures of Speech, besides the profusion of any one figure or class of figures, are the sources of similitudes and compliance with the conditions of effec- tive comparison. The sources of an author's similitudes are often peculiarly interesting, as affording a means of measuring the cir- cumference of his knowledge. We cannot, to be sure, by such means, take a very accurate measure, but we can tell what books a man has dipped into, may discover what writers he has plagiar- ised from, and may be able to guess how his interests are divided between books and the living world. What casts doubt upon our conclusions is the fact that so many writers are similitude-hunters, are very often on the watch for good similitudes ; and the conse- quent presumi)tion that they utilise a large proportion of their knowledge. Thomas Fuller is one of the most versatile, as he is one of the most delightful, masters of allusion. He would seem to have turned almost every item of his knowledge to account, and thus has a greater appearance of learning than many men of really profouuder erudition and wider knowledge of the world. The conditions of effective comparison exhaust all that can be said in the way of advice concerning the use of figures. When a similitude is addressed to the understanding — is intended merely 1 4 INTRODUCTION. to make one's meaning more perspicuous — care must be taken that the point of the comparison be clear, that there be no distracting circumstances, and that the comparison be more intelligible to those addressed than the thing compared. When a similitude is intended to elevate or to debase an object by displaying its high or its low relations, care must be taken that the comparison be, in the estimation of those addressed, really higher or (as the case may be) lower than the object ; farther, that it be not extravagantly and offensively out of level, and that it be fresli. These are the main conditions of effective comparison for purposes of exposition, and for persuasive eulogy or ridicule. In comparisons designed only for embellishment, the conditions are novelty and harmony, or, as it might also be called, propriety. As regards the number of figures employed, every writer must be guided by his own dis- cretion. The critic of style can only remark, that if writers were always careful to make their comparisons effective for a purpose of some kind, the number would be considerably reduced. In treating of an author's figures, as in treating of his vocabulary, we might anticipate most of the qualities of his style. Figures may be simple, or stirring, or grand, or touching, or witty, or humorous. A full account of a man's figurative language would display nearly all his characteristics. As a sort of postscript to the Elements of Style, we may easily define the mutual relation of two terms often used in contradis- tinction— Manner and Matter. As distinguished from matter, manner includes everything that we have designated by the general title Elements of Style — not only the choice of words and the structure of the parts of a discourse, but everything superinduced upon the subject of discourse by way either of com- parison or of contrast. QUALITIES OF STYLE. The division of qualities into purity, perspicuity, ornament, pro priety, is open to the objection of being too vague. This appears in amendments of the scheme proposed by different critics. Some would strike off "propriety" as being common to all the other qualities. Others, confining propriety to the choice of individual words, would retain it and strike off " purity " as being a part of jjro- [triety thus restricted. Others still would dispense with "ornament " as a separate division, and discuss ornaments under perspicuity and propriety. And Blair maintains that "all the qualities of a good style may be ranged under two heads, perspicuity and ornament." Such vague fumbling is inevitable so long as qualities of style are viewed in the abstract, and without reference to their ends. QUALITIES OF STYLE. 15 Campbell was the first to suggest a substantial principle of classi- fication by considering style as it affects the mind of the reader. His analysis is not perfect, but he was upon the right track. " It appears," he says, " that besides purity, which is a quality entirely grammatical, the five simple and original qualities of style, con- sidered as an object to the understanding, tlie imagination, the pas- sions, arid the ear, are perspicuity, vivacity, elegance, animation, and music." That so many writers on composition should have fallen back from this comparatively thorough analysis to bad ver- sions of the old analysis, is not much to their credit. One of the causes of imperfection in Campbell's analysis was his desire to separate rigidly between the effects of style or manner, and the effects of the subjec1>matter. This cannot be done : the manner must always be viewed in relation to the matter. In order to get at qualities of style, we must first make an analysis of the effects of a composition as a whole — matter and manner together ; not till then are we in a position to consider how far the effect is due to the manner and how far to the matter. For example, if a composition is readily intelligible, we consider how far this is due to the familiarity of the subject-matter, and how far to the author's treatment, to his choice and arrangement of words, and to his illustrations. Nothing could be more absurd than Blair's confi- dent assertion that the difficulty of a subject can never be pleaded as an excuse for want of perspicuity ; that if an author's ideas are clear, he should always be able to make them perspicuous to others. Perspicuous, as Blair understands the word, means easih/ seen through ; and it may be doubted whether any powers of style could make the generalisations of a science easily and immediately apparent to a mind not familiar with the particulars. Style can do much, but it has a limit. It can never make a subject natu- rally abstruse as easily understood as a subject naturally simple, a treatise on Logic as perspicuous as a statement of familiar facts. So with compositions that address the feelings ; the master of style cannot but work at a disadvantage when his subject is not natu- rally impressive. The chief aim of the following brief remarks on Qualities of Style is to define prevailing critical terms as closely as may be with reference to the ultimate analysis here adopted. INTELLECTUAL QUALITIES OP STYLE- SIMPLICITY AISTD CLEAKNESS. Aristotle recognises but one intellectual quality, clearness. The first requisite of composition is that it be clear. So Quintilian : "The fii'St virtue of eloquence is perspicuity." In Campbell's scheme, also, " the first and most essential of the qualities of style is perspicuity." 16 INTRODUCTION. Blair, while he reduced all qualities to perspicuity and ornament, was led, in his consideration of perspicuity, to another intellectual quality — namely, precision. He described precision as " the high- est part of the quality denoted by jjerspicuity," and then made the following contrast between precision and perspicuity " in a quali- fied sense." "It appears," he said, "that an author may, in a qualified sense, be perspicuous, while yet he is far from being pre- cise. He uses proper words and proper arrangements ; he gives you the idea as clear as he conceives it himself, — and so far he is perspicuous : but the ideas are not very clear in his own mind ; they are loose and general, and therefore cannot be expressed with precision. All subjects do not equally require precision. It is sufficient, on many occasions, that we have a general view of the meaning. The subject, perhaps, is of the known and familiar kind ; and we are in no hazard of mistaking the sense of the author, though every word which he uses be not precise and exact. Few authors, for instance, in the English language, are more clear and perspicuous, on the whole, than Archbishop Tillotson and Sir Wil- liam Temple ; yet neither of them are remarkable for precision." The fact is, that if the words are taken in their ordinary senses, precision is not a mode of perspicuity, but a quality in some meas- ure antagonistic to perspicuity. Blair might have drawn a line between perspicuity and precision, and made them two separate intellectual qualities. The division would not have been the best, but it would have been a real division, and better than none at all. Aristotle's single virtue of " clearness " or " perspicuity " needs to be analysed before we can characterise authors with discrimina- tion. We need two broad divisions, simplicity and clearness, and a subdivision of clearness into general clearness and minute clear- ness. This more exact division I shall briefly explain : it is not arbitrary dictatorial sequestration of terms to unfamiliar applica- tions, but a breaking up of such sequestrations, and a reconciliation of the language of criticism with the language of familiar speech. When designations of merit are loose and indeterminate, they may sometimes be cleared up by a reference to designations of de- merit. It is so in this case. What are the faults of style as a means of communicating knowledge ? We at once say abstruseness and confusion. Returning, then, to the positive side, we ask ourselves what are the corresponding merits — what are the opposites of abstruseness and confusion — and we have no difficulty in seeing that the main intellectual "virtues" of style are simplicity and clearness. Simplicity and abstruseness are relative terms. Whatever is hard to understand is not simple, is abstruse, recondite ; and what is hard for one man may be easy for another. The phraseology of natural science or of medicine is hard to the unlearned reader, bu^ QUALITIES OF STYLE. 17 easy as a primer to the naturalist or the physician. Abstract terms are generally unpopular, and generally disliked as dry, bookish, scholastic ; yet they are said to come to Scotchmen more naturally than the concrete language of common things. Want of simpli- city is not an absolute fault ; it is a fault only in relation to the persons addressed. A writer addressing himself purposely to a learned audience only wastes his strength by beating about the bush for language universally familiar. Clearness, as opposed to confusion, is not so much relative to the capacity of the persons addressed. Ambiguous language — words so arranged as to convey an impression different from what the writer intends, may mislead learned and unlearned alike. Con- fused expression is not justifiable under any circumstances, unless, indeed, it is the writer's deliberate purpose to mislead. The edu- cated reader will guess the meaning sooner than the uneducated ; but neither educated nor uneducated should be burdened with the effort of guessing. Clearness, as we have said, may conveniently be subdivided into general clearness and minute clearness — minute clearness being expressed by such words as distinctness, exactness, precision. There is a marked line of separation between these subdivisions. Accu- racy in the general outlines is a ditferent thing from accuracy in the details. In truth, the two are somewhat antagonistic. To dwell with minute precision on the details tends rather to confuse our impressions as to the general outlines. After our attention has been turned to minute distinctions, we find it difficult to grasp the mutual relations of the parts so distinguished when we endeavour to conceive them as a whole. Again, minute distinctness is oj^posed to simplicity. The general outlines of things can be conveyed in familiar language ; but when we desire to be exact, we must have recourse to terms that are technical and unfamiliar. To say that the earth is " round " is a sufficiently clear description of the form of the earth in a general way — and the word is familiar to every- body ; but when we are more exact, and describe the earth as " a sphere flattened at the poles," we remove ourselves from the easy comprehension of many of our countrymen. We are now in a better position to discuss the critical and popu- lar use of the word perspicuity. It is evident, from Campbell's account of the faults against perspicuity, that he understands by the term a certain amount of clearness combined with simplicity. He includes in his list of offences not only confusion of thought, ambiguity — using the same word in different senses — and uncer- tain reference in pronouns and relatives, which are offences against clearness, but also technical terms and long sentences, which are offences against simplicity. This is also the popular use of the term. Such writers as Addison and Macaulay are said to be per- 18 INTllODUCTION. spicuous, because they are at once simple or easily understood, and free from obvious confusion. Their ideas are expressed in popular language, and sufficiently discriminated for popular apprehension. Popularly, therefore, as well as in some rhetorical treatises, per- spicuity stands for a clear, unambiguous, unconfused structure of simple language. But why should the term be confined to a clear structure of simple language ? We can easily see how it came to be so confined. A general reader does not receive clear impres- sions from a work couched in abstruse language, however perspic- uous may be the arrangement. The effort of realising the words is too much, and he lets them slip through his mind vaguely. For him an abstruse style cannot be perspicuous — simplicity is indispensable to perspicuity. But while we see how the word came to be so confined, we cannot see why it should be kept so confined. Johnson's arrangement is clearer and more free from ambiguity than Addison's or Tillotson's. Why should he not be called a perspicuous writer % But some of our readers will say that Johnson is called a per- spicuous writer. This is true, but he is not so by Campbell's defi- nition, for he uses technical terms and long sentences ; nor is he so by the verdict of those that are loosely called general readers. He is called perspicuous because his words are apt to his meaning, and because the general structure of his discourses is clear. His language is not simple ; he is not, perspicuous if simplicity be con- sidered a part of perspicuity. Here, therefore, seems to arise a clash between the general reader and the reader more familiar with abstract and learned phraseology. But the disagreement is more apparent than real. The general reader applies the term perspicuous to a clear choice and construction of simple language, of language familiar to him; the more learned reader applies the term to a clear choice and structure of language, abstruse perhaps to the generality, but still familiar to him. In point of fact, the two classes of readers use the word perspicuous with the same meaning. Both have in view, not the familiarity of the language or the structure, but the clear- ness of it, its freedom from ambiguity and confusion. The intel- lectual qualities of such writers as Tillotson, Locke, Addison, Macaulay, are not fully distinguished by the single word perspic- uous — the style of such writers is perspicuous and simple. John- son and De Quincey are also perspicuous in their choice of words, and in their general structure ; but their diction, as a whole, is abstruse. We said a little ago that clearness might be subdivided into general clearness and minute clearness. At that time we men- tioned no single word for general clearness. In our consideration of the word perspicuity, we have seen that, when hunted down to QUALITIES OF STYLE. 19 its real signification, it proves to be the very word required. Per- spicuity, or lucidity, will thus stand for general clearness, unam- biguous, unconfused structure — what may loosely be called general accuracy of outline. For minute accuracy, careful discrimination of terms — demanding from the reader an efifort to make sure that his ideas are not vague, but rigidly defined — we have the terms precision, exactness, and distinctness. A distinct, exact writer may be perspicuous ; but, as we have said, he runs a risk of not being so. When a writer is scrupulously anxious that his readers understand every detail exactly as he con- ceives it, there is a danger that he put too severe a strain upon them, and confuse their comprehension of the general aspect of his theme. De Quincey is an example of a writer at once exact and perspicuous ; and the secret is, that he is aware of his danger, and frequently presses upon his reader a general view of what he is doing. Precision and simplicity are in a measure antagonistic. When Socrates began to cross-examine the people of Athens, he found that they could not define the meaning of words that they were using every day. They used language in a loose way for purposes of social intercourse, and did not trouble themselves to be rigidly exact. The case is not much altered among us. A very exact writer cannot but be abstruse to the generality. EMOTIOlTAIi QUALITIES OF STYLE— STEEITGTH, PATHOS, THE LUDICROUS. The emotional qualities of style are not so difficult to distinguish as the intellectual qualities. Had Campbell not been needlessly anxious to isolate the style from the subject-matter, he would never have thought of huddling together all the emotional quali- ties under the name of vivacity.^ There are three broadly dis- tinguished emotional qualities — strength, pathos, and the ludi- crous ; and each of these is a general name for distinct varieties. Under the general name of Strength are embraced such varieties as animation, vivacity, liveliness, rapidity, brilliancy; nerve, vigour, force, energy, fervour; dignity, stateliness, splendour, grandeur, magnificence, loftiness, sublimity. Between the extremes in the list — animation and sublimity — there is a wide difference ; yet sublimity is more appropriately classed with animation than with any mode of pathos. So with rapidity and dignity. The contrast between strength and pathos ^ Longiniis's celebrated treatise wept vi/iov?, mistranslated " On the Sublime " through the Latin ]Je >Svhli7nitate, falls into the same excess of abstraction. Hypsos, according to De Quincey, means everything tending to elevate compo- sition above commonplace. 20 INTRODUCTION. is as the contrast between motion and rest. The effect of a calm, sustained motion is nearer to the effect of absolute repose than it is to the effect of a restless, rapid, abrupt motion ; yet the calm, sustained motion is considered as a state of motion, and not as a state of rest. In like manner, an overpowering sense of sublimity approaches nearer to a sense of depression and melancholy than it does to animation or vivacity ; yet it is essentially a mode of strength, and not a mode of pathos. In the above list I have attempted some kind of subordinate division, throwing together the terms that seem more nearly syn- onymous. It would not be possible to define them exactly without incurring the charge of making one's own feelings the standard for all men. The terms are used with considerable latitude, partly because few people take the trouble to weigh their words, but partly also because different men have different ideals of animation, different ideals of energy, different ideals of sublimity. All can understand, upon due reflection, the common bond between these qualities — their common difference from the qualities comprehended under pathos ; but no amount of explanation can give two men of different character the same ideas of animation, energy, dignity, or sublimity. The utmost that explanation can do is to disabuse their minds of the idea that the one is wrong and the other right, and to persuade them that they are simply at variance. At the same time, the application of the terms is not absolutely chaotic. Take the universal suffrage, and you find a considerable body of substantial agreement between the loose borders. One great cause of the licentious abuse of these terms is the desire of admirers to credit their favourites with every excellence of style. Could we subtract all the abuses committed under this impulse, we should find the popular applications of terms very much at one. All agree in describing Macaulay as animated, rapid, and brilliant. There is not so much unanimity in accreait- ing him with dignity — at least with dignity of the highest de- gree ; and he is seldom credited with sublimity. Readers would probably be no less unanimous in calling Jeremy Taylor fervid, Dryden energetic. Temple dignified, Defoe nervous, Johnson vigor- ous, Burke splendid, and De Quincey's " prose fantasies " sublime. Perhaps none of the above words are so shifting in their appli- cation as the word sublimity. In an account of De Quincey's character I have tried to distinguish two opposite modes of sub- limity. No critical term is more in need of definition. De Quin- cey denies it of Homer, and ascribes it in the highest degree to Milton, seeming to understand by it the exhibiting of vast power to adoring contemplation. Pathos is contrasted with the sentiment of power, and is said to QUALITIES OF STYLE. 21 be "allied to inaction, repose, and the passive side of our nature." According to this definition, whatever excites or agitates is not pathetic. This distinction, like every attempt at analysis of mental states, is open to endless dispute. It will be almost unanimously allowed as regards tender feelings awakened by the representation of "■ objects of special affection, displays of active goodness, humane sentiments, and gentle jileasures." But it may stagger many as applied to the representations of pain and misery. Are these not agitating 1 and are they not justly called pathetic 1 To answer all conceivable difficulties in the way of understand- ing the above definition of pathos would be hopeless within our present limits. It may remove some difficulties to remind the reader that we have here to do not with tender feeling as awak- ened by actual objects, but with tender feeling as awakened by verbal representations. Pathos, as here discussed, is the quality of a style that awakens tender feelings — not another name for tender feeling as it arises in actual life. I do not mean that the feelings arising from these two sources differ otherwise than in degree ; I mean only that the reality is usually more agitating than the verbal representation. The report of a railway accident may be read with a certain luxurious horror by a delicate person, whom the actual sight would throw into fits. But still the question returns, Are not verbal representations of pain and misery often agitating 1 The answer to this question is, that not every representation of pain and misery is pathetic. To speak technically, there are two diflferent uses of painful scenes in composition — the description of misery is adapted to two distinct ends. These may be defined, with sufficient accu- racy, as the persuasive end and the poetic end. When a writer or a speaker wishes, by a painful description or a painful story, to persuade to a course of action, he dwells upon the particulars that agitate and excite. A pleader wishing to excite pity for his client, so as to procure acquittal, dwells upon the harrowing side of the case — the destitution of the man's family, and such- like. He does not cater for the pleasure of the jurors, but does his best to make them uncomfortable. So the preacher of a charity sermon, if he wishes to draw contributions from his audience, must not throw a sentimental halo over the miseries of the poor, but must drag into prominence hunger, dirt, and nakedness, in their most repulsive aspects, horrifying his hearers with ]nctnres that haunt them until they have done their utmost to relieve the sufferers. Very different is the end of the poet. His object is to throw his reader into a pleasing melancholy. He withholds from his picture of distress all disgusting and exciting circumstances, reconciles us to the pain by dwelling upon its 22 INTRODUCTION. alleviations, represents misery as tlie inevitable lot of man, ex- hibits the authors of misery as visited with condign punishment, expresses impassioned sympathy with the unfortunate victims. By some artifice or other — I have mentioned only a few for illus- tration — he contrives to make us acquiesce in the existence of the misery represented. He has failed in his end if he leaves us dis- satisfied and uncomfortable, because the misery was not relieved or cannot be relieved now. If we are not reconciled to the ex- istence of the misery, disposed simply to mourn over it and be content, the composition is not pathetic, but painful. For this luxurious treatment of painful things the poet is often heavily censured by the preacher. Sterne's ' Sentimental Journey ' was reprobated by Robert Hall ; and in our own day we are familiar with Carlyle's denunciation of "whining, puling, sickly senti- mentality." To this distinction between the painful end of persuasion and the pathetic end of poetry, we may add a little by way of antici- pating the more obvious objections. It will be said that a preacher's object is to persuade people to action, and yet that sermons are often called pathetic. This fact need not disturb our definition. For, i°, While it is one of a preacher's objects to persuade to action, it is not his only object : the pulpit has also a function of consolation — and consolation, the reconciling of people to their miseries, is by our definition essen- tially pathetic. 2°, Supposing a sermon admirably adapted to set beneficence in motion — supposing it to present a picture of most harrowing distress — the hearers cannot take measures for relief at once ; and meantime, if not so excited as to be thoroughly uncomfortable, they may indulge in pathetic dreams of the relief that they intend to give. 3°, The effect of a composition depends very much upon the recipient — a tale of woe that makes one man uncomfortable for days, may supply another with a luxurious fe?st of mournful sentiment. It is chiefly this last consideration that makes the application of the term pathos shifting — that causes the difficulty of drawing any "objective" line between pathos and horror. Few persons skilled in analysing their feelings would object to the abx)ve definition of pathos, but there would be con- siderable difference of opinion as to what is agitating or horrible and what is truly pathetic. Again, it may be said that a tragic poem is agitating, and yet that it is pathetic. To which we answer that in a tragedy, while isolated scenes are tempestuously agitating, the effect may yet be pathetic on the whole. Tragedy " purifies the mind by pity and terror ; " the atmosphere is shaken with tempests, only to subside at the end into a purer and more perfect calm. Painful incidents, thrilling transports of grief, keep alive our interest in the plot : QUALITIES OF STYLE. 23 we do not see the pathetic side of these painful representations till we look back upon them from the repose of the conclusion. I need not dwell on the terms for varieties of the Ludicrous. The only nicety is the distinction between Avit and humour. ^ Much has been written on this distinction. One can see, from the examples quoted, that critics are very much at one, though they generally fail in definition, owing to the vagueness of their psychological language. Professor Bain's theory is that Immour is simply the laughable degradation of an object without malice, in a genial, kindly, good-natured way ; and that ivit is " an in- genious and unexpected play upon words." The two qualities are not opposed, not incompatible. A good deal of the confusion about them has arisen from viewing them as two contrasted and inconsistent qualities. Wit may be humorous, or it may be derisive, malicious. I have somewhere seen it laid down that humour " involves an element of the subjective." When we call a writer humorous, we have regard to the sjnrit of his ludicrous degradation ; we imply that he is good-natured — that he l)ears no malice. When we call a writer wittj^, we have regard simjily to the cleverness of his expression ; he may be sarcastic, like Swift — or humorous, like Steele. The proper antithesis to humour is satire : wit is common to both. Such is the true definition of humour, but in the actual applica- tion there may be as much inconstancy as in the application of the term pathos, and from the same reason. What appears kindly and good-natured to one man, may not appear so to another. Addison is generally classed among the humourists ; yet only the other day his kindliness was described as an affectation put on to sharpen the sting of his ridicule. Johnson spoke of his " malevolent wit and humorous sarcasm " ; and the present writer believes that it would be difficult to find, among all Addison's papers, half-a-dozen in which the wit may not fairly be characterised as malicious. He is a humourist to us, but he could hardly have appeared a humour- ist to his victims. There is another cause of difference among critics as respects particular compositions. A reader may refuse to acknowledge a degradation, however comical. He may view an object too seri- ously to allow that it should be trifled with. A recent critic professes himself blind to the humour of De Quincey, and sees in his playful liberties with distinguished names nothing but frivolous impertinence. In all such cases, as De Quincey him- self says, "not to sympathise is not to understand." 24 INTKODUCTION. EIiEGANCLES OF STYLE -MELODY, HARMOlSrY, TASTE. " In the harmony of periods," says Blair, " two things may be considered. First, agreeable sound, or modulation in general with- out any particular expression. Next, the sound so ordered as tc become expressive of the sense." Instead of expressing qualities so different by a single term, it is better to provide a term for each. In accordance with the acceptation of melody and harmony in the vocabulary of music, we may describe " agreeable sound or modulation in general " as Melody, and " the sound so ordered as to become expressive of the sense " as Harmony. If a single designation is wanted for the two qualities together, we may, agreeably to Campbell's list of quali- ties, call them the music of composition. Under Melody there are two things that we may consider. First, whether an author conforms to the general laws of melody, — the avoiding of harsh effects ; the alternation of long and short, emphatic and unemphatic syllables ; the alternation of conson- ants among themselves, and vowels among themselves ; the avoid- ing of unpleasant alliterations ; the cadence at the close. Second, what is his prevailing rhythm, tune or strain, and how far this is varied. To examine how far an author observes the general rules of melody would be a good school exercise. It is not easy to give an idea of an author's favourite strain. The only means open to us is to produce characteristic specimens. We have as j^et no scheme of nomenclature or notation for describing it technically. Some writers, perhaps the majority, can impart no characteristic swing to their language — either having no natural preference for a particular rhythm, or giving their whole attention to the expres- sion of the meaning, or being overruled by habitual combinatio.is. Only such as have, first, a decided ear for effects of cadence, and, secondly, a copious choice of words, can attain to a melody that shall be either characteristic or effective. As regards Harmony. There is such a thing as harmony, or adaptation of sound to sense, even in prose. At the same time, change of strain or movement to suit change of theme is not so marked in prose as in poetry, and for a very obvious reason. The writer of verse can suit himself to variations of feeling by choice of metre, but the writer of prose has no such fixed steps to help him to vary his pace. Besides, the prose writer's habits of con- struction are accommodated to his prevailing rhythm ; the phrases that most readily occur to him are in pace with this rhythm, — so that, along with a greater difficulty than the verse writer in chang- ing his pace, owing to the want of a standard metre, he has a \ QUALITIES OF STYLE. 25 farther difficulty that besets none but verse writers accustomed only to one metre. Accordingly, we find that prose writers having a characteristic rhythm, can vary it but slightly to harmonise with the subject- matter. The word taste is used in two different senses ; and when we meet with the word, and are disposed to challenge its ap})lication, we do well to make sure in which signification our author employs it. In its widest sense it is equivalent to artistic sensibility — as Blair defines it, " the power of i-eceiving pleasure from the beauties of nature and of art." In its narrower sense it may be expressed as artistic judgment, being identical with what Blair and others define as "delicacy" and "correctness" of taste. By writers of the present day the word seems to be generally used in the nar- rower sense ; and in this sense it is used in the following work. As regards what artistic judgment is there may be wide diflfer- ences of opinion. Many men, many tastes ; one man's liking may be another man's loathing. Still, when all has been said that can be said concerning differences of taste, it cannot be denied that there is a considerable body of agreement. To take the elements of style separately. There is a tolerably unanimoiis public opinion against interlarding English comj^osition with foreign words or idioms, Latin, French, or German ; against needless coining of new words; and against setting up of unidiomatic combinations. No writer could make an excessive use of any artifice of construction — balanced sentences, short sentences, condensed sentences, abrupt and startling transitions — without incurring general censure. So as regards figures of speech : a style too ornate, too hyperbolical, too declamatory, is condemned as such by the critics with very considerable unanimity. Marked abuses of the elements of style are very generally recognised as abuses. To be sure, if a writer is otherwise fresh and vigorous, all read him ; and even fastidious critics wink at his eccentricities as an agreeable break in the general monotony of composition ; but few venture to hold up his eccentricities for general imitation. Concerning the emotional qualities of style we find much less agreement. There are always a few of wider literary knowledge and superior discernment who groan inwardly, some of them out- wardly, at the judgment of the multitude in the matter of sub- limity, pathos, and humour. And these apart, writers and their admirers separate naturally into different schools. Taste " varies with the emotional constitution, the intellectual tendencies, and the education of each individual. A person of strong tender feel- ings is not easily offended by the iteration of pathetic images ; the sense of the ludicrous and of humour is in many cases entirely 26 INTEODUCTION". ■wanting ; and the strength of humane and moral sentiment may be such as to recoil from inflicting ludicrous degradation. A mind bent on the pursuit of truth views with distaste the exaggerations of the poetic art. Each person is by education attached more to one school or class of writers than to another." KINDS OF COMPOSITION. Five " kinds of composition " are set down in Bain's Rhetoric — description, narration, exposition, persuasion, poetry.^ Each of these kinds has a special method, a special body of rules. The student who has mastered everything that has been given under the " Elements " and the " Qualities " of style, has still something to learn. We have already remarked that the three divisions adopted in this work are distinguished not as separate component parts, but only as different aspects or different ways of approach. We have said that under either the " Elements of Style," the " Qualities of Style," or the " Kinds of Composition," a complete survey might be taken of all the arts of style. When we come to consider the kinds of composition, we see that this remark needs a farther limitation. The kinds of composition may be subdivided, and under each of the subdivisions might be included a complete survey of the arts of style. Every precept of style laid down under the " Elements " and the " Qualities " might be repeated under De- scription, Narration, and Exposition. Whoever wishes to describe well, narrate well, and expound well, would be all the better for knowing every good advice that can be given in the departments 2:irior in the order of our sketch. Persuasion, again, embraces everything prior to it. There is no precept of style that may not be useful to the orator or the persuasive writer. "Rhetoric" is another name for the whole art of composition. DESCRIPTIOIfl-, H-AHRATION", EXPOSITION. These three kinds of composition may be roughly distinguished as follows : Description embraces all the means of representing in words particular " objects of consciousness," whether external things or states of mind ; narration, all the means of representing particular sequences of events ; exposition, all tlie means of repre- senting general propositions. These may be taken as rough defi- nitions of them in their elemental purity ; in actual composition they are almost always mixed. For the simplest forms of description, narration, and exposition, special rules would be of no practical use — would be affected and superfluous. It is only in the more complicated and difficult forms 1 Tlie design of the present work excludes Poetry, Tioth with and without the accompaniment of metre. KINDS OF COMPOSITION. 27 that precepts become of service, and then they may be said to be indispensable. The main difficulty in description arises "when we have to describe a varied scene — the array of a battle, a town, a prospect, the exterior or interior of a building, a piece of machinery, the geography of a country, the structure of a plant or an animal." It is to this difficulty that the special rules of description apply. Burke and Macaulay are often said to possess great descriptive power. But, as we shall see, this can mean only that they present with vividness the individual particulars or striking aspects of a scene. Neither of them possesses great descriptive method. Carlyle may be said to have raised the standard of descriptive method ; Alison also, and later Mr Kinglake, are very studied in their descriptions. The principles of description, as stated in Bain's Rhetoric, are perhai>s the best defined and the least liable to exception of all precepts relating to composition. No person can describe a com- plicated scene well without consciously or unconsciously satisfying these conditions ; and a person with a moderate command of lan- guage, by adhering to these conditions, will surpass — at least as regards the first essential of drawing a clear picture — the undisci- plined efi'orts of very high genius. No such exactness of plan is attainable for the narration of complicated events. Still, it is possible to point out to the his- torian his chief liabilities to confusion, and put him so far upon his guard. We defined the fundamental idea of narration as being the repre- sentation of particular sequences of events. But History in its actual development is a much more complex afi"air. De Quincey recognises three modes of history : Narrative (a record of public transactions) ; Scenical (a study of picturesque effects) ; and Philo- sophical (a reasoned explanation of events). These are real dis- tinctions, and we are not sure that they might not be multiplied. Not that extant histories may be divided into these three classes — such a work as Macaulay' s 'History of England' attempts to combine the three modes — but these distinctions point to three different functions of History. The historian may simply record public transactions without attempting to explain them or draw lessons from them, and without any effort to describe splendid si)ectacles or interesting incidents. He may give his principal care to making the record of events instructive, may have a studious eye to the lessons of political and social wisdom, or he may give his principal care to making the record of events scenically or dramatically interesting. Now, without saying that these three functions should be kept distinct — that a history should be either plainly narrative, or philosophical, or scenical, and should not 28 INTRODUCTION. aspire to be all three at once — there is an advantage in considering a history under these three aspects separately. We observe first by what arts the historian makes his narrative simple and per- spicuous — whether he follows the order of events, where and with what justification he departs from that order, what provision he makes for keeping distinct in our minds the several concurring streams of events in complicated transactions, what skill he shows in the construction of summaries, and other minor points. His skill in explaining events by general principles, and in deducing general lessons, forms a separate consideration. And still another consideration is his scenical and dramatic skill ; his word-painting, plot-arrangement, and other points of artistic treatment. Apart from the objects of critical remark thus grouped together may be placed, as a thing for special consideration, the particular form of historical chapter or book that undertakes to delineate the whole social state of a people at some one epoch. The most cele- brated example of this is the third chapter of Macaulay's History. For the statement of simple generalities, presenting no difficulty to the apprehension of the reader, little direction can be given. The rules of exposition apply only to the more abstruse gener- alities. The four leading arts of statement and illustration are iteration, obverse iteration, exemplification, and comparison. The popular expositor must also study the arts of imparting interest to dry subjects, and must learn to appreciate the difficulties of the tyro, and to take every advantage of the previous knowledge of his readers. The arts of Persuasion, rhetoric proper, open up a still wider field. We have said that all the arts of style are of service to the orator. There are times, perhaps, when the speaker may choose to set the precepts of clear expression on one side. Instead of trying to express himself clearly, he may seek to mislead and cheat his audience with studied ambiguity ; but he will do this all the better if he is able, upon occasion, to express himself clearly and attractively. The principal things to attend to in criticising oratory are the orator's knowledge and power of adapting himself to the persons addressed, his verbal ingenuity as shown in happy turns of expres- sion, his argumentative power, and his skill in playing upon special emotions. In the examination of the leading authors, we follow the order of this introductory sketch. We do not take up, in the case of every author, every point here mentioned ; we remark only upon the prominent features in each individual case ; but we take up the various points in the order of our preliminary analysis. PART L DE QUINCEY. MACAULAY. CAILLYLE. CHAPTER L I THOMAS DE QUIWCET, a 1785 — 1859. Among the most eminent prose writers of this century is Thomas de Quincey, best known as The English Opium-Eater. The family of De Quincey, as we learn from this its most famous modern representative, was originally Norwegian, played a distin- guished part in the Norman Conquest, and flourished through nine or ten generations as one of the houses of nobility, until its head, the Earl of Winchester, was attainted for treason. For more than a century before the birth of the " Opium-Eater," none of his name had borne a title of high rank. His father was an opulent mer- chant in Manchester, who died young, leaving his widow a fortune of ;^i6oo a-year. We know the particulars of the earlier part of De Quincey's life from his ' Confessions of an Opium-Eater,' and his •' Autobiographic Sketches.' The fifth son of a family of eight, he was born on the 15th of August 1785, at Greenhay, then an isolated house about a mile from Manchester. He has recorded his earliest recollections ; and he was so precocious, that these date from the middle of his second year. His autobiography contains few incidents that de- part strikingly from the ordinary course of the world. In his own record, things that are insignificant as objects of general interest assume the proportions that :dl human beings must assign to the events of their own life. His first great affliction was the death of a favourite sister when he was about six years old. Were we to measure him by the standard of ordinary children, we should refuse to believe what he tells us of the profound gloom thrown over him by this bereave- ment — " the night that for him gathered upon that event ran after 32 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. Ms steps far into life." " Well it was for me at this period," he says, " if well it were for me to live at all, that from any continued contemplation of my misery I was forced to wean myself, and sud- denly to assume the harness of life." From these " sickly reveries " he was suddenly withdrawn, and " introduced to the world of strife." A " horrid pugilistic brother," five or six years older than himself, whose "genius for mischief amounted to inspiration," returned home from a public school. The character of this brother is drawn in the Sketches with ex- quisite humour and fondness. He was a boy of amazing spirits and volubility. He maintained a constant war with the boys of a neighbouring factory, and compelled little Thomas to bear a part. He kept the nursery in a whirl of excitement and wonder with war bulletins, ghost stories, tragic theatricals, and burlesque lectures " on all subjects known to man, from the Thirty-nine Articles of our English Church down to pyrotechnics, legerdemain, magic — both black and white — thaumaturgy, and necromancy." After two years of this excitement, William left Greenhay, and Thomas, then in his eighth year, relapsed into his quiet life, and steadily pursued his studies under one of his guardians, finding in that guardian's family other objects for his precocious sympathy and meditation. When he was eleven years old his mother removed to Bath, and placed him at the grammar-school there. He had made such progress under his guardian's tutorship that at Bath his Latin verses were paraded by the head-master as an incitement to the older boys. This distinction led to his removal from the school. His austere mother was so shocked at the compliments he was receiving, that, after two years, she sent him to a private school in Wiltshire, "of which," he says, "the chief recommendation lay in the religious character of the master." At Winkfield he remained but a year. Then came a pleasant interlude in his school life. He spent the summer travelling in Ireland Avith Lord Westport, a yonng friend of his own age, and on his return stayed for three months at Laxton, the seat of Lord Carbery, where he studied Greek and talked theology with the beautiful Lady Carbery. But his pleasures were again interrupted by the higher powers. His guardians de- cided that he should go for three years to Manchester grammar- school before proceeding to Oxford. Some boys would have hailed the change with pleasure, but young De Quincey, though then but fifteen and a few months more, was premature in the expansion of his mind, and had begun to think boyish society intolerable. He went to Manchester in 1800, but he could not bring himself to be content with his situation. In the course of two years his health gave way, and no longer able to endure the restraint, he took his departure one day without warning. His wanderings did not last long. He walked straight to Chester ; and, while hanging about LIFE. 33 his mother's house trying to get an interview with his sister, was caught by an easy stratagem. He was not, however, sent back to school, but remained at his mother's house till his guardians should tlecide what was to be done with him. Soon followed the great adventure of his life, the most interest- ing part of his Confessions. Obtaining some money from his mother for a pedestrian tour in Wales, he tired of the mountain solitudes, and shaped his course to London, in hopes of being able to borrow two hundred pounds on his expectations. Here he went through bard experiences. His errand brought him under the vexatious extortions and delays of a money-lender. He was reduced to the brink of starvation. On one occasion, indeed, he might have perished but for the kindness of a companion in mis- fortune, the poor outcast Anne, whom in happier days he vainly sought to trace. Fortunately he was discovered and taken home again. He remained at home about a year ; but being taunted by his uncle with wasting his time, he undertook to go to Oxford upon p^ioo of an annual allowance, and proceeded thither in the October of 1803. The 'Autobiographic Sketches,' as republished, terminate with his sudden resolution to go to Oxford. In their original form, as contributions to ' Tait's Magazine,' three more papers undertake to describe his life at Oxford, but these consist mostly of rambling digressions on the idea of an English University, on the Greek orators, on Paley, and suchlike, and contain very little personal narrative. This much we may glean, that he lived a hermit kind of life, and did not conform in the least to the studies of the place. He "sequestered himself" so completely that (to quote his own expression), " for the first two years of my residence in Oxford, I compute that I did not utter one hundred words." He had but one conversation with his tutor. " It consisted of three sentences, two of which fell to his share, one to mine." In all senses he was justified in exclaiming, " Oxford, ancient mother ! hoary with ancestral honours, time-honoured, and, haply it may be, time-shat- tered power, I owe thee nothing ! Of thy vast riches I took not a shilling, though living among multitudes who owed to thee their daily bread." In the matter of study, he was a law to himself. He told his tutor in that notable conversation that he was reading Paley; but in point of fact he had been "reading and studying very closely the ' Parmenides.' " As a schoolboy he had attained to an unusual mastery over the Greek language, " moving through all the obstacles and resistances of a Greek book with the same celerity and ease as through those of the French and Latin " — and he read Greek daily ; " but any slight vanity which he might connect with a power so rarely attained, and which, under ordinary circumstances, so readily transmutes itself into a disproportionate 34 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. admiration of the author, in him was absohdely swallowed up in the tremenJoiis hold taken of his entire sensibilities at this time hy our ow)i literature." In his ' Recollections of Coleridge ' he says, " From 1803 to 1808 I was a student at Oxford." This probably means that for those five years he remained formally on the books of Worcester College. How much of this time he spent in actual residence is not recorded, and in all likelihood cannot be ascertained. When we consider his self-determined habits of study, we see that it matters compara- tively little to know where he lived. There is a tradition that he once submitted to the written part of the Final Examination, but abruptly left Oxford without offering himself for the oral part. In the intervals of his residence at Oxford, he began to make occasional visits to London, and to get introductions to literary society. He had always been especially anxious to see Coleridge and Wordsworth. When he ran away from school, he would have gone to the Lake district, had he not scrupled to present himself in the character of a fugitive schoolboy. About Christmas 1804-5 he had gone to London with an introduction to Charles Lamb, his final object being to procure through Lamb an introduction to Coleridge. His wishes were not gratified till later than this. He first saw Coleridge at Bristol in the autumn of 1807, and Words- worth later in the same year, at the poet's cottage in the Vale of Grasmere. In the winter of 1808-9 he took up his residence at the Lakes. Wordsworth had quitted his cottage in Grasmere for the larger house of Allan Bank, and De Quincey succeeded this illustrious tenant. He retained this cottage for seven-and-twenty years, and up to 1829 it was his principal place of residence. "From this era," he says, "through a period of about twenty years in succes- sion, I may describe my domicile as being amongst the lakes and mountains of Westmoreland. It is true, I often made excursions to London, Bath, and its neighbourhood, or northwards to Edin- burgh ; and perhaps, on an average, passed one-fourth part of each year at a distance from this district ; but here only it was that henceforwards I had a house and small establishment." A good many interesting particulars about the society of the Lakes, and his way of passing his time, are given in some papers that have not been republished ('Tait's Magazine,' 1840). From the time of his settling at the Lakes, a habit grew upon him which powerfully influenced his life. Some four years after he took up his residence at Grasmere, he became a confirmed and daily opium-eater. The rise and progress of this habit, the pleas- ures and the pains of the " pernicious drug," and the miseries of his struggle to leave it off, are related in his Opium Confessions. He had first tasted opium in 1804, as a cure for toothache. From LIFE. 35 that date up to 1812 lie took opium as an occasional indulgence, " fixing beforehand how often, within a given time, and when, he would commit a debauch of opium." It was not till 1813 that opium became with him an article of daily diet ; in that year he multiplied the laudanum drams to allay " an appalling irritation of the stomach." The large doses once begun, he could not break off. He went on from one degree of indulgence to another, till in 18 16 he was taking as much as 8000 drops of laudanum per day. Prob- ably in view of his approaching marriage, he succeeded in reducing his allowance to 1000 drops. He married towards the close of 1816. Up to the midlle of 1817 he "judges himself to have been a happy man ;" and he draws a beautiful picture of the interior of his cottage in a stormy winter night, with " warm hearth-rugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies on the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without." Again he seems to have lapsed into over-indulgence— to have suc- cumbed to the " Circean spells " of opium. The next four years he spent in a kind of intellectual torpor, utterly incapable of sustained exertion. " But for misery and suffering," he says, " I might indeed be said to have existed in a dormant state. I sel- dom could prevail on myself to write a letter. An answer of a few words to any that I received was the utmost that I could accom- plish ; and often that not until the letter had lain weeks, or even months, on my writing-table." At length in 182 1, with the in- creasing expenses of his household, his affairs became embarrassed, and he was called upon by the strongest inducements to shake off this dead weight upon his energies. He succeeded. Unable wholly to renounce the use of opium, he yet reduced the amount so far as to be capable of literary exertion.^ His first production was the ' Confessions of an English Opium- Eater.' This appeared in the ' London Magazine ' in the autumn of 182 1, and was reprinted in a separate form in the following year. From 1821 to 1825, though he still spent the greater part of his time at Grasmere, he was often in London, his lodgings being in York Street, Covent Garden. During that time he was a frequent contributor to the ' London Magazine.' He speaks of his " daily task of writing and producing something for the journals ;" calls 1 The Opium Confessions, as they stand in the final edition, convey the im- pression, though not in si^ecific words, that he had wholly renounced the use of opium, and he is usually accused of having pretended to a self-command that he never absolutely acquired. Had the appendix to the first edition of the Confes- sions heen reprinted, he might have been spared this accusation. He there ex- plains why, in the narrative as originally written in the ' London Magazine,' he wished to convey the impression that he had wholly renounced the use of opium ; and says that in suff"ering his readers to think of him as a reformed opium-eater, he left no impression but what he shared himself. 