Modern writers honestly criticized (2023)

From the Encyclopedia of Arts and Popular Culture

Pair of chickens:navigation,look for

"Mr. Sala, who in the flesh ismockingly,jovial, and outwardly something like Bardolfo, he is a very severe censor when he wants to be. He is of legal age, say forty-five years, and has worked for the press for almost thirty years since then, since he started early, and it is said that he once wrote to the excellent Mr.eduardo lloyd, of Salisbury Square, certain novels by Mrs.Radcliffeschool, which our best novelists of today have copied, as "Ada the betrayed; o,the murder in the old blacksmith," "julia the desert", and so on. Thesepennythe romances were not cruel, though morbidly exciting; a call "Sweeney Todd; or, the pearl necklace", recounted how a certain barber in Fleet Street had his customers' throats cut, and then thrown into a trap in a kitchen, where they were turned upside down, and came out, like mutton pies! We doubt whether our eccentric genius wrote such stories, but he certainly worked hard and honestly at everything that came his way, and we wish to heaven that some of the superfine, satin, hot-press, gilt, and fashionable novelists had worked too, and had the same practice. ... compare it to this style. Do you think, young author, that those easy and incisive phrases, those subtle and cunning touches, those beautiful curves of Sterne, or Fielding, or Thackeray, came by chance? If you do, you are as clumsy as Dogberry, when he declared that reading and writing were gifts of nature.Modern Men of Letters Honestly Criticized(1870) James Hain Friswell

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Modern Men of Letters Honestly Criticized(1870) is a book ofJames Hain Friswell.

Mister. living room, whose life has been harshly commented on in this work, filed a defamation lawsuit against, the publishers of the book, and obtained £500 in damages.

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PREFACE.&&&The common way of criticizing the results of a scholar's long and hard work is, as we well know, to try it here and there by means of the index, and exhibit the critic's second-hand learning at the expense of the subject literature he is dissecting, pointing out a weak spot here and a sick spot there; but such a mode of treatment would be wholly out of the question in the present case. "The above sentence, from a review in the Athenaeum of May 21, will be sufficient explanation and apology for the words on the cover," he sincerely criticized. The italics are not those of the diary, but added here to mark the frankness of the confession and, at the same time, the curious reservation in favor of Mr. Cox's work on the "Myths of the Aryan Nations," as if in any En In this case, so superficial and essentially dishonest a method might be excused.VI PREFACE.But there is an even worse "mode of treatment" with some critics, and that is to drop, or even make, errors and mistakes, and attribute them to the author more right suffered that treatment, learned the value of such criticism and the causes that make the warning of a common book useless. The only thing of value in this life is the Truth, and although at present we may be burdened with a multiplicity and superabundance of errors, although we are well aware that the Truth can be sealed and hidden for years, it is even more ardent and constantly grows. our belief in the final triumph of what is earnest and fair. A bad book may have great influence and may be successful for a while, but as a rule that influence is negligible and its reign extremely short; goodness and wisdom win, only they are permanent and ultimate. Another great flaw of modern criticism is its cliché. If the author of a book is unknown, if he hides his name for a while, he may find a valuable one, like a preface. viibiassed, review of his work. This is so well known that we could count on the fingers of one hand ten of the best authors of the moment who wrote anonymously with the express purpose of extracting from the press the true value of their work; and since these gentlemen, among whom we can count Mr. Disraeli and Lord Lytton, more than once resorted to this method, we suppose that it was successful. A has been very successful, and the fact that his works make him a lot of money is enough to make the envious and the unsuccessful angry and hostile. belong, whose tests are so acute, and the nature of those involved in it so sensitive, that some seem to feel the success of a peer or contemporary they scarcely recognized as a personal insult. There is also a Celtic and Bohemian delight in following the practice of that good-natured Irishman who, wanting to fight someone, would come out of the tent or booth and grope up from his canvas the hardest, roundest, largest head that leaned against his sides, gave way, and then waited for his owner to come to defend himself. Many peaceful authors, thus refreshing themselves after their work, have been cruelly assaulted in this way, and the pain resulting from such injury is acute, for it is only human nature that a man who has written a wise or intelligent book should desire the prize. of praise. This, we know from the best and purest writer that ever lived, “is the last disease of noble minds. Let us add that if the bearer of the shillelah belongs to a clique, he spares the head of his friends, out of a prophetic feeling that they, in turn, will spare his. "Tomorrow," says Disraeli in "Lothair," "the critics will fall upon us. Who are the critics? Those who have not succeeded in literature and art; to whom we would add, not always failures. One of the greatest dangers out of which emerges an author from the successful, genial, friendly critic, who will applaud his mistakes, cite his platitudes for beauties, patronize him in a manner as open as oily, and who, while revealing his bias, shows nothing else in three columns of place -Common Grammar There was a time when ""PREFACE. ix revision would sell an edition of a novel." If you can promise me a review there," said a well-known publisher to a well-known writer, "I can raise £150 or £200 copy money! The press, especially the London Press, is losing its influence; the cause is that great some of it is losing its truth. A newspaper known for being intelligent and honest is as influential as ever. influence that is essentially immoral; we can be sure that the press will regain that influence when it deserves it, and that the really influential party, even today, he maintains it and deserves it." to use the word of the Athenaeum, - to put praise, or the opposite reproach, in enormous layers, simple without being pure, is unworthy of that name. To judge fairly, you must at least be a judge. "It is an easy task to praise or blame, the difficult task and the virtue of doing both." This phrase was remembered throughout this book and was never absent from the writer's mind. When guilt was freely expressed, the reason for it was given. We are getting tired of the false friendships and false animosities in literature; It's time to call things by their name. As the great Dryden said, for the touch is his, though it is found in Sir William Soame's translation of "Boileau", which he altered and corrected: "In our wavy times, no fool can want a drunkard to complement his rhymes: Shallowest work ever was at court Found some jealous ass for its support: And every time an advanced doodling imbecile Found some still greater fool to scandalize him that "raffs abound in prose and rhyme. "The appalling waste of paper and print that is now taking place is best discouraged by competent critics speaking firmly and fully, with an honesty that commands attention, with a judgment that convinces, with a sternness kinder indeed." than relentless praise, and with a decision that must spring from all three. So far as the writer has been able to follow his own rule, he leaves it to the kindest but sternest, most impartial, and most competent of all critics. , the PUBLIC , to say., 1870. A WARNING, WHICH THE AUTHOR ASKS THE READER TO OBSERVE, AND NOT FORGET." We see that Mr. Friswell has a volume in press entitled "Modern Men of Letters Honestly Criticized." ' We confess that we are looking forward to seeing the book. If he is what he claims to be, the author must be a more intrepid man than most men of letters. If his review is unfavorable, and certainly not everything can be flattering, he'll find he'd better stick his head in a hornet's nest. Let him be careful with the little group of brothers from the Mutual Admiration Society. If he refuses what they think they are entitled to, it will be difficult for him. "THIS paragraph, from the Mundo Literario of September 2, will prove to the reader that some alteration in the present mode of criticism is necessary, if the fears expressed by the honest and able sheet from which I quoted it are to have any foundation. Certainly the English critics, from whom I have personally received such kind consideration, are too manly to give in to resentment or spite.Paragraph xii A WARNING.of your book, and to apologize for its shortcomings.They perceive the sketches to be bibliographical. and biographical as well as critical; many authors struggle to allow reviews to be exhaustive, or to be other than they are - an introduction to the study The reader will also be pleased to note that, although the writer has the honor of being known for almost all the subjects of these pen-and-ink sketches the only personal notes that can be made are of good manners, or rather, even good-natured.. CHARLES DICKENSMR. MARK LEMONVICTOR HUGOCHARLES READE.ROBERT BROWNING JOHN RUSKIN, M.A. , D.C.L , ETC.THE ETHICS OF RUSKINCONTENTS.ALFRED TENNYSON MR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE.MR. LEVER CHARLES .SR. GEORGE GROTE•MR. GEORGE AUGUSTO SALORD LYTTON•▸•MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH••THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI, PC , DCL , PM, etc ,•••·•••·ETC.••PAGEI49617791105119135147159171183195243257}xiv ABSTRACT.›THOMAS CARLYLEHENRY W. LONGFELLOWMR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNETEL REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY RALPH WALDO EMERSON MR. T.W. ROBERTSONM. EDMOND ON•·••••PAGE273285299313333346360CHARLES DICKENS.

SENHOR. CHARLES DICKENS. O grande romancista humorístico, cuja vida ocupa o primeiro lugar em nosso volume, faleceu recentemente. O que se segue foi escrito enquanto ele estava vivo, mas em revisão cuidadosa o escritor não encontra nada para alterar. Ele não era um daqueles que lisonjeavam Dickens em vida, nem era um daqueles que mudaria de opinião depois de morto. O que está escrito foi e é sentido, e o falecido autor sabia quão perigosa e falível, quão prejudicial para um autor vivo é a crítica imprudente em seus elogios e impensada até em suas críticas. Um escritor francês, se acreditarmos nos jornais, relata que Dickens disse a ele que "ele havia sido mimado por excesso de bondade", ou palavras nesse sentido; "isso", disse o cavalheiro, "não era verdade; mas ele sentia, e se sentia, era verdade." Ele raramente encontra qualquer um. O crítico comum admira-se com uma cara tola de elogio "em suas passagens brilhantes, elogia-o com muita frequência por suas falhas, reprime-o quando deveria ser encorajado e alimenta uma loucura até que se torne um vício". Não ligue para os críticos”, disse-me Thackeray, “nunca li o que está escrito sobre mim; Estou cansado de ver meu nome impresso. "Com estas poucas palavras escritas sem arrière pensée, passemos ao nosso assunto. O parágrafo que se segue cito:" Charles John Hougham Dickens (os dois nomes intermediários nunca foram usados ​​por ele) nasceu em 7 de fevereiro de 1812, em Portsmouth, seu pai sendo o Sr. John Dickens, que já foi funcionário do Departamento de Pagamentos da Marinha, mas que, no final da guerra, se aposentou com sua pensão e veio para Londres como repórter de jornal. Depois de ser educado em Chatham, Charles Dickens foi contratado como advogado em Bedford Row, e reminiscências de sua vida no escritório podem ser encontradas nas atividades de escriturário dos Srs. Dodson e Fogg's, e através das páginas de “Copperfield” e “Bleak House”. Mirror of Parliament, mas logo se juntou à equipe do Morning Chronicle. O falecido Conde de Derby, então Lord Stanley, fez em alguma ocasião importante um grande discurso na Câmara dos Comuns. Este discurso, de imensa extensão, foi considerado necessário comprimir mas tão admiravelmente sua essência foi dada no Morning Chronicle, que Lord Stanley enviou ao escritório solicitando que o cavalheiro que havia relatado o esperasse em sua residência no terraço da casa do Sr. CHARLES DICKENS. 3 Carlton, para que ele pudesse então e lá retirou o discurso na íntegra dos lábios de sua senhoria, Lord Stanley desejando ter uma transcrição perfeita dele. O repórter era Charles Dickens. Ele compareceu, anotou o discurso e recebeu os cumprimentos de Lord Stanley por seu trabalho. Muitos anos depois, o Sr. Dickens, jantando pela primeira vez com um amigo em Carlton House Terrace, achou o aspecto da sala de jantar estranhamente familiar para ele e, ao fazer perguntas, descobriu que a casa havia pertencido a Lord Derby, e que aquela era a mesma sala em que ele anotou o discurso de Lord Stanley.” É um erro supor que os primeiros escritos do Sr. Dickens apareceram no Morning Chronicle sob a direção do Sr. Black. O Sr. Dickens se conectou pela primeira vez com o Morning Chronicle como repórter na galeria da Câmara dos Comuns. Isso foi em 1835-36, mas o Sr. Dickens havia sido contratado anteriormente, quando tinha dezenove anos, como repórter de uma publicação intitulada o Espelho do Parlamento, cargo em que ocupou o posto mais alto entre os oitenta ou noventa repórteres da imprensa então em Parlamento. "Foi um salto natural de relatar para" esboçar, como era o termo então, e o Sr. White, em suas "Mornings at Bow Street", tornou tais esboços possíveis e populares. Em 1835, o Capitão Holland dirigiu a Old Monthly Magazine, e nestas páginas apareceram pela primeira vez esboços de um personagem humorístico, assinado "Boz". Quase simultaneamente com estes foi escrita uma ópera cômica, intitulada "Village Coquettes", cujos versos sobreviveram por algum tempo, sendo cantados em vários concertos por Braham. Old""B 24 HOMENS MODERNOS DE LETRAS.. , Mensal, Capitão Holland, excelente editor! havia esquecido o nome de seu colaborador, embora “J. G. tinha marcado a verve e o valor dos esboços." Com algum trabalho foi encontrado, e Dickens, quando escrito para , ofereceu-se para fornecer matéria por oito guinéus uma folha de dezesseis páginas; em seis meses a partir dessa data, tão rápido foi sua ascensão, ele poderia ter comandado cem guinéus. Assim Dickens começou a vida literária. Com que facilidade ele conseguiu, ele nos contou em um discurso que fez em um jantar literário. "Comecei a trilhar esta vida quando muito jovem, sem dinheiro, sem influência, sem companheiros, introdutores ou conselheiros" e ele acrescenta: "Não encontrei dragões no caminho", ao que se pode acrescentar: "Não, mas com muitos amigos. "Esses "Esboços" foram reimpressos em 1836 e 1837, respectivamente, e publicados pelo Sr. Macrone, da Regent Street, ilustrados por George Cruikshank, cujo nome foi usado para vendê-los, e não o do autor. Os papéis e as ilustrações são dignos um do outro; ambos são exageros, em vez de caricaturas, sendo o exagero apenas um véu através do qual a verdade era facilmente vista. Cada personagem é desenhado ad vivum, e nossos pais os consideravam muito vulgares, embora muito engraçados, mas de vez em quando há um toque de verdadeiro gênio; o esboço de Monmouth Street não é apenas fantasioso, mas ao mesmo tempo verdadeiro e patético. Seu valor como verdadeiras obras de arte pode ser visto em sua atual popularidade em Mr. calibre da classe média baixa, e se adequam a pessoas que facilmente se divertem com a pantomima da ação.Alguns deles são livres demais para as pessoas restritivas dos dias atuais, e o "Batismo de Bloomsbury" foi contestado por mais de um clérigo como profano. Em um volume da vida de Dickens, apressadamente levantado, afirma-se que Dickens formou seu estilo com base em "Tom e Jerry, ou Vida em Londres" de Mr. Pierce Egan. Ele não fez tal coisa; ele nomeou um de seus filhos Henry Fielding e Smollett, e a influência desses escritores em Dickens, não menos que em Thackeray, é claramente rastreável em cada linha de suas obras. O sucesso de Dickens nos bons velhos tempos, quando os editores realmente sugeriam obras aos autores, teve o efeito de induzir os Srs. Chapmanand Hall a propor que ele escrevesse certos libretos, para pranchas de caráter cômico e da classe da vida esportiva, fornecidos por um artista humorístico muito inteligente, o Sr. Robert Seymour. Não há dúvida de que tudo o que Dickens deveria fazer era escrever nessas placas, e os relatos feitos por ele e pela Sra. Seymour, viúva do artista, naturalmente variam. A ideia que flutuava na mente dos editores era que eles colocariam diante do público, nas palavras do próprio Dickens, "uma revista mensal 6 MODERN MAN OF LETTERS. algo para ser o veículo para certas placas a serem executadas pelo Sr. Seymour". Isso é bastante distinto, a posição inferior foi atribuída ao artista literário. Aqui estão as palavras de Dickens: “Eu era um jovem de dois ou vinte e três anos, quando os Srs. Chapman e Hall, atraídos por alguns artigos que eu estava escrevendo na época no jornal Morning Chronicle, ou que acabara de escrever na Old Monthly Magazine ( da qual uma série havia sido recentemente coletada e publicada em dois volumes, ilustrados pelo Sr. George Cruikshank), esperou que eu propusesse algo que deveria ser publicado em números de xelim - então conhecido apenas por mim ou, acredito, por qualquer outra pessoa, por uma vaga lembrança de certos romances intermináveis ​​dessa forma, que costumavam ser carregados pelo país por mascates; e sobre alguns dos quais eu me lembro de ter derramado inúmeras lágrimas antes de cumprir meu aprendizado na vida. que representava a firma, reconheci nele a pessoa de cujas mãos eu havia comprado, dois ou três anos antes, e a quem nunca tinha visto antes ou depois, meu primeiro exemplar da revista em que minha primeira efusão - um papel no ' Sketches, ' chamado 'Sr. Minns e seu primo' - caiu furtivamente uma noite ao crepúsculo, com medo e tremor, em uma caixa de correio escura, em um escritório escuro, em um pátio escuro em Fleet-street - apareceu em toda a glória da impressão; nessa ocasião, desci até o Westminster Hall e permaneci nele por meia hora, porque meus olhos estavam tão turvos de alegria e orgulho que não podiam suportar a rua e não eram dignos de serem vistos ali. Eu contei ao meu visitante sobre a coincidência, que ambos saudamos como um bom presságio, e assim começamos a trabalhar. A ideia que me foi proposta era que o algo mensal deveria ser um veículo para certas placas a serem executadas pelo Sr. Seymour; ' cujos membros deveriam sair caçando, pescando, e assim por diante, e se metendo em dificuldades por falta de destreza, seria o melhor meio de introduzi-los. IMR. CARLOS DICKENS. 7 objetou, em consideração, que, embora nascido e parcialmente criado no país, eu não era um grande esportista, exceto em relação a todos os tipos de locomoção; que a ideia não era nova e já havia sido muito utilizada; que seria infinitamente melhor que as placas surgissem naturalmente do texto; e que gostaria de seguir meu próprio caminho, com uma gama mais livre de cenas e pessoas inglesas, e temia que acabaria fazendo isso de qualquer maneira, qualquer que fosse o curso que eu pudesse prescrever a mim mesmo no início. Pickwick, e escreveu o primeiro número, de cujas folhas de prova o Sr. Seymour fez seu desenho do clube, e seu feliz retrato de seu fundador - o último na descrição do Sr. Edward Chapman do vestido e porte de uma personagem real que ele tinha visto muitas vezes. Liguei o Sr. Pickwick a um clube, por causa da sugestão original, e coloquei o Sr. Winkle expressamente para uso do Sr. Seymour. Começamos com um número de vinte e quatro páginas em vez de trinta e duas, e quatro ilustrações em vez de algumas. A morte repentina e lamentável do Sr. Seymour antes que o segundo número fosse publicado, trouxe uma rápida decisão sobre um ponto já em agitação; o número passou a ser de trinta e duas páginas, com apenas duas ilustrações, e assim permaneceu até o fim. 'Boz', minha assinatura no Morning Chronicle e na Old Monthly Magazine, anexada à capa mensal deste livro e mantida por muito tempo depois, era o apelido de uma criança de estimação, um irmão mais novo, a quem apelidei de Moisés, em homenagem ao vigário. de Wakefield, que, sendo pronunciado jocosamente pelo nariz, tornou-se Boses e, sendo encurtado, tornou-se Boz. Boz era uma palavra familiar muito familiar para mim muito antes de eu ser um autor, então vim a adotá-la. "Este relato foi questionado, e o Sr. Dickens nos disse que" o Sr. Seymour nunca originou um incidente, uma frase ou uma palavra no livro; que o Sr. Seymour morreu quando apenas vinte e quatro páginas do livro foram publicadas; que ele (Dickens) só viu Seymour uma vez em sua vida, os 8 HOMENS MODERNOS DE LETRAS. noite antes de sua morte, e que então ele não ofereceu nenhuma sugestão. "Com efeito, o artista, sobrecarregado de trabalho, em um ataque de loucura, cometeu suicídio; e, para muita sorte de Dickens, o Sr. Hablot Browne, um jovem artista que, por um desenho de John Gilpin, ganhou uma medalha da academia, foi chamado para Ele se lançou com ardor na tarefa. O Sr. Dickens chamou a si mesmo de " Boz ", H. K. Browne chamou a si mesmo de " Phiz; "o caráter do trabalho foi alterado, duas ilustrações foram dadas em vez de quatro, e trinta e duas páginas de impressão em vez de vinte e quatro. Por algum tempo o trabalho não teve muito sucesso, mas finalmente atingiu o público, e o sucesso foi imenso. Os editores presentearam o autor com algumas conchas de ponche de prata, que, como colheres de apóstolos, traziam os personagens principais em pequenas figuras douradas e modeladas nas alças, e deram a ele um acréscimo muito bonito ao honorário; diz-se que a empresa ganhou £ 20.000 com Para a maioria das pessoas, "Pickwick" é aceito como a Magnum Opus de Dickens. Certamente é típico, mas embora todo o livro seja uma farsa ao extremo, enquanto o personagem degenera em caricatura e a diversão em pantomimar brincadeiras e "reuniões", há há de vez em quando toques de observação astuta muito inteligente, esboços admiráveis ​​de caráter - o sargento Buzfuz e a cena do julgamento são evidentemente bastante verdadeiros.Sr. CHARLES DICKENS. como um romance de natureza e enredo e personagem comparado a Fielding, "Pickwick" é muito pequeno. Quem já se encontrou com um homem, mulher ou criança que pudesse sentar-se perto de uma lareira no inverno e contar a "trama" de "Pickwick?" ter palpitado no gosto; é muito cheio de incidentes, cena após cena, e aventura, aventura. O romance está repleto de pessoas, e cada pessoa é - como é diferente da vida real e do Sr. Trollope - não cortada no padrão, mas um personagem. Há o comerciante gordo, brando, benevolente, bobo e vulgar, Sr. Pickwick, um homem de bom coração e cabeça mole, com seu servo inigualável, Sr. Sam Weller, que um dos editores do Spectator diz ser superior para Falstaff. Há o volátil Jingle, o trapaceiro e o malandro, e seu servo Jó, o hipócrita arrogante, desenhado como pingentes para o mestre e homem honesto; o velho Sr. Weller e a sogra, o homem do Fleet, os advogados Dodson e Fogg, Stiggins, o ministro dissidente, com sua inclinação para o rum de abacaxi; Bob Sawyer e Ben Allen, a Sra. Leo Hunter e seu grupo, Potts e Slurk, os editores de jornais rivais de Eatanswill; a sra. Potts, o gordo e a bonita empregada doméstica; todos esses esboços residem na memória; as pessoas viviam então; elesIO HOMENS DE LETRAS MODERNOS.vivem agora? nós os conhecemos? Essa pergunta verdadeiramente respondida determinará o valor de Dickens como um verdadeiro artista, como alguém que extraiu da natureza. Assim como em "Pickwick" ele fez um violento ataque à Prisão Fleet e foi preso por dívidas, também em "Nicholas Nickleby" Dickens decidiu atacar alguns dos males sociais que sempre o cercarão. lugares em que havia uma espécie avançada de criação de bebês * combinada com educação e fingindo ter o filho de uma viúva para colocar na escola, ele se encontrou com o John Browdie original, e é mais do que suspeito com os Squeers originais. O primeiro disse a ele: "Bem, senhor, nós temos sido muito agradáveis ​​juntos, e eu vou dizer o que penso. Não deixe que nós desistamos de mandar seu filho para as aulas, enquanto há um duro para manter em um ' Lunnun, e um gootther para dormir. O Sr. Squeers disse muitas frases preciosas e posou para seu retrato. Esta foto de Squeers em " Nickleby " era tão verdadeira e natural que

  • What a terribly dark satire there is in the German word

to make babies, "make angels." Unfortunately! What will be the additional punishment of those who thus populate heaven for the slow martyrdom of those whose "angels" always contemplate the face of God! CHARLES DICKENS. Many of the school teachers identified with her; and an individual who turned out to have only one eye and therefore physically and mentally resembled Squeers threatened the author with legal action. Crummles and his company show that the author had an intimate knowledge of provincial theatrical life behind the scenes; in fact, there is a legend that he performed at the Rochester theater; while Mrs. Nickleby is as true to life a picture of a genial, clumsy, dull, affectionate, selfish, ditzy and talkative middle-aged lady as Mrs. Primrose in the "Vicar of Wakefield". The Lord. Mantalini, with his gross overdoses of affectionate imposture and continual "demmit" of him, is exactly what one would expect him to be in a handsome and unprincipled hatter, but he falls short due to very careful consideration. TimLinkinwater, Miss La Creevy, Sir Mulberry Hawk and Lord Frederick Verisopht; Lady. Wititterley and the Kenwigs, including Mr. Lillyvick, plus many newly sketched minor characters such as the young barbershop owner, can hardly be surpassed in their fidelity to nature. Ralph Nickleby, the uncle, has been criticized as surly and malevolent, as well as being too calculating. The other loan shark, Gride, is a more common character, just a miser. Bray and his daughter, again, slightly melodramatic, 12 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. but under the veil of exaggeration there is something of the reality of life. Newman Noggs is an eccentric creature, one of which you can only meet in a lifetime, and just like the Cheeryble brothers, they must be rare birds. No sane critic will accept such stuffed figures, such benevolent theatrical puppets, as the truth, or the like. With a stubbornness that manifests itself time and time again, Mr. Dickens vehemently asserted that they did exist, "and that his liberal charity, his singleness of heart, his noble nature, and his boundless benevolence are not the creations of the brain of man." author". The poor who enter the orbit of his influence! Nicolás himself is the image of a generous young man, somewhat ordinary and natural; and Kate is a very pretty girl, a proper sister to such a brother. There are few attempts at sensational writing, and the interest is, to use a cliché phrase among critics, well-maintained. , his talent and his genius manner soon earned him many. The Lord. John Forster, of the Examiner, and Oliver Goldsmith's biographer, devoted many patient hours to correcting all of his demonstrations; The Lord. W. H. Wills, the deputy editor of All the Year Round, was ready MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 13 to help him as a faithful henchman, and to these were added Mr. Mark Lemon, Sir E. L. Bulwer, and even the incisive Jeffery of the Edinburgh Review. of their friends, and it is to the mutual honor of these gentlemen that nothing but death parted them, and that those who were their companions and admirers in their youth, were as ardent and warm as ever until death parted them. Dickens was long familiar with the low life, as if an author, or as he uses the word himself, an artist, could paint only from well-dressed lay figures and not revel, in the depths of his artistic nature, in the light. darkness. Dickens next strove to delineate the lower life, and in "Oliver Twist," first published in Bentley's Miscellany, of which he became editor, he revealed something of the darkness of London life and instituted a class of literature that it has never been seen again. we were free Illustrated with the same vigor and genius as the text by George Cruikshank, this story is one of Dickens's best. The surroundings of Field Lane, which led to the Metropolitan Railway terminus at Victoria Street, and of which one side remains, has never been better explored. Workhouses were never more intelligently run; the heaviest blow ever dealt to "Bumbledom", the name of the date of the book, was dealt. The portraits of Fagin, Charley Bates and Artful Dodger are works of art. Nor should Bill Sykes and Nancy be forgotten; the murder of Nancy, the escape and death of Sykes, and the Fagin trial are masterpieces of serious descriptive writing, and show the true insight of genius. When Dickens read, or rather enacted, the scene of the crime, the intensity of his performance filled his listeners with horror; One or two characters are mere sketches. Monks is a dark scoundrel; and Rose Maylie, a milk and water maiden of the true Dickensian ideal: but in the midst of vice, depravity, cunning, robbery and murder, the author stomps hard and clear, and teaches us the best of lessons: pity to the guilty while we hate guilt, and especially to "Look at the poor with kind eyes, because in their figures the angels often desire alms." that Yorkshire schools are better. The Lord. Laing, a gruff magistrate similarly portrayed in this book, sensed the novelist's power and was glad to resign. The conclusion of "Oliver" was best interpreted by SR. CHARLES DICKENS. 15 than "Nickleby"; but the latter was spoiled by a playwright, now living, who dramatized the story before it was finished. The author resented this theft with one or two hard blows. The playwright suggested that it was "fame" for an author to be so dramatized. "Then," said Dickens, "Richard Turpin, Tom King, and Jerry Abershaw brought to fame those on whom they committed their most insolent robberies." the coachman old and new, and, following Addison's Spectator's plan, began a weekly edition, "Master Humphrey's Clock". Of this we will say little; plan failed, correspondents' letters were Curiosity Shop" was soon left alone. Poor old Weller, Sam, and Pickwick were resurrected and soon placed back in their graves. The comic part of this book is excellent. Swiveller himself is beyond of praise; just like the Marchioness, Quilp, Old School Teachers and Sampson Brass. But there's a serious side even better. The poetry of little Nell's life, her beauty, her devotion to her grandfather, her wisdom childish, perfected to an unnatural point, are poignant in the LETRAS in the "New Spirit" of the Age", form that kind of amusingly irregular blank verse that Shelley and Southey used. The following is from the description of little Nell's funeral, without the alteration of a word: M "When death strikes the innocent and the young In all frail, from which it releases The spirit that separates, A hundred virtues arise, In the form of Mercy, Charity and Love, To walk the world and bless it Good is born, A kind nature arises." In "Barnaby Rudge", his next short story, Mr. Dickens broke new ground and began a landmark story of Lord George's mutiny Gordon. The story is vigorous and full of beauty. The depiction of the riots far exceeds, in our opinion, Sir Walter Scott's celebrated "Porteous" mob scenes, to which it has been compared. The characters are full of truth Almost without exception, the raven is compared to nothing in literature so much as to a certain immortal dog, possessed by such a Spear, drawn by the Master William Shakespeare, Hugh's brusque character, Mr. Dennis the hangman, old Varden, lovely Dolly and Emma Haredale, not for MR. CARLOS DICKENS. 17 mention the wonderfully real Miggs, with Mrs. Varden reading her Protestant tracts: they make an admirable group. The character of Lord George is faithfully preserved, but another historical character hardly gets a fair deal; this is Lord Chesterfield, who is tried under the name of Sir Edward Chester; but Dickens's sketch shows no appreciation of Chesterfield's true character. In fact, "Barnaby Rudge" is at the pinnacle of that rare class fiction: the good old "historical novel." his journey American Notes, "dedicating his book" to those friends in America who have let their judgment go free, and who, loving their country, can bear the truth when told with good humor and a kind spirit. "The book was met with a storm of disapproval. False and exaggerated were light terms for Americans to apply, but Dickens kept his colors and, in republishing it after eight years, had nothing to alter; "biased," says he, "I never was, except for the United States. "Lord Jeffery wrote a very kind letter about it, saying the account of the arrests was as poetic and powerful as ever written, and congratulating it on selling 3,000 copies in a week and putting £1,000 in his pocket. In 1843, The Voyage to America was again considered, for a new short story, "Martin Chuzzlewit," in some ways his best. Contrasted with Tom Pinch, Pecksniff's name became synonymous with falsehood and farce, and Jonas Chuzzlewit, Montague Tigg, Todgers, Bailey, Tapley, and others, are all admirably drawn characters. As in all his works, the great author, whose creative power seems limitless, had a purpose. The hospital nurses were bad enough, and the immortal portrait of Mrs. Sairey Gamp, the Origin of Mrs. Brown, and Countless Silly Imitations Scenes in America were recognized by Americans as true as those sketches of England with which we are so familiar Elijah Pgram and his defiance, and his reference to his country , whose "bright home is in the setting sun," is immortal. We have no room to linger in the book. It was in 1843 that Dickens broke new ground with his Christmas books, which it is difficult to speak of without commendable exaggeration. And truly, perhaps, Dickens's most beautiful production is his "Christmas Carol". if you ever just turned me into a book and made me happy MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 19 and childish at that time "when your blessed Founder was a child", it certainly was for that. he is the real inspirational angel who aroused the genius of him. this little publication, which can be traced to every pulpit and confessional since Christmas, 1842." It may not be that; but the story has filled many old hearts with the vigorous youth of charity, and has thrilled young souls with a compassionate love for man, which brought them closer to God.The Christmas carol;while "The Battle of Life" and "The Haunted Man" show a certain decadence, though the parts relating to the Tetterby family are written so more touching. Signature Deals of Dombey & Son", as less satisfactory than most of his works, and proceeding immediately to "David Copperfield", the most finished and natural of his works; it is more than good. The childhood of the hero; the scene in the church; the death of his mother; the history of C 220 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. Peggotty. Poor little Em'ly; that touching love, so true, so perfect, and so delicate and pure, which the rough old fisherman has for his lost niece, cannot be surpassed. The suave strength and mature vigor of the style, the modest naiveté of Copperfield's account of his literary progress, supposedly accurately portraying Dickens's own career; the child-wife, her death, and David's final love for Agnes all come to mind and present claims of admiration from him. The original characters are all good, and the Micawber family is as original a bunch as Mr. Dickens. The dark and strange character of Rosa Dartle, and the disgusting one of Uriah Heep, are the only painful ones in the book. But they're filled with fine touches of nature, which also brighten up the Murdstone's dark design. After that, Dickens gave us "Little Dorritt" in 1857, and an excellent story - a well-thought-out, powerfully crafted historical novel - in 1859, "A Tale of Two Cities" (we omit "Hard Times" of 1854). ; and "Great Expectations," published in three volumes in 1861, an admirable account in every respect, which graced the pages of Mr. Dickens. he gave us "Photos of Italy" and, in 1860, he met de HogarMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 21""Words a series of sketches called ((Uncommercial Traveller", which are worthy of the author - which, perhaps, is to say a great deal for the second book mentioned; and finally, in 1865-6, he published his most recent , in numbers, "Our Mutual Friend," a work full of original and eccentric characters, and peppered with charming bits of pathos and description, but, though the author never had a major sale, the work did not always win the influence of the public. closer and more familiar acquaintance with his public, he founded, on January 21, 1846, the Daily News, his name being announced as "head of the literary department"; and, as a rule, novelists are not highly valued by newspaper buyers. successful, so it should come as no surprise that the Daily News, though it now exists and is honorably known for its independence, should not have the success it deserves, for the courage and vigor with which it defended true liberal principles.

  • The first issue of the Daily News appeared in 1846, with

Charles Dickens as its publisher. His functions were incompatible with him, and it cannot be denied that his management was a failure. Forster, soon ceased to have any connection with this newspaper, and in 1850 established a weekly newspaper, adopting the proud hero or periodical line "Familiar in their mouths as familiar words". which contained news, involved the owners with heavy expenses such as stamp duty, now happily eliminated. Judgment was entered in Dickens' favour, and the first step towards a free press was taken. In 1851, Dickens and Lytton presented a project, the Guild of Literature and Art, also unsuccessful, although it has had some existence, and certain asylums are built, which no author will inhabit, on Lord Lytton's estate, near Stevenage. Lytton wrote a comedy, 'It's Not as Bad as It Sounds', and Dickens, Jerrold, John Forster, Mark Lemon, Topham the Artist, Charles Knight and others, were the actors. To support this comedy, Mr. President; but the "Pictures from Italy" were originally published as his pen letters in the columns of the Daily News. In the preface to "Pictures from Italy", he confesses that, "determined to correct a brief mistake I made not long ago, in disturbing the old relations between myself and my readers, and to divert for a moment from my former occupations", he spoke cheerfully to go back to your old serial publishing style. MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 23+ and Mark Lemon produced a feeble farce called 'Diary of Mrs. Nightingale'". We note that our vivacious author also wrote an opera, very beautiful and elegant, and here we insert a poem - a sweet and elegant apologue, probably the best lines ever written by him - recalling one of Hood's style. : "A WORD ON THE SEASON. ،، They have a superstition in the East that ALLAH written on a piece of paper is a better anointing than that which can come from a priest, from incense and from a burning candle; ,It will help the one who finds them through the cleansing flame,And give their parched feet a place to rest." So they make a great fuss,With every miserable treaty and fierce prayer,And heap up the leaves; for they are not, as we, A highly civilized and thinking nation; and ever stooping in the muddy paths to search for matter of this earthly leaven, scarcely, in their dust-exploring days, have time to look heavenward to the earth, where darkness loomed. over the rushing waters, and brutal ignorance, toil and hunger, were the hard lot of his sons and daughters; and yet, where those who should have opened the door of charity and light for all men found, they discussed words on the altar floor, and tore the Book, fighting over the binding.24 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS." in the works, it stops the virtues in the markets. The outcast Christian, whom both sects curse (they curse all other men and call themselves names), walks in the world not much worse, does all the good he can, and loves his brother. “Following our history, we can point out that, due to certain circumstances, originating from an internal dispute, Mr. , our author parted ways with Domestic Words and established, together with Mr. Wills, All the Year Round - a similar magazine, in which he has done excellent work, for which he has helped many young authors, and through which, through many Christmases, he has tenderly captured our hearts. and rare stories, and with creations as sweet and picturesque as few, but he could give, let's give an example of that touching, all good and human Dr. Marigold, who deserves to be next to the best character that his talented author has ever designed . When Mr. Douglas Jerrold died, it was thought fit for the benefit of his family to raise a fund by subscriptions from the public, and on the night of Jerrold's funeral, sitting in the Garrick Club, two or three friends, of whom, our says MR. CHARLES DICKENS. An authority, I was one of them, put together an entertainment program that was immediately taken to the newspapers. Out of the success of this grew his determination, which seems to us to have always prevailed with him, to appear before the public and read his own works. This he did on April 29, 1858, in the New St. For some years now I have become accustomed occasionally to read some of my shorter books to various audiences, aided by a variety of good purposes, and at some cost to myself. both in time and money. Eventually it became impossible for whatever reason to meet these increasing demands, I definitely had to choose between reading occasionally on my own, as one of my recognized occupations, or not reading at all. I had little to no difficulty deciding on the first course. The reasons that led me to this, in addition to the consideration that it does not require deviating from the activities chosen for my life, are three: first, I was convinced that the credibility and independence of literature cannot be compromised; Second, I have for a long time maintained my opinion, and for a long time I agree with the opinion that, in these times, anything that places a public man and his public face to face, in terms of mutual trust and respect, is a good thing; Thirdly, I have had very wide experience of the interest my listeners are so generous to take on these occasions, and the pleasure they give me, as a tried and tested means of strengthening such relationships, I might almost say personal friendship. that it is my great privilege and pride, as well as my great responsibility, to associate with a multitude of people who will never hear my voice or see my face.26 MEN OF MODERN LETTERS. this time; and so I proceed to read this little book, with the same serenity with which I could write it or publish it in any other way. "In America and England, Dickens continued these readings for twelve years, and the greed of enterprising businessmen, who were content enough to get a large share of the money the great author earned, sometimes taxed him beyond He was very happy, yet, to stand before an audience, he had the memory, the manners, the love of public life, of an actor, and certainly no author in the world had ever had so full an appreciation of it. his own works. for literature, he spoke only of himself, quoting himself three times, and ending with "the words of Tiny Tim, 'God bless you all.'" frequent, too light, and too easy on the mouth of all men, we do not know. Another author quoted by Dickens was Bulwer. He seems to have thought that the "Lady of Lyons" was rare poetry, and in the course of his published speeches it will be seen that he uses the rhodomontada three or four times on - "Those twin porters with the bold heart, low birth and iron fortune after her doctors advised her to stop" "

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MISTER. CHARLES DICKENS. After giving the readings from him, he returned to them and on March 15, 1870 gave the farewell reading from him in St. Louis. James' Hall, being "A Christmas Carol" and "Pickwick Trial". "He told the audience, with some emotion, when he had finished, that his readings gave him much pleasure; that in presenting his own cherished ideas for public recognition, he experienced a quantity of artistic delight and instruction few men have been given. . ; that in this task he had been "a faithful servant of the public, always imbued with a sense of duty to him (him), always striving to do his best, and being uniformly applauded for the prompt response, the most generous sympathy, the most encouraging support. He then concluded with an excellent advertisement for his new book - and this was also characteristic of the enthusiastic businessman - with these words: "Ladies and gentlemen, in just two weeks, I hope you can walk into your own homes." in a new series of readings, in which my assistance will be indispensable, but from these blinding lights I now disappear forever, with a sincere, grateful, respectful and affectionate farewell. "As an orator perhaps no one surpassed Dickens, he always said the right thing in the right place, and said it with great joy. Whether at the Academy or at the Lord Mayor's dinner, at the Journalists' Boarding House or the Poor Scribes' ""28 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS Society, Dickens made the greatest speech, better than Gladstone or Bright, or any brilliant legal luminary. More for a stuffed bird by Charles Dickens (120 for the raven, and a very ugly specimen too!) that a nobleman After completing his readings, Dickens began "The Mystery of Edwin Drood", not a good title, descriptive of Cliosterham, Rochester, nor did the book promise to be very good.Mr Parkinson had taken it to the East End, and saw some Chinese coolies and other poor wretches smoking opium! He describes it from his own point of view, others say it is very false People smoke their opium in pipes made from cheap inkwells; *enough to kill a company of soldiers! Sir John Bowring protested and sent him a sketch of an actual tube, its size and capacity;