36 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. himself "one of tlie corps lifteraire ;" and says that the follow- ing writers were in 1821-2-3 "amongst his coll'iborate'urs" in the ' Londdn Magazine ' — Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, Allan Cunningham, Hood, Hamilton, Reynolds, Carey. In his ' Noctes Ambrosianse,' Christopher North says that the magazine failed because De Quin- cey's papers were glaringly superior to the other contributions — a whimsical gibe at the other contributors. A performance of his in the autumn of 1824 may be mentioned as showing how thoroughly he had identified himself with tlie literary brotherhood. It was, as he says, " the most complete literary hoax that ever can have been perpetrated." A German bookseller had published a novel in Ger- man under the title of ' Walladmoor,' profe.ssing that it was a trans- lation from Sir Walter Scott. De Quincey reviewed the pseudo- translation hurriedly, and spoke of it in rather higli terms, chance having directed him to the only tolerable passages in the work. Thereupon a London firm conceived the idea of translating it, and employed De Quincey as translator. When he came to go tlirough the work in detail, he found it, as he says, "such 'almighty' non- sense (to speak transatlantice) " that translating it was out of the question ; and accordingly he I'ewrote the greater part of it. All the same, his composition was given to the English world as a translation from the German. His dedication of the performance to the German forger is a very fine piece of humour. His industry in London does not seem to have been sufficiently rewarded to relieve him from his embarrassments. In a letter to Professor Wilson, dated from London, 1825, he expresses himself as being in dread of apprehension for debt. After 1825 his literary activity was directed almost entirely to Edinburgh. He was probably drawn there by his friendship with Wilson. In 1826 he began, in 'Blackwood's Magazine,' a series of papers under the title of " Gallery of German Prose Classics ;" but opium-eaters, as he said, " though good fellows upon the whoie, never finish anything " — and the Gallery never received more than two celebrities, Lessing and Kant, the series ending with the third instalment. From 1825 to 1849 he wrote a great deal for 'Black- wood,' contributing altogether about fifty papers that have been reprinted, three or four sometimes upon one subject. Among the most famous of these ' Blackwood ' papers were — " Murder con- sidered as one of the Fine Arts" (1827), "Toilette of a Hebrew Lady" (1828), " Dr Parr and his Contemporaries, or Whiggism in its Relations to Literature" (183 1), "The Cassars" (1832-3-4), "The Essenes" (1840), "On Style" (1840-1), "Homer and the HomeridjB " (1841), " Coleridge and Opium-Eating " (1845), " Sus- piria de Profundis" (1845), "The Mail-Coach," and "The Vision of Sudden Death " (1849). In 1834 he formed another very fertile literary connection, LIFE. 37 becoming a contributor to ' Tait's Magazine.' This connection is better known than his earlier and longer-continued connection with Blackwood, because his papers were not anonymous, but bore either his own name or the well-known alias, " The English Opium-Eater." He contributed very regularly up to 1S41, and again in 1845 and 1846. He sent in altogether nearly fifty separate papers, of which about two-thirds have been reprinted. The most famous were his "Sketches of Life and Manners, from the Autobiography of an English Opium-Eater," contributed at intervals up to 1 841. For some unexplained reason, not more than one-half of these have been reprinted. About thirty of his contributions to ' Tait ' were personal reminiscences. These are represented in his collected works by two volumes — 'Autobiographic Sketches' (vol. xiv.) and 'Recollections of the Lakes' (vol. ii.) Apart from these, his best-known papers in ' Tait ' were " A Tory's Account of Toryism, Whiggism, and Radicalism" (1835-36). Little seems to be known about his place of residence from 1830 to 1843. Up to 1829 he lived chiefly at Grasmere. He spent the year 1830 with Professor Wilson in Edinburgh. In 1835 he gave up his cottage at Grasmere. In 1843 he settled with his family at Lasswade, a small village near Edinbuigh. It is probably to this interval that we must refer INIr John Hill Burton's somewhat over- done sketch of his habits and personal appearance in the * Book- Hunter,' where De Quincey appears as "Thomas Papaverius," a "mighty book-hunter." During 1842-3-4 he sent nothing to 'Tait,' and very little to 'Blackwood'; and in 1844 appeared the 'only work of his that first saw the light as an independent book — ' The Logic of Political Economy.' It is not a complete exposition of political economy, but, as the title imports, of certain first principles — the doctrines of value, market-value, wages, rent, and profits. As in the case of Macaulay, Carlyle, and others, his scattered contributions to periodical literature were first republished in America. The collection was begun by the firm of Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, in 1852, without the author's knowledge; but the publishers generously made him a sharer in the profits of the publication, and he ultimately gave his assistance to the work of collecting the scattered papers. The first English edition, " in fourteen volumes crown 8vo, was published by Messrs Hogg of Edinburgh, during the eight years 1853-60 ; and all the papers it contained, with the exception of a few in the last volume, enjoyed the author's revision and correction." His last productions were some papers on China, contributed to ' Titan ' (a continuation of ' Hogg's Instructor') in 1856-57. They are not included in his collected works, but are republished sepa- rately. 38 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. He died at Edinburgh, December 8, 1859, in his seventy-fifth year. We have several descriptions of De Quincey's personal appear- ance. He was a slender little man, with small, clearly chiselled features, a large head, and a remarkably high, square forehead. " In addition," says Professor Masson, " to the general impression of his diminutiveness and fragility, one was struck with the pecu- liar beauty of his head and forehead, rising disproportionately high over his small, wrinkly visage, and gentle, deep-set eyes." There was a peculiarly high and regular arch in the wrinkles of his brow, which was also slightly contracted. The lines of his countenance fell naturally into an expression of mild suffering, of endurance sweetened by benevolence, or, according to the fancy of the inter- preter, of gentle, melancholy sweetness. All that met him seem to have been struck with the measured, silvery, yet somewhat hollow and unearthly, tones of his voice, the more impressive that the flow of his talk was unhesitating and unbroken. " Although a man considerably under height and slender of form, he was capable of undergoing great fatigue, and took con- stant exercise." His having been the travelling companion of Christopher North about the English lakes is a sufficient certificate. The weak point in his bodily system, as he frequently tells us, was his stomach. This weakness he often pleads as the justification of his opium-eating. Opium was " the sole remedy potent enough to control his distress and irritability." He sometimes humorously exaggerates his infirmity. *' A more worthless body than his own, the author is free to confess, cannot be. It is his pride to believe that it is the very ideal of a base, crazy, despicable human system, that hardly ever could have been meant to be seaworthy for two days under the ordinary storms and wear and tear of life ; and, indeed, if that were the creditable way of disposing of human bodies, he must own that he should almost be ashamed to bequeath his wretched structure to any respectable dog." As often happens,^ the impoverishment of certain bodily organs was accompanied, if not caused, by an enormous and dispropor- tionate activity of intellect. It may be doubted whether we have ever seen in this quarter of the globe a man so completely absorbed in mental operations, and so far removed from our ordinary way of looking at the world. He resembled the contemplative sages of India more than the intellectual men of rough, practical England. ^ " In general," says our author, " a man has reason to think himself well off in the great lottery of this life if lie draws tlie prize of a healthy stomach with- out a mind, or the prize of a fine intellect with a crazy stomach ; but that any man should draw both is truly astonishing, and, I suppose, happens only once in a century." CHARACTER. 39 Of no man can it be absolutely true that he does nothing but ob- serve, read, meditate, imagine, and communicate the results ; but this may be affirmed of De Quincey with a nearer approach to truth than it can be affirmed of any other great name in our literature. In reading his works, one of the first things that strike us is the extreme multifariousness of his knowledge. When we compare him even with writers of a high order, we cannot help being astonished at the force of a memory that could hold so much in readiness for inmiediate use. He was noted for conversational powers ; and, as he himself explains, one of his peculiar advantages for conversation was " a prodigious memory " and " an inexhaust- ible fertility of topics." In his writings this retentive capacity often makes us pause and wonder. For some of his most curious freaks of scholarship, in- deed, his " Toilette of a Hebrew Lady " and his " Casuistry of Roman Meals," he took most of the materials at second-hand from the German. Still, if we were to assemble all his digressions, quotations, notes, and allusions, we should be sufficiently convinced of the immense and eccentric range of his reading, and at the same time of his tenacious hold of what he had read. Indeed, if we w^ere to make such a collection, we should be no less astonished at the extent of another field of his memory. We should find that he was a close observer of human character, and that he noted and remembered characteristic peculiarities and expressions of feeling wdth Boswellian minuteness. In the course of his wanderings he met persons of all ranks and conditions, and he seldom mentions a name without giving some characteristic particulars of the person. Then, as regards the other great intellectual force — the power of recovering analogous circumstances or detecting hidden resem- blances — De Quincey had a very remarkable, perhaps a still more remarkable, endowment. Speaking of his conversational powers, he says that in addition to the advantage of a prodigious memory, he had "the far greater advantage of a logical instinct for feeling in a moment the secret analogies or parallelisms that connected things else apparently remote." And again, writing of his powers of memory, he says, " I mention this in no spirit of boasting. Far from it; for, on the contrary, amongst my mortifications have been compliments to my memory, when, in fact, any compliment that I had merited was due to the higher faculty of an electric aptitude for seizing analogies, and, by means of those aerial pontoons, pass- ing over like lightning from one topic to another." ^ This power appears in his writings in several shapes. The quotations and allusions that show his wide knowledge of books and men are very obvious signs of the activity of his analogical faculty. His numer- ous illustrations, and the metaphorical cast of his language, are no 1 Blackwood's Magazine, April 1845. 40 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. less striking. Less obtrusive evidences of the faculty, but still more valuable as being evidences of its strength, are his power of breaking through routine views, and the ingenious plausibility of his arguments. He very rarely assumes a traditional view without some note of exception, and this evidently not from a rough love of paradox — as is sometimes alleged by careless readers — but from his strong and delicate sensibility to the exact relations of things. Nothing can be more exquisite than his subtlety in distinguishing wherein things agree and wherein they differ — in what respects a traditional view is warrantable, and in what respects it is errone- ous. Equally charming to the lover of intellectual suljtiety are his deliberate arrays of argument in sup[)ort of a favourite thesi&, as seen in such performances as his ])aper on the Essenes, or his attempt to w^hitewash the character of Judas Iscariot. His skill in urging every circumstance favourable to his opinion, and in ex- plaining away everything that bears against it, gives to the Eng- lish reader an idea of elaborate ingenuity not to be obtained from any other of our recognised "leaders of literature." Were De Quincey's writings the outcome of nothing more gen- erally attractive than profound erudition, intellectual subtlety, and powers of copious expression, they would not have taken such a hold of public interest. But he was not an arid philosopher, a modern Duns Scotus or Thomas Aquinas. He tells us that he read " German metaphysicians, Latin schoolmen, thaumaturgic Platonists, and religious Mystics," but he tells us also that at one time " a tremendous hold was taken of his entire sensibilities by our own literature." Though he " well knew that his proper vocation was the exercise of the analytic understanding," he spent perhaps the greater part of his time in the exercise of the imagination, taking profound delight in " the sublimer and more passionate poets," in " the grand lamentations of Samson Agonistes, or the great harmonies of the Satanic speeches in ' Paradise Regained.' " He described himself as a Eudajmonist or Hedonist — averse to everything that did not bring him immediate enjoyment ; and this half-humorous description may be allowed, if "\ve take care not to forget that his enjoyments were of a peculiar nature. His pleas- ures were not boisterous — not dependent upon a flow of animal spirits. He was an intellectual Hedonist, or pleasure -seeker. During a considerable part of his time he was rapt in his favourite studies, in works of the analytic understanding, of history, and of imagination. But even in daily life, in intercourse with the world, his imagination seems to have been preternaturally active. He was a close observer of character, as we can see both from his works and from the testimony of those that knew him. But, as we also know from both sources, his imagination was constantly active in shaping his surroundings into objects of refined pleasure, CHAEACTER. 41 ranging through many varieties of grave and gay. He applied this transfiguring process to the incidents of his own life— not inventing romantic or comical incidents, but dwelling upon certain features of what really took place, and investing them with lofty, tender, or humorous imagery. So Avith his friends and casual acqiwintauces. He was sufficiently observant of what they really did and said, was remarkably acute in divining what passed in their minds, and felt the disagreeable as well as the agreeable points of their character ; but he had the power of abstracting from the disagreeable circumstances. He fixed his imagination upon the agreeable side of an acquaintance, and transmuted the mixed handiwork of nature into a pure object of aesthetic pleasure.^ His pleasures, we have said, were not boisterous. He had not the constitution for hearty enjoyment of life. In his Sketches he describes himself as being, in his boyhood, " the shiest of children," "constitutionally touched with pensiveness," "natu- rally dedicated to despondency." From his repose of manners he was a privileged visitor to the bedroom of his dying father. He was passionately fond of peace, had "a perfect craze for being despised " — considering contempt as the only security for un- molested repose — and always tried to hide his precocious accom- plishments from the curiosity of strangers. All his life through he retained this shyness. He had splendid conversational powers, and never was silent from timidity, at least when under the in- fluence of his favourite opium ; and yet he rather avoided than courted society. He humorously tells us how he was horrified at a party in London when he saw a large company of guests filing in one after the other, and divined from their looks that they had come to " lionise " the 0]num-Eater. Mr Hill Burton represents the difficulty of getting him out to literary parties in Edinburgh in spite of his most solemn promises ; and we have from Professor Masson a pleasant instance of his shyness to recognise a new acquaintance in the street, and of his nervous- ness when he found himself the subject of observation. Such a man often contracts strong special attachments. In some of the impassioned records of the Confessions and the 'Autobiographic Sketches,' we have evidence of the strength of De Quincey's affections. In writing of living friends, he usually practises a delicate reserve, and veils his tenderness under the mask of humour. Yet even to this there are some exceptions, such as the touching address to his absent wife in the Opium Confessions. In Avriting of departed friends, he pours out his feelings without reserve. His sister Elizabeth, the outcast Anne, 1 It is not meant that he was so unlike other men as to be doing this con- stantly ; only that he seized upon and transfigured actual objects into ideals mnch more than the generality of intellectual men. 42 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. the infant daughter of Wordsworth, and his unfortunate friend Charles Lloyd,i may be mentioned as objects that at different periods of his life engrossed his affections, and whose loss he deplores with impassioned sorrow. He has sometimes been accused of letting his imagination dwell too favourably upon himself — of being especially vain. Now we call a man vain when he pretends to something that he does not possess, or when he makes an ostentatious display of his posses- sions. It has not been alleged that De Quincey was vain in the first and worst sense ; he has never been accused of exaggerating for the purpose of extorting admiration. But it is alleged that he was vain in the second sense ; that he makes a complacently ostentatious display of his ancestral line, of his aristocratic con- nections, of his romantic adventures, of his philosophical know- ledge, of his wonderful dreams. Such a charge could hardly be made but by a hasty or an undiscriminatiug reader. In the ' Autobiographic Sketches ' we are never complacently invited to admire. We never think of the Avriter as a self-glorified hero, unless we are all the more jealous of being thrown into the shade. We are taken into his confidence, but he challenges our sympathy, not our admiration. He often speaks of himself humorously, but never with ostentatious complacency. He treats himself with no greater favour than any of the other subjects of his narrative. The truth seems to be, that he who observed and speculated upon every human creature that came under his notice, observed and speculated most of all upon himself as the human creature that he was best acquainted with. He was too discerning a genius to be unconscious of his own excellence, and too little of a humbug to pretend that he was. As he has been accused of vanity, so he has sometimes been accused of arrogance, upon a still graver misconception of his shy, retiring nature, and his humorous self-irony. His dogmatic judgments of Plato, Cicero, Dr Johnson, and other eminent men, and his strong expressions of national and political prejudice, are sometimes quoted as signs of a tendency to domineer. It may safely be asserted that whoever takes up this view has not penetrated far into the peculiar personality of De Quincey. What- ever might be the strength of his expressions, and these were often exaggerated for comic effect, there have been few men of equal power more unaffectedly open to reasonable conviction. When he had made up his mind, he took a pleasure, usually a humorous pleasure, in putting his opinion as strongly as possible ; but that was no index as regarded his susceptibility to new light. This we may reasonably infer from his character as revealed in his works ; and if we need further evidence, we have it in the words 1 The two last are mentioned in papers that have not been reprinted. CHARACTER. 43 of his personal acquaintance Mr Burton, who speaks of liis " gentle and kindly spirit," and his boyish ardour at making a new dis- covery. Equally mistaken is the charge of jealousy, which comes from some admirers of Wordsworth and Coleridge. He always, and with obvious sincerity, professed an admiration for the extra- ordinary qualities of these men, but he knew exactly Avhere their strength lay ; he knew that both were men of special strength combined with special infirmity, and in his " Recollections " of them, while doing all justice to their merits, he did not scruple to expose their faults. On this ground he is charged with jeal- ousy. But before we admit a charge so inconsistent with what we know of his character otherwise, it must be shown that his criticisms are unf;ur, or that they contain anything that can be construed into an evidence of malice. Had De Quincey been a jealous, irritable man, instead of being "gentle and kindly" as he was, the universally attested arrogance and contemptuous manner of Wordsworth would have driven him to take part with the ' Edinburgh Review,' and in that case the great poet's reputa- tion might have been considerably delayed. I have dwelt at disproportionate length upon two qualities that are not marked in De Quincey's character, simply for the reason that unappreciative critics have described them as the ruling emotions of his personal reminiscences. To discuss them at such length without a guarding statement would create misconception. We may say, in loose terms, that two kinds of emotion almost engrossed his imagination, and that these, in the peculiar form they assumed in De Quincey, were diametrically antagonistic and inevitably destructive to emotions so petty as vanity or jealous egotism. These two ruling emotions may be vaguely described as humour and sublimity. Though naturally unfitted for rough merriment, for Teufels- droeckh laughter, De Quincey had a keen sense of the ridiculous. None of his papers are without humorous strokes, and some of them are extravagantly humorous from beginning to end. Chris- topher North began to take opium, but desisted upon finding, as he said, that it destroyed his moral sensibilities, and put him into such a condition of mind that he was ready to laugh at anything, no matter how venerable. It is sometimes said that opium had a similar effect upon De Quincey. But, as he would have delighted to point out, a distinction must be drawn as regards laughter at things venerable : the laugh may be malicious, designed to bring a venerable object into contempt, or it may be humorous, revolv- ing simply upon its own extravagance — degradation of the object being manifestly serious and ill-natured in the one case, and manifestly whimsical and good-natured in the other. There is not a trace of malice in De Quincey's laughter. It is, as he 44 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. described it himself, merely "humorous extravagance." He is a humourist, not a satirist. Sometimes he treats venerable persons or institutions with playful banter. Sometimes, by a kind of inverse process, he takes a pleasure in speaking of mean occupa- tions vs^ith expressions of mock dignity. One unique vein of his humour consists in speaking with affection or admiration, or with a dry business tone, concerning objects usually regarded with horror and indignation. Whatever he does, as we shall see when we come to exemplify his humour, he does all with good-nature. He seldom applies his banter to living persons, and then in such a way that none but very touchy subjects could take offence. Indeed, so playful and stingless is his humour, that many profess themselves unable to see anything to laugh at in his i)eculiar extravagances. In humour, of course, everything depends upon the reader's attitude of mind. De Quincey's own answer to his censors is complete: '■'■Not to sympatlnse is not to understand; and the playfulness which is not relished, becomes flat and insipid, or absolutely without meaning." His genius for the sublime is unquestioned. He was singularly open to impressions of grandeur. As in his humour, so in his susceptibility to sublime effects, it is difficult for an energetic people like us to lower ourselves into this peculiar state of mind. I say to loicer ourselves, for the effort implies a diminution of our active energies and the intensifying of our passive suscepti- bilities. One of the best ways of understanding De Quincey in his sublime moods is to contrast him with Carlyle in his so-called hero-worship. The attitude of mind in worship, as usually under- stood, is a passive attitude — an attitude of reverential prostration, of adoring contemplation. If this be so, the term worship is incorrectly applied to Carlyle's attitude, and applies Avith much greater propriety to De Quincey's. Carlyle's state of mind seems to be a state of exalted activity. A man of force and vigour, he seems to symjmthise with the efforts of his heroes — to feel himself, in thinking of them, exalted to the same pitch of victorious energy. Now this is not a state of prostration, of adoration, but the highest possible state of ideal activity — the moment of success in imaginary Titanic effort. On the contrary, De Quin- cey's attitude is essentially an attitude of adoration, of awe-struck 2Mssivity. He lies still, as it were, — remains quiescent ; passively allows magnificent conceptions to enter his mind and dwell there. Carlyle's hero-worship is more the intoxication of power than the worship of power, the sublime of egotism more than the sublime of adoration. The vision of great manifestations of power seems to act upon the one as a stimulant, upon the other as a narcotic, conspiring with the subduing influence of " all-potent opium." The power that walks in darkness, that leaves for the imagina- CHARACTER. 45 tion a wide margin of "potentiality," is more impressive than power with a definite limit. Accordingly De Quincey tells us that "his nature almost demanded mystery." The i>leasing astonishment inspired by visions of grandeur is nearly allied to awe, and awe passes readily into panic dread. This De Quincey experienced in his opium-dreams. " Clouds of gloomy grandeur overhung his dreams at all stages of opium, and, in the last, grew into the darkest of miseries." His dreams were tumultuous — "with dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms." Sometimes gorgeous spectacles, " such as never yet were beheld by waking eye," suddenly gave place to "hurrying trepidations." Sometimes he was filled with apprehensions of frightful disaster, while kept motionless by "the weight of twenty Atlantics." As regards the sensuous framework of De Quincey's emotions, it is interesting to notice his peculiar sensibility to the luxuries and grandeurs of the ear. He was not insensible to the "pomps and glories " of the eye, but the ear was his most highly endowed sense. This is his own analysis. He recognised, he said, his sen- sibility to music as rising above the common standard by various tests — " by the indispensableness of it to his daily comfort, the readiness with which he made any sacrifices to obtain a ' grand debauch' of that nature, etc. itc." He might have mentioned as a good confirmation that he broke through the traditional expla- nation of ^schylus's "multitudinous laughter of the boundless ocean," as referring to the visual appearance of the waves, and asked whether it might not refer to the sounds of the ocean. For him the image would have had a greater charm if referred to the ear. One of his favourite pleasures of "imagination" (if we may use the word in a sense not exactly warranted by its derivation) was to construct ideal music out of the sounds of nature. " Often and often," he says, " seating myself on a stone by the side of the mountain-river Brathay, I have stayed for hours listening to the same sound to which so often C L and I used to hearken together with profound emotion and awe — the sound of pealing anthems, as if streaming from the open portals of some illimitable cathedral ; and many times I have heard it of a quiet night, when no stranger could have been persuaded to believe it other than the sound of choral chanting— distant, solemn, saintly." When we view De Quincey on the active side, we find a great deficiency, corresponding to his intense occupation with the exercise of the analytic understanding and the imagination, both in the study and in the actual world. He was signally wanting in the pushing activity of the English race. Very characteristic is what he tells us of his boyhood, that when he was ordered to do a thing. 46 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. instead of forthwitli rushing off to do it, or stubbornly refusing obedience, like an active English child, he first made sure that he exactly understood the mandate, bothering his superior to express himself with scrupulous precision of language. He took little interest in the practical " questions " of the day. He is said to have written, about 182 1, a criticism of Lord Brougham under the title of " Close Comments on a Straggling Speech;" but this, one may guess, was more humorous than practical. On one occasion he professed to " descend from his long habits of philosophical speculation to a casual intercourse with fugitive and personal politics" — namely, in 1835, when he wrote his " Account of Toryism, Whiggism, and Radicalism " for 'Tait's Magazine.' Here, however, quite as much as elsewhere, he is still the abstract philosopher, not the man of practice : he expressly refuses to discuss the j^olicy of the rival parties on any particular question, and confines himself to an original exposition of their abstract creeds, their mutual relations to the British Con- stitution. So little practical interest did he take in the current business of the nation, that at one time he acknowledges that he had not read a newspaper for three years. One must almost suppose that he informed himself of the proceedings of existing parties with no livelier interest than he took in the proceedings of parties in ancient Greece or Rome. His habits seem to have been very irregular. He did not want steadiness of application to special studies ; he did not roam rest- lessly from field to field, but set himself down to a subject, and mastered it, not content till he had read everything that he could find upon the particular subject. But he hated the labour of pro- ducing, at times with an absolute loathing. He wrote nothing till forced by pecuniary embarrassment. In the course of some remarks on Coleridge, he says that it is characteristic of an opium- eater to finish nothing that he begins ; and his own works to some extent bear out this humorous principle. Mr Hill Burton gives an interesting picture of his indifference to the ordinary ways of human business. " Only immediate crav- ing necessities could ever extract from him an acknowledgment of the common vulgar agencies by which men subsist in civilised society." " Those who knew him a little might call him a loose man in money matters ; those who knew him closer, laughed at the idea of coupling any notion of pecuniary or other like respon- sibility with his nature." As regards his Opinions. He professed himself a Tory in politics, and spoke with sternness, and even ferocity, concerning Whigs, Radicals, Republicans, Revolutionists, and " the faction of Jacobinism through its entire gamut." He objected to the Reform OPINIONS. 47 Bill of 1832 that it had " ruffianised " Parliament — "introduced a Kentucky element " into an assembly conducted with more than Roman dignity. Theoretically, he he'd that both Whigs and Tories were necessary to the British Constitution, as guiding the tuo opposed forces of the nation, the one the democratic, the other the aristocratic ; that, properly understood, they were as two hemi- spheres, the one incoui})lete without the other. In their views of current questions, (me party must be right and the other wrong, at le;ist so far ; but as regarded their reasons for existing, it was absurd to ask which was right and which was wrong — both miist exist. He belonged himself by birth to the aristocratic party, ;md probably in his philosophic way he considered it his duty to criticise Radicals from the aristocratic point of view, using strong language without any corresponding strength of feeling. As a literary critic, his catholicity of spirit and breadth of view were uni(pie among the men of his time. Rarely indeed, if ever, liiLs a mind so calm, unprejudiced, and comprehensive, been applied to the work of criticism. In his own day he was usually numbered among the " Lakers," or partisans of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Southey. He was so only in the sense of treating these remark- able men with justice. He, better than Jeffrey himself, knew the shortcomings of Wordsworth, condemned his theory of poetic diction, and made fun of absurdities in "The Excursion"; bub he felt the shortcomings with calm discrimination, and was not misled by them into undervaluing the striking originality of Wordsworth's genius. He was one of the most devout of the admirers of Shakspeare, and, as we have seen, entered with ])as- sionate rapture into the majestic harmonies of Milton ; but he had no part in the common bond of the Lakers — their wholesale con- tempt for Pope. He says, in one of his "uncollected" papers : — "In the literature of every nation, we are naturally disposed to place in the higliest rank those wlio have ]ir()duced some great and colossal work — a 'Paradise Lost,' a 'Hamlet,' a 'Novum Orgauum ' —which presupposes an elfort of intellect, a comprehensive grasp, and a sustaining power, for its orii;inal conception, corresponding in grandeur to that effort, ditfeniit in kind, which must preside in its execution. But, after this highest class, in which the power to conceive and the power to execute are upon the same scale of grandeur, there comes a second, in which brilliant powers of execu- tion, aijplicd to conce)itioiis of a ver^' infei'ior range, are allowese of several years) I could wish un- said, or said more gently," we may take them as they stand. He charges Keats with " trampling upon his mother-tongue as with the hoofs of a buffalo," and says of "Endymion" that it exhibits " the very midsummer madness of affectation, of false vapoury sen- timent, and of fantastic effeminacy." But this judgment of the earlier poem did not prevent him from calling the " Hyperion " "imperishable," and ascribing to it "the majesty, the austere beauty, and the simplicity of a Grecian temple eniiched with Grecian sculpture." As for any depreciation of Shelley, that I have been unable to find. He makes fun, in a kindly spirit, of Shelley's youthful confidence in waging war against the ruling powers, but at the same time he praises the youth's sincerity, pronounces him " the least false of human creatures," and s|)eaks of "the profound respect due to his exalted powers." The truth is, that the charges made against De Quincey's criticisms are due to his unusual comprehensiveness of view and his sensibility to diversities of gifts. He was, to borrow his own words, "a large estimator of things as they are — of natural gifts, and their infinite distribution through an infinite scale of degrees, and the com- pensating accomplishments which take place in so vast a variety of forms." Hence came numerous misapprehensions. Too many critics, in his day no less than now, credited their idols with every excellence of composition, every excellence of head and heart, every propriety of conduct in their several relations as superiors, inferiors, and equals. When De Quincey, who was never bl'nd to a man's genuine claims to sui)eriority, drew these claims into stronger relief by recording attendant defects, outcries arose on every hand that he was stealthily undermining established repu- tations. People refused to understand that a writer " hopelessly inferior in one talent" could yet be " vastly superior in another." A word on his estimates of foreign writers. His exposure of weak points in such universally established names as Homer, Plato, Cicero, and Goethe, is set down to no higher motive than a love of paradox, a ])assion for inspiring wonder. Of this every reader nuist judge for himself. Only when we criticise the criticisms of De Quincey, we must bear in mind the unparalleled extent of his reading. This unique preparation for valuing literary powers entitles him to be criticised with reverence and modesty. In his " Brief Appraisal of the Greek Literature in its foremost VOCABULARY. 49 pretensions " (which has not been reprinted), he is an unqualified assertor of the sujieriority of modein to ancient literature. " It is," he said, "a pitiable spectacle to any man of heiise and feeling, who hapi)eiis to be really familiar with the golden treasures <»f his own ancestral literature, and a spectacle which moves alternately scorn and sorrow, to see young peoi)le squandering their time and painful study U[>on writers not fit to unloose the sh>es' latchets of many amongst their own compatriots; making painfid and remote voyages after the drossy refuse, when the i)ure gold lies neglected at their feet." "We engage to produce many scores of passages from Chaucer, not exceeding 50 to 80 lines, which contain more of picturesque simplicity, more tenderness, moie fidelity to nature, more felicity of sentiment, more animation of narrative, and more truth of character, than can be matched in all the Iliad or the Odyssey." Again, — "To our Jeremy T;iylor, to our 8ir Thomas Browne, there is no ajiproaih made in the Greek elequence. The inaugural chapter of the ' Holy Dying,' to say nothing of many another golden passage ; or tiie famous passage in the ' Urn Buriall,' beginning, 'Now, since thi'se bones have rested under the drums and tramplings of three conquests,'- — have no parallel in literature." Finally, "For the intellectual qualities of eloquence, in fineness of understanding, in depth and in large compass of thought, Burke far surpasses any orator, ancient or modern." In another pviper, alst) excluded from his collected works, he exposes the "dire affectation" of many enthusiastic admirers of Greek and Latin writers : — "Raised almost to divine honours, never mentioned but with affected rapture, the classics of Greece and Rome are seldom read — most of them never ; are tliey indeed the closet-companions of any man ? Surely it is t'nie that these follies were at an end ; that our practice were made to s(piare a little better with our professions; and that our pleasures were siucerely drawn from those sources in which we pretend that they lie." ELEMENTS OF STYLE. Vocahidary. De Quincey ranges with great freedom over the accumulated wealth of the language, his capncious memory giving him a |)ro- digious command of words. His range is perhaps wider than either Macaulay's or Carlyle's, as he is more versatile in the " |utch " of his style, and does not disdain to use the "slang" of all classes, from Cockney to Oxonian. In his diction, taken as a whole, there is a great prepcmderance of words derived from the Latin. Lord Brougham's opinion that " the Saxon part of our English idiom is to be favoured at the expense of that part which has so hajiitily coalesced from the Latin 50 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. or Greek," lie puts aside as " resembling that restraint which some metrical writers have impose! upon themselves — of writing a long copy of verses from which some particular letter, or from each line of which some different letter, should be carefully excluded," From various causes, he himself makes an excessive use of Latin- ised phraseology. First, his ear was deeply enamoured of a dig- nified rhythm ; none but long words of Latin origin were equal . to the lofty march of his ])eriods. Secondly, by the use of Latin- ised and q^ulsi technical terms, he gained greater precision than by the use of homely words of looser signification. And thirdly, it was part of his peculiar humour to write concerning common objects in unfamiliar language. The strong point in his diction is his acquaintance with the language of the thoughts and feelings, with the subjective side of the English vocabulary. A writer naturally accumulates words in the line of his strongest interest; and De Quincey had a paramount interest iu the characters, thoughts, and affections of man^iuman nature may be said to have been his constant study. A systematic student in none of the sciences, except perhaps metaphysics and political economy,' he nevertheless had gleaned technical terms from every science. He was indeed ever on the watch for a good word ; sciences, arts, and even trades, all alike he laid under greater or less occasional contributions. Sentences. Although De Quincey complained of the "weariness and re- pulsion " of the periodic style, he carried it to excess in his own composition. His sentences are stately, elaborate, crowded with qualifying clauses and parenthetical allusions, to a degree unpar- alleled among modern writers. In reviewing VVhately's Rhetoric, he naturally objected to the dogma that " elaborate stateliness is always to be regarded as a worse fault than the slovenliness and languor w!;ich accompany a very loose style." He maintained, and justly, that " stateliness the most elaborate, in an absolute sense, is no fault at all, though it may be so in relation to a given subject, or to any subject under given circumstances." Whether in his own practice he always conforms to circumstances, is a question that nuist be left to individual taste. There is a certain stateliness in his sentences under almost all circumstances — a stateliness arising fri>m his habitual use of periodic suspensions. To take two examples from his Sketches : — "Never iu any equal nuniher of months had my understanding so much expanded as during this visit to Laxton." SENTENCES. 51 When we throw this out of the elaborately periodic form, we, as it were, relax the tension of the mind, and destroy the stately effect. Thus— " AFy understandino; expanded more during tliis visit to Laxton than during any three months of my life." Again — " Equally, in fact, as regarded my physios and my meta]iliysics ; in short, upon all lines of advance that interested my ambition, I was going rapidly ahead." The statement has a very different effect when the periodic arrange- ment is reversed. Criticism of single sentences cannot easily be made cunvincing, and the critic is apt to forget the paramount principle that regard must be had to the context, to the nature of the subject, to the effect intended by the writer. When a single sentence is put upon its trial, there are many casuistical considerations that may legiti- mately be pleaded by the counsel for the defence. Still, if we try De Quincey by his own rule against " unwieldy comprehensiveness," we must convict him of many violations. In almost every page we find periods that cannot be easily comi)rehended excej)t by a mind of more than ordinary grasp ; and in many cases where, viewed with reference to the average capacity, he cannot be said to overcrowd, he is yet upon the verge of overcrowding. The following sentence may be quoted as one that stands upon the verge. It calls for a considerable effort of attention, and a long succession of such sentences would be exasperating. He is speak- ing of his youthful habit of scrupulou«ly making sure of the mean- ing of an order : — "So far fi-om .seehing to ' petti foguli.se ' — i.e., to find evasions for any jmrpose in a trickster's minute tortuosities of construction — exactly in tlie opposite direction, from mere excess of simv lity, most unwillingly I fonnd, in almost everybody's words, an unintentional opening left for double interpretations." In this case the familiarity and the close connection of the ideas makes the effort of comprehension considerably less. When the subject-matter is so easy, the interspersion of such periods here and there cannot be called a fault. It is, on the contrary, to most ears an agreeable relief to the monotony of ordinary forms of sentence. But for the general reader, for the average capacity of easy understanding, such sentence-forms are multii>lied to an in- tolerable degree in De Quincey's writing. And he does not always escaj)e the besetting fault of long and crowded sentences — in- tricacy. As regards the length and elaboration of De Quincey's sentences, 52 THOMAS DE QUINCEY, it is interesting to compare the first edition of the Opium Confes- sions -with the final revision. Many alterations consist in filling out the sentences ; and, in a good many cases, two sentences are amalgamated into one. Take the following example, the first few sentences of the section entitled, "The Pleasures of Opium." In the original edition this stands — " It is so long since I first took opium, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I nii.;ht have forgotten its date; but cardinal events are not to be forgotten, and from fircnnistanees connected with it, I remember that it must be referred to tlie autunni of 1804. Duiing that season I was in London, having come thither for the fir.st time since my entrance at col- lege. And my introduction to opium arose in the following way. From an early age I had been accuatomed to wash my head in water at least once a-day," &c. In the revised edition we read — " It is very long since I first took opium ; so long, that if it had been a trifling incident in my life, I miglit have forgotten its date; but caixlinal events are not to be forgotten, and from circumstances connected witii it, I remember that this inauguration into the use of opium nmst be rel'erred to the spring or to the autumn of 180t, during which seasons I was in London, having come thither for the first time since my entrance at Oxford. And this event arose in the following way : From an early age I had been accustomed," &c. The four sentences of the original are amalgamated into two, without any condensation of the original bulk. On the contrary, additions are made, one for the sake of emphasis, another for the sake of a more formal connection. Unity of Sentence. — -A casuist would find no difiiculty in arguing that De Quincey's sentences are not owr-crowded. None of the qualificatiuns or parenthetic allitsions could be said to be altogether irrelevant ; and the difiiculty of grasping the meaning being set on one side, it might be pleaded that, as regards the main purpose of the sentence, and its place among the other sentences of the com- position, they are all of them indispensable. De Quincey, however, often oftends beyond the possibility of justification, overloading his sentences in a gossi[)ing kind of way with particulars that have no relevance whatsoever to the main statement. Of this habit I quote two examples, italicising the irrelevant clauses, and placing one of them in small capitals as being an offence of double magnitude, a second irrelevance foisted in upon the back of the first. The first sentence relates to the ex- posure of infants in ancient Greece ; the second explains itself. "And because the ancients had a scruple (no seruple of mercy or of relenting conscience, but of selfish superstition) as to taking life by vio- lence from any creature not condenmed under some law, the mode of death must be by exposure on the open hills, where either the nigiit air, or the fangs of a wolf, oftentimes of the great dogs— still preserved in most parts PARAGRAPHS. 53 of Greece (and traced back to the days of Homer as the public nuisances of travellers) — usually put an end to the unoffending creature's life." " It is asserted, as a jieneral affection of human nature, tliat it is impos- sible to read a book with satisfaction until one has ascertained whether the author of it be t:\\\ or sliort, corpulent or thin ; and, as to complexion, whether he be a 'black' man (whicli, in the 'Spectator's' time, was the absurd expression for a swarthy man), or a fair man, or a sallow man, or perhaps a green man, u-Jiich SouUietj ajjimud to he the proj)er description of many stout arli fivers in Lirmimjliam too much c/iven to work in metallic fumes; ON WHICH ACCOUNT THE NAME OF SoUTHEY IS AN ABOMINATION TO THIS DAY IN CERTAIN FURNACES OF WARWICKSHIRE." The excrescences on the last sentence might be justified on the ground that tliey are humorous, although in severe exposition the humour would probably be ill-timed ; but the parenthetic informa- tion in the first is pedantic, and insuff"erably out of harmony with the rest of the sentence. Still even for this a casuist might find something to say, taking the parenthesis in relation to the subject- matter and De Quincey's pitch of feeling in the treatment of it. Paragraphs. We have seen in our Introduction that De Quincey studied "the philosophy of transition and connection." He is scrupu- lously elaborate, almost too elaborate, in explaining the point of his statements. No quotation can be made from De Quincey that does not exemplify this. Still the analysis of a short passage may help to put the student upon the proper track for seeing how large a part of his composition is taken up with phrases of connec- tion : — "So it will alicays he. Those who {like Madame Dacicr) possess no accomplisliment but Greek, will of necessity set a superhuman value upon that literaticre in all its parts, to which their own iiarrow skill becomes an available key." The expressions in italics are all connective. A rapid writer, such as Macaulay, would have omitted "like Madame Dacier," and in place of the connective periphrasis at the end, would have said briefly and pointedly " Greek literature," leaving the reader to pass on without the labour of formally comprehending the con- nection. To continue : — " Besides that, over and above this coarse and conscious motive for over- rating that which reacts with an equal and answerable overrating upon their own little philological attainments, there is another agency at work, and quite unconsciously to the subjects of that agency, in disturbing the sanity of any estimate they may make of a foreign literature." This sentence is wholly connective, joining together the two in- 54 THOMAS DE QL'INCEY. ducements to overrate the value of a foreign literature — the second being stated as follows : — " It is the habit (well kiK^wn to psycliolo<;i.sts) of transferrinw to anything created bj' our own skill, or which i-eflects our own skill, as if it lay causativeiy and objectively in the reflecting thing itself, that pleasurable power which in very truth belongs subjectively to the mind of hini who surveys it, from con- scious success in the exercise of his own energies. Hence it is that we see daily without surprise young ladies hanging enamoured over the pages of an Italian author, and calling attention to trivial commonplaces, such as, clothed in plain mother Englisii, would have been more repulsive to them than the distinctions of a theologian or the counsels of a great-grandmother. T'ley mistake for a pleasure yielded by the author what is in fact the pleasure attending their own success in mastering wliat was lately an insuperable difficulty." This explicitness of connection is the chief merit of De Quincey's paragraphs. He cannot be said to observe any other principle. He is carried into violations of all the other rules by his inveter- ate habit of digression. Often upon a mere casual suggestion he branches off into a digression of several pisges, sometimes even digressing from the subject of his first digression. The enormity of these offences is a good deal palliated by his being conscious that he is digressing, and his taking cure to let us know when he strikes off from the main subject and when he returns. Some of his I'apers are professedly "discursive," especially the 'Autobio- gra|)hic Sketches.' The following is an example of his way of apologising for a digression. It illustrates, at the same time, his capital excel- lence of explicit connection. In a paper professedly on Demos- thenes, he comes across Lord Brougham's Ilectorial Address at Glasgow, and at once, leaving Demosthenes, proceeds to discuss several things mentioned in the address. At the close of this excursus he says : — " I liave used my privilege of discursiveness to step aside from Demos- thenes to another subject, not otherwise connected with the Attic orator than, first, by the common reference of both subjects to ihetoric ; but, secnndly, by the accident of having been jointly discussed bj' Lord Brougham in a }iaper which (though now forgotten) obtained at the moment most undue celebrity." The apology, however, becomes the occasion of another offence. Before returning to Demosthenes, he throws in a few sentences of comment on the fact that in England the utterances of eminent public men on subjects beyond their ]>rovince and their acquire- ments are received with a deference not accorded to men " speaking under the known privilege of professional knowledge." Should these digressions, obviously breaches of strict method, be imitated or avoided 1 Tiie experienced writer will please him- self, and consult the effect that he intends to produce. But if he FIGURES OF SPEECH. 55 digresses after the model of Pe Quinoey, he may rest assured that he will be accused of atiectation, and will ofiend all that read for direct information concerning the subject in hand. Figures of Speech. De Quincey may be described as a very " tropical " writer (see Introduction p. 13). He uses comparatively few formal simili- tudes, but his pages are thickly strewn with " tropes," with meta- phors, personifications, synecdoches, and metonymies. His most characteristic and peculiar figure is personification. He makes a constant practice of applying predicates to names of inanimate things, and even to abstract nouns, as if they were names of living agents. This mannerism pervades all De Quincey's writings, and is so characteristic that we at once think of him when we find it appear- ing strongly in another writer. A few examples give but a faint impression compared with what we receive vhen we read his vol- umes and meet with an example in every other sentence. It is peculiarly striking in the case of abstract nouns — above all, when one abstraction is represented as acting upon another ; thus — " Here I had terminated tins chapter as at a natural pause, whicli, while shutting out for ever my eldest brother from the reader's sight and from my own, necessarily at the same moment worked a ittrmanent revolution in the cliaracter of my daily life. Two such changes, and botli so ahrupt, in- dicated imperiously the close of one era and the ojicning of another. The advantages, indeed, which my brother had over me in years, in physical activities of every kind, in decision of purpn.se, and in energy of will — all which advantages, besides, borrowed a ratification from an obscure sense, on my part, of duty as incident to what seemed an ap])ointnient of Providence — inevitably had controlled, and for years to come ivould have controlled, the free spontaneous movements of a dreamer like myself." This treatment of abstractions as living agents may be studied also in the following passage, concerning the civilising influence of Athens through her theatre : — " But if it were a vain and arrogant assumption to illuminate, as regarded those piimal trutlis which, like the stars, are hung aloft, and shine for ail alike, neither vain nor arrogant was it to ily her falcons at game almost as higb. If not life, yet light ; if not absolute birth, yetmoial regeneration and frui'lifying warmth — these were ipiickening forces which abundantly she was able to engraft upon trutbs else slumbering and inert. Not ati'ect- ing to teach the new, she could yet vivify the old. Those moral echoes, so solemn and pathetic, that lingered in the ear from her stately tragedies, all sjioke with the authoiity of voices from tbe grave. The great phantoms that crossed her stage, all pointed with shadowy fingers to sliattered dynas- ties and the ruins of once regal houses, Pelopidae or Labdacidre, as monu- ments of sufferings in exination of violated morals, or sometimes — which even more thrilliugly spoke to human sensibilities — of guilt too awlul to be 56 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. expiated. And in the midst of these appalling records, what is their ulti- mate solution ? From what key-note does Athenian Tragedy trace the ex- pansion of its own dark impassioned Tnusic? "sf^pis {hybris) — the spirit of outrage coupled with the spirit of insult and aiTogant self-assertion — in that temper lurks the original impulse towards wrong; and to that temper the Greek drama ada])ts its monitory legends. The doctrine of tlie Hebrew Scriptures as to vicarious retribution is at times discovered secretly moving through the scenic poetry of Athens. His own crime is seen hunting a man through five generations, and finding him finally in the persons of his innocent descendants." The tropical applying of abstractions to words expressing move- ment — see in the above jiassage "lurking," "moving," "hunting," &c. — is a prominent De Quinceyism. Ideas " lurk under " terms ; distinctions "move obscurely" in the minds of men ; revolutions " travel leisurely through their stages ; " " the guardianship of civilisation suddenly unfolds itself like a banner " over particular nations ; a danger " approaches and wheels away — threatens, but finally forbears to strike," &c. &c. The Sources of his Similitudes. — De Quincey's similitudes are drawn from an immense sphere of reading and observation. With- out pretending to be exhaustive, we may mention separately some of his principal fields. (i.) The characteristics of lower animals. He very often en- livens an adjective of quality by appen ling a comparison to some animal possessing the quality in an extreme form. We are con- stantly meeting such phrases as " restless as a hyena ; " " rare as a phoenix ; " " by original constitution strong as one of Menx's dray- horses ; " "Burke, a hunting leoparl, coupled with Schlosser, a German poodle." In owning himself baffled to find any illustra- tion of Eichter's activity of understanding, he shows how deliber- ately he ransacked his knowledge in pursuit of similitudes : — "What then is it that I claim ? Biiefly, an activity of unarison. To point out with deliberate — some would say with tedious — scrupuli)sity the re- sembling circumstances in the things compared, peculiarly suits his subtilising turn of mind. He never seems to be in a hurry, and does not aspire to hit off a similitude in a few pregnant words ; his characteristic is punctilious accuracy, regardless of expense in the matter of words. Out of numerous available examples may be quoted his com- parison of the distribution of men in Ceylon to the distribution of material in a peach : — FIGURES OF SPEECH. 59 "But straiifje indeed, where everything seems strange, is the arrange- ment of the Ceylonese teriitory and jienple. Take a ]ieach : what yon call the Hcsh of the peach, the sulistaiice wliirh yon eat, is massed orbicularly round a central stone — often as large as a pietty large strawberrj'. Now, in Ceylon the central distiict, answeiing to this piaeh-stone, constitutes a tierce little Lillipulian kingilom, quite indejiendent. through many centuries, of the lazy belt, the peach-fli-sh. which swathes and enfolds it, and peifectly ilistiiict by the character and origin of i's population. The peach-stone is called Kandy, and the people Kandyans." Seeing that he possessed an extiaordinary power of " elevating " by means of similitudes, it is natural to ask whether he is ever guilty of undue exaggeration. When this question is put con- cerning De Quiucey, attention tuins at once to his Opium Con- fessions and his 'Autobiographic Sketches.' In these works he describes his own feelings in metaphors taken from the language of 'he great o[)erati()ns of Nature, and draws elaborate comparisons between momentous epoclis in his own lite, and such imjiosing phenomena as tlie uncontrollable migrations of the bufialo herds. Are these similitudes extravagantly hyperbolical 1 Do they offend the reader as rising extravagantly above the dignity of the sub- ject 1 Much depends upon our point of view. If we view the autnbiographer unsympathetically, from the stand-point of our own personality — if we regard him simply as a unit among the millions of mankind, a speck upon "the great globe itself," — we shall undoubtedly be shocked at his venturing to compare revolutions within his own insigniticant being to revolutions affecting vast regions of the earth. But if we view him as he means that we should view him, sympathetically, from the stand-point of his personality, we shall not be shocked at the audacity of his similitudes — we shall not; consider them extravagant, or out of keeping with the feelings proj)er to the occasion. Epochs and incidents in our own life are more important to us, bulk more largely in our eyes, than epochs and incidents in the history of a nation. The violent death of a near and dear relative or friend touches us more profoundly than an earthquake at Lisbon, a massacre at Cawnpore, or a revolution in Paris. De Quincey says nothing that has not been felt more or less dimly by all human beings when he says, that on his entering Oxford the profound pidilic interest concerning the movements of Kajjolcon " a little divided with me the else monopolisiiif/ awe attached to tlie solemn act of launcliing myself iipon theivorld." Concerning the novelty or originality of his similitudes. He has never been accused of ])lagiarising. When he borrows a figure of sj)eech, he gives a formal acknowledgement ; at least he does so in some cases, and I have never seen any clandestine appropriations charged against him. "As I have never allowed myself," he says, " to covet any man's ox, nor his ass, nor any- 60 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. thing that is his, still less would it become a ]ihilosopher to covet other people's images or metaphors." And if he had, we might say, as he said of Coleridge's jilagiarisms, that such robbery would have been an honour to the person robbed. We may be sure, from the unique finish of his similitudes, that the stolen property would have improved in value under his hands. QUALITIES OP STYLE. Simplicity. De Quincey cannot be ranked among simple writers. His style has certain elements of simplicity, but, at the same time, it has, in a considerable degree, every element of abstruseness specified in a manual of composition. (i.) He makes an excessive use of Latinised, scholarly, and technical terms. Thus — "I nivself, who have never been a gieat wine-drinker, used to find that half-a-dozen glasses of wine advanlaqeously affected i\w faculties, brightened and intensified the conscioiis'iiess, and gave to the mind a feeling of being '' ponderibus librata suis. ' " Concerning his ' Logic of Political Economy,' Mr M'Culloch says — " It would have been more popular and successful had it been less scholastic. It is right to be logical, but not to be per[>et- ually obtruding logical forms and technicalities on the reader's attentiim." (2.) In his choice of subjects he prefers the recondite — offering, in this respect, a great contrast to Macaulay. In his Essays " addressed to the understanding as an insulated faculty," he runs after the most abstruse problems. Take the examples quoted in his preface to the first volume of his * Collected Works.' In the " Essenes," he defends a new speculation on a puzzling siibject with considerations familiar only to archaiulogic theologians. In his "Caesars," his purpose is not so much a condensed narrative as an elucidation of doubtful points. His "Essay on Cicero" deals with jjroblems of the same nature. And so with many others of his articles. The volume on ' Leaders in Literature,' Avherever it kee]>s faithful to its title, is taken up mainly with the "traditional errors affecting them." Even his ' Autobiographic Sketches ' turn aside upon various incidents to the pursuit of subtle speculations, such as disquisitions on the possible issues of an action, recondite analysis and conjecture of motives, consideration of delicate points of taste, nice investiga- tion of the sources of the influence of a poem or a picture, fiia 'Logic of Political Economy' deals with the most puzzling and abstruse principles of the science. SIMPLICITY. 61 (3.) So far from shirking — as is tlie manner of simple writers ■ — every call to modify a bare assertion, lie revels in nice dis- tinctions and scrupulous qualifications. This is a part of his exactness. (4.) We have already noticed his excessive use of abstract terms and forms of exi)ressi()n. What we exemplified as his favourite figure is not good for rnjiid perusal. When a transaction is represented as taking place, not between living agents, but be- tween abstract qualities of those agents, a mode of statement so unfamiliar is not to be comprehended without a considerable effort of thought. (5.) His general structure is not simple. Long periods, each embodying a flock of clauses, are abstruse reading. Even his explicitness of connection has not its full natural effect of mak- ing the effort of comprehension easy. He connects his statements with such exactness that the explicitness becomes a bui-den. Certnin things may be said in extenuation of this neglect of the ordinary means of simjilicity. I. With all his abstru.seness he does observe certain points of a simple style. (i.) He often repeats in simpler language what he has said with characteristic abstractncss of phrase. Thus, in the case of his cardinal distinction between the literature of knowledge and the literature of power — "In that great social orf^an which, collectively, we call literature, there may be (]i.siiii,<;nishe(l two separate otfices that iiiay bleiul, and often do so, hut capable, severally, of a sevei'e insulaiion, and naturally tilted for re- ciprocal repulsion. There is, lirst, the VilvYAUweo'i knowledge; and secondly, the literal uie of poiver. The function of the first is to teach ; the i'unctinn of the second is to move. The first is a rudder ; the second, an oar or a sail. " (2.) In dealing with dates and statistics, he has a commendable habit of devising helps to the reader's memory by means of familiar comi)arisons. Thus — "This was in 1644, tl^^ year of Marston Moor, and the penultimate year of the Parliamentary war." Again — ■ "Glasr^ow has as many thousands of inhabitants as there are clays in the year. (1 so state the population in order to assist the reader's memory.)" In like manner he helps us to remember the territorial extent and the population of Ceylon by a comparison with Ireland and Scotland. (3.) A characteristic figure with him is a figure taken from simi)le movements : — 62 THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. "This growth of intellect, outrunning the capacities of the physical structure;" "by night he succeeded in reaching the farther end of his duties;" "he walked conscientiously through the services of the day." " Extraordinary erudition, even though travelling into obscure and sterile fields, has its own peculiar interest. And about Dr Parr, moreover, there circled another and far different inten-st." It must, however, be admitted that such forms of expression, though intrinsically simple, are abstruse to the majority from not being familiar. II. His technical terms can often justify their existence on the plea that they give greater precision. Thus — "There was a prodigious ferment in the first half of the seventeenth centuiy. In the earlier bisection of the second half there was a general settling or deposition from this ferment." So in giving the dimensions of the famous Ceylon pillar — "Tiie pillar measures six feet by six — i.e., tliirty-six square feet — on the flat quadrangular tablet of its upper horizontal surface." Once more, writing of the impossibility of translating certain words by any single word, he says — "To take an image from the language of eclipses, the correspondence between the disk of the original word and its translated representative is, in thiiusands of instances, not annular ; the centres do not coincide ; the words overlap." In all these cases there is no denying that the expression is superlatively precise, although perhaps all the precision required under the circumstances might have been given in more familiar language. Such are some of the circumsta.nces that compensate his ab- strnseness. Imitators should see that they make equal compen- sation. The assertion may be hazarded that writers aiming at wide popularity are not safe to use so much abstruse language as De Quincey, whatever may be their powers of compensating. Clearness. Perspicuity, — To readers that find no difficulty in the abstruse- ness of his diction, De Quincey is tolerably persj)icuous. His virtues in this respect are summed up in the capital excellence of his paragraphs, explicitiiess of connection. If we find his diction easy, he is so scrupulous in keeping before us the geneial arrange- ment of his composition, as well as the bearing of particular state- ments, and even, as we have seen, of his numerous digressions, that we are seldom in danger of confusion. Exactness, however, rather than perspicuity, is his peculiar merit. On this he openly prides himself. In an article on Ceylon, CLEARNESS. 63 having said that a young officer, marching with a small body of men through the island, took Kandy in his route, he appends a footnote to the word " took " : — "This phrase is equivocal ; it hears two senses — the traveller's sense and the soldier's. But ^ce rarely make sueh errors in the use of words ; the error is original iu the government documents themselves." He certainly had reason to glory. None of our writers in general literature have shown themselves so scrupulously precise. His works are still the crowning delicacy for lovers of formal, punctilious exactness.^ Of this exactness we have already given several illustrations. We have illustrated the exactness of his comparisons, and the fact that he often purchases exactness at the price of simplicity. Ref- erence may also be made to the account of his opinions and the passage there quoted. His minuteness in modifying vague general expressions is par- ticularly worthy of notice, and, when not pushed to a pedantic extreme, worthy of imitation. He seldom says that a thing is remarkable without adding in what respects. A man's life is "notable in two points;" has "two separate claims upon our notice : " — "A man of original genius, shown to us as revolving through the leisurely stages of a biographical memoir, lavs open, to readers prepared for such, revelations, two separate theatres of interest ; one in liis personal career, the other iu his works and his intellectual development." In like manner, " that sanctity which settles on the memory of a great man, ought, upon a douhie luotive, to bo vigilantly sustained by his countrymen." When he predicates a superlative, he is ex- emplarily scrupulous to let us know what particulars it applies to. Aristotle's Rhetoric is " the best, as regards the primary purpose of the teacher ; thow/h ofhenvise, for elegance," &c. Jeremy Taylor and Sir T. Browne are " undoubtedly the richest, the most dazzling, and, with reference to their matter, the most captivating of all rhetoricians." When he puts the question, " Was C;esar, upon the whole, the greatest of men V he does not at once pronounce roundly "Yes" or "No." He first explains in what sense he means great : — "Was Caesar, upon the whole, the greatest of men? We restrict the question, of course, to the classes of men great in action; great by the extent ^ With a legitimate feeling of his own innocence, he often censures the lax practice of other writers. He is angry with Dr Johnson for not further explain- ing what he meant by calling Pope " tlie most correct of poets." " Correctness," he exclaims, "in what? Think of the admirable qualiti cations for settlin-:; the scale of such critical distinctions whicli that man must have had who turned out upon this vast world the single oracular word 'correctness' to shift for itself, and explain its own meaning to all generations ! " 64 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. of their influence over their social contemporaries ; great by throwing open avenues to extended powers that previously had been closed ; great by mak- ing obstacles once vast to become trivial ; or prizes that once were trivial to be glorified by expansion." As an example of this " pettifogulising " on the larger scale, we may quote his footnote on the maxim "i)e mortuis nil nisi bonum " : — " This famous canon of charity {Concerning the dead, let us have nothing but lohat is kind and favourable) has furnished an inevital)le occasion for much doubtful casuistry. The dead, as those pre-eminently unable to defend themselves, enjoy a natural privilege of indulgence amongst the generous and considerate ; but not to the extent which this sweeping maxim would proclaim, — since, on this principle, in cases innumerable, tenderness to the dead would become the ground of cruel injustice to the living : nay, the maxim would continually counterwork itself ; for too inexorable a forbear- ance with regard to one dead person would oftentimes effectually close the door to the vindication of another. In fact, neither history nor biography is able to move a step without infractions of this rule ; a rule emanating from the blind kindliness of grandmothers, who, whilst groping in the dark after one individual darling, forget the collateral or oblique results to others without end. These evils being perceived, equitable casuists began to revise the maxim, and in its new form it stood thus — 'Z)e morluis nil nisi verum' ( ' Concerning the dead, let us have notliing hut what is true '). Why, certainly, that is an undeniable right of the dead ; and nobody in his senses would plead for a small iMrcentage of falsehood. Yet, again, in that shape the maxim carries with it a disagreeable air of limiting the i ight to truth. Un- less it is meant to reserve a small allowance of fiction for the separate use of the living, why insist upon truth as peculiarly consecr;ited to the dead ? If all people, living and dead alike, have a right to the benefits of truth, why specify one class, as if in silent contradistinction to some other class, less eminently privileged in that resjiect ? To me it seems e\ident that the human mind has been long groping darkly after some sepiU'ate right of the dead in this respect, but which hitlierto it has not been able to bring into reconciliation with the known rights of the living. Some distinct privilege there should be, if only it could be sharply defined and limited, through which a special prerogative might be recognised as among the sanctities of the grave. " Strength. De Quincey's style, as the reader has doubtless remarked in preceding extracts, is not animated — meaning by animation the presentation of ideas in rapid succession — it stands, in fact, to use a phrase of his own, in " polar antithesis" to the animated style. His prevailing characteristic is elaborate stateliiiess. He finds the happiest exercise of his powers in sustained flights through the region of the sublime. I. Let us first exemplify his elevation of style as applied to the ordinary subjects of lofty composition, such as men of extra- ordinary powers, secret machinations, great natural phenomena, scenes of horror and confusion. STRENGTH. 65 Pie had not, like Carlyle, a formal gallery of historical heroes. He seldom lends his powers of style to glorifying the great men of history. His tendency was rather to discover and develop lurking objects of admiration or astonishment — the daring of Zebek Dorchi against the "mighty behemoth of Muscovy," the energetic hardi- hood of the slave that attempted to assassinate tlie Emperor Corn- modus, the erection of a statue to the slave yEsop, and suchlike. The following is his account of " Walking Ste^Ya^t," whom almost anybody else would have passed by as a harebiained enthusiast : — "His mind was a mirror of the sentient universe — the whole mighty vision that had fleeied before his ecialty consists in describing incidents of j)nrely personal interest in language suited to their magnitude as they apjiear m the eyts of the writer ; and the danger is, as we have hiid occasion to notice incidentally (p. 59), that readers be unsynij'athetic, and refuse to interest themselves in the writer's personal feelings. The sjiecialty is undoubtedly considerable, and so is the danger. That De Quincey succeeded was sho\\n by the popnhirity of his autobiographical works. 'i'he mere splendour of such a style as De Quincey's would, to readers prepared to enjoy it, overcome a great amount of distaste- fulness in the subject. But apart from the mechanical execution, he showed himself sensible of the chief danger in the treatment of such themes. That danger is, the intrusion of personal vanity. "Any exjjression of ])ersonal vanity, intruding upon impassioned records, is fatal to their efTect, as being incompatible with that absorption of spirit and that self-oblivion in which only deep passion originates, or can find a genial home." If the autobio- grapher stejis aside from the record of his feelings to compare them with the feelings of other ])eop!e, and to make out that he has been honoured, afflicted, or agitated above other people, every reader's self-coneiit takes the alarm, and forthwith scans the writer with cynical antipathy. De Quincey is on his guard against mak- ing such a blunder. He does not, as Mr Tennyson sometimes does, exhibit his sufferings in comparison with the suflerings of other men, and claim for the incidents of his life an affinity with the most tragical events incident to frail humanity. He represses every suggestion that he regards the events of his life as other than commonplace in the eye of an impartial observer. He is intent upon expounding them simply as they affected him ; con- scioas all the time tliat to other men the events of their life are of equal magnitude, and that he must not egotistically challenge comparison ; knowing, as an artist, that any expression of personal vanity, any appearance of pluming himself upon his experience, is fatal to the effect of the composition. We need not fill up our limited space with quotations from a book so well known as the Opium Confessions, and now published at sixpence. One only will be given, and that as having already been alluded to. The reader will notice that our author is wholly engrossed with his suffering and his sudden resolution, and endeavours only to make his case vividly intelligible; there is no trace of boastful comparison with the experience of other people :— 68 THOMAS DE QUINCEY. " But now, at last, came over me, from the mere excess of bodily suffering and mental disappointments, a frantic :ind rapturous reagenoy In the United States the case is well known, and many rimes has been described by travellers, of that furious instinct which, under a spi-ret call for saline variations of diet, drives all the tribes of buff:iIoes for thousands of miles to the common centre of the 'Salt-licks.' Under such a compulsion does the locust, under such a compulsion does the leemiur;, traverse its mysterious path. They are deaf to danger, deaf to the cry of batth', deaf to the trum- pets of death. Let the sea cross their path, let armies with artillery bar The road, even these terrific powers can arrest only by destroying ; and the most frightful abysses, up to the very last menace of engnlfiiient. up to the very instant of absorption, have no power to alter or retard the line of their inexorable advance. "Such an instinct it was, such a rapturous command — even so potent, and, alas! even so blind — that, under the whirl of tumnltuous indignation and of new-born hope, suddenly transtiu'ured my whole being. In the twinkling of an eye, I came to an adamantine resolution — not as if issuing from any act or any choice of my own, but as if ])ositively received from some dark oracular legislation extei'nal to myself." Patho!^ From the prevailing majesty of his diction, De Quincey's pathos is rarely of a homely order. In some of his papers, as in the "Military Nun," there are touching little strokes of half-humorous tenderness. But Ins most characteristic pathos is impassioned regret for departed noblene.ss ; in which case lie blends with his expressions of sorrnv a splendid glorification of the object, so that the mind is at once saddened and filled with ideas of sublimity. The impassioned ai)Ostroplies of the Opium Confessions are toler- ably well known. We may therefore choose an example from a composition less generally known — his paper on " Joan of Arc " : — "What is to be thought of her? What is lo be thought of the poor shep- herd girl from the hills and forests of Lorraine, thar — like the Hebrew shepherd boy from the hills and forests of Judea -rose suddenly out of the quiet, out of the satetv, out of the reli.^ious inspiration, rooted in deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the van of armies, and to the more peril- ous station at the rig' t hand of kings? . . . Pure, innocent, noble- hearted girl ! whom, from earliest youth, ever I believed in as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst the strongest pledges for thy truth, that never once — no, not ior a moment of weakness — didst thou revel in the vision of coronets and honour from man. Coronets for thee ! Oh no ! Honoui's, if they come when all is over, are for those that share thy blood. Dau<;hter of Doniremy, when the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt be sleep- ing the sleep of the dead. Call her, king of France, but she will not hear thee ! Cite her by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe of honour, but she will be found en contumace. Wlien the thunders of universal France, as even yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her country, thy ear, yoimg shepherd girl, will have been deaf for five centuries. To suffer and to die, that was thy portion in this life ; that was thy destiny ; and not for a moment was it hidden from thyself. Life, thou s ■ dst, is short ; and the sleep which is in tiie grave ia PATHOS — HUMOUK. 69 lon.gj. Let me use that life, so transitory, for the s^ilorj of those heavenly dreams destined to comfort the sleep which is so long. This pure creature — pure from everj' sns[)icion of even a visionary self-interest, even as she was pure in senses more ohvious — never once did this holy chihi, as re- garded herself, relax from her belief in the darkness that was travelling to meet her. She might not prefigure the veiy manner of her death ; she saw not in vision, perhaps, the aerial altitude of the fiery scaffold, the spectators without end on eveiy road pouting into Rouen as to a coronation, the surg- ing smoke, the volleying flames, the hostile faces all around, the pitying eye that lurked but here and there, until nature and imperishable truth broke loose from artificial restraints, — these might not be apparent through tlie mists of the hurrying future. But the voice that called her to death, that she heard for ever." As an example of a pathetic apostrophe, in a less touching but still impressive key, take his reminisceuce of Edward Irving, from one of his unreprinted papers : — " He )H'as the only man of our times who realised one's idea of Paul preach- ing at Atliens, or ing also the " Revolt of the Tartars," the "Templar's Dialogues," and the" Vision of Sudden Death," affords good examples of all the qualities of his style. HUMOUR — MELODY AND HARMONY. 71 It must not be supposed that De Quincey's humour consists solely in this [ilaying with dread ideas. His works, as we noticed in sketching his character, overflow with good-natured humour of every description. It is often of that strongly individual kind which only intimate sympathisers can tolerate ; strangers call it impertinent, flippant, affected. Take, for example, one of his playful apostrophes to historical names : — "Sam Parr ! I love you. I said so once before. Bnt pcrstringing, which was a favoured word of your own, was a no less favoured act. You also in your lifetime perstriuged many people, some of whom perstringed you, Sam, smartly in return." " I (sidd Augustus CiE-sar) found Rome built of brick ; but I left it built of marble. Well, my man, we reply, for a wondrously little chap, you did whiit in Westmoreland tliey call a good darroch (day's work) ; and if navvies had been wanted in those (lays, you should have had our vote to a certainty. But Caius Julius, even under such a limitation of the comparison, did a thing as much transcending tlii.s, " &c. We must also give a specimen of his humorous " slangy" out- rages on the dignity of criticism. The fi-Uowing occurs in his " Brief Apprait^al of Greek Literature," which has not been re- printed : — "But all this extent of obligntion amongst later poets of Greece to Homer serves le.ss to argue his opuhnce than their penury. And if, (juitting the one great blazing jewel, the Urim and Thuuniiim of the Iliad" [Achilles], "you descend to individual passages of poetic effect ; and if amongst these a iaiicy should seize you of asking for a spjcinien of tlie sublime in particular, what is it that you are ofl'ered by the critics? Nothing that we remember beyond one single passage, in which the Hod Nejitune is de.-cribed in a steeplechase, and ' makii.g play ' at a terrific pace. And certainly enough is exhibited of the old boy's hoofs, and their spanking qualities, to warrant our backing him against a railroad for a rumji and dozen ; but, after all, there is noihing to grow frisky about, as Longinus does, who gets up the steam of a blue-stocking enthusiasm, and boils us a regular gallop of ranting, in which, like the conceited snipe upon the Liverpool railroad, he thinks himself to run a match with Sampson ; and whilst ali'ecting to admire Homer, is manifestly squinting at the reader to see how far he admires his own flourish of admiration ; and, in the very agony of his trosty raptures, is quite at leisure to look out for a little private traflic of rapture on his own account. But it won't do ; this old critical posture-master (whom, if Aurelius hanged, surely he knew what he was about) may as well put up his rapture pipes, and (as Lear .says) ' not squiny " at us ; for let us ask Master Longinus, in what earthly re.spect do these great stiides of Ne])tune exceed .lack with his seven-league boots ? Let him answer that, if he can. We hold that •Jack has the advantage." Melody and Harmony, The melody of De Quincey's prose is pre-eminently rich and stately. He takes rank with Milton as one of our greatest mas- ters of stately cadence, as well as of sublime composition. If one may trust one's ear for a general impression, Milton's melody is 72 THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. sweeter and more varied ; but for ma,2;nificent effects, at least in prose, the palin must probably be assigned to De Quincey. In some of De Quincey's grandest passages the language can be com- pared only to the SAvell and crash of an orchestra. It need hardly be added that the harmony between his rhythm and his subject-matter is most striking in the sublime flights. Taste. De Quincey has been accused of crossing the bounds of good taste in certain respects. His digressions and footnotes have been objecte 1 to. His punctilious precision in the use of terms has been called pedantic. He has been censured for carrying to excess what we have described as his favourite figure. But es[)ecially he has been visited with severe condemnation for his offences in the pur- suit of comic effect — more particularly in the use of slang. A recent critic has gone the length of describing his " slangy" apos- trophes as " exquisite foolery." KINDS OF COMPOSITION. Description. Though so many of De Quincey's papers are descriptive, and are properly designated sketches, he has really left us very little de- tailed description of external nature. The reason is to be found in his character. His interest was almost wholly engrossed by man. The description that he excelled in was description of the human form, feelings, and manners. Where he does attempt the description of still life, notwithstand- ing his natural clearness and order, he is much inferior to Carlyle. He has one or two good points. He gives right and left in his pictures, and brings in such touches of jjrecision as — " standing on a different radius of my circular prospect, but at nearly the same distance : " — which is very significant, if not too scholastic. But if we take even such a studied piece as his description of the valley of Easedale, at the beginning of his " Kecollections of the Lakes," vol. ii., we miss the vividness of a master of the descriptive art. We receive no idea of such a fundamental fact as the size of the valley : we are, indeed, presented rather with the feelings and reflections of a poetically-minded spectator, than with the material aspects of the scene. Generally speaking, he describes nature only in its direct or figurative relations to man. A scene is interesting as "the very same spectacle, unaltered in a single feature, which once at the same hour was beheld by the legionary Ptoman from his embattled camp, or by the roving Briton in his ' wolf-skin vest' " A hamlet DESCRIPTION. 73 of seven cottages clusteriiitf tofjctlier round a lonely highland tarn, is interesting as suggesting seclusion from the endless tumults and angry passions of human society; the declining light of the after- noon, from its association with the perils and dangers of the night. Thus it happens that often, instead of describing he really expounds — ex])ounds the thoughts that arise from the general features of a scene by force of association or of simili- tude. We see this in his description of the English Lake scenery : — " But more even than Anne Riulclifle liad tlie landscape-painters, so many and so various, contributed to ilie gloriticatioii of the English Lake district; drawing out and impressing upon the lieart the sanctity of repose in its shy recesses — its Alpine granileur in such passes as those of Wastdaleiiead, Langdalehead, IJoirowdale, Kirkstone, Havvsdale, &c., together with the monastic peace which seems to brood over its peculiar form of pastoral life, so much nobler (as Wordsworth uotices) in its stern sim]ilicity and con- tinual conflict with danger hidden in the vast draperies of mist overshadow- ing the hills, and amongst the armies of snow and hail arrayed by fierce Diirtheru winters, than the eflVminate shepherd's life iu the classical Arcadia, or in the flowery pastures of Sii ily. " An indifferent observer of nature, De Quincey was minute and precise in his observation of human beings. Every face that he met he seems to h.ive watched with the vigilant attention of a Boswell. He has described the peisons of many of his contem- poraries. His most careful portraits are, jDerhaps, his Lake com- panions — ^Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, and Wilson. To these must be added his delineation of the notorious murderer Williams. The reader that desires to see how watchful an eye he had for the smallest particularities of shape, look, and bearing, will do well to read his prefatory note on Coleridge, vol. xi. It is in the descrii>tion of the feelings that he particularly excels. Not only is he deeply learned in the proper vocabulary of the feelings ; he had acquired by close study, and employs with exquisite skill, a ]trofound knowledge of the outward manifesta- tions of feeling in tone, feature, gesture, and conduct. In reading motives from what he would have called the dumb hieroglyphics of observed or recorded behaviour, and in tracing the succession of feelings that must have passed under given circumstances, he is one of our greatest masters. In this point more perhaps than in any other, he challenges the closest attention of the student. A good specimen of his ])o\ver is the passage in the Marr murder where he pictures Mary's feelings on her returning to the door and finding it locked:— " Mary rang, and at the same time very gently knocked. She had no fear of disturbing her master or mistress ; them she made sure of finding still up. Her anxiety was for the baby, who, being disturbed, might again 74 THOMAS DE QUINCE Y. rob her mistress of a night's rest ; and she well know that with three people all anxiously awaiting her return, and by tliis time, perlinps, seriously un- easy at her delay, tlie least audible whisper from herself would in a moment bring one of them to the door. Yet how is this ? To her astonishment — but witli the astonishment came creejiiiig over her an icy horror — no stir nor murmur was heard ascemling from the kitchen. At this moment came hack upon lier, with shuddering anguish, the indistinct image of the stranger in the loose dark coat whom she had seen stealing along under the shadowy lamplight, and too certainly watching her master's motions. Keenly she now reproached herself that under whatever stress of hurry she had not acquainted Mr Marr with the suspicious appearances. Poor girl ! she did not then know that, if this communication could have availed to put Marr upon his guard, it had reached him from another quarter ; so that her own omission, which had in reality arisen under luT hurry to execute hi'r master's commission, could not be charged with any bad conscipiences. Bnt all such reflections this way or tliat were swallowed up at this point in overmastering panic. Tliut her double summons could have been unnotice e hushed her breath that she might listen, occurred an incident of killing fear, that to her dying day would never cease to renew its echoes in her ear." Rarrative. De Quincey never attempted any continuous history. Taking his own division of history into Narrative, Scenical, and Philo- sophical, we see that he had special qualifications for the two last modes. But he wanted industry to take up a n:itional history and pursue it continuously through all its stages. What he might have done we can guess only from speculations recorded incident- ally in such pa})ers as his account of the C;Bsars, or of Cicero, or Charlemagne, and from the spectacular sketch of the Revolt of the Tartars. He wrote several short biographies. In these he has at least the negative merit of not chronicling unim[)ortant facts. They can hardly be called narratives ; there is in them as little as possible of anything that could be called narrative art. They are, properly speaking, discussions of perplexities that have EXPOSITION. 75 gathered about the story of the individual life, and descriptions of the various features of the character. In his most imaginative tales, such as the " Spanish Military Nun," tlie facts are altogether secondary to the [loetical embel- lishments — are but the bare cloth on which he works his many- coloured tapestry of pathos, humour, and soaring rhapsodies. Exjiositioru De Qaincey possessed some of the best qualities of an expositor, coupled with considerable defects. The great obstacle to his success in exposition was the want of simplicity. He was, as we have seen, too persistently scholastic for tlie ordinary reader, making an almost ostentatious use of logical forms and scientific technicalities. As his studious clearness is marred by an unnecessary use of unfamiliiir words and forms of expression, so others of his merits in exposition must be stated with some abatement. He was aware of the value of iterating a statement. " A man," he says, " who should content himself with a single condensed enunciation of a perplexed doctrine, would be a madman anil a felo de se, as respected his reliance upon that doctrine." Yet he considered iteration a departure " from the severities of abstract discussion." " In the senate, and for the same reason in a news- paper, it is a virtue to reiterate your meaning: tautology becimies a merit ; variation of the words, with a substantial identity of the sense and dilution of the truth, is oftentimes a necessity." But in a book, he held, repetition is rather a blemish, seeing that the reader may " return to the past page if anything in the present depends upon it." In this he was probably unpractical : doubtless the reader is saved much weariness by judicious re- petition, although of course less is needed in a book than in a speech. He knew also the value of stating the counter-proposition. In upholding the llicardian law that the value of a thing is deter- mined by the inion that Goldsmith was not an ill-used man, but might have lived comfortably had he been provident — an opinion resulting from strong unsentimental sense, coupled with a special eye for plain matters of fact. In his similitudes and otherwise, he often errs against exact congruity. Describing Dante's countenance, he places a "sullen and con- temptuous curve" upon the lip, a "haggard and wofnl stare" in the eye — suUenness and contempt upon one feature, and hope- less compassion upon another. Expounding the peculiarities of Milton's similes, and enlarging especially upon " the extreme re- moteness of the associations by which he acts upon the reader " — an expression, by the way, somewhat vague — he illustrates his meaning by saying that the poet "strikes the key-note, and exi)ects his hearers to make out the melody " — a feat that " every schoolboy" knows to be absurdly impossible, there being hundreds of difl'erent melodies starting from the same key-note. As regards the emotional side of the man. In his writings he appears Imoyant and hopeful, an optimist, looking on the bright side of things, eiathusiastic in his desire of progress, exultiugly sure of its fulfilment in these latter days, confident in his opinions, warm and open in his expressions of like and dislike ; 9, man " radiant," as Carlyle says, " with pepticity," without a trace of misgiving, despondency, or sourness. His sympathies go all with the vigorous and hopeful side of human nature ; he ignores the miseries and difficulties of this life. He would have us believe that human comfort is rapidly on the increase; that we are rapidly Hearing his millennium, where " employment is always plentiful, wages always high, food always cheap, and a large family is con- OPINIONS. 85 sidered not as an encumbrance but as a blessing." " From the oppressions of illiterate masters, and the sufferings of a degraded peasantry," his mind always turns with delight to such concep- tions as " the vast magnificent cities, the ports, the arsenals, the villas, the museums, the libraries, the marts filled with every article of comfort or luxury, the factories swarming with artisans, the Ai)ennines covered with rich cultivation up to their very sum- mits, the Po wafting the harvests of Loiubardy to the granaries of Venice, and carrying back the silks of Bengal and the furs of Siberia to the palaces of ]\Iilan." We spoke of De Quincey as a man of ever-active imagination, often engaged in transmuting the scenes and characters of his daily life into food for his aesthetic sensibilities. There does not seem to have been much of this day-dreaming turn in Macaulay. His energies w^ere engrossed with actualities, and in his over- powering love of movement he hurried eagerly from one thing to another, without staying to overlay them with superstructures of the imagination. In his study he did not lie dreaming on a rug before the fire with a book in his hand, subjecting every new idea to a mental chemistry of analysis and synthesis, and using it as a starting-point for speculations of his own, but sat in his chair or walked through the room reading, writing, and revising with his whole strength. The chief work of his imagination — using the word in a loose popular sense — was to picture the scenes and personages of ancient times and distant countries as they really were — the w^ork of what may be called the historical imagination. Of aesthetic imagination — imagination properly so called, imagin- ation as a creative or modifying faculty engaged in building up objects of Fine Art — he had little share. It was, one may say, pushed aside by other mental activities, and what work it did was done in a hurry. His warmest admirers cannot claim for him a high degree of aesthetic culture. He was too much occupied with facts to have time for it. His ' Lays of Ancient Rome ' are interesting rather historically than aesthetically. They afford us vivid glimpses of Roman life and Italian scenery. The inci- dents, the sayings, and the doings are of the garish order that captivates the inexperienced taste. Concerning his Opinions. In practical politics, as we have seen, Macaulay adhered to the Whigs ; and generally, in ques- tions not identified with party, showed himself a friend to reli- gious liberty, and to measures calculated to improve the condition of the poorer classes. While he supported the Reform Bill, he was averse to swee2)ing constitutional changes. The Radical party was his especial aversion. Theoretical politics he professed to regard with abhorrence. He 86 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. scofFed at " metaphysical " and "abstract" theories of government, and treated with scorn the idea that the lawgiver can derive any light from general principles of human nature. Doubtless he was prejudiced against political theorists, because the chief theorists in his day were Radicals. He himself theorised abundantly upon general principles of human nature — as, for example, in his ac- count of the Italian States in the essay on Machiavelli; and he theorised under the disalvantage of not knowing that he did theorise. In his historical verdicts, he is accused of allowing his judgment to be warped by party feeling. Perhaps too much has been made of this. His attachment to certain ideas was probably stronger than his attachment to p:irty. He loved liberty, justice, tolera- tion, and the fair fame of England, v/ith the warmth of an ardent nature : whoever did violence to these ideas, he hated as if a per- sonal enemy. He hated Laud as a bigot, and Charles as a tyrant. He admired Cromwell as the destroyer of a tyranny. He had not the heart to denounce Cromwell's usurpation, partly because the usurper used his power with moderation, and did not show a nar- row partiality for his own sect, but, above all, because during the Protectorate the name of England was dreaded and respected on the Continent. He was a most ardent patriot; to be patriotic was an unfailing passport to his favour : and such as had betrayed their country were subjected to a jealous valuation, and let off with scant acknowledgment of their virtues, and a thorough exposure of their crimes. He has left comparatively little literary criticism, and that little is not at all valuable. His deliverance against Pope's " correct- ness," in his Essay on Byron, is sometimes quoted. That his pungent analogies drive very wide of the mark, the student will see by reading the late Mr Couington's Essay on Pope, Oxford Essays, 1858. Though in no sense a man of science, he pronounces with his usual confidence on questions of philosophy. He eulogises modern science because it does not " disdain the humble office of minister- ing to the comforts of mankind." But he sees little good in the Inductive Method. It has, he says, " been practised ever since the beginning of the world by every human being." He overlooks the all-important fact that it has been practised only in simple cases, and in those imperfectly, and that its sole pretension is to make available for complicated problems principles that have been acted upon and established in cases of greater simplicity. The following is a sharp criticism from the pen of Sir George Cornewall Lewis, a deteimined enemy of superficial knowledge : — "I have read Macaulay's article on Lord Bacon in the 'Edinburgh Review.' It is written in his usual sparkling, lively, antithetical style, SENTENCES, 87 and the historical part of it is ii)terestinor ami fimnsing. His remarks on the ancient philosojiliy are lor the most part sliallovv and ignorant in the extreme ; his objectiims to the ntility of logic are tlie stale common [ilaces which all the enemies of accurate knowledge, and the eulogists of common- sense, practical men, &c. , have always been setting forth." ELEMENTS OF STYLE Vocahula7'y. There is little to remark upon in Macaulay's vocabulary except its copiousness. He has no eccentricities of diction like I)e Quincey or Carlyle ; he employs neither slang nor scholastic technicalities, and he never coins a new word, lie cannot be said to use an ex- cess of Latin words, and he is not a purist in the matter of Saxon. His command of expression was proportioned to the extraordi- nary compass of his memory. The copiousness appears not so much in the Shakspearian form of accumulating synonyms one upon another, as in a profuse way of repeating a thought in several different sentences. This is especially noticeable in the opening passages of some of his Essays. In his review of Southey, for example, he starts an opinion that the laureate's forte was senti- ment rather than reason, and luxuriates as if he never would have done with his voluptuous repetitions of the titillating doctrine. Sentences. Macaulay's is a style that may truly be called "artificial," from his excessive use of striking artifices of style— balanced sentences, abru})t transitions, and {)ointed figures of speech. The peculiarities of the mechanism of his style are expre.ssed in such general terms as "abrupt," "pointed," "oratorical." We shall not attempt to gather together separately all the elements that justify these epithets; but, following the order indicated in the Introduction, the various particulars that go to the making of the " abruptness " and the " point " will be noticed as we proceed. His sentences have the compact finish produced by the frequent occurrence of the periodic ariaugement. He is not uniformly periodic ; he often prefers a loose structure, and he very rarely has recourse to the forced inversions that we find occasionally in De Quincey. Yet there is a sufficient interspersion of jieriodic arrangements to produce an impression of firmness. Taken as a whole, his style is one of the last that we should call loose. We here speak of the periodic arrangement or structure as de- fined in our Introduction (p. 5). If we take the word periodic in its restricted sense, we cannot describe Macaiday as a composer in the |)eriodic style. The "periodic style," in its narrower sense, implies long and heavy-laden sentences, and MacauLiy's tendency is towards the short and light. 88 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. Occasionally he uses the long oratorical climactic period, consist- ing of a number of clauses in tlie same construction gradually in- creasing in length so as to form a climax. Thus — "The energy of Innocent the Thinl, the zeal of the younij orders of Francis and Dominic, ami tlie ferocity of the Crusaders, whom the priesthood let loose on an unwarlike population, crushed the Albigensian Churches." Again, in a sketch of the Reformation — "The study of tlie ancient writers, the raiiid development of the powers of the modern hingaiees the unprecedented activity wliich wns displayed in every department of literature, the political state of Europe, the vices of the Roman Court, the exactions of the Roman Chancery, the jealousy with which the wealth and privileges of the clergy were naturally regarded by laymen, the j-^alnusy with whit-h Itidian ascendancy was naturally regarded by men horn on our side of the Aljis— all these things gave to the teachers of the new theolngy an advantage which they perfectly understood how to use." In the last example there are two climaxes in sound. A large proportion of his sentences contain words and clauses in formal balance ; but the effect of this would not be so striking were it not that his composition contains so much antithesis iu other modes. The general predominance of antithesis we shall consider in its place under F'igures of Speech ; here we have to do properly with balanced forms, whether embodying antithesis or not. He makes considerable use of conventional balanced phrases for amplifying the roll of the sentence. Thus— "After full iuquiry, and impartial reflection ; " " men who have been tried by equally strong tem[)tations, and about whose lives we possess equally full informaticm ; " "no hidden causes to develop, no remote conse- quences to predict ; " " very pleasing images of paternal tenderness and filial duty ; " and so forth. The following is an example of balance without antithesis. It is valuable as an artificial mode of giving separate emphasis to two things involved in the same argument — a preventive against confusion : — "Now it does not appear to us to be the first object that people should always believe in the established religion, or be attached to the established government. A religion may be false. A government may be oppressive. And whatever sup|>()rt governments give to false religions, or religion to oppressive governments, we consider as a clear evil." While this mode of statement has undeniably its advantages, it is obviously too startling an artifice to be often employed. The two short sentences, interjected without connectives, are examples of one element of our author's abruptness. The following passages show balance combined with antithesis : — "Thus the successors of the old Cavaliers had turned demagogues; the successors of the old Roundheads had turned courtiers. Yet was it long PARAGRAPHS. 89 before their mutual animosity began to abate ; for it is the nature of parties to retain their ori>;iual enmities far more tirmly than their original principles. During many years, a generation of Whigs, wliom Sidney wouM have spurned as slaves, continued to wage deadly war with a generation of Tories whom JeHieys would ha\e hanged for Re{)ublicans." " With such feelings, botli paities looked into the chronicles of the middle ages. Both readily found whnt they sought ; and both obstinately refused to see anything but what they sought. The champions of tlie Stuarts could easily point out instances of oppression exercised on the subject. The de- fenders of the Roundheads could as easily produce instances of determined and successful resistance otleied to the Crown. The Tories quoted from ancient writings expressions almost as servile as were heard from the pulpit of Maiuwaring. The Whigs discovered expressions as bold and severe as any that resounded fronr the judgment-seat of Bradshaw. One set nf wiiters adduced numerous instances in wlucli kings had extorted money without the authority of Parliament. Another set cited cases in which the Parliament had resumed to itself the power of inflicting punishment on kings. Those who saw only one half of the evidence would have concluded that the Plan- tagcnets were as absolute as the Sultans of Turkey; those v\ho saw only the other half would have concluded that the Plantagenets had as little real power as the Doges of Venice ; and both conclusions would have been equally remote from the truth." It is a pretty general opinion among critics that Macaulay over- did this artifice of style. Even his apologist in the ' Edinburgh Review ' admitted that his sentences were sometimes " too curiously balanced." As he himself said of Tacitus — "He tells a fine story finely, but he cannot tell a plain story plainly. He stimulates till stimulants lose their power." The worst of it is that exact balance cannot long be kej^t up, as in the above passage, without a sacrifice of strict truth ; both sides are extremely exaggerated to make the antithesis more telling. Paragrajihs. I. The striking characteristic of ahri/ptnexs in Macaulay's style is caused chiefly by his peculiar ways of transition and connection. He does not conduct us from one statement to another with the deliberate formality of De Quincey. We are seldom left in doubt as to the bearing of his statements ; but we are often kept in sus- pense, and generally we ntust make out connections for ourselves without the help of explicit phrases. Let us, for example, study his way of introducing the general Iiro[)usition italicised in the middle of the following passage : — "The state of society in the Neapolitan dominions, and in some parts of the Ecclesiastical State, more nearly resembled that which existed in the gieat monarchies of Europe. But the governmetits of Lonibardy and Tus- cany, through all their revolutions, preserved a different character. A 2}eople ■when asHcmhlcd in a town is far more formidable to its rulers than when dis- persed over a wide extent of country. The most arbitrary of the Caisars found it necessary to feed and ilivert the inhabitants of their unwieldy capital at the expense of the provinces. The citizens of Madrid have more than once 90 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. besieged their sovei'eign in his own palane, and extorted from him the most hmniliating concessions. The Sultans have often been compelled to itro- pitiate the futiiius rabble of Constrintinople with tlie head of an unpojiular vizier. From the same cause there was a certain tinge of democracy in the monarchies and aristocracies of Northern Italy." The general proposition is introduced abruptly. We are expect- ing a statement about the governments of Lombardy and Tuscany, when, with a sudden jerk, the circle of our vision is widened, and we are presented with a general comparison between the govern- ment natuial to cities and the government natural to country districts. If we are familiar with the subject, and if our attention is fully awake, we at once have a dim perception of the writer's drift, and read on till it is distinctly enunciated. But undoubtedly the sudden transition has an abrupt effect. It has not the equable smoothness of De Quincey's transitions. The artifice is not unlike the common practice of beginning an essay with a statement that has no obvious connection with the title. We feel a momentary astonishment, and we are put upon our mettle to anticipate the application. To be sure, these unapplied generalities have not quite so much of an abrupt effect when they come upon us at the beginning. At the beginning our attention is supposed to be free. Nothing has gone before to preoccupy us except the title. At any point in the body of the essay our attention is supposed to be en- grossed with the particular subject of exposition ; and we start when the expected flow of the discourse is suddenly checked, and we are jerked upon a new line. So much for the abrupt introduction of generalities. Any page of Macaulay will furnish the reader with other examples. The first sentence of the above passage illustrates another mode of abrupt transition. The subject of tlie paragraph is the government of the States of Lombardy and Tuscany ; but the paragraph opens with a statement concerning the government of the Neapolitar dominions. Instead of laying down directly the state of society in Lombardy and Tuscany, he begins with an independent assertion about the state of society in the Neapolitan dominions. He has been describing Lombardy and Tuscany; and the reader is expected to understand, without any explicit connective, that the as.sertion about the Neapolitan States is meant as a contrast. The effect is very much the same as is produced by the sudden introduction of a generality. We presently see the drift of the statement, yet we experience a momentary astonishment. This mode of construction is much in favour with Macaulay. We are constantly being jerked away from the immediate subject, and jerked back with a "but." Thus, in a disquisition on the dramatists of the Restoration, he suddenly opens a new paragraph with the statement — "In the old drama there liad bi'en mnch that was reprehensible,'"' PARAGRAPHS. 