  • An opium pipe made by the Chinese will contain approximately

about the size of half a pea, and very little of it is pure.MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 29The Sydney Smith anecdote, "that she had seen what he painted." So too, when Mr. Lewes proved that spontaneous combustion did not exist, Dickens was sure he was right and did not hesitate to describe a human body disappearing into smoke, leaving nothing but a little slimy residue like smoke from the smoke! burnt brown paper! On June 9, twenty-four hours after a stroke, Dickens, who had worked all day on "Edwin Drood", died at his home, Gadshill Place, Higham, near Rochester, of apoplexy, an effusion of blood in the brain He not only worked hard on the day he fell, but also wrote three letters, which have been published, one of which we will refer to. He died of overwork, which in his case was unnecessary, from always living freely, and from adding to the work of his brain many times the overwork of his body by walking and exercising. Men of genius always die young, even when they live beyond their normal life span, like Fontenelle and Voltaire, Landor and Rogers; or if they die shortly after middle age, like Shakespeare, who left us when he was barely fifty-two, and had lately written the most creative and youngest in spirit of his dramas, the "Tempest" - or Charles Dickens, who passed out at fifty-eight. The reason is that his creations are always fresh and new, and they stay with us and populate our brains, reminding us of our beloved and cherished youth long after we are old. No one has exercised this power - which is also common to actors, who have long enjoyed a kind of artificial youth - more extensively than Charles Dickens. With the immense circulation of his books, the innumerable editions in England, America, Germany, France, Russia, Spain, Italy, Denmark, Sweden and other countries; with its cheap and almost universal reproduction -without copyright- in the United States; the popular readings given by the author, in which he so well incorporated his own creations, and the dramatization of him by other authors, no man was so popular in his life, nor did he enter so familiarly into so many houses, and spoke to so many hearts. He had a great privilege, a great privilege indeed, bestowed upon him by Almighty God, to be born of the English-speaking race, a race which covers and owns three-fifths of the globe, and whose language in a very short time, perhaps, either the lingua franca, or free language, of half the world. He had the privilege of speaking the language that Shakespeare made musical, and that Milton, Bacon, and Locke made classic and concise. He was, moreover, from that great country which, with all its shortcomings, reveres the Bible more than any other of its gifts, and which, by subscription and otherwise, has circulated, in a few years, upward from MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 31V $30 million copies of God's Word at his own expense, not to mention the numbers he spread abroad. And it was also the privilege of this great author to be well read in this book; so well-read, in fact, that an article recently appeared in one of the major magazines dealing exclusively with his knowledge of the Bible and his use of imagery. add to these gifts of yours that great tender heart, together with a lively and lively apprehension, and a very gay and lively spirit. We will not here discuss Shelley's statement that "most wretched men are cradled in poetry by mistake: they learn in suffering what they teach in song." We may cite Fielding, Shakespeare, and Charles Dickens, as essentially poets in tenderness and creative power, as men who had the true pleasure of life, and, amid all their joy, the most tender feeling for the misfortunes of others. . No man has ever seen anything so quick and comic as Dickens; and what he saw he accurately described. Such are the innumerable happy touches of custom that give such realistic character to his creations. Witness Mrs. Gamp, watching his patients, rubbed his nose against the hot brass bar of the nursery's fender, a trick he must have seen; Montagu Tigg, diving behind his butt to lift his neck in a dignified manner and catching a rope; the 32 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS style in which the employees have fun in the Circumlocution Office; the mysterious ways of Punchand-Judy, Codlin and Short men; and in that witty tale of his, "Barnaby Rudge," the bored old innkeeper, John Willett, who, unable to see how his son has lost an arm, goes silently to his hanging coat, and he feels it. the sleeve, as if he could find it there! These and a hundred other touches are as true as the subtlest representations in a photograph and could never be described unless seen. But none of them are depicted in a moody way. Dickens was often exaggerated and pantomimetic. He saw things in such a comic light that we, of sober brains and less extensive experience, were far behind him in insight. But the humor was pantomime humor, full of fun that kids love and doesn't hurt. The man of science whose eye Mr. Sam Weller faints, and the janitor who fights so hard that he declares that he has coddled him and the parish must find another, we may be sure, he is not seriously injured and will come to. . He is never arbitrarily cruel; he never gets mad at any of his characters except the mean and vile ones. He visits Fagin and Bill Sykes with extreme punishment, but dismisses Bumble and Noah Claypole to a mean life and endless contempt. He is always honest, always for MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 33 labor rights, because the good solid worker receives his just wages and is happily rewarded. He is never snobbish. Dickens, in all his works, never questioned whether a man should marry three hundred dollars a year, or not marry at all, but live, like a worm in a nut, like a selfish bachelor. Your ideal worker marries fifty pounds, or at most a hundred pounds a year, and has a neat little wife, and two or three healthy little children round his knees. man, but he told him his faults as well as his virtues. With Dickens, the most industrious of authors, whose untimely death was doubtless due to overexertion, honest diligence was the only way for the worker to be honest and independent; and in doing so he became, as he deserved to be, a hero in Dickens's eyes. How many pleasant houses has our late friend populated with lowly humble people, from Trotty Veck's poor abode to that of the railway official, who can never get the dust off his head, and who does not particularly care for pamphlets! And all this he did at some risk, and he demonstrated that he had indeed followed Massinger's golden rule, "Look at the poor with kind eyes", in some trouble himself. It arose at a time when novels in England were wicked and snobbish, when one group of writers was producing the satanic school of literature, and another, like those poor things we say we forget, the Countess of Blessington and Lady Charlotte Bury, were cultivating what was aptly called the school of the silver fork. A critical reviewer, speaking of the large sums obtained for her novels by the Countess - a very cruel and wicked woman indeed - tells us that "Lady Blessington never took her pen to write a story she did not proceed with." to describe". at once, in calculated terms, to bring a blush to the face of a modest girl, intrigues that would shock the morality of a green room and the delicacy of a kitchen.” This is quite true, and many female novelists are doing the same now. But when Dickens came out with all the fun of him, and he was very fond of fun, about monthly babies and nannies, he never wrote a bad word or wrote a sentence. that could give rise to improper thinking. His was a manly way of dealing with things, a manly way, open and sunny; he did not make lewd secrets; he professed not to be above or beyond Nature, neither feverishly hot, nor coldly full of unnatural holiness He abounded in an honest, wholesome, good tone, like an honorable English gentleman: he described a sweeper with all his soot about him , or a miller in his white coat and dusty hair, face and hands; but these honest workers did not bring the contagion with them, they did not leave the courthouse with a fever, nor did it reek with the profanity of the emergency room. LORD CARLOS DICKENS 35 Another great merit of Charles Dickens is that he does not despise people. The men and women he describes are many, and some of them placed in positions so degrading as to be almost repugnant. Yet the late great author had an almost Shakespearean ability to make his readers see the good side of his scoundrels. The Lord. Montagu Tigg is a thief and con man; The Lord. Chevy Slime is everything his name implies; The Lord. Mantalini lives off the earnings of the woman he steals and cheats on; and yet, while to the uninitiated in life this baseness is evident, all the innocent reader sees is a very amusing character, with none of the "weak malice," to quote our critic again, so evident in the silverfork school works. . Around these people there are other common people, good people, merchants, clerks and shopkeepers; and to them, especially to those of the middle class, Theodore Hook, Lady Blessington, and the Silverfork School, who were in the chair when Dickens was young, and forming his style, were in the habit of mocking; his novels were made up almost entirely of abusive descriptions of the "shopocracy", vulgar people who dropped their H's, spoke badly grammatically, always liked to fit into societies superior to them, and who, with the bad habits of the aristocracy, joined the worst as y D 2}

36 the careless and miserable grammar of the merchant. Charles Dickens never stooped to that. If you laugh at his youthful sketches of the "Tuggses at Ramsgate" and some others, it is to be observed that he often makes his young businessmen his heroes, he does not care for a gentleman, who is a gentleman and nothing more, he raises his merchants on an atmosphere of generosity and benevolence, and finds a dozen better things to laugh at than the old, worn-out, conventional, ridiculous expedient of making a man. and courage on the part of a young author; but Dickens fashioned the best model of manly English a man can have in Henry Fielding. Let the reader, as proof of this, read the first pages of "Nicholas Nickleby", and then some of those wonderfully precise essays at the beginning of each "Tom Jones" book. The first, he will see, is an inspiration from the other. MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. But Dickens was distinguished from Fielding by his greatest invention; he had such fecundity that no one, except perhaps Lope de Vega with Shakespeare, has equaled or surpassed him in this regard. He invented or portrayed, with all precision, although more or less cartoonishly, a thousand people who populate our brain and of whom we speak familiarly. There is ma'am. Nickleby, Mrs. Gamp, Pickwick, Sam Weller, SR. CHARLES DICKENS. 37mr. Pecksniff, the Chuzzlewits, Inspector Buckle, Old Weller, the Preacher, Bumble, and a hundred others the reader can furnish. The French translator of his works took advantage of this peculiarity. He says: “C'est un panorama mouvant de toutesles classes de la Société Anglaise; ** a great composition où mille personnages se meuvent et posent devant lelecteur. "And in all these crowds there are people we recognize immediately, people drawn and described with marvelous precision; and not only people, but also animals and birds. From time to time he would endeavor to describe a pony, and his pack dog would mocked. The highest praise of the Landseer; while the raven belonging to Barnaby Rudge is known to all. Landscapes, houses, rooms, the men's own clothing, have been portrayed by this master, which seem to be before us. Perhaps few authors - and all of us who received many letters were as plagued with correspondence as Dickens. We discussed his use of images from the Bible. He was essentially of a faithful and reverent nature, but from time to time he forgot his amusement and made use of a image which stricter men have set aside as sacred. On these occasions a dozen angry letters attacked the writer, and it is pleasant to record the reply to one of them. In "Edwin Drood," ch. x. p. 68, committed a comic lapse in referring to him, the very popular "Lamb, MODERN 38 LETTERS. who (instead of which) has been led to the slaughterhouse for so long and without resistance" - the image of the Savior himself; and someone wrote to bring this to your attention. The last letter he wrote was this, written on the very day of his arrest: "It would be inconceivable to me, were it not for your letter, that any reasonable reader could attach a Biblical reference to a passage in a book of mine that reproduced a figure of much-battered social language, printed in all kinds of service, on all kinds of inopportune occasions, without the slightest connection to its original source. I am really surprised to find that any reader can make the mistake. I have always endeavored in my writings to express reverence for the life and lessons of our Savior; because I'm sorry, and because I have rewritten this story for my children, - each of whom knew it by repeating it to them long before they knew how to read it, and almost as soon as they knew how to speak it. But I never proclaimed it from the rooftops. -Faithfully yours, CHARLES DICKENS -the diary ended- so as not to draw any kind and noble woman -her women are nothing more than dolls at best- nor any good and sincere gentleman. A newly arrived colonel, for example, or Uncle Toby, are far from it. out of reach As Costard says of his opponent, he may be "a wonderful man and a very good player, but as for Alisander, you see how he's a bit outdated" - a bunch of middle-class Dickens dolls His pathos is pathetic! Do not smile; he thought so, and she is, but she wants true art so much that you always see the artist; you swallow the confectionery, but think about the cook; otherwise it is very suitable for its readership, and not for a very high class. As in one of his sensational murders, you see the clouds gathering before the storm begins, so you see the tenderness and the tears shaken hard before affecting the reader on the next page. But after all, Dickens worked well and loyally; author, and he knew it as well as the public, that he is always ready to encourage and help a brave man, and that he rewards his work not only with money, of which he had plenty and to spare, but with sincere love and appreciation. >40 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. which is given to few men to know. "I am satisfied," he said, "with my compatriots and their approval, but not with the generosity of my country." tithe of his genius, intimate of his monarch and ambassador of great power. We want even less than Dickens did, “that men of letters should be diplomats; but we certainly want a Court that is not quite Oriental and not quite English in its reserve and in its appreciation of literature. Dickens is said to have been offered a Baronetcy and then a Privy Councillor, and that he declined both honours; but the evidence that this was true has not yet come to light. "God Dickens's Audience Not What Milton Wanted", adequate, if sparse; "but it stretched from sea to sea, and over the sea in English ships to and fro, ships to and from that home which their piety had made dearest to them. God bless you, Dickens," Hood wrote, even then, near your own death, God bless you for that sweet story of yours, the 'Christmas Carol.' He will preach a broader and gentler lesson than a thousand sermons. "That is true, the greatest lesson without a doubt, but let us remember that this was the great lesson taught, thank God, in all our pulpits: the lesson of peace and good will for all humanity. Dickens's will, on the which I heard his friends say bitter things; he said dogmatically that wearing any outward sign of mourning was disgusting barbarism," or something of the sort. He opened the question of domestic relations best left closed, and Dickens knew full well that the will would be widely and publicly read; but it contained a manly and humble declaration of his faith in Christ, by whose meritorious sacrifice he hoped for salvation. It is a happy fact that this faith has outlived the idle charlatans and superficial thinkers that surround every public man, especially when we hear the great author declared a Unitarian by one party, a freethinker by another. They buried. at the Abbey, and the nation was satisfied. No man was mourned so extensively; he was with us from our childhood and was so much ours that we all felt we had lost a dear friend. Foreign nations, even frozen Russia and sunny Italy, wept with us and set him before us in his true worth. Now we know what kind of genius we have lost. May he rest, then, in that joyful hope of the faith that forgives, loves and heals. It is a great thought from a widely read author, and one that often must have occurred to Dickens, that in all the many moments and hours of flight that make up Time, in that portion of Eternity allotted to us, and that we few beings call life, that not a moment passes, but some head, young or old, happy or sad, leans over his books, drinking in his words, loving what he calls heroic, hating what he portrays as vile, and building up his moral tone, though callously to himself, and his future life in his words. It must have been a consoling thought in that sharp agony of vision that preceded his death, when all the vast landscape of his past life was illuminated by the flash of awareness, which told him that he had not left a corrupting line, nor planted intentionally. . a seed that can become poison. *

  • The main part of this article appeared in the London

Review, November 16, 1867.MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 43 I enclose two letters, one from an Englishman, the other from an American newspaper, which will show (each curious in its own way) the different estimates made to the author. Mr. Dodge's article is drawn as a sample of what appeared in the American press. SHAKESPEARE AND DICKENS. [TO VIEWING EDITOR. "]" Sir, in your admirable 'Topics of the day', in which there is always so much to agree on, I find a note (June 11) that surprises me. In the greatest gift of humorous genius, you place Dickens beyond Shakespeare. He is the only English writer of whom it can truly be said that in whatever line Shakespeare was not only great, but in his prime, this other was greater than he. But as a humorist, we believe this is true of Dickens. He then cites Mrs. Gamp and Juliet's nanny as parallels; They seem quite different to me; one is a mere hireling for work, the other a family adherent, a woman of some rank, a mistress of a lowly fellow. But he takes Mrs. Quickly, Gossip Quickly, and Mrs. Gamp, and then says which character is bigger, wider, and more natural. Or take SamWeller and compare him to Shakespeare's greatest, Sir John Falstaff? Why, in fifty years, one's fun can be passed and forgotten, a sealed language, a jargon that only contemporaries could understand; while certainly Falstaff will be as alive fifty centuries from now as he is now. Shakespeare works ab intra and paints human nature; Dickens ab extra, and gives us details and classes. Dickens has any character to compare to, in fact, not Falstaff, but Nym, Pistol, Pompey in 'Measure for Measure', Mary, Sir Toby Belch, - not to fly in subtler characters and superior play, Touchstone and the '44 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. Fools in Lear' and 'Twelfth Night?' And with all reverence to the late great author, whom I knew both in books and in person, he drew characters superior to or even equal to Partridge, Parson Adams, Uncle Toby, Corporal Trim, Strap, - not to go abroad, and call Sancho Panza? for a false elevation.--I am, sir, etc., J. HAIN FRISWELL.", [Mr. Friswell doesn't understand our criticism. We do not believe, as we have argued elsewhere, that Dickens drew a real character. Lady. Gamp is -in a very true sense- although it seems paradoxical, but we have already explained our meaning elsewhere, the highest idealism of him. Shakespeare almost never created a character who wasn't totally real. But, as a feat of humor, we seriously hold that Mrs. Gamp ranks above Shakespeare's greatest efforts in the same direction, including, and certainly an enormous 'equal', even Sir John Falstaff. Whether or not Mrs. Gamp can be unintelligible to posterity, she seems totally irrelevant to us. We can understand it, and we can also understand Shakespeare's greatest feats of humor, and are therefore perfectly competent to compare the relative successes of the two.-ED. Spectator, June 18, 1870.] "At Gad's Hill the habits of Mr. Dickens were further confirmed, and he prided himself on his ability to compose them. The 'Gad's Hill cider cup,' a drink made of cider, lemon, brandy, pineapple, baked apple, lemon zest and sugar - made famous as a local specialty A friend of mine who spent a day and night at Gad's

MISTER. CHARLES DICKENS. 45 Hill last year, a gentleman to whom Dickens had great personal obligations and for whom he may therefore have emphasized his hospitality, describes the visit as a continuous Biblical feast from noon to midnight. There was the glass of cider on arrival at half past twelve. , sports in the open air until two, when brandy and water arrived - a long walk through the fields until six, which curaçoa was served with other liquors - dress, dinner from seven to ten, with all kinds of wines - coffee and cigars, and then pure spirits, or various spirit compounds, until bedtime. If anyone infers from what I have written that Charles Dickens was an intemperate man, in the usual sense of the word, either in this country or in England, he mistakes my meaning. Dickens was never drunk. His intellect was never dulled by excess. But he 'enjoyed life'. He really he lived too fast. This he felt himself, and hence his long walks of six to ten miles a day, to counteract the effects of the indulgence. In the last twelve months of his life he had grown in strength. He realized this and, fearing what it meant, he increased his exercise hours. It would have been better if he had started on the other side. ”[Letter from Mr. Dodge, who was introduced to Dickensa at the Exhibition of 1851, and who appears to have known him. ]}..MISTER. LEMON BRAND.

MISTER. MARK LEMON.L1 In the old and, in fact, in the new order of nobility we used to, and do, call the person whose name was admitted to the Livro D'oro by the name of his main victory. Thus, we have Lord Dudley de Agincourt, Baron (then Viscount) Nelson of the Nile, Lord St. As for our latest literary addition to the peerage, it should have been, if the Prime Minister, Mr. Gladstone, could have made it, Baron Grote of Greece, for surely this story, bright and full of learning as it is, deserves a win. Or should we call him Plato's Viscount Grote, or Socrates and his Companions? These are true, record-worthy books, and by giving Mr. Mark Lemon your title, it's worth remembering your boss or life's work. He's Punch's Mark Lemon, the gracious editor who's been at the helm for more than a quarter of a century; the wise E50 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. administrator who never quarreled with anyone and rewarded each of his collaborators for his true worth; the friend of Jerrold, Thackeray, and Leech: the agent, as it were, through whom they were paid all the money those gentlemen earned; both a businessman and a man of letters, and equally honorable as both; a man who has always devoted himself to doing good, and about whom the most scathing litterateur - and we have one or two of the generic ones in our ranks, no more - cannot say a word, not a single honest word that reflects anything on against him; no, that same person will surely end up saying, "After all, he was a nice guy, jolly Mark! 'Damn the time that takes advantage of us!' There are only two honest men in the world." says Falstaff, "and one of them grows old." More than sixty years, mainly summers and springs, have fallen on Mr. Mark Lemon, and he turned black hair into iron gray, outlined and outlined the face, but did not darken the kind look of the eyes, but only softened and sweetened the playful smile that hovers around the mouth. And his face is remarkable in his way: he has a look of power and good nature mixed together. He can be seen, in great company, racing down Regent Street in the middle of a Hansom cab, which Mark Lemon fills up with admirable smugness; you can see him top 1MR. LEMON BRAND. wearing a smart suit at a reading in St. James's Hall; or you can see him coming from the Illustrated News Office, or look at a photograph of a stocky farmer-looking man in Spooner's shop on the Strand; but wherever you see him you will find sweetness, strength, good humor, concentration and masculinity. never was there more of that suave masculinity that distinguished him than when, at the funerals of his two friends Thackeray and Leech, we saw the eyes lifted up full of tears, great tears falling "numbly" down the pale cheeks, and again and again . he piled up again and fell from saddened eyes. Whether Mark Lemon, as we cunningly suspect, belongs to that ancient race that gave kings to Judea and prophets to the world, it doesn't matter. He was born in the year 1809, near Oxford Street, London, and a handsome, curly-haired boy, something like the young Disraeli, was seen, almost sixty years ago, in a lady's carriage, when Wimpole Street was the seat of the of the aristocracy and Cavendish Square in its glory. Of carriages and the like, our hero must have had bad luck and days, because there's a rumor that Mr. Lemon once provided refreshments on top of those mind tricks he gives us every week. He, too, made his first attempts at plays, was cheerful both on and off stage, and lived the life of a literary bohemian. he wrote to Figaro and punched holes in his sackcloth gown hoping to go in and out of the courts at Westminster Hall in the hope of a brief. Of course, this Figaro - "Figaro here, Figaro there" and "everywhere" - was an angry radical publication; but radicalism had a cause at the time and, God knows, the conservatives wanted to shave it off. Robert Seymour was an artist who drew and made a living; sketches of him were barely known; and John Leech and Kenny Meadows (who people thought were comic artists!) were drawing at the Bell's Life comic gallery. Mister. Mark Lemon, Mr. Blanchard, Henry Mayhew, Horace Mayhew, Maginn, Albert Smith, E. L. Blanchard, and Douglas Jerrold met one day at Joseph Last's shop in Wellington Street, after several preliminary struggles, and resolved to imitate a certain French newspaper, the Charivari, which, in fact, itself may have been imitated from our Figaro or Black Dwarf. Because the Black Dwarf was imprisoned and Figaro died. The English may have been original, but they were not. See, for example, Mr. Alfred Thomson and the period: that indecent imitation of Le Journal Amusant and Le Petit Journal. Why should the rulers of the Period, with which the Echoes are combined, thus drag the name and fame of English letters to the MR. LEMON BRAND. 53dirt, French fashion? If they must prostitute themselves to the vice of the times, why not in an original way? no, and never was, he always baffled today's writer, even when, as a boy, he bought the first issue of it. Some of his writers had been to Boulogne, and Thackeray, who wasn't there at first and came later, a big shot at Frazer's Magazine and a college student, lived in Paris; but the Lesabonné lords who received Punch knew as much about Charivari as they did about Sanskrit. to be epigrammatic, it was full of wholesome, honest English humour, not deeply political but thoroughly social, and never inappropriate or indecent, but always clean and virile. The very polish of Punch's nose shone with the holy dew of cleanliness; the second cut that John Leech made was a satire of those unfortunate foreigners, those idlers of Regent Street and the Colonnade of the Quadrant (later ousted), those "Foreign Affairs," which Leech, from the depths of his 54 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS . heart, most completely despised. In addition, the Charivari often stood in opposition to the ruling powers, and indeed were always disloyal. Punch was, was and is always loyal; loyal in a true, good, and wise sense, as an English gentleman can be. We do not exaggerate when we say that to the wise loyalty of Punch, his writers and his artists, the reigning Sovereign owes much, much of the best and most sincere popularity that she possesses. We believe that Mr. Lemon never touched a penny of public money, but we are certain that the good he did, the value of the honest service he rendered, was simply incalculable. he laughs like a satyr, or as those embittered fish-women did in France at blood and slaughter, or as we have laughed under the auspices of Punch for many years. The owners of the paper were wise enough to find out that their editor was a good one, and we, who serve many and command heavy ships here, declare that a good editor is the only thing necessary to the success of a publication. You can get a lot of good writers if you know where to pick them; you can select your artists and you can contrast your products to show off each other; or you can call the fools into a circle and ruin it! Pauca palabris; he lets the world slide by. "Sessa!" Mister. LEMON BRAND. 55 Christopher Sly quote; How many publishers, with the help of the publishers, have thrown their money in the gutter! At length the publisher sold the share of it, and the literary gentlemen's shares also, we believe, to Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, who have since published our contemporary veteran with such prosperity and success. to his aid Jerrold, Thackeray, Tom Taylor, Percival Leigh, Burnand, and a host of others, and aiding the artists, poor Newman, Kenny Meadows, Phiz, Bennett, M'Connell (none of them learned), as well as Charles Keene and Du Maurier (who are scholars in the art), -but he was a singer and playwright. He produced more than seventy plays, farces and others. Where are you now? One or two of them still occupy the stage, but modern dramatic literature, even the great poems like "Formosa" and "Billy Taylor," will soon fall into the grave. Lemon, as an author pure and simple, is not very good. part," as the common writer writes, in Household Words and the Illustrated London News, and what he did he did with perfect finish and neatness. He wrote, and honestly, in the Daily News: important songs; Isn't the industrious Mark Lemon who presents a Christmas basket full of good things? He has also written for Cruikshank's Magazine and A.Beckett's Almanac for the Month, and lately - the years go by quickly - he gave us two novels, 'Wait for the End' and 'Loved at Last'." Finally, he did a bold but somewhat sloppy job editing "The Jest Book" for Macmillan. This should have been the best book in the language. Not as good as we expected. "When Dickens was at Devonshire House, 'surrounded by station and beauty,' say the liners, and for the first time in the memory of a living man, there was a duke who took notice of the printing press and saw that literature is a living force. , not to be despised and totally forgotten, there were certain plays that were invented and admirably performed by the Punch team, John Forster and others, and among these actors, if Dickens was the best, Mark Lemon was second.57 He did not say nothing against him. with a warning. So dig, caveto! We never took a penny of Mr. Mark Lemon's money, and only know him superficially and by reputation, and in fact accuse him of making Punch a success, and thus of creating a multitude of foolish imitators, who have made vulgar(?) humor vulgar, obnoxious, often indecent and vulgar - indeed, to quote our wisest and most witty men, terribly" corrupted", that we do not quote any of the writings of our author. Therefore, oh reader, remembering the sweet and gentle nature of the man, take any volume of Punch and select, not the long articles, but those admirably fitted into the padding (within the last thirty years), select the paragraphs and epigrams. more sweets. , organized and precise, and he writes them with a clear conscience for his editor, Mark Lemon. *

  • Unfortunately! since this was written, Mr. Mark Lemon died in June of

1870, but we have not found it necessary to alter a word of our judgment, nor the tenses of the verbs.

VICTOR HUGO.1VICTOR HUGO.&&&HE Kings of the realms of the Mind, those uncrowned monarchs who enter our secret thoughts and rule us from their graves, often oppose the Kings of the World. When the world accepts a family for many years, and there is a kind of loyalty engendered in the poet's mind, it will symbolize the monarch in all his virtues. She will be One; she will be the "Felosa Virgin enthroned by the West"; there will bubble from the poet's lips a refined adulation so sweet, so exaggerated, that we poor moderns will gape at the submission of a noble mind. But the greatness of a monarch must be equal to that of the country before Spenser can allegorize or Shakespeare can flatter. When the interests of the homeland and the spirit of patriotism are separated from the King of Men, then the poet, without hesitating for a moment, joins his homeland. The poets of Charles I's court were fine singers, and there are noble verses of Lovelace that deserve to be placed alongside those of Milton. But we are talking about the supreme mind. There was no question, there could be no question, which side Milton would take. "There can be no sacrifice more acceptable to God than an unjust and wicked king." and throughout his life, in good news or bad, he joins the Commonwealth. Therefore, in this case of Caesarism, there could be no doubt whose side would be Victor Hugo, the French supreme mind of this century, when a vast shadow stretched between Liberty and France and, absorbing the force of many mediocrities and leaning on the Fearing bureaucracy, Louis Napoleon reversed the progress of French freedom and became the autocrat of France. Let us add that for us -although the crime of December 2 cannot and should not be forgotten- Louis Napoleon dispelled many fears and made a better and even nobler ruler than could be supposed from the tortuous paths by which he ascended to the throne. . * But what an Englishman can forgive, a true Frenchman will never tolerate. Napoleon has his days - not even now as big as Victor Hugo in his little rock haven - and Hugo will have his: one will be Hugo the Great, the other Napoleon the Little.