91 This is not, as we mig:ht suppose, the openinsc of a digression on the old drama. He is merely tnking a step out of the subject that he may return with greater force. The next sentence is — " But whoever compares even the least decorous pla'rs of Fletclier with those contained in the volume before us, will see how much the ]irotli^acy wliich follows a period of overstrained austerity goes beyond the profligacy which precedes such a jieiiod. " In the same Essay a paragraph on the morality of Greek writings proceeds as follows : — "The immoral English writers of the seventeenth century are indeed much less excusable than those of Greece and Rome. But the worst English writings of the seventeenth century are decent, compared with much tliat h:is been bequeathed to us by Greece and Rome. Plato, we have little doubt, was ;i much better man than Sir George Etlierege. But Plato has written tilings at which Sir George Etlieiege would have shuddered." The eflfect of these sudden interruptions of continuity is still more aljru[)t when the contrasting statement is introduced, as it were, in fragment;;. Thus, towards the close of a flowing declama- tion on the beneficial influence of the Roiiiam Catholic Church in the dark ages, he staggers us by abruptly declai'ing — "The sixteenth century was comparatively a time of light." Of this fragmentary statement we can make nothing. We stumble on, bewildered, to the next : — "Yet even in the sixteenth century a considerable number of those who quitted liie old religion followed the first confident anil plausilile guide who offered himself, and were soon led into errors far more serious than tliey had renounced." Now we can guess at his drift, and pass lightly over a sentence of examples — "Thus Matthias and Kniperdoling, apostles of lust, robbery, and murder, were able for a time to rule great cities " — reaching the explicit statement of the idea in the following sentence : — " In a darker age .such false prophets might have founded empires ; and Christianity miglit have been di.'^torted into a cruel and licentious supersti- tion, more noxiuus not only than Popery, but even than Islauiism." Apart from the abruptness of these sudden and discontinuous changes of subject, the introduction of generalities, contrasting statements, qualifications, and suchlike, before we know formally their bearing upon the subject in hand, has something of the effect of the periodic structure upon a larger scale : we are, as in an expanded period, kept in suspense until the application is fully developed 92 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. 2. The rule of Parallel Construction is that " when several con- secutive sentences iterate or illustrate the same idea, they should, as far as possible, be formed alike." Macaulay observes this rule better perhaps than any of our popular writers. With his natural sense of perspicuous effect, he felt the advantage of keeping the principal subject prominent throughout all the sentences of a paragraph. He is far, indeed, from being perfect. Thus, in the passage recently quoted concerning the Italian States, the illustrations of the general principle invert the position of the leading subject. The general proposition is made concerning the people, and two of the illustrations are stated as if the subject of discourse had been the despots and their hardships. Consider, for instance, the first illustration : — "The most arbii^rary of the Csesars found it necessary to feed and divert the inhaliitants of their unwieldy capital at the expense of the pioviiices." Here the phrase "at the expense of the provinces" is improperly prominent: who paid the bill is a matter of no inijtortance; the point is that the inhabitants of Rome extorted the treat. Let us put it as follows : — " The inliabitants of the unwieldy capital cf the Caesars exac'ed expensive bounties of food and diversion from the most arbitrary of their masters." Our amendment may be less elegant, but, in that particular con- nection, it is more perspicuous. Though open to improvement, Macaulay undoubtedly owes not a little of his perspicuity to the observance of this rule. .Whole paragraphs might be quoted containing little or nothing to alter ; particularly when he exerts himself to give a sustained account of an institution or an individual — the Roman Catholic Church or Hyder Ali. When he does not give the leading place to the principal subject, he awards it to some subject introduceil in his peculiar way for purposes of contrast, and for the time occupying the foreground in the exposition. The uses of parallel structure may be studied to advantage in Macaulay. Usually but slight alterations are required, and no harm need be done to the variety of his expression. The follow- ing is another good case where some slight changes make an obvious improvement. The [passage occurs in an exposition of the tlieme that "No men occupy so sjilendid a [dace in history as those who have founded monarchies on the ruins of republican institutions " : — " In nations broken to the curb, in nations long accustomed to be trans- ferred from one tyrant to anoiher, a man without eminent qualities uiay easily gain supreme power. The defection of a troop of guards, a conspiracy of eunuchs, a popular tumult, might place an indolent senator or a lirutal PARAGKAPHS. 93 soldior on the throne of the Roman world. Similar revolutions have often occuried in the despotic States of Asia. But a community which has hoard tlie voice of truth and experienced the pleasures of liberty, in which the merits of statesmen and of systems are freely canvassed, in which obedience is paid not to persons but to laws, in which magistrates are regarded not as the lords but as the servants of the public, in whiith the excitement of party is a necessary of Lfe, in which political waifare is reduced to a system of tactics ; such a community is not easily reduced to servitude." The subject being the grandeur of men that have made themselves absolute over free institutions, it would obviously conduce to per- spicuity to make that subject prominent throughout, as it is in the first sentence. The conclusion of the last sentence drops the usurper altogether, and lets the pervading idea slip out of clear comprehension into vagueness. Let us try the effect, as regards clearness, of some such alterations as the following : — " In tlie Roman world an indolent senator or a brutal soldier might be placed on the imperial throne by the defection, &c. ; and similar revolutions have often occurred in the despotic States of Asia. But in a coniniuuity, &c. ; in a coniTnunity thus free and enlightened, only men of rare genius for command can hope to obtain the mastery." 3. The opening sentence in his paragraphs is not always a clue to the main subject. Of this we have had an example. One of his great arts of sur[)rise is to occupy the first sentences of the paragrajjh with circumstances leading us to expect the op- posite of what is really the main statement. Very often all the sentences up to the last are a preparation for the shock of aston- ishment administered at the close. We are told what ought to have happened, what was expected to happen, or what happened in some other age or country under similar circumstances, before we reach the gist of the paragraph, which is to tell us what really happened in some particular case. The following paragraph is constructed on this plan : — " No part of the system of the old Church had been more detested by the Reformeis tiian the honour j^aid to celibacy. They held that the doctrine of Rome on this subject liad been prophetically condemned by the apostle Paul as a doctrine of devils ; and they dwelt much on the crimes and scan- dals winch seemed to prove the justice of this awful denunciation. Luther had evinced his own opinion in the clearest manner, by esp'uising a nun. Some of the most illustrious bishops and jniests who had died by fire during the reign of Mary had left wives and children. Now, however, it began to be rumoured that the old monastic sjiiiit had reappeared in the Church of England ; that there was in high quarters a prejudice against married priests ; that even laymen, who called themselves Protestants, had made resolutions of celibacy which almost amounted to vows; nay, that a minister of the established religion had set up a nunnery, in which the psalms were chanted at mitlnight by a company of virgins dedicated to God." In such paragraphs, to indicate the drift at the beginning would alter the character of the composition. But in many cases the 94 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. delay of the main proposition is purposeless, and serves only to confuse. Thus, in a paragraph detailing the circumstances that made it impossible to transfer to the King of England the eccle- siastical supremacy of the Pope, he begins — "The immediate effect of the Reformation in England was by no means favourable to jiolitical libertv. The authority which had been exercised by the Popes was tiausfern-d almost entire to the King. Two formidalile powers which had often served to check each other were united in a sinrle despot. If the system on which the founders of tlie Ciiurch of Enithin it the seeds of its ovvu death." (And .so on through a long para- gra^)li.) We do not catch the drift of the paragraph until we reach the fourth sentence, and we do not know that it is the key to the sub- ject till we have read the whole. An ordinary reader, asked to summarise such a paragraph after a single perusal, would give but a poor account of it. He would naturally recall the first sentences, and comparing these with the tenor of the latter part of the para- graph, would almost to a certainty founder in the attempt to recon- cile them. It would have been far better to begin with the fourth sentence. This, though not a direct statement of the substance of the paragraph, states it by implication. The three first sentences should be thrown into their natural position of subordination. We should then have some such opening as follows : — "If the system on which the founders of the Church of England acted could have been permanent, the Reformation would have been in a political sense the greatest curse that ever fell on our country. At first, indeed, it seemed by no means favour.ilile to political liberty. The authority exercised by the Popes was transferred almost entire to the King. Two formidable powers that had often served to check each othei- were united in a single despot. P)at this union could not last ; the appearance of danger soon vanished. " His paragraphs often begin with one or more short sentences, recapitulating the jtrevious paragraph. It is a good deal a matter of taste; but probably most autltorities would pi-efer that these short sentences were prefixe I to the real substance of the paragraph in the form of clauses. Thus, take his account of the reaction of .public feeling after the warm reception of William and Mary : — " The ill-humour of the clergy and of the army could not but be noticed by the most heedless ; for the clergy and the army were distingttished by obvious i)eculiaii;ies of garb. ' Black coats and red coats,' said a vehement Whig in tiie House of Commons, 'are tlie curses of the nation.' But the discontent was not confined to the black coats and the red coats." Now the discontent among the other classes being the subject of the paragraph, many would prefer to have all the above condensed into one stuitence, in some such way as follows : — PARAGEAPHS. 95 " Although the ill-liumour of the clergy and the army could not fail to be most remarkc'l, di>tiiigiiislu'(l as they were from other rlnsscs by their pecu- liar garb ('black coats and red enats,' said a vehement ^^'idg in tlie House of Conunoiis, 'are tlio curses of the nation'), yet the clergy and the army were not the onl)' discontented classes.", 4. Dislocntion. — In delineating a character, or in giving an account of a town, lie would not seem to have bestowed much attention on the order of the circumstances in his statement. To take an example from the celebrated third clfepter of his History : — "Norwich was the cnpital of a large and fiuitful province. It was the residence of a bi.~hop and of a chapter. It was the chief seat of the chief manufacture of the realm. Some men distiu'^uished by learning and science had recently dwelt there ; and no place in the kingdom, exce[>t the cajiital and the universities, had more attrMctions for the curious. The lihrary, the mnsenni, the aviary, and tlie botanical garden of Sir Thomas Browne, was tliought l)y the Fellows of the Royal Society well worthy of a long pilgrimage. Norwich had also a court in miniature." (Here follows a picturesque account of the mansion of the Dukes of Norwich ; their state — the golden goblets, silver tongs and shovels, paintings, gems ; a picturesque desciip'tion of the festive reception of Charles 11. in 167 1 ; a similar description of the re- turn of the Duke of Norwich. After tliis the paragraph closes abruptly with the statement — ) "In the yenr 1693, the population of Norwich was found, by actual enu- meration, to be between twenty-eight and twenty-nine thousand souls. " Now here the statement that Norwich was the chief seat of the chief manufacture of the realm deserved to be made more promi- nent. Further, there is some confusion in thrusting it in between the bishop and the literary celebrities ; it has more natural affinity with the largeness and fruitfulness of the ])rovince, and, if it is use- ful to preserve continuity of ideas, should have been placed next to the first sentence. The number of the poptilation comes in very abruptly: seeing that he makes the population his first care in this chapter, and maintains it to be the most important fact, one is sttr- prised that he did not observe on the small scale what he considered advisable on the great scale. The paragraphs of this same third chapter are a very good study upon this point of arrangement, and alford scope for a great deal of casuistry. If we take the chapiter as a whole, the order and pro- portion of the statements are open to many objections. It may, indeed, be doubted whether there is in the chapter any principle either of order or of proportion. One statement seems to suggest another; at the end the reader feels that he has passed through a brilliant muddle ; whether he has obtained the complete Pisgah- 96 THOMAS BABINGTON MAC AULA Y. view promised him at the beginning, he cannot say; he is only sure that he has been highly entertained. 5. Unity. — His natural clearness taught him the propriety of confining each paragraph to a single subject. He is, however, open to considerable improvement, as students will have no diffi- culty in seeing when they take him rigidly to task. As regards irrelevant digressions, he is singularly correct. He is one of our most consecutive writers — perhaps among writers of popular litetature the most consecutive. This makes him a most profitable study for the distribution of matter into paragraphs: the general run of his composition being consecutive, slight altera- tions bring him into conformity with the most rigid rules. 6. Some of the peculiarities already commented on involve a breach of the sixth rule of the paragraph — namely, that subordinate statements should be kept in their proper 'place. His trick of taking an exi)lauatory statement out of the sentence, and stating it by itself as an independent fact, is a blemish of this kind. The abrupt defect is due to its unexpected and undue prominence. His short sentences often err against the same canon. A number of examples that should be comprised in one sentence receive a sentence each. A statement is repeated in two parts, and each part is honoured with a sei)arate sentence. These transgressions are seldom of a kind to cause confusion, and many people who like to be startled by such rattling firewoika will think the breach of the rule more admirable than the observ- ance. The student must julge for hhnself, and be fully persuaded in his own mind. If he take a paragraph of Macaulay's, he will find that by slight changes, sometimes liy a change of punctuation, he can moderate the abrupt statements into their fitting harmony with the main theme ; let him return to the pa.ssage after a time, compare his own version with the original, and judge as imprr- tially as he can which of the two has the most pleasing eff'ect. A wider consideration might be raised under this head. Does not Macaulay, in the exuberance of his powers of language and illustration, sometimes dwell longer than necessary on a simple topic ? Doubtless he does illuminate with superfluous profusion subjects that stand in no great need of illumination. The fluent abundance of examples and comparisons, while it puts his meaning beyond doubt, is often greater than the subject demands. Instance is piled upon instance and comparison upon comparison, where a bare statement would be en(^ugh to make the meaning clear to the smallest capacity. For example, in his Essay on Addison, he takes occasion to controvert Dr Johnson's account of Boileau's views concerning modern Latin. Boileau, he sa3\s, had not an " in- judicious contempt for modern Latin ; " he only " thought it prob- FIGURES OF SPEECH. 97 able that in the best modern Latin a writer of the Augustan age would detect ludicmus improprieties ; " and he w;is quite right in thinking so. This, one wouhl think, is tolerably clear without farther exjiansion. But J\Iacaulay goes on to cite no less than three parallel cases of the difficulty of mastering a foreign idiom. "What modern scholar can honestly declare that he sees the smallest imimrity in the style of Livy ? Yet is it nut ceitain that in the style of Livy, Polliii, whose ta^te liad been formed on the hanks of the Tiher, de- tected the inelegant idiom of the Po ? Has any niodfrn scholar nnderstooil Latin better than Frederic the Great undei-stood French? Yec is it not notorious that Frederic the Great, after reading, speaking, writing French, and nothing hut French, during more than half a century, alter unlearning his mother tongue in order to learn French, after living familiarly during many years with French associates, could not, to the last, cnmpose in Frenrh, ■without imminent risk of comiiiittnig some mistake which would have moved a smile in the literary circles of Paris?" In like manner, the works of Scott and Robertson contain Scot- ticisuis "at which a London apprentice would huigli." This excess of particularity is an error on the right side for popular success. The multiplication of instances may be over- done ; but if the language is fresh and varied, general readers Mill take a good deal before they complain of a surfeit. The language, however, must be fresh and varied; of tliis condition' a writer should make sure before trying to imitate Macau lay. If the student wishes to conform his style to the general judg- ment of critics, he must not imitate,Ma(aulay too absolutely; he must endeavour to be more varied in the forms of his sentences, to aim less frequently at contrasts, to study more carefully the placing of important Avords, and, above all, to make a more moderate use of abrupt transitions. Figtires of Speech. *■'■ Splendour of Imagery ^ — The eulogists of Macaulay's style rarely fail to include among its beauties great "splendour of imagery." Now, if under "imagery" maybe included compari- sons and contrasts of every description, as well as every kind of picturesque circumstances, he is no doubt fnlly entitled to the phrase. But if imagery means no more than pictorial similitudes, then, compared with such writers as Carlyle and Burke, he cannot be called a master of s])lendid imagery. In his earlier essays, he shows an obvious straining after in- genious conceits. His Essay on Milton is, as he said himself in later years, "overloaded with gaudy and ungraceful ornament." In essays written before he was thirty, there are prol)ably twice as many similes as in all his subsequent writings. His " Milton " G 98 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. contains as many as any six of his later essays. The History is studiously plain, so far at least as regards figurative ornament. Undoubtedly, his similitudes are often brilliantly ingenious, and expressed with his usual richness and felicity of language. But they are too artificial and gaudy finery to be worthy of serious imitation. Real Comparisons. — Out of the resources of his prodigious memory, Macaulay was able to elucidate a point much more viviilly than by figurative comparisons. Whatever he undertakes to depict, whether persons, places, or things, he is able to comjiare them at all points with other o'yects of the same kind ; he is able to make what are technically called "real comparisons" ; and thus conveys a livelier impression of their sa'ient attributes than if he compared tliem with objects having less in common. It is need- less to multiply examples of what may be found in almost every page. We take as specimens four from the first few pages of his History : — " Hengist and Horsa, Vortigern and Rowena, Arthur and Mordred, are mythical persons, wliose very existem e may be (pu'srioned, and wliose ad- veiituiTs ninst be rlassed witli tliose of Hercules and Konndus. " "What the Olj-mpian clnn-iot-course and tlie P\thian onicle were to all the Greek cities, tVoni Trebi/.oad to Marseilles, IJoiiie and her bishop were to all Christians of the Latin coininunion, from Calabriii to tlie Hebrides." "Tlie same atrocities which had attended the victory of the Saxon over the Celt were now, after the lapse of ages, suffered by the Saxon at the hand ol the Dane." "The Conrt of Ronen seeins to have been to the Court of Edward the Confessor wh;it tlie Court of Versailles long afterwards was to the Court of Charles the Second." Perhaps the most forcible of his comparisons are those intended to reverse a common prejud ce, or drive home an unfamiliar view. Thus, in the beginning of his History, he falls foul of English historians for expatiating with exultation on the power and splen- dour of our French kings : — "This," he says, " is as absurd as it would be in a Haytian negro of onr time to dwell with national pride on the greatness of Lewis the Fourteenth, and to speak of Blenlieim and Ramilies with patriotic regiet and siiaine. . . One of the ablest among them, indeei], attempted to win rlio hearts of his English subjects by espousiuii an Englisli jiiincess. But by many of his barons this nuuriage was regarded as a mairiage between a white planter and a quadroon girl would now be regarded in Viiginia." So, to illustrate how completely the popular element had been sub- verted in the monarchies of the Continent, he says — "The privileges of the States-General, of the States of Brittany, of the States of Burgundy, arc now matters of as little practical importance as the constitution of tlie Jewish Saidiedrim or of the Amphictyunic Council." Very often the comparisons are made in an abbreviated form, FIGURES OF SPEECH. 99 like the figure of synecdoche, in which an individual stands as the type of a species. Thus — "Scotsmen, whose dwellings and whose food were as wretched as those of the Icelanders of our time, wrote l^atin wrse uitli more than the dclic^acy of Vida, ancoveries in science whicli v\uuld have added to the renown of Galileo. Ireland could hoast of no Buchanan or Napier." In like manner, but, to speak technically, with more of the genuine Antoriomnsia, he says that hnd Bacon given to Literature the time that he gave to Law and Politics, "he would liave been not only the Moses but the Joshua of philosn]ihy." William could have gained the cordial support of the ^\'hi-■s only " by becom- ing the most factious man in his kingdom, a Skajteshury on the throne." Further, the greater number of his comparisons are not allega- tions of similarity. The characteristic Macaulayan com[)arison is more a contrast than a parallel — is, indeed, the form of secondary contrast specified as the contrast between the individunl members of a comprehensive chiss. Thus, take poets : he seems to have poets and their {)roductions ranged on a sca'e of merit ; and when a particular poet or production comes up, he pLices them above or below some other, or between some two. Machiavelli's " Man- dragola is superior to the best of Goldoni, and inferior only to the best of Moliere." Byron's letters from Italy "are less aft'ected than tliose of Pope and Walpole ; they have more matter in them than those of Cowper." Addison's Epistle to Lord Halifax "con- tains passages as good as the second-rate passages of Po^je, and would have added to the reputation of Parnell or Prior." Again, "We need not hesitate to admit that Addison has left us some compositions which do not rise above mediocrity, tsome heroic ])oems hardly equal to Parnell's, some criticism as snpertici.d as Dr Blair's, and a tragedy not very n)uch bet'er than Dr Johnson's." What he does with poets, he does in a greater or less degree with statesmen, generals, and all sorts and conditions of men that cross his narratives. Fifjures of Contrast. — We have already noticed incidentally our author's lavish use of antithesis. The contrasts are really more numerous than might be thought at first glance ; the bare frame- work is so overlaid and disguised by the extraordinary fulness of expression that many of them escape notice. When we look nar- rowly, we see that there is a constant play of antithesis. Not only is word set off against word, clause ag^iinst clause, and sentence against sentence. There are contra.its on a more extensive scale ; one group of sentences answers to another, and paragrai)hs are balanced against paragraphs. His pages are illuminated not only by little sparks of antithesis, but by broad flashes. 100 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. Enough has been given in illustration of the minuter play of antithesis. Pupils in comjiosition may be exercised in referring example.^ to the various modes of an itliesis, extreme and second- ary. Here it may not be superfluous to dwell at some length upon a few of our author's more prominent ways of manufacturing this stage-lightning in its ampler forms. He deals very largely in what is technically known as obverse statement; and gives it a peculiar abrupt point by denying the negative before aflfirming the positive. In explaining his abrupt transitions we called attention to something of this nature : we remarked on one example (p. 90), that before affirming that a certain form of government prevailed in one tract of country, he affirmed that it did not prevail in another. As another example, take the following passage from a disquisition on the style of Johnson : — "Mannerism is p:irdonab'.e, and is sometini s even agreeable, when tlie manner, tlion,::;]! vicious, is naUiral. Few readers, for example, would be willing to part wiih the mannerism of Miltou or ot Burke. Bat a manner- ism wliioh does not sit easy on the mannerist, which h:is l)eeii adopted on priuciide, and which can be. sustained only by constant effort, is always offensive. And such is the mannerism of Johnson." There is a go >d deal of antithetic pungency in thus taking the obverse first. We expect, from the general tone of his remarks, that he means to condemn the mannerism of Johnson, and we start with surprise when he abruptly declares that "maimerism is par- donable." "What!" fla hes across our mind, "Johnson's man- nerism ? " We eagerly read on, and are pleasingly reassured when we see the qualification — "when the manner, though vicious, is natural." Nor is this the only startle we leceive in the coui'se of the short paragraph ; there is another shock in reserve to keep our at.ention awake. We have been called away from some minute particulars about Johnson to this general principle, and the illus- tration of it from remote quarters. At the end of the paragraph we are brought aliruptly back to Johnson — "And such is the man- nerism of Johnson." j\Iany writers would have executed neither of these brilliant turns. Many would have begun by saying that the mannerism of Johnson is unpardonable, and would then have proceeded to state why it is so, and then, perhaps, by way of coun- ter-illustration, would have explained when mannerism is pardon- able. Macaulay's order of statement would thus have been in- verted, and the contrast, brought in by an equable transition, woul I have produced a much less flashing effect. A favourite and characteristic way of getting up an antithesis is, before narrating an event, to recount all the circumstances that concurred to make it different from what it ultimately proved to be. Thus, before narrating Frederick the Great's breach of faith FIGURES OF SPEECH. 101 with Maria Theresa, he describes the Pragmatic Sanction, and di- lates upon the considerations weighing witli lire various European Governments to raalj;e tliem observe what they had sti[)ulated. In like manner, he contrasts the general expectation before an event with the event itself. A good example of this is his account of the disbanding of Cromwell's veterans : — " The troops were now to be disbanded. Fifty thousand men, accustomed to the profession of arms, were at once thrown on tlie world ; and expeiieme seemed to warrant the belief that this cLan<:^e would produce much misery and crime, that the dischar^'ed veterans would be seen begging in every street, or would be driven by hunger to pillage. But no such result fol- lowed. In a few months there remained not a trace indicating that the most fonnidiible army in tiie world had just been abscn'bed into the mass of the community. The Royalists themselves confessed that in every depart- ment of honest industry, the discarded warriors ])rospered beyond other men ; that none was charged with any theft or robbery ; that nmie was heard to ask an alms ; and that, if a baker, a mason, or a waggoner attracted notice by his diligence and sobriety, he was in all probability one of Oliver's old soldiers." Another favourite device is in the course of his narrative to speculate what might have happened had the circumstances been different. He does this at every turning-point in English history. The struggle between Crown and Parliament might have come on early in tlie reign of Elizabeth, had not intestine quarrels been susi)ended in the face of a common danger. Had the administra- tion of James been able and splendid, the Parliament might have been suppressed, and the Crown become absolute. In like manner, ui)on the execution of Charles I., the fall of Pilchard Cromwell, the Restoration, and the Revolution, he pauses to imagine what might have been the course of events had they been directed by men of different character. The same vein of reflection is continually cropping up in all his narratives. Everywhere in his writings we can trace the dominating love of antithesis. His "celebrated third chapter" sustains the excite- ment of paradox through more than a hundred pages. In his His- tory the conflict of opposing parties affords him constant opportu- nities. What the one party thought of a particular measure is set off against what the other party thought ; " the temper of the Whigs" is contrasted with the "temper of the Tories." We are kept in the seat of judgment till we have heard the historian plead first on the one side, and then, still more convincingly, on the other. In the delineation of characters he finds greater scope for his favourite effect. In these pictures, the scintillations of antithesis are almost incessant. Antithesis is such an undeniable advantage in the statement of a fact, as a means of awakening us to its full import, that it is hard 102 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. to say in any particular case that Macaulay was at fault in using an antithetic form of statement. That he was not too pointed for the mass of readers was slmwn by their eagerness in running after his productions. That lie was too abrupt and startling for refined judges of composition is no less ap}>areiit by the unanimity of their condemnation. We have seen what the ' Edinburgh Review ' said about the "too curious balance" of his sentences: the same pre- sumably partial authority allows that he employed "unnecessary antithesis to express very simple propositions." The great objection to the frerpient use of antithesis, as already observed, is the danger of its betraying a writer into exaggerations, into deepening the shadow and raising the light. It is not denied that INIacaulay has a tendency to make slight sacrifices of truth to antithesis. The chapter on the state of society in 1685 has been convicted of many exaggerated statements by less dazzling anti- quarians. In his numerous comparisons between different men, he unquestionably tampers with the realities for the sake of enhancing the effect. He exaggerates the melancholy of Dante's character on the one hand, and the cheerfulness of Milton's on the other ; he puts too strongly the purely illustrative character of Dante's similes in contradistinction to the i)urely poetic or ornamental character of Milton's. So he probably overstates the shallowness and flippancy of Montesquieu, to heighten by contrast the solidity and stateliness of Maehiavelli. He seems to have been aware of his turn for exaggeration, and provides an excuse for it. A slightly over-coloured statement rouses lethargy, and does not leave u]ion the mind a false impression. The hurried reader remembers but faintly. The impression carried away from an exaggerated statement is probably nearer the truth than if the statement had been literally exact. Such doctrine is, to say the least of it, dangerous. There is, however, one case where antithetic exaggeration maybe useful. A skilful writing-master, when dealing with pupils that have a ten- dency to write a cramped hand, trains them to a more flowing jieu- manship by giving them liberty to make extravagant flourishes, and by encouraging them to exaggerate the final limbs of their ms and «s. On the same principle, a teacher of composition, dealing w^ith tame pupils, may train them to a bolder movement by allow- ing them to exaggerate freely for purposes of antithesis. Epigram. — Macaulay delights in epigrams. There is a dash of epigram in his unexj)ected transitions. His antithesis often takes an epigrammatic point. The arts of surprise being so predominant in his style, we may quote a few specimens of this the most piquant of those arts : — " Cranmer could vindicate himself from the charge of bciug a heretic only by arguments which made him out to be a umrderer. " FIGURES OF SPEECH. 103 "They valued a prayer or a ceremony, not on aeconnt of the comfort which it conveyed to themselves, lait on accmuit of the vexation which it gave to the IJoiiiidhcads ; and were so tar from beiiif; disposed to purchase union by concession, that they objected to concession, chieiiy because it tended to produce union." " One thing, and one thing only, couhl make Chailes dangerotrs — a violent death. . . . His subjects began to love his memory as heartily as they had hated his ])erson ; and posterity has estimated his character from hi.' death rather than from his life." "The great ruling principle of his [Eolicrt Walpole's] public conduct was indeed a love of peace, but not in the sense in which Archdeacon Coxe uses the piirase. The jieace which Walpcde sought was not the peace of the coun- try, but the peace of his own administration." " There can be no greater error than to imagine that the device of meeting the exigencies of the State by loans was imported into our Island by William the Til rd. From a peiiod of immemorial antiquity it had been the practice of every English Government to contract debts. What the Revolution in- troduced was the practice ot honestly paying them." "The town of Bedford ])robably contained more than one politician who, after contriving to raise an estate by seeking the Lord during the reign of the saints, cont lived to keep what he had got by persecuting the saints dur- ing the rei.L'u of the stnimjiets ; and more than one priest who, duiiiig re- ]ieated changes in the discipline and doctrines of the Church, had remained constant to nothing but the benelice. " "The Puritan hated bear- bai tin;,', not because it gave pain to the bear, but because it gave jilensure to the sjiectators. Indeed he generally con- trived to enjoy the double pleasure of tormenting both spectators and bear." The art of the following is essentially eiiigrammatic. The piquancy arises from the unexpected deliverance of such incon- gruities in the same sentence : — "They therefore gave the command to Lord Galway, an experienced veteran, a man who was in war what Moliere's doctors were in medicine, who thought it much more honourable to fail according to rule, than to succeed by innovatiiui, and wlio would have been very much asliamed of himself if he had taken Monjuich by means so strange as those which Peterborough emjdoyed. This great commander conducted the campaign of 1707 in the most scientific numner. On the ])lain of Almaiiza he en- countered the army of the Bourbons. He drew iqj Ms troops acconlinfi to the virth'ids prescribed by (he best writers, and in a few hoitrs lost eighteen thousand men, a hundred and twenty standards, all his baggage, and all his artillery." Climax. — A rhetorician of so decided a turn as ]\Taoaulay could not fail to use the rhetorician's greatest art. In every paragraph that rises above the ordinary level of feeling, we are conscious of being led on to a crowning demonstration. His arts of contrast already exemplified have the effect of making a climax. See particularly the quotations at pp. 93, loi. He seems to pause in the course of his narrative or his 104 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. argument, and go back for a race that will carry him sweepingly over the next obstacle. As another example of this climactic use of contrast, take the following about Burke. He is comparing Bacon and Burke as two men whose later writings are more ornamented than their earlier : — "In his 5'outh he wrote on the emotions produced by mountains and cascades, by the masterpieces of painting and sculpture, by the faces and necks of beautiful women, in the style of a parliamentary report. In his old at;e he discussed treaties and tariffs in the most fervid and brilliant laiiguat^^e of romance. It is strange that the ' Essay on the Sublime and Beuutilul,' and the ' Letter to a Noble Lord' should be the productions of cue man. But it is far nfore strange that the essay should have been a production of his youth and the letter of his old age." In stating, as his manner is, the various motives that impel different parties at particular conjunctures, he is careful to re- serve the most telling for the end, and artfully prepares the way for the final resolution. One of his most stu lied attempts at climax is the famous passage about Charles in the Essay on Milton. The only other Figure of Speech that is a marked ingredient in Macaulay's style is Hyperbole. An exaggerated turn of expression is one of the main elements of his animated manner : it will be fully discussed under the quality of Strength. QUALITIES OF STYLE. Siinpliciiy. Macaulay's composition is as far from being abstruse as printed matter cai) well be. One can trace in his writing a constant effort to make himself intelligible to the meanest capacity. He loves to dazzle and to argue, but above everything he is anxious to be understood. His ideal evidently is to turn a subject over on every side, to place it in all lights, and to address himself to every variety of prejudice and [ireoccupation in his audience. Yet his simi)licity is very different from the simplicity of such writers as Goldsmith and Paley. His is far from being a homely style. He does not studiously affect Saxon terms. Without being so scholastic and technical as De Quincey, he is not scrup- ulous about using words of Latin origin, and admits many terms that Dean Alford would have excluded from " the Queen's Eng- lish." Besides, although he were an Anglo-Saxon Pharisee in his choice of words, his turns of expression are not simple in the sense of being familiar and easy. His balanced sentences, abrupt tran- sitions, pointed antitheses, and climactic arrangement, elevate him SIMPLICITY. 105 out of the ranks of homely authors, and constitute him, as we have said, pre-eminently artiticial. What is it, then, that makes him so easily understood 1 For one thing, he seldom meddles with abstruse jtroblems. He does not, like De Quincey, delight to match his ingenuity against difficulties ; he does not choose a subject because it has baffled everybttian and Castilian banners in Saint Paul's, aud bad he found liiiuself, afier great aebieve- incnts, at the head of iifty thousand troojis, brave, well disei[ilined, and devotedly attached to his person, the English Parliament would soon have been nothing more than a name." In conveying an idea of the doctrines of the Church of England, instead of j)lunging into details and bald generalities, he hits them off boldly by stating the position of the Church of England rela- tively to other Churches, and enlivens the comparison with the names of representative men : — CLEAKNESS. 107 "To this day the constitution, the doctrines, and the services of the Church, retain the visil>le marks of the compromise from which she sprang. She occupies a middle position between the Ciiurclies of Rome and Geneva. Her doctrinal confessions and discourses, composed by Protestants, set forth principles of theology in which Calvin or Knox would have found scarcely a word to disa]iprove. Her prayers and thanksgivings, derived tiom the an- cient liturgies, are very generally such that Bishop Fisher or Cardinal Pole might have heartily joined in them. A controversialist who puts an Armin- ian sense on her articles and homilies, will be pronounced by candid men to be as unreasonable as a controveisialist who ilenies that the doctiine of baptismal regeneration can be discovered in lier liturgy." In stating quantity or dimension, he adds to the dry unremcm- berable ciphers a comparison with some similar case in the lump. His " third chapter " is much indebted to this art of relieving the tedious quotation of figures. Thus — "Cornwall and Wales at present yield annually near fifteen thousand tons of cojiper, worth near a million and a half sterling — that is to say, worth about twice as much as the animal produce of all English mines of all descriptions in the seventeenth century." In like manner he sub.stitutes familiar ways of reckoning time in place of the precise notation by dates. Thus, in describing the amalgamation of races after the Conquest, he says : — "The gieat-grandsons of those who had fought under William, and the great-grandsons of those who had fought under Harold, began to draw near to each other in friendship ; and the hrst ]ilearted ; they convey rather the conceit of knowledge than the reality ; they are sim[)le but vague. When we insist upon Macaulay's want of minute exactness, of all pretension to be called an accurate writer, it is but fair to notice that minute exactness, scrupulous accuracy, did not accord with the popular design of his works. He wrote for hurried readers, and more to amuse or interest than to instruct. He considered that "laborious research and minute investigation" belonged to authors by profession. We can excuse a want of exactness in a writer so anxious to make his language perspicu- STRENGTH. 109 ous. For his perspicuity he certainly deserves all praise ; and it is always right to point out that from this very quality his inexact- ness is easily discovered, and that he passes for shallow in many, quarters where a more shal'ow and at the same time more obscure writer would pass for profound. Particularly is he admirable for his profuseness of exemplification : he often supplies us with the means of correcting his own indistinct generalities. Even his comparisons to individuals and s[)ecific institutions, though vague, are seldom misleading : if they convey little substantial knowledge, they at least convey no error. For such comparisons it may al- ways be pleaded that they awaken curiosity, and set the inquirer on the right track ; if we desire fuller information, they direct us where to look for it. In a hasty review of the doctrines of the Church of England, it is perhaps best to incite the reader to com- pare them with the doctrines of other Churches ; and where limits preclude a full discussion, to furnish no mure detail than an index map. Strength. In the quality of strength, Macaulay offers a great and obvious contrast to De Quincey — the contrast between brilliant animation and stately pomp. His movement is more rapid and less dignified. He does not slowly evolve his jyeriods, " as under some genial in- stinct of incubation :" he never remits his efforts to dazzle; and in his most swelling cadences, he always seems to be perorating against an imaginary antagonist. Most of the elements of his pecu iar animation have already been noticed in other connections. We have already commenttd uiion the varied expression, the abrupt tiansitions, the constant play of antithesis, the perspicuous m tho I, and the lively array of concrete particulars. We have also noticed implicitly the ex- hilarating pace both of the language and of the thoughts, the rapidity of the rhythm — as determined by shortness of phrase, clause, and sentence — and the quick succession of the ideas. As regards his animated "olgectivity," or concreteness, there is one thing that might be brought out more fully — namely, his art of enlivening condensed narrative by pictorial, or at least concrete, circumlocutions. We quote as an example part of his account of Strafford : — " He had been one of the most distinguished members of the Opposition, and felt towards tliose whom he had deserted that peculiar ynalignity which has, in all agrs, been characteristic of apostates. He perfectly understood tlie feelings, tlie resources, and the policy of tlie party to wliicii be had lately belonged, and bad formed a vast and deeply meditated scheme which very Ticarly coii/oiindcd even the able tactics of fJic statesmen by whom the House of Comm&ns had been directed. , . . His object was to do fur En^daud all, 110 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. and more than all, that Hichelieu luas doing in. France ; to make Charles a monarch as absolute as avy on the Continent," &c. These frequent allusions to actual men and things would alone ' make the style vivacious ; tlie rapid succession of particulars is in itself exhilarating. He had a great command over the proper vocabulary of strength. He is very vehement in his epithets. Whole pages might be quoted that contain hardly a single adjective under the degree of enormous. One of his favourite themes is tlie corruption and profligacy of the Eestoration times. Whenever he has occasion to speak of this, he seems to fall into a passion, and uses the strongest language that propriety \>'i\\ allow. And this subject is only one out of maTiy that provoke his vehemem-e to an equal de .^ree. On every sub- ject, indeed, he expresses himself with confidence, and in language habitually bordering on the extreme. He has been much taken to task for the violence of his invective. Certainly, when he conceived a dislike to an individual or to an institution, he expressed his feelings without reserve. And he disliked a great many characters. He disliked all the English statesmen of the devolution period for their treachery and want of patriotism. Sir William Temple he pronounces to be " the most respectable " of them. Yet even Temple, he declares, " was not a man to his taste"; he " had not sufucient warmth and elevation of sentiment to deserve the name of a virtuous man." Judge Jeffreys he regards with the most absolute loathing, and holds up to con- tempt and hatrrd with an in'Ugnation as cordinl as if one of his own family had been among the bioody monster's many victims. Ccmcerning this part of the History, Mr Croker said in the ' Quar- terly Review' that the historian had almost realised Alexander Chalmers's ' Biographia Flagitiosa ; or, the Lives of Eminent Scoundrels.' " He hates," said Mr Croker further, " nearly every- body but Cromwell, William, Whig exiles, and Dissenting parsons." The last sneer goes perhaps too far ; the insinuatiim is hardly cor- rect : Macaulay was much more impartial in his hatred than this would imply. He hated some of the French Eeimblicans as heart- ily as he hated any of our English ancestors, whether Whig or Tory. He has written nothing stronger than his condemnation of Barr^re. Barrere "approached nearer than any person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the idea of consum- mate and universal depravity." This is very strong, but becomes stronger still as the historian proceeds. Here he makes Barrere an a[)|)roximation to unqualified depravity : a little further, and he drops the sligljt reservation. "All the other chiefs of j'aities had some good qualities, and Barrere had none." " Barrere had not a single virtue, nor even the semblance of one." Sometimes, in his contemptuous and derisive moods, he uses a STRENGTH. Ill studied meanness of expression that reminds us of the coarse familiarity of Swift. Thus, speaking of Boswell, he says — " If he had not been a great fool, he would never have been a great writer." So of Chatham, he says — " He was not invited to be- come a placeman, and he therefore stuck firmly to his old trade of patriot." This homely order of expression he often employs with great effect in the way of derisive refutation. Thus in ridiculing Southey's sentimental views on questions of political economy, he says — " We might ask how it can be said that there is no limit to the production of pa[)er money, when a man is hanged if he issues any in the name of another, and is forced to cash what he issues in his own V It is difficult to draw the line between such strength of language and the figure of speech known as hyperbole. The italicised ex- ])ressions in the following passages are unmistakably hyperbolical. Such expressions are very common in ]\Iacaulay, and, read along with the context, do not strike us as rising far above the general level of his language : — " The house of Bourbon was at the summit of liuman greatness. England had been outwitted, and i'ound herself in a situation at once degrading and perilous. The people of France, not presaijing the calamities by which they were destined to expiate the perfidy of their sovereign, wc7it mad with pride and delight. Ecery man looked as if a great estate had just been left him." "His ewn reflections, his own energy, were to supply the place of all Downing Street and Somerset House. . . . The ]ireservation of an em- pire from a formidable combination of foreign enemies, the construction of a government in all its parts, were accomplished by him, while every ship biought out bales of censure from his employers, and while the records of every consultatioa were filled with acrimonious minutes by colleagues." One of his modes of exaggeration is almost a mannerism. "Whatever he hap|iens to be engaged with is in some respect or other the most wonderful thing that ever existed. The following are his two most common forms for expressing such a conviction : — (i.) " No election ever took place under circumstances so favour- able to the Court." (2.) " Of all the many unpopular steps taken by the Government, the most unpopular was the publishing of this declaration." He is sometimes betrayed into making the same extreme state- ment about two different persons. Thus he says of Clarendon — " No man ever laboured so hard to make himself despicable and ludicrous ; " and it is notorious that he makes a like remark about Boswell. So much for the animation of Macaulay's manner. As regards his choice of subjects, it may be said in general that he is careful to take up only such as have an independent interest to the mass of English readers. Consequently his charms of style operate at 112 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. every advantage ; they have no dead weight to overcome ; they are reqnired only to support the natural interest of the matter. A History of England, if written with moderate spirit, would always have an attraction for every Englishman ; written with Macaulay's glowing patriotism and brilliant style, it proved more attractive than the most captivating novel. Similarly with his Essays. His article on Milton placed him at once in the first rank of popular favourites ; an extraordinary success resulting, not so much from the display of his literary knowledge, as from the happy application of his glittering rhetoric to a tlieme much can- vassed at the time. All his essays are upon men of first-rate in- terest : any particulars about Machiavelli, Byron, Johnson, Bacon, Pitt, or Frederick the Great, are eagerly read, if tliere is any appear- ance of novelty in the manner of relating them. Great men and great events — these are the favourite themes of Macaulay. When such matter is handled in such a manner, no wonder that the writer is the most popular author of his day. Animation is our author's distinguishing quality ; but often from the grandeur of his subject, and of the objects that he brings into comparison with it from all countries and from all times, his style takes a loftier tone. There is something more than animating in his easy manner of ranging through space and time. To be transported with such freedom from continent to continent, from dynasty to dynasty, and from age to age ; to pass judgment on the rival ]n'etensions of the foremost men and the most august emjjires that have appeared in the world, — this, unless we have a very frivolous conception of what we are doing, should elevate us to the highest heights of sublimity. Macaulay's abrui)t manner is sometimes antagonistic to the finest effects that might be accomplished by these ambitious surveys. But very often his eloquence is lofty and imposing. Thus, in advocating Avith wonted enthusiasm the apotheosis of Lord Clive : — " From Clive's second visit to India dates the political asceniiaiicy of the English in that country. His dexterity and rosulution realised, in the course of a few months, more tlian all the gor;^eous visions which had floated before the imagination of Dupleix. Suoli an extent of cultivated territory, sixch an amount of revenue, such a multitude of subjects, was never added to the dominion of Rome by the most successful pioconsul. Nor were such ■wealthy spoils ever borne under arches of triumph, down the Sacred Way, and througli the crowded Forum, to the tln-esliold of Tarjieian Jove. The fame of those who subdued Autiochus and Tigranes grows dim wiien com- pared with the splendour of tlie exploits which the young English adven- turer achieved at the head of an army not equal in numbers to one hall' of a Roman legion." Perhaps his noblest flight of sublimity is his eulogy of the PATHOS. 1 1 3 Eoiiian Catholic Government. This is in every way an admirable specimen of his style. There is just one break in the sustained grandeur of the i>assage. He should not have introduced the nu- merical com]tarison between the different creeds — a tag of statistics is very chilling and repulsive amidst the glowing flow of admi- ration. Macaulay's abundance of hard information often betrays him into violations of Art. Pathos. In Macaulay's style, as in his nature, there was more vigour than tenderness or delicacy. The abruptness and rapidity of tran- sition, and the unseasonable intrusion of hard matters of fact, which we have just referred to as being fatal to sustained sublimity, were no less fatal to sustained pathos. The following account of the death of Hampden illustrates the beauties and the faults of his pathetic narration : — " Hampden, with his head drooping, and his hands leaninsfon his horse's reck, moved feebly out of the battle. The mansion wliuli had been in- habited by liis f'atlier-in-law, and from which in his youth he had carried home his bride ElizaVieth, was in siii;ht. There still remains an afleeting tradition tliiit he looked for a moment towards that beloved house, and made an ett'ort to go thither to die. But tlie enemy lay in that direction. He turned his liorse towards Thame, where he arrived ahnost fainting with agony. The surgeons dressed his wounds. But there was no hope. The ]iain which he suti'ered was most excruciating. But he endured it with aihnirable firmness and resignation. His first care was for Ids country. He wrote from his bed several letters to Londi n concerning public affairs, and sent a hist pressing message to the headqnarters, recommending that the dispersed forces should be concentrated. AVhen his public duties were per- formed, he cahnly prepared himself to die. He was attended by a clergy- man of the Church of Entrland, with whom he had lived in habits of intimacy, and by the chaplain of the Buckinghamshire Green-coats, Dr Spurton, whom Baxter describes as a famous and excellent divine." The galloping short sentences in the middle of the passage are sadly out of harmony with the occasion, and nothing could be more uncongenial than the ostentatious scrap of antiquarian know- ledge foisted in at the end. His reflections on St Peter's Ad Vincula, where Monmouth was buried, are solemn and touching. He warns us that — " Death is there associated, not, as in Westminster Abbey and St Paul's, with genius and virtue, with public veneration, and with imperishable renown ; not, as in our humblest churches and clmrchyards, with everything that is most endearing in social and domestic charities, — but with whatever is darkest in huuuui nature and in human destiny, with the savage tiiuniph of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of bliglited fame," — and he then proceeds to record a long line of illustrious and un- fortunate dead. The art of such a passage is of the simplest H 114 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. order. To us it is affecting as a vivid representation of the lapse of time, and of tlie disasters tliat wait upon greatness ; but to the narrator it is little more than an exercise of historical memory. The Ludicrous. Macaulay's wit and humour are the wit and humour usually ascribed to " The True-Born Englishman." He has no command • either of biting insinuation or of delicate raillery. His laugh is hearty and confident ; unsparing contempt, open derision, broad and boisterous humour. Of each of the three qualities thus loosely expressed, we shall produce examples : his portrait of Archbishop Laud, for whom he " entertained a more unmitigated contempt than for any character in our history ; " a short extract from his review of Mitford's 'History of Greece'; and the begin- ning of his review of Nares's ' Life of Lord Burleigh ' : — " Bad as the Archbishop was, however, he was not a traitor within the statute. Nor was he by any means so formidable as to be a proper subject for a retrospective ordinance of the Le,c,'islature. His mind h:id not expan- sion enough to comprehend a great scheme, good or bad. His oppressive acts were not, like those of the Earl of Strafford, parts of an extensive sys- tem. They were the luxuries in which a mean and irritable disposition indulges itself from day to day, the excesses natural to a little mind in a great place. The severest punishment which the two Houses could have inflicted on him would have been to set him at liberty, and send him to Oxford. There he might have stayed, tortureil by his own diabolical temper — hungering for Puritans to pillory and mangle; plaguing the Cavaliers, for want of somebody else to plague, with liis peevishness atid alisurdity ; performing grimaces and antics in the Cathedral ; continuing that inconii>aral)le Diary, which we never see without forgetting the vices of his heart in the imbecility of his intellect, minuting down his dieams, counting the drops of blood which fell from his nose, watching the direction of the salt, and listening for the note of the screech-owls. Contemjjtuous mercy was the only vengeance which it became the Parliament to take on such a ridiculous old bigot." " The principal characteristic of this historian, the origin of his excellences and his defi-cts, is a love of singularity. He has no notion of going with a multitude to do either good or evil. An exjiloded opinion, or an unpopular person, has an irresistible charm for him. The same jierverseness may be traced in his diction. His style would never have been elegant, but it might at least have been manly and perspimious ; and nothing but the most elabor- ate care could possibly have made it so bad as it is." * ''The work of Dr Nares has filled us with astonishment similar to that which Captain Lemuel Gulliver felt when first he landed in Brobdingnag, and saw corn as liigh as the oaks in the New Forest, thimbles as large as buckets, and wrens of the bulk of turkeys. The whole book, and every component part of it, is on a i;igantic scale. 'J'lie title is as long as an ordinary preface ; the prefatory matter would furnish out an ordinary book ; and the book contains as much reading as an ordinary libi-ary. We cannot sum up the merits of the stupendous mass of paper which lies before us better than by saying that it consists of about two thousand closely MELODY, HARMONY, TASTE — DESCRIPTION. 115 printed quarto pnsjes, that it orrupies fiftren IniiKlrcd inches culnn iiie;isuie, and that it wei'_;bs sixty pounds avuirdnpois. Such a book might, before the deluge, liave been considered as liglir reading by Hilpa and Slialum. But, unliajipily, tlic life of man is now threescore years and ten ; and we cannot but think it somewhat unfair in Dr Nares to demand from us so large a portion of so short an existence. " Compaied with the hibour of rcailing through these volumes, fill other labour, the labour of thieves on the treadmill, of children in factories, of negroes in sugar-plantations, is an agreeable recreation," &c. His masterpieces of broad ridicule are found in his literary- reviews. He makes unmerciful lanie of Southey's Political Economy, Robert Montgomery's Puems, and Croker's edition of BoswelL Melody, Harmony, Taste. Macaulay's rhythm is fluent, rarely obstructed by harsh combina- tions, but it is not rich and musical like De Quincey's. Though often abrupt and always rapid, at times, as we have seen, it swells into more flowing cadences ; yet, at best, the melody of his sen- tences is the melody of a fluent and rapid speaker, not the musical roll of a writer whose ear takes engrossing delight in the luxuries of sound. Beyond amplifying the roll of his sentences when he rose to more stately declamations, he does not appear to have studied much the adaptation of sound to sense. His rhythm is well suited to the general vigour of his purposes; it is not much in harmony with quiet and delicate touches. Like De Quincey and Carlyle, he has certain salient manner- isms. The general voice of persons of cultivated taste is against his abruptness, his hj'perbolical turn of expression, and his need- less employment of antithesis. In these particulars he has trans- gressed the general rule of not carrying pungent and striking artifices to excess. Objection may also be taken to the unmiti- gated force of his derision and his humour. " There is too much horse-play in his raillery." KINDS OF COMPOSITION. Description. In one of his earlier essays, ]\Iacaulay lays down the opinion that mere descriptions of scenery are tiresome, and that still life needs associations with human feeling to make it interesting. This explains why his writings contain so few descriptions of natural scenery. When engaged on his History he made it a point of conscience to visit and describe from personal observation the scenes of the most memorable events. He visited the battle-tield of Sedgmoor, and 116 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAV. describes the general appearance of the country at the present day as seen from the cliurch-tower of Bridgewater. But the description is rather an analysis of the landsca[>e into its general elements, mingled with various historical reuiinisceiices, th:in a composition of those elements into a definite picture. In like manner he wrote on the spot a description of the Irish towns round which the Englishry rallied at the Revolution — Kenmare, Enniskillen, and Londonderry. In describing Kenmare, lie simply notes the gen- eral features of the district — " the mountains, the glens, the capes stretching far into the Atlantic, the crags on which the eagles build, the rivulets brawling down rocky passes, the lakes over- hung by groves, in which the wild deer find covert;" elements, certainly, of gorgeous scenery, but left to the reader to form into a coherent landscape. His description of Londonderry is perhaps his most vivid effort. Yet evun this is vague compared with the luminous word-painting of Carlyle. In his Essays he neglects many opportunities that a master of descriptive art would have eagerly seized. Had Carlyle written an essay on Lord Clive, he would have luxuriated in realising to English readers the novel aspects of Indian scenery; he would have put forth all his powers of imagery to convey a distinct impression of the shape and dimensions of the table-lands and the great valleys, and would have placed vividly before us the exact "lie" of the hill-fortresses and the magnificent cities of the plains, the appear- ance of the surrounding country, and, as far as language can express such things, even the variations of sky and atmosphere. But is not Macaulay always sjioken of as a great pictorial artist 1 True, he is so ; but in a very diHerent sense from such artists as Carlyle. The dictum quoted above is the key to his choice of subjects. What he delights to group and to delineate is not inanimate things, but the condition, actions, and productions of man. When he describes a town he is concerned less with its shape and its position relatively to the surrounding landscape, than with its political or commercial importance, the number and character of its jjopulation, or the splendour of its buildings. The description of Benares is a fair specimen of his manner : — " His first design was on Benares, a city which in wealth, population, dignity, and sanctit}', was among the foremost of Asia. It was commonly believed that lialf a million of human beings was crowded into that labyrinth of lofty alleys, rich with shrines, and minarets, and bahonies, and carved oriels to which the sacred apes clung by hundreds. The traveller could scarce make liis way through the press of holy mendicants, and not less holy bulls. The broad and stately flights of steps whicli descended from these owarming haunts to the bathing-places ahmg the Ganges, were worn every day by tlie footsteps of an innumerable multitude of worshippers. The schools and temples drew crowds of pious Hindoos from every province where the Braliniinical faith was known. . . . Commerce had as many pilgrims DESCRIPTION. 117 as relifnon. All along the shores of the venerable stream lay great fleets of vessels laden with riih merchandise. From the looms of Benares went forth the most delicate silks that adorned the balls "f St James's and of the Petit Trianon ; and in the bazaars the muslins of Bengal and the sabres of Oude were mingled with the jewels of Golconda and the shawls of Cashmere." There is thus no lack of pictorial matter in Maeaulay, The peculiarity is, that so much of it has a direct connection with human beings, and that though of a strongly objective turn of mind, he had no natural bent for the description of still life. It was vigorous, stirring movement — "the rush and the roar of prac- tical life " — that chiefly engaged his interest. He is nowhere more in his element than in describing a gorgeous pageant, or the de- monstrations of an excited mob. He enters with great zest into the reception of Charles I, at Norwich, the " Progress " of James II., the procession of William and Mary along the Strand, the ceremony of the coronation, and suchlike. He describes the accompanying festivities with gusto ; the illuminations, the bells ringing, the " conduits spouting wine," the " gutters running with ale." There is probably no prose passage that has been oftener committed to memory than his account of tbe trial of Hastings. One of his most vivid pictures is his detail of the prolonged excite- ment of London during the persecution and trial of the seven Bishops, and the burst of joy upon their acquittal: — "Sir Roger Langley answered 'Not guilty!' As the words passed his li])s, Halifax sprang up and waved his hat. At that signal, benches and galleries raised a shout. In a moment ten thousand persons, who crowded the great hall, replied with a still louder shout, wliich made the old oakeu roof crack ; and in another moment the innumerable throng without set up a third huzza, which was heard at Temple Bar. The boats which covered the Tiiames gave an answering cheer. A peal of gunpowder was heard on the water, and another, and another ; and so, in a few moments the glad tidings were flying past the Savoy and the Friars to London Bridge, and to the forest of masts below. As the news spread, streets and squares, market- places and coffee-houses, broke forth into acclamations. Yet were the acclamations less strange than the weeping. For the feelings of men had been wound up to such a point, that at length the stern English nature, so little used to outward signs of emotion, gave way, and tiiousauds sobbed aloud for very joy. Meanwhile, from the outskirts of the multitude, horse- men were sjiurring oft' to bear along all the great roads intelligence of the vic- tory of our Church and nation." As regards the method of such descriptions. They follow very much the same rules as the description of scenery. The describer should begin with a comprehensive view of his subject. In this respect Maeaulay is, as a rule, exemplary. In his description of Benares, for instance, the first sentence is a summary introduction to what follows. Further, the describer should observe a method in the details ; he should place together all that are connected, and should give them either in the direct or in the inverse order of 118 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. importnnce : he should, at least, consider what is the most himin ous method in the particular case. This Macaulay is not sufficiently careful to do: we saw (p. 95) that his order of statement is some- times confused. The description of the London rejoicings is of the nature of a description from the traveller's point of view. After all, the objective character of our author's style consists more in the pictorial touches brought in by a side wind than in the direct description of objects. We have already seen, that instead of making a plain statement of fact, he states some sug- gestive circumstance. Instead of saying that nobles and even princes were proud of a University degree, he says that they " were proud to receive from a University the priiilefje of wearing the doctoral scarlet.'^ Instead of saying that the Dutch would never incur the risk of an invasion, he says that " they would never incur the risk of seeing an invading army encamped bettveen Utrecht and Amsterdam." Such concrete circumstances are very instrumental in keeping up the pictorial air of his pages — impart- ing all the more splendour that, as a rule, they are loud and glar- ing, rather than quiet and significant. In the important process of describing the feelings, he displays his usual objectivity. He tells what people said, what they did, how they looked, what visions passed through their imaginations, and leaves the particularities of their state of feeling to be inferred from these material indications. Carlyle represents Johnson "with his great greedy heart and unspeakable chaos of thoughts ; stalk- ing mournful on this e nth, eagerly devouring what spiritual thing he could come at." Macaulay represents him with more of concrete circumstances : " ransacking his father's shelves," " devouring hundreds of pages," "treating the academical authorities with gross disrespect," standing "under the gate of Pembroke, haran- guing a circle of lads, over whom, in spite of his tattered gowr and dirty linen, his wit and audacity gave him an undisputed ascendancy." I^arrative. Whatever be the ultimate judgment of able critics regarding the merits of Macaulay's 'History of England,' viewed as a philoso- phical history or as a solid narrative of public events, there can be no doubt that it was and is an eminently popular work. It gained the popular favour not by slow degrees, but at a leap ; five editions, numbering in all abnut 18,000 copies, were sold in six months. In the following remarks, we cannot profess to analyse all the ingredients of his extraordinary charm for English readers, but only to observe how far he fulfils certain conditions of per- spicuous, instructive, and interesting narrative. NARRATIVE. 1 1 9 Tlie affairs of England during the reigns of James and William were considerably involved, and without skilful arrangement a his- tory of that period could hardly fail to be confused. Macaulay's exhibition of the movements of difFesent parties, the different aspects of things in the three parts of the kingdom, the compli- cated relations between James and William, and the intrigues oi different individuals, is managed with great perspicuity. He is exemplary in keeping prominent the main action and the main actor. After the death of Charles, our interest centres in James. We are eager to know how the change of monarch was received in London and through the country, and how James stood in his relations with France and Rome, with Scotland, and with the English clergy and the Dissenters. Macaulay follows the lead of this natural interest, and does not leave .James until he is fairly settled on the throne. James once established, our interest in him is for the time satisfied, and we desire to know the pro- ceedings of his balHed opponents. Accordingly, the historian transports us to the asylum of the Whig refugees on the Continent, describes them, and keeps their machinations in Holland, and their successive invasions of Biitain, prominent on the stage until the final collapse of their designs and the execution of their leaders. That chapter of the History ends with an account of the cruelties perpetrated on the aiders and abettors of the western insurrection under Monmouth. Then the scene changes to Ireland, the next interesting theatre of events. And so on : there were various critical junctures in the history of the Government, and the events leading to each are traced separately. The arrangement is so easy and natural, that one ahnost won- ders to see it alleged as a merit. But when we compare it with Hume's arrangement of the events of the same period, we see that even a historian of eminence may pursue a less luminous method. Hume relates, first, all that in his time was known of James's relations with France ; then the various particulars of his adminis- tration in Englaml, down to the insurrection of Monmouth; then the state of affairs in Scotland, including Argyle's invasion and the conduct of the Parliament. He goes upon the plan of taking up events in local departments, violating both the order of time and the order of deyiendence. Macaulay makes the government of James the connecting rod or trunk, taking up, one after another, the difficulties that successively besiege it, and, when necessary, stepping back to trace the paiticular difficulty on hand to its ori- ginal, without regard to locality. By grappling thus boldly with the complicacy of events, he renders his narrative more continuous, and avoids the error of making a wide separation between events that were closely connected or interdependent. He does not, like Hume, give the descent of Monmouth in one section, and the 120 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. descent of Argyle upon Scotland, an event prior in point of time, in another and subsequent section. James, after his accession, put off the meeting of the English Parliament till the more obsequious Parliament of Scotland should set a good example. Macaulay tells us at once James's motive for delaying the meeting of the English Parliament, and details what happened in Scotland during the fortnight of delay. In Hume's Histoiy, we do not hear of the proceedings instituted by the Scottish Parliament till after the execution of Argyle, by which time we are interested in another chain of events, and do not catch the influence of the proceedings in Scotland upon the proceedings in England. In the explanation of events, Macaulay is simple, perspicuous, and plausible, but does not strike us as being precisely correct. When he can produce a broad and obvious motive, he does not refine upon the proportionate influence of minor motives. Upon this tendency we remarked in treating of the intellectual qualities of his style. If it does not add to his scientific value, it adds at least to his popularity. As compared with the historians of last century — Hume, Gibbon, Robertson — Macaulay is su[)erior in the use of summaries, pro- spective and retrospective, to lielp our comprehension of details. As compared with Oarlyle, he is inferior in this respect. Before entering into the detail of an incident, he usually favours us with a general sketch of its nature, and its bearing on wh;it has been or what is about to be related ; but he is not so exemplary in pre- figuring the course of events on the larger scale. You can usually tell from the beginning of a paragraph the general substance of what is to follow ; you cannot always tell from the beginning of a chapter wliat may be the nature of its contents. The interest excited by the ' History of England ' on its first appearance was doubtless due partly to its controversial tone, anl its able support of a- popular side. With his hatred of abstract principles of government, it was not to be supposed that he would shape his narrative with a view to drawing from the facts any general political lessons, such as a caution against the evils of arbitrary government. What he wished to enforce was not an abstract lesson, but a strongly cherished opinion amounting briefly to this, that the government of the Stuarts was a curse to the country, and that the Revolution was a blessing. The History has been wittily called " The Whig Evangel," and we have seen it described as "An Epic Poem, of which King William is the Hero." To the one title it may be objected that our author shows the Whig statesmen of the Revolution to have been quite as discreditable as the Tory statesmen ; and to the other, that the work is more rhetorical and polemic than poetical NAERATIVE. 1 2 1 If we must have a caricature secondary title for the book, it would perhaps be more accurately described as "A Plea for the Glorious Memory," or "A short and easy Method with the IStuarts." One of Macaulay's pet theories, advocated with his usual en- thusiasm, was his view as to the proper metliod of writing history. He was eager for the admission of greater scenical interest. He loses no opportmiity of striking at " the dignity of history," which would confine the historian to "a detail of public occurrences — the operations of sieges — tlie changes of administrations — the treaties — the conspiracies — the rebellions." He would "intersperse the details which are the charm of historical romances." " The per- fect historian is he in whose work the character and sjiirit of an age is exhibited in miniature." " We should not have to look for the wars and votes of the Puritans in Clarendon, and for their phraseology in ' Old Mortality ' ; for one half of King James in Hume, and for the other half in the ' Fortunes of Niuel.' " Following out this theory, he gives to his work a strong tincture of personal interest. Even in the introductory suniiuary, when briefly sketching the Commonwealth and the Restoration, he does not forget his ideal; he brings up the "great characteristics of the age, the loyal enthusiasm of the brave English gentry, the fierce licentiousi w.'ss of the swearing, dicing, drunken reprobates, whose excesses disgraced the royal cause — the austerity of the Presby- terian Sabbaths in the city, the extravagance of the Independent preachers in the camp, the precise garb, the severe countenance, the petty scruples, the affected accent, the absurd names and phrases Mhich marked the Puritans," — and so on. When he enters on tlie reign of James II. he turns aside much more from public transac- tions to the details of private life. He resuscitates all the Court gossip of the period. He draws the character of every courtier of any note — rakes up their foibles, repeats their choicest strokes of wit. He read thousands of forgotten tracts, sermons, and satires in order to revive for us the personalities of the age. He devotes fifteen pages to the last illness and death of Charles II., and forty to the persecution and trial of the Seven Bishops. It may well be asked whether with all this infusion of personal interest he comes near his ideal of presenting a miniature of the age. If any one had objected to him that he shows us the life of the courtiers and the clergy rather tlian the life of the people, he would probably have pointer 1 to the jias.sage in his History where he despatches all that he has to say about the people in six pages, with the remark that so little is known concerning " those who held the ploughs, who tended the oxen, who toiled at the looms of Norwich, an i squared the Portland stone for St Paul's." The interest of personality is not the only interest in his nar- 122 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. rative. He has a natural tendency to give it a dramatic turn. When he introduces his personages, and explains ^vhat part they are jtlaying, he drops a hint that by-and-by they may be found playing a very difiVreut part. We have already seen how invet- erate is his habit of deferring an event till he has told us what ought to have happened or what might have happened. This bears a strong resemblance to dramatic plotting, and excites very much the same interest ; it is one of the best recognised means of raising expectation and keeping.it in suspense. In like manner he expatiates on all the preliminaries of an acticn till he has awakened in us something like tlie excitement of those that are watching and waiting for the event. Another great charm in ^facaulay's narrative is his hopeful tone, his hearty sym|)athy with progress, and confident belief in the fact. He has no faiih in the dogma that former times were better than the present ; he maintains with great variety of eloquence that mankind is steadily and rapidly moving forward. Sanguine minds are never weary of quoting the triuni'ihal opening of his History, and in particular his unhesitating declaration that "the history of our country during the last hundred and sixty years is eminently the history of physica', of moral, and of intellectual improvement. " For English readers this charm is increased by the historian's patriotism. The workl is advancing, and England is walking in the van. The "celebrated Third Chapter.^* — This chapter professes to give a picture of the social condition of " the England which Charles II. governed." It is interesting as an elaborate attempt to delineate a cross section of hi.story. Many of the details have been challenged. He has been accused of colouring facts to suit his i)rejudice in favour of modern cultivation, and to gratify his favourite passion for an tithesis. His accounts of the country squire and the country clergyman, of Ijuxton, of the suburbs of London, and of one or two other things, are said to be greatly exaggerated. He is charged with taking the lampoons of the time as documents of literal fidelity. Without pronouncing upon tlie merits of these charges, which the historian's defenders declare to be trivial, we may enter two objections to the chapter. (i.) The information is far from complete; it gives a very imperfect view of the state of society during the period chosen. A preference is given to flash and startling facts — to the material that is good for pictures and for dazzling paradoxes. Hardly any- thing is told us concerning the machinery of commerce, the machi- nery of government, or the system of ranks ; he says nothing EXPOSITION. 123 about that important social faot how far it was possible to pass from one station in life to another. The chapter remains a great achievement for a historian who was not also a special antiquarian, and who did not make even liistory his exclusive work ; but it is far from being a complete sketch of the period. (2.) There is, as already noticed, no principle of order — no endeavour to help the reader's memory. When we study the chapter, we can trace in the succession of subjects a certain train of association ; but there is slight .connection apparent upon the surface, and one's impression at the end of the whole is not a little confused. The population leads him to speak of the taxation as the only reliable nutans of getting at the i)opulation ; the taxation suggests the public expenditure; the public expenditure the public resources, agriculture and mining; agriculture leads to rent; rent to the country squire ; the squire to the clergyman, — and so on. On such ,a inetho !, or rather no-method, there could be nothing but intricacy and confusion. Exposition. We have already seen how far IMacaulay possesses the gifts of an able expositor. With his mastery of lani^uage, he can repeat his statements in great variety of forms. In his love of antithesis he often has recourse to the obverse form of re]ietition. He has an incomparable command of examples and illustrations. Thus, of all the four great arts of exposition he is a master. Yet he cannot rank as an expositor with such a writer as Paley. This is partly on account of a deduction that must l)e made from his powers of accurate exposition. He is too fond of extreme and " sensational " examples, and of easy concrete illustrations not restricted to the relevant point. But the great detraction is. that lie did not exhibit his powers, like Paley, on subjects of consider- able inherent difficulty. Macaulay's bent was naturally towards subjects of popular in- terest. Whatever he cared to master he could expound with the utmost clearness; but he had little inclination for hard abstract [)rinciples. His ' Notes on the Indian Penal Code ' are hardly an exception. He has to support the provisions of the Code by general considerations, and his statement of these considerations is very clear and very interesting. But the subject is not natu- rally dry and repulsive. There is no greater temptation to make the Notes abstruse than there is to make a critical essay abstruse. He makes them interesting and animated by exactly the same arts of style as give such interest and animation to his essays. He mixes up the statement of the general princiiiles with i)articu- lar cases : sometimes, without stating the principle at all, he merely suggests it by saying that the particular provision he is defending 124 THOMAS BABINGTON MAC AULA Y. rests on the same principle as some familiar rule of English law. He finds ample scope for antithesis in contrasting other Penal Codes with the various provisions of the Code recommended for India. Not even paradoxes are wanting ; he surprises us at times by finding unsuspected reasons for departing from some familiar practice — such as the practice of allowing in certain cases an option between fine and imprisonment. Persuasioiu Macaulay was a very popular orator. Soon after he entered Parliament, he spoke in the same debate with the late Lord Derby ; and Sir James Mackintosh describes their speeches as " two of the finest speeches ever spoken in Parliament." And many men still living confess that their prejudices against the Reform Bill of 1832 were first overcome by his eloquent and per- spicuous arguments. His speeches are not the only evidence of his debating power. He is essentially a C(mtroversialist : it is hardly an exaggeration to say that he never makes a statement without attempting to prove it. His history is a protracted argument in favour of the Revolution. The " Third Chapter " is a broadside against the superiority of former days. When he has no real oi)ponent to refute, no actual prejudice to overturn, he imagines all sorts of objections for the purpose of proving them to be groundless. His ' Notes on the Indian Penal Code ' are defences against supposed oiijections. His Essay on Warren Hastinij;:s is a plea under the disguise of a judicial summing up. Not that he argues solely from the love of argument ; always in earnest, he is eager to bring others round to his own views — ever bent upon convincing and converting. This determination to persuade is at the root of his efforts to make himself understood by everybody, already noticed as the main cause of his simplicity of style. He is not content to utter an opinion in a form intelligible from his own point of view : having constantly before him the desire to convince all classes of minds, he asks how the opinion will be regarded by people of opposite sentiments, and shapes his statement ac- cordingly. Knowledge of those addressed. — Macaulay 's audience may be said to have been the whole English-speaking worLI. That he knew many favourite maxims and ways of looking at things, is sufficiently proved by his wide popularity. He humoured in an especial manner two feelings that are said to be peculiarly English — love of the practical as opposed to the theoretical, and love of material i)rogress. He " distrusts all general theories of government ; " he was intensely inimical to PERSUASION. 125 James Mill's Essay on Government. He loves gradual changes ; he professes a horror of revolutions and a contempt for Eadicals. And while a stanch friend to intellectual and moral progress, he is far from seeing any danger to either in the multii)lication of physical comforts : he exults in the English " public credit fruitful of niiU'vels;" and one of the ideals that he "wishes from his soul" to see realised is, "employment always plentiful, wages always high, food always chenp, and a large family con- sidered not as an encumbrance, but as a blessing." Another thing that could not fail to endear him is his out- spoken pride of country. By the mixture of races in our island was formed, he says, " a people inferior to none existing in the world." Englishmen "were then, as they are still, a brave, jiroud, and high-spirited race, unaccustomed to defeat, to shame, or to servitude." Means of Persuasion.— (i.) Always perfectly master of the facts of his subject, he displays the highest rhetorical ingenuity in giving happy turns to opposing arguments. This was one great secret of his success in the lieforming Parliaments of 1831 and 1832. Hardly an argument could be advanced but he turned it against the S[)eaker — maintaining with all his ^paradoxical point that it w^as jirecisely the consideration that led him to advocate Reform. The Eeformers were taunted with a leaning to universal suM'rage. "Every argument,"' returns Macaulay, "which would induce me to oppose universal suffrage, induces me to support the plan which is now before us. I am ojiposed to universal suffrage because I think that it would produce a destructive revolution. 1 support this plan because I am sure that it is our best security against a revolution." Again, in answer to the hackneyed a[)peal to the wisdom of our ancestors, he says, "We talk of the wisdom of our ancestors ; and in one respect, at least, they were wiser than we. They legislated for their own times. They looked at the England which was before them. They did not think it necessary to give twice as many members to York as they gave to London, because York had been the capital of Britain in the time of Constantius Chlorus ; " and so on. Again, " It is precisely because our institutions are so good that we are not perfectly contented \\ itli them ; for they have educated us into a capacity for enjoying still better institutions." Once more — the promoters of the Anatomy Bill were accused of trying to make a law to benefit the ricli at the expense of the jioor. "Sir," said Macaulay, "the fact is the direct reversa This is a bill which tends especially to benefit the poor;" and he proceeded to prove his assertion by examples. Another of the devices of his fertile ingenuity and jierfect ac- 126 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. quaintance witli his subject is to accuse his Conservative opponents of holding dangerous principles. He carries the war into the enemy's country. " If," cries the Member for the University of Oxford — " If we pass this law, England will soon be a Republic. The Reformed House of Commons will, before it has sate ten years, depose the King and expel the Lords from their House." "Sir," returns Macaulay, "if my honourable friend could prove this, he would have succeeded in brincjing an argument for democracy infinitely stronger than any that is to be found'in the works of Paine. My honourable friend's proposition is in fact this: tliat our monarcliical and aristocratical institutions have no hold im the public mind of England ; that these insti- tutions are regarded with aversion by a decided maJDrity of the middle class. . . . Now, sir, if I were convinced that the great body of the mi' Idle class in England look with aversion on monarchy and aristocracy, I shouUl be forced, much against my will, to come to this conclusion, that monarchical and aristocratical institutions are nnsuited to my country." So when they opposed the disfranchisement of the Rotten Bor- oughs on the ground that it was s[)oliation of property, Macaulay warned them of the danger of such a principle : — " You bind up two very different things in the liope that they may stand together. Take heed that they do not fall together. You tell the people that it is as unjust to disfranchise a great lord's nomination borough as to confiscate his estate. Take heed that j'ou do not succeed in convincing weak and ignorant minds that there is no more injustice in confiscating his estate than in disfranchising his borough." (2.) His powers of draving a strong and vivid picture are of great service in helping him to make out his case. In arguing on the Reform Bill, he was at gieat pains to mike a powerful state- ment of the inequalities of the existing system of representation, and sketched with his best vigour the following strong example : — " If, sir, I wished to make such a foreigner clearly understand what I con- sider as the great defects of our system, I would conduct him tlirough that immense city which lies to the north of Great Russell Street and O.xfora Street — a city .superior in size and in pi)pulation to the capitals of many mighty kingdoms ; and jirobibly superior in opulence, intelligence, and general respectability to any city in the world. I would conduct him through that interminable sucfessiou of streets and squares, all consisting of well- built and well-furnished houses. I would make him observe the brilliancy of the shops, and the crowd of well ajqiointed equipages. I would show hi'n that magnificent circle of palaces wiiich surrounds the Regent's Park. I would teH him that the rental of this district was far greater tlian that of the whole kingdom of Scotland at the time of the Union. And then I would tell him that this was an unrepresented district." To take another well-known instance. In answer to the common objection that the Reform Bill would not be final, he argued that finality was not to be expected — that a changed state of society m ght again call for a change in the representation. His manner of putting the possibilities of cliange was characteristic : — PERSUASION. 127 "Another generation may find in the new representative system defects such as we find in the ohl reinesentiitive system. Civilisation will proceed. Wealth will increase. Industry and trade will find out new seats. The Siiine cause.-, which have turned so many villages into great towns, which have turned .so many thousunds of square miles of fir and heath into corn- fields and ondiards, will continue to operate. Who can say that a hundred years lience there may not be, on the shore of some desolate and silent bay in the Hebrides, another Liverpool with its docks and warehouses and endless forests of masts ? Who can say that ilie huge chimneys of anotlier Manchester may not rise in (lie wilds of Connemara ? For our children we do not pre- tend to legislate." (3.) His great powers of debate appear chiefly in refutation. He is critical rather than constructive. He takes delight in exposing false analogies and false generalities, and in showing that anticipa- tions are not warranted by previous experience. When he can put a doctrine upon the horns of a dilemma, he tosses it with great spirit. A good instance is his assault on primogeniture ; which also illustrates his habit of referring all generalities to the fundamental particulars, and his favourite man- ner of retorting that the facts prove exactly the opposite of what is asserted : — " It is evident that this theory, though intended to strengthen the foun- dations of Government, altogether unsettles them. Did the divine and im- mutable law of priniogi'nitnre admit females or exchide them? On either si/ppofiition, half the suvercigas (f Jitcrope must be usurpers, reiuning in de- fiance of the commands of lieaven, and might be justly disposse.ssed by the rightful heirs. These absurd doctrines received no countenance from the Old Testament; for in the Old Testament we read that the chosen people were blamed and punished for desiring a king, and that they were afterwards con)manded to withdraw their allegiance from him. Their whole history, far from favouring the notion that jirimogeniture is of divine institution, would rather seem to indicate that younger brothers arc under the special pro- tection of heaven. Isaac was not the eldest sun of Abraham, nor Jacob of Isaac, nor Judah of Jacob, nor David of Jesse, nor Solomon of David. In- deed, the order of seniority among children is seldom strictly regarded in countries where polygamy is practised." Examples, actual cases, which he lays down in such numbers, often have the effect of a proof, being the t.>tiial foundation of the general proposition. His illustration in the debate on the Anatomy Bill of the assertion that the poor suffer more by bad surgery than the rich, has something of this effect : — "Who suffers by the had state of the Kussian school of surgery? The Emjieror Nicholas ? By no means. The whole evil falls on the j)easantry. If the education of a surgeon should become very expensive, if the fees ot surgeons should consequently rise, if the supply of regular surgeons should diminish, the suflFerers would be, not the rich, but the poor in our country villages, who would again be left to mountebanks, and barbers, and old women, and cliarms, and quack medicines." Perhaps the best example of his irresistible use of facts to en- force his views is to be seen in his speeches on the proposals to 128 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. extend Copyright. He runs over the principal men in English literature, and examines how the law would have operated with them. Would it have induced Dr Johnson to labour more assidu- ously had he known that a bookseller, whose grandfather had pur- chased the copyright of his works from his residuary legatee Black Frank, would be in 1841 drawing large profits from the monopoly? Would it have induced him to give one more allegory, one more life of a poet, one more imitation of Juvenal 1 Very often his concrete comparisons are of the nature of argu- ments by analogy. His speech on the war with China, defending the Government from the charge of having brought on the war by mismanagement, abounds in comparisons of this sort. One of the charges was that the instructions sent to the superintendent were vague and meagre, to which MacauLiy replied that it would be pernicious meddling to attempt to direct in detail the action of a functionary fifteen thousand miles off: — "How indepfi is it possible that they should send him directions as to the details of his administration ? Consider in wliat a state the affairs of this country would be if they were to be conducted aecordin.c^ to directions i'ramed by the ablest statesman residing in Bengal. A despatch goes hence asking for instructions while London is illuminating for the peace of Amiens. The instructions arrive wlien the French army is encamped at Boulogne, and when the whole island is up in arms to repel invasion. A despatch is written asking for instructions wlien Buonaparte is at Elba. The instructions come when he is at the Tuilleries. A despatch is written asking for instructions when he is at the Tuilleries. The instructions come when he is at St Helena. It would lie just as impossible to govern India in London as to govern Eng- land at Calcutta." Here we have substantially an argument by analogy. Another of the charges brought against Government was, that they made no exertion to suppress the opium trade. This Macaulay met with the assertion that it was impossil)le, supporting his assertion with the following plausible parallel : — " In England we have a preventive service which costs us half a million a-year. AVe emidoy more than fifty cruisers to guard our coasts.. We have six thousand effective men whose business is to intercept snmgglers. And yet . . . the quantity of brandy which comes in without paying duty is known to he not less than six hundred thousand gallons a-year. Some people think that the quantity of tobacco whieli is imported clandestinely is as great as the quantity which goes through the custom-house. . . . And all this, observe, has been done in spite of the most effective preventive service that, I believe, ever existed in the world. . . . If we know any- thing about the Chinese government, we know this, that its coast-guard is neither trusty nor etiicient ; and we know that a coast-guard as trnsty and as efficient as our own would not be able to cut off communication between the merchant longing for silver and the smoker longing for his pipe." Any attempt at prevention, he says further, would turn the smugglers into pirates — PERSUASION. 129 " Flave not similar can';<>s repeatedly produceil siniilur effects ? Do we not kniw that the jealous vigilance with which Spain excluded the ships of other nations tVoia her transatlantic po.sscssious turned men wlio would otlierwise have been honest merchant ailventurers into huccaneers? The same causes which raised up one race of buccaneers in the Gulf of Mexico would soon have raised up another in the China sea." The same sense of the effect of dealing with pr(ipositi()ns in the concrete ap[iears in another form. He is anxious to reduce vague and general charges to a statement of facts, with a view to show the insufficiency of the real grounds. Thus he reduces Sir James Graliam's charge of Government maladministration in China to the following : — " The charge against them therefore is this, that they did not give such cojiious and [larticular directions as wei'e sufficient, in every possible emer- gt-ncy, for the guidance of a functionary who was fifteen thousand miles off." His ha' lit of immediately loi)king to the facts when a generality was asserted, often enabled him to point out that certain circum- stances had not been taken into account. Thus, in the Reform debate, a member argued that it was unjust to disfranchise Aid- borough, because the borough was as populous now as in the days of Edward III., when it was constituted an elective borough. True, replied Macaulay, but it ought to be much more populous now than then, if it would keep its position. Other towns have been grow- ing enormously, while Aldborough has been standing still. (4.) Though habitually gladiatorial, and always eager to con- vince by argument, he shows considerable tact in recommending his own view to the feelings of the persons addressed. Throughout his History he seeks favour foi- his own favourites by representing them as the champions of English glory. His account of Cromwell may be studied for artful touches of this sort. One of his most splendid [laragraphs is his account of the supremacy of England during the Protectorate. In equally enthusiastic terms he celebrates the superiority of Cromwell's pikemen : — "The banished Cavaliers felt an emotion of national pride when they saw a brigade of their countrymen, outiiumliered by foes and abandoned by allies, drive before it in headlong rout the finest infantry of Spain, and force a ])assage into a counterscarp which had just been pronounced impregnable by the ablest of the marshals of France." In the Reform debates his principal card was the fear of pro- voking the people to a revolution. Again and again he reiterated that there were grounds for such a fear. When Lord John Ptussell hinted at the danger of disai^pointing the expectations of the )iation, he was accused of threatening the House. Macaulay defended the obnoxious expression as quite " parliamentary and decorous," and repeated his own belief in the reality of the danger : — I 130 THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. "I, sir, do entertain great apprehension for the fate of my country. I do in my conscience believe that unless tlie plan proposed, or some similar plan, be speedily adopted, great and terrible calamities will befill us. En- tertaining this opinion, I think myself bound to state it, not as a threat, but as a reason. " In more than one of the debates he held up the Frencli Revolu- tion as a warning : — " The French nobles delayed too long any concession to the popular demands. Because they resisted reform in 1783, they had to resist revolu- tion in 1789. They would not endure Turgot, and they had to endure Robespierre. " In one speech he drew a vivid picture of the destruction of the nobility, and asked — ■ " Why were they scattered over the face of the earth, their titles abolished, their escutcheons defaced, their parks wasted, their palaces dismantled, their heritages given to strangers ? Because they had no sympathy with the peo]ile, no discernment of the signs of tlieir time ; because, in the jiride and narro\v!icss of their hearts, they called those whose warnings might have saved them theorists and speculators ; because they refused all coucession until the time had arrived when no couces.sion would avalL" CHAPTER III. THOMAS CARLYLE, 1795—1880. Thomas Caelyle, " The Censor of the Age," as he has been called, was an author by profession. In his famous petition on the Copyright Bill, written in 1839, he described himself as " a writer of books." He was born at Ecclefechan, in Dumfriesshire, on the 24th of December 1795. His father was a mason in that village, after- wards a peasant farmer near it ; sprung from strong and turbulent Borderers, himself respected for his uprightness, thoroughness of industry, and a certain sarcastic energy of speech. Of this cold, stern, upright father, whose " heart seemed as if walled in," and of his mother, to whom he was w;irmly attached, Carlyle has left a vivid picture in his ' Beminiscences.' Thomas, the eldest son of a family of nine, received the book education common to hundreds of young Scotchmen in the same condition of life. He was taught to read by his mother and the village schoolmaster; taught the rudiments of Latin by the minis- ter of his sect : then, after some training in the higher branches of learning at the burgh school of Annan, he proceeded to the Univer- sity of Edinburgh. When he entered the University, he had not quite completed his fifteenth year. Some of his ])rofessors were men of note : Dunbar, Professor of Greek; Leslie, Professor of Mathematics; Playfair, Professor of Natural Philosophy ; Thomas Brown, Professor of Logic and Moral Philosophy. Young Carlyle was a hard student. He ajjplied himself diligently to classics. To Brown's lectures he gave little attention, having a strong distaste for the analytic mode of dealing with mind, but the lectures in science he mastered thor- 132 THOMAS CARLYLE, ouglily : natural liking for the subject, or the professor's enthu- siasm, or accident, led him to make mathematics his principal study. He prosecuted the high mathematics for a long time with the greatest ardour. It was in his devotion to this subject that he first injured his naturally robust health. He became a mathemat- ical teacher, and at one time was a candidate for the Professorship of Astronomy in Glasgow. Traces of these studies appear not only in his figurative allusions, but in an amount of scientific method far beyond what is generally found in writers of high imagination. But it was outside the range of academical studies that the young student's principal and most profitable work lay. He was the oracle of a small band of youths, poor like himself, and ambi- tious of literary distinction, who read extensively in the Univer- sity library, and discussed what they read with free enthusiasm. All of them seem to have predicted future greatness for Carlyle. To one "foolish flattering" prediction of this kiufl he replied, in his nineteenth year, in the following characteristic strain : " Think not, because I talk thus, I am careless of literary f;une. Ko ; hea- ven knows that, ever since I have been able to form a wish, the wish of being known has been the foremost. Oh, Fortune ! thou that givest unto each his portion in this dirty planet, bestow (if it shall please thee) coronets, and crowns, and principalities, and purses, and pudding, and powers, upon the great and noble and fat ones of the earth. Grant me, that with a heart of independence, unyielding to thy favours and unbending to thy frowns, I may attain to literary fame ; and though starvation be my lot, I will smile that I have not been Lorn a king." Although, thirty years later, Carlyle wrote scornfully about " the goose goddess which they call Fame! Ach Gottf" — this youthful rhodomontade gives the key to the spirit of his future struggles. For nearly a quarter of a century he laboured till his ambition was attained ; but he lield to it with fierce energy, even when starva- tion stared him in the face ; and he obtained fame at last on his own terms, without any sacrifice of his independence. * It was to teaching that he first tiu-ned liimsclf for a livelihood. In the end of May 1814 he quitted Edinburgh, having gone through the usual curriculum in arts ; and, by competitive trial at Dum- fries, got the teachership of mathematics in the burgh school of Annan, where, as we have mentioned, he had himself been a scholar. After two years' service in that post, he was, through the recom- mendation of his Edinburgh professors, offered the teachership of mathematics and classics in the burgh school of Kirkcaldy, and held that appointment also for about two years. In Kirkcaldy he made the intimate acquaintance of Edward Irving, who, like him- self, had been a schoolboy at Annan, and who for some years LIFE. 133 was master of a " venture school " in Kirkcaldy, known as " The Academy." The time spent by Carlyle in schoolmastering, and its probable influence on his habits of thought and feeling, have been a little exaggerated. He never liked it, and was barely three-and-twenty when he gave it up. In the end of 1818 he left Kirkcaldy, and went across to Edinburgh, with no definite prospects, but with a vague notion of trying to live by literature. He spent some three years in Edinburgh, mainly in what he would call " stony-ground husbandries," the three gloomiest years of his life — out of health, troubled in mind, finding comfort only in a "sacred defiance" of death as the worst that could happen. His only known literary work during those years was the composition of certain articles for Brewster's ' Edinburgh Encyclopedia.' During this period also he resumed his rea'ling in the University library; extended his know- ledge of Italian, Spanish, and especially German ; and devoured extraordinary numbers of books on history, poetry (in a moderate degree), romance, and general int'oi-niation as to all countries, and all things of popular interest. In 1822 he became tutor to Charles Buller, an appointment that relieved him from a good deal of dis- tasteful drudgery, and left him time for literary jjlans. In 1823 he sent to the 'London Magazine' the first instalment of his 'Life of Schiller.' In 1824 his publications were numerous; he finished his ' Life of Schiller,' and produced a translation of * Legendre's Geometry,' with an original Essay on Proportion, as well as his first notable work, the translation of ' Wilhelm Meister.' During the next two years, having broken off his connection with the Bullers, he laboured at translations from the German, "honest journey-work, not of his own suggesting or desiring." In 1825 his Schiller appeared in a separate form. The most memorable incident in those years was Carlyle's ac- quaintance with the remarkable woman who afterwards became his wife, Miss Jane Welsh, only daughter of Dr Welsh, a lineal descendant of John Knox. The marriage took place in 1826, after three years of intellectual courtship, and did not prove a happy one for the lady. A brilliant, clever, sprightly woman, made much of by her father as an only child, and humoured by him in her love for literature, she despised commonplace suitors of her own degree, and was attracted by the force of Carlyle's unconventional talk in spite of his rugged exterior. She " married for ambition," as she afterwards said, and her discernment of Carlyle's power was ultim- ately fully justified, but she had not calculated rightly the extent of the bitter sacrifices she had to make for the companionshi}\ That her life Mas not so wholly joyless as might ajjpear from her published letters, we may well imagine ; but as the household slave of a man of genius absorbed in his work, habitually gloomy 134 THOMAS CAKLYLE. and irritable, taking all her sacrifices as matters of ordinary duty, never recognising them as sacrifices, ruthlessly rebuking her weak- nesses, and making no acknowledgment of her ministrations to his comfort, her lot was far from cheerful. She did not and could not understand before actual experience the meaning of "marrying for ambition" a man with an ambition so hungry and ruthless as Carlyle's. For some two years after his marriage Carlyle lived in Edin- burgh, drudging at literature and casting about for some settled employment, such as a professorship. Then, in 1828, much against Mrs CJarlyle's wish, finding neither pleasure nor profit in Edin- burgh society, he retired to Craigenputtoch, a small property belonging to his wife, situated about a day's journey east of his native Ecclefechan. At Craigenputtoch he lived about six years. His manner of life he described in an often-quoted letter to Goethe, with whom he had been brought into correspondence by his trans- lation of ' Wilhelm iNIeister.' He had retired to his own "bit of earth" to "secure the independence through which he could be enabled to remain true to himself." "Six miles from any one likely to visit him," " in tlie loveliest nook of Scotland," he yet kept himself informed of what was passing in the literary world; he had "piled upon the table of his little Horary a whole cartload of French, German, American, and English journals and periodicals." "True to himself" Carlyle undoubtedly was then as at all times, setting his face with ferocious resolution against imitation of any style or vein of thought or sentiment that could be called popular, not merely determined to deliver his message in his own way, but as yet undecided w hat his message was to be, and searching for one with desperate sighing and groaning. Jeffrey took a warm inter- est in himself and his wife, and implored, scolded, and argued in a vain endeavour to persuade him to submit to commonplace taste. Carlyle would write in his own way and on his own themes or not* at all. The consequence was, that all through those years he was in constant difficulties with publishers and editors, and in the direst pecuniary straits, all the more that he gave generous help to a younger brother, and refused to touch a penny of his wife's income as long as her mother was alive. The articles reprinted in the three first volumes of his ' ^Hscellanies ' were written at this time. Several literary plans had to be abandoned because no publisher would take them up. The idea occurred to hira of taking his own struggle for existence as a theme, and he gave in ' Sartor llesartus ' his passionate commentary on a world in which he found it so hard to live in his own way, and which seemed to him so full of matter for scornful laughter and pity and indigna- tion. This strangely original work, in which Carlyle was much more defiantly singular than he had ever been before, was re- LIFE. 135 jected by several publishers, but at length saw the light as a series of articles in 'Eraser's Magazine,' 1833-34, and its singular- ity and force drew upon the author more attention than he had hitherto received. In 1834 he removed to the London suburb now associated with his name. The " Seer of Chelsea" is now as familiar a synonym as "the glorious Dreamer of Highgate." But when he came to London, it was almost as a last desperate move. He was known to the dispensers of literary work only as an obstinately peculiar and fantastic individual. In America he was more quickly ap- preciated. Emerson and others pressed him to settle there, and his 'Sartor' and his occasional essays were reprinted at Boston in 1836. His first success in London was as a lecturer. In 1837 he gave to "a very crowded, yet a select, auiiience" in London a course of six public lectures on German literature; in 1838 a course of twelve " On the History of Literature, or the Successive Periods of European Culture;" in 1839 a course on "the Bevolutions of Modern Europe;" in 1840 a course on "Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History," ^ These lectures made a sensation in fashionable literary circles; the rugged English, the Scotch accent, the emphatic sing-song cadence, combined with the lofti- ness and originality of the matter, drew crowds to hear the new prophet. " It was," said Leigh Hunt, " as if some Puritan had come to life again, liberalised by German philosophy and his own intense reflections and experiences." Meanwhile his master-works began to appear. During his first year's residence in London, he had written with fiercely earnest labour the first volume of a work on the French Revolution. There is not a more deeply interesting chapter in literary history than Mr Froude's account of the accidental destruction of this manuscript, "written as with his heart's blood," and of the almost unconquerable repugnance and heroic effort with which Carlyle set himself to do the work over again. At last, in 1837, the ' French Revolution ' appeared, and Carlyle secured the fame for which he had wrestled so long. Henceforward publishers let him deliver his message as he liked. In 1838 'Sartor Resartus,' "hitherto a mere aggregate of Magazine articles," emerged from its " bibliopolic difficulties," and became a book. The same year witnessed the first edition of his ' ^Miscellanies.' In 1839 he jjublislied, under the title of 'Chartism,' his first attack on the corruption of modern society, and tlie futility of all extant projects of reform. In 1843 ^^ followed up 'Chartism' with 'Past and Present' In 1845 ^® published his 'Cromwell's Letters and Speeches,' which met with a more rapid sale than any of his pre- vious works. In 1850 he returned, in his ' Latter-Day Pamphlets,' 1 The last course only has Ijeeu publishetl. 