  • Written before the Franco-German war, and the absolute

collapse of Personal Government.VICTOR HUGO. 63This great French writer, who is so facile a masterof so many subjects of his art that he puzzles us inwhich to name him greatest, and who is so daringthat he dazzles and frightens weak critics into a yestyhatred of his name, was born in a stormy time. Hismother, a proscribed Vendéan, wandered while yet agirl in the Bocage of La Vendée. Married to aRepublican colonel, this sainted and excellent motherfollowed her husband as a soldier of Napoleon; andthe child Victor, born in the struggles of war, "began,"as he said, "to traverse Europe before he began totread the way of life: ""Avec nos camps vainqueurs, dans l'Europe asservie,J'errai, je parcoure la terre avant la vie,Et tout enfant encore, les vieillards recueillisM'ecoutaient racontant d'une bouche ravieMes jours si peu nombreux et déjà si remplis."It is curious that an opera, a work of genius, is insome way connected with Hugo before he was born.His father, General Hugo, was ordered by JosephBuonaparte, King of Naples, to reduce the notoriousbrigand Fra Diavolo! Which he, of course, successfully did.Of all nonsense written as biographies, and thereis much, perhaps that little one by Eugène de Mirecourt on Victor Hugo is the greatest. This gushinggentleman, who assures us in an airy way "that wespeak of the mother of Hugo as we do of the mother64MODERNMENOFLETTERS...of the Gracchi and the mother of Saint Louis, ” shalltell us, in his way, of the early years of Victor Hugo;but we will get snatches in bits from him, as too mucheffusion and French sentiment will not be good forEnglish digestions. When he was sixteen-he wasborn on the 26th of February, 1802-Hugo wrote"Bug Jargal, " but he does not seem to have publishedit until after “ Hans of Iceland, " which, says Mirecourt,frightened the youth of all of us; " and he tells usthat it was a Blue Beard story carried to the sublime,and a " statue bigger than nature, and carved ingranite, " which does not convey much to us. Soonafter the publication of " Hans of Iceland, " which madehim, says Mirecourt traditionally, hundreds of enemies,whereas we believe that a good book makes friends,Victor married Mademoiselle Fouchet at the beginning of 1823. The poet was twenty, the bride fifteen ." If they were rich, " says gushing Mirecourt, " it wasin love, in youth, and in hope; " and he quotes twoor three beautiful verses addressed by Hugo to hiswife, remarkably neat, wonderfully epigrammatic,and especially French:"C'est toi dont le regard éclaire ma nuit sombre,Toi dont l'image luit sur mon sommeil joyeux!C'est toi qui tiens ma main quand je marche dans l'ombre,Et les rayons du ciel me viennent de tes yeux."We are afraid that the savour of these verses willescape in a translation:VICTOR HUGO. 65" Mon Dieu! mettez la paix et la joie auprès d'elle,Ne troublez pas ses jours, ils sont à vous, Seigneur!Vous devez la bénir, car son âme fidèleDemande à la vertu le secret du bonheur! "Very pretty; a young fellow of twenty courageouslymarrying a girl of fifteen , and writing like that to her,is a spectacle to gods and men in these melted- butterdays—especially a spectacle to Miss Becker, EmilyFaithful, and the shrieking sisterhood . Poor littleMadame Hugo-howthey would have patronised andpitied her, riveting her chains of slavery at that earlyage! And Hugo, whom Swinburne so loves, marrying and become père de famille when the GræcoGallic- Scotch poet was murmuring with satyr- like lipsthe Hymn to Hermaphroditus; -does not, by the wayan unhealthy insubordination of women produce unhealthy and erotic poetry? All the best women theworld has ever heard of, from the blessed Virgindownwards, were only too meekly ready to be subordinated. For of woman truly is the proverb wise,"she stoops to conquer. "Victor Hugo had, with his father's consent, committed himself to a literary career; and in his studieshe had been so successful that his pieces had beencrowned, and he would have won more prizes but forhis youth. The restoration of the Royal family filledhis father with despair, his mother with joy, and thusseparated the parents . Loving his mother above all,[IntF66 MODERN MEN OF Frenchmen somehow will do , he rose to distinctionas a Royalist poet, and received a pension fromLouis XVIII . , and years afterwards a peerage fromLouis Philippe. He had , in spite of the love of hisfather for Napoleon I. , depicted France as " Rachelweeping for her children, for they were not, ” and inhalf- a- dozen ballads he had proved his loyalty. Butat heart he was free and republican .Mirecourt, still gushing, tells us that in the midst.of poverty the young couple, whose united years onlyreached to middle age, retired to a " ravishing littlehouse, No. 42 , Rue Notre- dame- des- Champs, builtlike a convent, and hidden like a bird's- nest intrees." ' And there there was, " says this miserablescribe, striking a pose as if he was making an epigram, “ there there was a summer dining-room, witha terrace, and a winter dining-room. " " On étaitreçu par Madame Hugo, l'ange du foyer. " It wouldbe odd if anyone else but a man's wife should welcome you, or be " the angel of the hearth , " or, to bequite French, of the stove. Suffice it to say that inthis little house, to which the profits of " Hans of Iceland" brought comfort, there came a circle of friends,and that Sainte Beuve formed there a club, of whichHugo was chief. This club consisted of Dumas, PaulFoucher, Hugo, Méry Arnold, Fleury, and SainteBeuve; and sometimes met with another club, withThiers, Mignet, Piesse, Armand Carrel, and others.VICTOR HUGO. 67Then the two clubs combined, upon which ourFrench author bursts into an epigram, " On opéraitune fusion des deux cénacles. La poésie accueillait lapolitique et la traitait en sæur! " Is it not sweet! Wedo not write like that yet in England.In 1826, the “ Odes and Ballads " of Victor Hugobetrayed the political change of his spirit . In 1827he published a drama called " Cromwell," in which he,by a preface, demolished Racine and the sticklersfor unity, and asserted the freedom of the modernand Christian drama against the rules of Aristotle.Henceforth there was a struggle between theseUnity-arians and Victor Hugo. The genius of Hugowas victorious; and we need not say what an effectthis had upon England, where all our plays are takenfrom the French, more or less en gros ou en détail.In " Cromwell, " in " Ernani, " " Marian de Lorme, '" LeRoi s'amuse, ""Lucréce Borgia, " "MarieTudor, "" Angelo, " " La Esmeralda, " " Les Burgraves, " andespecially in that very great drama, " Ruy Blas, "Victor Hugo carried out his principles with triumph .Let us now for a moment look at his poems, ofwhich, by the way, some of the most beautiful havebeen very finely translated by Robert Brough, in theTrain; and it is there that the genius of the man willmore especially be found. We here subjoin a fewof the verses of " Sara la Bagneuse, " translated withexceeding delicacy by Robert Brough:""F 268 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS." SARA LA BAGNEUSE.Sara, indolent as fair,In the air,Pois'd upon a hammock, swingsTo and fro above a pool,Limpid-coolWatered by Illysees' springs.And the glassy sheet below,As they go,Shows them swinging fro and to;Tiny car and burden fair,In the air!As she leans herself to view.She, with timid foot, in playTaps the spray;Ruffling thus the mirror still,Redd'ning quickly, back it shrinks,While the minxShudd'ring, laughs to feel the chill.Hidden lay within the bow'r,In an hour,You shall see the maiden goFrom the bath in all her charms,With her armsCross'd upon her breast of snow.Pure as a drop of morning's lymph,Shines the nymph,Stepping from a crystal brook;Wet, with quiv'ring shoulders bare,In the air,Glancing round with anxious look.1VICTOR HUGO. 69Watch her how her bosom heaves;Crackling leavesSound to her like knell of doom;Should a gnat her shoulders brush,Mark her blush,Like a ripe pomegranate's bloom.All that robe or veil conceals,Chance reveals;Deep within her cloudless eyes Shines her as shines a star,From afar,Through the blue of summer skies .Water from her rounded hips,Raining drips ,As from off a poplar tall,Or as if the heedless girl,Pearl by pearl,Down had let her necklace fall. "In every one of his poems there are signs of genius andmarks of grace; there is also a neatness of workmanship which is admirable in contrast with ourcareless writers . Take, for instance, this little gem,which we have translated line for line:"THE FLOWER AND THE BUTTERFLY.The lowly flower to its airy guestWhispered, ' Oh, stay!How different are our lots, while here I rest Thou fliest away!Fliest and comest back, and fliest again,To play elsewhere;70 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Yet at each morn thou findest me the same,Bedewed with tears.Ah, that our love may pass in faithful days,Oh, my heart's king!By me take root; or, if thou will not stay,Let me take wing!"""Les ' Chants du Crépuscule' sont remplis d'une multitude de petits chefs- d'œuvre, " says Mirecourt, and herewe agree with him. Everywhere one finds the hand ofa master. Les chansons des rues et des bois have, however, an eroticism which pleases the Swinburian fancy;and “ Les Travailleurs de la Mer, " says our gusher, isa veritable insult to Providence; but then Mirecourtdoes not live at Jersey, and has not seen the struggleof the elements.But it is as a prose writer that Hugo is by far thegreatest, greater than as a poet or a dramatist. Aschief of the romantic drama, he pushed the meaningof the word to something far higher than it had evercovered before. In his wonderful story of " NotreDame," in the veritable creations of the hunchbackQuasimodo, the priest Claud Frollo struggling withhis guilty love, the innocent gipsy Esmeralda, theyoung author had given a proof of his genius; but hisgreatest strength was reserved for his years of exile,of banishment, of reflection, of the struggle of a giantagainst his fate. As an exile, a blind Homer, he hassung of man's struggle not only with the elements, butVICTOR HUGO. 71with education and society, as an Eschylus has pictured and sung of the fore- doomed troubles of Orestes.We have said that Hugo was made by the citizenking, Louis Philippe, a peer of France . In Englandwe put our men of genius in a melancholy ruin of aPoet's Corner in a huge lump, where the fame of onemay neutralise that of the other, and the memories.and reflections that arise from the grave of Dickensmay effectually be driven away by glancing at thebusts of Shakespeare and Thackeray. In France,either in persecution or in reward, they do recognisetheir genius. Made a peer by Louis Philippe, Hugowas elected by the Republicans first to the Constituent and then to the National Assembly, wherein.his eloquence was noted. He wrote certain very warlike " Lettres du Rhin, " and with consistent inconsistency was president of a Peace Society. The crime ofDecember-when Louis Napoleon's troops shot downsome hundreds of the people and some ten of theelected of France, going in their perfect legality tomeet in their National Commons House-set Hugoin violent opposition. He flew first to Brussels ,then to England, where he wrote a somewhat violentletter to the Queen upon some criminal very properlycondemned to death; then he fled to Jersey, andhas since resided in a sister island at HautevilleHouse. Here he lives with his two sons, Charlesand Victor, and a daughter, Mdlle . Adèle Hugo, with,72 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.of course, the mother, Madame Hugo, as tenderlyloved as ever. From his island he sent forth hisscorching satire " Napoleon le Pêtit " and " Les Chatiments; " but paper pellets cannot move one who reliesonly upon chassepôts and armes de précision .His great works since his exile have been “ LesMisérables" and " Les Travailleurs de la Mer." In onehe pictured man struggling against social wrong; intheother in his struggle with fate and the elements. Inmany respects faulty, these are yet in many othersthe greatest tragic and romantic works of the century.We are promised another " 1793," which will complete a kind of trilogy. Madame Hugo also promisesa life of her husband, detailing not only his greatworks, but his many unostentatious acts of charity.Perhaps Victor Hugo, by his weekly dinners to poorchildren , -dinners of meat and bread and wine,was the first to give the impulse to the movementfor feeding the poor, which the English have since sothoroughly and systematically caught up. If, as thedull ones say, genius is mad, it is with a benevolentfine madness that Hugo is rightly possessed . Hugo hasnever ceased to protest against wrong and tyranny;never ceased to hope in the grand future of the world.We have not here room for criticism; it would beeither insufficient, or far too long. We must, therefore, end with a sketch of the poet. Years ago-forhe triumphed when young-he had introduced theVICTOR HUGO. 73taste for old armour, tapestry, painted windows,mediæval costume, and those admirably beautifulrelics of old furniture, which is now so prevalent inParis and in London . Herein we authors are reallyof some use to you prosaic upholsterers and architects; you fat and greasy citizens are made to understand how nice your country-box may be made,through the author, if you please, Mr. Pugwash. AndMr. Chasuble, to Walter Scott and Hugo you owesome of your chances of bringing back lecterns ,singing boys, processions, introits , and other churchmatters. Yes, here we are of use. In a mediævalhall in an ancient hotel, garnished with arms andmassive furniture, the young poet and his wife, withtheir children playing before them, looked the truegrande dame and seigneur of the old time that theirfriend Louis Boulanger, portrait painter to the family,has represented them. In their little English houseat Hauteville, in the sea-worn island won bythe Englishfrom the Normans, and still retaining its Normancustoms and its singular rights , a vigorous whiteheaded man ofnearly seventy, with an iron grey beard,hair cut short, broad chest and shoulders, face markedwith the frequent foot of time, eyes that stare outeagle-like from the bold countenance, is a man, likeJohn Florio of Elizabeth's time, still resolute , stillhoping for the federation of the peoples; still dreaming those dreams which you and we have forgotten,74 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.1and weaker people never had. By him is an ancientlady, once his bride of fifteen, but now his consoler,his counsellor, and his guide. To them come thehaters of kings, the political implacables, the tribunes of the people, the exiles from many lands, thepoor, the broken- hearted, the hopeless. But VictorHugo has for each and all some heart-stirring noblewords, some deep feeling to appeal to; and as thesilver-haired lady clasps his hands and looks into hisface, as he still fulminates against the triple- anarchy(Nature, and Government, and Fate) which binddown aspiring man, she repeats his own noble lines(Le poëte en des jours impies) , which we have hereattempted to translate:" The Poet in these days of WrongMoulds and prepares a better time;Utopian is this man of song,Earth-bound his feet, his thought sublime!He looks above our little headsTo all time! Prophet-like he stands,And holds, or scorned or praised or blamed,A torch upreared in sacred hands.The light he trims in days of crimeWill brighten all our Future Time."CHARLES READE."ALCHARLES READE."C' PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE. "Such is the title of a story now running through the pages ofthe Cornhill Magazine.That story is about a skilled workman who loves above him,and has a hard battle to rise in the world and win his sweetheart.In this noble struggle he is so unfortunate as to come into collision with certain Trades' Unions, in that populous district ofEngland where the Unions prefer crime to defeat.Thus the story treats the great question ofthe day, and handlesit pretty fairly. The writer is neither a manufacturer nor a workman, and has no prejudice in the matter, but sees the virtues andthe faults of both, and what he sees he says.To save this subject from unworthy treatment on the stage,the author has dramatised his own work, and the drama willshortly be produced in London, and played by an admirablecompany selected from various first- class theatres to do justiceto a theme so important and so real.May the 28th.،، PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE ”A drama in four acts, by the author of the drama " It's Nevertoo Late to Mend," will be represented at the Theatre RoyalAdelphi.May the 23rd.78 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."Put Yourself in his Place," by the author of the novel" It's Never too Late to Mend, " will be published by Messrs.Smith and Elder, complete in three volumes, and can beordered in advance at any respectable library throughout thekingdom.HE curiosity of literature with which wehave commenced this biography is in itsway unique, and it is only by understanding it that the reader will fully comprehend themarvellously vigorous novelist who wrote it . Itsounds like a puff, but it is not so . It looks like anarrogant piece of self- assertion, of which, bythe way,strange as it may seem, Charles Reade would not beguilty-not even in spite of those italics, " to savethis subject from unworthy treatment. " And as thisannouncement was stuck upon one of the afficheboards of the Adelphi Theatre, the last paragraphooked uncommonly like a Moses- like advertisementof a new pair of trousers; and the suggestion that itcould be ordered in advance at any respectablelibrary in the kingdom " -what book cannot?-seemsto be the neatest bit of buncombe advertising thatcould possibly be indulged in. What Mr. CharlesReade does intend to say—and we hold that he is aman of true genius, and has the modesty of truegenius-is , that he has written a very powerful, veryearnest, and very honest novel; that he believes thatit treats of the most vital question of the day; that،،CHARLES READE. 79while it does so with the interest of a fiction, it alsodoes so with the clearness of a statesman suggestinga remedy for a terrible national disease. He intends,further, to let the public know that having written agood novel, he intends to sell it; that a man ofletters, although a thousand times a more, and a much rarer production, has the right ofmaking money by his talent, equally with the butterman, the iron factor, or the speculator in the stocks.That the public believes in tall-talk advertisementand brag, and that it must be hit full in the face.before it is awakened. In this age of competitionMr. Reade believes that the silent man has no noticetaken of him. It is no use crying fresh herrings in awhisper, and being so proud as to "thank Godnobody hears you." You must not be ashamed ofyour métier. If you write a story of the day, youmust make it bear upon the day in the heaviest possible way. You must circulate widely, and hit thepublic as hard as you can.But the author of " Put Yourself in his Place, " whichgolden maxim we have been following as we write,while he enters with full vigour into all we have previously said, really, and with good cause, believes inhis own genius, and is bold enough to say so. Takefor instance his motto to his last book: " I willframe a work of fiction upon notorious fact, so thatanybody shall think he can do the same; shall labour80 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.and toil attempting to do the same, and fail; -suchis the power of sequence and connection in writing. ”-Horace: Art of Poetry.And very readily and generously does the publicaccept the writings ofthis generous, impulsive egotist,which designation must be understood in an entirelygood sense. Mr. Reade believes thoroughly in himself. He has no doubt as to his vocation, and whatever he finds to do that he does with all his might.The faults that he has are not the faults of thisgeneration. He does not doubt and hesitate; he isnot feminine, except from the surplusage of hismanliness; he does not despise the means by whichhe makes money; he is no trimmer; he believes ingoodness, and yet knows what wickedness is; he isentirely human, and yet in his aspirations far inadvance of the ruck and vulgar herd of humanity.He is sui generis; he has formed a school of his own,in which he has no pupil. His career has not beena very rapid one, nor are his works-which are sovery easy to read, and in which one has such a rapidinterest—at all easy to write . He does not producequickly, but what he gives us is so finished andso natural that it looks as if it were done withoutany trouble.Mr., or rather Dr., Reade, for he is D.C.L., is theson of the late John Reade, of Ipsden House, Oxfordshire. He was educated at Magdalen College, andCHARLES READE. 81graduated B.A. in 1835 , having been born in 1814.He studied at Lincoln's Inn, and was called to thebar in 1843; but literary barristers seldom practice,and, indeed, literature is so jealous a mistress thatshe will allow of no other service—at least, in mostinstances. In the year 1852 a little work, halfdramatic, and served up afterwards in a dramaticform, was presented to the public, called " Peg Woffington, ” founded on the story of that generous butsemi- virtuous actress. This had at once agreat success,and deserved it . In 1853 another novel, also in postoctavo ( 10s. 6d. ) , was published by Mr. Bentley,called " Christie Johnstone, " and this, too, made a hit.In a short time there followed upon this a very prettystory of a bloomer, called " The Course of True LoveNever did Run Smooth; " then "Jack of all Trades "(the autobiography of a thief); then, in or about theyears '55 and '56, Mr. Reade wrote for the LondonJournal a capital story called " White Lies, " and it saysmuch for the despised readers of that journal thatthey, most of them, recognised its extreme cleverness, while, when published by Mr. Trübner in 1857,in three volumes, it did not attract the public ofMudie's and the libraries in an equal degree, noraccording to its deserts .In the year 1856 Mr. Reade published a workwhich had a highly moral and politico- social aim—that of calling attention to the condition of ourG82 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.prisons, and also to the far more important, becauseeternal truth, that" Men may rise on stepping stonesOf their dead selves to higher things."The name of this was, "It's Never too Late to Mend, "and it created a sensation indeed. The crueltiespractised in gaols were looked into; a governor of agaol removed and suspended, and various new brooms.were set in work through the vigour of this exposé." It's Never too Late to Mend, " may be taken asCharles Reade's typical work. The writing was sostrong that it was painfully vivid; it was as true aslightning, but it hurt your eyes, and it hurt especiallythose lazy sensitive men who feel for and yet neverhelp the poor, and who try to believe that ourhumane system is all couleur de rose . This was somuch the case that Mr. Reade was bullied andscolded in a most amusing way by the old termagantsof the press; they scolded like fish-fags, but theauthor little recked of their scolding. The fun ofthis thing—and to a properly satirical person it is veryfunny-consists in both persons meaning the samething, and neither being able to convince the otherof that not unimportant fact. When, after the lapseof some time, the death of the offending governor ofthe gaol, and the cleansing to some extent of our prison system, " Never too Late to Mend" was producedat the Princess's Theatre, an old critic and dramatist,CHARLES READE. 83Mr. Tomlins, who is since dead, and who never roseto a position of weight or of eminence in literature,arose on the first night and protested, with his backto the terrible scene, against the cruelty and exaggeration of the play. There was quite a row in thehouse, and the author, we believe, attempted to address the audience from the private boxes. Then inthe papers there was, first, Mr. Tomlins' criticism,and Mr. Reade's indignant protest that he spoke thetruth; then came Tomlins' denial, and as bothauthors were exceedingly impulsive and vivid, theyemptied the slang dictionary with immense vigourupon each other's heads, greatly to the amusementof the public and to the beneficial advertisement ofthe play. Both meant well; both were for servingtruth honestly, but each was so entêté that he scornedto listen to the other.The next novels that we had from Mr. Reade were" Love me Little, Love me Long; " The Cloisterand the Hearth, " an ambitious work in four volumes;"Hard Cash," written for Charles Dickens's weeklymagazine, just as the " Cloister and the Hearth " waswritten for Once a Week under the name of "A HardFight." Next to this succeeded " Griffith Gaunt, "written for a magazine under the stupid name of TheArgosy; and then one of the very best of his stories ,the plot ofwhich was furnished him byMr. Boucicault ,called " Foul Play, " which appeared in Once a Week;""·G 284MODERNMENOFLETTERS.and next and last, this admirable, vivid, and overhead-and-heels work, " Put Yourself in his Place,"which has been for some months running throughthe pages of the Cornhill Magazine.Mr. Charles Reade has also written some verysuccessful plays, " Masks and Faces, " &c. , and hasworked in conjunction with Mr. Tom Taylor as adramatist. Whatsoever he does he does most earnestly. He is no half- hearted workman; and heknows his own ability as a literary artist so well thathe always succeeds.Charles Reade is, as an author, very well worthstudying. He is so thorough in what he does , so determined and so intense, that he falls into exaggeration, and yet it is doubtful whether he over- paintsthe truth . It is the languid age that is in fault, andnot the vivid author. In his last work he has described the effects of Unions in the Sheffield trades,and he has not gone one bit out of the record of thatterrible Commission which sat and revealed to usexactly how matters stood . So great an artist is thiswriter, that one feels towards the murderer by deputy,Mr. Grotait, a kind of sympathy, just as Shakespearemakes you feel a human heart beating even in Iagoor Richard III . Grotait is , of course, drawn fromthe life; he is none other than our friend Mr. Broadhead, who, somehow, in spite of the Commission, andin spite of forcible articles of the press, and in spiteCHARLES READE. 85of Mr. Roebuck, to whose courage Charles Readebears a generous and well-merited tribute, carrieswith him the sympathy of hundreds of working men .Added to this effect of exaggeration, heightened bya dramatic mind, this author has an overheat andvigorous fertility in his invention that requires to bemoderated, and a determination to paint so exactlywhat he feels, that people turn away from the sightin terror, fright, or disgust. He has quoted the " ArsPoetica; " let us recall two or three lines whichwarn an artist not-even in the heat and excess ofhis admiration for mere art-to show too much tothe public. Flaccus says:"Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidet;Aut humana palam coquat exta nefarius Atreus,Aut in avem Procne vertatur, Cadmus in aquem.Quodcunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.”And in those two last words, or rather in the lastline, is the secret of the enmity of a great part of thepress for Charles Reade. Even critics cannot appreciate what they cannot understand. Not only isCharles Reade true, but he is too true. His realityis beyond realism. Compare Charles Dickens andhis pantomimic touch with Charles Reade, and youwill see how infinitely superior the latter is as anartist. Take, for instance, those two sailors in " FoulPlay, " which are as true to life as anything drawn bythe great masters, Fielding, Smollett, or Sterne, and86 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.put them side by side with any of the minor characters of Charles Dickens. Those sailors will " standout " all alive, while Dickens's work will look faint ,sketchy, unreal, comical, and yet caricatured andpantomimic. Take, too, as a direct proof of masterdom in art, the creation of female character. Placeside by side Charles Reade's women with CharlesDickens's pretty little marionette company of ragdolls beautifully painted to the life.Finally, there are two matters to remark. Readehas quarrelled with the press, and has set it at defiance; he does his own plays that they may not beunworthily treated; he insults and contemns thecritics . The result is that, on the whole, he is perhaps better treated than any other writer. At anyrate, there is from this, this lesson to be learnt,either the press is very generous, or it is very powerless. When an author is strong enough to trusthimself—and he is strong enough when he thoroughlybelieves in himself, he can walk alone without criticism. The opinions of a few weaker professionalbrethren are nothing to him. It is the public whoappraises his value.Secondly, there is this last observation , which shapesitself into a congratulation both to the author underreview and the public. It is a matter of honest exultation to reflect that one, whose impulses are sotrue and so noble, who loves what is good, thorough,CHARLES READE. 87and laborious, and hates what is effeminate, weak, andmean, is so popular and so well appreciated. Weare delighted when Reade begins a new story; weknow it will be angular and singular, but that it willbe bold and true. In circumstances of great danger,his latest hero, Henry Little, gives a toast, " Here isquick exposure, sudden death, and sure damnationto all hypocrites, thieves and assassins. " It is justwhat Charles Reade would do before the most bloodthirsty critics . His motto should be, " Quod vultvalde vult. " May he live long to teach us that whatwe vehemently desire should be only that which isnoble and true.1JOHN RUSKIN, M.A., D.C.L. , &c.Į=!JOHN RUSKIN, M.A., D.C.L., &c.HERE is a story told of a gentlemanfarmer, not unaccustomed to the outsidesof books, that he took down to his farmwith immense gusto, Ruskin " On the Constructionof Sheepfolds. " It was foreanent the lambing season ,and our Bucolic wished to provide. His rage willbe imagined by those who love to hug a book toread after dinner, and to debate with an architecturalauthor the proper form of some building. Ruskin's"Sheepfolds " is a pamphlet on the discipline of theChurch! There are a thousand other ridiculousstories told. Aperson bought "Table Traits " to a cookery book; the " Gentle Life " was caught upas a disquisition on fishing, and a hunting mancarried away the " Recreations of a Country Parson"as a work which should be full of delightful chapterson pastoral sports, shooting, fishing, and foxhunting. What more, bleated the poor deceived one,what other recreations can a country parson have?But Ruskin's titles will give one an insight into the92 MODERN MEN OF Earnest, honest, full of love for his fellowmen, all that he does has some end in view, and thisend is to make men better and wiser. We canwell believe him when he writes: " In these booksof mine, their distinctive character, as essays on art,is their bringing everything to a root in a humanpassion and a human hope. Arising first not in anydésire to explain the principles of art , but in the endeavour to defend an individual painter from injustice,they have been coloured throughout-nay, continuallyaltered in shape, and even warped and broken, bydigressions respecting social questions , which had for mean interest tenfold greater than the work I had been forcedinto undertaking. Every principle of painting which Ihave stated is traced to some spiritual and vital fact. "Our readers will now see what Ruskin is , a greatsocial and political writer, who has been turned for amoment, and by a generous impulse, to write uponart. What he wrote he wrote well, from his soul, asso good and great a man must write; and even whenhe generously undertook the defence of that meanand selfish old genius Turner, he did not wholly losehimself in his subject. Perhaps no one was moreastonished than Turner at the turn things took. Herewere the English, who are mostly ignorant of art, buying greasy, sticky, and dark old masters, and worse,wretched copies from old masters-things so blackthat one could not see. Ruskin, a young graduate,JOHN RUSKIN. 93comes and waves his magician's pen in " ModernPainters," and our newspaper critics, more ignoranteven then than now, which is saying much, are converted, and the reign of modern art comes in. Webegin to love daylight, real drawing, colour, light,cheerfulness; not fusty old saints, miserable friars,and impossible apotheoses of saints that never existed. And yet no one loves the old masters morethan Ruskin and this writer-when they are masters,look you! However, the reign of Turner and modernpainters was established, and thousands upon thousands of pounds were laid out upon English artistswho, but for Ruskin, would have starved. As a rule,and we know them well, our more fashionable artistsare an ill- read, unthinking, over-paid and over- praisedset. Has any one of them ever thought of givingRuskin a dinner, or subscribing to any testimonialfor his gigantic work? Does Mr. Birket Foster believe that without Ruskin he would get three and fourhundred pounds for those little bits of water- colours?No; he would still be working on blocks of woodwith a H.H.H. pencil . Do the pre- Raphaelites reflectthat without him their angular drawings, flat painting,and want of atmosphere, would have become famous?Ifthey do, they are still conceited muffs. They haveforgotten Perugino, Bartolomeo, and the rest of theold Italians , now that they have made their namethanks to Ruskin. Thanks also to him for having94 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.improved the whole of our art and art- knowledge.He is a great man; we hardly know yet how great.Look at him at the Royal Institute . Leave thecountry by an early train, dine in London, and then ,favoured by a Fellow, present your ticket to Ruskin'slecture. A long, thin, shambling gentleman , like acountry clergyman, with hair red and after the " poundof candles " style in its method of tumbling over hisface; a Scotch face, full of shrewdness; very ugly ifwe believe some photographs, very winning, bright,and clever, nay, sweet and charming, if we trust toGeorge Richmond's portrait and to reality. Themouth is small, the nose somewhat retroussé, theforehead small, but so is the whole face; yet thehead is capable, and the fiery soul seems to workupwards and flash out of the windows of those eyes,as the eloquent words, hurried onward in a torrent,flash too, and light up whole tracts of darkness. Aword, a hint, a slight reference to some gargoyle orspandrill , some carved work in stone, and you see itall. A dry subject becomes luminous; the cold deadstones of Venice begin to move and raise themselvesto life . After hearing Ruskin you understand how itwas that Apollo made the stones dance and form inorder to build Troy walls—which you never did before . But Ruskin has tried higher game than art.Born in 1819, Ruskin is the son of a London winemerchant, who had the good sense to send his son toJOHN RUSKIN . 95Oxford, where, at the age of twenty, he took the Newdegate Prize for English Poetry. This is worth whilebearing in mind, for Ruskin's style is very flowingand buoyant, and full of poetic imagery of a highorder. Then taken with a love of art, the student,after taking his degree, studied under J. D. Hardingand Copley Fielding, excellent artists, who have agreat love of nature very apparent in their works.Having learnt to paint, to know what a palette is,what scumbling, what the difference between a tubeof megilp and a tube of paint, and being indeed practically no fool of an artist, the graduate wrote a bookto tell the world—which, Heaven knows, wanted it—something about art. The reception of his book" Modern Painters, " when first issued in 1843 , wassimply contemptuous.Art critics-who have been admirably sketchedby Thackeray as Fred Bayham-were ignorantreporters, who did not know a mahl- stick from awalking- cane, and who, inthe plenitude of theirignorance, could not see that they were killedoutright, run through the body, by Ruskin'srapier. A Turk had a scimitar so sharp thathe used to pass it through a man's neck withouthurting him. The victim used to grin with delighted surprise. " Sneeze, " said the Sabreur Turque.The executed one did so , and his head rolled onthe floor. Most of our stupid art critics are dead;196MODERNMEN OF LETTERS.some have exhibited the crick in their necks; but agreat many of them have not yet sneezed, and go onwriting about Parmegiano, Claude, chiaro- oscuro,and the corregiosity of Corregio, with distressing simplicity. Quietly and triumphantly " Modern Painters "made its way; a second edition was called for withina year; Turner was enthroned (poor mean old man,he had tumbled into decadence, painted pictures fullof varied colours like a convalescent black eye, and stillquoted his own MS. poem, the " Fallacies of Hope") ,and the public's idea of painters and painting wasrevolutionised.The great writer--for the style, and the style is theman; it is God's gift, as colour is to the painterwas then away to Italy studying. Mark this, not onestep does Ruskin take without study. He records,in a simple unaffected way, a striking instance ofthis . "The winter," he says, " was spent mainly intrying to get at the mind of Titian, -not a lightwinter's task, -of which the issue, being in manyways very unexpected to me, necessitated my goingin the spring to Berlin, to see Titian's portrait ofLavinia there, and to Dresden to see the TributeMoney, the elder Lavinia, and girl in white, with theflag fan. Another portrait, at Dresden, of a lady ina dress of rose and gold, by me unheard of before, andone of an admiral, at Munich, had like to have keptme in Germany all summer. " So conscientiouslyJOHN RUSKIN. 97does Mr. Ruskin work. In 1846, another volume of"Modern Painters" followed, and anotherwaspromised.In the interim he had been studying architecture, andwe had his " Seven Lamps of Architecture, " 1849; the"Stones of Venice, " 1851; and the second and thirdvolumes of the same in 1853. All these were largevolumes, editions de luxe, for Mr. Ruskin's fortune isa sufficient if not a very large one. He appears tohave thought that only a large price would repaybooks of that character. Like Rogers's " Italy,"published at a heavy price, the works paid capitally.We must now rapidly sketch the work of Ruskin,to show what he has done, and afterwards we willsay a few words upon how he has done it. In 1851 ,Ruskin wrote in favour of the pre- Raphaelites, a setof ardent and admirable young painters, whose forcibleignorance was needed to bring us back from theschools of Chalon and Collins, and the poor creatureswho had given up their mean souls to the aristocracyand the " Book of Beauty. " All of the P. R. brethrenhave recanted practically; not one paints as he thenpainted, but infinitely better. In 1853 , Ruskin lectured in Edinburgh on Pre- Raphaelitism and GothicArchitecture, and in 1854 he gave, in London, threelectures to working men on the Art of Illumination .He thenadvocated the sublime art of going backwards,so that we might get more forward, reculer pour mieuxsauter. He had written for the Quarterly in 1847 .H98MODERNMENOF LETTERS.""In 1851 he issued his pamphlet on Church discipline' The Construction of Sheepfolds; " in 1854 he wroteonthe opening of the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, anentthe protection of Art Antiquities throughout Europe.For the Arundel Society he wrote a notice of Giottoand his works, and, in 1855, he showed the Timescritic and others how to write, in his " Notes on theAcademy Exhibition. " We have, besides, the "TwoPaths," the " Harbours of England, " the " PoliticalEconomy of Art, " and then the idea of PoliticalEconomy became strong upon him. "Unto this Last "were essays in the Cornhill Magazine; "Sesame andLilies," " The Ethics of Dust, " " Kings' Treasuriesand Queens' Gardens, " and three lectures on " War,Commerce, and Work, " and afterwards " Letters to aWorking Man," which were first published in theManchester Examiner, and which will sink deeper anddeeper in men's minds, till they in some measurerevolutionise our ideas of property.For Ruskin's words are weighty, socialistic, Christian, and yet revolutionary. We who believe inChrist do not stand still; in word and deed we uttersomething for the sake of the brethren; we are on thehill top here in England, but the light shines fromother hill tops too. Let us explain ourselves . In"Unto this Last, " Ruskin had penetrated the fact thatthe terrible want and poverty, want of sweetness andlight, is only to be remedied by more justice to theJOHN RUSKIN. 99workman, by lifting him up and taking his childrenout of the dust. But how to do this? Leavingpoetry, Ruskin comes here to common- sense, andputs down four axioms with, as he finely says, " aplausible idea at the root. " They are (1) " Thatlabour should be considered as elevating. (2) Thatall reform should be conducted in the spirit of love .(3) That all workmen should be paid as soldiers are,regardless of excellence or greater capacity of production; literally, as in the parable, ' unto this last . 'And (4) One of the most important conditions for theestablishment of a healthy system of social economywould be the restraint of the properties and incomes oftheupper classes beyond fixed limits. " Study that sentence,because its spirit is now abroad; if you have a rightto divert the incomes of a church, a much greaterright have you to meddle with the unearned wagesof the rich. In Ruskin you will find the politics ofthe future.For his style, we give but one, a description ofVerona, which, for the benefit of his hearers, he contrasted with Edinburgh when lecturing in that city:" I remember a city, more nobly placed even than Edinburgh,which, instead of the valley now filled by lines ofrailroad , has abroad and rushing river of blue water sweeping through theheart of it; which, for the dark and solitary rock that bearsyour castle, has an amphitheatre of cliffs crested with cypressesand olive; which, for the two masses of Arthur's Seat and theravages of the Pentlands, has a chain of blue mountains higher1H 2100 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.掌than the haughtiest peaks of the Highlands; and which, for thefar-away Ben Ledi and Ben More, has the great central chain ofthe St. Gothard Alps; and yet, as you go out of the gates, andwalk in the suburban streets of that city-I mean Verona-theeye never seeks to rest on that external scenery, however gorgeous; it does not look for the gaps between the houses; it mayfor a few moments follow the broken lines ofthe great Alpinebattlements; but it is only where they form a background forother battlements, built by the hand of man. There is no necessity felt to dwell on the blue river or the burning hill. The heartand eye have enough to do in the streets of the city itself; theyare contented there; nay, they sometimes turn from the naturalscenery, as if too savage and solitary, to dwell with a deeper interest on the palace walls that cast their shade upon thestreets, and the crowd of towers that rise out of that shadow intothe depth of the sky. That is a city to be proud of indeed. "In 1870 Mr. Ruskin was appointed Slade- Professorof Art, at Cambridge, and has recently issued hislectures in a volume from which we quote this noblepassage:

"Far from art being immoral, little else is art moral; that life without work is guilt, and work without art is brutality, and the words 'good' and 'bad', used by men, almost become may be substituted for the words 'Doers' or 'Destroyers', for most of the seeming prosperity of the world is, so far as our present knowledge extends, in vain - utterly useless for any kind of good, but having been assigned a certain sequence Inevitability of Its emphasis is but the tension of a wandering storm, its beauty is the turmoil of the plague, and what is called the history of mankind is often the record of the whirlwind and the map of the spread of leprosy. .in the midst of it, the work of every man, 'qui non accept in MaouJOHN RUSKIN.all things hold securely and vitally expand, and though with a strange hesitancy, in the eyes of the beholder, morning comes and so does the night, there is no hour of human existence that is not close to the perfect day". in our weakness; and in choosing what we should work on during the six days, and we can know if it is good in the afternoon, than in choosing what we pray for on the seventh day, reward or rest. Perhaps we have sometimes gone up to the house of the Lord in vain, and in vain have we asked for what we imagine would be mercy; but for the few who work as their Lord wishes, mercy need not be sought, and their great home is not hallowed. Certainly good and mercy will follow them all the days of their lives; and they shall dwell in the house of the Lord - FOREVER."—Discourses on Art.little rem And though here is a writer after our hearts; no dreamer after Arthur and his knights, no seeker of the Holy Grail, no mean-spirited descriptor of sensationalists of trials for murder or adultery, not a simple painter of comic people who never was, of a "character" that boils and bubbles only in his own very good-natured brain, only to distract or amuse, not to take us now to Thebes, now to Athena, as Horace says, to make us weep, or laugh, or crawl by mere phantasms, no, ten thousand times No! It is this noble function of a writer that John Ruskin nobly performed—to bind our hearts closer to each other, our brethren and raise our souls nearer to God! THE RUSKIN ETHIC., wrote Thomas Paine, the unbeliever and agitator, in The Crisis No. 1, "these are the times that try the souls of men. crisis, "and every time tests the souls of men; indeed, each age adapts its test and its pressure with great care, so that each soul finds the burden and the burden painful, and need not complain when others are also tested. But these are times, shall we say, that have peculiar tests. Such is the presumption of man. Before the birth of conquerors and kings, Nature, the mistress of these lucky ones, had warned that the future has something worth seeing behind her veil. Before the great Julius died, as Shakespeare lets us know, repeating Plutarch musically, old Beldame Terra was in a strange situation: hurricanes toppled towers, the sky floated ash and fiery stars, comets flew eccentrically here and there. , and cloaked ghosts shrieked and babbled in the Roman streets! What purpose were these warnings, if they ever existed? A miracle repeated twice does not become a miracle, no, there will be learned men who will simply look at that miracle again and show that it is only a law. So we of a skeptical age are rightly skeptical of these peculiar times. The exordium can suit the common preacher who wants to wake up the sleeping flock of him; but it won't help us. The present times are full of severe lessons, great with the future; but no more than others. We have had the most brutal revelations of cold-blooded murder planned in peaceful Christian England by those lamb-like martyrs, the workers. We had a congress of idle men, sitting like a secret society, a gang of assassins, or the Vehme Gerichte, and decreeing that one of them should be maimed, wounded, driven away, or shot, because he dared to try to make money. free and honest life. . We have had popular teachers and writers, who shouted like rabid madmen at Governor Eyre for saving an English colony by court-martialing a rebel Negro, keeping silent about the murderous Broadhead, because he was and is a supposed laborer, and so on. ... called workers. picking up your papers. We had organized gangs of thugs who tore down the fences in the park and a member of parliament who apologized for them. We had a gathering of publicly harassed, booed, harassed and beaten up conservative workers. THE RUSKIN ETHICS. 107hall, in which they had rightly called a meeting, by radical reformers, who, at the same time, demanded freedom of speech, and shouted with comic indignation that no one was allowed to speak in Hyde Park, that it never served any other purpose than recreation . We have seen organized bandits rob sixty, seventy, or a hundred people in the open air in the streets of London; and yet these are not extraordinary times. Our union murders have been going on for a hundred years, and we survived them. Our workers were so misguided, so spoiled by good books and ignorant publishers, that at the Paris Exposition we were defeated on our own ground. Biblical sentiments and teachings, our newspaper editors were formerly more ignorant than now; and this is all the consolation we can give anyone: we've been through it all, so we're not really living in strange times. But that's for sure, a big change is coming; and John Ruskin, one of our greatest modern teachers, was the first, or one of the first, to warn us of this. As an art critic he did very well. He brought love, truth, honesty, vision, knowledge, to sustain the art. He cut deep into that shameful obstruction, the Royal Academy; he exalted the new men. Mr.108 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. Millais owes a lot to Mr. Ruskin; he made the Pre-Raphaelites; indeed, his success made them foolishly conceited, and he spoiled them a little; but this was not his intention. A singularly quick and fertile thinker, he produced some noble works very quickly, and in them he sprinkled such wonderfully eloquent thoughts, such noble affirmations of the works of God, that no English writer, except Jeremy Taylor, can be quoted who can show so much blood, life, color, movement, passion and reality in his phrases. Ruskin's words live on; they are not mere fragments of type: there they are and there they will be. But it is not these, which will continue to be great reference monuments for artists, that we would like to point out at this time. We have other work to do; for Ruskin, after having abandoned for a time the province of art teacher, in which he is first, has passed to a broader school, perhaps the noblest that a mere modern prose writer can adopt, that of professor of art. political economy. for a nation that prides itself on its economists. , and it is believed, rightly or wrongly, to be the most important nation, as far as this science is concerned, in the world. , sweet and interesting. It resembles that philosophy of which Milton sang that it was charming and divine: “Not harsh and angry, as stupid fools suppose, but musical as the lute of Apollo. ”THE RUSKIN ETHICS. 109 Moses' mission was economic, for he proposed the Oikonomia, or domestic law, by which every man should enter and possess the land, and each one in the vast tribes of Israel should live in peace, and no one should harm his neighbor. ; or if he by chance he did it, he must atone for it, if for crime, he must suffer; so that goodness abounds, wisdom is exalted, peace is produced; the Lord's ways are to be known as pleasant ways, and his sons are to "grow like tender plants," and daughters are to be chaste, pure, and beautiful "as the polished corners of the temple." The true economy, then, is the science of life; he understands the best knowledge in the world, he cares about the happiness of man, he makes life sweeter and better; it represses evil, exalts good, banishes selfishness, makes us understand the luxury of virtue and is committed to providing the greatest happiness to the greatest number of people. It must be founded not on egoism but on religion; not in mere political dictates or distorted and ill-conceived maxims of the merchant; not in the interested notions of the consumer or the producer, but in certain canons that, generously conceived and wisely interpreted, by giving good to someone, will also do good to everyone. It is no exaggeration to say that Mr. Ruskin is aiming for all of these. He is a great man and a wise thinker; but we must not suppose that their doctrines of modern men of letters are therefore immediately received by political quiduncs who toy with old ideas of egoism, which they call Political Economy. Mr. Ruskin's trials are filled with forceful and eloquent writing. They were met with part ridicule, part vague misunderstanding, part indignant denial; but they have, as he himself says of Political Economy, "a plausible idea at the root." he developed the theory from him, as certain letters, published in a Manchester newspaper, have not yet been republished by himself, corrected and annotated; so that even in these deductions, except the last, which we have quoted in his own words, we may be guilty. of some mistake. His ethics caused a very big, deep and wide sensation. One correspondent, writing to us to ask our opinion on these things, said: "I am sending you these letters, but I still have some, which are really unfit for reading, having been well handled by 'Greasy Mechanics' in a Greasy Mechanic's Shop during meals." and the leisure hours, when the hands are a little black and the reading desks are huge but dirty. We think he is a leader of thought and opinion in England; and there are not a few

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THE RUSKIN ETHICS. Here we are, we want to know your opinion about this as soon as possible. "Now the newspapers that the Ancoats workers read will be read and pondered by workers the world over, and the workers now hold the position in their own hands. Capital relations (which we regard here as mere money and possessions, not the intellectual capital, which the worker also has) and the job is undergoing a review, and it would be mere cowardice to turn a blind eye to the fact Mr. Ruskin sincerely wishes to "remove the temptation to use all energy for the possession of wealth." , and where we have been with him for a long time. He sincerely wants to benefit humanity and believes that this soft looting of the very rich classes will be implemented gradually from the bottom up, without any violent or impatient procedure. These are heavy words; and between all our weekly and daily professors have yet to find a man able and willing to confront its author or refute his arguments, unfinished and rudimentary as they still are, Economics as mentioned above, and reiterate that the basis of his teaching is generosity or charitable feeling (affectionate) towards man. “You saw a long time ago,” he wrote to a friend on March 7, “that the essential difference between the Political Economy that I am trying to teach and popular science is that mine is presumably based on achieving honesty in men. . and conceived in them respect for the interests of others, while popular science rests entirely on itself, supposedly in constant regard for its own" (interest). This is perfectly true. Win as much as possible, rule by dividing the In addition, buying in the cheapest market and selling in the most expensive market, getting up early to get ahead of the rest "catching the worm" are the destructive axioms of Economics, falsely called But Mr. Ruskin wisely dismisses them all as a "Your way of earning money to be the head of the people, the only rich among hundreds of poor," he said, "is a selfish and vicious way; and, because it is vicious, it is reckless. They corrupt themselves and make others jealous How does the love of God abide in you? Christianity is the most leveling of all religions; it raises the poor out of the mud to place him among princes, and humbles the great prince. Few people can quote the Bible, as few people they have studied it so well, better than Ruskin: with him there is a force, a weapon, a two-edged sword. In the quoted letter, he presents the Bible to prove that music, dance and wine were given to man to gladden his heart in THE RUSKIN ETHICS. 113 religious ceremonies, so as not to be bitten to the miserable cancan of the French, nor to the Covent Garden Pantomime with its 'forty waves', half-naked young women, smoking forty bad cigars, nor to the drunkenness and stupid howl of a Swiss vintage house . And then, taking the Bible's lowest human estimate, he argues for it; so that, setting aside divine authority, he proves "how peculiarly terrible is our feast in its utter joylessness, in the paralysis and impotence of a vice in which there is neither pleasure nor art." London, says: "Nothing could be done better in his wicked way, the object of the dance being to express in every gesture the wildest rage of insolence and vicious passions possible in human nature. So, you see, though for the moment we find ourselves Totally incapable of an ecstasy of joy and thanksgiving, the dance that is presented as a feature of modern civilization is still quite enthusiastic, but it is the ecstasy of blasphemy Much has gone wrong in both political and economic economy. dance. true art; and whether we take the Bible as a book of mere wise phrases, or as a book from which every syllable is inspired, we are equally wrong. And here we can give 114 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. which he constantly studies. There are , he says, four ways of looking at it: The first, "As dictated by the Supreme Being, and every syllable of it His Word," is absolutely true, supplied to man by the divine inspiration of his orators and writers, and which all who they honestly and prayerfully seek the truth necessary for salvation, they will infallibly find it there. theory held by the majority of our good and upright clergymen, and the best class of professing religious laymen; "among whom we may safely include Mr. Ruskin. The third theory, which denies inspiration, allows for historical accuracy, the record of "true miracles," and a "true testimony of the resurrection and the afterlife." held by most active leaders of modern thought. The fourth and last possible theory places the Bible on a par with the best moral books of the Egyptians, Greeks, Persians, and Indians, and should be studied with reverence by them. Ruskin is so sure of the truth of his Economies, who honors this fourth class of thinkers, and appeals to the Book which for some 1,500 years has been the chief guide of Europe, which forbids pride, lasciviousness, and covetousness, which commands that the truth temper fairness, fairness, and charity. Now, all great thinkers have done the same, ergo, on this humble foundation and premise Ruskin builds his theories, and from this little coin of advantage they will surely rise and win. Their flaws will not They are many, but we can mention them. the apostles and early Christians, was in no way ordained and that nowhere, except in the utopian Land of the Clouds, could it exist beneficially. He is a great believer in worldly prosperity for the masses, while he rightly tells us how wretchedly bad it is for almost every individual. He speaks with much pride and cruelty of those who, like us, "dared insolently to preach a man's contentment with thirty shillings a week"; and is hastening in its denunciations of the follies arising from education, of long peace and prosperity, and of the cowardice of our preachers and writers for many years, and of the selfishness of ministries on every side, who have given all honors and rewards to rich men, and therefore they made wealth their only incentive. But Ruskin has a very noble heart and a very tender one too; he is nobly eloquent and will be heard; he sympathizes with poverty and ignorance, but is impetuously moved by vice and madness, forgetting that they are the saddest phases of poverty and ignorance. He raises a warning voice the moment change has come upon us, and tells us to go back to the old days of seriousness, of business associations, of honor, obedience, reverence; of industry and work in each man; "Every young man in the state, from the king's son on down, must learn to do something refined and painstaking,"—he does not stoop to simply wallowing in wealth and corrupt, selfish indulgence. And Ruskin must be heard; or, just as surely as we allow thousands to starve in ignorance and desire, to rot in sloth, to plot and plot selfish murder, to die starving and helpless while we are full of meat and wine, to continue in the miserable and ignorant path we allow our lower classes to take, we will pass as Persia, Greece and Rome passed, with more guilt and fewer excuses. back, know for sure that the Lord your God will not drive out before you any of these nations, but they will be snares and snares for you, and lashes on your back and thorns in your eyes, until you perish from this good. land which the Lord your God has given you.” These, in a nutshell, are the ethics of John Ruskin, even the ethics of the Bible. Let us be fair and fear not; let us follow this great teacher; but unfortunately! How can we be fair, when out of a thousand children in Manchester only four hundred can read, and the rest are ignorant and cannot know right from wrong?

ROBERT BROWNING.7 ROBERT BROWNING.In that marvelous opening of "Faust" where the Poet, the Theater Manager, and Mr. Merryman (der lustige Person) debate the appropriateness of presenting to the public, the poet demands for his art the highest admiration; the Manager, on the contrary, thinks on the stage, and Mr. The Poet says of himself, and with all truth, that “His voice is fame; a very wise and beautiful answer: “A poet must still regulate his fantasies;

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For, oh, the secrets of the poet's art, What are they but the dreams of the young heart? not at all, they are, as long as they don't dream of it, all they see! *And so Goethe launches into one of those wonderfully subtle, daring and tender expositions that make him what he is. We need that reference when we talk about Robert Browning. With him we feel that a poet gives a man something to inherit, while he makes us repeat with Mr. Merryman that phrase about "regulating his fantasies." Half of the English-speaking world could not understand Browning; let's say two thirds, or three fourths; or what do you say for nine tenths? Take all the people who can really read Shakespeare with pleasure, and understand that clear, deep, intense writer; not even half of them could understand Browning. And yet he is a great poet, deep, intense, but rarely very clear. He thinks

(Video) Biggest Difference Between Bad Art and Great Art by UCLA Professor Richard Walter

  • The Poet der Dichter also seems to feel this, and in one of his

his bursts of intensely beautiful but egoistic poetry says:" Gieb ungebändigt jene Triebe,Das tiefe schmerzenvolle GlückDes haffes kraft, die macht der LiebeGieb meine jugend mi zurück! "Thus translated by Dr. Anster:"Give me, oh give, youth's passions unconfined,The rush ofjoy that felt almost like pain ,Its hale, its love, its own tumultous mind;Give me my youth again! "ROBERT BROWNING. 121..""too quickly; and he involves the reader in a crowdof similes and expositions, which come tumbling overone another as "the water comes down at Lodore. "He is a fit instance of the " palpable obscure. " Heaffects titles to his books as strange as does Ruskin.Shakespeare gives his works plain, bolt- uprightnames, " Julius Cæsar, " " Macbeth; or gentlysweet and modest titles cap his works, -"AWinter'sTale, " " A Midsummer Night's Dream, " or " All'sWell that Ends Well. " But our cultivators of thepalpable obscure-much as we love what is good inthem, we hate their folly-launch out into such titlesas Pippa Passes , " " Bells and Pomegranates, "" Idylls of the King, " "Oriana," " Ethics of Dust, "Kings' Treasuries and Queens' Gardens "-and soon. They do this to attract attention, because theyare weak, not strong, because they are affected withtheir weight of poetry; whereas the true giants boretheir burden of genius modestly, and were all thebetter poets for not exhibiting the modern poeticstrut.66But of modern poets we are, for many reasons,inclined to rank Robert Browning as the first, beforeTennyson, Swinburne, or Morris; and he is one thathas played a waiting game, and has never beencrowned by elated crowds like Tennyson. Moreover,Browning is a poet with poets; he grows upon us.There was a time when he said truly, that of his122 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.books the writer and the reader were one and thesame: he himself was all the public that he had.But now he can venture upon the wildest thing thatany modern poet ever did; that is , he can publisha poem in four volumes, at 7s. 6d. each, telling ineach volume the same story three times over; andhe can command a public for this extraordinarywork of art.Robert Browning is, as may be seen from his portraits, a handsome, bold, defiant- looking man, withsomewhat of a poet's earnest gaze. He does notpossess the super- essential outward mask of a poet,as did Robert Southey, of whom Byron said that helooked more like a bard than anyone he ever met.He has not what is vulgarly called a " poetic ” appearance, that is , he wears a well- made coat, anddoes not muffle himself up in a cloak; and yet helooks quite sufficiently a poet. He is of mature age,having been born in 1812. He was educated at theLondon University. In 1836 Browning publishedhis truly poetic first work, " Paracelsus; " in 1837 heproduced his tragedy of " Strafford, " a subtle butnot an acting tragedy; full of fine lines and subtlethoughts, but which no audience would now sit out.All that Macready could do to "mount" and producethe play was done; but it was a failure. The " Bloton the ' Scutcheon, " produced in 1843 , was a very fineacting play, but unsuccessful; for in those days thereROBERT BROWNING. 123were numbers of poetic playwrights, authors of unacted dramas of merit, who neglected the interests.and action of the piece merely to put into the mouthsof the actors fine sentiments in blank verse. The"unacted drama became then a synonym for finewords; the acted drama was bald, devoid of merit,and depended, as it does now, upon mere situation ,sensation, and farce. Since that time Browning hasnot given us an acting drama, but has confined himself to dramatic poetry and to dramatic scenes.In1840 he published " Sordello, " a mysterious work;in '46, " Bells and Pomegranates; " in '50, " ChristmasEve and Easter Day; " in 55, " Men and Women. "In '62 Messrs. Chapman & Hall published " Selections from the Works of Robert Browning, " a charming volume, not to be confounded with anothersubsequent selection published by another firm,which is comparatively worthless. In '64 the poetissued " Dramatis Personæ, " and in '69 the fourvolumes called " The Ring and the Book, " a poem,as we have said, told twelve times over by differentpeople.Now, what excuse have we to make for RobertBrowning's having so pertinaciously troubled thepublic? For that is one way to look at it . Accursedbe those preachers who have nothing to say, and whofill up the world with vain babblement and the strifeof tongues! Not every one has the divine gift of124 MODERN MEN OF; and for some that have, and who have wastedit in mere licentiousness, or in feminine folly, betterwere it had they never been born. As to Browning,there is this to be said, that he felt deeply what waspoetic, and tried vigorously to express it . He had,too, some real merit about him; but it was not of aneasy, popular kind; and although there was, whenhe appeared in 1835 , a great opening for a poet―Shelley, Byron, Keats, and Southey being dead, andWordsworth beyond any new and fresh expression—neither Browning nor Alfred Tennyson, who hadlately published his volume, filled the vacant place.Both volumes were received by the robust public ofthat day with contempt. Tennyson had written inpuling accents about Adeline " sweetly smiling,"Fatima, Oriana, and a dozen other pretty names,and over the literary horizon there were signs thatthe disastrous advent of Woman's rule was about tocome upon us. Soft and sweet was " school- missAlfred "-" Low, low, whisper low," " Oh swallow,swallow, flying south, " &c.; " Let her wind hermilk- white arms about me; let me die, " &c.; butMontrose wrote a song a thousand times moretouching, aye, and one that would please a truewoman more, in that sweet " My dear and only love: "But if thou wilt prove faithful, then,And constant of thy word,I'll make thee glorious by my pen,And famous by my sword."ROBERT BROWNING. 125Still it must be said of Browning that he is essentiallymanly. " In the region of morals," writes Mr.Austin, " women may have had a beneficent influence in modern times " (not all women; some of themost immoral novels in sentiment ever publishedhave been written by women), " but in the regionof Art their influence has been unmitigatedly mischievous. They have ruined the stage. " (This is quitetrue; there is now no opening, so to speak, for areally good, mature actress; all that is demanded issupplied by pretty, painted young girls in silk tights ,and with plenty of false hair. ) They have dwarfedpainting till it has become the mere representative ofpretty little sentiment—much of it terribly falseand mawkish, common- place domesticities; and theyhave helped poetry to become, in the hands of Mr.Tennyson, at least, and his followers, the handmaidof their own limited interests, susceptibilities, andyearnings. ” “ Every- day evidence makes it clear, ”says Mr. Swinburne, "that our time has roomenough only for such as are content to write forchildren and girls . ”(6Now, Mr. Browning has not helped on this state ofthings; he has not cut down all things to the meredrawing-room standard. His " Paracelsus, ” a marvellously subtle and studious poem, was at leastbeyond that. Here is the history of it: ParacelsusTheophrastus Paracelsus Bombastus de Hohenheim126 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.-was a half-mad braggart and German physician ofthe Middle Ages, who discovered the use of opium,and did his best to rescue medicine from the disgraceof being the most ignorant " science " in the world.His history may be read in many a magazinearticle, for it has a strange charm. This braggartdoctor (a great quack by the way, always vauntinghimself) Mr. Browning took as his hero. Heelevates him into a kind of Faust, without thesuperhuman machinery, and he contrasts this superfine braggart with a simpler creation, his friendAprile, and the motives of the two men are thuscontrasted:PAR. His secret!-I shall get his secret, fool. I amThe mortal who aspired to KNOW; and thouAPRI. I would LOVE infinitely, and be loved .PAR. Poor slave! I amthy king indeed!In the end, after various adventures and thoughts,poured out thick and slab, often in the most ruggedverse that can be conceived-involved, knotted,twisted, and obscure-hard, and yet sometimesbeautiful as the striæ and stains in malachite or marble-the two ambitions are brought again into contrast, and Paracelsus, chastened by defeat, andblinded even by the vast expanse of the KNOWABLE,beaten down by the infinity of God's work and knowledge, and the wondrous purpose of life as yet behindthe veil, dies , with his friend Festus kneeling byROBERT BROWNING. 127him. Aprile has died some time before, hoping andtrusting in his faith in love; and Paracelsus, as hedies, reverts to him and to his doctrine, which headmits the wiser. Here are some sweet lines uponlost love:"'Tis only when they spring to Heaven, that angelsReveal themselves to you; they sit all dayBeside you, and lie down at night by you,Who care not for their presence. Muse or sleep,And all at once they leave you, and you know them.We are so fool'd and cheated! "And the dying words of Paracelsus are as beautifulas they are wise. He finds that love should alwaysprecede power. With much power should always bemore love, or man becomes a tyrant. His ownfailure was because he did not understand this . Hefailed-and why? Because—"In my own heart love had not been made wise:To trace love's faint beginnings in mankind;To know even hate is but a mask of Love's;To see a good in evil, and a hopeIn ill success; to sympathise-be proudOf their half-reasonings, faint aspirings, strugglesDimly for truth, their poorest fallacies,And prejudice and fears, and cares and doubts;All with a touch of nobleness, for allTheir error, all ambitions, upward tending,Like plants in mines, which never saw the sun,But dream of him, and guess where he may be,And do their best to climb and get to him, —All this I knew not, and I fail'd . "dige↓128 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.This is very beautiful, O, si sic omnia! The critics ,who have done much harm, received it not as Hamlet.bids us receive strange truth, -" And therefore as astranger give it welcome, "-but served Browningalmost as they had served Keats. " We can assureour readers, " says the Quarterly Review ( of Keats) ,"that this young man's poems were received withall but a universal shout of laughter! " Contemplatethe Philistines laughing at Sampson! Critics didnot understand Browning; so they abused him.One, however, did understand him, and she wasMiss Elizabeth Barrett, unquestionably the finestfemale poet that England has produced. She married Browning, and lived with him in Italy for manyyears most happily. She was but of delicate health ,a learned poetess, of equal calibre with, some sayhigher than, her husband. She herself did not thinkso; nor do we. There can hardly be conceived amore beautiful or enviable life than that of these twosingers, each aspiring for the freedom of Italy, theprogress of knowledge, the higher exaltation of thesoul. Gradually the public came round to their wayof viewing matters. One rich gentleman left them,it is said, a legacy, £5,000 each , for their good work;and editions of their poems began actually to be published without loss! At last, a few years ago, whenthe fame of both was established , the health of Mrs.Browning gave way, and she died at Florence on theROBERT BROWNING. 12}29th of June, 1861 , leaving her love but a memory,and to her poet husband, as he tells us in theselines, her memory but a prayer for help andstrength. Thus he speaks to her spirit in his last.poem:" O lyric love! half-angel and half-bird,And all a wonder and a wild desireBoldest of hearts that ever braved the sun,Took sanctuary within the holier blue,And sang a kindred soul out to his faceYet human at the red-ripe ofthe heart—When the first summons from the darkling earthReach'd thee amid thy chambers, blanch'd their blue,And bared them of the glory-to drop down,To toil for man, to suffer, or to die—This is the same voice: can thy soul know change?Hail, then, and hearken from the realms of help! "Beautiful as this is, the reader will find it very obscure. No one, for instance, could parse it or renderit grammatical. That is a grave fault . Besides.“ Paracelsus, ” and other hard thought- out dramaticpieces, Browning has become celebrated for hisLyrics-" How they brought the good news toGhent," &c. , and for a certain ethical, philosophic ,and even theologic kind of verse, " Mr. Sludge, theMedium, " " Caliban on Setebos, " " Bishop Blougram," in which the poet, entering into the soul ofhis character, a half brute, a Yankee rogue, or aRoman Catholic bishop, makes him think out andreveal in involved speech the nature of his character.K130 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.DThese poems are simply entrancing to those wholove (and we are of them) the studious, reflectingmethod of the author. To the vast public they areperhaps obscure; in all probability they are not quitetrue, not so true as the inner searchings of Iago intohis own villainy, or of Cassius into his own ambition ,but they are very fine . Caliban, in his island , reflecting on the nature of God, reasons just as anutterly selfish, untaught savage would; BishopBlougram as an educated priest, from whose heartall real faith in his calling had disappeared , but whoyet thought it necessary to keep up appearances. Aspoets live chiefly by a reflected fame, and as thesweet small- meaning of Tennyson begins now topale, there has arisen a party which places Browningat the head of modern poets, and is glad to objurgate its former idol, Tennyson. There are peoplewho believe that eccentricity is genius, and that ifthey think differently from the crowd, they thinkbetter than the crowd. These, of course, joined thenew sect; and, without belonging either to the onegroup or the other, we confess that we think withthem .Browning is a much deeper, more manly, and moresubtle thinker than Tennyson; both hold their ownoffice in high esteem; Tennyson, it seems to some,cherishes an overweening conceit of his own work.The first is analytic; the poet is with him, to quote.---:>ROBERT BROWNING. 131""his own head- lines, " Epoist, dramatist, or, so tocall him, analyst, who turns in due course synthesist; 'the other is equally proud of his singing robes, andso much worships not only old times, but the nobilityof man, that in effect he is a pantheist. But both ofthem lack the highest status of the poet, of Shakespeare, of Robert Burns, of a dozen other smaller insize, but equal in quality, who sang out of the nature of the heart, because music, love, veneration,worship, and wonder were in their souls, and theybecame poets as larks soaring up to heaven becomesinging- birds—because God puts the song into theirthroats, and they can't help rejoicing in the sweetexpression, the exosmosis, flowing outwards-to use achemical term-which they find it impossible torepress.Such poets are not laborious and involved. Knowing their innate strongly natural power, they do notbrag about it , nor write laudations of their office,they best praise it by practising it; but some of ourmodern bards, who are not so great either, strut andtalk loudly, pretend that they are within an ace ofcomprehending God and Infinity (as in Tennyson's"Flower in the crannied wall ") , and run off fromobscurity to obscurity, to produce poetry by art (ofwhich, too, they talk a good deal) , forgetting that theArt itself is Nature.K 2-ܪ{MR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE.ར