136 THOMAS CAELYLE. to tlie condition of society, pouring forth unmeasured contempt on "The Nigger Question," "The Present Time," "Model Prisons," "Downing Street," "The New Downing Street," "Stump Orators," "Parliaments," "Hudson's Statue," "Jesuitism." Next year appeared his ' Biography of John Sterling.' Thereafter he was occupied exclusively with his great historical work, 'The History of Frederick II., commonly called The Great.' The two first vol- umes were published in 1858, other two in 1862, and in 1865 the work was completed. In the session of 1865-66 he was elected Lord Rector by the students of Edinburgh University; and on April 2, 1866, de- livered to a crowded and enthusiastic audience his famous Instal- lation Address. He was not suflfered long to enjoy the most affecting public manifestations that have ever honoured his name. His wife died before his return to London : in the very hour of his public trium])h came the stroke of calamity ; and the old man mourned that " tlie light of his life was quite gone out." Not till after her death did he learn how much she had suffered for him. He published nothing of importance during the last fifteen years of his life. Now and then he made his voice heard on questions of passing interest. In 1S67 he wrote for ' Macmillan's Magazine' a very gloomy anticipation of the consequences of the Reform Bill, with the suggestive title, "Shooting Niagara, and After?" In 1869 he sent to the newspapers a letter on his favourite ''Emigration." During the war between France and Germany, he wrote to rejoice over the French defeat, and quoted history to show that it had been well deserved. His last publication was a series of articles on the Portraits of John Knox and the Early Kings of Norway, which appeared as a small volume in 1875. He died at Chelsea, February 5, 18S1. In his Rectorial Address at Edinburgh, being then a patriarch of seventy, he addressed a kindly warning to his youthful hearers against the physical dangers of too severe study. His own strong frame and great constitutional robustness were early impaired by injudicious closeness of application. During the whole of his later life he suffered from dyspepsia. It says much for the native energy of his system that, in spite of this depressing — if not debilitating — disorder, he accomplished such an amount of solid work, retain- ing his powers to old age, and writing with unabated vigour at the extreme age of seventy. He had sufficient strength of will to sustain what De Quincey always recognised as the best remedy for his "appalling stomachic derangement" — namely, regular habits of active exercise. We spoke of Macaulay as a man whose intellectual energies were CHARACTER. 137 to some extent dissipated upon various fields of exertion. Carlyle's energies were concentrated with unparalleled intensity upon his books. For nearly half a century he gave the best part of his working time to literature, pursuing his apiiointed tasks with fre- quent fits of strong distaste, but with unalterable steadiness of aim. Probably more intellectual force has been spent upon the production of Carlyle's books than upon the productions of any two other writers in general literature. His powers of memory were not of the same universally and immediately dazzling order as Macaulay's. Every person that met Macaulay went away in astonishment at " the stores which his memory had at instantaneous command." In private society Carlyle im[)ressed his hearers by talk very much resembling the general texture of his writings. He had not Macaulay's wide- ranging readiness of recollection, could not quote with the same instantaneiius fluency, and could not trust his memory so confi- dently without a written note. Again — to compare him in this particular with De Quincey — he does not strike us as possessing great multifarious knowledge. He makes comparatively few allu- sions beyond the circle of subjects that he has specially studied. His scrupulous love of accuracy may have hampered the flowing display of his knowledge; but within the circles of his special studies, his memory is pre-eminently wonderful. To hold in mind the varied materials of his vivid historical pictures was a strain of retentive force immeasurably greater than was ever required of either De Quincey or Macaulay for the production of their works. His memory is singularly catholic as regards the kind of thing remembered ; he remembers names, dates, scenical groupings, and the characteristic gestures and expressions of whole societies of men, to all appearance with equal fidelity. Carlyle is sometimes loosely spoken of as a great " thinker," but his power does not lie in the regions of the dry understanding, in analysis, argument, or practical judgment. In his youth he was distinguished as a mathematician ; but when he turned to the study of men, he took fire : on anything connected with man, he felt too profoundly to reason well. liis whole nature rose in rebellion against cold-bloode'l analysis and matter-of-fact argument. In his works he is never tired of sneering at " Philoso[ihism," the " Dis- mal Science" of Political Economy, "Attorney Logic," and suchlike. He had a natural antipathy to such ways of approaching men and the affairs of men. He was naturally incapable of De Quincey's pursuit of character or meaning into minute shades, and of Macau- lay's elaborate refutations b}'^ copious instance and analogy. Take, for example, his Hero-worship. Instead of analysing, as De Quin- cey might have done, the elements of greatness in his heroes, or of producing, as Macaulay might have done, argumentative arrays of 138 THOMAS CAKLYLE. actual undeniable achievements as the proof of their title to admira- tion, he exercises his ingenuity in representing their greatness under endless varieties of striking images; the hero is "a flowing light- fountain of native original insight, of manhood and heroic noble- ness;" "at all moments the Flame-image glares in upon him;" " a messenger he, sent from the Infinite Unknown with tidings to us." Though deficient as an analyst and as a debater, he shows in other forms abundance of the elementary intellectual force prin- cipally concerned in analysis and debate. Had his feelings been less dominant, he might have developed into a profound professor of what he calls the Dismal Science, and might even, with unpre- cedented persuasive skill, have converted the world to the practice of Malthusianism. But feeling and natural impulses chained his strong intellect to their service; and instead of scientific analysis and solid argument, the result is a splendour and originality of imagery and dramatic grouping that entitle him to rank near Shakspeare, or with whoever may be placed next to our received ideal of the incomparable. A man of feeling and impulse, his feelings and impulses were very different from wliat we find in natures constitutionally fitted for enjoyment, in the born lovers of existence, his own " eupeptic " men. In his works we encounter something very different from Macaulay's uniform glow of buoyant hopefulness, hearty belief in human progress, and confident plausible judgment of men and events. We find gloomy views of man and his destiny, a stern gospel of work, judgments passed in strong defiance of conven- tional standards, and towering egotism under the mask of humour. In another aspect he strikes us as offering a considerable contrast to De Quincey. The 0[)ium-Eater, though not by any means a eupeptic man, was an avowed EudiBmonist, "hated an inhuman moralist like unboiled opium," and was a lover of repose and of the softer emotions. In Carlyle, on the contrary, the central and commanding emotion is Power ; he is all for excitement and energy. We have already seen the difference in their ways of viewing great men ; that De Quincey admires them in a passive attitude, while Carlyle is raised by the thought of their achievements to the loftiest heights of ideal energy. We have no means of knowing how Carlyle would have enjoyed the actual control of human beings as a commander or a civic ruler — like Cromwell, Frede- rick, Mirabeau, or Dr Francia ; but he shows a most thorough enjoyment of commanding authority in the imagination. His thirst for the ideal enjoyment seem insatiable, and drives him to exaggerate the influence of his chosen heroes, and to suppress and understate the influence of their coadjutors. " Universal History, the hi.-tory of what man has accomplished in this world, CHARACTER. 139 is at bottom the history of the Great Men who have worked there." "All things that we see standing accomplished in the world are properly the outer material result, the practical realisation and embodiment of thouglits that dwelt in the Great Men sent into the world : the soul of the whole world's history, it may justly be considered, were the history of these." A good way of rejiresenting the difference between two such writers is to look through their works, and piece together tlieir conceptions of the universe in their highest moods of sublimity. De Quincey sees midsummer moving over the heavens like an army with banners ; hears cathedral nmsic in the confused noise of mountain-streams; loves to contemplate calmly in the mirror of such minds as "Walking Stewart's" the whole niighty vision of the sentient universe, oriental pageantry, revolutionary convul- sions, civic splendour ; and occasionally lifts his mind to travel in the same calm way through the illimitable grandeurs of astronomi- cal spaces. Contrast this repose of attitude with the violent ex- citement of Carlyle's favourite conceptions : the world pictured as a dark simmering pit of Tophet, wild puddle of muddy infatua tions, of irreconcilable incoherences, bottomless universal hypoc- risies, an ungenuine phantasmagory of a world, full of screechings and gibberings, of foul ravening monsters, of meteor-lights and Bacchic dances, the wild universe storming in upon man infinite vague-menacing. Carlyle's love of powerful excitement finds a magnificent outlet in his humour and derision. Psychologists tell us that the basis of laughter is a sudden accession of pleasure in the shape of the special elation of power and superiority. Carlyle avowedly ap- proves of laughter — sets up hearty laughter as a criterion of genuine human worth ; and, as we shall see when we come to his qualities of style, he is self-indulgent, if not intemperate, in the exercise of his own sense of the ludicrous. His mirth is robust — as he says himself, in describing the Norsemen, " a great broad Brobdingnag grin of true humour." His pathos is of the kind that goes naturally with such excessive indulgence in the excitement of power. Wherever there is a height there is a correspondirg hollow; the lover of intoxicating excite- ment too surely p.iys the penalty in intervals of exhaustion, of unutterable depression and despondency. With all his fire, his gospel of work, and his denunciation of unproductive sentimen- talit)'', Carlyle has his inevitable fits of the melting mood. We shall see that at times he is overpowered with sadness at the thought of human liiiseries and perplexities, and that he bemoans with more than Byronic despondency the irresistible movement of time. We have already spoken of the amount of intellectual effort 140 THOMAS CARLYLE. spent upon the production of our author's books. The grand duty of work that he preaches with such earnestness he was no less earnest in performing. He gathered his materials not only with painful labour, but with scrupulous respect for minute fact. This for him was but a small part of the toil of writing history ; when the materials were collected, a much larger draught of his impa- tient energy was spent in filling the dry facts with human interest. The mere writing was never an easy or happy task for him : he wrote at white heat, with feverish effort, with all his f;iculties intensely concentrated. If we take any page of his ' French Eevolution ' and try to conceive how it was built up, and Avhat care was expended on the se^tarate elements of it before the Avhole was " iiuiig out of him," as he said, in the final convulsive effort of composition, we come as near as we can to realising what labour went to the making of Carlyle's books. He does not seem to have done his work with the fitful irreg- ularity of Christopher North, but rather to have acted on the Virgilian plan of so much manu.scri[it each day. Such work us his could hardly have been accomplished without the steadiest concentration of endeavour. It is known that in composing the 'French Revolution' he set himself daily to ]iroduce so much, and in all probability he composed his other works on the same rigid method. In this respect he is a much safei' model to the general run of students than the versatile and discursive ]\Iacaulay. Opinions. — Carlyle's doctrines are the first suggestions of an earnest man, adhered to with unreasoning tenacity. As a rule, with no exception that is worth naming, they take account mainly of one side of a case. He was too impatient of difficulties, and had too little respect for the wisdom and experience of otliers, to submit to be corrected ; opposition rather confirmed him in his own opinion. Most of his practical suggestions had already been tried and found wanting, or had been made before and judged im- practicable upon grounds that he did not or would not understand. His modes of dealing v^^ith paujierism and crime were in full opera- tion under the despotisms of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. His theory of a hero-king, which means in practice an accidentally good and able man in a series of indiflferent or bad desjjots, has been more frequently tried than any other political system : Asia at this moment contains no government that is not despotic. His views in other departments of knowledge also, are chiefiy deter- mined by the strength of unreasoning impulses. This will appear when we state his opinions in some detail. We throw them for convenience into a few familiar divisions. Psychology.— Yie disclaims the ordinary mental analysis. He speaks with great contempt of " motive-grinding." He sat through OPINIONS. 141 Thomas Brown's lectures witli perpetual inward protest, declaring that he did not want the mind to be taken to pieces in that way. We need not therefore look in his writings for any large views of the mind, for any enunciation of doctrines of a comprehensive kind. In his partiality for everything German, he adopts with unquestioning faith some Kantian and other transcendentalisms of German origin. His own original views of the mind are frag- mentary and somewhat fanciful. We may apply the title " Psychological " to some of his doc- trines about the indissoluble union of certain qualities. For one example, take his theory of Laughter as the criterion of goodness. "Readers," he says, " who have any tincture of Psychology, know . . . that no man who has once heartily and wholly hiughed can be altogether irreclairaably bad." Again, " Laughter, also, if it come from the heart, is a heavenly thing." As another example, take his doctrine that Intellect is the true measure of worth. " Human Litellect, if you consider it well, is the exact summary of Human Worth." " A man of intellect, of real and not sham intellect, is by the nature of him likewise inevitably a man of nobleness." " The able man is definable as the born enemy of Falsity and Anarchy and the born soldier of Truth and Order." Such doctrines are, it is hardly necessary to say, far from clear. Very bad men often laugh heartily enough, in the ordinary sense of the words ; and very able men, in the ordinary sense of the word " able," are often very great scoundrels. Carlyle's unre- served admirers probably bring themselves to accept such dogmas by laying stress on the saving clauses, — " if it comes from the heart;" "if you consider it well;" and suchlike. P>ut none of these clauses will save the doctrines if they are taken in the ordi- nary meaning of their words ; and one may well doubt whether great writers are to be allowed the privilege of throwing the ancient boundaries of words into confusion. Other examples of his habit of attaching laudatory predicates to what he has a liking for, without much regard to the fitness of the application, are such as the following: " All deep things are song. It seems somehow the very central essence of us, Song ; as if all the rest were but wrappings and hulls ;" " You may see how a man would fight by the way in which he sings;" '"The imagi- nation that shudders at the hell of Dante,' is not that the same faculty, weaker in degree, as Dante's own ? " " Your genuine poet is the real Encyclopedist," &c. &c. All these involve indif- ferent psychology, and they are but samples of more of the same kind. -Ethics. — Doctrines in Ethics we shall keep as far as possible dis- tinct from doctrines in Theology; although many of our author'8 doctrines are two-sided. . 142 THOMAS CAPiLYLE. (i.) According to Carlyle, the chief end of life is the perform- ance of Duty. He is full of contempt for the pursuit of happiness, and pours out his most indignant eloquence against the theory of life that would make happiness the end. "In all situations out of the Pit of Tophet, wherein a living man has stood or can stand, there is actually a prize of quite mfinite value placed within his reach — namely, a Buti/ for him to do : this highest Gospel . . . forms the basis and worth of all other Gaspels whatsoever." His stern creed allows no collateral supjiort to the discharge of duty. If men labour in hope of reward, they are still unconverted, still in darkness. They must recognise that they deserve nothing. To Metliodism, " wdth its eye for ever turned on its own navel," and torturing itself with the questions — 'xVm I right, am I WTong 1 Shall I be saved, shall I be danmed 1 ' — he gives the lofty advice — "If thou be a man, reconcile thyself" to the fact "that thou art ■wrong ; thou art like to l)u damned ; " " then first is the devouring Universe subdued under thee," and there breaks upon thee "dawn as of an everlasting morning." On the same principle of acknow- ledging utter worthlessness, and recognising that nothing too bad can befall us, we are advised — " Fancy that thou deservest to be hanged (as is most likely), thou wilt feel it happiness to 'be only shot ; fancy that thou deservest to be hanged in a hair-halter, it will be a luxury to die in hemp." In short, our only consolation in life is to be the sense of doing our duty ; as regards everything else, we must expect nothing, lest we should be disappointed. (2.) But Duty is an abstraction, an empty Ideal : does Carlyle recommend any duties in particular 1 Yes. The first great duty is the duty of Work — Action, Activity. This eminent feature in his preaching has been called " Tlie Gospel of Labour." According to this gospel, all the "peopled, clothed, articulate -speaking, high -towered, wide -acred World" has been "made a world for us" by work; the individual thT,t does not lend a hand fails in his duty as a denizen of the Universe. !Man's greatest enemy is Disorder ; his most im- perative and crying duty is to subdue disorder, convert chaos into order and method ; the able - bodied or able - minded man that stands idle deserves unspeakable contempt,- — he is a dastard, a fool, a simiUac7'um ; he does not fulfil his destiny as a man. Wherefore, " Do thy little stroke of work ; this is Nature's voice, and the sum of all the commandments, to each man." To the question. What is to be done 1 he answers peremptorily, " ' Do the Duty which lies nearest thee,' which thou knowest to be a duty." "Produce! Produce I Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a Product, produce it in God's name. Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." He never recommends or brings prominently forward OPINIONS. 143 care in the choice of a vocation ; he is so eager and impetuous to have something done, that he has no thought of cautioning against tlie hasty adoption of unsuitable work. He evidently considers there is much more danger in idleness. We must " live and not lie sleeping while it is called to-day." " Something must be done, and soon." Doubt is removed only by activity. He upholds the dignity of work at all points. "AH true work is religion." '■'■'■ Laborare est orare' — work is worship." The " Captains of Industry " are the true aristocracy. The great army of workers, " Ploughers, Spinners, BuiKlers ; Proi)hets, Poets, Kings; Erindleys and Goethes, Odins and Arkwriglits ; " — this grand host is "noble, every soldier in it; sacred, and alone noble." "Two men he honours, and no third" — "the toilworn Craftsman who conquers the Earth," and " him who is seen toiling for the spiritually indispensable." He sets oil" his own Gospel of Work against other pretended Gospels. He despatches the Stoics in the person of Epictetus by telling them that "^Ae end of man is an Action and not a Thour/ht, though it were the noblest." He taunts those that make happiness the end of life with the declaration, that " the night once come, our unhappiness, our happiness — it is all abolished ; vanished, clean gone ; a thing that has been." " But our work — behold, that is not abolished, that has not vanished : our work, behold, it remains, or th^ want of it remains ; — for endless Times and Eternities, remains." He is also vigorous against what he calls sentimentalism, which he dubs " twin- sister to Cant." " The barrenest of all mortals is the senti- mentalist ; " " in the shape of work he can do nothing." Another great duty is the dnty of Obedience. Not only is obeying the best discipline for governing, and as such extolled in Abbot Samson, and recommended to the Duke of Logwood, but " Obedience is our universal duty and de-stiny ; wherein whoso will not bend must break." Too early and too thoroughly we cannot be trained to know that "Would in this world of ouis is as mere zero to Should." Again to the same effect — "Obedi- ence is the i)rimary duty of man. No man but is bound inde- feasibly with all force of obligation to obey." There is nothing peculiar ui>on the face of these precepts, except their strength ; they might almost stand in the Institutions of the .Tesuits. Here and there throughout his works we meet with qualifications. He denounces the obedience of the Jesuits — " Obedience to what is wrong and false 1 — good heavens ! there is no name for such a depth of human cowardice and calamity." It is the heroic, the divine, the true, that he would have us obey. When the powers set over us are no longer anything divine, resistance becomes a deeper law of order than obedience. 144 THOMAS CAELYLE. If we ask how we are to know the heroic, the divine, we are left to understand that it will make itself manifest. The true King " carries in him an authority from God, or man will never give it him." " He who is to be my Euler, whose will is to be higher than my will, was chosen for me in heaven." Another duty is the duty of Veracity, of Sincerity as opposed to Cant, the duty of being Real and not a Sham. On these virtues and their opposites, on those that observe them and those that violate them, he expends much eloquence. The 'French Revolution ' is almost a continued sermon on the evils of in- sincerity, hollowness, quackery, and on the good of the corre- sponding virtues. And in none of his works can we read far without encountering some declamation on Truth, Sincerity, Real- ity, Falsehood, Cant, Puffery, Sham. On one point his preaching of Truth may mislead. He does not seem to think that Truth requires a man to make a frank and open declaration of his beliefs. For his own part, at least, he is very reticent as to his real opinions, on matters of religion for instance ; and he praises Goethe's example of wrapping up opinions in mysterious oracles. The fact would seem to be, that all his requirements of Veracity, Sincerity, Reality, are satisfied by one thing, the conscientious performance of one's appointed work. This, if we look beneath the gorgeous verbal opulence of the preacher, would seem to be the whole duty of man. If he engages to cut thistles, let him cut them with all his might. If he engages to review authors, let him read their works con- scientiously. If he engages to write history, let him diligently search out its facts. His characteristic love of reality appears in his preference of Fact to Fiction, and his condemnation of Fine Art as Dilet- tantism, Religion. — His religious views are worded obscurely. To extra-^t definite opinions from his vague declamations on the subject, would inevitably be to misrepresent him. He intimated plainly enough tliat he had departed from the received orthodoxy of this country ; of this he made no secret. He himself gave up study- ing for the Scottish Church ; and he records his opinicm " in flat reproval" of John Sterling's resolution to take orders in the English Church. " No man of Sterling's veracity, had he clearly consulted his own heart, or had his own heart been capable of clearly responding, and not been dazzled and bewildered by transient fantasies and theosophic moonshine, could have under- taken this function." Elsewhere he pities Sterling in this "con- fused epoch of ours," with " the old spiritual highways and recog- nised paths to the Eternal, now all torn up and flung in heaps, submerged in unutterable boiling mud-oceans of Hypocrisy and OPINIONS. 145 Unbelievability, of brutal living Atheism, and damnable dead putrescent Cant." But while he was thus severe alike on In- fidelity and on Orthodoxy, he never said with an approach to intelligibility what was his own belief. Mr Froude has rescued a fragment written in 1852, and intended to expound more fully his thoughts on religion. But Carlyle had not gone far when he threw the work aside as unsatisfactory, and not adequately expressing his meaning. John Sterling gives the following account of the Religion or No-Religion of the Sartor : — " What we find everywhere, with an abundant use of the name of God, is tlie conception of a formless Infinite whether in time or space ; of a high inscrutable Necessitj', which it is the chief wisdom and virtue to submit to, which is the inysteiious impersonal base of all Existence — shows itself in the laws of every separate being's nature, and for man iu the shape of duty." We may perhaps rank among his religious opinions his accept- ance of Fichte's idea that the "true literary man" is "the world's Priest," "continually unfolding the Godlike to men," "sent hither especially that he may discern for himself, and make manifest to us, this same Divine Idea." By way of defining the "true" man of letters, he says that "whoever lives not wholly in this Divine Idea is . . . no Literary Man." Politics. — His political views connect themselves partly with his ideas about AVork, Reality, Sincerity, and suchlike ; and partly with his Hero-King. All the miseries in this life are due to Idleness, Imposture, Unveracity. This he explicitly declares. " Quack- ridden ; in that one word lies all misery whatsoever. Speciosity in all departments usuri)s the place of reality, thrusts reality away. . . . The quack is a Falsehood incarnate." He does indeed say elsewhere that " it is the feeling of injus- tice that is insupportable to all men ; " but then he explains that injustice " is another name for disorder, for unveracity, unreality." This being so, what does he propose as remedies for imposture, unreality, kc. % We come upon two specific reme- dies iiidden away under masses of declamation — emigration and education : emigration — to provide work for industrious men that can get no employment; education — for no stated reason. He simply recommends that " the mystery of al})habetic letter should be imparted to all human souls in this realm." These are his only constructive views in politics, and they can hardly be said to be his.^ For the rest, through his 'Chartism,' 'Past and Pres- ent,' 'Latter-Day Pamphlets,' and incidentally through his other ^ Carlyle's chief plans for social reform were anticipated with groat exactness in Sir Thomas Moore's ' Utopia ' (see p. 191). In my ' Characteristics of English Poets' (p. 51, 2d. ed.), I have pointed out the close correspondence between the social doctrines of Carlyle ami the autlior of ' Piers the Plowman.' K. 146 THOMAS CARLYLE. works, he deplores the present state of things, denounces existing Kings, Aristocracies, Churches, and specially declaims against modern political movements. We did wrong to emancipate the negroes ; they find the necessaries of life cheap, work little, and let the sugar crops rot. We are too lenient with our criminals (see p. 158). He would take more work out of them. He considers the transaction of Government business to be in a wretched state — hampered by " blind obstructions, fatal indol- ences, pedantries, stupidities ; " the Colonial Office " a world-wide jungle of red-tape, inhabited by doleful creatures." He would have none but men of ability in important posts. He dis- ai)proves strongly of Parliaments elected by the people ; sneers at voting and "ballot-boxes"; asks whether a crew that settled every movement by voting would be likely to take a ship round Cape Horn. His ideal of government is to have a king (which he is constantly deriving from Can through KiJnig, and constantly translating "Ableman") at the head of aflfairs, and capable, obedient officials under him through all degrees of importance. How to realise the ideal he does not show ; and, as we have said, he takes no account of the endeavours of hiunan communities towards this ideal, or of the uncontrollable forces that make it an impossibilit3^ Criticism. — Of literary criticism in the ordinary sense of the word — in the sense of noting faults and merits of style, of showing what to avoid and what to imitate — Cai-lyle's writings contain next to nothing. He published, as we have seen, under the title of ' Critical and Miscellaneous Essays,' remarks on various great men of letters — German, French, and English. But in these essays he does not occupy himself with style, or with the state- ment and illustration of critical canons. He deals rather with life, character, and opinions ; declaims on his favourite topics — Mystery, Reverence, Industry, Veracity ; rails at reviewers, logi ciaiis, historical philosophers, sceptical philosophers, atheists, and other favourite objects of aversion. He ranks authors, not accord- ing to their literary power, but according as they possess his car- dinal virtues. Goethe and Johnson he extols above measure as being men of power, and, at the same time, industrious, veracious, and reverential towards the mystery of the world. In consideration of this he passes over in Goethe some minor iniquities that else- where he condemns in the abstract, and passes over in Johnson what some writers are pleased to call his intolerant prejudices and narrow canons of criticism. Voltaire and Diderot he finds indus- trious and veracious, but terribly wanting in reverence. Accord- ingly, he refuses to call them great men — finds in Voltaire adroit- ness rather than gieatness, and styles him a master of persiflage. One or two of his precepts may be called literary, though they VOCABUTARV. 147 scarcely belong to minute criticism. He warns writers to beware of affectation ; to study reality in their style. One of the chief merits of Burns is his "indisputable air of reality." He further recommends them to write slowly ; points out the evils of Sir Walter Scott's extempore speed, and affirms that no great thing was ever done without difficulty. Once more he stands up for a style that docs not show its meaning at once, that becomes intel- ligible slowly and after much laborious study. On this ground he praises Goetlie and Novalis, saying that no good book or good thing of any sort shows itself at first. Still another literary notion, already alluded to, is his idea that, in the present day, men should write prose and not poetry, and history rather than fiction. ELEMENTS OF STYLE. Vucahulary. His command of words must be pronounced to be of the highest order. Among the few that stand next to Shakspeare he occupies a very high place. As his peculiar feelings are strongly marked, so are the special regions of his verbal copiousness. As a matter of cnurse, he was specially awake to, and specially retained, expressions suiting his peculiar vein of strength, rugged sublimity, and every form of ridicule and contempt down to the lowest tolerable depths of coarseness. It would be interesting to collect the various forms that he uses to express his sense of the confusion, the chaotic dis- order, of these latter days. An estimate of his abundance on that or any other of his favourite topics would give the reader the most vivid idea of his lingual resources. Having a strong natural bent for the study of character, he is a consunmiate master of the requisite phraseology. In the language needful for describing character, he probably comes nearer Shuk- speare than any other of our great writers. To be convinced of this, we have only to look at his opulence in bringing out the leading features of such a man as John Sterling. Between the subjective and the objective side, the language of feeling and the language of gesture and action, he is i)retty evenly divided — a master of both vocabularies. In the use of Latinised terms, as against Saxon, he follows the Shakspearian type of an indifferent mixture. He does not particu- larly afTect cither extreme. Often on themes where other writers would use solemn words of Latin origin, he prefers what Leigh Hunt calls a "noble simplicity," which others might call "profane familiarity"; but he employs liberally the Latinised vocabulary when it suits his purpose. His acquaintance with technical names 148 THOMAS CARLYLE. is considerable. He makes frequent metaphorical and literal ap- plication of the language of mathematics and natural philosophy — his favourite studies when a young man. He knew also the vocabulary of several industries, as well as of the social mechanism and institutions. Two circumstances in particular make his command of acknow- ledged English appear less than it really is. First, revelling in his immense force of Comparison or Assimilation, lie shows a pro;ligi- ous luxuriance of the figures of similarity — nicknaming personages, applying old terms to new situations, and suchlike. He often substitutes metaphorical for real names when the real are quite sufficient, and perhaps more suitable for the occasion. Now this habit, not to speak of its lowering the value and freshness of his genius by over-doing and over-affecting originality of phrase, often makes it appear as if he did nut know the literal and customary names of things, and were driven to make shift with these allusive names. Another circumstance produces the same impression. He is most liberal in his coinage of new words, and even new forms of syntax. For this he was taken to task by his friend John Sterling,^ part of whose criticism we quote :— "A good deal of the language is positively barbarous. 'En- "vironment,' ' vestural,' 'stertorous,' 'visualised,' 'complected,' "and others I think to be found in the first thirty pages, are " words, so far as I know, without any authority ; some of them " contrary to analogy ; and none repaying by their value the dis- " advantage of novelty. To these must be added new and errone- " ous locutions : ' whole other tissues ' for all the other, and similar " uses of the word whole ; ' orients ' for pearls ; ' lucid ' and " ' lucent ' employed as if they were different in meaning ; ' hulls ' " perpetually for coverings, it being a word hardly used, and then " only for the husk of a nut ; ' to insure a man of misapprehension :' " ' talented,' a mere newspaper and hustings word, invented, I be- "lieve, by O'Connell. I must also mention the constant recur- " rence of some words in a quaint and queer connection, which "gives a grotesque and somewhat repulsive mannerism to many "sentences. Of these the commonest offender is 'quite'; which "appears in almost every page, and gives at first a droll kind of " emphasis ; but soon becomes wearisome. ' Nay,' ' manifold,' " 'cunning enough significance,' 'faculty' (meaning a man's rational " or moral poiver), ' special,' ' not without,' haunt the reader as if "in some uneasy dream, which does not rise to the dignity of " nightmare." In this passage, which Carlyle himself has given to the world, some of his most striking peculiarities of diction are noticed. To give an adequate view of his verbal eccentricities, would be no 1 Carlyle's Life of Sterling, 276. SENTENCES. 149 small labour. He extends the admitted licences of the language in every direction, using one part of speech for another, verbs for nouns, nouns for verbs, adverbs and adjectives for nouns. His coinages often take the form of new derivatives — " benthamee," "amusee." He abuses the licence of giving plurals to abstract nouns : thus " credibilities," " moralities," " theological philoso- phies," "transcendentalisms and theologies." This excess of metaphors, new words, and grammatical licences is in favour of the reader's enjoyment, but not so much in favour of the student's instruction. It belongs to the inimitable, unre- producible part of the style ; the student cannot take the saine liberties without bearing the charge of copying an individual manner, instead of deriving from the common fund of the language. So far it may stimulate to do likewise in one's own independent sphere ; but close imitation is little better than parody, and imi- tation of any kind runs some danger of ridicule. Sentences. In his essays, particularly in the earlier essays and in his * Life of Schiller,' Carlyle shows none of the irregularity of structure that appears in his matured style. He has an admirable com- mand of ordinary English, and constructs his sentences to suit the motion of a massive and rugged, yet musical rhythm. Even in his essays, though himself writing with great care, he speaks slightiugly of painstaking in the structure of sentences. What he really objects to is making sentences after an artificial model, of a particular length, or with a particular cadence, or with a particular number of members ; but he speaks as if he condemned all labour in the arrangement of words, and lays himself open to be quoted by any that Avould shirk the trouble of making them- selves as intelligible as possible to their readers. The sentences of his later manner we can describe in his own words. Among his editorial remarks on the style of Teufelsdroeckh is the following : — "Of his sentonces porliaps not more than nine-tenths stand straight on their legs ; the remainder ai'O in quite angular attitudes, huttressed up by props (of parentheses and dashes), and ever with this or the other tag-rng hanging from them ; a few even sprawl out helplessly on all sides, quite broken-backed and dismembered." From this figurative description one would suppose his sentences to be extremely involved and complicated. As a matter of fact, they are extremely simple in construction — consisting, for the most part, of two or three co-ordinate statements, or of a short direct statement, eked out by explanatory clauses either in apposi- tion or in the "nominative absolute " construction. These apposi- 150 THOMAS CARLYLE. tion and absolute clauses are the " tag-rags," and it is in tlie con- nection of them with the main statement that we find the " dashes and parentheses." This character of his sentences is so obvious that few examples will suffice : — ' ' Whatsoever sensibly exists, whatsoever represents Spirit to Spirit, is pro- perly a Clothing, a suit of Raiment, put on for a season and to be laid off. Thus in this one pregnant subject of Clothes, rightly understood, is in- cluded all that men have thought, dreamed, done, and been : the whole External Universe and what it holds is but Clothing ; and the essence of all Science lies in the Philosophy of Clothes." In this explanation of the Philosophy of Clothes, the sen'^^ences are free from intricacy. The second sentence exemplifies a very common form with Carlyle in his less irregular moods, although he sneers at some sentence makers because they are very curious to have their sentence consist of three members ; yet he seems to have been himself a lover of this peculiar cadence. He very often uses the sentence of two members, one explana- tory of the other — avoiding the error of joining them by a con- junction. Thus in his description of John Sterling's mother : — "The mother was a woman of many household virtues ; to a Avarm affec- tion for her chil(h"en, she joined a degree of taste and intelligence which is of much rarer occurrence." As examples of his practice of apposition, take the following : — "Biography is by nature the most universally profitable, universally pleasant of all things : especially Biography of distinguished individuals." Speaking of John Sterling, he says : — "To the like effect shone something, a kind of childlike, half-embarrassed shimmer of expression, on his fine vivid countenance ; curiously mingling with its ardours and audacities." The Crown - Prince's imprisonment by liis father is thus do^ scribed : — "Poor Friedrich meanwhile has had a grim time of it these two months back ; left alone, in coarse brown ]irison-dress, within his four bare walls at Ciistrin ; in uninterru|ited, unfathomable colioi|uy witli the Destinies and the Necessities there." In the following long sentence abundant use is made both of participle and of nominative absolute : — "Eminent swill of diinking, with the loud coarse talk supposable, on the part of Mentzel and consorts, did go on, in this manner, all afternoon ; in the evening drunk Meutzel came out for air ; went strutting and staggering about ; emerging finally on the platform of some rampart, face of him iuige and red as tluit of the foggiest rising Moon ; — and stood, looking over into the Lorraine Country ; belching out a storm of oaths as to his taking it, as to his doing this and that ; and was even flourishing his sword by way of accompaniment; when, lo, whistling slightly thiough the summer air, a SENTENCES. 151 rifle-ball froi/i some sentry on the French side (writers say, it was a French druinnier, ".Town impatient, and snateliing a sentry's piece) took the brain of him or tlie belly of him : and he rnslied down at once, a totally coUapsc'd monster, and mere heap of dead ruin, never to trouble mankind more." We have seen that IMacaulay's style may in an especial degree - be called artificial, inasmuch as he makes prodigal use of special artifices of composition. Carlyle is artificial in a difterent sense ; at least he uses artifices of a different kind. His structure of sentence is extremely loose — is an extravagant antithesis to the period'?. His studied ruggedness and careless cumulative method are incompatible with measured balance of clause or sentence. We may say, Avith a rough approximation to truth, that Macaulay's artificiality lies in departing from ordinary colloquial structure, Carlyle's in departing from the ordinary structure of written com- positi(m. In his ' Life of Schiller,' and in his earlier essays, Carlyle builds up his comjiosition with elaborate care in the ordinary literary forms. The following periodic sentences are constructed with Johnsonian formality, and with more than Johnsonian elaboration : — "Could ambition always choose its own ]iath, and were will in human undertakings alwaj's synonymous with faculty, all truly ambitious men would be men of letters. Certainly, if we examine tliat love of ]io\ver„ which enters so largely into most i)ractical calculations — nay, which out Utilitarian friends have recognised as the sole end and origin, both motive and reward, of all earthly enterprises, animating alike the phihuitlnopist, the conqueror, the money-changer, and the missionary — we shall find that all other arenas of ambition, compared with this rich and boundless one of Literature, meaning tlierrby whatever respects the promulgation of Thought, are poor, limited, and inelfectual. For dull, unreflective, merely instinctive as the ordinary man may seem, he has nevertheless, as a quite indispensable appendage, a head that in some degree considers and comjintes ; a lamp or riislilight of understanding has been given him, which, through whatever dim, besmoked, and strangely difi'ractive media it may shine, is the ultimate guiding light of his whole ])ath : and here as well as there, now as at all times in man's history. Opinion rules the world." In this earlier style he sometimes also composes elaborate balanced parallels after the mo lei of Pope's comparison between Homer and Virgil. We quote a short comparison between Alfieri and Schiller, where the imitation of Pope is very apparent : — - "Alfieii and Schiller were again unconscious competitors in the history of Mary Stuart. But the works .before us give a truer specimen of their com])nralive merits. Schiller seems to have the greater genius ; Allien the more commanding character. Alfieri's greatness rests on the stern concen- tration of fiery passion, under the dominion of an adamantine will : this was his own make of mind ; and he represents it with strokes in themselves de- void of charm, but in their union terrible as a prophetic scroll. Schiller's moral force is commensurate with his intellectual gifts, and nothing more. 'J'he mind of the one is like the ocean, beantii'ul in its strength, smiling in the radiance of summer, and washing lu.xuriant and romantic shores: 152 THOMAS CARLYLE. that of the other is like some black unfathomable lake placed far amid the melancholy mountains ; bleak, solitary, desolate ; but girdled with grim sky-piercing cliffs, overshadowed with storms, and illuminated only by the red glare of the lightning. Schiller is magnificent iu his expansion, Alfieri is overpowering in his condensed energy ; the first inspires us with greater admiration, the last with greater awe." Paragraphs. Ill his more rhapsodical works, such as ' Chartism ' and the 'Latter-Day Pamphlets,' he is an indifferent observer of para- graph method. The reader is bewildered by the introduction of reflections without any hint of their bearing on the theme in liand. Some pages remind us of his vivid descriptions of chaotic inunda- tions that hide or sweep away all guiding-posts. Very seldom can we gather from the beginning of a paragraph what is to be its purport. No attempt is made to keep a main subject prominent. Whenever anything occurs to suggest one of his favourite themes of declamation, he embraces the opportunity, and lets his main business drop. This applies to his "prophetical" utterances, where his great natural clearness both in matter and in manner seems to be abandoned. In his history the case is very different. There his arrangement is almost the perfection of clearness. He is at pains to make everything easy to the reader. When the bearing of a statement is not apparent, he is careful to make it explicit. In each paragraph the main subject is for the most part kept promi- nent, — his defiance of ordinary syntax giving him great facilities for a distinct foreground and background. He begins his para- graphs with some indication of their contents. Further, he is consecutive, and keeps rigidly to the point. Figures of Speech. Teufelsdroeckh is made to say, concerning style, that plain words are the skeleton, and metapliors ^ " the muscles and tissues and living integuments ; " further, that his own style is " not without an a|)oplectic tendency." This might be quoted against Carlyle's own dictum, that "genius is unconscious of its excellence." His profusion of figurative lan- guage is perhaps the most striking monument of his originality and power. Fifiures of Similarity. — His similitudes, forcibly hunted out from every region of his knowledge of nature and of books, are not merely fanciful embellishments — most of them go to the making of his vivid powers of description. The character, or personal 1 Metaphor is here probably used for "trope," as that word is defined in the Introduction. FIGURES OF SPEKCH. 153 appearance, or action of an individual ; the character of a nation, a state of society, a political situation ; the relative position of two belligerents, — everything, in short, that needs describing, he brings vividly before us in its leading features by some significant simile or metaphor. This wealth of illustration is very noticeable in the description of character. For every personage of marked character he exerts himself to find a vivid similitude. " Acrid, corrosive, as the spirit of sloes and copperas, is Marat, Friend of the People." Lafayette is " a thin constitutional Pedant ; clear, thin, inflexible, as water turned to thin ice, whom no Queen's heart can love." The Coun- tess of Darlington, George I.'s fat mistress, is "a cataract of tallow, with eyebrows like a cart-wheel, and dim coaly disks for eyes." She is contrasted with the Duchess of Kendal, the lean mistress, "poor old anatomy or lean human nailrod." • Every kind of situation, individual or social, is set forth in the same way. The ' French Revolution ' is a blazing heap of simili- tudes ; they meet us at every page in twos and threes. They are often very homely. The following, taken at random, are tolerably fair specimens :— " Yonr Revolution, like jelly sufficiently boiled, needs only to be poured into shapes of Constitution, and 'consolidated' therein." " Military France is everywhere full of sour inflammatory humour, which exhales itself fuliginously, this way or that ; a whole continent of smoking flax, which, blown on here or there by any angry wind, might so easily start into a blaze, into a continent of fire." "Such Patriotism as snarls dangerously and shows teeth, Patrollotism shall supiiress ; or, far better. Royalty shall soothe down the anger of it by gentle pattings, and, most eff"ectual of all, by fuller diet. " The History of Friedrich is illuminated no less eflFectively. He speaks incidentally of the French Revolution as — " Tliat whirlwind of the universe — lights obliterated — and the torn wrecks of Earth and Hell liurled aloft into the Empyrean — black wliirlwind which made even apes serious, and drove most of them mad." The above is a characteristic figure. The following, along with a characteristic similitude, introduces one of his favourite personifications : — "As the History of Friedrich, in this Ciistrian epoch, and indeed in all epochs and parts, is still little other than a whirlpool of simmering con- fusions, dust mainly, and sibylline ])aper-shreds, in the pages of poor Dryas- dust, perhaps we cannot do better than snatch a shred or two (of the partly legible kind, or capable of being made legible) out of that hideous caldron; pin them down at their proper dates ; and try if the reader can, by such means, catch a glimpse of the thing with his own eyes." His account of old Friedrich's violence to young Friedrich upon 154 THOMAS CAKLYLE. the attempted " desertion," is a fair sample of his figurative man- ner at its acme : — " Frieiliicli Wilhelm's conduct, looked at from without, appears that of a hideous roj'al o<:,Te, or blind anthropophagous Polyphemus fallen mad. Looked at from within, where the Polyphemus has his reasons, and a kind of inner rushlight to enligliten his jiath, and is not bent on man-eating, but on discipline in spite of diffii ulties, — it is a wild enough piece of humanity, not so much ludicrous as tragical. Nevir was a royal bear so led about befoi-e by a pair of conjuring pipers in the market, or brought to such a pass in his dancing for them." Two other things must be noticed before we have a complete idea of his employment of similitudes. One is a habit, ah-eady partially alluded to, of keeping up descriptive metaphors, and using them instead of the literal names, or along Avith the literal names as a kind of permanent Homeric epithet. Thus, he never mentions the Countess of Darlington without designating her as the "cataract of tallow"; or the Duchess of Kendal without some thing equivalent to "Maypole or lean human naih'od." The other noticeable thing is his frequent repetition, with or without variar tions, of certain favourite figures. Perhaps the most characteristic is his stock of metaphors and similes drawn from the great features of the material world to illustrate the moral ; his " pole-star veiled by thick clouds," his earthquakes, m.ad foam-oceans, Noah's deluge, mud-deluges, cesspools of the Universe, Pythons, Megatheriums, ChiiUceras, Dead-Sea Apes, and snchlike. He has also certain favourite personifications, which are made to do a great deal of service. Such are the Destinies, the Necessities, the dumb Veracities, the Eternal Voices, Fact, Nature, all which are so many synonyms for the homely jihrase, " circumstances beyond our control." We have seen that when Friedrich was shut up alone at Giistrin, he was left in " colloquy Avith the Des- tinies nnd the Necessities there." In another passage he is said to be " shut out from the babble of fools, and conversing only with the dumb Veracities, with the huge inarticulate moanings of Des- tiny, Necessity, and Eternity." When he submits to his father, he is said to be "loyal to Fact," which means that he yields to what he cannot overcome. In like manner. Democracy, " the grand, alarming, imminent, indisputable Peality," is " the inevi- table Product of the Destinies " : whoever refuses to recognise that the Avorld has come to this, is "disloyal to Fact." "All thinking men, and good citizens of their country," " have an ear for the small still voices and et(?rnal intimations " ; in other words, discern the best course that circumstances will admit of. "The eternal regulations of the ITniverse," " the monition of the gods in regard to our afTaire," "which, if a man know, it is well with him," are other figurative expressions to the same effect. FIGURES OF SPEECH, 155 One of Carlyle's favourite inferior personages is Dryasdust, whom we have already introduced. He represents any and every historian that takes an interest in what our author finds it conve- nient to pronounce "dry. " He is abused sometimes for knowing Rymer's ' Fo^dera ' and India Bills, sometimes for knowing Court gossip. He is one of Carlyle's standing butts. Figures of ContlguiUi. — If we apply this designation to every case of indicating a thing, not by its literal name, but by use of expressive parts and expressive collaterals, Carlyle luxuriates in such figures as much as in figures of similarity. To take an instance : his metonymies for Death are as numer- ous as Homer's. " The all-hiding earth has received him." " Low now is Jourdan the Headsman's own head." "So dies a gigantic Heathen and Titan ; stumbling blindly, undismayed, down to his rest. . . . His suffering and his working are now ended." "These also roll their fated journey." Dauton "passes to his unknown home." "Our grim good-night to thee is that" (address to the German scoundrel upon his execution). As with similitudes, so with choice circumstances, he has a way of repeating them, keeping them under tlie reader's notice, as often as he mentions the subject. Thus, in his pami)hlet on " The Nigger Question," he is perpetually renewing the image of the "beautiful blacks sitting u|) to their beautiful muzzles in pumpkins." In the pamphlet on " The Present Time," he repeatedly presents the re- forming Pope as "the good Pope with the New Testament in his hand." In like manner he takes hold of a title or expression that provokes his mirth, and turns it to ridicule by frequent repetition; thus he talks of Parliament as the " Collective wisdom." Figures of Contrast are not a marked feature in his style. He has a sense of the effect of explicit contrast, and sometimes em- ploys it as a means of strength ; but his studied effects are not in the direction of sharp antithetical point. He makes considerable use of the telling oratorical contrast, the juxtaposition of strikingly incongruous circumstances. In his Essay on Voltaire he contrasts the blazing glory of Tamerlane with the humble industry of Johannes Faust, the inventor of movable tyjtes ; pointing out that the humble man's influence was in the end much the more jjowerful of the two. So he contrasts the loud trium- phant proclamation of the Cham[)S de Mars Federation with the signing of the Scottish Solenm League and Covenant in a dingy close of the Edinburgh High Street, and with " the frugal supper of thirteen mean-dressed men in a mean Jewish dwelling." The ' French Kevolution ' is {leculiarly rich in such contrasts. lie makes a fine thing of Robespierre's resigning a judgeship in his younger days because he could not bear to sentence a human creature to death. The sad end of Marie Antoinette is contrasted 156 THOMAS CAELYLE. with her prosperous days ; the tragic heroism of Charlotte Corday is made more touching by a fine description of her personal beauty. And in the "sports of fickle fortune" with many of the leading revolutionists, he finds the utmost scope for Rembrandt lights and shadows. Epigram is not much in his way. He occasionally indulges in word-play, but it is hardly epigrammatic ; it has more of an aSinity with punning. His oft-repeated derivation of king — '■'■Kon-ning^ Can-ning, or Man that is Able "^ — is a mixture of philology — fanciful philology — and pun. Some of his puns are less doubtful Thus, " Certain Heathen Physical- Force Ultra-Chartists, ' Danes ' as they were then called, coming into his territory with their ' five points,' or rather with their five-and-twenty thousand points and edges too — of pikes, namely, and battle-axes," &c. So he says that the Lancashire and Yorkshire factories are a monument to Richard Arkwright, "a true joyramid or /fame-mountain." Minor Figures and Figures Proper . Hyperbole. — Our author's hyperboles consist partly in the use of exaggerating similitudes, partly in unrestrained torrents of extreme epithets. His exagger- ations as to the confusion and dishonesty of these " latter days," the general tumble-down and degradation of the whole system of modern society, are the most familiar specimens. " Days of end- less calamity, disruption, dislocation, confusion worse confounded." " Bankruptcy everywhere ; foul ignominy, and the abomination of desolation, in all high places." Social afi"airs in a state of the frightfulest embroilment, and as it were of inextricable final bank- ruptcy, unutterable welter of tumbling ruins." "Never till now, I think, did the sun look down on such a jumble of human non- senses." He is conscious of this hyperbolic turn, as, indeed, he shows himself conscious of most of his peculiarities. He speaks of Teufelsdroeckh's having " unconscionable habits of exaggeration in speech." When strong epithets, metaphors, similes, and contrasts, put in plain forms of sjjeech, come short of the intensity of his feelings, he avails himself to an un[irecedented degree of the bolder licences of style. ]\Iuch of his peculiar manner is made up of the special figures of Interrogation, Exclamation, and Apostrophe. Interrogation is a large element in his mannerism. It is not merely an occasional means of s])ecial emphasis ; it is a habitual mode of transition, used by Carlyle almost universally for the vivid introduction of new agents and new events. Thus — "But on tlie whole, Paris, we may see, will have little to devise ; will only have to borrow and apply. And then, as to the day, what day of all the calendar is fit, if the Bastille Anniversary be not ? " After the Queen's execution, he asks, " Whom next, Tinville ?" FIGURES OF SPEECH. 