IMR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE I protest that in the reference to Tennyson we have not been unfair. We love him as much as most young women; maybe we understand it better. But it is a sign of weakness when living men of letters shower themselves with flattering praise and exalt themselves above the illustrious dead. Anyone acquainted with English literature will remember the dreary time when Alexander Pope towered above that poor creature, Shakespeare, who was considered a wild and exuberant clown genius who wanted to improve as Tate and Cibber improved him. There was still a galaxy of poets revolving around a central star: Garth, Tickle, Spratt, King, Eusden, Sheffield! How melancholy I read those names now, and yet, all the men had… please, all the men had… merits. They were very handsome young men, but the flattery of their time killed them. Before you condemn them outright, read them. They were not entirely without some good; however, in their day their sycophants made them gods. Now Tennyson is as far from Shakespeare as Tickle, Garth, or Eusden is from him; - and Mr. Anthony Trollope is almost as far behind Fielding. However, we all really liked Trollope. He writes “like a gentleman for gentlemen”, as the phrase of the day says, as if Homer, the guided blind, as they called the anonymous, wrote only for one class. works of genius. Every tacky shilling is worth testibus Tyburnia or The Best Society - you can't get further from good literature, nor worse generally, it describes itself as a 'first class' magazine. That's why only third class passengers buy them, and those lackeys and servants who take us poor bohemians to second class. Every newspaper is a first-class organ, and essentially, in that sense, Mr. Anthony Trollope is a first-class novelist, and yet he is very intelligent and has had an effect in this age. "Sir," says a character in Jerrold's "Housekeeper," "I am a student of human nature." "Yes", answers his interlocutor, "you study human nature as a thief studies a house, to take advantage of the weakest parts of it". Trollope did this with our shepherds. Of him we can say that he renounced what he was for humanity. ANTONIO TROLLOPE. 137 Crawley, who puts Lord Bateman's noble ballad into Greek verse, preserving measure and rhyme, Trollope never tires of presenting us in clerical vests. Do we think better of parish priests? We know parish priests well, and on the whole - even if we think of them as men like ourselves, sometimes not very tall, not very self-sacrificing, not very noble - one can only think that the clergy attracted by Trollope is a disgrace, and almost a slander. . We are not saying that they are not true. They are photographically true, but they are never true from the highest and most noble point of view. Vandyke, whose portraits are true to nature, and Lawrence, of inferior form, never painted anything but a gentleman or a lady. Some of our photographers elevate their photo assistants. They take them out in their prime. They look smart, good, at ease, capable. Other artists are on lower ground, giving us those brown, hard-faced common English men and women who make our photo-albums a horror and our window-pictures a sin and a disgrace. The Lord. Trollope treated our clergy somewhat in this way. He has done no better with our dukes and officers; he did not flatter our pretty common English girls, and as for our equally common English boys, let Johnny Eames testify that he imagined them to be very common philistines and fools. And yet, we have all read and enjoyed it. What power does he have over us? There is just one answer. It is art, it may be ordinary art, but it is art. The Lord. Trollope is something of a literary worker; but a real worker. The outward aspect of him symbolizes, or rather portrays, the inward aspect of him. When you look at his face, you exclaim, like Addison's Cato: "Plato, you reason well." a suitable and suggestive tabernacle. The portrait of him is thin, gloomy, partly gray and appears taller than him; his eyes are striking, dark and bright; two sharp lines on either side of his mouth, lost in a bushy American-style beard, give him an appearance of a more malevolent nature than he is. He is undeniably a gentleman, but bourgeois-looking, by no means hautecole. He gives an idea -that is if one knows life and the city very well- that he has seen hard work in the monotony of some government office; He appears to be about fifty-five years old and is a man you would hardly trust. by UniMR. ANTONIO TROLLOPE. The states made Americans hate him; while her immortal Widow Barnaby figure made his sex never forgive her. The genius he inherited from him is of a different kind, less incisive, much less vulgar, as people say, but, as we think, much inferior. The sons of the greats often show this. There are living men of letters who inherit their father's nomen et preterea nihil else, and who still earn a decent living from their intangible property. Neither Anthony nor his brother Thomas Adolfus, who is five years older, owe anything to his mother's style or manner. Both are educated gentlemen, who have learned too much and too well to be copyists. Both write well; in his own way the historian, T. A. Trollope, perhaps the better of the two, but we repeat, there is not a soup from Mrs. Fanny Trollope. Anthony has been a very diligent writer. He never made a big hit or a sensation, but he continually hit the crowds in the same spot and managed to impress. From "Barchester Towers", "The Bertrams", "Castle Richmond", by far the wittiest story of his, to "The Small Houseat Allington", "Rachel Ray", "Can You Forgive Her?" "Phineas Finn" and his "Vicar of Bullhampton", which was originally bought for Once a Week, and is now only on his account, there are many romances, but only two different motifs, Irish and clerical. The “clothing” that Trollope “wears is mostly clerical, very ragged clerical attire; and it is hard to say whether her bishops or her bishops' wives are the more disagreeable. We don't like it either. What the students in the lower life think of their pastors and teachers in the higher life, so repeated and photographed by Trollope, we refrain from saying. They must look at them with infinite displeasure. Selfish, miserably small and narrow, not strong enough to be positively hateful, they amuse us, cleverly flatter our vanity, showing us how much better we are than they; and then they forget. There aren't many notes in your music; no bloodshed, no passion, very tame, they are content to live and feed and their speech is like them." of "prompt" and "prompt" to make it move; from a time he could believe Lord Palmerston as a guided minister by God I found an excellent illustrator in a man of great merit, but whom the age is obstinate in accepting as an illustrated artist - we might as well call him a balloonist - John Everett Millais He is as suitable for Trollope as Phiz is for Dickens: When Phiz tried to illustrate our author, as he did in "Can You Forgive Her?", he failed miserably - absolutely brought life and humor to some of the figures under Mr. ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 141 on which Trollope had written signatures like these: dry, hollow as old nuts, but uniquely descriptive of the author and his mind Here are the titles, taken at random: "And did you go to him at the station?" (two backs of young men, a shawl and a cap on the distance - Millais). "Don't you want more wine?" (old-fashioned, old-fashioned, Millais drinkers). "Would you mind to close the window?" (Young doll and withered old doll in petticoats-Phiz). "Bell, here is the inkwell" (female model on a ladder, rear view; side view of ditto, holding a ladder-Millais). A sweet blessing, but your blood will not flow faster, nor will your heart expand more nobly. At least not ours. Some of our modern wood artists, elevated by the great manufacture of Dalziel Bros., have luck with these cuts. "Look," they will say, "the folds of that dress, sir! Ah, Jupiter! What a coat sleeve!" Well, but what about the figure inside? "All the madness of your stone ideal," said Byron. Of course not, but that's neither here nor there. No one could top Venus, Hercules, or Apollo in flesh and blood, but if you put Millais's dresses and coats on Regent Street, I could combine them.142 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. The same can be said of the author's characters. Ordinary English girl and get Lucy Robarts or Lilly Dale. The tone is low, silent; the study solid, repeatedly painted and round; the ideas, the manners, the very words of the day are reproduced. Will they live? No, not twenty years! They will live! Why should they? Give me a postage stamp.' 'There's one, Lilly. Are you going to the post office?' 'No, I think old John Boston will come on this one. It is better that I catch it. "Go ahead, thoughtful" - and so on for pages. But it's so real! Now, isn't the postage stamp real? Yes, as royal as your women, Lady Glencora Palliser, Mrs. Proudie, Mrs. Crawley, Mrs. Gazebee and the rest, as royal as your men, Mr. Plantagenet Palliser, the Duke of Omnium, Mr. Fothergill, Johnny Eames, we don't need to go into details. Some of their vulgar sketches are very clever: Mr. Scruby and the traveler with furniture iron, Captain Bellfield and Mr. Chesacre. They are the true British philistines and have not an iota of nobility among the bunch, and what the Mr. Trollope does not find it certainly does not put it. A box full of ordinary men and women. Do these people have a soul? Do they have a heart and a brain? Should we be proud to belong to such a race? They are the true images of the time; we can rejoice in the times we live in. In They Have Not Kindness Enough to Save Them Heaven, unless a paradise of entertainment, nice clothes, and five hundred pounds a year are wholly superfluous, they are far inferior to angels; nor did they force or strengthen it enough to be condemned. Absolutely ruthless annihilation is all we can demand of them; practically, we give it to them; we read endlessly and forget. Is it worth being a novelist, however intelligent, to produce so little effect? Do clerics always walk respectfully in white chokers? Are our idiot mothers and sisters so silent and shadowless? Do we have no hopes, no fears, no tears, no laughter, no joys, no death, no future hope beyond this earth, no heroic sentiments that elevate us beyond this terrestrial sphere? Thank God, good people, whose kindness is limited to not swearing, common bishops and sour bishops' wives, squires and their educated sons who do nothing, girls who scheming feebly at croquet for a good game and are utterly indifferent to men. Good men are dying. if Mr. Trollope paints, and he paints steadily, coherently, and with a calm, dogged kind of artistry, all.144 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. something of a more determined pattern the better. Nobody can care about the dim, dark outlines and the kind of colorless wool that Mr. Trollope weaves his human and his faded tapestry.


MISTER. ALFRED TENNYSON. BOLFRED TENNYSON, is he not the luckiest man of letters in this age of great fortune, in this age of little things, in this age of seeking money and love of varnish? "Sir," said a gentleman in the Olympic stands, "I can't understand 'Little Em'ly' at all." "You can rarely understand a dramatized novel," we said. "Have you not read 'David Copperfield'?" whoever calls Dickens a deep read and takes the sixpence will appreciate Alfred Tennyson. Look at the photograph of him. Deep brow, but not with deep lines; bald, but not gray; with grim disappointment and a little hope on his face; with disheveled hair, collected on the shoulders, and with the figure covered by a tragic cloak, the Laureate is portrayed, with a somber appearance with two ineffective and unveiled eyes, a man of sixty, L 2148 MEN OF MODERN LETTERS. more like a worn fifties and more sentimental. His complexion is pale, his whole physique not jovial and red like Shakespeare and Dickens, but watery and saturnine; tearful! and yet, as far as fame and reward go, what a successful man he has been! At the age when Shakespeare had horses, he was a court guest. When he was very young, critics killed a much greater poet, John Keats, so they could shower rueful and recalcitrant praise on his successor. When he was young, an old worn-out poet - a true prose writer, but a poet still - vied for the Laureate after years of hard work and pen, but the young singer was crowned and received the crown, fame and pension. of the Laureate. the laureate. -whose glory became purer and higher than that of his predecessor, Wordsworth. Tennyson's rise to fame was sudden. "Lorsque Tennyson publishes ses premiers poëmes", says M. Taine, "the critics spoke mocking them", and let's say that the critics were right. “He was silent”, continues the French author, “and for ten years nobody saw his name in a magazine, not even in a catalogue, his books made their way by themselves ('avaient fait leur chemin tout seuls et sous terre '). , and at the first stroke Tennyson passed for the greatest poet of his country and of his age." It was because the age was sinking in enthusiasm and true poetic feeling that MR. ALFRED TENNYSON. 149 "Tennyson, great as he is in few points, he immediately rose to the level of his highest appreciation. He had a thing or two about him, not his own, but alien to him, that was a crowd pleaser. a Lincolnshire clergyman of good family, and of a high and melodious name. His uncle, Charles Tennyson, assumed the name of D'Eyncourt, to mark his descent from that old Saxon house .-- the day those educated at Oxford or Cambridge are called; he was neither political nor enthusiastic; it was "excessively" drawing room, and smelt so much of "souvenir" and "friendship offering" that the very names of its heroines seem to emerge from gilt leaves, red or Moroccan silk cloaks, and their portraits drawn by Boxall or Chalon, and engraved by Heath., as Taine says, "toutes les chooses sont fines et exquises." Even a lady cannot frown without indulging so well-mannered a poet: "O Quarterly, who had done his best to kill Keats, walked towards Tennyson as mad Ajax did after slaying all 150 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. What a effeminate thing indeed, says the Quarterly, to write thus: "O dear room, my heart's delight; Dear room, the apple of my eye; With my two sofas, soft and white, There is no room so exquisite; There is no room so soft and clear where to read, where to write.” Possibly not, room-wise, but if anyone wants to get manly poetry, we'd rather have it from Scott's old workbench, and the plowtail with Burns, and the rough mountain stone where Wordsworth communed with Nature. . break free from the style of parlor poetry. In fact, the "Memory" and the "Book of Beauty" haunt him forever, effectively forbidding him from being a great poet. And yet he had a chance that way once. he notices the divine breath, but he was too educated and is too careful and too shy. They write it like someone who spends the day lying on the sofa smoking cigars: he has a sweetness and an effeminacy that are completely false, he was a big, bearded guy of forty: "Even in a love song, a man must write for men," said Bulwer, referring to the Laureate. TENNYSON, lonely and rather moody gentleman, that's just one type of man; a true poet must be of all kinds. His own passion is theatrical, and the great heart of the weeping or weeping man does not beat hard enough to wrinkle the starched shirt that covers his manhood. chest. no. Compare this with Hamlet's insane fury when he thinks Ophelia is toying with him, and the wild rhapsodies she makes of her when she dies. Some young men of high society began to admire him, and Moxon slowly sold his books and then the next stratum of society below them caught the fever and found the laureate's poems easy to understand, a commoner circle took up his songs, they were rivals in time, but soon distanced himself from them and others. LETTERS, and having Prince Albert read his poems, and then, with loyal English-speaking people, the fame of him gained Moxon died, and the house paid Tennyson all that his books produced, except a percentage of the fifteen percent. , so that for some years the poet found his verses golden. When Macmillan and Cornhill magazines started, their owners wanted names to attract, and they paid the laureate aguiné a line for some weak kicks: "I stood on a tower, in the rain, when the old year and the new year met." . and a weak story about a town clerk, barely worth printing. The magazines did well in terms of publicity, but very poorly for the Laureate. It's no good dragging a big name around in an advertising van; yet despite this the poet grew step by step in popularity, and critics wrote of his great wisdom, and critics praised the Cambridge laureate and spoke with bated breath of his great genius. in 1810; educated at Cambridge at the same time that Thackeray was there; Thackeray never graduated, one of Tennyson's poetic themes winning a prize. then, it is said, TennyMR. ALFRED TENNYSON. 153son abandoned prose forever. In 1832 this little book of poems appeared again, with most of the buffoons removed and the others greatly improved. he. In 1847 he published "Princess", which was somehow thought to be associated with royalty, but it was just a nice mix, not too strong and full of feminine sweetness. The public was delighted with this; the taste of the "Book of Beauty" washed over him like vanilla: how a man, a college student, must have felt touchingly superior reading: Pretty would be the show if our old salons could change sex and show off with prudes like lawyers, widows like deans, and sweet graduates in their golden hair. I think they shouldn't wear our rusty dresses." In 1850, Tennyson took a great step forward as a poet, but not as a thinker, writing, no, publishing, because he keeps his works for so long "In Memoriam." A friend so celebrated and lamented in that poem it is Arthur H. Hallam, son of the historian.In 1851 the Great Exhibition took place, and the Laureate, who had done no Laureate work, could have welcomed it as he did 62, but it was left to a Volunteer laureate, Mr. Thackeray, who, in the columns of the Times, wrote 154 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS, an ode to May with more true "guts" than anything Tennyson ever did. In 1852 the Duke of Wellington died, and Tennyson recounted his funeral in noble verse, perhaps the noblest he has ever written. It certainly has more passion of the kind felt by the classes of Baker Street and Westbourne Grove than any of his other works." and other poems. For almost forty years, then, Alfred Tennyson appeared before the public; for twenty years he was the Laureate, receiving the laurel ("the greenest of eyebrows From Him Who Said Nothing Vile"; for nearly ten years his bust stood in the hall of his college, Trinity, as the genie of the place, and for all that time, at least, he was accepted as the greatest living poet. Two concordances of his works have been published lately, an honor still accorded only to the Bible, to Shakespeare and Milton, and last year an enterprising publisher would have given the poet £4,500 a year as calculated profit from the publication of his works.Poetry pays, then, even now;the Queen greets the Laureate with respect;it was said, MR ALFRED TENNYSON.155 and refused, that he was offered and refused a barony. Can grateful England be more generous to her singer and her son? Yes, Tennyson is a great success, but he is no great poet The coming age will surely reverse the verdict on this. It is sweet as sugar, handsome, handsome, full of talk and girly stuff. Lilian, Dora, Clara, Emmeline: you can count thirty such beautiful names, but you can't count any great Laureate poems. Shelley has his Ode to the Lark, Keats his to the Grecian Urn, Coleridge his Geneviève, his strange Ancient Sailor, Wordsworth's poignant, yes, painful sublimity in the Intimations of Immortality: where is there anything of Tennyson's to equal it? ? He kept away from men; he polished his poems until they were all ripe and rotten; he has no fire or guilt; he never raised anyone to heaven or plunged us into the depths. He has no creed, no faith, no depth. When another poet revealed his heart, he spoke of his pulses: "My pulses, therefore, beat again For other friends I once found Nor is it my place to forget The mighty hopes that make us men." the great line is last, and what a feeble beast crawls on his belly before it! We can forgive a poet "who pretends to forget" Heaven, Hell, Christ and the 156 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. His Death on the Cross, his agony and bloody sweat? poet. The Lord. Tennyson has been very discreet and a very good court poet, for a manufactured article really no better; but he's like the lady who didn't want to be "scary when she was dead", so he put on the ink and fucus, and he won't be deeply attached to the world. What did sweet Will Shakespeare do?

I sold cheap what is most expensive, And I became variegated to behold. Didn't he give us blood and passion with his poetry? , and I am a Laureate . Furthermore, he adds, "I consider it a crime to regret too much." And posterity will consider it foolish to place an indifferent and polished rhythmic player among its great brilliants who were companions of poverty and disrespect in this life, and who learned in suffering what they could teach in Mister. GEORGE AUGUST ROOM.!1MR. JORGE AUGUSTO ROOM. Bad school bohemian writer, but brave; one who has done very little good, but is full of capacities for good; a solid English writer and scholar, and yet a drunken, arrogant, pretentious 'nonsense' driver; a man of understanding when he likes it, and yet of nonsense and nonsense too when he chooses to lower himself; one of keen intellect, lofty qualities, prodigious memory, great picturesqueness, and photographic precision, and yet so utterly unconcerned with his reputation, with the dignity of letters, with what he owes himself, that he can sell his pen to describe a Jewish clothing store, an advertising furniture store, a Liverpool cloth store, a Manchester hat shop, or a hat shop in St. A man who should have taken the lead in any role, but who, married to the old traditions of our writing profession, did little in one. There is hateful Americanism, "trustworthy," meaning that those to whom it applies can be trusted or supported. In ninety cases out of one hundred, G.A.S. it will bring its copy with due attention to the time required by the newspapers, but in the last issue of each decade it will have failed. This earned him the respect of the idiots who usually run and run newspapers, who believe that a man of genius can only be irregular and eccentric. If the "genius" falls into Jewish hands, is often drunk, always in debt, sometimes in prison, and totally dishonest, living à tort et à against the rules of society, these newspaper owners increasingly think on it, and kneel down and bribe him into writing. he asks someone else to finish whom he is not willing to pay; or when he starts his journey, leaving the owner of a newspaper with an unfinished serial in his hands, the admiration of Bohemia, printer and public, is enormous. The recalcitrant perpetrator is then forgiven and welcomed with open arms. What a smart fellow he must be for these people to put up with that! Mister. JORGE AUGUSTO ROOM. 161 Such has been the reasoning with regard to Mr. Sala, of whom, of course, we do not narrate all these little fables. Yet such men exist, and their offenses are forgiven with marvelous ease by the public whom they do not touch, as mentioned by Mr. Charles Matthews's little escapades with his creditors elicit a merry laugh. To mindless audiences, it is a matter of dubious but inordinate admiration, this combination of social awkwardness and fluent verbiage they take for wisdom. And to think you could see, say, Theodore Hook and Dr. that poor lady had not a single rag of virtue left to cover her, and that they (the writers) had a trunk full of virtuous blankets and undergarments, plus of the superfine, doubly spun and coarse clothing in which they walked. - think about it, it's nothing wonderful! But ponder, oh British public: those pagan Romans did not choose their censors like that!

The Lord. Sala, who in the flesh is Goguenard, jovial and on the outside something like Bardolfo, is a very severe censor when he wants to be. He is of middle age, say forty-five, and has worked for the press for nearly thirty years since, for he started early, and is said to have once written for the excellent M162 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. Edward Lloyd, of Salisbury Square, certain novels by Mrs. Radcliffe, which our best novelists of today have copied, such as "Adah, the Betrayed; or, the Murder at the Old Smithy," "Julia, the Deserted," and the like. These pennyromances were not vicious, though morbidly exciting; one called "Sweeney Todd; or the String of Pearls", recounted how a certain barber in Fleet Street cut the throats of his customers and then trapped them in a kitchen, where they were turned over and came out like cakes. .of lamb! We doubt our eccentric genius ever wrote such stories, but he certainly worked hard and honestly on everything that came out of them, and we wish to heaven that some of the superfine, satin, hot-pressed, gilded, elegant novelists worked so good. well, how much they I had the same practice. Nothing in the world is equal to the style. Do you think, young author, that those easy and incisive phrases, those quiet and cunning touches, those beautiful turns of Sterne, or Fielding, or Thackeray, came by chance? If he does, he is as wrong as Dogberry when he declared that reading and writing were gifts of nature. , a dozen young gentlemen of Mr. SALA JORGE AUGUSTO. 163 The pen ran to the aid of the Arthur Literary Round Table. Our hero was one, and as Mr. Dickens, with singular generosity and blindness, determined that all the world should "spurt" as he did and write Dickenian as he did, Sala's easy pen was much in demand. . Sketch after sketch of true enthusiasm and merit, each of which has been attributed to the great Dickens, and many of which have been republished in his name in New York, came from Sala, in particular, "Captain Quagg's Conversion," " The Key of the Street". " and others of the same type. They were fresh and bright and quick, written with an abundance of wit and that kind of merry wit that young people are so fond of. He is confident and knows all, he is equally familiar with a sailor's house in Wapping, a cellar robbers in Liverpool, the queen's palace in Berlin, the emperor's office in Paris, the Eleusinian Mysteries, and the game of Knur and Spell, you know you're reading the observations of an unusually intelligent, middle-class reader. elders alike, placed in the essays by the young lions of the Daily Telegraph, is based on his love of the daring buccaneer style in which the latter write of these famous leaders, that the grammar is very bad indeed, and as for the Latin , we know that even sharp-eyed foremen cannot maintain that right. But then what - Que voulez vous mes amis? Well, it's nice to read, but what does that mean after all? You start a dissertation on Virgin Mary and you discover that, before you have read three lines, there is a learned essay on the mysteries of Pafia and the wonderful rites of Venus. As for the politics and study of the constitution of this great country, God knows where D.T. has led us! When that fine property was on the market, after the brave Colonel Sleigh brought it in and went bankrupt, there was an uproar among the bohemian crowd writing his articles. Sala was among them, of course; Doesn't everyone know his style? He had gone to Russia for Dickens and always talked about Nevskoi Prospect and the eternal snow. He's been here, there, and other places, and he's letting you know. Fortunately for the group of writers, cunning gentlemen from an ancient but exiled town bought the Daily; its sales increased; the advertisements made him pay, and very wisely Sala was appointed special correspondent. Perhaps, for a cheap newspaper, there is no man better suited for this job. He may not understand politics, but he is good at art; he cares very little for religion but he has a photographic eye. He does not write the blatant falsehoods and blusters of the MR. JORGE AUGUSTO ROOM. 165Mr. Dash, the Parisian correspondent; but he gives you insight into the ways of the people. Some of his touches are simply admirable. See the second volume of "From Waterloo to the Peninsula: "never was better given the description of the laziness, the misery, the sun, the rags, the pride and the madness of Spain. Master of the word, he paints a figure by touch, like that of the beggar, proud and stout, whose "rags were extravagant behind, while his indescribably worn stuffed animals were rayonné before." Gustave Doré, whose illustrations of Spain in Le Monde Illustré are in his prime, doesn't have a touch like this. Doing all this hard work, and according to your lights, doing it honestly and well, without great ends, but giving the public what they asked for, and nothing more - trifles and whipped cream - not teaching the people, not lecturing them, not even not incidentally reproaching them, but amusing and pleasing them, Mr. Sala republished many of his sketches and one or two short stories and tales he had written. His books are not very successful. They were published cheaply or at a high price, but when the easy author passes to a higher class of writers or readers, he fails a little. No more than one of his books can be said to have achieved decisive success. The published works of Mr. Rooms are as follows: How I Tamed Mrs. Cruise, "1858;" Journeydue North, "1859; "Twice Round the Clock", "1859; 166 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS'. The Baddington Peerage, '1860; "Gaslight and Daylight", 1860; 'Lady Chesterfield's Letters', 1860; "Looking at Life", 1860; 'Play your game', 1860; "Dutch Paintings, with Some "Flemish" Fashion Sketches, 1861; "Seven Sons of Mammon", 1861; "Accepted Addresses", 1862; "Ship Chandler and Other Tales", 1862; "Two Prima Donnas", 1862; and since then, at intervals, "After Coffee da Manhã; ""My Diary in America in the Midst of War"; "From Waterloo to the Peninsula" and "A Journey to Barbary by a Circular Route" and illustrated by a very rigid and angular young artist, now late, William McConnell. unfair to call the poor man an artist, because he certainly understood little of art; he was a wooden draftsman, very hard and full of strokes, but he had the merit of drawing the scenes of reality. Once he spoke of a poor woman "in a contemptible shawl (thin and worn), to which a commentator from the Saturday Review asked what "contemptible" is and was unaware of that ancient and perfectly correct but provincial word.pass reader, no MR. SALA JORGE AUGUSTO.167to be ridiculed.Then follow his quick social articles, beautifully calculated for the Cockneydom meridian and the intellects of virtuous publicans, clever greengrocers, and general readers of a certain class, and last of all merits are his novels. " and the "Seven Tons of Pernil", and not without reason these names were given. There are, however, pages of admirable writing in both, but a sustained plot and well-rendered characters seem beyond the author's painting. His women are dolls, his men the theatrical figures we all know as children, and that's it. As Thackerayo once said of him, he is "a horse big enough to pull any goat", but he is a horse not well suited to harness. To some, his drunken writing is hateful; for a few, even his best work can be useful. His face, as seen in a color photograph, is an index of his style. He is bold, smart and bohemian. He is grateful to Dickens and says, in a moving memoir of that author, "the first five pounds I gained in literature came from his kind hand." The youngest bohemian admirer becomes an old man, for he will not survive any longer, will carry no affectionate bow with him, and will not lead to much good. unwisely obtained and, it seems, unwisely distributed, and so far the end that the lively writer intended in literature is reached. A nobler purpose would have achieved a nobler and much higher result.

MISTER. CHARLES LEVER.•1! "SIR. CHARLES LEVER.HmHE "Prince of Neck or Nothing Novelists," as he is called, Charles James Lever, Squire, His Majesty's Consul at Florence, is not an officer of Waterloo, nor a veteran of the peninsula. Mr. Lever has told so many stories about fights and wrestlers, told them too, with such art and truth, and was so dedicated to military life, that when we first read his fascinating children's books, we always believe that "Dr. Lever", as we called him because we had some idea of ​​his status: he was a chief surgeon in the boldest and most omnipresent corps in the British Army, and had been wounded at Waterloo and (would have been, if in a foreign army) adorned in the field. But you can see how fantasy plays with us. That rather blond, round man, with the appearance of a farmer, with round shoulders, broad and solid, in addition to inspecting agricultural products, is a doctor and never served in the army. He is the son of A builder, he was born in August, 1806, in Dublin, and for a time taught at home, but during those busy years of our lives when children learn most, when John Leech and William Makepeace Thackeray, we must not forget his schoolmates either. and contemporaries, Martin Farquhar Tupper and George - let's save the rest of the names, he's prenominative in this case - Reynolds the novelist of blood and thunder was at Charterhouse, Charles Lever was being educated in France Thackeray has fond memories of his school. Colonel Newcome, remember, dies a poor Charterhouse brother, as many good men have died; but we don't think Leech, Reynolds or Tupper said a word about it. This is a good sign for a boy and a man when he goes to his old school and lets his imagination play fondly about it. The Cartuja reciprocated the love. We were present at the Thackeray sale when a very high price was given for a dictionary of the dead author's old school, and which was bought as an heirloom by the old school of his. In addition, the authorities planted two pills, one for Leech and one for Thackeray. In fifty years John Leech will be forgotten, but Thackeray's name will be greater than ever. Tupper and Reynolds are still alive: the former, scholar and gentleman, though not a poet, MR. CARLOS LEVER. 173according to a very naughty writer. We don't think Charterhouse supplies pickups for any of them. soon after, he received an appointment as a physician to the Embassy in Brussels, where Sir George Hamilton Seymour was sent to the Belgian court. Here he met many military men, and he seems to have made that study of a soldier's life that put him in such a good position. after a fashion His first venture, which seems to have been launched by Orr in 1840, was "Harry Lorrequer," a tale of daring and mischief that may, to some extent, be regarded as an Irish pendant to Dickens's "Pickwick." spirit" in each of these novels can hardly be estimated in these sober days. Fun, joviality, adventure, acts that by some would be called cruel and by others that are not opposed to vice would be stigmatized as snobs, are narrated with Drunkenness is a virtue, sobriety a folly, making love a lovely pastime, and being surrounded by debt and debt, defying the law, dodging a bailiff and frightening a lawyer, is the normal state of the Irishman Bayard, who is meaningfully described as " the man from Galway." "This diversion dawned on our cold English intellects like a pleasant shower of tepid, scented water - no, whiskey and water. Phiz design. He dresses Ireland, not as an emaciated maiden, but as the most beautiful shepherdess in the world. Donnybrook Fair, then rapidly dying, represented not a fight between factions, with the hatred of generations fostered rather than cured by the priests, but some friendly contest with the shillelagh, in which Irish knights, not in steel armor, but with long frieze shields, he participated. , while Biddy, as Beauty Queen, was preparing to crown the gentle, courteous and, above all, good-natured champion. It is claimed that all of Lever's stories are drawn from life. If so, is it any wonder that we Saxons don't understand the Irish? If they are not the safest people - for they are portrayed as prodigiously handy with their dueling pistols - to live with, they are certainly the nicest in Lever's novels; and if an Englishman can tolerate the kindly jokes of turning day into night, and be prepared to leap any number of stone walls on an Irish-blooded horse of prodigious speed.MR. CARLOS LEVER. Head and bones, you can live in the Paradise of Ilha Verde. It's hard for us to say what contemporary critics thought of Lever's successes, since the Quarterly didn't notice him, and Mr. Cordy Jeaffreson, who has praised forgotten writers, is silent. As for his popularity, it is undoubted. "Harry Lorequer" paid and was quickly followed by some delightful novels, stories that have poetry, feeling, purity, and extreme interest, not without a dash of history and a certain knowledge of society and the good life very cunningly mixed into them. We know novels as interesting as they are harmless. Great storytelling ability, liveliness, intelligence, humor, to a small degree, and broad amusement to a very complete degree, distinguish them all. And with the knowledge added by events that Charles Lever has of his compatriots, it is astonishing how cleverly he concealed his many faults and vices, and how prominently he displayed his virtues before the world, and yet without suspecting adulation. He is not an old man, but he is as full of wisdom and spirit as ever. If his judgment is anything to go by with his insight, we must say that he, of all living men, is the only one who should be consulted on the best way to govern Ireland. For years he has lived far from his country and is not fooled by the glamor of the parties and the intoxication of excitement that seems to bring the best minds home. "Dad dad!" you yell at Philosopher Chelsea, "wonderful indeed!" What, to make a statesman out of a novelist! But let us remember that the most prosaic people in the world, the Spartans, made an old blind schoolteacher and singer their general, and he led them to a glorious victory. O'Malley, "1841; "Jack Hinton the Guard", 1843; "Arthur O'Leary", 1844; "O O'Donoghue", 1845; "Tom Burke of Ours", 1846; "The Knight of Gwynne", 1847; "ConCregan, the Irishman Gil Blas" and "Roland Cashel", 1849; "The Daltons", 1852; "The Dodd Family Abroad", 1852; "The Fortunes of Glencore", 1857; "The Martins of Cromartin", 1859 , "Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune" and "One of Them", 1861, "Tales of the Trains", "St. Patrick's Eve" by Tilbury Tramp and, most recently, in Cornhill Magazine, "That Boy of Norcotts" - a seminal story - and in Blackwood's Magazine, the various conversations, notes, epigrammatic turns and musings of Cornelius O'Dowd, Esquire. kind. , honest and open. Mr. Lever is a gentleman, neat and honorable; bawdy verses in his tunes. He matured as he grew older, and grew wiser and better as time went by. Now he does not write such noisy works, and even dear Thackeray, whom we are about to quote, could hardly find anything remarkable enough to sketch it out in. We quoted Thackeray, mainly to give an idea of ​​what Lever can do, for, as that famous hand wrote "George of Barnwell" with greater verve and erudition than Bulwer, and surpassed Disraeli in his fictional romance of "Codlingsby," even played shadowy Lever in his burlesque story of "Phil Fogarty." "Phil" is a bona fide brother of "Tom Burke" and "Harry Lorrequer". We quote Thackeray as the best possible means of conveying Lever's method in a minute:


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"The gabion was ours. After two hours of fighting, we were in possession of the first arrow slot, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Jack Delamere, Tom Delancy, Jerry Blake, the Doctor, and myself were sitting under a pontoon, and our servants prepared a hasty supper in a tumbril.Though Cambacères had slipped so provocatively from me after I had shot him down, his loot was mine: a cold bird and a Bolognese sausage were found in the marshal's holster and in a soldier's pack Frenchman, that a corpse lay on the hillside, we found a loaf of bread, his three days' ration. Instead of salt, we had gunpowder; and you may be sure, wherever the doctor was, a bottle of good brandy was behind him on his instrument.He made a supper The Doctor plucked some of the delicious fruit from the lemon trees which grew nearby (and around which the Carabiniers and 24th Leger had held a desperate rally) and made himself punch at Jack Delacase.N178 MEN OF MODERN LETTERS. grouper hull Faith, I've never been in such humor before," said the doctor, as he poured the drink. We all laughed, except the guard, who was as wild as a Turk at a christening, who, by the way, writes a capital letter ditty: "You've all heard of Larry O'Toole, of fair Drumgoole town; He had but one eye, to covet you for... Oh, murder, but that was a Jew! He made a fool of girls, said O'Toole. He was the boy who never failed, To fold feathers and mail; Any strong drink was whiskey or Drogheda ale; I'm on bail This Larry would swallow a bucket. Oh, many a night in the bowl, with Larry hit side by side; old soul A howl, for it was he who made the head to howl." Mr. Charles Lever has long since become a moderate Tory, and it is worth studying his views on the draft of Irish Church law and its prophetic foreshadowing of the troubles Ireland now suffers. CARLOS LEVER. he passed away a long time ago. Now we don't have Mickey Free, just as we don't have any of Pickwick's servants, Sam Weller. Fortunately for us too, Stiggins in the life of his portrayer has died; unfortunately, too, good father Tom, the priest An Irishman who was a gentleman, educated at St. .Omer and with a touch of Parisian upbringing, also died. Instead we have Maynooth-educated priests, the sons of peasants and the brothers of the poor peasantry who are so misguided and deluded. These too, with an infallible pen, Mr. . Cornelius O'Dowd has portrayed, but the pen lacks the old fun; we become more and more boring in these difficult times." Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat? "How many times will this be quoted again? What Horace demanded was allowed to Lever, who not only told the truth with a smiling face, but brought tears to many eyes, and for all the fun and banter of his, never a flushed cheek. He has not tried to preach, he has not been stoic or cynical, his philosophy is more from the garden of Epicurus, and the pleasure he teaches is that of manliness and reason, and for good, clean, healthy reading, that Messrs. SmithN 2180 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS and Son seem to have a monopoly on their novels, and they must be bought at every railway station Reader, instead of the lascivious new half crown, buy "Tom Burke" or "Harry Lorrequires" for two shillings , and be happy. GEORGE GROTE.XM

MISTER. GEORGE GROTE.SAMফT speaks well of the Republic of Letters that when Mr. Grote was running the Oi polloi for Reform and Democracy, and writing in the Edinburgh Review, the Tory Quarterly praised the writer for the "moving and imposing narrative" as " not just a historian, but the historian of Greece." And this title, it must be remembered, was given while Mitford and Dr. to mere legends. "The works of these men," says the generous Quarterly, "seem thin and tattered in comparison with the full proportions of the long survey revealing the rise and progress of Athenian democracy." noble man of letters, and he says very little in favor of Toryism, or Conservatism, or whatever great party it now calls itself, which never honored literature as it should be honored. , in these degenerate days and Brunswick reigns, court patronage is small. No man was more wisely loyal than the men of letters; no man was more barely recognized. A fourth-rate scholar, that is, a painter, showed us a painting the other day. , four of which he could paint in a year, and for which he asked and got a higher price than most first-rate authors get, his life's work. But then a painter furnishes his house and makes make your walls look great; an author simply provides his brain, if he has any. We don't complain; We only urge that the meager remuneration be a reason for greater honor on the part of the Court. It would be ridiculous to institute a comparison of the value of an author with that of a painter, before the State. By educating, fermenting, and ennobling or degrading a people, the author has almost infinite power. The Lord. G. W. M. Reynolds, with his "Court Mysteries" and wicked novels, which are so widely sold in America, was more important than twenty Landseers and forty Ettys, and did more harm than two hundred of these scholars could do good. Once upon a time, when John Leland wrote a certain novel, which we shall not name, and painted "in bright colors," as he calls them, a race of vice, the Government of MR. GEORGE GROTE. I paid alimony to the knave too smart not to write again. These wise. Our Court left the people to stumble and crawl through the mire and mire and endless chaotic madness and filth, and neither punished nor rewarded. The consequence is... well, "Formosa"; the appearances of courtesans in our most chaste lodges, general corruption, and young ladies on duty. As for any reward of the intellect, that has been done mainly by Whigs or Liberals. Lord Houghton, or, as he is called, Haut-ton, a good simple poet; even Bulwer helped the barony of him, attesting to the fact that Whigs try to ennoble genius or talent. Here again is a rumor, and we believe perfectly true, that Mr. Gladstone volunteered to play Mr. Grote, once the leader of the "Rads", and the keeper of an annual ballot motion. , a baron! He would have been Baron Sedgmoor; Or, having overthrown Mitford and Thirlwall, would he boldly come from Greece, like Lesseps from Suez? Behold, indeed, an admirable man of letters; a true scholar; a learned, patient, excellent writer in the good old fashioned way; a famous man, not notorious; too wise to be subjective, like Macaulay and his nemesis but Hepworth Dixon impersonator; too true to describe scenes of which he found only a hint, with the vivid falsehood of the Daily Telegraph correspondent describing the blazing splendor of a full moon when she was perfectly hidden in her first bedroom. Of such writers we shall soon have enough to say. Here we have someone who is really good; to admire is to savor the taste of him, and that is the banker-scholar - as Rogers was banker-poet - George Grote, D.C.L., F.R.S., who was born at Clay Hill, near Beckenham, Kent, in 1794. Nearly seventy-one six years; white hair very sparse and sparse, eyes darkened from reading too many books, head bowed more with study than age. Seventy-six years, let's say almost eighty! a long time to wait for the honor, and nearly fifteen years have passed since the Magnum Opus of him was written. courtier. His Majesty honored him with his presence at luncheon, and it was arranged that two illustrious men, both old in years and honours, untitled and yet unrecognized by any newspaper, were to be found speaking with Stanley when the illustrious appeared. widow lady. men, assembled in learned ease on this truly royal visit - for Windsor Castle is not as big, of course, as Dean's Yard, Westminster - one such man was Thomas Carlyle, Chelsea philosopher; the other mr. GEORGE GROTE. 187George Grote, historian of Greece. His Majesty of him certainly enjoyed his lunch! When History is written philosophically, as by Mr. Grote, it becomes much less interesting, but it is eminently more true. After a long study of all the best writers on that little peninsula, which once contained an army of great men and philosophers, and now seems to maintain a segregation of the most cunning wits in all of Europe, Grote set about studying the meaning of words. "The modern historian," says he, "strives in vain to convey the impression that appears in Thucydides' condensed and fiery sentences," and, of course, all that remains for him is to expand, amplify, or condense. We all know how Lord Macaulay and his school used the story. They turned it into a picture book, in the manner of Walter Scott, with or without license or license, with or without a clue in the simple chronicle they enlarged. We heard how the sea roared (when it was calm); how some heroes screamed (when he never said a word); how the heroine raised her voice and cried (when she was silent with terror, or mute with contempt). This is the story with revenge; nor was the historian content with this lying and shameful perversion. What is legitimate for the novelist is a despicable and detestable trap for the historian. "Well, dear Sir Walter," said an old woman to Scott, "you 188 MODERN MEN OF LETTERED. seem to have lived in these times and seen all that you describe. Where do you get all this from?" novelist, "and I imagine the rest. I'm like the theater manager, when I can't be snow white, I'm snow brown. "Perhaps there was never a more irritatingly false and unartistic book than "The Life of Lord Bacon." " of Dixon." "Presents persons who were absent as present; lets us hear them talk when they say nothing; he praises motifs, mounts and knocks down characters, and moves his puppets in the most theatrical way. Reflecting people in the know are disgusted and indeed The Knight has gone to the trouble of writing a volume to expose the follies and misrepresentations of so-called historians, but the public is deluded. Meanwhile, the real actors in history denounce and laugh at it. "Don't read me history," said the ailing Sir Robert Walpole to his son, "because I know it must be false." It's the highest praise from Grote, who stuck strictly to the letter of his report. , That's right. When Thucydides or a chronicler uses a peculiar phrase, Grote, discovering the meaning, will conveniently turn his narrative around. We don't have the "lurid smiles," "the slow, cautious step" of agreement or focus that we have in lesser novelists, but we do have a solid structure, not a farce of barley and sugar. .Grote naming method. Personally, we think he's right, but nationally we're forced to think he's wrong. He will write Alkibíades, Socrates, Peisistratus, Héraklês, Skiônê and others similar. The Greeks wrote them like this. So the Latins speak of Pompey Magnus, while we speak of Pompey. But the entire "kit" of classic names will one day have to be rewritten. Nikias doesn't look as good as Nicias, but he looks more like the original, and let's get as close to the truth as possible. ...Someday we will say Kikero and Kaisar instead of Sisero and Seizer. At the moment we are quite bad, but the French are worse. Aristidêsis is pronounced Airêsteêd, and Tullius Cicero is reduced to Toole (Tulle). It is not so clear why Grote should always speak of the people as a demus, a soldier as a hoplite, and a founder as an ækist. We want the history of Greece to be written in English, not Greek. After all, the best painting, because the truest, is the portrait, and the best story is the biography. This is especially true in the case of Grote. His later work on "Plato and the other companions of Socrates" is the funniest of all that he wrote. And the theme is worth it. The story of no mere man the world has ever seen is like that of the little bricklayer in Athens who used to ask questions. The noble.190 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.the galaxy of great spirits that surrounded him-Plato, Xenophon, Critias, Crito, each a king of men-was only worthy of being crowned by the philosophical monarch, who died as he would have asleep. , the main actor in a tragedy without the tragic pomp, the victim in a martyrdom without the song and the martyr's crown. We don't need to recommend Mr. Grote, but we urge our readers to get him. and Socrates in the pages of Grote.Mr. Grote wrote on the ballot, contributed to Edinburgh and Westminster; he published a pamphlet on Plato's theory of the Earth and another on the Republic of Switzerland. A philosophical republican and yet a mocker of Demus, a fervent supporter of the vote because, we imagine, he fears the corruption of the people, a man of learning and yet an industrious scholar, this great historian seems to be a contradiction and yet is a man sincere, honest and wise. To give an example of his great history - a great work, in twelve volumes - would be to bring from Babylon a brick destined to represent the elevation of the houses and the plan of the streets. Let the reader delve into it whenever he can, he cannot go wrong and he will be richly rewarded. For the scholar there is the MR. GEORGE GROTE. 191an interesting and masterful discussion of the myths and legends of ancient Greece; for the student of literature, lectures on Homer and all the poets, historians, and philosophers from Aeschylus and Herodotus to Plato and Plutarch; for the statesman, the remarkable descriptions of Lycurgus's ostracized legislation, the workings of the Athenian constitution, the influence of the democratic form of government, and the causes of the decline of the once invincible republics of Greece; and for the "general reader," the narrative of the war against Xerxes, the battles of Marathon and Thermopylae, the retreat of the Ten Thousand, the expedition to Syracuse, and a hundred other episodes, all or some of which he will follow with interest without Mr. Grote's encouragement and work has revolutionized our notions of ancient Greece. It is a wonderful story and wonderfully told.