157 In like manner, recounting some of the proceedings in the Par- liamentary war, he says — "Basing is black ashes, then: ami Langfurd is ours, the Garrison 'to march forth to-morrow at twelve of the clock, being the 18th instant.' And now the question is, Shall we attack Dennington or not ?" With these vivid epic interrogations, there is usually, as in the above examples, a mixture of something like the figure called Vision. He supposes himself present at the deliberation of a scheme, the preparation of a great eveut, and suggests ideas as an interested spectator. Thus, after rejiresenting how Louis deliber- ated whether he should try to conciliate the people, or canvass for foreign assistance, he asks — " Nay, are the two hopes inconsistent? " Again, he apostrophises the National Assembly expecting a visit from the King, with — "Think therefore. Messieurs, what it may mean ; especially how ye will get the Hall ilecoiated a little. . . . Some fraction of velvet carpet, can- not that he spread in front of the chair, where the Secretaries usually sit ?" One or two instances give but a faint impression of what is so prominent in his style. ExdavKition occurs in every mood. Sometimes in wonder and elation : sometimes in derision and contempt ; sometimes in pity, sometimes in fun, sometimes in real admiration and affection. An example or two may be quoted. Thus — " How thou fermentest and elaboratcst, in thy great fermenting-vat and laboratory of an Atmosphere, of a World, Nature ! " Many such exclamations of wonder occur in his Sartor. His exclamations of derision are ad- dressed, not to individuals, but to imaginary personages, as when he addresses Dryasdust, — "Surely at least you might have made an index for these books ; " or to collective masses, as when he ex- claims of duellists — " Deuce on it, the little spitfires ! " Towards individuals he seldom if ever expresses either reverential wonder on the one hand, or contempt on the other. The scenes of the French Revolution often call forth exclamations of pity and horror. " ^Miserable De Launay ! " " Hapless Deshuttes and Varigny ! " — such expressions are frequent. At times, also, we come across such exclamations as — "Horrible, in lands that had known equal justice ! " As an instance of a humorous touch, take his exclama- tion on one of the Kaisers — " Poor soul, he had six-and-twenty children by one wife ; and felt that there was need of a[)panage3 ! " His expressions of admiration for his heroes are numerous. On Mirabeau he exclaims — " Rare union : this man can live self-suffic- ing — yet lives also in the lives of other men ; can make men love him, work with him ; a born king of men ! " Of Sterling he sa3's — - " A beautiful childlike soul ! " Oliver and Friedrich he frequently salutes with expressions of sympathising admiration. Sometimos, 168 THOMAS GAKLYLE, as he ha a a habit of doing with all his strong effects — in a kind of deprecating way — he ])uts the exclamations into the months of other people — " ' Admirable feat of strategy ! What a genend, this Prince Carl!' exclaimed mankind." "'Magnanimous!' exclaim Noailles and the paralysed French gentleman : ' Most magnanimous behaviour on his Prussian Majesty's part ! ' own they." Apostrophe. — The apostrophising habit is perhaps the greatest notability of his mannerism. His make of mind impels him to adopt this art of style, apart from his consciousness of the power it gives him as a literaiy artist. It provides one outlet among others for his deep-seated dramatic tendency. Farther, it suits his active turn of mind and favourite mode of the enjoyment of power ; it gives scope for his daring familiarity with personages, whether for admiration or for humour, and meets with no check from any regard for offended conventionalities. Not so frequently does he address in tones of pity ; still, in the moving scenes of the French Revolution, and elsewhere, some of his apostrophes are very touching. His style in its final development affords innumerable examples. The ' French Revolution ' is particularly full of dramatic apos- trophes, as indeed of the irregular figures generally. The author sees eveiytliing with his own eyes, and addiesses the actors in warning, exhortation, reproof, or whatever their actions call for. Usher Maillard is shown crossing the Bastille ditch on a plank, and warned — " Deftly, thou shifty Usher : one man already fell ; and lies smashed, far down there, against the masonry ! " When De Launay is massacred, the revolutionists are reproved with — *' Brothers, yonr wrath is cruel ! " " Up and be doing ! " " Cour- age ! " " Quick, then ! " Such ejaculations are frequent ; to every movement, in fact, he contributes the cries of an excited bystander. As an example of his more declamatory apostrophes, take the following, which is indeed an imaginary speech : — "Away, you ! begone swiftly, ye regiments of tlie line! in the name of God and of His jioor struggling servants, sore put to it to live in these bad days, I mean to rid myself of you with soin(! degree of brevity. To feed you in palaces, to hire captains, and sclioolmasters, and the choicest spiritual and material artificers to expend their inle Irish darken all our towns. The wild Milesian features, looking false ingenuit)', restlessness, unreason, misery, and mockery, salute you on all hii^hways and byways. The English coachman, as he whirls past, lashes the Milesian with liis whip, curses him with his tongue : the Milesian is holding out his hat to beg." CLEARNESS. 161 Wlien he desires a more comprehensive effect, he personifies this influx of Irish destitution under the name of the Irish giant Despair, and thus describes him : — "I notice him in Piccadilly, blue -visiiged, tliatclied in rags, a bUie child on each arm ; hunger-driven, wide-moutlied, seeking whom he may devour." Witli regard to this picturesque statement, the remark may be made that, wliile each particular is immediately and easily under- stood, it may be doubted whetlier the meaning tliat the writer pro- fessedly wislies to convey is so easily apprehended as it would be in the driest general statement. Upon the whole, this excess of concreteness is perliaps not in favour of our understanding the gen- eral drift, but the reverse. ]\Iost readers complain that Carlyle is bewildering in his prophetical utterances. The excess of figures and the absence of plain generalities is perhaps partly the cause. Let any reader of ordinary analytic power try, after reading ' Chart- ism,' to recall the train of argument, and he will find his confused recollection of individually vivid figures rather against than in favour of the efibrt. Clearness. Perspicuity. — In his expressly didactic or prophetic works, he shows, as we have seen, little concern to impart his views without confusion. Nor are his essays so perspicuous as the essays of ]\Iacaulay. The History of Friedrich is, however (see p. 120), a clearer narrative than the ' History of England ; ' it lifts us more above the confusion of details by means of comprehensive sum- maries and divisions with descri]»tive titles, and it brings leading events into stronger relief by assigning to subor^linate events a subordinate place in the narrative. Precision. — He is not an exact writer. Hating close analysis, his aim always is to give the broad general features rather than the minute details. He has little of the hair-splitting, dividing and distinguishing mania of De Quincey ; no desire to sift his opinions on a topic, and say distinctly what they are and what they are not. Some idea of the difference laetween them in this respect is obtained by comparing Carlyle's various lucubrations on Jean Paul Kichter with De Quincey's article on the same subject. But we see the utter antagonism of nianner as regarils precision at its height when we reflect how De Quincey would have treated such a subject as the discontent of the working classes. If Carlyle had been at pains to reduce his jiolitical views to distinct heads as De Quincey would have done, one woulcl have been better able to judge of their uni- versally alleged poverty. L 162 THOMAS CARLYLE. Strength. We have already touched on a good many of the peculiarities of Carlyle's singular force of style. The language that Sterling calls "positively barbarous" — the rugged derivatives and quaint sole- cisms — is very stimulating when it is intelligible. Among his figures of speech we meet with many elements of strength — power- ful and original similitudes, bold metaphors, vivid handling of abstractions, choice of telling circumstances, sensational contrasts, habitual exaggeration of language, ami daring liberties with ordi- nary forms of speech. Here we have for the production of telling literary effects a catalogue of instrumentalities that will hardly be parallehid from any writer after Sliakspeare. And this is not all. The comprehensive summaries, already mentioned as his principal instruments of perspicuity, embracing as they do a great range of particulars, more than any other of his arts, lift up and dilate the mind with a feeling of extended power. The crowning feat of strength is the combination of circum- stances in effective groups — the imagination of imi)ressive situa- tions. Carlyle's power in this respect is nearly, if nut quite, equal to Shakspeare's — equal, that is, in degree, though not perhaps in kind. It was first revealed in his 'Sartor Resartus' ; and none of his later works surjjass this first great production in the imagina- tion of rugged grandeur. Take, for example, his picture of "Teu- felsdroeckh at the North Pole " : — "More legitimate and decisively authentic is Teufelsdroeckli's appearance and emergence (we know not well whence) in the solitude of the North Cape, on that June Midnight. He has a 'light-hluo Si)anish cloak' hanging round him, as his ' most coniuiodious, principal, indeed sole upper-gar- ment ; ' and stands there on the World-promontory, looking over tlie infinite Brine, like a little blue BellVy (as we figure), now motionless indeed, yet ready, if stirred, to ring quaintest changes. "'Silence as of death,' writes he; 'for Midnight, even in the Arctic latitudes, has its character : nothing but the granite cliO's ruddy-tinged, the peaceable gurgle of that slow-heaving Polar Ocean, over wiiich in the utmost North the great Sun hangs low and lazy, as if he too were slumbering. Yet is his cloud-couch wrought of crimson and cloth-of-gold ; yet does his light stream over the mirror of waters, like a tremulous fire-pillar, shooting down- wards to the abyss, and hide itself under my feet. In such moments. Soli- tude also is invaluable ; for who would s]ieak, or be looked on, wlieu be- hind him lies all Europe and Africa, fast asleep, exce[>t the watchmen ; and before him the silent Immensity, and Palace of the Eternal, whereof our Suu is but a porch-lamp ? ' " Another fair specinten of his combining power is seen in Teu- felsdroeckh's "own ideas with respect to duels." This also shows a spice of cynicism : — "Few things, in this so surprising world, strike me with more surpiise. STRENGTH. 163 Two little visual Spectra of men, hovering with insecure cohesion iu the midst of the Unfathomarlk, and to dissolve therein, at any rate, very soon, — make pause at tlie distance of twelve paces asunder; whirl round; and, simultaneously by the cunningest mechanism, explode one another into Dissolution; and off-hand become Air, and Non- extant! Deuce on it [vcrdammt), the little spitfires ! — Nay, I think with old Hugo von Trim- berg : ' Go(l must needs laugh outright, could such a thing be, to see His wondrous Manikins here below ! ' " In one of his later Miscellanies, iv. 315, there is a "Fragment on Diielling" (of date 1850), where tlie actual fights are described with startling spirit, and the surroundings drawn with almost in- comparable power. This also is a good specimen of his style. Let us take a brief glance at the principal themes or occasions that excite his powers of gorgeous expression, (i.) He i>uts fortli all his powers to extol his favourite recipes for clearing the world of confusion. One or two fragments of such eloquence have been already given. Above all, he is ever on the watch for an oppor- tunity of enforcing his gospel of Work, the panacea which alone brings order out of confusion, cosmos out of chaos. Such passages as tiie following may be described as "bracing." The general effect of such a gospel is to exalt the sense of active vigour, to disturb, if not dispel, the indolent mood compatible with adoring reverence or tender sentiment : — "Any law, however well meant as a law, which has become a bounty on unthrift, idleness, bastardy, and beer-drinking, must be put an end to. In all ways it needs, especially in these times, to be proclaimed aloud that for the idle man there is no place in this England of ours. He that will not work, and save according to his iiicans, let him go elsewhither ; let him know that for him the Law has made no soft provision, but a hard and stern one ; that, by the Law of Nature, which the law of England would vainly contend against in the long-run, he is doomed either to quit these habits, or miserably be extruded from this earth, which is made on principles dilferent from these. ... A day is ever struggling forward, a day will arrive in some approximate degree, when he who has no work to do, by whatever name he may be named, will not find it good to show himself in our quarter of the solar system. " His eulogy of the heroes, the men that he pronounces to have done genuine work in the world, has the same bracing tone. Pros- trate adoration, as we have seen, does not suit his temperament; he "fraternises" with the heroes, holds up them and their works as patterns to all men of the heroic mould. True, he commands the multitude to worship, and declaims against them if they refuse; but he is rarely found in the adoring attitude himself. (2.) Perhaps his richest vein is his unmeasured invective against everything that defeats the hero's efforts to redress the universal confusion, and his overcharged pictures of that confusion. He does 164 THOMAS CARLYLE, not assail individuals for single acts — that would have a narrow and rancorous effect. When an offender crosses his path, he denounces him not personally, but as one of " the Devil's Regi- ment," as adding his little contribution to the " bellowing chaos," " the wide weltering confusion." Most of his stormy warfare of words is directed against the evils of this life gathered up under abstractions familiar to the most incidental reader of his books — Shams, Unvcracities, Speciosities, Phantasms, and suchlike. We must be content for examples with fragments already quoted. (See pp. 142, 154). (3.) He describes with surpassing power tlie grand operations of Nature in her terrible aspects. He is not insensible to beneficent grandeurs, but his temperament inclines him more to the gloomy side — -to the " tropical tornado " more than to the "rainbow and orient colours." At times he represents that a God, an Order, a Justice, presides over the " wild incoherent waste "; that to a man understanding the Sphinx riddle (another variety for the " eternal regulations of the Universe"), Nature is "of womanly celestial loveliness and tenderness;" that "Nature, Universe, Destiny, Existence, however we name this grand unuameable fact in the midst of which we live and struggle, is as a heavenly bride and con- quest to the wise and brave." But on this aspect of Nature he dwells less than on the opposite. More often " the wild Universe storms in on Man inKnite, vague-menacing." It is on this aspect of the 'Universe that he has accumulated his " Titanic " grandeurs of expression. As an example of his luxurious revelling in " sulphur, smoke, and flame," may be quoted the following from his 'Chartism' : — " It is in Glasgow ainoDg that class of operatives that ' Number 60,' in his dark room, pays down the price oC blood. Be it with reason or with un- reason, too surely they do in verity find the time all out of joint ; this worhi for tliem no home, but a dingy prison-house, of reckless unthrifc, rebellion, rancour, indignation against themsidves and against all men. Is it a green flowery world, with azure everlasting sky stretched over it, the work and government of a God ; or a murky, simmering Tophet, of cop- peras-fumes, cotton-fuz, gin-riot, M'rath and toil, created by a Demon, governed by a Demon ? The sum of their wretchedness, merited and un- merited, weitei's, huge, dark, and baleful, like a Dantean Hell, visible thei'e in the statistii^s of Gin ; Gin, justly named the most authentic incarnation of the Infernal Principle in our times, too indisputably an incarnation ; Gin, the black throat into which wretchedness of every sort, consummating itself by calling on Delirium to help it, whirls down ; abdication of the power to think or resolve, as too painful now, on the pait of men whose lot of all others would require thought and resolution : liquid Madness sold at tenpence the quartern, all the products of which are and must be, like its origin, mad, miserable, ruinous, and that only ! If from this black, nn- luminous, unheeded inferno, and jirison-Iiouse of souls in pain, there do flash up from time to time some dismal widespread glare of Chartism or tha like, notable to all, claiming remedy from all," &c. PATHOS — THE LUDICROUS. 165 Pathos. Carlyle's writings are not without gleams of pathos, all the more touching from the surrounding ruggedness. A man of strong special affections, he dwells with most moving tenderness on the life and character of his friends Edward Irving and John Sterling. To his heroes — Mirabeau, Cromwell, Friedricb, Burns — he seems to have been bound by something of the same personal attach- ment ; and he records their death as with the deep sorrow of a surviving friend. He often waxes wroth with " puking and sprawling Senti- mentalism;" and the thought of human misery seems usually to rouse his indignation against idleness as the cause of misery, and to excite him to a more vehement enforcement of his panacea, the gospel of Work. Yet sometimes the thought of human misery does unnerve liim, and throw him into the melting mood. Thus, when he stands with Teufelsdroeckh in the porch of the " Sanc- tuary of Sorrow," he cries : — " Poor, WHiidering, wayward man ! Art thou not tried, and Leaten with stripes, even as I am ? Ever, wlietlier thou bear the royal mantle or the beugar's gabardine, art thou not so weary, so heavy-laden ? and thy Bed of Rest is but a Grave. O my Brother, my Brother ! why cannot I shelter thee in my bosom, and wipe away all tears from thy eyes ? " His most characteristic pathos is his subdued sorrow at the irresistible progress of time. The tired labourer mourns wearily that he can do so little, that time is so short. This weary feeling often crosses his page. " Agamemnon, the many Agamemnons, Pericleses, and their Greece ; all is gone now to some ruined fragments — dumb, mournful wrecks and blocks." Jocelin of Brakelond is " one other of those vanished existences whose work is not yet vanished; almost a pathetic phenomenon, were not the whole world full of such ! " So (to give one more example) he moralises as follows on the glimpse of Cromwell's cousin in one of the Letters : — "Mrs St John came down to breakfast every morning in that summer visit of the year 1638, and Sir William said giave grace, and they spake polite devout things to one another ; and tliey are vanished, they and tlieir things and speeches, — all silent, like the echoes of the old nightin- gales that sang that season, like the blossoms of the old roses. Deatli ! O Time ! " The Ludicrous. His sense of the ludicrous runs riot ; it may be said to be present everywhere in his writings. When not absolutely pre- dominant, it makes itself felt as a condiment, adding a grotesque flavour even to his serious declamations. A few modes of the quality may be specified : — 166 THOMAS GAELYLE. (i.) His cynicism. — While he often dilates on the grandeurs of human destiny, he not unfrequently sneers at mankind with dry contempt. It is not the fierce cynicism of Timon ; he is too magnanimous for that. He surveys mankind from an Olympian height, and is tickled by their doings. See the " little spitfires" and "manikins" in the passage on duels, p. 163. Compare also this godlike cynicism with the despondency of Hamlet. To Ham- let the world is "a sterile promontory," "a pestilent congregation of vapours " ; to Teufelsdroeckh in certain moments the world seems "a paltry dog's cage." (2.) His derision is, however, iisually more boisterous, less notably dry. He is not personal and rancorous ; he does not rail against individuals. His favourite butts are certain abstractions, institutions, and opinions ; a whole pandemonium of Shams, — • sham Authorities, sham secretaries of the Pedant species, ikc. — "vile age of Pinchbeck," " wild Anarchy and Phallus- Worship ; " the Church, Parliament, Downing Street, galvanised Catholicism, Kings, Aristocracy ; Reform movements, Exeter Hall Philan- thropic movements, Puseyism, Logic, Political Economy, Benth- amee Radicalism, Leading Articles. In truth, he seems to dislike all existing institutions and all existing opinions, with the excep- tion of one set. He has thus absolutely unlimited scope for his riotous derisive humour; his field is the world. And it cannot be denied that he turns his j^osition to the best account. One of his most characteristic proceedings is to heap contemp- tuous nicknames upon the object of his dislike. His command of language here stands him in good stead. See his " Nigger Question," " The Dismal Science," " Pig-Philosophy," " Horse- hair and Bombazeen Procedure." Any page of his declamations on modern society will give abundance of examples. Another favourite device is to set up representative men with ridiculous names, as M'Croudy, the Right Honourable Zero, the Hon. Hickory Buckskin, the Duke of Trumps, and many others, not to mention the unquenchable Dryasdust. It is to be observed that whether his ridicule be quiet or boisterous, the absence of personal spleen makes it essentially humorous, not vindictive, bitter, rancorous. The man places himself at such a height above other mortals, and is so sublimely confident in his views, that difference of opinion rather amuses than provokes him, and leaves him free to turn his opponent into ridicule "without any ill feeling." , (3.) In his apostrophes we have seen what humorous liberties he takes with individuals. In all these ludicrous degradations there is a redeeming touch of kindness. The kindness is always there, whatever be the form of it — whether grim, grotesque, whimsical, or playfully aflfectionate. Even towards scoundrels MELODY — HAEMONY — TASTE. 167 of easy morality, like Wilhelmus Sdcristn in 'Past and Present,' he shows some relenting when they come before him in their personality as individuals. Poor William, given to "libations and tacenda," is deposed by Abbot Samson, and, in spite of all his idleness, gets from our author the following kindly parting : — " Whether the poor Willielmus did not still, by secret channels, occa- sionally get some slight witting of vinous or alcolioli{! lii^nor, — now grown, in a manner, indispen.sable to the poor man ? — Jocelin hints not ; one knows not how to hope, what to hope ! ]>ut if ho did, it was in silence and darkness ; with an ever-present feeling that tcetotalism was his only true course." His nicknames for individuals are moderated to tlie same kindly tone of humour. Karl August is very objectionable in the ab- stract ; yet Carlyle gives hira no harder nickname than " August the Physically Strong"; and in his older days, "August the Dilapidated-Strong." (4.) In his ' Sartor Eesartus,' and elsewhere, he shows himself capable of the humour of driving fun at himself. The chapter on Editorial Difficulties is a sample. The humour is much more self-asserting than De Quincey's ; it amounts in substance to this, that he fathers his most extravagant eccentricities upon a feigned name, and critici-ses them from an ordinary point of view — a device for stating, Avithout the appearance of extravagance, opin- ions that the general public might think bombastic were they delivered in the author's own person. (5.) In a writer of such brilliant execution as Carlyle, the quality of the humour is much enhanced by the pleasure arising from the freshness of the language. When the ludicrous over- throw of dignitaries would otherwise be apt to raise serious feel- ings, the enjoyment of the language is conciliating, and disposes the reader to laugh rather than be angry. Melody — Harmony — Taste. As respects the melodious combination of words, Carlyle, though not below average, is by no means a model. He despises all study to avoid harsh successions ; he considers such art to be mere trifling in the present age. In his own attempts to " sing " — ■ that is, to write verses before he fully discovered that his strength lay in prose — the rhythm is conspicuously bad. Still his prose has a peculiar strain — a characteristic movement. From such passages as have been given, the reader with an ear for cadence will have no difficulty in making it out. It corresponded to the emphatic singsong intonation of his voice ; a stately sort of rhythm, after a fashion of stateliness that differs from De Quincey's in the rugged unmelodious flow, and the frequent recurrence of emphasis. 168 THOIVIAS CARLYLE. As regards Harmony between the rhythm and the sense, with Carlyle, as with t>ther impassioned writers, the agreement is most perfect when he is writing at full swing in his favourite mood. He has an ostensible and paraded contempt for the idea of art, or of composition intended to please. Himself nothing if not artistical, he insists on being supjiosed to wear no garb but the mantle of the prophet. Though thus formally disavowing art, he really does, consciously f)r unconsciously, sacrifice even truth to be artistical. Not to review him as an artist, is to do him an injus- tice. As an artist, he errs chiefly in carrying his favourite effects to excess. Tn the pursuit of strength, he sometimes intrudes expressions that approach the confines of rant. Thus, in the following extract he ruins a passage of real pathos with one of his extravagantly sensational mannerisms : — " For twenty generations here was the earthly arena where powerful living men worked out their life-wrestle, — looked at by Eartji, Heaven, and Hell. Bells tolled to prayers ; and men, of many humours, various tlioughts, chanted vespers, matins ; — and round the little islet of their life rolled for ever (as round ours still rolls, though we are blind and deaf) the illimitable Ocean, tinting all things with its eternal hues and reflexes; mak- ing strange proplietic music ! How silent now ! all departed, clean gone. The World-Dramaturgist has written. Exeunt. The devouring Time-Demons have made away with it all : and in its stead, there is either nothing ; or what is worse, offensive universal dust-clouds, and grey eclipse of Earth and Heaven, from ' dry rubbish shot here.' " From this passage, which opens with such beauty, common taste would probably banish the World -Dramaturgist and the Time- Demons ; and the concluding expression would generally be re- garded as unseasonable buffoonery. One class of his offences, then, may be set down to the temporary dulling of the artistic sense by over-excitement. Farther, his humour betrays him into violations of taste. This is done deliberately, in cold blood, not from over-excitement. A humorous turn is given to a declamation on a grave subject — such a subject as overwhelms the ordinary mind with seriousness. The conclusion of the passage on duelling is an example. If an explanation of this is sought, probably none will be found except the pleasure, natural to strong nerves, of treating with levity what weaker brethren cannot helj) treating with gravity. Partly to the same motive may be referred his humorous treatment of the more serious outbreaks of the elder Friedrich. On this have been passed some of the severest comments that our author has received in the course of his career as a writer. His humour causes him to offend on another side. Some of his fun is quite as broad as the taste of the period will allow. In such figures as "owl-droppings," and " the ostrich turning its broad end to heaven," he goes beyond the DESCRIPTION. IGO standing limits of this century. In ' Sartor Resartus,' the name " Tenfelsdroeckh " and the "Nobleman's Epitaph" would hardly be tolerated if rendered in the vernacular. Under errors in Taste might also be reckoned his barbarisms and solecisms of language. Farther, almost universally he is charged with abusing his vast figurative resources, with carrying his figurative manner to excess. He would seem to have been conscious of his liability to this charge before it was made : in a passage already quoted from the Sartor, he speaks of labouring under figurative plethora. At the same time, it is undoubtedly to the freshness and opulence of his imagery that he owes a great part of his reputation. KINDS OF COMPOSITION, Description. In Carlyle's powers of description lies one of his most indisput- able claims to high literary rank. He seems to have studied the art most elaborately. We can gather from his various books that all his life long he had watched human beings and natural scenery with an eye to the rendering of their peculiarities into language. Especially in his later writings he describes with incomparable felicity. In the delineation of external nature, " his peculiarities are to bring forward in strong relief the comprehensive aspects, to im- press these by iteration and by picturesque comparisons, to use the language of the associated feelings, and in the shape of har- monious grouiiings to introduce some of the elements of poetry." The following, from the last volume of ' Friedrich,' exemplilies his statement, repetition, and illustration of the general features of a scene : — "Torgau itself stands near EUie ; on the shoulder, eastern or Elbeward shoulder, of a big mass of Knoll, or broad Heiglit, called of Siptitz, tlic main eminence of tlie Gau. Shoulder, I called it,-' ol' tliis Height, of Siptitz ; but more properly it ■* is on a continuation, or lower ulterior lieigbt dipjiing into Elbe itself, that Torgau stands. Siptitz Height, nearly a mile from Elbe, dips down into a straggle of ponds ; after wliirli, on a second or final rise, comes Torgau di]iping into Elbe. Not a shoulder strictly, but rather a check, with neck intervening ;— neck goitry for that matter, or qtiaggy with ponds ! The old Town stands high enougb, but is enlaced on the western and southern side by a set of lakes and quagmires, some of wliii-li are still extensive and undraiued. The course of the waters iiereabouts, and of Elbe itself, has had its intricacies ; close to noith-west, Torgau is bordered, in a straggling way, by what they call Old Elbe ; whicli is not now a fluent entity, but a stagnant congeries of dirty waters and morasses. The Hill of Siiititz 1 The two its with different references are awkward. In place of " I called it," he should have used some such expression as " I said," without the it. 170 THOMAS CARLYLE. abuts in that aqueous or quaggy manner ; its fore-feet being, as it were, at or in Elbe River, and its sides, to tlie south and to the north for some dis- tance each way, considerably enveloped in ponds and boggy difficulties." The following, from his article on Dr Francia, illustrates his dexterity in making a description vivid by imagining the feelings of a spectator : — "Few things in late war, according to General Miller, have been more notewortliy tlian this march. The long straggling line of soldiers, six thousand and odd, with their qnadrui)eds and baggage, winding through the heart of the Andes, breaking for a brief moment the old abysmal soli- tudes ! For you fare along, on some narrow roadway, through stony laby- rinths ; huge rock-mountains hanging over your head on tliis hand, and under your feet on that ; the roar of mountain-cataracts, horror of bottondess chasms ; — the very winds and echoes howling on you in an almost preter- natural manner. Towering rock-barriers rise sky-high before you, and behind j'ou, and around you ; intricate tlie outgate ! The roadway is narrow ; foot- ing none of the best. Sharp turns there are, where it will liehove you to mind your paces ; one false step, and you will need no second ; in the gloomy jaws of the abyss you vanish, and the S[)ectral winds howl requiem. Some- what better are the suspension-bridges, made of bamboo and leather, though they swing like sec-saws : men are stationed with lassos, to gin j'ou dexter- ously, and lish you up from the torrent, if you trip there." This passage is also a good example of a description where the particulars support each other : along with towering rocks and a narrow roadway we naturally ex[)ect huge abysses and roaring waters. The mention of the hollow winds shows his sensibility to harmonious poetical effects. "A description is nioi-e easily and fully realised when made individual — that is, presented under all the conditions of a j^ar- ticular moment of time." Our author fully understands this : it is one of his cardinal arts. His works abound in picturesque allusions to seasons and times, to temporary attitudes of things and persons. Thus, in his ' Life of Sterling ' : — "One day in the spring of 1S36, 1 can still recollect. Sterling had proposed to me, by way of wide ramble, useful for various ends, that I should walk with him to Eltliam and back, to see this Edgewoitli, whom I also knew a little. We went accordingly together ; icalkbig rajiidly, as was Sterling's wont, and, no doubt, talking extensively. It probably was in the end of February ; / can rcrnember leafless hedges, grey driving clouds, procession of hoarding -school girls in some quiet part of the route. " Again — "At length some select fiiends were occasionnlly admitted ; signs of im- provement began to a])pear ; and, in the bright ticilight, Kensington Gardens were green, and sky and earth were hopeful, as one went to make inquiry. The summer brilliancy was abroad over the world before we fairly saw Ster- ling again sub dio." In his account of Walter Ealcigh's execution one sentence ia DESCRIPTION. 1 7 1 " J[ cold hoar-frosty morning.'" Such touches as the following are pretty frequent : — "The Sci'ts delivered their fire witli such constancy and swiftness, it was as if the wliolo air had become an element of fire — in the ancient sunnncr gloaming there. " In describing the tumults after the capture of the Eastile, he sud- denly breaks in — " evening sim of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slant on reajiers amid peaceful woody fields ; on old wonjcn spinning in cottages ; on sliips far out in the silent main ; on Balls at the Orangerio of Vei'sailles, where high-rouged Dames of the Palace are even now dancing with double-jacketed Hussar-officers, — and also on this roaring Hell-porch of a H6tel-de-Ville !" One I if his most effective groupings is the bivouac of the army that we have just seen described in tlieir passage over the Andes — "What an entity, one of those night-leaguers of San Martin ; all steadily snoring there in the Inart of the Andes under the eternal stars ! Wayworn sentries with difficulty keep themselves awake ; tired mules chew barley rations, or doze on three legs ; the feeble watch-fire will hanlly kindle a cigar ; Canopus and the Southern Cross glitter doivn ; and all snore steadily, begirt by granite deserts, looked on by the Constellations in that manner." His narratives are eminently pictorial. At every step in the succession of events we are stopped to look at some posture of the actors or their surroundings. This is one of the most striking features in the 'French Ilevohitiou'; it maybe called a historic word-tapestry, a series of significant word-pictures ; it rather de- scribes events in order than relates the order of events. A short example can give but a faint idea of the character of such a work ; the following specimen is taken at random. It describes the storm- ing of the palace of Versailles by a mob : — "Woe now to all body-guards, mercy is none for them ! Miomandre de Sainte-Marie pleads with soft words, on the grand staircase, 'descending four steps' to the roaring tornado. His comrades snatcli him up, by the skirts and belts ; literally from the jaws of Destruction ; and slam-to their door. This also will stand few instants ; the panels shiveiing in, like pot- sherds. Barricading serves not : fly fast, ye body-guards ! rabid Insurrection, like the Hellhound Chase, uj)roaring at your heels ! "The terror-struck body-guards fly, bolting and barricading ; it follows. Whitherward? Through hall on hall : woe, now ! towards the Queen's suite of rooms, in the furthest room of which the Queen is now asleep. Five sen- timds rush through that long suite ; they are in the ante-room knocking louil: 'Save the Queen ! ' Trembling women fall at their feet with tears: are answered: ' Yes, we will die ; save ye the Queen !' " Tremble not, women, but haste: for, lo, another voice shouts far through the outermost door, ' Save the Queen ! ' and the door is shut. It is brave Miomandre's voice that shouts this second warning. He has stormed across imminent death to do it ; fi'onts imminent death, having done it. Brave Tardivet du Repaire, bent on the same desjierate service, was borne down with pikes; his comrades hardly snatched him in again alive. Miomandre -172 THOMAS CARLYLE. and Tardivet : let tlie names of these two Body-guards, as the names of brave men should, live long. " Trembling Maids of Honour, one of whom from afar caught glimpse of Miomandre, as wy these more comprehensive head- ings, we are enabled to run over the general succession of events without confusion. Then, the books are subdivided into chaiiters, each with a descriptive " label " ; and within the chapters there are divisions of still smaller compass. Thus, the leading subject of one chapter is " Death of George I.:" as a minor subject we have — " His Prussian Majesty falls into one of his Hypochondria- cal Fits." The leading title of another chapter is " Visit to Dresden ;" the minor " labels " are — " The Physically strong pays his Counter Visit ;" and — " Of Princess Wilhelmina's Four Kings and other Ineffectual Suitors." With this care in dividing and subdividing, the table of Contents becomes a vertebrate skeleton of the work, instead of being merely an analysis without any dis- crimination of degrees of importance. Upon the whole it may safely be affirmed that by one means or another, ordinary and extiaordinary, he makes his narratives the most lucid productions of their kind. It may be a question whether he has not made sacrifices to distinctness, and whether he might not have been equally lucid Avithout being offensively eccentric. In the Eji')lanaiion of Erentsf^ he proceeds with his natural per- spicacity, though he grumbles a good deal at being obliged to explain. Thus, he enters at considerable length into the sources and the progress of the quarrel between old Friedrich and George II., enumerating sei)arately five causes. His manner of explana- tion is thoroughly his own. Dry analysis being distasteful to him, he proceeds dramatically, disclosing the moving springs of events in sup})osed soliloquies, and personal communications oral and verbal between the leading agents, himself being usually present, and putting in his word after the fashion of a Greek chorus. How different his manner is from the ordinary way of writing his- tory, need hardly be pointed out. Two short passages from his account of the above-mentioned NARRATIVE. 175 quarrel "between the Britannic and Prussian Majesties" are all we have room for : — " 'My Brother the Comodiavt' (George II.) 'quietly put liis Father's Will in his pocket, I have heard ; and paid no regard to it (except what he Wiis compelled to pay, by Chesterfield and others). Will he do the like with his p< or Mother's Will V Patience, your Majesty : he is not a covet- ous man, but a self-willed and a proud, — always conscious to himself that he is the soul of honour, this poor brother King." " Very soon after George's accession there began clouds to rise ; the per- fectly accomplished little George assuming a severe and high air towards his rustic Brother-in-law. 'We cannot stand these Prussian enlistments and encroaehments ; rectify these in a high and severe manner ! ' says Geoige to his Hanover officials. George is not warm on his throne till there comes in, accordingly, from tlie Hanover officials, a complaint to that ellect, and even a List of Hanoverian subjects, who are, owing to various injustices, now serving in the Prussian ranks. ' Your Prussian Majesty is requested to re- turn us these men ! ' " This List is dated 22d January 1728 ; George only a few months old in his new authority as yet. The Prussian Majesty grumbles painfully respon- sive : ' Will, with eagerness, do whatever is just ; most surely ! But is his Britannic Majesty aware ? Hanover officials are quite misinformed as to the circumstances;' and does not return any of the men. Merely a pacific grumlde, and nothing done in regard to the complaints. Then there is the meadow of Clanrei which we spoke of : ' That belongs to Brandenburg you say? Nevertheless, the contiguous parts of Hanover have rights upon it.' Some ' eight cartloads of hay,' worth, say, almost 5Z, or lol. sterling : who is to mow that grass I wonder ? "Friedrich Wilhelm feels that all this is a pettifogging, vexatious course of procedure ; and that his little cousin, tlie Comodiant, is not treating him very like a gentleman. ' Is he, your Majesty !' suggests the Smoking Par- liament." His deep-seated dramatic tendency leads him to such forms, when he does condescend to " motive-grinding." Explanation on the larger scale he scouts ; he has no patience with " philosophi- cal " histories. He does not want to have great events traced to their chief causes ; he prefers that they should remain in mystery. He lays his ban on all attempts to give reasons for the ' French Pie volution.' " To gauge and measure this immeasurable Thing, and what is called account for it, and reduce it to a dead logic-fornnila, attempt not ! . . . As an actually existing Son of Time, look with unspeakable manifold inter- est, oftenest in silence," &c. Yet in the dramatic form, he does, as a matter of fact, give the commonplace explanation, that the masses found the yoke of their superiors intolerable. Carlyle has his doubts about the propriety of making History a schoolmistress. " Before Philosophy can teach by Experience," he says, " the Philosophy has to be in readiness, the Experience must 176 THOMAS CARLYLE. be gathered and intelligibly recorded." Yet, like most other his- torians, he makes use of history to illustrate his peculiar doctrines, ethical, religious, and political. Not that he is, like Macaulay, continually building up arguments in support of his views. He does not argue, he declaims. He sets up certain men, Oliver Cromwell and the two Friedrichs, as shining examples of Duty, Veracity, and Justice, and upon every colourable opportunity ex- tols them for their exercise of these, his favourite virtues. He is drawn to the Great Rebellion, because it affords "the last glimpse of the Godlike vanishing from this England ; conviction and vera- city giving place to hollow cant and formulism." He loves and praises old Friedrich in spite of his ungovernable temper, because " he went about suppressing platitudes, ripping off futilities, turn- ing deceptions inside out;" because "the realm of Disorder, which is Unveracity, Unreality, what we call Chaos, has no fiercer enemy." He writes the history of young Friedrich, although " to the last a questionable hero," because he was an able ruler, and " had noth- ing whatever of the Hypocrite or Phantasm." In every case he takes for granted the excellence of his favourite virtues; more than that, he tacitly assumes and maintains that they atone for every other immorality. His excuses of old Friedrich's severities on the score of justice, have called out loud expressions of indignation from the reviewers of his History. Farther, he has not escaped the imputation of colouring charac- ters and garbling facts under the bias of his narrow standard of morality. In the opinion of a distinguished French critic, he has misconceived and distorted the history of the French Revolution from a habitual effort to vilify whoever has a different theory of life from himself. For such as are not repelled by his many eccentricities and arrogant judgments, Carlyle's histories possess an intense cliarm. Without recurring to the elements of power in his style, we here glance briefly at his use of the 0|)portunities peculiar to narrative. The interest of his narrative is veiy largely personal. Scenery and military movements he describes with the most graphic power ; but he is constantly at the right hand of individuals rejoicing in their strengtli as the prime movers of great transactions. He records public transactions, but he keeps Ids heroes in the fore- ground or stays with them in the background as the centres of power. In our small quotations to show his mode of explaining events, this appears incidentally ; but no illustration could bring out fully what is so pervading a character of all his histories. He gives the prominence to individuals on principle : assigning to "great men," "heroes," a prodigious influence on the affairs of the world, he carries this so far as to think their sayings and EXPOSITION. 177 doings alone worthy of permanent record. Tittle-tattle about inferior personages, Acts of Parliament, and suchlike, he makes over to Dryasdust ; and certainly his intensely personal method has the advantage in point of sensational interest. His exaltation of heroes, if not the most accurate way of representing human transactions, is doubtless the most artistic : every drama requires a central figure. With his strong sense of dramatic effect Carlyle's plot would be almost as absorbing as a sensational novel, were we not generally aware beforehand from other sources what is to be the upshot. Judge by reading, for example, his account of the Crown-Prince's attempted flight from the cruelties of old Friedrich. Note also, generally, his art of intrtiducing a name with some such phrase as "Mark this man well; we shall perhaps hear of him again." The interest in the progress of mankind, so notable in Macaulay, is greatly wanting in Carlyle. There could hardly be a greater contrast than between the glowing optimist and the despairing prophet ; between the hopeful opening of the ' History of England * and the doleful opening of the ' Letters and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell.' In Carlyle's histories, the absorbing interest of suc- cession, of gradual development, is not wanting; but it is the interest of plot, of suspended expectation, not the cheering inter- est of increase in human wellbeing. To the patriotic Prussian, indeed, his ' History of Friedrich ' would be exhilarating, as show- ing the gradual advance of the House of Brandenburg : and even the philanthropist might rejoice to see the people prospering under the rule of Frielrich. But little encouragement to jubilation of any kind is given by the sardonic historian. His eye is rather on the Phantasms that remain, than on the Phantasms that have been trodden under foot. ExpositioTU From Carlyle the student will learn no delicate arts of exposition. In considering the intellectual qualities of his style, simplicity and clearness, we saw what he does to make himself readily and dis- tinctly intelligible. With his immense command of words he is able to repeat his doctrines in great variety of forms. He is most profuse in similitudes. The t«o great drawbacks to his powers of exposition are, (i) that he deliberately prefers imperfect hints and figurative sayings to complete and plain expression ; and (2) that his examples are not typical cases, but selected for stage effect. His character-drawing is one of his chief distinctions. It is elaborately studied, and in many points the execution is admir- able. His sketch of the outward man seldom fails to be felici- tous ; not groping about confusedly in minor details of feature or M 178 THOMAS CAELYLE. of figure, but dashing off the general likeness with bold compre- hensive strokes. — See his description of George's two mistresses (p. 153), and Mentzel (p. 150). His description of Leibnitz is also good as regards the externals, though perhaps it would bear filling out in other respects : " Sage Leibnitz, a rather weak, but hugely ingenious old gentleman, with bright eyes and long nose, with vast black peruke and bandy legs." These are but slender specimens of his art, probably far from being the best that could be produced ; but the reader will have no difficulty in finding others ; he describes every person that crosses his pages. As a rule, he is satisfied with a few suggestive strokes ; but occasionally he fills in the picture. When he does so, he gives the general view first, and then tells of particular after particular, deliberately, and with some similitude or collateral circumstance to fix each particular distinctly in the mind. His description of Friedrich in the two first pages of his history, is one of his most finished delineations. He carries the same art of clear broad touches into his descrip- tion of character. He is not perverted by likes or dislikes from trying to give the broad outlines truly ; as a rule, he looks at a character only with the eye of an artist : and as a rule, his vigor- ous portraiture of the general temperauient is true to nature. An example or two will show how he always aims at comprehensive general views. We take them at random : — "This Jocelin, as we can discern well, was an ingenio^is and ingenuous, a cheery-hearted, innocent, yet withal shrewd noticing quit'k-witted man ; and from under his monk's cowl has looked out on that narrow section of the world in a really human manner ; not in any simial, canine, ovine, or other- wise inhuman manner," &c. " The eupeptic, right-thinking nature of the man ; his sanguineous temper, with its vivacity and sociality, an ever- busy ingenuity, rather small perhaps, but promiit, hopeful, useful, always with a good dash, too, of Scotch shrewd- ness, Scotch canniness ; and then a loquacity, free, fervid, yet judicious, canny, — in a word, natural vehemence, wholesomely covered over and tem- pered (as Sancho has it) in 'three inches of old Christiau/a< /' — all these fitted Baillie to be a leader in General Assemblies," &c. In these short dashing portraitures, perhaps the only thing worth objecting to is a certain want of order. It is when we come to the minute detail of character that we become conscious of a weakness in the scientific foundations. Carlyle's failure should warn all of the danger of despising psychological analysis, and at the same time producing an analysis made out by common-sense with the assistance of capricious fancy. De Quincey had too clear an insight to fall into such a blunder ; he had no hope even of criticism, unless it was to be based on accurate psychology. Contempt for psychology usually implies bad psychology ; contempt for analysis, PEESUASION. 179 bad analysis. Emphatically is it so with Carlyle. Avowing a contempt for analysis, he rushes with analytic assertions into regions where the ablest analyst treads with caution, and commits blunders that the poorest analyst would be ashamed of. We had occasion to note (p. 141) his view about the association of intellect with moral worth, and of a sense of the ridiculous with moral worth. Take this other statement of his favourite doctrine : — " The thinking and the moral nature, distinguished by the necessities of speech, have no such distinction in themselves ; but rightly examined, ex- hibit in every case the strictest sympathy and corresjioiidence; are, indeed, but different phases of the same indissoluble unity — a living mind." Now, here the division into thinking nature and moral nature is an analysis, just as the division into intellect and worth and a faculty of laughter is an analysis. These are distinguished, he says, by the necessities of speech ; but does he suppose that the psychologist makes any other than a verbal distinction 1 The difference is this : the scientific analyst distinguishes with care, common speech distinguishes withoiit care. To prefer the com- mon-speech analysis to the scientific, is to prefer unskilled labour to skilled labour ; amateur analysis is not likely to be much more valuable than amateur shoemaking. Persuasion. Carlyle's way of making converts is, as we have seen, the way of the declaiming prophet, not of the supple plausible debater, or of the solid logician. He appeals almost exclusively to the feel- ings, not to the reason ; and issues his lamentations and denuncia- tions, his Jeremiads and Isaiads, without the slightest attempt to conciliate opponents. His oratory is employed partly on political, partly on moral subjects. His political influence has been insignificant, smaller perhaps than has been exercised by any political adviser of mod- erate ability ; his moral influence has been considerable. What chiefly cripples his influence, is the arrogant tone of his assertions, his total disregard for the feelings and cherished opin- ions of those addressed. A prophet after this strain can win over at first only the few accidentally predisposed to agree with him. With these few all his grandeur and copiousness is overwhelming ; they become at once his intense admirers and adherents. For bringing over such as are not prepared to jump to his con- clusions, he exerts little influence, except the intrinsic attractions of his style. A reader is disposed to view with favour opinions clothed in a vesture so brilliant : in admiring the fresh original diction, the gorgeous figures, the soaring declamations, the vivid powers of description and narration, one is in danger of being made 180 THOMAS CARLYLE. captive to the doctrines. With those that do not admire the style, whose teeth are set on edge by the outrages on propriety of ex- pression, the prophet's force tells the other way. To many, also, his vituperative eloquence, in spite of its undercurrent of geniality, is offensive. With readers so disposed he is far from gaining ground ; every fresh effusion widens the breach. One of the most amiable features in his preaching is the consol- ing of the humble worker under difficulties. He has many ingeni- ous turns of thought and expression for coining good out of evil, and beguiling the miserable out of their distresses. He comforts the feeble by assuring them with his utmost grandeur of language that in the end right becomes might ; that justice, however long delayed, will at length visit the oppressor. He contends with Plato that the victim of wrong suffers less than the wrong-doer ; and talks of " only suffering inhumanity not being it or doing it." If a man has genius, "he is admitted into tlie West-End of the Universe." " Man's unhappiness comes of his greatness." Had we "half a universe," "there would still be a dark s[)ot in our sunshine." He sets the performance of Duty high above every other consideration. He often declaims against conventional stand- ards of respectability ; and cheers the poverty-stricken with such " wine and oil " as the following : — " And now what is thy property ? That parchment title-deed, that purse thou buttonest in thy breeches-pocket ? Is that th)"- valuable property ? Unhap]iy brother, most poor insolvent brother, I without paichment at all, with ])urse ofteuest in the flaccid state, iniponderous, which will not fling against the wiml, have quite other property than that ! 1 have the mirac- ulous breath of Life in me, breathed into my nostrils by Almighty God." PAET II. ENGLISH PROSE WRITERS IN HISTORICAL ORDER. CHAPTER L Prose Weiters before 158a FOURTEENTH CENTURY. Sir John Mandeville, 1300-1371. — The earliest book of prose able to take for itself a place in our literature, was a book of Travels by Sir John Mandeville. In the various manuscript collections of Early English composi- tions are to be found prose fragments written before Mandeville's work. Some of these have been printed by the Early English Text Society — namely, Homilies of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries; the Ayenbyte of Inwyt, illustrating the Kentish dialect in 1340; also, from a MS. of the fifteenth century, some fragments by the ascetic Yorkshire preacher, Richard Rolle de Hampole, who died in 1349. But these fragments are inconsiderable; and seeing that they had not vitality enough to keep themselves alive, they must not be allowed to take away from Mandeville the honour of being the Father of English Prose. Mr Henry Morley calls him " our first prose writer in formed English," and says " that with him and Wiclif begins, at the close of the period of the Formation of the Language, the true modem history of English Prose." Mandeville professes to write what he had seen and heard in the course of thirty-four years of travel in the East. Nearly all that is known of his life may be given in his own words : — " I, John Maundevylle, kn^'ght, alle he it I be not worthi, that was bom in Englond, in the Town of Seynt Albone.s, passed the See in the Zeer of our Lord Jesu Crist MCCCXXII., in the day of Sej'nt Michelle ; and liidre to liave ben longe tynie over tlie See, and liave seyn and gon thorghe rnanye dyverse Londes, and many Frovyncea and Kingdomes, and lies, and have 184 PKOSE WEITEKS BEFORE 1580. passed thnrghe Tartarye, Percye, Ermonye the litylle and the grete ; thorghe Lybye, Caldee, and a gret partie of Ethiope ; thorghe Amazoj^ne, Inde the lasse and the more, a gret jiartie ; and thorghe out many othere lies, that ben abouten Inde ; where dwellen many dyverse Folkes, and of dyverse Maneres and Lawes, and of dyverse Schappes of Men." Besides this, we know that before leaving England he studied physic, a branch of knowledge that the traveller would find service- able wherever he went. He is said to have returned to England in 1356, and to have then written his book in Latin, in French, and in English : — " And zee schulle undirstonde, that I have put this Boke out of Latyn into Frensche, and translated it azeu out of Frensche into Englyssche, that every man of my Nacioun may undirstonde it." His book completed, he seems to have been again seized with his passion for travel. He is said to have died at Liege in 137 1. There being no printing-press in England till the last quarter of the fifteenth century, Mandeville's book of Travels was not printed till more than a century after his death ; but immediately upon its composition, it begun to circulate widely in manuscript. It was translated into Italian by Pietro de Cornero, and printed at Milan in 1480. It was first printed in England in 1499, when an edition was issued by Wynkyn de Worde. Geoffrey Chaucer, 1328-1400.— Of the ' Canterbury Tales ' two are in ]irose — the "Parson's Tale" and the "Tale of Melihceus." The " Parson's Tale " is a long and somewhat tedious discourse on the Seven Deadly Sins ; the "Tale of Meliboeus " (and his wife Prudence) is an allegory, closely translated from a French treatise. Neither of them has the spirit of Chaucer's verse, and they would hardly have been preserved had they appeared in less illustrious company. Besides these tales, he wrote in prose a translation of the ' De Consolatione Philosophife ' of Boethius, date unknown ; and a ' Treatise on the Astrolabe,' addressed to his son Lewis, conjectured date 1391. John de Wycliflfe, Wiclifife, or Wyclif, the Reformer, 1324-1384, although he wrote mostly in Latin, and probably wrote little in English till near the close of his life, was the most eminent and infiuential writer of English prose in the fourteenth century. Mr Shirley's conjecture is that he did not begin to use the vernacular in controversy till after the great Western Schism under tbe anti- l)ope Clement in 1378. In his opinion "half the English religious tracts of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries have been assigned to him in the absence of all external, and in defiance of all internal evidence." The reader may be referred to Mr Arnold's ' Select English Works of Wyclif ' for examples of what may reasonably be JOHN DE WYCLIFFE, WICLIFFE, OR WYCLIF, 185 ascribed to the pen of the great reformer, when every allowance is made for the extreme difficulty of identifying works that have remained in manuscript till within recent years. Mr Matthew's edition for the English Text Society of certain other writings may also be recommended, as well for the interest of the subjects, as for the careful and thorough introductory biography. In the account of Wycliffe's life, prefixed to his edition of the ' Fasciculi Zizaniorum,' Mr Shirley argued strongly against several traditional views. One of his chief points was that Wycliffe has been confounded with another man of the same name, and that it was this other Wycliffe whose appointment to the Wardenship of Canterbury Hall in 1365 was disputed, and finally set aside by the Pope. This theory, however, has by no means been unani- mously adopted. Mr Matthew follows Lechler in rejecting it. Many of the incidents in Wycliffe's life are still matter of dis- pute. He was a Yorkshireman, born in 1324 at Spreswell or Ipswell, near Wyclif. He studied at Oxford ; but no particulars of his life are known till 1361, when he appears as Master of Balliol. In this year he was presented to the rectory of Fyling- ham in Lincolnshire, and shortly after went there to reside. In 1363, having taken a doctor's degree, he used the privilege of lecturing in divinity at Oxford. At this date he broached no doctrinal heresy, but assailed abuses in Church government, especi- ally recommending himself to the Court by his attacks on the tem- poral power of the Pope, and by defending Parliament's refusal to recognise the Pope's claim for arrears of tribute. In 136S, to be nearer Oxford, he obtained the living of Ludgershall in Bucking- hamshire. In 1374 he was one of a legation sent by Edward III. to arrange some difficulties with the Pope. On his return he was presented to the living of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, which was his home for the remainder of his life. From 1378 Mr Shirley dates a new stage in the reformer's career. He then became more exclusively theological. At what date he began his great enter- prise of translating the Bible into English is not ascertained. So long as he attacked only the pretensions of Church dignitaries, he was supported by the Court against their attempts at revenge. But when in 1380 he began to attack the doctrines of the Church, and proclaimed his heresy on transubstantiation, the Court dared no longer support him. He was banished from Oxford ; and nothing but his death in 1384 could have saved him from further persecutions. That it should be difficult to identify Wycliffe's writings is not to be wondered at, when we remember that in those days tracts and books circulated only in manuscript. Wycliffe towering so high above other theologians of the time, his name could not fail to become a nucleus for all writings of a reforming tenor. His 186 PROSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. translation of the Bible, completed in 1383, and used as the basis for subsequent versions, was not printed for centuries. His New Testament first appeared in 1731, and the Old Testament was never printed till so late as 1850. The whole of the New Testament is said to be by WyclifiFe's own hand. It can be conveniently seen and compared with other early versions in Bagster's ' English Hexapla.' Energy and graphic vigour are the characteristics of his controversial prose. The only other name usually mentioned among the prose writers of the fourteenth century is John de Trevisa, who in 1387 trans- lated Higden's 'Polychronicon.' The translation was printed in 1482 by Caxton, who took upon him " to change the rude and old English " — an evidence of the rapid growth of the language. Trevisa is said to have made other translations from the Latin. Of a translation of the Scriptures said to have been executed by him nothing is now known. FIFTEENTH CENTURY. Prose writers in this century are not numerous, and their works contain little to tempt anybody but the antiquary. Indeed, U]} to the last quarter of this century there was little inducement to cul- tivate the vernacular. A work, as we have said, circulated only in manuscript ; and the learned, chiefly clergymen, addressed their brethren in Latin. Tlie following are the most famous of those that wrote in the mother tongue. Reynold Pecock, 1390-1460.— The Bishop of Chichester followed WycIitFe in denying the infallibility of the Pope, and in upholding the Scriptures as the sole rule of faith. He also questioned the doctrine of transubstantiation. He opposed the persecution of the Lollards ; urged that the Church should reason them out of their heresy, not burn them ; and set an example of this more humane way in a work entitled ' Repressor of overmuch blaming of the Clergy.' This curious work is reprinted in the Rolls series, edited by Mr Babington. The prose style is much more formal and less homely than Wyclifte's, being elaborately periodic. When taken to task for his heterodoxies, he recanted ; and thus escaping martyrdom, was imprisoned for the rest of his life in Thoruey Abbey. Sir John Fortescue, 1395-1483. — Legal and political writer, author of a Latin work, ' De Laudibus Legum Anglise ' (concern- ing the excellence of the laws of England), and an English work, ' The Ditference between an Absolute and a Limited Monarchy, as it more particularly regards the English Constitution.' These are perhaps the first works that avow in their title the strong English JOHN CAPGEAVE. — WILLIAM CAXTON. 187 pride of country. The one extols the English upon the ground of their civil law, and the other sets forth the superiority of the Eng- lish people to the French. In his ' De Laudibus,' Fortescue calls himself Cancellarius Anglice, Chancellor of England ; but this title seems to have been no better than the titles conferred by James VIII. at St Germains. He was Chief-Justice of the King's Bench in the reign of Henry VI., fled with that prince after the battle of Towton, was probably made Chancellor when in exile, returned with Margaret and Prince Edward, was taken prisoner at Tewkesbury in 147 1, made his sub- mission to Edward IV., and spent the close of his life in retirement at Ebrington in Gloucestershire. His 'Monarchy' was first printed in 1714 by his descendant, Baron Fortescue, the friend of Pope. The ' De Laudibus ' is more famous; it was translated into English in 15 16, and subsequently annotated by Selden, the antiquary. John Capgrave, 1393—, born at Lyime, educated probably at Cambridge, made Provincial of the Order of Austin Friars in Eng- land, was one of the most learned men of Lis time, a voluminous author in Latin, and wrote a biography and a cbronicle in English. The ' Chronicle of England ' is reprinted in the Master of the Rolls series of Chronicles. It begins with the Creation, and is distin- guished by its conciseness. William Caxton, the Printer, 1420-1492.— Printing was intro- duced into England not by scholars, but by an enterprising English merchant, who had lived for more than tlurty years in ]>ruges, then the capital of the Duke of Burgundy, and a great centre of literary activity as well as trade. Caxton settled in Bruges as a merchant, after serving his apprenticeship to an eminent mercer in London : rose in time to be " Governor of the English Nation," or English Consul, at Bruges; and on the marriage of Edward TV.'s sister, Margaret, with Charles of Burgundy, in 146S, entered her service, probably as her business agent. Book-collecting and book-making had been for years, and more particularly under Philip the Good, an ardent fashion at the Court of Burgundy. Caxton caught the enthusiasm, and translated into English a version of the ' History of Troy,' made by Le Fevre, one of the royal chaplains. His ver- sion was admired. He was asked for copies of the work. This turned his attention to the art of printing — introduced about that time into Bruges by Colard Mansion, an ingenious member of the craft of book-copying. It occurred to him apparently that it would be a good speculation to set up a printing-pross in London. The first book issued by Caxton that bears the Westminster imprint, was a translation of ' The Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers' — " enprynted at Westmestre," 1477. -But Mr Blades, the great authority on the subject, puts it eighth in the list of books printed 188 PROSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. by Caxton — the ' History of Troy,' and six others, having probably been printed by him abroad before his resettlement in his native country. Caxton's printing-press gave an immense impulse to v^riting in the English tongue. In the first ten years after its establishment, probably more English was written for publication than had been written in the two preceding centuries. His press gave to the world no less than sixty-four books, nearly all in English. His publications were mostly translations from French and Latin, many of them made by himself. They include religious books of a popular cast — ' Pilgrimage of the Soul,' ' The Golden Legend ' (Lives of the Saints), ' The Life of St Catherine of Sens : ' books of romance— rMalory's ' Mort d'Artur,' ' Godfrey of Boloyn,' ' The Book of the Order of Chivalry,' ' The History of the Noble, Right Valiant, and Right Worthy Knight Piiris, and of the Fair Vienne ; ' and some of the works of Chaucer, Gower, and Lydgate. Caxton's books are a good index to the taste of the time, because he published as a man of business, not for the learned, but for the general reader and book-buyer. He was a fluent translator him- self, not careful of his style, like Bishop Pecock, for example, but rough and ready, following his French originals in idiom. He spoke with quite a courtly air about the rude old English of the previous century, and was sharply taken to task by Skelton for his presumption. His own English differs somewhat in diction, but not so much in the words used as in the greater copiousness of ex- pression and greater abumlance of French idiom. Robert Fabyan, or Fabian, who died in 15 12, is usually counted among tlie authors of this century. His ' Concordaynce of Stories,' generally known as Fabyan's Chronicle, is the first attempt to write history in English prose. An aldernjan and a sheritf of London, he seems to have pursued literature to the damage of his business ; for in 1502 he withdrew from office on the ground of poverty. In all likelihood he had composed his Chronicle after his retirement from the cares of official life. The Concordance, compiled from older sources, as the name indicates, narrates the history of Britain from the landing of Brutus the Trojan down to 1485. It is most minute in the detail of facts and fictions, making no attempt to distinguish between great events and small. One of its most authentic records is a full and particular account of the successive Lord Mayors of Lon- don. — The book was not published till 15 16, four years after the author's death. One or two other names of this century have been preserved. Juliana Berners (of uncertain date, supposed 1390-1460) deserves mention as the first of her sex to publish a book in English. She JOHN BOURCHIER. — SIR THOMAS MORE. 189 was prioress of Sopewell Nunnery, near St Albans, was — like the gentlewomen of the period — fond of hawking and hunting, and wrote a treatise on these sports. Sir Thomas Malory (li. 1470) is known as the translator and compiler of the ' History of King Arthur,' printed by Caxton in 1485. To this century belong also translations of various romances from the French, occupied chiefly with the acts of the Round Table Knights and the Seer Merlin; also the Paston Letters, supposed date, 1422. FIRST HALF OF SIXTEENTH CENTURY. With the sixteenth century our prose literature begins a new era, though the writers are still far from being of any use as models of style. In spite of the encouragement given to English writing by the establishment of printing, some of the most distinguished authors of the time wrote chiefly in Latin, being ambitious of a wider audience than the English-reading public. The high-minded Bishop Fisher, who in 1535, at the age of seventy-five, was put to death for denying the king's ecclesiastical supremacy, wrote copiously in Latin in defence of the Catholic tenets, and left only a few sermons in English. Bishop Bale, a generation later (1495- 1563), a champion on the Protestant side, is known chiefly by his 'Lives of Eminent English Writers, from Japhet down to 1559,' a work written in Latin. He wrote in English some bitter contro- versial tracts, and an account of the examination and death of the Protestant martyr Sir John OMcastle. Sir Thomas More wrote his 'Utopia' in Latin. Still, this century begins with a greatly increased activity in the production of original English works. John Bourchier, Lord Earners, 1474-1532, is known chiefly as the translator of ' Froissart's Chronicles.' He was Chancellor of the Exchequer and Governor of Calais, and undertook the transla- tion, which was published in 1523, at the request of the king. It was reprinted in 1812 in the series of English Chronicles. Ber- ners made one or two other translations from French and Spanish. As an educated man and a courtier, he wrote without pedantry the best English of the time; and by that time, chiefly under Italian influence, a much more ornate, balanced, and compact style began to come into use. If we compare any of Caxtou's translations with Berners's Froissart, we are struck at once with a decided ad- vance in point of form. By the end of Henry VIII.'s reign, we can distinctly see the stylistic tendency which reached an extrava- gant height in the prose of John Lyly. Sir Thomas More, 1480-1535, first layman Chancellor of Eng- land, anthor of ' Utopia,' is perhaps the first of our writers whose prose displays any genius ; and his ' Life of Edward V.' is pro- nounced by Mr Hallam to be " the first example of good English 190 PROSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. language, pure and perspicuous, well chosen, without vulgarisms or pedantry." More's life is well known ; he ranks with Sir Philip Sidney as one of the most popular characters in our history. His father was Sir John More, a judge of the Court of King's Bench. Admitted as a page to the household of Cardinal Morton at the age of fifteen, he was sent thence to Oxford, where he made the acquaintance of Erasmus. Under his pleasant exterior there was a vein of gravity and asceticism ; and after leaving Oxford he had thoughts of be- coming a monk. This desire passed away ; he settled duwn to the practice of the law, soon rose to distinction, was made under- sheriff of London, and obtained a seat in Parliament in 1504. He offended Henry VII. by opposing a subsily; and, retiring from public life, probably busied himself with his ' Life of Edward V.,' till the accession of Henry VJII. let him resume his professicm. With Henry he became a great favourite, and in 1529, on the fall of Wolsey, was made Chancellor. A stanch adherent to the Church of Ptome, he is said to have practised in his chancellorship severities against the Reformers very inconsistent with the theory of the 'Utopia.' When Henry broke with Eome, the Chancellor would not follow him, and suffered death rather than take an oath affirm- ing the validity of the King's marriage with Anne Boleyn. He was beheaded in 1535, acting up to his Utopian precept that a man should meet death with cheerfulness. The ' Utopia,' written, as we have said, in Latin, was first printed in 1 5 1 6 at Louvain. His principal English work is the 'Life and Reign of Edward V. and of his Brother, and of Richard III.,' our first prose composition w^ortliy of the title of history. He was also a voluminous writer of controversy, publishing more than 1000 pages folio against Tyndale; and a letter to his wife that has chanced to be preserved is often quoted. The ' Utopia,' though written in Latin, is always reckoned ad an English work, and is the chief support of ]\Iore's place in Eng- lish literature. The dramatic setting of the work is done with great ingenuity and humorous circumstantiality. More professes to be only a transcriber; he simply writes down what he remem- bers of a conversation with a restless traveller, Raphael Hythloday. Ralph had met in his travels with the conmionwealth of Utopia (Nowhere), and More draws him out to give an account of it. Pialph is thus an earlier Teufelsdroeckh, as Utopia is an earlier Weissnichtwo. Under the dramatic guise, disclaiming all respon- sibility for the opinions, More utters freely political advice that might have been unpalatable but for its witty accompaniments of time, place, and circumstance. The work is full of graphic personal descriptions, and of humour that has a freshness almost unique after such a lapse of time. As SIR THOMAS MORE, 191 a small sample of his picturesque description, take the first appear ance of Hythloday. On leaving church at Antwerp one day, sauntering out — " I chanced to espy this foresaid Peter (Giles) talking with a certain stranger, a man well stricken in age, with a black sunburnt face, a long beard, and a cloak cast homely about his shoulders, whom by his favour and apparel forthwith I judged to be a mariner." A fair specimen of his humour is his pretended difficulties in finding out exactly where Utopia lay. He let off Raphael without minute questioning, so occupied was he with the peculiarities of the place ; then he wrote to his friend Giles, who found the travel- ler, and asked the particulars of latitude and longitude ; but un- fortunately at the critical moment a servant came and whispered Raphael, and when the story was taken up again after this inter- ruption, some person in the room had a fit of coughing, so that Giles lost "certain of the words." Throughout Robinson's trans- lation of the ' Utopia,' the translator is so full of admiration that he cannot refrain from marginal remarks, such as, '• O wittie head," "a prettie fiction and a wittie," "mark this welL" Of late years the ' Utopia ' has been sometimes quoted as con- taining lessons for the present day. As a matter of fact, More gives us no lesson that we do not get from living preachers in forms more directly adapted to our time — the main pleasure in reading him apart from his humour and picturesqueness is the surprise of finding in the 'Utopia' doctrines that have been preached in these latter days and considered noveh Curiously enough, the chief author of our time anticipated by the " merry, jocund, and pleasant " More, is the grimly hituiorous, vehement, and defiiint "Seer of Chelsea," Mr Carlyle. The difi'erence of manner makes the coincidence of matter all the more striking. We find realised in the 'Utopia' Mr Carlyle's main political doctrines : his hatred of idleness and love of steady industry, his model aristocracy, his " Cajitains of Industry," his treatment of malefactors, and his grand specific for an overcrowded country — emigration. The Utopians are a sober, industrious, thrifty people ; jewellery and fine clothes they put away with childhood ; tliey have no idle rich, they leave hunting to the butchers ; the chief duty of their magistrates the Syphogrants is, "to see and take heed that no man sit idle ; " they enslave their malefactors, give them a peculiar dress, cut off the ti])s of their ears, hire them out to work, and punish desertion with death ; when their children become too numerous, they found a colony. All this is a curious anticipation of the ' Latter-Day Pamphlets ' ; and in More we meet with many other things that we are accus- tomed to think peculiarly modern. He makes some pleasant play 192 PROSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. on the pedantic worship of antiquity, and the over-honoured " wis- dom of our ancestors." He brings against the capital punishment of theft the same argument that ]\lacaulay, in the Indian Penal Code, urged against the capital i)unishment of rape. Some years ago we heard much al)Out the depopulation of the Higlilands of Scotland to make deer-parks : More has a similar complaint to make ; in his day the high price of English wool tempted landlords to eject husbandmen, and turn arable land into sheep-pastures. The 'Utopia' was first translated l)y Ralph Robinson in 155 1. It was again translated by Bishop Burnet in 1684. Both trans- lations have often been reprinted, and others have been made. Robinson's translation is included in Arber's series of ' English Reprints,' 1869. If we compare Robinson's translation with the original or with Burnet's translation, we are struck with a peculiarity characteristic of our literature up to and including the age of Elizabeth. Robin- son seldom translates an ei)ithet with a single word ; he repeats two or even three words that are nearly synonymous. It would seem as if he distrusted the expressiveness of the new language, and sought to convey the Latin meaning by showing it in as many aspects as our language permitted. " Plain, simple, and homely," "merry, jocund, and pleasant," "disposition or conveyance" of the matter, miglit be explained in this way. But the greater num- ber of the tautologies are the incontinence arising from want of art ; couples are often used where the meaning of one would be amply apparent : thus — " I grant and confess," " I reckon and account," " tell and declare," " win and get," and so forth. Sir Thomas Elyot, 1487-1546, a man of admired integrity and of a genial didactic turn, who was employed by Henry VIII. on two of his most important embassies, was a miscellaneous writer of considerable range. His most famous work is ' The Governor,' which deals chiefly with the subject of education. Besides this he wrote a medical and dietetic M'ork, ' The Castle of Health,' com- posed ' Bibliotheca Eliotfe' (probably a work on the choice of books), and pretended to translate from the Greek a work called 'The Image of Governance.' With More and Elyot may be mentioned their friend, though considerably their junior, John Leland (1506-1552), scholar and antiquary, autln>r of ' The Itinerary.' Edward Hall, 1500-1547, is often coupled with Fabyan as one of tlie two beginners of English prose history. The title of his work is 'The Union of the two Noble and Illustrious Families of Lancaster and Yorke.' There is no particular reason for coupling him with Fabyan. More comes between them as a historian with his Edward V. Hall was a man of better education than Fabyan ; studied at Cambridge, went to the bar, and rose to be one of the GEORGE CAVENDISH. — WILLIAM TYNDALE. 193 judges of the sheriff's court. His style is not equal to More's, and better than Fabyan's. Sir Roger Ascham says that in " Hall's Chronicle much good matter is quite marred with indenture English and . . . strange and inkhoru terms." The work was rejirinted among the English Chronicles in 1809. George Cavendish, 1495(?)-1562 (0, gentleniiui-usher to Cardinal Wolsey, and after Wolsey's death to Henry VI II., wrote a biography of the Cardinal, which is reprinted in Wordswortii's ' Ecclesiastical Biography' as a standard authority. Apart from its own worth, it is interesting as having furnished Shakspeare with particulars for his ' Henry VIIL' An edition, pulilished by Mr Singer in 1825, was accompanied with a proof that the author was George Cavendish, and not Wil- liam, as commonly reported. John Bellenden, Ballenden.or Ballentyne, Archlean of Moray, is the first Scotch writer of prose. He translated Boece's ' History of Scotland' (1536) and the first five books of Livy. His diction is very little ditierent from the ordinary Englioh diction of that time. Translators of the Bible.— Between 1537 and 1539 appeared in rapid succession four translations of the Bible — Tyndale's, Cover- dale's, ^latthew's, and Cranmer's. William Tyndale, 1484-1536. — Translation of New Testament, published at Antwerp, 1526. — Little is known of Tyndale's family. He was a native of Gloucestershire, his birthplace probably North Nibley. He was educated at Oxford, and continued there prob- ably as a tutor till 15 19. Thereafter, being tutor in the family of Sir John Walsh, of Little Sodbury, in his native county, his anti- Popish views became known, exposed him to threats of censure, and finally made England too hot for him, and drove him to Hamburg, 1523-24. Here he laboured at his translation of the Scriptures, holding, with the reformers of Germany and Switzer- land, that the Bible should be in every hand, not in the exclusive keeping of the Church. In 1524-25 he printed two editions of the New Testament by snatches at different jjlaces, subject to vexatious interruptions. In 1526 an edition was deliberately printed at Antwerp, and every endeavour used to smuggle it into England. Turning next to the Old Testament, he translated the five books of Moses, which he published in 1530. He revised his New Testa- ment in 1534. Hitherto he had escaped the agents sent to hunt him out and apprehend him. At last, in 1535, an emissary of the English Popish faction tracked hftii to Antwerp, obtained a war- rant from the Emperor, and lodged him in prison. In 1536 he was led to the stake at Antwerp, strangled, and burnt. At that very time, the change having come in Henry's relations with the 194 PKOSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. Pope, the King's printer in London was printing the first English edition of his New Testament. " Tyndale's translation of the New Testament is the most im- " portant philological monument of the first half of the sixteenth " century, perhaps, I should say, of the whole period between " Chaucer and Shakspeare, both as a historical relic and as having " more than anything else contributed to shape and fix the sacred " dialect, and establish the form which the Bible must permanently " assume in an English dress. The best features of the translation "of 16 1 1 are derived from the version of Tyndale, and thus that " remarkable work has exerted, directly and indirectly, a more " powerful influence on the English language than any other single " production between the ages of Richard II. and Queen Elizabeth." — (Marsh's 'Lectures on the English Language.') Miles Coverdale, 1488-1569, published a translation of the whole Bible in 1537. His life was more prosperous than Tyndale's, Hardly any mention is made of him before the date of his transla- tion : he would seem to have worked in silence, until the times became favourable to open activity in the cause of the Reformed faith. He was male Bishop of Exeter in 1551. During the reign of Mary he prudently retired to the Continent, returning on the accession of Elizabeth to his former dignity. He is said to have been a native of Yorkshire. His version of the New Testament differs but slightly from Tyndale's. He also wrote several tracts, now much in request among book-hunters. Ilatt/iew's Bible, so called from the name on the title-page, was issued under the superintendence of John Rogers, the pruto-martyr of the reign of Mary. It is not a new translation, but a revised edition of Tyndale's Pentateuch and New Testament, with an amended version of Coverdale's translation for the rest of the Bible. Rogers was a native of Warwickshire, was educated at Cambridge, and became the disciple and friend of Tyndale at Antwerp, where he was chai)lain to the English merchants. He married a German wife, and left ten children. Cranmers Bible (1540) took its name from the celeb rate;! Arch- bishop Cranmer, 1489-1556. It is substantially a new edition of Matthew's, revised by collation with the original Hebrew and Greek. Hugh Latimer, 1491-1555, one of the foremost champions of the Reformation, burnt by Queen Mary at Oxford, along with Cranmer and Ridley. He was born at Thurcaston in Leicester- shire, the son of a well-to-do yeoman. In 1505 he was sent to Cambridge, where in due course he became a resident Fellow. Always vehement and enthusiastic, he distinguished himself, like another Paul, by his strong attachment to the prevailing faith and his denunciations of the new light. About 152 1 he was converted HUGU LATIMER. 195 by a priest whom he calls " Little Bilney," and immediately made himself obnoxious to "divers Papists in the University" by the new direction of his zealous and powerful eloquence. He was brought before Wolsey, but the Cardinal found nothing amiss in his preaching, and sent him away in triumph. When Henry wished to invalidate his marriage with Catherine, Latimer sat upon the question as one of a University Commission, and decided in the King's favour. Soon thereafter, in 1530, he was invited to Court, made a royal chaplain, and in 1535, on the elevation of Cranmer to the see of Canterbury, Bishop of Worcester. Never inclined to look at the world on its favourable side, he signalised his preferment by denouncing, with characteristic vehemence, the abuses of the time, declaring that " bishops, abbots, priors, parsons, canons resident, priests and all, were strong thieves — yea, dukes, lords, and all ; " and that " bishops, abbots, with such other," should " keep hospitality to feed the needy people, not jolly fellows with golden chains and velvet gowns." In 1539 he got into trouble for refusing to sign the six Romanistic articles, resigned his bishopric, sought to retire into private life, but was seized, put in the Tower, and "commanded to silence." His voice is not heard again till the reign of Edward VI., when he blazes out as the most stirring of the Reforming preachers, and a man of importance at Court. When Edward died, everything was changed, and Latimer, with other conspicuous Protestants, suffered the last extreme of perse- cution. Latimer's sermons are still read with interest. They present an extraordinary contrast to modern sermons. In those days the ministers of the Wor^l did not confine themselves to exegesis and morality in the abstract ; they addressed hearers by name, and singling out particular classes, told them with some minuteness how to regulate their lives. Latimer took the utmost advantage of this licence of the pulpit, — told my Lord Chancellor of certain cases that he should attend to personally ; warned the King against having too many horses, too many wives, or too much silver and gold ; and admonished bishops and judges of their duty in the plainest terms. This was not all: in the mutter he prob- ably did not go beyond the time ; in the manner, he was led by his excess of energy into eccentricities of diction and illustration rendered tolerable only by the power and freshness of his genius. His contemporaries looked upon him nmch as the present genera- tion looks on Thomas Carlyle. Many could not endure his open defiance of conventionality, and could not speak of him with patience. These he outraged still more by replying to them from the pulpit. He says — "When I was in troulile, it was olijected and said unto me that I Avas singular, that no man thought as I thought, that 1 loved a singularity in 196 PKOSE WEITEES BEFORE 1580. all that I did, and that I took a way contrary to the King and the whole Parliament, and that I was travailed with them that had better wits than I ; that I was contrary to them all." He then goes on to compare his case with Christ's, and draws a humorous ironical parallel between himself and Isaiah, with a quaint drollery, almost buffoonery, not likely to conciliate those already offended by his eccentric power. He is often praised for his " vigorous Saxon." It is undoubtedly vigorous, and his illustrations have the stamp of genius. But to his cultivated hearers, the homely turns must have sounded like Yorkshire or broad Scotch in a modern discourse. It is not to be supposed that the Court of Edward VI. heard the following with- out a smile : — "In the VII. of Jhon the Priests sent out certain of the Jews to bring Christ unto them violently. When they came into the temple and heard Him preach, they were so moved with His preaching that they returned home again and said to them that sent them, Nunquam sic locutus est homo ut hie homo. There was never man spake like ttiis man. Then answered the Pharisees, N^um et vos sediicti esLis? IVhat, ye brain-sick fools, ye hoddy -peckff, ye daddy imlls, ye huddes, do ye believe Him ? Are yoiv seduced also? " Or the following : — " Germany was visited XX. years with God's Word, but they did not enrnestly embrace it, and in life follow it, but made a mingle-mangle and a hoteli-potcli of it. '' I cannot tell what, partly Pope'y, partly true religion, mingled together. They say in my country when they call their hugs to the swine trough : ' Come to thy mingle-mangle ; come yyr, covie pyr,' — even so they made mingle-mangle of it." Latimer's " Sermon on the Plougher," and his " Seven Sermons before Edward VL," are in Arber's series of English Reprints. Several editions of his sermons were issued in the sixteenth century. John Foxe, 1517-1587, author of the 'Rook of Martyrs,' a native of Lincolnshire. Having studied at Oxford and gained a fellowsliip, he became openly Proti'stant, and was expelled in 1545. After various distresses, he had been but a short time comfortably settled as tutor to the Earl of Surrey when Mary as- cended the throne, and he had to Hee to the Continent and suj^port himself by correcting proofs. After Mary's death he returned and was made a prebendary. His ' Book of Martyrs ' is an interesting record, reprinted by various religious societies : the facts are not much to be relied on, being based upon popular report, evidently little sifted. Sir John Cheke, 1514-1557, Professor of Greek at Cambridge, is best known by the impulse he gave to the stmly of Greek. His life was troubled ; he hud difficulties with Gardiner about certain THOMAS WILSON. — EOGER ASCHAM. 197 innovations in the pronunciation of Greek, and on the accession of Mary had to Hee the country for his religion. After some years' precarious wandering, he was caught at Antwerp and brought back ; was offered tlie alternative of recantation or death ; re- canted, and soon after died of shame and grief. His only English work is written against the insurrection of Ket the Tanner. Its title is, ' The Hurt of Sedition, how grievous it is to a Commonwealth.' THIRD QUARTER OF SIXTEENTH CENTURY. About the beginning of this period we find a marked develop- ment of prose style. It V>egins to be more generally a subject of special study. Teachers in high places begin to theorise on the essentials of polite writing. Thomas Wilson, d. 1581, published an 'Art of Logic' in 1552, an 'Art of Rhetotic ' in 1553. The latter is the first treatise on English composition. Wilson was a man of position, said to have been Dean uf Durham, and to have held offices of state under Eliza- beth. He was not a dry and formal writer, but aimed at conveying instruction in an easy, familiar, und courtly style, expressly eschew- ing the terms of the schools. In this respect he often reminds us of Addison and the polite writers of Queen Anne's time. His ' Rhetoric ' embraces much more than the mere art of composi- tion. It is a familiar treatise on the lines of Qiiinti ban's rhetoric, such as might be written for the instruction of a young nobleman preparing to take a part in public life, the didactic being relieved by witty anecdotes. It deals with a good style among other requisites of oratorical success. Wilson made a stand for the purity of the " King's English." ^ He ridiculed fops and scholars for talking Chaucer, and for larding their speech with French- English, with Italianated tern)s, with inkhorn terms, with " far- fetched colours of gay antiquity." "The unlearned or foolish fantastical . . . will so Latin their tongues that the simple ... . think surely they speak liy some revelation." Roger Ascham, 1515-1568, is one of the best known men of his century. He was more fortunate in his life than More, Latimer, or Cheke. He enjoyed a pension under Henry and Edward, had his pension not only continued but increased by Mary, was made her Latin Secretary ; after her death became a fuvourite with Elizabeth, continued to enjoy pension and secretaryship, taught Latin and Greek to the learned Queen, and lived to write that, " in ou7' fore- fathers' time, Papistry as a standing pool covered and overflowed all England." The secret of his success was, that he held no strong opinions in religion, or, at any rate, kept them to himself. When at Cambridge he nearly lost his fellowship by indiscreetly ^ He is, so far as we are aware, the first writer to use tliis expression. 198 ,. PEOSE WRITERS BEFORE 1580. speaking against the Pope. Escaping shipwreck that time, he was careful never to offend again by an obtrusive profession of his faith. A Yorkshireman, son of Lord Scroop's steward, he had little of the Yorkshire vigour ; a man of delicate constitution, of gentle and polished manners ; noted for his fine penmanship and elegant scholarly acquirements, and having not a little of the dexterity of the courtier. The 'Toxophilus ' (1545) is a dialogue on archery, sustained by Philologus and Toxophilus — Lover of the Book, and Lover of the Bow. It gives the history of the bow, compares archery with other recreations, recommends it as an exercise for the student, tells the best kind of wood for the bow, discusses the art of shoot- ing, &c. ; above all, it declares what England owes to the bow, and urges every Englishman to practise the national weapon. Upon the merits of this side of the treatise he received his pension from Henry. The 'Schoolmaster' (published in 1570, after his death) discusses the readiest means of acquiring a knowledge of Latin, and criticises the style of Varro, Sallust, Cicero, and Caesar. In both ' Toxophilus ' and the ' Schoolmaster ' he takes great liberty of digression, but does little to redeem his promise of great things under modest titles. He announced a ' Book of the Cockpit,' in defence of his frequenting that place of amusement, but the work was never published. His chief ' service to English prose is the example he sets, as a scholar and a courtier, of writing in the vernacular. This service is acknowledged by Dr Nathan Drake. Thomas Fuller says of him — " He was an honest man, and a good shooter. Archery was his pastime in youth, which, in his old age, he exchanged for cock-fighting. His ' Toxophilus ' is a good book for young men ; his ' Schoolmaster ' for old ; his ' Epistles ' for all men." A collected edition of his English works was published in 1761. Another reprint in 181 5 is modernised, not only in the spelling but in the language. Sir Thomas North, a collateral ancestor of the Guilford family, issued in 1579 an English version of 'Plutarch's Lives,' rendered from the French translation by Amyot. The work was very popular, until superseded by Dryden's translation. It is closely followed by Shakspeare in ' Coriolanus,' 'Julius Caesar,' and ' An- tony and Cleopatra.' An earlier work of his — the ' Dial of Princes,' a translation of Guevara's ' El Libro de Marco Aurelio,' published in 1557 — is still more interesting for the history of prose style. It throws strong light on the derivation of Lyly's Euphuism (see p. 229). There are passages in it that might pass for Lyly's. Holinshed's 'Chronicle,' published about 1580, is known to many readers only from its being utilised by Shakspeare, who HOLINSHED. 199 made Holinslied's translation of Boece the basis of * Macbeth.' In the composition of his * Clironicles,' uhich profess to be a com- plete history of Great Britain and Ireland, Holinshed, himself a man of uncertain biography, had several assistants, whose lives are equally obscure. The prefatory account of England in the six- teenth century, the most valuable part of the work, was written by William Harrison; the history and description of Ireland by Richard Stanihurst. John Hooker, the C'liamberlain of Exeter, and uncle of " the judicious Hooker," is also said to have given some assistance. CHAPTER II. FROM 1580 TO 161O. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, 1554— 1586. In the prose works of Sir Philip Sidney we discern an advance on tlie style of all preceding writers. The advance is not perhaj)S great : — we are not to suppose that prose style departed from the usual law of gradual progress : — still, whatever the difference may be in the ultimate analysis, undeniably his prose is nearer the present style of English than any prose of anterior date. His style has a flow and elevation not to be found in any prose work before his time. On that ground, although he is "a warbler of 2)0ftic prose," his literary fame resting chiefly 011 a romance, it is desirable to analyse his style simply as a prose style at some length. As the " Hero of Zutphen," Sidney is one of the most popular characters in English history; and in his own day, at a very early age, was celebrated all over Europe for his discretion, courage, and accomplishments. It is said that he was mooted as a candidate for the throne of Poland, and that Elizabeth put her veto on the rising negotiation, because she could not part with " the jewel of her time." He was born at Penshurst in Kent; son of Sir Henry Sidney^a knight who became a favourite with Elizabeth, and was famed as an administrator of Ireland ; and nephew to the Earl of Leicester. He was educated at Shrewsbury, and at Christ Church, Oxford. In 1572, at the age of seventeen, he set out with three years' leave of absence to travel on the Continent ; was in Paris during the massacre of St Bartholomew, and went thence to Frankfort, Vienna, and the chief cities of Italy. During these SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 201 travels, unlike most travellers of his rank, he associated with scholars and statesmen, making an earnest study of European politics. Introduced at Court in 1575, his mixed courtesy and gravity at once made him a favourite. In 1577, at the age of twenty-two, being sent as ambassador in great state to congratu- late the new Emperor of (Jermany, and discover as far as possible his tendencies, he met William the Silent of Orange, who pro- nounced him one of the ripest statesmen in Europe. IDuring the eight following years, he had no public employment, and lived chiefly at Court. In 1578 he wrote his masque 'TIae Lady of the May,' performed at Elizalieth's reception by his uncle the Earl of Leicester. Probably about the same time he began his sonnets to ' Stella,' the daughter of the Earl of Essex, afterwards married to Lord Rich. In the same year he had Spenser living with him at Penshurst. In 1580 he wrote the 'Arcadia,' dedi- cated to his celebrated sister, the Countess of Pembroke. In the following year he is supposed to have written the ' Apologia for Poetrie.' After this he became too much engaged in politics to have time for literature. As a statesman, he devoted himself to the policy of humbling the power of Spain. He had boldly written to Elizabeth in 1580, dissuading her from the mai'riage with Anjou, and now he was eager that the Queen shouli take active part with the Continental Protestants. This not being done, he impatiently planned with Drake a secret expedition to strike at the Spanish colonies in America, but was interdicted just at starting. At last Elizabeth resolved to stir, and in the fall of 1585 sent him to the Netherlands as Governor of Flushing along with an army under Leicester. Commencing operations in spring, Sidney showed great enterprise and skill, but was mortally w^ounded in a rencounter at Zutphen, and died Oct. 17, 1586. The touch- ing incident that has endeared his memory, and made him known to every schoolboy, occurred as he rode wounded from the battle. Though he was well known as a writer, and widely esteemed as a patron of literary men during his life, none of his works w^ere published till after his death. The ' Arcadia ' was first printed in 1590, the ' Apologie for Poetrie' in 1595. In personal appearance Sidney was tall and handsome, with clear complexion, and hair of a dark amber colour. By Spenser's testimony he excelled in athletic sports — "in wrestling nimble, and in running swift; in shooting steady, and in swimming strong; well made to strike, to throw, to leap, to lift." He was of such prowess in the tournament, that on the occasion of a great festival he was selected as one of four champions to keep the lists in hon- our of England against all comers. It is not often that we find in union with such physical prowess any remarkable powers of mind. In Elizabeth's Court there were 202 FROM 1580 TO 1610. many able men both physically and mentally, but none of those that were a match for Sidney in the tournament could have written the 'Arcadia' or the 'Apology for Poetry.' Even in his healthy active boyhood Sidney was remarlcably studious; "his talk," says his schoolfellow Fulke Greville, " ever of knowledge, and his very play tending to enrich the mind." When he grew to manhood, his sagacity in practical affairs soon won him golden opinions from more than one veteran statesman. If we look to his writings, we find abundant proofs of intellectual vigour. His diction is copious and felicitous, unmistakably significant of mental quickness and force. In his 'Arcadia' we are constantly struck with the extreme volatility and subtlety of his fancy. In the Apology, along with a similar sprightliness, we meet with pas- sages suggestive of more solid power. In defending poetry against the Puritans, it shows considerable rhetorical perspicacity to claim the Psalms of David as "divine poems." And there is no small discernment in his ntaintaining that a poem might be writ- ten in prose ; that " verse is but an ornament and no cause to poetry." Taken all in all, his works bear evidence of versatile, fresh, and vigorous intellect, and support what is recorded of his adroit courtesy and sagacious observation of affairs. As regards his emotional character, were we to judge solely from his writings, we should take him to have been a man of ebullient spirits, tempered by extraordinary sweetness and warmth of dis- position. This is the impression left by the soft exuberant humour of the Apology, and its strong expressions of delight in the works of the poet. He seems to have been a pleasant companion, although not of the rollicking, pleasure-loving temper that per- petually craves for society. Gay with the gay among his boon companions, he could also be serious with the serious. He loved to exchange thoughts in private colloquy with such men as Languet and Spenser. At times he courted solitude, and would even seem to have undergone fits of melancholy and despondency, as when, before leaving England for the last time, he expressed a presenti- ment that he should never return. To the creations of art he turned with ever fresh delight. He was not an optimist ; he did not find enduring satisfaction, abundant means of enjoyment, in the actual world ; he took refuge from facts in the regions of imagination — " Nature's world," he said, " is brazen, the poet's only golden." The ruling emotion in his creative eifoits, as we shall see when we come to analyse the qualities of his style, is tenderness — not the wild passionate tenderness of the Celtic nature, but a soft and courtly phase of the emotion. His imagination did not dwell sadly upon the sorrowful side of life, but joyfully spent itself in playful humour, in graceful fancies, in pictures of beautiful women and beautiful scenery, and in deeds of romantic devotion. SIR THILIP SIDNEY. 203 The 'Arcadia' gives little evidence of delight in the mere excite- ment of power. It contains great variety of incidents and char- acters; but everything is transfigured by the all-pervading sweet- ness and warmth — everything is seen through this atmosphere. His heroes — young men of irresistible prowess — are beautiful as gods. In recounting their most valiant achievements, he never suffers us to forget that they are in love ; either they are fighting to rescue their fair ladies, or the ladies are listening with admira- tion to the story of their brave adventures. If he enters with spirit into the description of a storm, a battle, a tournament, a duel, a popular tumult, or the speeches at a trial, not only does he mingle pretty fancies with his descri[)tion or narrative, but he seldom keeps long out of view the tender interests at stake. Men so lavishly endowed otherwise as Sidney, with such capaci- ties and self-contained means of enjoyment, are often indifferent to the aims of ambition, and even rash and im[)rudently generous. A less bountiful natural outfit is more serviceable for rising and remaining high in the world. He did not push for favour and office at Court : a slight rebuff drove him to the country ; and he might have spent his life in retirement had not his foreign friend Languet impressed him with the gravity of the political situation in Europe, and urged him to take a part. Once resolved upon a course of action, he moved with fearlessness and vigour. Few men would have ventured on his bold remonstrance to Elizabeth against the French marriage. Naturally sweet-tempered, he was haughty and imperious when provoked, and ready to jiut out his hand to execute his will : witness his giving the lie to the Earl of Oxford, his challenge to the unknown asj)erser of Ids uncle Leices- ter, and his threatening to " thrust his dagger into " poor secretary Molyneux, whom he suspected of tampering with his letters. He owed his death to an impulse of romantic generosity. The Lord Marshal happening to enter the field of Zutphen without greaves, Sidney cast off his also, to put his life in the same peril, and so exposed himself to the fatal shot. The opinions of the A])ology call for some notice. It is a light humorous production, with here and there flashes of lofty beauty; but beneath all this, there is a foundation of seiious doctrine. The author is full of humour and eloquence in behalf of the delights of poetry, but he shows also a serious interest in the cause, a genuine zeal to c