You can get prof__ of25__THE HON. B. DISRAELI, PC, DCL, MP, etc. , &c.0-·

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THE RIGHTEOUS LORD. B. DISRAELI, PC, DCL, M.P. , etc. , &c.&&&&MANKIND, then,' said Vivian Gray, 'it's my big game. At this time, how many powerful nobles only want to be ministers; And what does Vivian Gray want to achieve the same end? The influence of that nobleman. When two people can help each other materially, why not come together? Should I, because my birth frustrates my imagination, spend my life as a depressed misanthrope in an old castle? Now let me prove myself. Does my cheek turn pale? I have a mind for conception and can skillfully play the most splendid of musical instruments - the human voice to make others believe those conceptions. Only one thing is missing: courage, pure and perfect courage; and Vivian Gray knows fear? She laughed in response to the bitterest scorn. Disraeli was feared, mistrusted and hated at the same time. When he was prime minister, two writers 02196 MODERNOS DE LETRAS, both in part disagreeing with his politics, wanted, for the honor of his class, to offer him a dinner, in which authors of all shades of opinion had to join to celebrate the promotion for president. the highest rank of this Royal Republic - for England is far more truly republican in its fairness and openness than the United States - of an author who has written some brilliant novels, who has recounted some of the best moves in political life, who wrote leaders for the Times, the Representative ran, and that at least he was never ashamed of his trade. The responses, so far, reveal respect for the senders' motives, but bitter animosity towards Disraeli. The people seemed unable, at least by common justice, to separate the man from the minister; and noble authors, politically following his way of thinking, wrote four faces of letterheads in which they peppered the highly intelligent politician and author with caustic insults. committee of a literary dinner, assuming the chairmanship of which, Vivian Gray made a most intelligent and charming speech, and led the way with intrepid bravery, with singular bonhomie and indefatigable courage. Another cause of her antipathy and mistrust is her singular intelligence. We know what Byron said about the boring world not loving those too smart for it. "The one who defeats or subjugates BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 197R2*WaitaMereuchau.humanity -said the noble author- must try to accumulate a good part of hatred. "It must, indeed, and a reputation for intelligence is as fatal as the thing itself. Now, however clever Mr. Disraeli may be, doubtless his reputation for talent outweighs that which he has. The members of the country, and the The drabness of the Home, if we can suppose there to be such people in that glittering assembly, looks askance at a man of such a reputation, and like certain banks, Mr. Disraeli's paper money far exceeds the actual weight of the actual value he guards. at home., and ten books, all clever and wild and absurd too; for that, people can't forgive him; and the reason they can't is because those books have an air of insincerity about them. He can't to separate the mental from the moral character. Those who know Mr. Disraeli best, let us say that his wife, Lady Beaconsfield, and his late brother, James Disraeli, loved him and love him with a devotion that honors them both. The man is a hero for his valet, but as he never concealed his hatred of superficiality, his knowledge of the pretense of the great courts, his belief, a thousand times proven well-founded, that "a good shout" will move the English people much better What a noble cause. , people hate it. He let the world know how smart he is, and the world ignored his sincerity. He hit the nail on the head many times and people were shouting: what a happy assumption! He did that dangerous thing about which Lord John's misquotation of Job is made: "Oh, if my enemy wrote a book!" - became a proverb, and people judged him very harshly for these very books. He never played fair. He has been seen by his party as a cunning mercenary, a sort of political Bashibazouk, useful for skirmishing and getting killed. He was treated as later Roman emperors used their Saxon and barbarian bodyguards, as important defenders, fighters, fodder for Dacian swords or Persian arrows, but not ancient Roman material. He has been at least as faithful to England and his party as Lord John, who has often played the worst joke of all on England and Protestantism ("Johnny has bothered the manager again," said the late Lord Derby), but the people believed in that presumptuous statesman. , and not in Disraeli. He had a wonderful amount of bad luck, but he never abandoned his leader once he was established, and he was never ashamed of his race or people. But despite all the hardships and the unfair overabundance of red, he was Prime Minister, he is the leader of the oldest party in Europe, he will be mourned honestly and sincerely when he dies, and he will be buried in Westminster Abbey.

meraten wruded but the his that" (BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 199 had After this exordium, the reader may be surprised to find that we do not admire his novels, we believe that they are highly overrated, that they will not live twenty years after his death, and that if the Messrs. ". Longmans give £10,000 for their "Lothario", they simply miscalculated the curiosity of novel readers and the elasticity of Mr. Mudie's signature. However, rumor is an advertisement, and Mr., besides a fireworks maker, he is not a gunner. Indeed, he is a freelance in politics, using literature as a sword, rifle, culverine, bow and arrow, or whatever offensive weapon a freelance would carry, he used it wisely, but it is because his service to letters - great Goddess !that he is so jealous that no adoring medium earns his full smile he is insincere that his readers have formed the idea that he is not sincere.Le style c'est l'homme This truth also betrayed him: a silly, affected, haunted style, a "damn clever" method of writing, fine but without eloquence, heartbreaking but without pathos, brilliant but without humor or fun - an arrow that strikes but does not stop - that he was also ruined, or at least robbed of him by the glory his youthful ambition desired. You can see him near Grosvenor Gate walking in the sunshine, an old man who looks older than he is, hunched over, hands behind his back, he thought 200 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS Full, pale, face lined with worry. He, too, can be seen, after a triumph in the House, almost young, very good-natured, affable and wise-looking, with a tender face and statesman's eyes, a leader to follow, something of young old Disraeli. he used to be found, by the way, in black velvet breeches, at the meetings of the Countess of Blessington, at the side of the present Emperor of the French. Or you may see him walking briskly, talking to a man he wants to convince, eager, active and handsome; the one who until late in life was called young Disraeli, and who, despite his sixty years, it is difficult to think of an old man, who has the gift of renewed youth, as some actors do; that seen in the House, always contrasts with the ideal formed by him; one he acquired from those with whom he lived an air of haut ton which his brethren never had, and neither had old Isaac Disraeline, though he had a universal mind after his manner, literary but mean literary; the mind not of the poet or of the noble prose writer, but of the book collector and dilettante. By the way, we wish we had more bookmen now. Not long ago an old man, who still lives not far from the British Museum, informed the author that he was intimate with the grandfather of the present Prime Minister and father of the elderly Isaac Disraeli, the author of "Literary Curiosities BENJAMIN DISRAELI . 201 ture". -he stands out for having been at one point the successful rival of Rothschild; for he and his house were offered the gigantic loan of 1815 by Russia, on which the greatest fortunes of the house were built. He said no; Rothschild took it and ascended into the heavens like a balloon. This, however, is on purpose. Our friend knew Disraeli's grandfather, a poor descendant of Italians from one of those Jewish families that the Inquisition forced to emigrate from the Spanish peninsula at the end of the fifteenth century. His ancestors abandoned the Gothic surname at his settlement on Terra Firma; and grateful to the God of Jacob who sustained them through trials untold, they assumed the name of Disraeli (a name never before or since used by any other family), that his race might be known forever. "This is a bombastic sentence, written when the author was a mature man; and yet the "race" that will be "forever recognized" promises to be known, but for a short time. Benjamin Disraeli had only one brother, James, who he died unmarried, while the great head of the family was childless. His grandfather was called Benjamin, "the son of the right hand," and he came to England in 1748, determined to settle in a country where the dynasty seemed established, and where public opinion seemed definitely against persecution in matters of belief and conscience.” One may note, in passing them, the strange use of prepositions in these sentences. Mr. Disraeli's ancestors "settled on the mainland" and speaks of persecutions "in matters of creed". However, he has reason to be proud of his ancestry. His family were Sephardim, that is, those children of Israel who never left the shores of the Mediterranean and who despised all other Jews as inferior castes. For the claim of descent of such a man, the of our nobles and our own, must seem absurd. Our pure blood is compared to that of the Jewish nobleman. To cite as we may, like Stanley, Percy or De Vere, the successful soldiers who regenerated the cause of William the Thief by successful baptism Which is a descent of eight hundred years compared to what it must have been a thousand years before the time of Christ, and extending beyond that by at least two thousand years? Mr. Disraeli always felt that. Unlike the Laureate, who wrote ""Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, In the blue skies above us bent, The great old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long lineage" BENJAMIN DISRAELI. of race, the " generosity" (generous, well-bred) of long ancestry, and pushed his own people's claim to hereditary talent to the max. Note especially that he was never ashamed of being a Jew by race and blood, and would never join the foolish Hebrews who write to the Pall Mall Gazette to complain that a man is often described in police reports as a "Jew" So, a Jew, a believer in the old covenant, old Benjamin Disraeli left the decaying state of Venice a hundred years ago. twenty years old, and settled in England.After a prosperous life, he died at the age of ninety-six, leaving a studious, brown-eyed, bookish, well-informed, dilettante, and not inclined to increase his fortune. familiar. It was about Isaac Disraeli, the author of "Literary Curiosities", a kind, erudite and excellent man, who tried to unite the style of Horace. Walpole with the universal literary knowledge of Peter Bayle, and who produced a very amusing and valuable work; fragments of other works, but one that will live. Isaac Disraeli's literature elevated him to fashionable society. He knew the men of the time and took a small step west from Red Lion Square to Bloomsbury Square; in the southwest corner of which ((204 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. his son Benjamin was born December 21, 1805.* This amiable and admirable old man of letters certainly never made the family rich. world can be proved by the fact that Benjamin Disraeli, after an education in a suburban academy, was employed by a law firm in the city, living more properly in Old Jewry. But this apprenticeship did not complete him. The young, ambitious Full of fire, an alien of blood, marked with many of the peculiar facial qualities of his race, yet erudite, elegant, a marked man, he had this problem: how to become the leader of the country he had adopted before, and what had he not risen to be the prime minister of the pharaohs and the savior of his people?

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  • Some Christians mock him as a Jew with singular disbelief.

consideration of all that they owe to the Hebrew race. Now the fact is (in plain language) that Disraeli is neither an apostate nor a Jew. The celebrated banker-poet, visiting by chance the house of Isaac Disraeli, in Hackney, when Benjamin was five or six years old, and lamenting to find so intelligent a young man without religious instruction, took him to the Hackney church. Jewish fellowship. He became a Christian, and we have lost a great genius. -Jewish Chronicle.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 205A of a dispersed race, to do the same? His grandfather had chosen, with admirable foresight, the nation where this problem would be resolved. It was through political daring that he (Benjamin) would rise to political power. , because, although the pictorial biography is in most cases woefully false, in this case it is absolutely true. The Lord. Disraeli has written many novels, and in more than one of them he is portrayed as an ambitious young man, of foreign or Eastern origin, who, in response to dreams like these, makes certain advances that take him to the top of the story. . the tree. In the heroes of his own fictions, Mr. Disraeli prophesied and foreshadowed his own political life; in free England. Given ambition and talents, and not always the highest, a lawyer's intern will rise to the position of leader of the government of Europe's oldest and proudest monarchy. The uncertainty of a US presidential election is only a shadow of the certainty of it. Remember, we are not saying that the position is worth winning for certain pure but ambitious minds; but we affirm that the opportunity is given and that it can be taken advantage of. meeting. He started, as soon as he was twenty-one, a kind of Tory-Liberal newspaper, the Representative, with all the Toryism an old-blooded man could want and as much Liberalism as readers could demand. But that soon came to a head. It was actually very poorly written, bombastic and vociferous and gutsy, if you will; for Mr. Disraeli's style as a writer is, in our opinion, far from good; while the style of him as a speaker, or a vengeful, vengeful letter writer, is excellent. As a French soldier, he is always admirable and full of fire in his attack. Not in the least discouraged by his political failure, our hero then tried his pen, which he had used in politics, in romance, and wrote a series of political novels; each, we can be sure, with deep meaning. They earned their author a certain renown. They took over the city and were talked about everywhere. They were accepted as very intelligent and brilliant novels, written more with the purpose of showing the points of view of one part and showing the undoubted talent of their author, than

  • The Lord. Disraeli, in returning to a writer a biography of himself,

he made an elision of the passage that refers to this article. Mr. Murray started, and Mr. Lockhart edited. He lived five months. BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 207""for anything else. They were "Vivian Gray", the "Young Duke", "Contarini Fleming", "Captain Papanilla's Voyage", "Henrietta Temple", "Venetia", Coningsby", "Alroy's Wonderful Tale", a prose poem, etc. has been frequently reprinted, but we doubt any of them will long survive. Coningsby "is the best, and shows political life in anything but admirable colour. We can dwell a little on these stories, more to study their character and their author than anything else. for example) he is currently taking. They are Praeraphaelites indeed, in crudity and brilliance of colour; that is to say, only in the defects, not in the virtues, of the notable young painters; they are, or rather were, new, as was the bombastic "Guy Livingstone"; then my world oyster, which I will open with my sword; and with the same courage of an adventurous knight of the Middle Ages, it is evident that at the beginning of this century the young author intended to enter the great lists and win. We have already said that style is bad. It is that of a Byronian and Ossian prose, not like the sweet simplicity of "(""208 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."", our best writers, and some of them make us quite nervous, although we are willing to admit that it can please many. Others Take, for example, this rhapsody by "Contarini Fleming: 'O inscrutable, inexorable fate, that must be fulfilled! - Curse that mortals must bear and cannot direct! Behold, I kneel before you and pray. What It's over! It's over! It's over! At once!" [The young gentleman is delirious about his beloved.] ... And won't it be? And deep thoughts? And will I wish, like a vile beggar on your knees, the rich inheritance if it is not mine, there is no more time, there is no more human existence, there is no more a beautiful and eternal world. all human hopes expire at once, may chaos return, if this girl is not my girlfriend!” “After that, superfine reviews can condemn cheap novels if they want; but we, who strive to be fair, must admit that many of the cheap novels boast a purer style, and even more effectually destroy your passions, when they do destroy them, than the Prime Minister. But not everything was anger that filled these novels. Disraeli claimed for his race the supreme talent and the leading mind of the world; and although the claim is very broad, there was BENJAMIN DIRAELI. and it was, and is, a noble sight to see a young David of an oppressed race so boldly step forward, with only the sling of his genius and the stone of his bitter tongue, to slay the ugly Goliath of ignorance and popular prejudice. Jew eyes? "If you prick us, don't we bleed?" says the universal Shakespeare, eager only to put a Jew on the same footing as us. theatrical manager? asks Disraeli; In short, does not the Jew have the oldest blood and the best genius in the world? "The Jews," says Coningsby, are essentially conservative; ""Race is the only truth; " " The Jews are of the purest race, the chosen people; they are the aristocracy of Nature. You will find all this in "Tancredo, or the new crusade", published in 1847, the year in which the author also defended the admission of Jews to Parliament against the opinions of his own political friends. This was brave, courageous and dignified. of applause Many of his claims are grandiloquent and his evidence useless. All the genius in the world is not, as he claims, in the Jewish musicians, Mendelssohn and Mozart; but his generous audacity is to be applauded; and as much of the genius and talent is to be applauded, allowed to the now existing Jewish people as to any other people, but certainly no more. he left England in 1829, wintered in Constantinople, and traveled in the spring through Syria, Egypt, and Nubia, returning in 1831 with new views, as we have seen, of the Asiatic race and mystery, and found the very agitated people for Reformation, and began with a recommendation by Mr. Hume and Daniel O'Connell as somewhere between Whig and Tory. The only thing certain is that he participated in triennial parliaments and votes. He fought three electoral battles here, was defeated each time, and then appeared in Taunton as a Lord Lyndhurst-type Tory; that is, the type of leader that he is now. This was where he allowed himself to undeservedly taunt O'Connell and heap upon himself that gross punishment that has become a family rendezvous. "He calls me a traitor," said O'Connell; "My answer is that he is a liar. He is a liar in word and deed. His life is a living lie." And, as if that were not strong enough, the demagogue continued: "When I speak of Mr. Disraeli as a Jew, I do not mean to mock him for it. Better ladies and gentlemen than among the Jews I have never met. They were once the God's chosen people. There were evildoers among them, however; and certainly it must have been from one of these that Disraeli descended. He possesses exactly the qualities of the unrepentant thief who died on the cross, whose name must have been Disraeli.(Loud cheering, mixed with laughter.) This is very Irish, very bad and very shocking, and yet everybody laughed at it.Disraeli the Younger, as he was called then, he endured the taunts of the world, responded to the agitator with invective, and when the agitator could not fight, being hampered by a vote, he challenged his son, Morgan O'Connell, to resume "his vicarious duties of satisfying the insults that his father uttered with impunity.” against your political opponents! "The challenge was not accepted. Mr. Disraeli then wrote O'Connell a wonderfully strong letter, before whose brilliant style the whole of the writer's novel pales and fades. 'Though you,' he wrote, 'have'" *Mr . . Disraeli has been accused of responding to these big words, and Professor Goldwin Smith is very angry at being called a "social parasite"; but did not Goldwin Smith himself say something so harsh in his intent, something about a flunky masquerading as a statesman?P 2212 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. by a Yahoo, without punishing him. ** I called your son to assume the vicarious office of satisfying his father, his growing smaller. I admire your rude allusions to my past. I know the tactics of your Church; calls for tolerance; she fights for supremacy.” Then, alluding to O'Connell, she compares herself to him. “You say that once I was a radical and now I am a conservative. My conscience acquits me of having abandoned a political friend or having changed my political opinion. I have nothing to appeal to but the common sense of the people. A skull and crossbones was not emblazoned on my banners. (This alludes to the O'Connell riot in Ireland.) "My pecuniary means were also limited. I was not one of those public beggars whom we see swarming with their importunate boxes in the chapels of their creed. Nor am I in possession of a prescription princely of a race hungry for fanatical slaves. I hope, however, to be a representative of the people before the abrogation of the Union. We will meet at Philippi. The letter ended with a threat of punishment to the "great beggar," who at that time he was collecting "sand" from the deluded Irish peasantry, in order to obtain redress, "which he knew he would never obtain." Mr. Disraeli also sent a letter to O'Connell's son, in which he said: "I shall avail myself of all opportunities to expose his father's name to public contempt; and I fervently pray that you, or something of your blood, try to avenge the insatiable hatred with which I will plague your existence. "This is strong language; but it was forty years ago, when people were a little tougher than they are now. Mr. Disraeli, then writing for the Times, completely extinguished the editor of the Globe, who took over the O'Connell's cause: "An anonymous writer," he says, must at least show power. When Jupiter shoots lightning, it may be merciful that the god hide his glory with a cloud; then he hides behind a hole of dust. In "Overall, these political attacks, though often unfair, did Mr. Disraeli immense good; they brought him out into the open; they proved he was a master swordsman. The newspaper is now the Premier's staunchest supporter)," he recorded in his columns a vivid reminder of his horny stupidity. What does that mean? His business is to scratch the nation's walls with praise for his master's darkening. He is worthy of his calling; it's just ridiculous to see this poor devil whiten the Bayswater barriers with the same complacency as if he were painting the halls of the Vatican.” Mr. Disraeli was now a marked man, even as a politician, and at the next election (1832) found that he had taken the first rung of the ladder, and that he was a British representative, as a member of Maidstone. in the enviable position of enjoying the fulfillment of his first youthful ambition: "I shall be," he wrote to O'Connell, "a representative of the people before the repeal of the Union" but "immense self-sufficiency" - to use a phrase from M. Louis, Blanc - began his career as a Member of Parliament Now, the House of Commons, like any other great club where men gather and where individual weight is felt, is the perfect place to take the bullshit out of a man. Each member soon descends to his natural level; and the good nature is remarkable, as well as the common sense of the House. The whole House, it has been said, always has more sense and more genius than a single member, or that any dozen members, even the best; and it is curious to find that any new man, however great he may promise to be before his election, is absorbed into the House and becomes, except in the rarest case, a very small part of it. He sees even the two biggest and most popular men at the Manchester school, Mr.

Land"BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 215John Stuart Mill and Mr. John Bright. Out of theHouse, addressing a crowded assembly in the FreeTrade Hall, or on the hustings of Westminster, thesegentlemen seem intellectual and oratorical giants;but in the House of Commons they are amongsttheir peers, and though they have full weight allowedthem there, they are not the Kings of Men that theyappear to be outside its walls.Hence we must not be surprised if the fervid andEastern eloquence of Mr. Disraeli fell upon dull earsin the House , and that even derisive cheers wereheard to greet his maiden speech. "Gentlemen, 'he is reported to have said, " you will not hear menow; the time will come when you shall hear me. ”He was at that time a member of the coterie of youngaspirants in literature and art who were often to beseen at the evening parties of one of the most brilliant, notorious, and beautiful women of her time, theCountess of Blessington; and at her house, GoreHouse (which has now disappeared to make room forone of the speculations of Prince Albert and Mr.Henry Cole) , Mr. Disraeli met some very curiouscharacters: Mr. Duncombe, the " Radical " member, of the most Conservative notions as regardedhimself; the Count D'Orsay, the Beau Brummel ofhis time; and a melancholy gentleman, who lived inKing Street, St. James's, and had ambitious dreamsabout fulfilling the destiny of his uncle. This gentle""G216 MODERN MEN OF, well known simply as " the Prince, " used towalk quietly in to those evening receptions , andwould rather listen than talk. He was so quiet, soobservant, that some likened him to a gloomy sporting man; and there yet remains a sketch of him, byD'Orsay, leaning against the folding doors of thecountess's drawing-room, melancholy and contemplative, and dressed in the tight black trousers andswallow-tail coat of the period . What was that manrevolving in his mind? Was he then contemplatingan invasion of France with a few discontented soldiersand a tame eagle? Was he dreaming of the timewhen his word would shake the world and give peaceor war? Count D'Orsay, Mr. Benjamin Disraeli,and last and greatest, the present Emperor of theFrench, were three of the most extraordinary ofthose men, great in fashion , literature, and art, thatassembled at Gore House; and between two ofthem, Mr. Disraeli and Prince Napoleon, theresprang up a great friendship .During his enforced silence, if little Benjamin heldhis tongue, he did not refrain from using his pen.He is more than suspected, although it is said thathe does not acknowledge the fact, of having writtenin the Times the celebrated letters of " Runnymede,"addressed to various people and ministers, alternatelyin a cajoling and an insulting mood. We know howcelebrated Mr. Disraeli is for his invective, and weBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 217may in these letters trace two things to their head:the first, the source of the Minister's powers; thesecond, the source of that intense dislike which isentertained by too many towards him, and whichwill pursue him to his grave . The letters in theTimes were in imitation of those of Junius; but theydid not equal those effusions, either in cause or effect .What the Runnymede letters did was to sell thepaper and amuse the Tories, while they affixed partynames on Whig leaders, and did little else . Of LordJohn Russell " Runnymede " said that he was " bornwith a feeble intellect and a strong ambition , ""busied with the tattle of valets; " that he was"a feeble Catiline; " that he had " a propensity todegrade everything to his own mean level, and tomeasure everything by his malignant standard;that he had written "the feeblest tragedy in the language, " &c. Lord Palmerston was " a great Apolloof aspiring understrappers;had "the smartnessof an attorney's clerk, and the intrigues of a Greekof the Lower Empire; " was " a crimping lordship,with a career as insignificant as his intellect; " that" he reminded one of a favourite footman on easyterms with his mistress; that “ he was the Sporusof politics , cajoling France with an airy compliment,and menacing Russia with a perfumed cane. " Theseare happy sentences, but neither politic norwise. We cannot wonder if the author of them""""""218 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.made enemies. Our present political writers aremore polite.The election of 1841 placed the power of Government in a Conservative Ministry, headed by Sir RobertPeel, strengthened by Lord Stanley (the late Earl ofDerby) , and commanding a huge majority in bothHouses. The Ministry had the confidence of thecountry, and Mr. Disraeli was one of their supporters.But in 1844 the Corn- Law agitation worked wonders.Mr. Cobden and John Bright " stumped ” thecountry, and by their arguments, their brilliantoratory, their common- sense views, brought thousands to their way of thinking. The last and mostillustrious of these disciples was Sir Robert Peelhimself. During the years that this Ministry heldsway, from 1841 to 1846, Mr. Disraeli had beenrising in the public estimation . He had publishedsome very clever novels-" Coningsby," " Sybil, "and " Tancred, " —and was identified with Lord JohnManners and others as the leaders of the "YoungEngland " party. The " Young England " peoplewere the ritualists of politics . Everything was to beregenerated by a restoration . Chivalry was good;therefore we were to dress in armour, and indulge inthe Eglinton tournament. The working man wasgood; the peasant-the noble peasant-was thetiller of the soil and the man who made all themoney; therefore lord and peasant were to be on the.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 219most friendly terms; the lord taking, as usual, thebest share. The middle classes were passed over,or rather regarded as the enemies of both . Trade.was condemned. In " England's Trust, " a poemwritten about that time, Lord John Manners hasgained an uneasy immortality by a couplet whichwas said by friends and enemies to embody the creedof the party:" Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die;But leave us still our old Nobility."Had he written the cleverest satire in the world,he could not have more thoroughly damaged hisfriends. But Young England did not perceive it .They thought that an advance was to be made by aretrograde movement. The Queen and Prince Albertgave a fancy dress ball, in which they were dressed asEdward III . and Philippa of Hainault; and theEarl of Eglinton nearly beggared his estate by a grandtournament, in which Lord Chesterfield and othernoblemen , dressed in complete armour, tilted at eachother as knights of old, and a Queen of Beauty gavethe prize to the most skilful knight and the mostgallant horseman. This was pretty, romantic, andfoolish. The dead past is dead; you cannot galvanise Queen Anne to life again , much less amonarch who died upwards of three hundred years.previously. It was significant, too, that while all220 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.were doing it in reality, no young nobleman wouldplay the fool in a fancy dress. But Motley wasthere, a clever artist, one of the middle classes.He rode on a donkey, clothed in a patched dress,archæologically correct, cracked mild witticisms ofthe soi-disant knights, and belaboured his particularass (he did not dare to touch the others) with abladder of peas hung at the end of his bauble.In the meantime Ebenezer Elliott was writing theCorn- Law Rhymes. People were starving in theNorth, and carrying a big loaf about the streets ,crying for cheap food and the repeal of the CornLaws. The party of Young England shouted, " Nosurrender! " and Sir Robert Peel, at the head of aTory Ministry, made a memorable speech, in whichhe confessed that the time was come that his dutyto the people made him sunder all his old friendships,but that when he was dead he prayed to be remembered as one who had brought a cheap loaf to thecottage of the poor. " Poor Sir Robert! his verypathos was prosaic, but he gained the day: the CornLaws were abolished; and henceforward Mr. Disraeliassailed him with the greatest bitterness. Of himhe had once said that " whether in or out of office ,he had done his best to make the settlement of thenew Constitution of England work for the benefit ofthe present time and of posterity; " but now hesaid he " flung down the gauntlet at the feet of the"BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 221He ex man he had once been proud to follow. "hausted invective in his speeches . Sir Robert, hesaid, was at the head of an organised hypocrisy, atraitor to his party, " a great Parliamentary middleman, who bamboozled one party and plundered theother. " It is useless to chronicle any more of thesebrilliant flashes of spiteful wit. " The Tories, " saidMr. Disraeli, " had found the Whigs bathing, andhad stolen their clothes; " they had passed a measureadvocated by their opponents. The country wasquiet; and instead of a follower of the great SirRobert, Mr. Disraeli was at the head of a small butcompact party, lecturing to mechanics out of theHouse, and telling them to " aspire, " declaring thatEnglish history " was to be re-written, " sketchinga brilliant future for Young England; and in theHouse, making people wonder at his exhaustive invective and brilliant sarcasms, and admire his headif they did not love his heart. " Disraeli is up, " wasthe cry from the Strangers' Gallery; "we are sureto hear something good, and galling to Sir Robert. "This was soon to cease. Sir Robert, abandonedby his party, left office in 1846; and henceforward heattached himself to no party, but tried to strengthenevery Administration by his calm advice and his greatpractical wisdom. " He was, " said M. Guizot (who,himself a Prime Minister, can well judge of the difficulties which beset a statesman) , " a great and222 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.honest servant of the State, proud with a sort ofhumility, and desiring to shine with no brilliancyextrinsic to his natural sphere; devoted to hiscountry, without any craving for reward. Severinghimself from the past without cynical indifference ,braving the future without adventurous boldness,solely swayed by the desire to meet the necessities ofthe present, and to do himself honour by deliveringhis country from peril and embarrassment;-he wasthus in turn a Conservative and a Reformer, a Toryor Whig, and almost a Radical, more wise thanprovident, more courageous than firm, but alwayssincere." What a panegyric for an English statesman! What glory to England, that by her Constitution she called to her councils such a man, thegrandson ( ' tis his greatest glory) of a rich Lancashirecotton spinner! In 1850, just as it seemed he wouldagain soon be called to power, Sir Robert, thrownfrom his horse, died , after three days' illness , amidstthe regrets of the highest and the lowest, friends andfoes , who were alike proud of their English leader.Working men who studied politics, and who lovedtheir country, crowded late in the night round thedoor of the dying statesman in Whitehall Gardens,as anxious to listen to the last message of the doctoras were the owners of the coroneted carriages, asthey waited for the whispered news.In 1847 Mr. Disraeli was elected for Bucks, andBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 223he took as his leader that gentleman of a stable mindin more senses than one, Lord George Bentinck. In1848 a sudden death deprived us of that honest nobleman, and Mr. Disraeli was left as the recognised.leader of his party . In February, 1852, the Mr.Disraeli, whose star had been gradually rising, wasfor the first time invested with the insignia of office.The Russell Ministry had ceased to exist, and LordDerby was called upon to form a Ministry, of whichthe popular novelist was Chancellor of the Exchequer.Of course there were a thousand pens pointedagainst this: the "idea, " said the Philistines, " ofa novelist being a man of figures! " People shooktheir heads in the City; the wise and the prudenthesitated; the silly and the forward were loud andopen in their sneers; but on the third of FebruaryMr. Disraeli took the House by storm with a budgetclearly and lucidly put, and so dexterously framed,that even his opponents complimented him, and hiscompanions applauded him to the echo. What Mr.Disraeli had more than once said had been " looming in the future " (now an almost forgotten, butonce a celebrated phrase), was all made clear; andin a speech of five hours' duration , the Chancellor,master ofthe situation, expounded his views. Thoughthe speech was easy to listen to , the items of thebudget were not so easy to digest. Mr. Disraeli had፡224 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.been faithful to the country party: there was anincrease on the house- tax, and a decrease of themalt- tax. " You must alter your budget, " saidone, "like Mr. Pitt. " " I do not aspire to Mr.Pitt's fame," was the humble, though proud reply;"but I will not submit to the degradation of otherChancellors." The Opposition rallied; a want ofconfidence was plainly exhibited; and in a few daysin the autumn of the year-the Duke of Wellingtondied, and the Tories were thus deprived of his wise.councils; the Derby Ministry was out of office,and Mr. Disraeli sat on the Opposition benches toLord Aberdeen. Throughout the times that followed ,Mr. Disraeli, faithful to his party, adhered to LordDerby, doing yeoman's service, attacking the Ministryin brilliant speeches, and proving to admiration theuse of a censor in a free Government, and especiallyof that which we should always desire to have, “ HerMajesty's Opposition " in strong force. When LordDerby came in , in 1858-9 , our hero was again hisChancellor, and brought in a most ingenious ReformBill , which, although admirable in many points, wasthrown out by the Whigs, principally at the instanceand jealousy of Lord John Russell, who no doubtbelieved that, having passed the great measure thirtyyears before, he was born to complete and supplement it . But the Whigs failed to bring in a sufficientmeasure of their own; and in the parliamentaryBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 225session of 1864 the eloquence of Mr. Disraeli wasturned against Lord Palmerston's Government,especially as to his foreign policy, and was outpouredin favour of peace with France, and especially withthe Emperor of that great country, his old friend ofGore House.In 1865 Earl Russell was called to the head ofaffairs, having Lord Cranworth as his Lord Chancellor, and Mr. Gladstone as Chancellor of theExchequer; and Mr. Disraeli did little else thancarefully, and for his party, wisely, act as the leaderof the Opposition . Thus he vigorously opposed theWhig Reform Bill, showing how hollow it was.But in defeating the Whigs, the Tories only gave apromissory-note of a wider measure; and when, inJuly, 1866, Earl Derby was again called to the headof affairs, with Mr. Disraeli as Chancellor of theExchequer, the latter had the honour of preparing awide Reform Bill, which it is said by some willrevolutionise the country. This is, of course, anexaggerated statement; to us the future of Englandis full of promise. When in February, 1868, the illhealth of Earl Derby compelled him to resign, theliterary man "-Vivian Grey-was sent for by theQueen, and Mr. Disraeli's patient striving of manyyears was crowned with success: he was placed inthe highest position that a subject can occupy-thatof First Minister of the Crown; the dispenser ofQ،،226 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.favours, places, and pensions; the wielder of a fargreater sway than the President of the most farstretching power in the world, the great AmericanRepublic-hedged round with striving, alien , andoften hated rivals and possible successors-can hopeto wield.It is not our purpose here to trace Mr. Disraeli'spolitical career. He was, in more senses than one,but a stop-gap; he held for a short time the reins ofpower; introduced a Reform Bill far more sweepingthan that offered us by the Radicals; made some excellent speeches; presided at a Literary Fund dinner;was beaten by Mr. Gladstone, and went out of office ,with the rumour, too, about his ears that the Torieswere seeking another leader.It was in the spring of 1870 that the literary andpolitical worlds were startled by the announcementthat Mr. Disraeli had in the press a new and brilliantnovel, to be called " Lothair."In due time the book was published, and therumoured high price given , and numbers of the novelordered-£10,000 and twenty- five thousand as a firstedition , though, of course, not true-served to awakenthe curiosity of the world.After the book appeared there was immediatecriticism. The poor author, however meritorious, hastto wait for years before he meets—if ever in his lifehe meets-with due recognition; but when a reviewBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 227of a book pays for its insertion by attracting readers,the press is quite wise enough to help the author anditself.There was, of course, much acute and much windyand wordy criticism published about " Lothair "whichdazzled peoplefor a time, like a firework-whichwas of course the cleverest novel of the season—nay,almost of the century. This it is not; but it is avery clever, and in so far, remarkable production.Mr. Disraeli is like his own French cook, who makesa splendid new dish of the oldest materials, and expects to receive the utmost applause for his cleverness; but, unlike his cook, he gets that which isso dear to the soul of the artist. Knowing the loveof the English for lords, he doses them with lordafter lord, and duke after duke, in his work; somuch of the miscalled aristocratic element do wefind, that we, like the Spectator, almost fear to criticise it, " without having an impartial duke on ourliterary staff. " "Lothair, " adds the reviewer, is aptto give one " duchesses, jewels, and general splendours on the brain; " it does more, it not only sickensone with false images, joyous excitement, excessiveflattery of rank and love of riches, but it reveals thatwhich else the author is very careful to hide- hisEastern origin, and his gorgeous and warm Judæanimagination . It is written with the utmost goodnature, and with a youthful exuberance which will beQ 2228 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.(6found to be very entrancing after the cold scepticism,the nil admirari cynicism, and penny satire of theday. Young ladies are entrancingly beautiful andintensely virtuous; they sing, in these pages, as wellas professionals; when they open their mouths,roses seem to drop from them, and sometimesdiamonds! " When they are angry, they have" tumults of the brow; " if they are rich, they havepossessions in six or seven counties, and in each ofthe three kingdoms; if they are beautiful , they surpass angels that ever painter or sculptor dreamt of.The plotting priests, who in this world are very common, coarse, mean people, using the devil's weaponsfor the devil's end, and truckling to mean passions.with mean souls and meaner bribes, are full of intellect-acute, subtle, commanding giving the directions of generals of the Pope's armyfor the reductionof kingdoms, the reversal of the verdict of ages, thesubversion of the purpose of God. His very lawyersand men of business ooze from their pores with wondrous talent, and with a fatty richness which issomewhat sickening. He has fitly described his ownstyle as an " ornate jargon; " we have been remindedthat we must borrow from De Quincey a better expression, though itself disfigured with De Quincey'sfalse symbolism—“ a jewelly hæmorrhage of words. ”It is not " jewelly;" the lumps of glittering matterpoured out in the dazzling cascade are simply bitsJeGBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 229of glass or wood covered with tinsel; they looklike the jewelled haunts of the gnome of thediamonds in a pantomime; go near them, evenas close as the orchestra, and you see what theyare.And let us add that, with unconscious satire , produced, no doubt, by a certain reflex action of hismind, Mr. Disraeli has far surpassed, in " Lothair, "the good- natured and most admirable satire on himself, written by Thackeray in his " Novels by EminentHands." Let any reader compare the two works,Thackeray's satire, " Codlingsby, " by the Right Hon.B. Shrewsberry, and " Lothair, " by the Right Hon.B. Disraeli, and ask whether one is more overloadedthan the other. How delicious in its gaudy and incongruous colour is this extract of Codlingsby's palacein Holywell Street, which, by the way, is at the backof an old clothes' - shop . Did not the spirit of Disraeli,while its author was in a trance, escape from its bodyto inhabit for a time the brain of the satirist?" They entered a moderate- sized apartment-—indeed, Holywell Street is not above a hundred yards long, and this chamberwas not more than half that length-and fitted up with thesimple taste of its owner.The carpet was of white velvet- - (laid over several webs ofAubusson, Ispahan, and Axminster, so that your foot gave nomore sound as it trod upon the yielding plain than the shadowwhich followed you) —of white velvet painted with flowers, arabesques, and classic figures by Sir William Ross, J. M. W.230 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Turner, R.A., Mrs. Mee, and Paul Delaroche. * The edgeswere wrought with seed pearl, Valenciennes lace and bullion.The walls were hung with cloth of silver, embroidered with goldfigures, over which were worked pomegranates, polyanthuses,and passion-flowers, in ruby, amethyst, and smaragd. Thedrops of dew which the artificers had sprinkled on the flowers,were of diamonds. The hangings were overhung with picturesyet more costly. Giorgione the gorgeous, Titian the golden,Rubens the ruddy and pulpy (the Pan of Painting), some ofMurillo's beatified shepherdesses, who smile on you out of darkness like a star; a few score of first- class Leonardos, and fiftyof the masterpieces of the patron of Julius and Leo, the imperialgenius of Urbino, covered the walls of the little chamber.Divans of carved amber, covered with ermine, went round theroom, and in the midst was a fountain pattering and babblinginto jets of double-distilled otto of roses.' Pipes, Goliath!' Rafael said gaily, to a little negro with asilver collar (he spoke to him in his native tongue of Dongola);‘ and welcome to our snuggery, my Codlingsby.' ”-It is in this snuggery that Rafael Mendoza lendsmoney to the Pope and the Czar, entertains dukes,earls , bishops, and archbishops by the dozens; bragsabout the eternity and nobility of his race, and talkswith his sister, who is thus described, seated at anivory pianoforte, on a mother- of- pearl music- stool:“ Her hair had that deep glowing tinge in it which has beenthe delight of all painters, and which, therefore , the vulgar sneerat. It was of burning auburn, meandering over her fairest

  • The burlesque is perfect; the incongruity of the painters, the

pearl pearls, lace and ingots from Valenciennes, the mixture of colors and the ostentation of knowledge, which reveals ignorance, are in the best caricature style. BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 231 shoulders in curls of twenty thousand minutes; he dangled to her waist and below her. A pale blue velvet fillet, surmounted by a diamond aigrette (valued at two hundred thousand tomauns, purchased from Lieutenant Vicovich, who had received it from Dost Mohammed), with a simple bird of paradise, formed his headdress. A sea-green cymar, with short sleeves, showed off her arms, exquisitely shaped to perfection, and was girt with an emerald belt over a gown of yellow satin. Pink chiffon pants, with silver accents, and slippers the same color as the band that held her curls up (but so covered in pearls that the original tone of the charming papoosh disappeared completely) completed her outfit. She wore three necklaces, each of which he would have given to a princess; Her fingers glittered with pink-tipped rings, and priceless bangles and bangles encircled an arm whiter than the ivory of the grand piano on which she rested. it is the main point and the climax of the painting: "My master's pipe is off," said Miriam, with a smile, observing the bewilderment of her guest—who had indeed forgotten to smoke; and taking a thousand-pound note from a wad on the piano, she lit the candle and began to relight Lord Codlingsby's extinguished chibouk. Disraeli paints, as we have shown, with a full brush; he seizes the imagination of the common people and wins or attracts admiration by acting like a Timbuktu lover, first by overthrowing his bride-to-be. Here, for example, from 232 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.66 Lotario, "is a work that combines an ingenious sketch by a Bond Street jeweler, which is wonderfully similar to that written by Thackeray: 'Very interesting,' said Lotario, but what what I want are pearls. That necklace you showed me is like a doll's necklace. I want pearls, like the ones you see in Italian paintings, Titian and Giorgiones, like the ones a queen of Cyprus would wear. I want pearl necklaces.'— 'Ah!' said Mr. Ruby, 'I know what your lordship means. Lady Bideford had something like that. She misled us a lot, always telling us that her necklace should be sold when she died, and she was in very poor health. We waited, but when he left, poor lady! he was claimed by the heir and is in the chancery at the moment. The Fustinianis have pearl necklaces—I am told that Madame Justiniani of Paris gives each of her children a necklace when they leave marry—but a Justiniani is not expected to part with anything. Pearls are troublesome property, my lord. They require a lot of care; they want air and exercise; they must be used frequently: you cannot block them. To the Duchess of Havant you have the best pearls of this country, and I said to her, Grace, "Use as always as you can; use as no coffee of manhã", and your Grace follow my advice, - she face I use you not breakfast. I go to the Chateau de Havant every year to see her pearls of Grace, and I clean each one myself, and let them sit on a sunny bench in the garden, in the west wind, for hours and days at a time. the time. Her complexion would have been ruined were it not for this treatment. Pearls are like little girls, my lord, they require the same attention. "<Occasionally, Disraeli's satire lurks with a delicate and humorous glint, as in this description of the jargon of today's society: 'English is an expressive language,' said Mr. I paint, 'but it is not difficult to master. Consists, as far as I can, of BENJAMIN DISRAELI. Note that from four words 'great', 'cheerful', 'lovely', 'boring' and some grammarians add 'tasty'. "And the author deserves a lot of credit for the true goodness of this satire, which is never morbid or hopeless, misleading and black soldiery of the Jesuits, from whom, as well as from their antagonists, the secret societies, Mr. counties, have much to fear: the author does not reveals no peculiar feeling or hatred. He loves England, he must venerate her as the home of civil and religious liberty, but he looks with wonderful good humor on those gentlemen who are quietly undermining the walls of that house, and are gathering up their gunpowder, Barrel after barrel, to blow all this freedom to the sky. This ease gives an air of lightness and persiflagration to his work. The sense of unreality generated by the overloaded style is reinforced by the calm and easy manner in which Monsignor Catesby and his crew are portrayed. * And when someone reads the book, smart as

  • One of the most conspicuous characters in ecclesiastical history.

the classic intrigue that is the main theme of Mr. Disraeli. It doesn't leave a lasting impression. We move through a fantastic crowd of conspirators and high priests, rich converts and wealthy men, and we forget that he only paints reality and portrays Dr. Manning, Cardinal Wiseman, the Marquess of Bute and other people of our time, because he drew reality with such an unreal touch. To the great people with whom he lived intimately for years, Disraeli's conduct, in portraying those close to him in such "false" style and giving, in his own exaggerated language, his own renderings, deeds and sayings, seemed little short of insignificant. , or as they say, "extremely inappropriate", for a former prime minister. To the lower and more dangerous classes, for whom such a book, leaked through demagogic newspapers, will seem only proof that the stories of G. W. M. Reynolds and the London Journal are real truths, Mr. Disraeli has history, he is such a Monsignor Catesby. The name smells of treason, conspiracy and gunpowder. The curious who profess to see real, living people under the novelist's masks have decided, to their own satisfaction, that Monsignor Catesby is a respected and accomplished English priest, well known in London, Father Capel. Through a strange oversight, Mr. Disraeli on one occasion allowed the name Capel to be printed instead of Catesby. The error will be found on page 254 of the third volume of "Lothario". We are not going to speculate on the origin of the error, which, coming from the author's pen or not, certainly went unnoticed by him. But it is curious enough to be worth registering.-Daily News.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 235 pointed chest of plates. Democrats who assemble in Hyde Park and vote for the instant demolition of the leisure classes, "the equalization of property and the extinction of poverty making us all equally poor and destitute, must feel, having read some of the Dukes Mr. Disraeli is fabulously wealthy, like the robber-soldier Marshal Blucher, who, after walking down Cheapside and seeing the jewelers and riches of the town, and climbing the Monument and seeing equally wealthy streets stretching on all sides, could only exclaim: "Mein Gott, what a loot! "Whether the author will succeed in awakening Protestants in this skeptical age to the danger in which they find themselves, we very much doubt it." This is a building beyond Disraeli.” But then,” says the reader, “the publishers have given £10,000 for his new novel, and you dare say his work isn't first-class?” Listen to it and go on. The publisher would give a large sum for a novel by Lady Mordaunt, even if it were the world's greatest rubbish, for the notoriety of her name: people would rush to read it.”236 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. a rule does not know; what he will sell he knows. "One day," said a lady of rank to the author, "I was in desperate need of some money, and I mentioned my need. It was to relieve a poor relative of Lady C.B., a woman of title who wrote, and wrote herself for joy. "That's just what I want; C. or B., the publisher, has been dealing with me about.. my latest novel. I want three hundred; they offer me two, because I wrote too fast. Why? I said, 'you gave me seven hundred for me first.' 'Yes, ma'am,' said the Tonson of the day, 'your name was new then, again.' And so were they. Lady C. B.'s novel was published as the Countess's work, edited by the true author, and the publisher won a considerable sum for the added attraction. The story is very true; We might mention the book. It will show you why so large a sum should be given to "Lothair." "As a man of letters, then, for we must openly confess the ranks of Disraeli, but as a mediocrity; We admire his courage, but we can't fully admire his romance. wife. Someone said that his face was pretty. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed. Lady Beaconsfield, "" "BENJAMIN DISRAELI". You should see him in his sleep!" The illusions and love of youth survived into the autumn of life in the heart that could thus speak! Again, driving home to hear her husband's great speech on a momentous occasion, he Full of business and worry as he jumped out of the car, she closed one of her fingers on the door. As agonizing as the pain was, she didn't scream until he was out of sight, and then she called for her footman. for him to open the door."Honey," he reportedly told someone to whom he told the story, "I wouldn't have yelled for the world; thinking about my pain, she would have become so agitated that she would have forgotten all the main points of her speech. . Let us also add that in all her romances there is no incident more chivalrous and graceful than that which belongs to history, of a prime minister who made dukes, and added more than one historical name to the nobility, denying himself all honour. , and placing the crown of a viscountess at the feet of his wife. And, in addition to her literary fame, it will be good to consider her life lesson. Since the beginning of this century there have been, omitting Mr. Gladstone, twenty - three Premiers, and only two except Disraeli - not of the patrician order. These were Mr. Canning and Sir Robert Peel. Mr. Disraeli-238 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. • makes a third party; and the elevation of it M. Louis Blanc considers as "very natural, but very singular; very sad, but very fortunate". He is by no means rich; in fact, if it weren't for a recent legacy, he would be a poor man. "What is it, then," asks this skilful writer, "that has brought England - and the English aristocracy to begin with - at the feet of this commoner, this Jew, this cosmopolitan, this man of such anti-English character? "He is at the head of a party that has cost him so much to educate! Get up in the body that he so cleverly brought to commit suicide. "His intellect is not common; and that is himself." "He is sad, therefore," concludes M. Louis Blanc, "because he is a fatal example of the respect for political rectitude that had no part in his success. It is lucky, because it shows that, henceforth, in England, power will no longer be the exclusive property of a few patrician families. So it has been, M. Blanc. From Mr. Disraeli's story we draw a happier omen. he was resurrected because he had read the lesson of the facts with certainty and truthfulness, because he had audacity, talent, courage and honesty on his side and because he decided to put aside conventional indulgence and give way to the aristocracy of the mind of the history of the world, help such men. In BENJAMIN DIRAELI. Instead of closing the door on the callous and impassive aristocrat, and the owner of the land or the mill, we must open it to those who have spirit and spirit. The mind will surely win those who are dead will soon be dead in a dead nation We must be a major nation in Europe; an active nation, an occupied nation, and somewhat meddling in world politics, or it is clear enough for all of that we will cease to exist. For us, apathy means death. Either at the head of the race, or in what Carlyle calls "the abyss of the ocean", England will arrive. And it is clear that she will reach the most important place in her, without mocking and underestimating the manual work and the intelligent work of the brain. No, to be fair in general, we must recognize that it is the common mind that attributes the successes of great men to the lower middle and lower. We must always remember Shakespeare's maxim if we want to judge others with charity. Corruption does not win more than honesty; Fair treatment and hard work are the basis for a greater percentage of the successes in this world than the wicked believe. But more than anything, Mr. Disraeli's story is heartening, for it demonstrates the complete freedom of the English, and that the brightest career is open to the poorest youth. God, said poor Shelley, has given man arms long enough to reach heaven, if he only stretched them out. Behold, then, a man who laid down his arms: the grandson of a foreigner, of a despised race, without a public school education, without a fortune, and with a tongue that made enemies instead of friends, set his ambition a daring objective, and through from the heat and turmoil of a long career, by accident and chance, he bested his favorite competitors by a head, rose to the rank of victor, and ruled the country that had received his wandering grandfather as his guest. , Who will put limits to the glorious future of a nation, which offers such a prize to the aspiring girl who nurtures in her bosom? Maou-LORD LYTTON.R

LORD LYTTON.BY birth, Bulwer-Lytton was (is) above the class with which the ranks of the literary profession are filled; for, though he was not of a dazzling lineage, he was, on both sides, of noble birth." It is very easy to copy from the "Nobility." "Is it necessary to speak of one Bolver, son of Thunder, a Dane who came with the Conqueror and descended from some Danish Viking? You can read about it in the Bulwer-Lytton genealogy in Sir Bernard Burke's "Peerage." that Bulwer is a gentleman, and he seems so; a man of good blood and solid race; your hands, feet, hair and air show it. But Mr. Jeaffreson should know that our best writers are almost all of "Gentile" origin, testibus Milton, Dryden, Addison, Sterne, Waller, Shaftesbury, and Shakespeare. However, back to Bulwer. It is a long way from Shakespeare to Bulwer; let's jump! the offspring of two families, each of which had money, made our author in the habit of changing his name. Once it was Lytton-Bulwer; in another it was Bulwer-Lytton. His eldest brother, William Bulwer, the only undistinguished of the three, maintains the manor house at Heydon Hall, Norfolk, an excellent example of architecture from the time of James I. "Bulwer Arms" as a sign. Also like Bulwer, this great author - who is great, despite his defects and his vanity - has made himself known; ; Like Bulwer, he wrote those famous works, full of wit, wit, intelligence, brilliance, and wretchedly gilded, rather varnished, poetry; as Bulwer gave us boys those admirable sentiments from the mouth of Claude Melnotte which we took for poetry and welled up until tears welled up in our eyes. Don't we all remember them? shaded bower Of cooler foliage, musical with birds Whose songs will pronounce the syllables of your name! he accepted it as a very rare thing, and he didn't much like the unscrupulous laugh Thackeray gave us when he ripped off the "Sea Captain" mask in Fraser's Magazine. talent must be used for the corruption of God's creatures, he wrote to us himself, horrified by our dealings with Swinburne. We will show him, who has read little and understands less, how Thackeray and Tennyson might deal (critically, of course) with Bulwer-Lytton, and how Thackeray might carry out the attack on Tennyson's fair holdings. Remember, we are only on the side of Truth. We allow all due appreciation for Mr. Swinburne's poetry. We wish that, in executing his fine cuisine of Greek and French dishes, he had done what the English gentleman asked the Irish waiter to do: he served them on separate plates and allowed us to make our own. But enough "Strike and spare not" is our motto here, when the blow is deserved. Walking, let's say, through the Freemasons' hall at a Literary Fund dinner, there is a gentleman, rather weak, trembling, a cousin of Féenix, with disheveled hair, a reddish painted face, a noble forehead and a high aristocratic nose, a gentle and modern man. . . MEN OF LETTERS.1،، ""without a doubt a man, a gentleman with "the true look of a nobleman" who does not know a man in a thousand ha, and of whom the Pope spoke. He is not very strong, this man, and he has a somewhat scared look in his eyes, yes, of a student in the world. In this live face, and in the photographs of it, it is suspected that he is "fixed" for what his owner deems appropriate; that Pelham would be younger than him. Vain fights with Time; What genteel trucker can put a "slip on his wheel when he's going downhill," or with a finger hold Ixion's wheel, "as Keats says? Look at the hair combed forward and manipulated, the eyebrows, the mustaches and the hair somewhat darkened, the mustache and imperial! The whole appearance of the man has only clever artistry, not insincerity, for Lord Lytton is a real man, which is the bad taste that prevented his master from being first in rank with him. The little scum inside the lute, and the little rotten piece of chopped fruit, you know the rest. How marvelously all men resemble his books! Lord Charles Kingsley; superfine Lord Lytton; rocky Ben Jonson, with "the belly of the mountain and the rocky face"; the friendly Shakespeare; the pure and biblical John Milton; and "wicked" Lord Byron, as vain as he is wicked, and as wicked as he is vain, while casting your own shadows and lights upon your pages! -LORD LYTTON. 247 This man, Lord Lytton, who has written a very sharp essay on the difference between Genius and Talent, has such a high share of the latter that he borders on the former. His industry is wonderful, as great as his genius. Let's quickly see what he did. He was born in 1805. His father, General Bulwer, died in 1807. By 1810, the precocious young man was writing verse in the style of Percybalad. In 1820, at the ripe age of fifteen, he sent "Ishmael, an Oriental Tale," with other poems, one on Waterloo, in which Corporal Shaw, the lifeguard, figures as a hero: simple, And spreads the field with Gallic. lots of dead." "Ishmael" is not a bad thing; many fifty-year-old poets worry about facial wrinkles because the press doesn't praise worse verses. The young poet went to Cambridge after a private tutoring course and became a fixture at Trinity Hall. In 1825 he won the Chancellor's Prize Medal and, after another volume of verse, he presented us, in 1827, with his first novel, "Falkland", whose hero is, of course, Byronic, wicked, even satanic. Byron had been hurt so much. fever done. To laugh sarcastically, to hate men very much and women even more, to despise the world and yet yearn for it, was then considered good and strong. His next job was Mortimer; or, The Adventures of a Gentleman", which the publishers, 248 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.} with their usual acumen, rejected. However, the word "Mortimer" was changed to "Pelham", and the effect was magical. It is a wonderfully clever novel for so young a man (published 1828) of the superfine kid glove and school silver fork. Bulwer used his education as well as his observation, and sarcasm and quotations blended nicely into the result. In 1827 Bulwer graduated with a BA. The same year he married Rosina Wheeler, daughter of a Limerick gentleman, and the marriage was not a happy one, testifies to Lady Lytton's spiteful romance of "Cheveley; or, The Man of Honour", and others; but from this marriage came the Hon. Edward Robert Bulwer (b. 1832), a poet of no small rank, known as Owen Meredith. Devereux, "Paul Clifford", "Eugene Aram ", a drama on the same dreadful theme, the "Siamese twins", "England and the English", "The last days of Pompeii", "The crisis" (political), "Rienzi", "" The Duchess de laValliere , a drama, Lady of Lyons, ditto, Richelieu, ditto, Money, ditto, then 'Ernest Maltravers', to 'My Novel', 'The Caxtons', 'What Will He Do With It' and others 1828 to 1869 we are thirty-one and, count, LORD LYTTON. 249 pamphlets and plays, over forty volumes! Nor must we, in fairness, forget his most ambitious works, such as "Athenas: Her Rise and Fall" (1837);" King Arthur," a poem (Colburn, 1849); and "The New Timon," an incisive satire written in admirable verse. All of these received great applause from the press of the day, and we are not one to simply adopt novelty and we abuse an old and excellent servant. "O Novo Timão" unfortunately had a romantic story intertwined with the satire of it; if it hadn't been for that, if it had been pure satire, it would almost have equaled Pope's, or, let's say, Gifford's. In style, it was between the two. A certain moral obliquity of opinion also caused Bulwer to write those thrice accursed highwayman stories, in which we have highwayman gentlemen, society scorners, and philosophical knaves. If his lordship spent all the money he has had from all his collected novels and plays in reformatories, and the sum was very large, he was paid by Routledge for a formulated edition £15,000, he could not undo a tithe of the wrong he had done. Done, giving a boost, with that much worse writer, Harrison Ainsworth, a Penny Murder and Robbery Novel, who has filled our prisons with some of the brightest children in England. "Gentleman Jack" and "Boy Highwayman" are the true, albeit illegitimate, blood descendants of "Clifford" and "Jack Sheppard". The deductions were as hateful as the sentiment was false. Thackeray, who seems to have hated Bulwer's works with honest contempt and pursued with the doggedness of a bloodhound, flogged him as no man was ever flogged by his "Sea Captain", and in Punch he wrote perhaps the wisest, most witty, and best parody everseen, on Aram, "on" George of Barnwell. "Well, the romantic Bulwer might have blushed and squirmed; but alas, the people who would be corrupted by "Paul Clifford" and "Aram" are only those who have neither the wit to read satire nor the knowledge of daylight. day.(I love the dark instead of the light) result of such teachings, spread endlessly by the conversation and reproduction of lesser minds.member of the Herts, in 1935 he obtained his master's degree, in 38 he was made a baronet, in the 44 his mother died and he took the name Lytton, in 1853 was made Honorary DCL of Oxford, in 1856 Dean of Glasgow University; LORD LYTTON., was offered a seat in Lord Derby's cabinet; in 1866 was made Lord Lytton of Knebworth.He got his barony, we think, from the Whigs, and his barony from the Tories, but all his weight and popularity from his capital and witty novels, so befitting a youth of restless and ambitious readers, so seductive, so dangerous. and yet in many parts. So wise. In general, the highest crown that can be awarded to the next step cannot be denied - Bulwer's genius. He matures as he progresses, but his art is more imitative than original. He is very intelligent. His best works are usually echoes, melodious echoes, with a different sound in their reverberation, but evidently from the screams of others. The "Caxtons" echo the loud cry of "Tristram Shandy", the historical novels, those of Scott and even James, the historical ones, those of Thirwall; the dramas, those of Knowles with the poetry of Scott; satire has the Pope's silver ring, often his own neatness in the lines. Thus, Bulwer is more of an imitative than original genius. He wrote because he had something to say, no doubt, but also because he wanted to put himself on the same high pedestal with the big names in literature, and for a while he did. But posterity he has the ability to tear down these great plaster casts before erecting the alabaster statue that he must bear. it looks extraordinarily good. We said that Bulwer can hit hard and that he matures. His recently published "Horace" is an admirable work, full, shall we say, of genius in minute touches, of intelligent work in all respects. honest, hard and above all manly work. That it was no longer like that, that he did not lead the Christian nobility, that his heroes were often snobs, is not his fault, he is congenital; and on this natural wood, so well adapted for the Bulwerian cabinet, education has put a very fine varnish and art a splendid French polish. Here we also add a literary curiosity: Bulwer's attack on Tennyson and Tennyson's response in Punch. well done to the end. Bulwer loq., but anonymously, as the "New Helm" was published as a mystery: the modern tune of the mockingbird, The tinkling mix of stolen conceits, The childish Wordsworth and the brilliant Keats;

  • * * * *

Let Professor Alfred vent her chaste delight in dear little rooms, so warm and light; She 'she Sings 'I'm Tired' in contagious tones, And she catches the 'singing blue fly on the dash; —LORD LYTON. 253Tho' Critically praised and adored by the Blues, Tho' Peel with plump pudding the leaping muse, Tho' Theban tests Saxon stock controls, And pensions Tennyson while starving a Knowles "We need no more. Tennyson, who had £200th - year awarded, he reproduced quickly and wrote - for the first time and once only in Punch - the following: "THE NEW HELM AND THE POET. We know him from the heart of Shakespeare And those full curses he uttered; Noble art, How strongly disgusting, greatly broke. Thus died the Old Man; here comes the New. Look at him: a familiar face, I thought we knew him: What, it's you, The padded man who wears the corset. you who made noise and tossed your mane in papillotes, and once you also tested the Muses,—you failed, Lord; therefore now turn back; You fall before those who are for you As a captain is for his subordinate. The artist, sir, must rest in art, and give up a little claim to it; to have a great poetic heart is more than all poetic fame. half content, nor like a gentleman at ease, with a moral breadth of temperament. understand The merits of an impeccable shirt An elegant boot - a small hand - If half the soul is dirt? You talk about decorations! Whoops, we see old blush marks on her cheeks. You talk about nature! You are the one who breathed life into the cabals. You Timon! No, no, what a shame; Seems like a very arrogant joke-The fierce old man to assume his name-His hatter. Go and let him rest. Clever but wrong, as the gentleman said in peculiar circumstances. You see these great souls are troubled. When a poet calls another schoolgirl and the other responds with the accusation that his opponent is a red bandit, it's time to stop. You can't say anything else. But we like these old free fights; men are wide enough to forgive and forget; their success, immense talent, and the full appreciation that the public has given them, are equally undeniable. Let them rest on their laurels!7MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH.

MISTER. HARRISON AINSWORTH.CET LET US BEGIN WITH AN OPINION, fearlessly expressed and sincerely felt, that the existence of this writer is an event to be regretted; and the fact that he may assume that he is a man of letters who has done service to his country, and who has received from a Prime Minister, himself a man of letters, the reward of £100 a year literary pension. . services, is a disgrace to this confused and philistine nation. As insignificant as the sum of £1,200 a year is reserved for the reward of those noble soldiers of literature and art who lead the vanguard, who write for the people, who instruct the people, and help in every way they can with thought. good-hearted. and words of pure flavor, it becomes even smaller by placing on it people who absorb a very large portion of it. Then Lady Phipps, the wife of a servant of the Queen, who has saved the Majesty from her hundreds of thousands of her, takes a quarter of her; Lady Mayne, the widow of a well-paid policeman, takes an eighth; the widow of a well-paid president of the Royal Academy, who earns a lot of money, pockets a room; a writer of brigand novels a twelfth, and so on. If you speculated and built an exposition, then your widow can be awarded for this Literary Civil List. If the Queen has no other way to reward her servants, you will be included in this list. It really is time for the English to speak their minds to their public servants, the authors. They are in the place of the ancient prophets; they form the mind of the young; they direct the inclination of the mind towards virtue or vice, towards impious greed, a cold lust for selfish gain, or a generous and virile life of duty, honesty, tolerance and holiness. Now, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth didn't do the latter. He, perhaps, is not so guilty, poor man, being a person of little capacity and not a very strong intellect, as he was at the time of his birth. In that hectic and lively time, when the results of a long war, acts of violence at sea and on land, the press gang, corrupt lawyers, bad laws, a mocking king and court, a "grumpy old Floribel" produced among The People as literature such as "Memoirs of Harriet Wilson", accompanied by books less perverse only in degree, not so bad in intention, such as "Tom and Jerry", "The Corinthian Club" and others of the sort - in that same old active people required a literature MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 259 that was full of adventure and had "go" in it. Coombe, in his "Doctor Syntax", senses this and leads his hero into countless trouble, asking her to describe every scene from the theater to the graveyard. Judging by his lines, things weren't much better than they are now in the first one. When watching a play, Syntax exclaims, "'It was Shakespeare, but in disguise: I saw a farce, hardly know what.' Blessed! Where did Knowledge flee? Where did it hide its sacred head? Oh, how degraded it was to beget such fools in the city!" He would write no more corrupt novels. Ainsworth apparently received the money from him under other conditions" (Qualis ab incepto processorat Et sibi constet). "He began by writing novels about highwaymen, and only now (August 1870) completed a story of "Claude Duval, A Tale of the Days of Charles the Em," in that widely circulated newspaper, the BowBells. Let us add that, evidently he writes with more decency and less open applause of robbery and brutality for a penny, than when one pays half a crown for his rubbish. Your Claude Duval is not the Knight after all the Camino. The vulgar novelist takes the highwayman's name simply as an "attraction. He knows petty thieves and novice thieves will be fooled by the name. Of the New Cut, in the winds of Glasgow, in the slums of Manchester and Birmingham, the name of Claude Duval is a name of power, fame and occupation are in a christening - much more modest than virtue itself, Claude Duval shot by the Duke of Buckingham!-(Ha ha! what does Lady History say about it?) - in single combat in Windsor Park, he is assisted in his mourning by a page girl dressed as a man, "with a wild cry that gave away her sex" - oh, you silly old copyist, have the discarded female pages of Sir Philip Sidney and Shakespeare not yet finished? Sabine, his page, takes him there.” “Not there,” Duval replied. "Your father's spirit pointed to the lake. Take me to the swamp, you understand." She guessed the terrible purpose of him, but she did not try to oppose him. ... She led him across the long, wide clearing, along which they flitted like ghosts. She led him quickly and without error through the dense forest that surrounded the lake and brought him to the edge of the swamp. Goodbye forever!' she exclaimed. And she with one last effort forced her horse into the fatal swamp. You let! Never! ' she exclaimed. I am yours in life as in death! ' (sic.) And she dove after him. The swamp willingly (!) offered them a burial in its muddy depths and guarded their secret well. Later a miserable suitor appeared in the form of Claude Duval. With him we have nothing to do. He was deservedly hanged." Here is this ancient and gifted author, who drew his brilliant existence, as the sun draws vapors from a swamp, from the Newgate calendar; who sent so many children to jail that the government forbade his works to be published. He stages it with one hand and pulls it back with the other, and yet in his old age he abandons the highwaymen, only in the last paragraph of his book does he reveal the secret that the real Duval is "a miserable pretender." "and was deservedly hanged. Naughty, very naughty: Ainsworth is, in fact, the suitor himself. There was a good-natured joviality about the gentleman, a jovial disposition to eat well, sleep well, and look after himself. He was born in 1805, and, he is therefore in the ripe old age of Lord Lytton, another author who illustrated the life of thieves. His father was a Manchester solicitor, but his son, who was brought up in the same profession, became, "through the charms of literature, says "high falutin'" - biographer, Mr. Cordy Jeaffreson, "a careless law student, and before he was twenty, in his freshman year he presented to the world (!) his first work of fiction, 'Sir John Chiverton'. Jeaffreson here makes a great point for his friend, who he doesn't seem to care much for, since he fires him in a few lines; but the statement that he was "destined for the law," and that he was a student, though a careless student, of that blessed institution, stands in his place. From the law to the defense of crime, in fact, to considering crime as a jovial and necessary type of occupation (for lawyers), is but one step. From "Sir John Chiverton" to "Ovingdean Grange", and this about Claude Duval, Ainsworth has written some twenty-six books or novels and, breaking them down into three volumes each, is the author of almost a hundred volumes of rubbish. , Dickens's success gave him a good start as second player. When Dickens resigned from the editorship of Bentley's Miscellany, having written a thieves' story there, he treated it quite differently, indeed, and quite morally in his opinion. and it turns out, the true aversion of him to the non-admiration of the crime- Dickens wrote a preface to the volume containing the comic and dignified likeness of the old and new coachman. It suited the literati to be seen as "jarvies" or whips, and to regard Bentley as a trainer. The new whip, after assembling the box, headed straight for Newgate. There he took Jack Sheppard and Cruikshank, the artist, and with the help of that very vulgar but wonderful draughtsman, he made an efficient history of the life of the robber or robber. He could have done this and held to the truth, or he could have pointed out a moral. Neither did he. He gave Jacka a kind of apotheosis; he made all his villains on the side of the law, and all his knaves and scruffy whores, kennel washes and hotpot parties, whom he called pretty and lovely women, lawbreakers, but to be admired by the reader! of writing was, the success of Cruikshank's etched capitals, some of them equal to everything Callot did, except in grace (we mean crowds in the space of a thumb 264 MODERN MEN OF LETTER. nail in procession pendant), it was huge, and Mr. Ainsworth, who had been a publisher for part of his busy life, then set up Ainsworth's Magazine, and wrote some pompous nonsense in it: "The Tower of London," "Old St. Paul's" , "The miser's daughter", etc. . forward. Of these, none could attract the public without his illustrations. Some of Cruikshank's best work found its way into these junk books, which are now bought at high prices for copies. that he has such a good idea that he gave the audience the most touching scene to cry. It is the death of Dick's mare, "Black Bess". And you left, Bess? ' he exclaimed, in an agonized voice, raising the head of her steed and kissing her lips, covered in blood-smeared foam. ', he added, hitting his forehead with his closed hand- 'for what? his magnum opus, were small in comparison with Mr. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 265 with those of Ainsworth. composition time. My pen literally ran down the pages. I identified so completely with the highwayman that, once started, I found it impossible to stop. Aroused by a similar enthusiasm, I cleared all objects in my path as easily as Turpin cleared the impediments that beset his flight. In his company I climbed the slope, ran through the bustling town, swept across the desolate moor, past the silent street, plunged into the turbulent stream, and went on, without pause, without hindrance, without fatigue. With him I shouted, sang, laughed, rejoiced, cried; nor did I retire to rest till, in my fancy, I heard the York Minster bell ring poor BlackBess's bell. Poor Black Bess's Knell! That it never existed, that it was never brought to York, except in the brain of some half-starved author of a penny book! And if that author had the good sense to have followed Fielding, he could, if he wanted, they falsified the story without making vice attractive, but such is the perverse blindness of such a genius that it inspires Bulwer and Ainsworth, who represent the vagabond who he threw himself onto the road with fear and trembling, when he could no longer take it. living on the salary of his poor companion, sin brought him like a powerful knight-errant, and the merchants, travelers and porters like so many cowards, who trembled at the sight of them. his carriage and dragged foul Hector to London, and cleared Hounslow Heath, for the terror of his act, for months.' Never fled from any man equally well armed. that there is honor among thieves King being arrested and crying out for help, Turpin deliberately shot his friend, so that he could not "peach" (give information against him) "Dick", King shouted, thinking that the shot was aimed to the officer, "you killed me. Even so, he lived for a week, long enough to investigate his friend's hideout in Hackney Marsh. Turpin then, to use that historian's expression, "removed to Yorkshire," where he earned his living by a cunning mix of thievery. His assumed name of John Palmer, discovered by a returned letter, for which he did not pay the postage, was tried, convicted, and executed. He was so poorly dressed, without plaster boots, silver-hilted swords, gold hats, or velvet coats. that he bought "a new pair of pumps and an AMR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 2Pfustian dress to wear at the time of his death." He left a ring and a few other items for a "married woman," not his wife, with whom he was living. He trembled and he turned white when he reached the stairs, stamping his foot with some bravado, he went up the stairs and there he talked with the executioner for half an hour before throwing himself down." He now he put on the halter, now he crossed the wagon, And many times he said goodbye, but he seemed reluctant to go. We find we have made the insignificant omission of a murder and a dozen brutalities in this brief sketch, but trifles are of little consequence in the life of a hero. "Needless to add, the story of the journey to York," says a Newgate historian, with some scorn, "and of the marvelous feats of the highwayman's steed, Black Bess, are like many other such stories (! ), the invention of some poetic brain!" When these brilliant productions were dramatized, so many children imitated the tinsel heroes of the stage that the authorities wisely forbade their performance. Lady. Keeley for a time posed as Jack Sheppard, and respectable women were considered foolish enough to don Mafia caps and pose as the "historical figures" of trulls and prostitutes that Ainsworth created as the seraglio queens of thieves. after thirty years or more, we saw the result. The crop of cheap books on highwaymen is perennial. *Jack Sheppards (spelled a bit differently for copyright considerations), Blueskins, Turpins, Claude Duvals, spring up like filthy mushrooms from the cheap press, spill their poison and die to appear

  • More evidence of the deleterious effect in young and

half- educated minds of what may be called the highwaymanand burglar school of literature is furnished by a case whichcame the other day before the Worship- street magistrate. Aboy of fourteen was charged with having stolen two sacks fromhis employers, and the policeman who had the conduct of thecase said , that when he apprehended the prisoner he found onhim (besides the stolen property) portions of certain publicationscalled the "Boys of England," and "Tales of Highwaymen, orLife on the Roads," both referring to the achievements ofnotorious malefactors, which were invested with alluring coloursof heroism and magnanimity. The lad was sent to prison for afortnight, there to perform hard labour on an exhilarating dietof bread and water; but it is to be feared that, after all thetrash he has read, he will regard himself as a victim to the conventional rules of society, and will make a bolder stroke for fame when he comes out. Mr. Ellison, the magistrate, calledthe attention of Inspector Fife to the fact that neither the namenor address of the printer is given on the publications. Thepublishing office is at 147, Fleet Street, but that is all the information vouchsafed . Under these circumstances the magistratedesired the inspector to speak to the Commissioners of the CityPolice, in order that steps may be taken to prosecute the printer,who has clearly violated the law. It were greatly to be wishedthat something could be done to suppress such publications,which are quite as mischievous in their way as the particularkind of books contemplated by Lord Campbell's Act are intheirs . From a London Paper, May 22, 1868.MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 269again. Copies have been taken in boys' boxes, whichin the aggregate amount to thousands; chaplains ofprisons have, in charges innumerable, traced the perversion of these poor boys to thieves' literature . Mr.Ainsworth and Lord Lytton have corrupted our boysby the hundred- fold . One has a peerage, the other apension, for his services! We are rewarded forbuying, they for writing this trash .،،The author of Jack Sheppard may be, and possiblyis, a very amiable gentleman, but he has no right tobe allowed to escape scot- free from the result of histeachings . It is difficult for the candid mind tocomprehend why the popular favour is extended torobbers and burglars, unless it be man envying therich; -poor people love and admire those who rob anddespoil the rich. In all children this love of thelawless seems innate. My dear boys, ” said a ladyof title, who was wise as well as poor, to her threechildren, " you will have your way to make in theworld; you will have to work to achieve your fortune;now, what would you like to be? " To these younggentlemen, ranging from nine to twelve years old ,and to whom law, war, and diplomacy afterwardsopened their arms, but one answer suggested itself;without a pause they cried, " Freebooters, mamma! "But it is somewhat mean to take advantage of thislow feeling; a great writer might have satirised , heshould not have pictured the burglar in roseate hues.270 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Mr. Ainsworth is , we believe , as Lord Lytton is,we know, a wealthy man through this literature;but if every farthing each has received from hisbooks, pensions and all, were a hundred- pound note,and employed in building reformatories for boythieves, the unhappy man could not undo the evil hisperverted taste, vulgar admiration, and his fatal itchof writing to pander to the savage instincts of thethief and robber, has caused, and will yet cause, inyears to come.THOMAS CARLYLE.BTHOMAS CARLYLE.HE universal burning-up, as in hell fire ,of human shams. There, readers, thereis the next milestone for you in thehistory of mankind. "Consider well that sentence. At a time whenPrince Christian is made a bencher of Lincoln'sInn; when English travellers are murdered in Greece,because we have been soft enough to ruin Corfu andthe Ionian Islands by giving them to the Hellenes;when the value of the press, and of everything else,except money, is declining; when men dress aswomen, and flaunt in places of public vice for twoyears, with applause almost from an innocent sittingmagistrate, Mr. Flowers, who would " like toliberate them without bail; when emigration isacknowledged to be the only panacea for misery ofthe working- classes in the richest country in theworld, which yet refuses state emigration on aproper scale; when " an old man in the Vatican " isproclaimed by most of his bishops to be Infallible ,T""274 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."the third Incarnation of God; " when-but thereader can add many instances. "The universalburning-up of shams " has not yet commenced, andin this world probably never will.And for forty years in London, and some fifteenyears more in the country, an earnest Scotsman ,Thomas Carlyle, has to the best of his powerpreached, Cassandra- like , against them; has addedmany strange German words to the language aboutthem; has refused to bow, as he says, " before theBaals of the world, the sham captains, solemnhuman shams, phantasies, supreme quacks, deadsea-apes, and dull and dreary humbugs." His isnot an entrancing or lively rôle to play, but onewhich is and will be always necessary, and whichCarlyle has played honestly and well. He hasgained for himself-and it is well for the world thathe has much love and reverence; probably no mandoubts his honesty, or his directness of purpose,how much soever they may question his wisdom.Thomas Carlyle is , to a great extent, a power in thisage. He has turned aside many who were frivolousand foolish; he has made his mark as an earnest,deep-thinking man; he has been classed in a book,and in innumerable reviews, as one of the threegreat thinkers of the age. He is one of the menwhose words will live . He has fought the goodbattle, and, if checked and baffled, is not yet conTHOMAS CARLYLE. 275quered; he is essentially a Protestant, and he willdie protesting. Such a life has in it a something ofthe beautiful, compared with other lives, nay, withthose of the men who have made money and couldbuy up Carlyle, stock, lock, and barrel-how beautiful it is!You can see that fine old face, snowed by thewinter of time, rugged and lined with channels ofthought, in most photographic shops and in manyalbums. The earnest eyes still flash beneath therugged brows. He wears such a beard " as youthgone out has left in ashes; " there is somethingscoriac about the face, as if the fires of a volcanohad nearly burnt themselves out and yet reservedsome force. Age has added to it, not subdued it.Compare it with earlier portraits and you willrecognise the truth that, wherever wisdom dwells agesteals not, but reveals true beauty. No ruin of astrong tower clothed with ivy is more fine andtouching than that head. The portrait, leaningthoughtfully on the hand that has laboured so longand so well with the pen, presents the vera effigiesof a true king of men. Here, at least, cries the gazer,is no phantasm, no sham captain, but a man.This Man of Letters was born in 1795 , of theSaxon race which settled in the Scotch Lowlands,at Ecclefechan, in Dumfriesshire, of a religious,earnest , good father, who educated his son at Annan,T 2276 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.and then passed him on to Edinburgh, where heremained till he was twenty- one, and then , not likingthe priesthood of the Church maybe, he taught, fortwo years, mathematics at a school in Fifeshire, andthen devoted himself to the priesthood of literature.This was his own word, and it will at once revealthe character of the man. " Of all priesthoods, " hewrote, “ aristocracies, governing classes, at presentextant in the world, there is no class comparable.for importance to that priesthood of the writers ofbooks; these are the real working effective churchof a modern country. The writer of a book, is henot a preacher?—preaching not in this parish or inthat, or on this day or on that, but to all men, in alltimes and places . ”With such thoughts in his head, Carlyle commenced, in 1823, writing in the Edinburgh Encyclopædia on Montesquieu , Montaigne, Nelson, the twoPitts; he translated Legendre's Geometry, andGoethe's "Wilhelm Meister. " Such journey- workhe ennobled; whatever he did he did well; andtruly not in that rugged way, paved with stony hardwords and German phrases, that he now uses, did hetravel on his " wander-years; " but in plain, directgood English, pleasant to read and easy to understand. It would have indeed been difficult for onewith so remarkable a style as he now has, to obtainadmission in those days, and even now, under anyTHOMAS CARLYLE. 277omnific editor, whose " valuable journal " delightedand delights the world. Sampson was clean shaven,and had not let his locks grow when he toiled forthe Philistines. Carlyle wrote next in the LondonMagazine a life of Schiller, the magazine beingupheld by Lamb, Hazlitt, John Scott, Allan Cunningham and others. "Wilhelm Meister" was publishedanonymously, and the young gentleman who translated it was patted onthe back by various reviewersby some, too , abused . He would be a bold man whowould patronise Carlyle, however one might abusehim now! Goethe admired him and wrote to him;thought him worthy to have views of his cottageengraved in the German edition of his book. Carlyle lived then at Cragenputtock, with a good wife,who helped him as no other human being could, andwhom he loved tenderly through life. In a letterto Goethe he gives a charming picture of his life.' Here, with no small effort, " he says, "have webuilt and furnished a neat substantial mansion;here, in the absence of professional or other office,we live to cultivate literature with diligence in ourown peculiar way. Two ponies, which carry us everywhere, and the mountain air, are the best medicinefor weak nerves. This daily exercise, to which Iam much devoted, is my only dissipation; this nookof ours is the loneliest in Britain, six miles removedfrom anyone who in any case might visit me. ”،،278 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.}A good scholar in Greek and Latin, reading anybook that he much desired in any modern language,imbued with German thought and philosophy, herethe philosopher dwelt in 1825 , writing for theForeign Review and other reviews, large and small,until 1830, when he removed to Chelsea, London ,and commenced, "in his piebald style, " says awriter, " Sartor Resartus," the tailor re-tailored, inFraser's Magazine. " Sartor, " now perhaps regardedfrom many points as his very best work, a supremework in numberless ways, was of course refused bythe booksellers and publishers, not without muchadvice to the " young man, " of which advice fromthe publisher's taster Carlyle has given some dryspecimens. Why the middle- class should be called“ gigmanry " and " gigmanity, " and what was themeaning of a "Baphometic fire- baptism," allknowing editors could not make out. However,Oliver Yorke, the pseudonym for the editor of Fraser,found it pay, this piebald style, and readers foundHerr Teufelsdröch amusing, quaint, and some evendeep and wise, above the ordinary level of writingwhich had no style at all , piebald or otherwise.Writing and studying for some years more, andby no means a popular writer-his popularity beingalways reflected , and his true fame having yet tocome-Carlyle, in 1837, produced a really greatwork, showing us how History ought to be written.1THOMAS CARLYLE. 279This was the " French Revolution, " a series of themost brilliant historical pictures that was everwritten, given with a vivacity above measure, anda fidelity above all praise . For Carlyle does not givesubjective pictures for which he has no authority.He is not a brilliant writer after the Tom Macaulayschool. For every word he utters you may swearthat he has full authority; indeed, were Carlyleto note and annotate his works the probability isthat we should never get through them; they wouldbe as huge and as indigestible as the folio editionof Bayle's Dictionary, which we can't read, becausethe notes utterly overpower the text. From thevery words of the chief witnesses of the Revolution ,the reader learns what that mad time was. Amore powerful picture never was drawn; we hearthe clash of the sabres, the spitting of the Dames dela Halle, the roll of the tumbrils, the song of theGirondins, the shriek of the victims of the égorgeurs(stabbers) , the fall of the guillotine, and the thudof the head in the basket of sawdust. But, ohHeavens, that this should be a sham, too; thatthe " green one, " Robespierre, immaculate andincorruptible, and bathed in blood, should be butthe victim of illusion; that all should be but anugly dream or terrible plague- sickness , cured onlyby a bath of blood. Such it was in Carlyle's opinion" An age of paper ending with a whiff of grape280 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.shot." And yet, look you, of all wondrous peoples,working for ever, and dancing onwards and onwardsto victory and slaughter, that French people from1790 to 1815 did show themselves a people-but ofa sort. God seems to have sent them a strongdelusion, and they believed a lie . They set up thegoddess Reason-they produced thereby Marat,Robespierre, Napoleon (First and Third) , Talleyrand ,and others. The student of history will do well toread Carlyle's book, and to put that living recordbeside some of the books by Dryasdust and Company; say by Doctor Sir Archibald Alison , andothers.After this wonderful work, which the critics didnot of course understand, Carlyle produced his greatmonument to Cromwell-merely the man's speechesand letters without annotations, only elucidations .You, therefore, judge Cromwell by himself; you seehim with his wife, his family, his servants, hisarmy, and his God. After these letters of Cromwellthe history of England by Mr. Philosophic- DeistHume, and the pretty pictures of Sir Walter Scott,must be swept away like so much rubbish out of thecorners of your brain.We have not noticed , for reasons palpable enough,"Chartism, " " Heroes and Hero- Worship," Pastand Present " (1843) , and his five volumes of essays.He was not this grim school-master-very compli""THOMAS CARLYLE. 281·mentary to his beloved English country, the land ofhis adoption and his admiration. He told us that"England was dying of inanition, though full ofwealth," and that the " happy haven to which allrevolutions were driving us was to that of herokings and a world not unheroic. " The prophecybecomes plainer and more visibly true every day.In 1850 came out Carlyle's "Latter-Day Pamphlets,"and before that the Life of his friend Sterling, asweet and touching biography, very charminglywritten. In 1860-4 he published his " Life ofFrederick of Prussia, " in which he somewhat toomuch defies force; and in 1867 he contributed toMacmillan's Magazine a rough and somewhat violentdiatribe against the times and the world as it goes,called " Shooting Niagara-and After, " in which heby no means prophesies smooth things of the futureof England . But if we disagree—and we by nomeans wholly disagree-with the philosopher ofChelsea, we must praise his style-wonderful, acute ,strange enough to be attractive , and if well read,plain enough to be understood by a ploughboy,honest enough to be understood by a saint, boldenough to shame all cowards: there it is, sinewy,full of stature, all muscle and bone, withouta superfluous word. But we must leave him ,yet not without these few words as a specimen ofCarlylese:282 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS." But that a bad man be ' free '-permitted to unfold himself inhis particular way, is contrariwise the fatallest curse you couldinflict on him; curse, and nothing else, to him and all his neighbours. Him the very Heavens call upon you to persuade, tourge, to induce, compel, into something of well-doing; if youabsolutely cannot, if he will continue in ill- doing-then for him(I cannot assure you, though you will be shocked to hear it) , theone ' blessing ' left is the speediest gallows you can lead him to.Speediest, that at least his ill- doing may cease quam primum. * *All the millenniums I ever heard of heretofore were to be preceded by a ' chaining of the Devil for a thousand years'—layinghim up, tied neck and heels, and put beyond stirring, as a preliminary. You, too , have been taking preliminary steps withmore and more ardour for a thirty years back; but they seemto be all in the other direction; a cutting asunder of straps andties wherever you might find them-with great glory and loudshouting from the multitude as strap was cut, glory, glory,another strap is gone-this, I think, has mainly been the sublime legislative industry of Parliament since it became ReformParliament, victoriously successful, and thought sublime andbeneficent-by some."As things turn out now , -murders by the score ,Oxonian revelling, Roman infallibility, and Government brigandage in Greece, -Carlyle speaks withreason.!HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.JazmHE The Americans, who rightly or wrongly repudiate aristocracy—or rather, as that word is profaned and misused in ignorance, a titled class, which is very different from Aristoi—have the clumsy custom of making his great men judges. , generals or teachers. "Professor" is a word of very modest meaning, diverted from its real meaning towards something rather quackery. Professor Browne who cuts hair, Professor Challis who scientifically cuts pants, Professor Anderson who claims to conjure and expose spiritual beats with the agile agility of a bursting butcher, all come to mind when you say the word. painted noses and faces, miserably juggling, poor fools! -But Professor Longfellow is a learned man, a scholar, a gentleman, and a true poet. He doesn't look much like one when he walks near his house in Cambridge, USA. He has more of an English appearance than Tennyson, as far as Browning goes. He has a cheerful red face like a farmer's, white hair falling in long locks, and black eyebrows. Defined lines and features adorn this face; there is a stronger thought in it, and much less delicate and feminine than one might imagine. And yet she is essentially a woman poet. on the surface. Is this proof that she is not a poet? No way. Browning has ruined himself because of his lack of common sense. I scare a beauty. You can read Longfellow softly, kindly, and with quiet delight; he "sweetly creeps," as the Prince of Poets says, "in his study of imagination." You cannot understand Browning unless he is wonderfully read by a poet who knows how to read, and then, with the right emphasis and inflection, you see the fine depths of the man. Like Rembrandt's paintings, his poems need a false, artificial light cast on them. When Mr. William Shakespeare was a young man, a scholar, not a teacher, he feigned darkness, also for a purpose: HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 2871 in the sonnets of him, but the sublimities of him are all daylight. It is not a dark, black mine, nor a gigantic cave with twenty-inch stalactites, but entire Alps and Himalayas, a Monte Rosa or a Pilatus in the sun of true poetry. That poet who, like a cuttlefish, escapes being caught by fouling the water, has an essentially small mind: "The best things in a man are nearer to him, they lie near his feet." book, "to be understood by common people". Let us point out the admirable quote we have just used from Richard Monkton Milnes Lord Houghton: it is as good and clear as the best Wordsworth. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is a serious man and a hard worker. If half of his compatriots were as sincere as him, we would have less "little words" and more common sense. He was and is well educated and is no doubt educating himself now. Fourteen-year-old New Brunswick graduated with honors at eighteen, and by 1825 was studying law with his father, but, when offered a chair in modern languages ​​at his college, he left home to train, traveling three and a half years all over the country. Europe. -in France, Spain, Italy, Germany, England-and this serious work is shown in the 288 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.poems by him. water sources, it's hard work - develop your brain and achieve what you undertake. In 1829 Longfellow returned home and joined his professorship. In 1835, with the death or resignation of Mr. G. Ticknor, Longfellow received the same post at Harvard College, Cambridge, and the poet went abroad again to study, as it were, for his post. He then spent more than a year in Denmark, Sweden, Germany, and Switzerland, and in 1836 he returned and settled in Cambridge, where he has resided ever since, except for brief interruptions in his travels due to his health. In 1842 he was back in Europe; in 1861 his wife perished a terrible death, which by fire; in 1869 Longfellow spent some time in Europe. This is all the personal history that we will relate. He spent many years before the public as an author and poet. In 1833 he published his translation from the Spanish of the famous poem by "Don Jorge Manrique", about the death of his father, along with an introductory essay on Spanish poetry; in 1835, his "Outre-Mer", in 1839, "Hyperion", a novel, and "Voices of the night", the first collection of his poems; in 1841, "Ballads and other poems"; in 1842, "Poems on slavery"; in 1843, "The Spanish student", a play; in 1845, "The Poets and Poetry of Europe" and "Henry W. LONGFELLOW's The Belfry of Bruges. 289"; in 1847, "Evangelina"; in 1848, "Kavanagh", a short story; and in 1849, "The seashore and the chimney"; "The Golden Legend" in 1851; and "Hiawatha's Song" in 1855; then came "Miles Standish" in 1858; 'Tales of a Wayside Inn', 1863; and, about two years ago, a translation of Dante, which was coolly received. People were used to looking for something quirky, lovable, and all their own in Longfellow. His "Dante" wasn't a hit, but we want something that makes Dante the current third rhyme. Our best translation at the moment is Cary's, which is decidedly Miltonic. Sirs. Cassell has conveyed it very wisely with Gustave Doré's gloomy and overrated illustrations, which are the best illustrations, by the way. in England as Longfellow. Many of his verses have become household words, and many of them deserve to be. Thus the last line of this excerpt is quoted by all the young women. It's from "Evangeline": “Don't talk about wasted affection, affection was never wasted; the source sends returns to the source. U290 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS! do your work of love! Pain and silence are strong, and patient patience is divine. This sweet tale is based on a miserably amplified "British" tale of cruelty, and will perpetuate a great deal of poetic antipathy towards the English. Fortunately it is in a cadenced hexameter, a Greek and Latin measure that the scholar Southey, before Longfellow, was foolish enough to try to use it. Admirable, very admirable as it is in Homer, sweet and excellent as it is in Virgil and Lucretius, the hexameter does not suit our language at all. If he could have naturalized, Longfellow would have. The sweetest English hexameters are those of "Evangeline," where the pious girl dies. "Still remains. the primeval forest", they begin and end with the image of the two lovers resting in the small cemetery in the heart of the city: "Daily the tides of life come and go with them, Thousands of beating hearts , where yours are at rest and forever, Thousands of sore brains, where yours are no longer occupied, Thousands of hands that work, where yours have stopped working, Thousands of tired feet, where yours have completed their journey .Longfellow's early portraits, there is a dull melancholy imprinted on his face, and this can be found in his poems.It is one of the causes of his popularity;it is the great proof of his own weakness.little of the strength of a true poet, little of that jovial gaiety, that dynamic force of old Chapman or Daniel, let alone Shakespeare and Homer. These poets are, to use vulgar parochialism, "all alive as a bag of fleas; that's the way Burns is, that's the Beranger, that's the Dante's, even in their burning hatred and fierce revenge on him. Longfellow, on the other hand, is as melancholy as a sick yellow-and-green schoolgirl. Even in 1840, when he was just a young man, we see that, in his "Voices of the Night," and even in the "Psalm of Life ", so often quoted and recited, there is a damnable return of that vile melancholy that destroys all energy: "Art is long and time is fleeting, and our hearts, though strong and brave, still, like muffled drums, they are beating funeral marches to the grave.""" - And this permeates the poet. Even in the earliest poems, all written before the age of nineteen, "some of which," says the writer with curiosity and ingenuousness, "have reached the schools and seem to succeed," there are traces of this feeble passion, and almost we find the same fault in his last lines, and we might well be angry with a poet for shedding tears in his singing robes. We have a big fight with him because of his last verses in "Tales U 2292 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. From an inn along the road" (Cansaço), which are still very beautiful. They begin with: "O little feet! What long years must you wander between hopes and fears," and end with this line: "O little souls! As pure and white And crystalline as rays of light Straight from heaven, your divine source; Refracted Through the mists of the years, How red does my setting sun look, how dull does this soul of mine look! "This is not a Christian doctrine. Pure and white are good adjectives, but a parent should know that there is as much real meanness and selfishness in a child as there is in a real old poet. But this affectation, or possibly true humility, can also be found in Hood, a much healthier poet mentally, but suffering from poor physical health. Longfellow's translations are excellent. They are of many languages, and they are all picturesque and good. See, for example, that capital sonnet by Lope de Vega, "Tomorrow:" "Lord, what am I, that with incessant solicitude you have sought me, that you have waited for me, soaked with unhealthy dews", etc., which is worthy of all praise. Reads also, very fond of many of his Danish and Swedish plays.HENRY W. LONGFEllow.293 That he loves the old land, and indeed, it is shown by many little touches, particularly in writing the best verses, except those of Tennyson, never written about a man. who in the years to come will become a hero, the Duke of Wellington. The poem is called "The Guardian of the Cinque Ports" and was published in the Atlantic Monthly shortly after the Grand Duke's death. We can also quote those beautiful lines about the poor dying soldier in the hospital at Scutari, kissing the shadow of Saint Philomena (Miss Nightingale) as he fell against the wall beside her bed. The story is a poem in itself, but Longfellow, lifted, as he puts it, to a "higher level" by the events in Crimea, does not hesitate to prophesy that the light of events will endure. his speech and song, that light that its rays will shed from the gates of the past". So too, to be perfectly national - and a good poet must be national - in the midst of the war with the South - when a poet rises up to sing of the heroic feat of those defenseless little people?—Longfellow prophesied the victory of the North. The Northernsloop, the Cumberland, was shot down at Hampton Roads by a southern iron ship, and the men, 'it is said, sank with joy, to which Longfellow sings: 294 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS, on the seas! Thou art at peace in the troubled stream. Oh! wild land with hearts like these, Thy flag that was torn in two, Shall be one again, And one! sewing!" The compatriots of America, who have not yet produced the national poet, are very proud, and naturally, of this honest, virile, and clean writer.Melancholy.His broad, bold forehead catches the sunlight from the four points of heaven and the spreads, shining and bearing fruit in the homes of his readers. Longfellow is the healthiest, warmest, most harmonious of all American poets. True to nature, he is most true to himself. The most barren legend is made fertile by warmth and the fervor of his intellect; but when, as in this 'Song of Hiawatha,' he embraces a tradition fraught with the elements of social progress, his genius, spreading its broad wings heavenward, shows us still more unmistakably how the world inclines. man's longing for the happiness of others man." We have said nothing about Longfellow's three best or most ambitious poems, one of which - a sort of "Faust" - the "Golden Legend" is freely and elegantly written . -e-water to Bailey's "Festus", not to mention Goethe's "Faust". "The second is Hiawatha" and the third is "Miles Standish". One will be, they say, the epic of America, the other of New England. Neither is likely to survive, except as curiosities. "Hiawatha" is written in soft iambics, very easy to imitate, and this is how they work: (6

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"As the bowstring is, so is the woman for the man; although she bends him, she obeys him, although she pulls him, she still follows him." So said young Hiawatha to himself and pondered, much perplexed by various sentiments, listless, wishing, hoping, fearing, Still dreaming of Minnehaha, Of fair Laughing Water In the land of the Dacotahs. This, as Touchstone says, is the “ideal position to market”. Epics are not made like that. In addition, the theme of the love of a red man and his squaw, who can not be anyone's ancestors, who were from the most cruel, brutal and degraded races, are hardly heroes and heroines for the supreme Caucasian race. "Miles Standish" is very loose, and in hexameters, and that rules out its being an epic.296 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.1. the one who honored his homeland and honored his race; that he has never written a word that, when he dies, he wants to erase; whose book, like an enveloping and omnipresent fairy, has entered thousands and thousands of American and English homes, and has never entered any without bringing with it purity and pleasure.{MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.

MISTER. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.&&&T It is quite possible that Mr. Swinburne objected to being called a "man of letters." It is not that such men reject the fees awarded by publishers. On the contrary, we assume that, for the sake of writing, the poor demand and receive high salaries when their name is good in the market. Swinburne, then, is a poet, but by no means, pure and simple, taking these words "at his word"; but a poet is of a rare order: vigorous, free, salty, and floating like the sea; full of fire, trait, feeling and expression; a poet who once sat beside crowned singers, and shares Olympus with Tennyson, or disputes empire with Browning. For it is a very damnable thing with Fame, for the worn-out old soldier of a hundred fights at once to give way to a child soldier, and 300 MODERN MEN OF LETTERES. that the fierce flame of the hero of the day will eclipse the constant splendors of him who has conquered and worn the diadem of music for years. This young man and, we believe, almost totally spoiled son of fortune, is the last to arrive between letters and has already reached the highest form. the one who does not approve, looks young, green and not very healthy. He has ancient blood in his veins, but he did not run into form and flesh. There is no question about the quality of his brain, nor is there any question about the quality of his heart and body; one is of the best order; of others, the less said, the better. In height, this poet measures about one meter sixty-five; at the age of twenty-seven (born at Holmwood, Surrey, 1843); his hair, which is thick and abundant, is fiery red; His face has that paleness that goes with red hair, a paleness intensified by study and passion and the fierce rebellious spirit within. Thin, ill-dressed, or ill-cut, for the "clothes he wears," as Artemus War puts it, seldom seem to fall for it, the fiery little spirit seems neither a poet nor a gentleman, and yet he is both. by birth. An Eton boy and an Oxford man—he was Balliol's pupil and a first-rate Greek—the poet's wide and correct reading does credit to his college as well as his school. He left the MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. 301 Oxford without graduating, and in 1861 he published his first poems, "Queen Mother" and "Rosamond", both deceased. Four years later he produced "Atalanta in Calydon", a white room with a Greek binding, which immediately conquered the public and the press; and then it was remembered that the young poet was an Etonian, an Oxonian, and the nephew of a baronet of ancient descent. All of these things count in the balance. Poverty and low birth rates are issues that weigh on many geniuses these days: he may be a pure diamond, but who wants the sun to make him shine? The sun was shining on the "Atalanta". tell the truth that you deserved all the praise you received. It is pure Greek, as Greek in sentiment as if Keats had written it, or Shelley had translated it from Aeschylus. The author of him must have just been born when he was fired with the idea of ​​"Orestes" and "Eumenides". In fact, there are clear traces of the sublime Greek trilogy in the poem, and the melancholic music is worthy of the theme. The two passions or demons that possess this fiery little man of genius have remained strongly chained during this translation, but from time to time one shows his cleft foot. What are these demons? Incontinence is one of them - or, if the Teutonic one is preferred, lust - and the other is an arrogant rebellion against God. Swinburne would admit neither, if we are to be believed.302 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS {certain stories current in literary society. He does not admit that there is a disclosure of a matter and believes that lust is an excellent and natural law. Now, we are not going to repeat one iota of what is well known in literary society, and will surely one day be known to the world. Let gossips read what gossips write, and scavengers gather their heaps, of which they will find enough; we have only to concern ourselves with the books of this truly excellent poet. If he has the right - which we deny - to publish such things, we have the right to criticize him. We said that a little devil appeared in "Atalanta", and that was a rebellion against God. veiled like a statue of Satan covered with his wings, he looked truly beautiful, majestic, sad and sublime. The gods give us a poisonous drink made of wine and herbs that infects our blood; but the chorus speaks still more plainly against ONE God: "Seen above other gods of the forms of things, Swift without feet and flier without wings; Insufferable, not clothed with death or life; and loathing and strife, Who gives a star and takes away the sun, a small flame, and binds the great sea with a little sand; the one who makes desire and kills desire with shame; the one who shakes the heavens like ashes in his hand; the one who, seeing light and For the same reason, shadow loses day and night, like fire devours the mark: Punish without a sword and whip without a rod: THE SUPREME EVIL, GOD.” There can be no doubt as to the spirit which dictated this, yet the times embraced and praised him, and the feeble youth found him "courageous" and proclaimed him in atheistic - pardon us - anti-theistic or anti-theological is the expression. newspaper, that we can remember, has testified against this. Saturday declared that "we were listening to one of Euripides' contemporaries, who sought to copy the manner of Aeschylus," a poet full of vivid force and fullness of expression. The Spectator, that the work "was a bit ingrained with Greek wonder, but still excellent. One and Most High God are hardly Greek! The Times, who had an eye for the natural landscape (that dear old Times! What had what to do with it?) and a copious vocabulary of rich but simple English.and might have said Shelley couldn't touch it for blasphemy.And the matronly chaste Morning Herald introduced the poem with a laugh: "Surely this is the most complete and complete

.304 chosen effort that announced for a long time that a scholar and a poet had come among us. A scholar! Therein lies the fault. Mr. Swinburne had prefaced two sets of elegiac Greek verses, of very good quality as university exercises, and dedicated to that extremely Greek old man and excellent writer of very plain English, Walter Savage Landor, with whom he had lived for some time in Florence, and there was no doubt that he was a scholar here. But he is not only a scholar in Greek, but also in French. This mix of Franco-Greek upbringing, with a dash of Landor-Italian, had been too much for a small brain, but very good. In fact, that brain must be small which, after reading Job, can have a one-sided view of God or of nature, or, if it wishes. call it, the great First Cause, what Mr. Swinburne does. We shall see shortly where this French Greek, or modern Priapean, led our poet. We wish our readers to think that we have no cruelty in our criticism, but we will meditate on what we point out. Mr. Swinburne is, for this age, an excellent poet; perhaps the best thing our age has produced, save one. But he started his fight against the world. Your intellect is subversive. He cares about MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURne. It doesn't matter what creed or moral system you overthrow. Fight like our old sea lions, stick to stick. "There we were," says Commodore Trunnion, "sending bullets and grenades at him, hurling hot-as-hell hand grenades, and dropping stinking pots in his cellar." The Lord. Swinburne has distributed hand grenades for a long time. In the year 1865 the house of Moxon, which had been, until Tennyson's retirement from it, the renowned publisher of poets, published a certain volume of A. C. Swinburne's "Poems and Ballads," and the press, to their astonishment, discovered that a pot of very deadly stench (a firearm, which with its thick smoke and suffocating stench, almost poisoned those it killed) was thrown in our midst. In this sense, the renowned publisher Moxon apologized to the public, withdrawing the book and refusing to sell it. The placement of a work in an Index Expurgatorius was a good advertisement, and Mr. and the sale was joyful. The poet defended himself and insisted that he did not write for boys and girls, and that there was literature far above bread and butter and an apron before school, which is very true. But alas, these poems are not written for men, unless X306 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. to those wretches who have been on the shore of Circe and turned into beasts. The volume is a beautiful volume and contains wonderful poetry. In excellent prose Mr. Swinburne (for he writes in the Biweekly) has told us of his antagonism to Christ. In this volume he not only proclaims this, but chooses to make the world understand, in the most unequivocal terms, that he preferred the worship of Venus. Something even worse can be found in this sad book. We do not believe that any pure gentleman or woman could perceive the unspeakable baseness of some of the verses, nor do we dare print our exposition of them; but we will give some copies, and these, needless to say, are by no means the worst. In this first musical rhapsody, the poet declares his contempt for the Savior of the world: “You have won, oh pale Galilean; the world has turned gray with your breath; We drink from Letian things and feed on the fullness of death. * *Oh, lips in which live blood fails, remains of torture and rods, oh, terrifying glories of hanged saints and members of gods! Though all men abuse them in spirit before you, and all knees bow, I do not kneel, nor do I adore you, but standing, I watch to the end." In the following lines, this ardent devotee of Venus prophesies her triumph; still addressing Christ : .he was king, where another was queen, she is crowned., as in garments and fair as foam, and swifter than kindling fire, and a goddess and mother of Rome!" prose, and the argument is not very strong, consisting only of the fact that Swinburne prefers the desire of the world and the cult of Venus to the cult that demands purity and submission.Rome-Venus and the Blessed Virgin.The poem itself is a study, extremely tuneful and, by an oft-repeated trick, appropriate alliteration, very liquid. Let us now pass from a meaningless abhorrence of faith to a declaration of no faith at all. The first was in ancient form, a "Hymn to Proserpina", after the proclamation of the Christian faith in Rome; the second is a French farewell song to a certain Félise. This lady, of whom the lover seems to be very tired, is mockingly instructed to pray: X 2308 MODERN LETTERING. sadness like this; The sterile flower of your prayer, You will discover how sweet it is. Oh blind fools, what are you looking for there in the air? Merciful, compassionate gods, And these will answer you again. Will you always knock on the door, fools of fate? Fools and blind; for this is true, that all of you shall not live, but die. What did you find durable? Or what did you find on high, Beyond the blind sky? The ghosts of words and dusty dreams, Old memories, sick and dead faiths. Who among you thinks that his prayer can change green to red, or stones to bread? young and ignorant who, because they can write Greek and French verse, think their education is over, still have something to pray for; and to prove it we will lightly touch on that Franco-Priapian method of bruising, biting and kissing and various completely Gallic or Bacchic passionate exercises, or Delian if you like, but neither English nor manly. This is how he sings to her goddess: MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. like immobile melodies, And they move to the beat of the music of passion With meek and lascivious repentance. "What a line, what a sentence is that! Let's go a step further in this passage, shall we take a look at "Hermaphroditus"? But no; for people who understand, that is enough. And a situation of indescribable difficulty for the Nation French, without an omen of good importance, all who loved liberty and the advancement of the people looked seriously with care, but the poet Swinburne attacked himself in fury, and wrote an ode "at one sitting." of public opinion, instead of giving our all about this hasty production.” It is a tension – in a double sense – of sound and poetry: a poem that surpasses even Swinburnian standards in the tremendous vehemence of the words, is better than the bard's own phrase, such as 'The blood of thought that works To produce hope with pains of procreation'.

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310 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. · The blood of thought works hard, but hope is frustrated. The product is a misshapen thing, a misshapen monster, inspiring more joy than terror. The stanza and the antistrophe resound with portentous booms, but they are sound and nothing more. Our ears are pierced by the wailing and thunder, our eyes are reddened by frequent blood and fire. But the result is something that must be considered, even artistically, the worst and weakest of all Mr. Swinburne's productions. "Mr. Swinburne is caught up in this age of cold propriety in the middle life of society. In the passion he exudes in ordering a postage stamp, in the cold blood of Mr. Trollope, he is horrified and tired. He is sick of philistines , but he longs not for love in the warm, manly English style. The books he produced can never be read by the young, to whom a poet is chiefly addressed. They might have been sung in Sodom, and the lewd hymns to Adonis might Have been sung in Sodom.Been rightly howled in Gomorrah.CHARLES KINGSLEY.

CHARLES KINGSLEY., (CANON KINGsley. ) Some twenty years ago, or more, that a young man of letters - who, indeed, did not earn his spurs, and should be called a boy of letters after having taught a class of workmen - Mathematics and rudiments of Latin, he entered the cafe belonging to the Institution, "and looked with some interest at its walls. God knows that they were quite naked, learning fast, and that the religious and political bookseller who had begged him to enter the Institution and work for the benefit of the working classes it was a farce, but there was a glamor and an illusion, and the young man felt that he was doing something to better humanity, and make the world, in his own small way, better than he found it. = 314 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS living utterly uselessly The institution has now collapsed, and to Latin and mathematics the workers have shown unequivocally that they prefer Great Vance's "Walking in the Zoo," "Champagne Charley," and a host of ridiculous songs. But in those days there was a lot of uproar among the people; It was 1848, but the Charter and the Five Points were still being debated. The pasta was boiling. In France, Lacordaire preached the Gospel and with it the benefit of the poor. Abbe Lamennais had made a social treatise on some of the Saviour's sayings, under the title, we believe, of "The Gospel of Liberty"; and before the beholder, on the whitewashed walls of the Institution, hung two remarkable portraits: one was that of Eugene Sue, then so well known for his socialist novels; the other, that of Charles Kingsley, M.A., author of "Alton Locke." the high nobility, and also of modern production. He had a thick black beard and mustache, high black satin stockings with a cascade of black satin over the front of his shirt, short black hair, dark eyebrows, and a shiny CHARLES KINGSLEY.

eyes, looking straight at the spectator, and seemingto say, "How clever I am!" The pendant, the Rev.Charles Kingsley-in the subscription of the picturehe had dropped the " reverend "-was as entirelyEnglish as Eugene Sue was French . A high nobleforehead, large, earnest, deep- set eyes (which thelithograph had made hollow as if with thought andwork) , a firm, close- shut mouth, and large andpowerful jaw; here was a poet as well as a parson ,a fighter as well as a writer, a leader as well as apriest. Waving black hair, now thinned by time,adorned the head, and earnest, glowing, lustrous,and true- hearted eyes shone out from beneath theforehead, and seemed to speak openly to whomsoever listened , " Come, let us work together for thegood of mankind. Love me, for I love you; or if Ican't convince you, then-—” Such was CharlesKingsley, as good and as free- natured a soul as one.would care to see. And yet the Devil was about totry him in many ways; has tried him both withadversity and prosperity, and he is still a noblehearted man.The young fellow turned away from the whitewashed wall and solaced himself—not to be abovehis fustian- coated pupils-with some smoked coffeeand very coarse bread and butter, for which the' institooshun," as it was called by the greasy cadof a religious bookseller who tried to make the،،316 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.thing pay, and to pass off his " goody " literatureat the same time-for which, as we said, the"institooshun " pocketed a sum that would haveafforded good viands. But the method of themajority of those who wanted to help the Workingman in those days, was to get a good round sumout of him, and to make him pay for it too. Hencethe Institution fell to the Great Vance, to comicsingers and such obscene birds of prey, who servedout the working- man as the Harpies did the fleshof the Pater Æneas:"With hideous cryAnd clattering winds, the hungry Harpies fly:They snatch the meat, defiling all they find ,And parting leave a loathsome stench behind. "And even at the time these portraits hung in theInstitution, it did not pay. The typical working- man,who really wished to learn Latin and mathematics,soon rose to be more than a working-man, and theloafer who cared about nothing, remained a loafer.After all these years this young author has found itconvenient for himself to believe that the typicalworking- man is , like all good and great men, somewhat of a rare bird, and to acknowledge-as hegrows towards fogey-dom-that the young men ofthe present day would rather play at croquet withthe girl of the period, or even dress in " drag, " playat an amateur theatre, burn statues in a collegeCHARLES KINGSLEY. 317quadrangle, or listen to the Christy Minstrels, thanteach the typical working-man mechanics and therudiments of Latin.Mr. Charles Kingsley was at that time veryfiercely assailed by Reviews. The critic- creaturecame out as usual very strong, and fired away blankcartridge with amazing vigour. It did not do anyharm, of course, because Kingsley has long beentutor to a prince, a companion of Prince Albert, afriend of the Queen, an University Professor, and aCanon of the Anglican Church. It has even beenwhispered that he will be a Bishop! -and oh!please, do you hear what, according to the Reviews,he was. He was an author of revolutionary literature, the inciter to ferocity, railing, and mad oneeyed excitement; he was guilty of Jacobinism andJacquerie under the disguise of Christian Socialism;he was pupil of Albert, Ouvrier, and Louis Blanc;he believed in the visionary organisation of Labour.He is by implication in the same article found guiltyof doctrines as outrageous as the maddest ravings offurious insanity—as wicked as the most devilish spiritcould by possibility have devised. Murder is openlyadvocated all property is declared to be robbery, &c.This was from a leading article in the Times, foistedneck and crop into the Quarterly, in which the Rev.F. D. Maurice and the Rev. Charles Kingsley figureas culprits at the bar. Nay, we find by a quotation318MODERNMEN OF LETTERS.that they and (we presume) their fellows are Communists to the utmost extent. (Vide Quarterly Review,vol. lxxxix. p. 523 , 1851.) "Community of womenfollows, as an almost necessary consequence, thecommunity of goods; " and then follows a quotation ,whence taken it does not appear, but from “ one ofthese Teachers of the People." (One of twenty- onebooks reviewed side by side with Kingsley's andMaurice's. ) " We do not require to introduce thecommunity of women; it has always existed. Yourmiddle- class gentry are not satisfied with having thewives and daughters of their wages- slaves at theirdisposal-not to mention innumerable public prostitutes but they take a particular pleasure inseducing each other's wives. Middle-class marriageis, in reality, a community of wives. ”✓Why do we make these painful extracts? Simplyfor the instruction of young authors. Few names aremore honoured than Charles Kingsley's; no man hasever been more chivalrously devoted to his home;no lady or Queen of Beauty in the highest tourneythat ever existed-aye, even in that cloud- land ofKing Arthur's Court-was ever more proud or fondof her own true knight than she who bears his name;nor is there wanting that sweet after- glow of marriedlove, sublimed with sorrows, deepened by trials,rooted by the lapse of years, intensified by a knowledge of general baseness, but a belief in the purityCHARLES KINGSLEY. 319of one, and a thousand times more beautiful becauseten thousand times more rare than ring-dove cooingof the young couples whose love shines brightly inthe morning, but perishes long before the noon oflife . Few names are more honoured, few men somuch, so worthily beloved, and yet hardly one, as wehave shown, who has been so bespattered with thecorroding gall of critics' ink .Charles Kingsley was born, June 12, 1819, atHolme Vicarage, on the borders of Dartmoor, and atfourteen became pupil of the Rev. Derwent Coleridge,son of S. T. C. He afterwards studied at King'sCollege, London; then at Cambridge, where hegained a scholarship , several prizes, and came out afirst-class in classics and second in mathematics.His first cure was Eversley, and within a year- and- ahalf after that, the rectory becoming vacant, it waspresented to him by its patron , Sir John Cope. TheKingsleys, here let us say, are of an ancient Cheshirefamily, Kingsley of Kingsley. One ancestor raiseda troop of horse, and the commission, signed byIreton and Oliver Cromwell, is preserved still . Ayounger brother of this Republican captain wentwith the Pilgrim Fathers to America; and a descendant, Dr. Kingsley, was some years ago classicalprofessor at Yale College, U.S. There was fightingblood generally in the family. General Kingsleycommanded a brigade at the battle of Minden, so320 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.well known by Campbell's glorious ode. Severalothers have served and fought, and Kingsley hashimself not only been called the Chartist parson ,but the soldier-priest. Now, even when ' tis pastmeridian with him, he has a tall, lithe form, a broadshouldered Norman figure, the flat cheek and strongchin of Norman blood; and he is still a capital rider,an unwearied fisherman, cunning with the angle andfly; and once he was one of the best wrestlers andfoot leapers, both at the high and flat leap, knownabout Dartmoor. But we have to do with feats ofmind, not of the body.The old Puritan stock of piety grafted on Coleridgean philosophy, enlightened by such far- offtouches of the great man as his son Derwent, anable pupil, caught, produced a very genuine andsingular school of work- a-day Christianity-perhapsthe very best known. How it has culminated,whether it has not overgrown even the breadth ofMaurice and Stanley, we will not here debate, butwhen Kingsley began, a more noble- minded youngpriest seldom if ever preached . He was a devotee ofthe tenth or fourteenth centuries landed on the nineteenth. When he was twenty- seven he wrote his"Saint's Tragedy, " a magnificent unacted drama, fullof the social brotherhood that underlies all Christianity, and to which it has come before now, and willeventually come. And this " Saint's Tragedy, " howCHARLES KINGSLEY. 321pure, how noble it is! How it made the hearts of usyoungsters beat; and let us thank God that it wasbetter, purer, nobler far than the poetry (?) of theBal Mabille and the Montagne Rouge, of the Casinoand the Alhambra, that our fervent young Mr. Swinburne gives us now. Compare Kingsley's " ElizabethofHungary" with " Faustine! " Takethe erotic youngMr. Swinburne, with his biting, bruising kisses andhis prayer," Come down and relieve us from virtue,Our Lady of Pain, "and Kingsley's Monks' refrain," A luxu et avaritiaA carnis illectamentisDomine libera nos; '""and then, thank God, oh! younger brothers; for asour outcome has been dressing "in drag " and thegirls of the period , young men with painted faces andhenna dyed eyelids, what, by the rule of contrary,will your outcome be? With this we leave you forthe present, giving you to meditate till we finish thisarticle next week upon the aim of Kingsley when hewrote " The Saints' Tragedy, " and drew the picture ofElizabeth of Hungary, thus depicted by his friend ,the Rev. F. D. Maurice: " To enter into themeaning of Self- Sacrifice-to sympathise with onewho aims at it—not to be misled by counterfeits of it-not to be unjust to the truth which may be mixedY322 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.with those counterfeits, is a difficult task, but anecessary one for any one who takes this work inhand. "Looking back from this distance of time, wealmost wonder that all lovely minds did not gatherto the author of the " Saints ' Tragedy" after the publication of that remarkable poem. It contained notonly poetry of a very high order, but its characterand its comedy are equally good . Its intent is alsoas apparent as the daylight. But all minds, oneneed scarcely remind the reader, unless in gentlestsatire, are by no means lovely. The majority,perhaps, are unlovely and unloveable. A storm ofblame, mingled with faint praise , chiefly given to theweaker parts, and laid on where it was not required ,followed Kingsley. He little recked it, but seemsto have abandoned poetical play-writing, leaving thatto R. H. Horne, to Richard Bedingfield, JohnWatkins, Westland Marston, and a host of acted andunacted dramatists. Horne had written about thattime his " farthing epic, " a magnificent poem, published at the price of one farthing, to show at whatprice the Philistine Englishmen, in the author'sopinion, appraised true poetry. Kingsley therefore leftpoetry, and took to studying modern matters, chieflypolitical, although his verse has the true ring andswing in it, and is political not only in a present butin a paulo - post- future sense , as this example will show:CHARLES KINGSLEY. 323" The day of the Lord is at hand, at hand!Its storms roll up the sky:The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold;All dreamers toss and sigh;The night is darkest before the morn;When the pain is sorest the child is born,And the day of the Lord is at hand.Gather you, gather you, angels of God—Freedom, and Mercy, and Truth;Come! for the Earth is grown coward and old;Come down and renew us her youth.Wisdom, Self- Sacrifice, Daring, and Love,Haste to the battle-field, stoop from above,To the day of the Lord at hand. ”At that time there was working in many ways aremarkable man, Bohemian pur sang, a litterateur,a newspaper writer, the originator of Punch, achemist, a discoverer of the way of calcining carbon,until it became pure diamond-only without thelustre which gives the diamond value-an inventoreven of patent buttons, a dreamer and a reformer—Henry Mayhew. This gentleman had, in the fallingdays of the Morning Chronicle, shed some lustreupon its pages by his articles as its commissioneramong the working districts of England. Then followed "London Labour and London Poor," a seriesof papers gathered from working- men themselves, anundigested heap of curious and frightful matter,showing under what burden the tired -out TitanEngland was staggering along. The subject wasY 2324 MODERN MEN OF of immense interest, and awakened many.Charles Kingsley, among the rest, looked upon thebusiness of reclaiming those poor. There were thosewho would work, those who could not work, andthose who would not work, and heart and soulKingsley plunged into that matter. He and theRev. F. D. Maurice preached more than once on thecondition of the poor, and held that it was wrong forone class to be doomed to ignorance, want, andmisery, while another lived like chartered libertinesin luxury, ease, and too often in vice. Kingsley hadmixed much with the workers, and the result wasone of the most powerful novels ever written"Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet. " It is full ofcharacter, full of Christian sympathy with, and lovefor, the strugglers and toilers . Of course they whocould only see one side of the matter, at oncebranded the author as a Chartist Parson . Thecharacter of Alton Locke seems to have been basedupon that of Thomas Cooper, the author of thePurgatory of Suicides," a most remarkable poem,the product of two years of imprisonment for defending the rights of the poor, and for being the mouthpiece of much of the want and discontent of theworkers of the North. Branded as a Chartist andas an atheist, he was one but not the other. ThomasCooper, like a great-hearted man that he was, foughtnobly with his political doubts and troubles, and has66-CHARLES KINGSLEY. 325"been for some years landed in the safe keeping ofChristianity. With the same honest love for hisbrethren that he always had, this Christian lecturerhas atoned for past errors of faith by continually lecturing and preaching in aid of truth in the very hallin the City Road where he once taught infidelity.By the side of Alton Locke, tailor and poet, theremove in the novel various life- like characters, one ofthe best of which is Sandy Mackaye, newspapereditor, lecturer, Chartist spouter, and general exciter,but of a noble nature, and one who wishes well tohis fellows . Strong in his conviction, Sandie-whoin our opinion has a great touch of Carlyle in him,to whom, indeed, we fancy Kingsley was somewhatindebted, as far as a painter is indebted to a layfigure-bursts out and tells Alton Locke to " Singawa'; get yoursel' in child wi' pretty fancies andgran' words, like the rest o' the poets, and gang tohell for it." "Why?" asks Alton Locke. The oldeditor lifts up his fine head, and, pointing to amiserable court, tells him that a merely pretty poetis but " a flunkey and a humbug, wasting God's giftsand kenning it, for the charms o' vanity o ' selfindulgence. " Then pointing again to the alley, hecries: " Look! there's not a soul in that yard but'seither beggar, drunkard, thief, or worse. Writeaboot that! Say how ye saw the mooth o' hell, andtwa pillars thereof at the entry-the pawnbroker's326 MODERN MEN OF o' one side and the gin- palace at the other—twa monstrous deevils , eating up men and womenand bairns, body an' soul. Look at the jaws o' themonsters. " "What jaws, Mr. Mackaye?" "Thefaulding doors o' the gin- shop, goose. Are na theya mair damnable man- devouring idol than any red- .hot statue o' Moloch, or wicked God- Magog, whereinthey auld Britons burnt their prisoners? Look atthae bare-footed, bare- backed hizzies, with theirarms roun' the men's necks, and their mouths fullo' vitriol and beastly words! Look at that Irishwoman pourin' gin down the babbie's throat! Lookat that raff o' a boy gaun out o' the pawnshop, wherehe's been pledging the handkerchief he stole in themorning, into the gin-shop to buy beer poisoned wi'grains o' paradise, coculus indicus, and saut, and a'damnable, maddening, thirst- breeding, lust- breedingdrugs! Look at that girl that went in wi' a shawlon her back and cam' out wi'out ane! Drunkardsfrae the breast! -harlots frae the cradle! -damnedbefore they are born! John Calvin had an inkling o'the truth there, I'm a'most driven to think, wi' hisreprobation deevil's doctrines. " " Well- but-Mr.Mackaye, I know nothing about these poor creatures. ""Then ye ought. What do ye ken about the Pacific?Which is maist your business? You a poet! "This, the reader will think, is strong language,but it is not a whit too strong. It awakened many aCHARLES KINGSLEY. 327}large-hearted man, and the world is the better forits having been written. It is not dead yet. TheQuarterly Review had, of course, an immense deal tofind fault with in this Chartist Socialist. His temper,it said, was almost ludicrous, as if any one couldwrite in a fine sweet temper, with such want, misery,and wretchedness about him. "Whatsoever of realhonesty, charity, good sense, and good feeling thestory evolves, is (with almost, if not quite, a singleexception) among the rich-all the contrary qualitiesare among the poor; and every page is full of themerits of the poor, and the follies and crimes of therich. "* Exactly so, Mr. Reviewer, because Kingsleyhad a purpose to serve, and because, as SandyMackaye says, the circumstances of many of thepoor make them " damned before they were born. " Itis precisely against that system that Kingsley wrote.It was not alone with writing that he was contented. He established, with the aid of others, aTailors' Labour Agency, or Working Tailors' Association, and other associations in other trades followed, all having some measure of success. Nextcame "Yeast, " a novel in three volumes, full of thewrongs of the agricultural poor, and containing-forCharles Kingsley is a lyrist of no mean order, andwhen the fit is on him, writes songs that live—a fine

  • Quarterly Review, Vol. lxxxix.

wild lyric that set the blood in the veins of the Tories, and especially of the editor of the Quarterly, in a ferment. But why bark and close your teeth? Kingsley had heard such a song, no doubt, but he brought order and fire to it. The song is sung by a gypsy boy, "at a party of disgruntled workers." you because The varmer came screaming, To save one's new broodmare: I say, you and your herd can roast, For anything we poor boys like. the fruit of all your labor, forever—r—r! "This is 'direct and offensive,' the reviewers said; but 'we have a newer, more direct and more offensive adoption and exposition of these detestable doctrines.'" Drew, Minister of St. John's, Fitzroy Square, London, invited Kingsley to some evening lectures in June and July, 1851. On June 22, Kingsley preached the sermon, and after he had finished, Mr. Drew he rose from his reading table and told his congregation that he "believed the doctrine of much of the discourse to be false." Mr. Drew was perhaps right in freeing his soul from what he thought was CHARLES KINGSLEY's mistake; but Professor Maurice, on whose speech Kingsley had preached, states that Mr. Drew specially invited Mr. Kingsley because he read and admired his works. And what was offensive about the sermon? One sentence, full of "subversive doctrine", gives us Kingsley's ethics censor. Get ready for a terrifying explosion! in a Christian nation is to preach and practice liberty, equality and fraternity, in the fullest, deepest, broadest and simplest sense of these three great words”. Kingsley had dared to say that the accumulation of capital from the needs of the poor was contrary to the will of God; who would exclaim: "Woe to you, who by enriching a few you impoverish many!" and even said that "the history of the Church in all ages is full of sins of the clergy against the people" and the Parliament of England granted the Irish masses an inalienable right to the soil on which they live, provided they pay what God, nature and man demand: the wages of labour. Kingsley's fortunes always advanced, albeit slowly. He was never a rich man, but always was honorable. He was appointed chaplain to the Queen, tutor to the Prince of Wales, canon of Chester. He was appointed Professor of Modern History at the University of Cambridge in 1859. He wrote other works:" Phæton", "Alexandria", "Glaucus", " 6 Hypatia; "a novel, "Westward Ho: "There is no finer and nobler story for children"; a fairy tale, "The Children of the Water," which is praised as a poetic chef d'oeuvre; "The Celtic, the Roman, the Danish", lectures on history; "The hermits", "Here is the wake" and "Letters from the tropics". We know for sure, it will bloom and bear fruit a hundred times more, when we, and he, and his children, and children. Children, rest and wait for the day of judgment.1

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.}1RALPH WALDO EMERSON. AMONG the Curiosities of Literature, a profession surrounded by so many thorns and so many troubles (stumbling blocks and stumbling blocks for the weak and trials for the strong), a short and belated reply from Mr. Carlyle for an inquisitive spirit. "Sir," wrote the researcher, "people say that you are a pantheist; is that true?" "Sir," replied the philosopher, "I am neither a pantheist nor a pottheist. The serious charge of pantheism, and if one were a special advocate it would not be difficult to make that charge. For Carlyle and Emerson, but especially for the latter, the preferred charge against Socrates it may well be done". But Emerson does it in a much more extensive and efficient way than Carlyle, because he is much less of a man, much less of a Christian, much less of heart and feeling and deep seriousness. We pray that anyone reading this will believe that there is not a written word that is not written with true love and honesty, and without exaggeration. Emerson never claims to be a Christian in the accepted sense, although his faith in the precepts of the Man Jesus is as strong as his belief in Zoroaster or Confucius (Koonfootze). Emerson's most ardent admirer will find that we appreciate him as much as he does. But we don't love that mind that is destructive and critical instead of comforting and uplifting. Build, Mrs. As far as Faith is concerned, Emerson has done his best to fill all young men with a vast and indescribable desire, an admiration for the great, a breezy, wide and scattered ambition, a love of nature and a curious pantheistic reverence for something: what it is, is not known. He is an admirable purveyor of the papacy and the creeds it curtails, for these unspeakable longings are never fulfilled, these broad, windy thoughts are extinguished in sudden gusts, these negative beliefs leave the heart empty and comfortless, and then the reader becomes the inhabitants of sicco, and, after wandering for some time, leads him to a concrete creed, "a firm foundation, and the seven demons of superstition, so that their last state is worse than the first." he is the man and as he is... he Is an American of the old school, an honor to his homeland, one of the greatest men of his age, vast and breezy in faith, seems steadfast in the wandering stars from America; he has a lot of culture, wide reading, erudition, research, cunning. He has little tenderness, no pathos, but a lot of poetry. He which he did. He is a cunning man, thin and heavy, lively, intelligent air, high forehead but not too broad. He is near seventy, having been born in 1803; he is an ultra-unitarian, although as much (or as little) in the Christian creed. He graduated from Harvard in 1821; he was ordained a minister of the Second Unitarian Church in Boston, a high place of broad views of the faith, and after some time espousing peculiar, and we presume still broader, notions, he left his pulpit and settled in the peaceful town of Concord. , to make his way towards the study of man and nature. Being an American, he soon began to "pray"; if he had been British, he would have given lectures. In 1837, he offered a prayer called "Thinking Man," before the Phi-Beta-Kappa Society of Boston, and 336 MODERN LETTERS. In 1838 he published "Literary Ethics: An Oration". Emerson took the world by storm. He histalk he covered innumerable topics; he was ambitious, daring, grand. He was especially suitable for young people and a young country. He said he had no intention of arguing, he announced; he did not teach, he showed. Likewise, he did not give lessons to persuade, he "prayed." Bear this in mind, and you hold the key to Emerson's popularity. In 1839 Mr. Emerson published "Nature: An Essay"; in 1840 he began The Dial, a review of literature, history, and philosophy, in which all three were very wild and utterly unlike anything to be published in Germany, France, or England. The conditions of literature are so different in the new America than in the old Europe. Here our writers, to some degree, are subservient to public opinion; there they are subordinated to a coarse and uneducated public opinion. They are therefore the freest and most daring, while European thought is the most solid, compressed and enduring. Emerson now proceeded to pour his bottles of mental champagne very quickly. In 1841 he gave us "Nature's Method", "The Reforming Man", three lectures and the first series of Essays by him. In 1844, the second series, "New England Re RALPH WALDO EMERSON." 1852, working with Mr. Ellery Channing, published the "Memoirs of the Countess D'Ossoli" (Margaret Fuller) After a visit to England, he published, in 1856, a work called "English Traits", in 1860 another, very little, but very sweet book, called "The Conduct of Life," and in the early spring of 1870, "Society and Solitude," his last, and by far the smallest and worst work he ever wrote. There is a certain amount of honest work and thought in these books, if there is also a fair amount of golden gingerbread and sparkling jewels. Let's talk about the flaws first. Let's casually take two or three sentences from his latest book, which, feeble though it may be, is to say, very fascinating for a child or young person to read.It's sweet to talk about kings",say the ancient satirists, and when Emerson gossips familiarly about "Paul, Plato, Zendavesta, Vishnu, Brahma, Socrates, Jesus, and other teachers of men," we almost think we know something about this fine company. But sit down after reading an Emerson essay and ask yourself: What did I get out of it? That is the test. Listen to it, for example, in Art: Ꮓ338 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. Here is the explanation of the analogies that exist in all the Arts. They are the reappearance of a mind that works on many materials for temporary purposes. Raphael paints wisdom; Phidias carves her, Shakespeare writes her, Wren builds her, Columbus sails her, Luther nails her, Washington arms her, Watt mechanizes her. Painting was called "silent poetry" and poetry "spoken painting" are convertible into the laws of all the others." Now, apart from the fact that this last platitude is a poor expansion of Horace, -De Arte Poetica:" Pictoribus atque poetis Quidlibet audendi semper fuit æqua potestas "we find in the first the simple pantheism of the last lines of the last volume of the Laureate, and, indeed, it has compressed the whole thing into those curious rhymes, "Flower on the cracked wall," in which it is so bold as to say, "plucking it from the cracks," that, if he knew how the flower "growing up," as Topsy says, he (Mr. Tennyson) "would know what is God and what is man." not only "paint and machine, arm, sail and preach," working through all things, as indeed He does, but He is worshiped in all things; He is "Jehovah, Jupiter, our Lord," all in one.Perhaps one of the missions of the Savior was to overthrow this madness, into which those who reject him will surely fall. In addition to these two subjects, and a simplistic list of names, there is RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 339 is nothing. Here again there is a peculiarly Emersonian phrase about the "Bibles of the World", "Bible, by the way, for him as good as another: one", I mean the Bibles of the world, or the sacred books of each nation, which express for each the supreme result of his experience. After the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures, which constitute the sacred books of Christendom, there is the Desatir of the Persians and the oracles of Zoroaster; the Vedas and the Laws of the Menu; the Upanishads; the Vishnu Purana; the Bhagvat Geeta of the Hindus; the books of the Buddhists; the Chinese classics and four other books, containing the wisdom of Confucius and Mencius. Other books also acquired a semi-conic authority in the world. Such are the Hermes Trismegistus, pretending to be the Egyptian remains; the Sentences of Epictetus; of Marco Antonino; the Vishnu Sarma of the Hindus; Gulistan of Saadi; the Imitation of Christ by Thomas à Kempis; and Pascal's thoughts. "This boastful sentence cannot fail to remind the reader of the jolly old man who greets the Vicar of Wakefield with his torrent of knowledge, contained in one sentence, which he always repeats. "Cosmogony or Creation of the World has intrigued philosophers everywhere. . seasons. What a mixture of opinions they cast on the Creation of the World! Sanconiathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus have tried." In fact, we are almost inclined to interrupt Mr. Emerson and ask, "Isn't his name Ephraim Jenkinson, with the simple Dr. Primrose when he awoke from his dream? "We are Z 2340 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS. We do not learn enough to pronounce on the Chinese Classics, nor on the Desatir of the Persians, but we know enough about the Bhagvat Geeta, the Talmud and the philosophy of Confucius (by far the best) , to Assure the reader that these holy books are wild and nonsensical fairy tales, dogmatic nonsense, mere Oriental nonsense, and cloaked folly, entangled with wild fantasies and lewd stories, which no man dares compare with clear reason and might. of the New Testament Phrase. The Imitatione Christi and the Paschal Thoughts are placed last. Why, there are higher and more solid thoughts, lofty resolutions, and God-taught endeavors, in one section of any one of these books, than in all of them. others. Far Eastern absurdities already assembled! Epictetus or Marcus Antoninus would win the lot! But put him on his own turf, without disturbing his mind with windy ideas from great books with which he is not entirely familiar, and Emerson is a writer top notch. writer. No man could do better as an editor of the Quarterly Review, or as a contributor. His two most valuable books are "English Traits," a most generous, thoughtful, and valuable estimate of the English people and nation, beyond all praise for its honest truth, its acute perception, its interesting and comprehensive style, its fearless speaking without fear. in blame and praise; and "The Conduct of RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 341Life." Finally, we meet Mr. Emerson as a poet, wild, romantic, suggestive; but he wrote other poems besides these chapter titles. Since rhyme and melody are to be distinguished from poetry proper, Emerson, it will be remembered, writes poetry with melody or rhyme. His verses are not precisely verses, but they are poetry. Usually this poetry is in short verse, as awkward as a freshly made macadam road, and much like a translation from the Anglo-Saxon or a passage from Tusser's "Hundred Points of Husbandry." Here, however, is a sonnet: (CRHODORA). In May, when the winds from the sea traversed our solitudes, I found Rhodora cool in the woods, Spreading her leafless blossoms in a damp corner, To please the desert and the slow current, The Purple petals, drooping in the pool, Blackened the water with its blissful beauty; Lost in earth and sky, Tell them darling, if eyes were made to see, Then beauty is its own excuse for existing: Why were you there? , O rival of the rose! I never thought to ask, I never knew; But in my sheer ignorance let's assume that the same power that brought me there, brought you there, bigger and better! We conclude with an astute passage from "English Features:" (6England is the best of present-day nations. Not an ideal structure, it is an old pile built at different times, with repairs, additions, and improvisations; but you see the best you have. London is the epitome of our times, and the Rome of today. Broad-foreheaded, broad-backed Teutons, stand in a solid phalanx square to the cardinal points: they make up the modern world, they conquered their vantage ground and held it through the ages. adverse. possession.. They are well marked and different from other leading races. England is compassionate. Rome was not. England is not so public in her bias; private life is her place of honor. Truth in private life, lying in public, mark these home-loving men.Their political conduct is decided not by general opinions, but by internal intrigues and personal and family interests.They cannot easily see beyond England. “Emerson is not the best of today's essayists; neither the most tender, nor the truest, nor the most powerful, nor the wisest. he doesn't speak to your heart, he speaks to your head. The effect of reading his papers, until you're well behind the scenes and know something, is what a college professor has on a freshman; and yet, after all, Emerson says little of himself; and what he says stimulates but does not nourish.MR. T. W. ROBERTSON.-

1MR. T. W. ROBERTSON.JIGNOR MAZZINI, who, in the years tocome, when the mists of contemporaryprejudice and falsehood shall have clearedaway, will be considered a very great man, writesto his friend Edward Quinet a letter which takesan extremely desponding view of present times.The view is , in a great measure, a true one, butit is one which is natural to all old men, butespecially so to one who, like Mazzini, has seenthe cherished hopes of his youth disappointed, whohas believed, and nobly believed, in humanity, buthas found at last that his faith was but a dreamresulting from his own nobleness. Thus Brutus,when dying on the field of battle, found virtue buta shade, and Mazzini wearies of this generation,which he says, truly enough, is " a mere instrument,having no faith, but only opinions; which abjuresGod, Immortality, Love, and a belief in an intelligent and providential law; receives laws asregulations, forms without substance, means withS346 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.out an end, while justice is regarded as Utopian,and worship is reserved for success; an age growingin intelligence but not in purpose." Upon thisthe Spectator remarks, " His view of this age is toodesponding, but is confirmed in great part by everyteacher, religious and secular, around us; " and itis with this in our mind that we would begin anessay on, or a review of, Mr. T. W. Robertson andhis comedies. For dramatic work is like none otherliterature—it reflects the age, or the wishes of theage. An author like Bacon, or Milton, or Gibbon,or Hobbes of Malmesbury, might and can afford towait, but a man like Shakespeare, or Ben Jonson,or Beaumont and Fletcher cannot. In a modifiedsense, also, Dr. Johnson's couplet is quite true:The Drama's laws the Drama's patrons give,And they who live to please, must please to live. ”There is no approval so delightful as a full house;no criticism so damning as a beggarly account ofempty boxes. Hence the decline of the Drama,and hence the merit of the courageous endeavourof Mr. Robertson to render one English theatre atleast worthy of the name, and to present a comedywhich reflected the manners of the age, and justlysatirised the follies of the day. This, too , at atime when almost all the plays that we have arestolen or taken from the French, without leaveoften, frequently with the consent of the authors;66MR. T. W. ROBERTSON. 347dramas which cannot possibly picture Englishmanners, which have almost all of them a stain oforiginal sin so deep that it cannot always be washedaway by any amount of English cleansing powder,and which if washed away leaves the adaptationweak, colourless, and worthless.Mr. Thomas William Robertson is one of thosefew dramatic authors who have been originallyactors. The great name of Shakespeare heads thelist; those of Carrick, Tobin, Colley Cibber, Buckstone, and a few others have to be included; butit follows that either the author is a bad actor, or,if a good actor, he is a poor and weak author. Theone rôle must subordinate the other. Colley Cibbersucceeded in both if we take his " Careless Husband "as a specimen, but in general the actor- author is amistake. Dramatic literature has a despotic Musewho will not be conciliated with a merely partialcourtship. Shakespeare taught one actor how toread his Ghost in " Hamlet," and himself madebut a lame representative of old Adam in " AsYou Like it . " Mr. Robertson, we believe, neverachieved distinction as an actor, and indeed was,we have been told , little better than a second- ratewalking gentleman at second- rate theatres. But hegained therefrom an immense knowledge of stagebusiness and effect, and that chief part of knowledge,to know what to say and to say no more. He348 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.never overloads his parts; he writes with excessive.neatness, and taking the measure of his audience,never treats it-whatever may be its componentparts to any deep reflections, poetical rhapsodies,long lengths of verse or measured prose, or pathosof any depth. What he means is always transparent, and hence his jokes never miss fire . Hehas been seconded by such good actors and actressesthat, although by no means acute, they seem tobe so, for while his plays really display their ownmerit more than any other writings that we knowof, and in a very clever way too, they have thesingular merit of persuading the actors that theyare profoundly clever. When a man or a womanhas to say for a hundred consecutive nights a pieceof flat English to which the situation gives point,and finds that the sympathetic audience alwaysgrins, giggles, or applauds the platitude , he or she,insensibly at least, becomes persuaded that thewords contain a deep meaning, a recondite wit ,which escapes or is above the ordinary perception .Hence the author has a sort of doubly- reflectedfame. The merit which was at first denied him isforced upon the actor's mind, and by him, by extrapoint, upon the audience.Born in June, 1839 , at Newark- on- Trent, Nottinghamshire, Mr. Robertson came before the footlightsby nature, for his father was a theatrical managerMR. T. W. ROBERTSON. 349very well known in what some facetious personsand the theatrical profession generally will call، ، the Provinces. " It is one of the virtues of the"profession " that it will persist in clothing smalland miserable matters with large names. Notorietyis called " fame," a struggle for existence "unbounded success," a sparse audience " a crowdedhouse, " and a small English county, not muchbigger than a Russian or American farm, one ofthe " Provinces. " By thus carefully disguising thesize of matters, these wise people keep up aconstant illusion, and live happily though surroundedwith squalor, degradation, and misery. Nothing ismore deceptive, as indeed it should be so, than thetheatre, and so thoroughly powerful is it in thisway, that those who have once taken to it neverwaken from the dream. Did they do so they wouldbe miserable, and like the man in Horace cry out ,(6O, by Apollo, friends!Me thou hast killed, not served. "We may be sure that Mr. Robertson " took verykindly " to the stage, but of that we have littleto say. He lived " more or less from his birth to1860 as an actor, " to quote a theatrical authority,but in 1860 he abandoned the stage for the careerof literature. His first original production was apiece at the Olympic called " A Night's Adventure, "in 1851. In 1861 he had written a farce called "The350 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Cantab," at the Strand; in 1864, " David Garrick,"a play, from the French, at the Haymarket; in1865, " Society, " first acted at Liverpool in May,was in November produced at the Prince of Wales'sTheatre; and in the same year he wrote the libretto 66 of an opera, Constance. " In 1866, his comedyof " Ours " was produced at the same Londontheatre, having been previously tried in Liverpool.In 1867, he wrote " Shadow Tree Shaft " for thePrincess's, " A Rapid Thaw" for the St. James's,and " Caste " at the Prince of Wales's, and wrotean entertainment for German Reed, called " ADream of Venice, " and his comedy " For Love "was produced at the Holborn. His succeeding andvery successful plays at the Prince of Wales'sTheatre were " Play, " " School," which ran for 381nights, and his last and least, " M.P." His intermediate and unsuccessful pieces were " Dreams "at the Gaiety, the " Nightingale " at the Adelphi,and a translation called a " Breach of Promise "at the Globe. Mr. Robertson has spent some timein Germany, and has married a lady born in thatcountry, and has evidently studied with much advantage the French stage, from which he hasadopted more than one incident. " School, " hismost poetical and successful play, was adapted,rather than translated , from the German play, "TheAschenbrödel ," but so skilfully has it been done thatMR. T. W. ROBERTSON. 351no trace of the original remains. An angry attackupon this unacknowledged adaptation in the Times,from a correspondent, was followed by an acuteparallel of the two plays by Mr. John Oxenford;but Mr. Robertson himself very discreetly keptsilence. It must be acknowledged that " School "is so very skilfully adapted that there is no proofof its German origin to be found in the piece itself.With the curious exception of having a maleteacher, Mr. Krux, as an instructor of girls, whichmight be well accounted for if we suppose that thedoctor kept a boys' and his wife a ladies' school,there are very few inconsistencies . The examinationof a number of school- girls for the delectation of anold beau and two young men, is unnatural andridiculous in its untruth; but the play as a whole isso charming that we wisely follow Horace's rule,and forgive all its faults .Let us, however, finish the " historical account "of our author. He has not flown at very high gamein literature, but it is due to him to say that hevery rightly, in one sense , despises the pompousassumption of the larger magazines and reviews.London Society is perhaps the most advancedmagazine that he has contributed to; but previouslyto his great success as a dramatic writer, he workedvery hard as a journalist; he contributed to Fun;edited, with Mr. Hingston, the lecture of Artemust352 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Ward; contributed to the " Savage Club Papers, "and wrote more than one truthful and patheticstory in the Christmas numbers of various magazines.It is, however, especially as a dramatist thatMr. Robertson must be viewed, and, curiously, as asuccessful dramatist at one theatre . Never was thepolicy of getting a good working company, and ofkeeping it together, more thoroughly proved to bethe right one. At the Prince of Wales's Theatre,under the management of Mrs. Bancroft, and withthe London company managed by Mr. FrederickYounge, there is absolutely nothing to be desired.So well do the actors and actresses enter into theparts played, that each one seems to have beenborn for the character. Mrs. Bancroft (MarieWilton) , her husband, and Mr. Hare, act so wellthat all trace of acting disappears. The style issimply that of the drawing-room; the theatre is sosmall and yet so elegant that it looks like a drawingroom; the actors and actresses like ladies andgentlemen indulging in very pointed conversation .And, wondrous to relate, when we repeat that verypointed conversation the next day, it is dull andpointless; yet so well is it given by the company,so thoroughly is every cue taken up, that what isactually dull enough to be real conversation , becomesburnished and glows with theatric polish on thestage. And this fact will account for the failure.MR. T. W. ROBERTSON. 353of all , or nearly all, of Mr. Robertson's pieces whenproduced at any other theatre but that in TottenhamStreet. Look, for instance , at the fate of " ARapid Thaw," " Shadow Tree Shaft, " " For Love, ""Dreams," " A Breach of Promise," and the" Nightingale," produced at other theatres, compared with that of " Society," "Ours," " Caste, ""Play," " School, " and " M.P. ," produced by Miss.Marie Wilton. The suggestion which carries withit an accusation of dishonesty, namely, that theauthor keeps all his best pieces for his favouritetheatre, is untrue. "Dreams, " for instance, playedat Marie Wilton's theatre would have run as longas " School ." The fact is , that one company inLondon knows how to appreciate and to play Mr.Robertson's works, and the others do not; and thisis proved by the actual dulness of the dialogue inreading, which on the stage appears so brilliant .Happily for his reputation , our playwright haspublished few plays. We can therefore only quotefrom " Society " and from " M.P. , " the first from aprinted copy, the second from our own notes.Maud. To give up all his fortune, to ruin his bright prospects,to keep unsullied the honour of his brother's name was an act—Lady Ptarmigan. —Of a noodle! And now he hasn't a pennybut what he gets by scribbling-a pretty pass for a man offamily to come to . You are my niece, and it is my solemnduty to get you married if I can. Don't thwart me, and I will.Leave sentiment to servant wenches who sweetheart policemen,A A354 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.·it's unworthy of a lady. I've a man in my eye-I mean a richone-young Chodd.Maud (with repugnance) . —Such a common-place person.Lady P.-With a very uncommon- place purse. He will haveeighteen thousand a- year. I have desired him to pay youcourt, and I desire you to receive it.Maud. He is so vulgar.Lady P.-He is so rich. When he is your husband, put himin a back study, and don't show him.Maud.-But I detest him.Lady P.-What on earth has that to do with it? Youwouldn't love a man before you were married to him, wouldyou? Where are your principles? Ask my lord how I treatedhim before our marriage (hitting Lord P. with her fan).Ferdinand!Lord P. (awaking)—My love!Lady P.-Do keep awake.Lord P.-'Pon my word you were making such a noise Ithought I was in the House of Commons. (Withfond regret.)I used to be allowed to sleep so comfortably there.Lady P.-Are you not of opinion that a match between Mr. Chodd and Maud would be most desirable?Lord P. (looking at Lady P.)-Am I not of opinion-myopinion-what is my opinion?Lady P. (hitting him with herfan) —Yes, of course.Comparison between this and the dialogue of Congreve or of Sheridan, or of Goldsmith, Vanbrugh, orWycherley, would not hold for a moment, yet asgiven by Miss Wilton, Mrs. Buckingham White,and Mr. Hare, it bristled with point, and sparkledlike cut glass under the lime- light—that is , it lookedvery much like diamonds. Again, take the followingmorceaux from " M.P." each of which brought downa torrent of applause on the first night, and askMR. T. W. ROBERTSON. 355whether the wit is very exhilarating? TalbotPiers is accepted and also beloved by CeciliaDunscombe, and urges the force of the marriagevow of the woman to "honour and obey" theman. " Oh, " says Cecilia, archly, "that's a mereform , " at which the audience laughed heartily.Chudleigh Dunscombe (a very young fellow) givesvent to the Platonic sentence, " Nature could notput bad thoughts into so beautiful a skin, " and isrewarded by a round of applause for so transparentan untruth; and Isaac Skoome, a low- born manufacturer, who has made money, brags that "heworked hard, and Providence has done its duty,"i.e. , had enriched him, upon which the house is inecstacies! But not more so than when Dunscombe(acted by Mr. Hare) calls him " a ready-made man, 'instead of " a self-made man, " or Chudleigh Dunscombe tells him to " take away his metallic hand. ”Metallic is a favourite epithet of Robertson, and isused once or twice in " Society " and in " Play. " Itmust again be insisted on that these " points, " beingwell placed and led up to , are very effective—on thestage.To conclude, Mr. Robertson is the dramatist ofthe age, and reflects the artificial manners of society.He has no depth, little pathos, small humour; buthe knows his business and his audience, his time ,stage, and actors thoroughly. Well mounted, his""A A 2356 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.pieces have a freshness, a cleverness, and a charmwhich belongs to a fine piece of art a la Watteau ,or in Dresden or Sevres china. " School " has evenmore; it has the effect of the prettiest little idyll onthe stage, but we must not compare its idyllic forcewith that of " As You Like It," but rather withthat of one of those old English operas, " Love ina Village; or, the Mountain Sylph, " now tooseldom acted. Robertson has not high art norhigh feeling, but he very successfully assumes atone of high-breeding and well-bred cynicism. Hispieces are not highly moral, but they are not immoral, and are quite up to the morality of the age.He has been accused of sneering at everything:this he does not do, he only sneers at what he andsociety does not believe in . He is exceedinglyartificial, but then so are the times; he appreciatesTennyson, whom he quotes; he is at any rate onthe side of virtue and of manliness so far as thatis consistent with kid gloves and an evening dress .He dares to satirise what is weak and foolish inJohn Stuart Mill , and to give a wholesome opinionof the silly burlesques which are vitiating the tasteof society.

M. EDMOND ON.}ĮM. EDMOND ABOUT STAVAMA Here are two men* whose names are quoted more frequently by our leading writers, whether in the Spectator, Saturday, or Times, than any other, and whose opinions are eagerly sought, translated, quoted, and presented by such role movers - and their

  • For the sake of compactness, we treat here the

MM. Erckmann- Chatrain as one author, as, in fact, they areas to the effect they have on the public . The following, from aweekly review, will explain the dualism: -" As some curiosity isexpressed about the personality of the two men, who alternately count as one man under two names, and two men under onename, and who bid fair to be accepted as the Siamese Twins ofliterature, we quote the details given in this paper. According to Herr Julian Schmidt, the partnership of Erckmann-Chatrianconsists of M. Emile Erckmann, born at Pfalzburg in 1822, andM. Alexandre Chatrian, born near the same town in 1826.Erckmann came to Paris in 1842 to study law, but made little way with it; M. Chatrian was first employed in a Belgian glassmanufactory, then set up as a teacher at Pfalzburg , and came to Paris in 1852. It was then the two became friends, and engagedjointly in literature, which M. Erckmann had already triedalone, but unsuccessfully. "-Athenæum, Sept. 10th, 1870.360 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.names are not legion-as are sufficiently educatedand advanced to have any opinion upon the matter.For, in this war, opinion has curiously varied, andhas not always been based upon principle. But ofthis hereafter.These two men are not men of war, but of peace;not generals, but writers; and their names areErckmann- Chatrain, author of " Le Blocus " (" TheBlockade ")-who has described the country nowdesolated by war-and Edmond About, the once.chief penman of the Emperor, and the famouscorrespondent of Le Soir.M. About is the more famous of the two. M. Chatrain, it is true, is recalled by the scenes brought sovividly before our eyes by the newspaper histories ofeach morning, and the grand courage and enduringpluck that he pictures are now again brought intouse at Phalsburg and Strasbourg. But EdmondAbout is a war chronicler and correspondent. Heis, or has been, with the armies; was reported dead;and had to fly, with his wife and children, from thecomfortable quarters assigned to him. Like thepious Æneas, he has " been a great part of what hehas seen; has travelled to the forefront of action;speaks like one having authority; and is versatileenough to translate and render to our eyes everyshade of grief, terror, elation, which moves hisexcellent but chameleon-like nation. Nor is there""M. EDMOND ABOUT. 361anything better, or more incisive , or more peculiarand epigrammatic in the whole range of literaturethan these queer letters of Edmond About. Theyare just as " spicy " and goguenard in their way asare those of Mr. George Sala-one of the very bestEnglish correspondents who ever drew pen in anyforeign " row; " but they are more solid, reflective,luminous-have more of the scholar and the gentleman in them, to use an old phrase. As for M.About's little eccentricities in abusing the Germans,they are not only natural-being shared in by allhis countrymen, and therefore to be excused - butthey are, from his pen, although more incisive, athousand times less coarse and vulgar than yousee in the French prints every day. Whatevermay happen—and it is yet possible for France,by a gigantic effort, to shake off the grip of thearmed thousands who hold her down-France hasbeen so deceived and cajoled that she is underthe influence of a strong delusion, and believesa lie!"Why did you make war so readily, M. le Duc? "asked a member of the Jockey Club of the Duke ofGramont, the other day." I believed we were ready. I went to the Ministerof War, and I asked him, ' Are you ready? Can wemove at once?' 'Ready!' he answered; ' pah!ready twice over!' If I had not believed that, I would362 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.never have entered on a war which I might haveavoided in a dozen ways. "It is quite lawful, moreover, for those who arebeaten to scold . This also should be remembered inAbout's favour, if two or three harsh words now andthen escape him.M. Edmond François Valentin About is aboutforty-two years old, having been born at Dieuze onthe 14th of February, 1828. His patron saint of theday of his féte is the good Bishop Valentine, andthis will account for one of his Christian names. Hewas educated at the Charlemagne Lyceum, and wasearly distinguished . When he was twenty he wonthe prize of honour, and three years afterwards hepassed to the French School at Athens. He heremade himself thoroughly acquainted with Greece astit is; knew it to be a nest of rogues and robbers;knew it, also, to his cost-as during his archæologicalstudies he had often to fly from some Alkibiades orPeisistratos, who was looking at him over a ruinand assisting his vision by glancing along the barrelof a gun. The result of these studies-political ,social, and archæological-was published in 1855 as"La Grèce Contemporaine. " Of course, the diplomatic people of England and France received thework with disdain. About had told the plain truth:therefore he was not believed by diplomatists. Hethen tried to tell the truth with a laughing face ,M. EDMOND ABOUT. 363and imagined that his next work, carried out on thatHoratian maxim, would awaken Europe. Thiswonderfully true and witty work was called " LeRoi des Montagnes, " and is simply the history of aGreek brigand, acting in connivance with Greektroops and a Greek minister. M. Hadji- Starros,Mary Anne, Mrs. Simons, with the French, German,and Greek characters, are drawn to the life. And itis not too much to say that this book, published in1857, anticipated-though hardly in its full horrors.-the whole of the terrible Greek massacre of Englishgentlemen and an Italian nobleman in 1870. Hadthe lessons of that book been attended to , the companions of Lord Muncaster would have been alive.M. About-although no English writer has yetpointed out the fact-may claim the honour of beinga prophet. In his last chapter-it only consists of aline or so—the author again resumes his conversation , ” and says , seriously, " Athénien , mon bel ami,les histoires les plus vraies ne sont pas celles quisont arrivées ." But all that the Greeks replied tothat warning was to swear that About was untrue ,and that their fine country was slandered . Theyabsolutely persuaded England to give them Corfuand the Ionian Islands; and proceeded, amidst thelamentations of the inhabitants, to ruin and undothe security and civilisation of years.66In style, About, in this book. showed himself aL36+ MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.master. His is simply the best style in the worldthat is, of the French. It is based upon that clear,clean method of Voltaire, in the " Candide " and hisother romances. We are not talking, if you please,of the morality of Voltaire, but of his Full, without overflowing; clear, withoutbeing bare; deep, without obscurity, it unites theincisiveness of Swift-and marvellous prose is histhe grace of Addison, and the wit of Congreve .Such a writer, living in Paris and not in London-where Philistine publishers never originate a work,and chiefly live on ideas furnished by the neglectedand hack author-such a writer in Paris was at oncesought for, and had plenty to do. In 1855 he published, in the Revue des deux Mondes, a curious butvery beautiful work, " Tolla; " in 1856, " LesMariages de Paris, " which was a great success; andin 1857, " Germaine, " a very beautiful, miserablysad story of a mariage de Paris—that is , of thelegitimate and honourable sale of the heroine byway of marriage.About is a moralist in a high sense; and his booksare as moral as the scalpel which removes proudflesh is beneficial . It was about this time that ourauthor seems to have entered into some sort of pactwith Louis Napoleon to assist him with his pen. Itwould be well if monarchs would, like Frederick,condescend to put themselves on an equality withM. EDMOND ABOUT. 365the Voltaire of the day. The result of this " pact "-which we by no means affirm , but which has beenoften hinted at-was that M. About seems to havegiven a grace to several French State papers; andthat in 1859 he published " La Question Romaine, "which laid bare the rottenness of that capital in amanner that must have made Archbishop Manning,and Sir George Bowyer, and other ultramontanes ,mad. “ Pardon me, " he says in his preface, “ certainvivacities of style , which I had not time to correct;and plunge boldly into the heart of the book. Youwill find something there. I fight fairly, and in goodfaith . I do not pretend to have judged the foes ofItaly without passion; but I have calumniated noneof them. If I have sought a publisher in Brussels,while I had an excellent one in Paris, it is notbecause I feel any alarm on the score of the regulations of our press or the severity of our tribunals.But as the Pope has a long arm, which might reachme in France, I have gone a little out of the wayto tell him the plain truths contained in thesepages."In commencing this work he referred to a case.then occupying the public mind-the abduction of aJewish child against the wishes of its parents. Onecannot help being at once struck with the extraordinary force of the following antitheses, even whentranslated:K-366 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."The Roman Catholic Church, which I sincerely respect,consists of one hundred and thirty-nine millions of individuals-without counting little Mortara!It is governed by seventy cardinals, princes of the RomanChurch-in memory of twelve poor Apostles!The Cardinal Bishop of Rome, who is also called Vicar ofJesus Christ, Holy, Most Holy Father, or Pope, is invested withboundless authority over the minds of these hundred and thirty nine millions."The author then traces, with a stinging satire andcrushing effect, the history of the Popes.With the exception of one or two slight works,Edmond About has been silent until the opening ofthis war; when, with Thiers, Jules Favre, andothers, he raised his voice energetically against it.M. Thiers has since explained that he did so becauseFrance was unprepared, not because the war wasunjust. And certainly About may have done thesame; for, after warning France, he seems to havebeen borne away with the enthusiastic shouts of“A Berlin! ” and, perhaps against his better judgment, accepted the post-said to be accredited bythe Government-of correspondent of Le Soir. Toone who, if he be not an academician, has the styleand more than merit of one, such an appointmentseemed infra dignitatem; but the public rejoiced thathe had accepted the post, and learned from Aboutthe follies of the campaign, the unreadiness, theignorance of the officers, the folly of the leaders, thebrag and emptiness of the whole.M. EDMOND ABOUT. 367After Saarbrück, About's style changed, and heattacked the Emperor violently. He mourned, likea true Frenchman, over the slaughter of his friends,and of that army of which he was so proud; and,even while making the best of it, his pen wept tearsof good French ink as he described the rout of thearmy of the Rhine. After Weissembourg he waslost for more than a week; his wife and childrenfled to Paris; and he, sick and weary of slaughter,was silent; and not only Paris, but all Europefeared that he was among the killed-as, indeed,more than one patriotic correspondent had fallen inthe mêlée. But it was not so . After being for sometime lost, About made his way to Paris, and began aseries of most brilliant, most sarcastic, and bitterattacks on the empire, the Government, England,and all neutral powers, and on the French people.We can pardon his anger against us for the griefthese bitter truths must cost him:“ The report of yesterday's sitting, and that storm in theChamber, carried me back 417 years. I asked myself whetherwe had not become, to some extent, Byzantines. In 1453 , whileMahomet II . was besieging Constantinople, the Greeks of theLower Empire were divided upon questions of theology, just asthe Parisians of the present day are divided upon politicalquestions. They quarrelled among themselves with such bitterness, that they forgot the presence of the enemy, and allowedhim to take the city. The Turk entered, and reconciled themall by means of the stick. The same fortune might fall to ourlot if the nation did not show itself possessed of more good368 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.sense and more enlightened patriotism than the two parties inthe Chamber. The Right and the Left are incessantly accusingeach other of having caused these public disasters . TheGovernment party insists that Alsace and Lorraine would nothave been invaded if the Opposition had not haggled aboutsubsidies and annual contingents: You have so railed againststanding armies, that you have disarmed the country. ' TheOpposition retorts the incapacity of courtier generals; thesquandering of the funds intended for supplying war material;the mistrust on the part of personal government, which wouldnever allow the people to be armed, and which still refuses themmuskets even when the enemy is at our gates. ' You are afraidof the nation. You would rather sacrifice France than loseyour own power .' How sad is all this! Each of these stormysittings is worth 50,000 men to the Prussians who are marchingupon us. Cannot these quarrels be deferred until the countryhas been delivered? France should wash her dirty linen at theproper time and place, but she should wait until we are againen famille.'Then, again, he glances back to what the Empirehas been-how it has spoiled and humiliated La belleFrance and he extracts this bitter consolation:CC' Well, all is perhaps for the best. If the supporters of thepersonal power had been acquainted with the first elements ofthe military art; if Marshal Lebœuf had had a plan; if we hadbeen ready; if we had had 500,000 effective troops instead of200,000; if the millions destined for armament had not foryears been wasted or turned to other uses, we should beat thePrussians, and free the Rhine Provinces. We should takeSaarbrück and Sarrelouis, Mayence, and Coblentz; we shouldlight tapers in the cathedrals of Trèves and of Cologne; thePrince Imperial might collect enough spent balls to form achapletfor his godfather, the gentle Pius IX. —AND AFTER? ”And, after having soundly abused England, hethus makes the amende honorable in these words:M. EDMOND ABOUT. 369" Our neighbours on the other side of the Channel shower mewith reproaches, and I ought to thank them. Nothing is moresweet to the heart of a true Frenchman than this English revoltagainst an unfounded accusation. More than a hundred letters,in less than a week, have repeated to me, in every form of expression—' You deceive yourself. You are unjust. . . . . The citizens of Great Britain have only sympathy for the French nation.'The officers of the fleet and of the army never forget that theyfound friends as well as comrades in your sailors and soldiers.The intellectual classes consider your country as the fortress ofEuropean civilisation. We should never be consoled if we sawFrance destroyed, or even seriously weakened. We suffer andhope with you.' Such is the substance of the letters which areaddressed to me from all parts of England and Scotland. Thekindly communications which I have received are signed byhonourable, by aristocratic names, as well as by ladies. Thereare poems, there are articles which the writers wish me to publish, and which I would gladly print if the limits of my spacepermitted. I can only thank these innumerable correspondents,and say to them, ' Vivent la France et l'Angleterre, united forthe peace and prosperity of the world. You have rendered mequite happy in showing me my error!""We have not extracted in this article any of theepigrams, surprises, points, and brilliant sayings ofthe author, save a fewfrom " La Question Romaine, "because the war itself absorbs all our interest; butwe hope we have fairly introduced one of the mosthonest and brilliant writers of the day-one who isa true patriot, and shares with the same eagernessthe sorrows as well as the glory of his great nation .To some of us it may seem that the Government ofFrance has been deservedly punished; to some, thatFrench vain-glory has received a proper and aB B370 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.wholesome check. 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The lofty and animated eloquence which he has always at command, and a certain happy faculty of finding, even in doctrinal discussions, some picturesque trait, some feature with life and colour, have enabled him to overcome the difficulties which stand in the way of a popular history of the Christian life and literature of the first century."-Contemporary English students will be grateful for this handsome English rendering of Dr. Pressense's valuable work. It hardly reads like a translation at all. We need hardly speak of the merits which distinguish M. de Pressensé as a philosophic and thoughtful historian. No one who has not yet read it but will find his account in doing so. ”—Literary Churchman.2. JESUS CHRIST: His Times, Life, and Work. Third and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo, 9s. cloth."M. de Pressensé is not only brilliant and epigrammatic, but his sentences flow on from page to page with a sustained eloquence which never wearies the reader. 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He gives us his first and freshest impressions as entered in his journal upon the spot; and these will be found full of interest, especially to every thoughtful reader of the New Testa ment. "-Evangelical Christendom."Brilliant life-like sketches of persons, places, and events. "-British Quarterly Review.THE CHURCH AND THE FRENCH REVOLU TION. A History of the Relations of Church and State from 1789 to1802. In crown 8vo, 9s. cloth."M. de Pressensé is well known and deservedly respected as one of the leading divines of the Evangelical section of the French Protestant Church. He is a learned theologian, and a man of cultivated and liberal mind. In the present monograph he comes before us as the historian of a period which he rightly judges to have a more than local and temporary interest in the fortunes of the national Church of France. And, on the whole, he has done his work not only ably, but impartially. We are not aware that any previous writer has treated the subject from the purely ecclesiastical point of view."-Saiurday Review.Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton,J. BALDWIN BROWN, B.A.THE DIVINE MYSTERIES; the Divine Treatment of Sin,andthe Divine Mystery ofPeace. New Edition. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. cloth."This is a second edition of two deeply interesting volumes, which are now embodied in one. This was a wise proceeding, and will provoke many to a second perusal of some of the strongest, sweetest words of one of the noblest preachers of our generation. ”—British Quarterly Review.4MISREAD PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE. New Edition.Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth."In this volume, which is the production of an earnest and vigorous mind, the author impugns, for the most part, with a force which carries conviction to the mind, the accuracy.of some generally received interpretations of Scripture. He has carefully studied the subjects bandled, and he expatiates upon them with no common eloquence, freshness, and originality."-British and Foreign Evangelical Review.IDOLATRIES, OLD AND NEW: Their Cause and Cure.7s. 6d.Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth.THE DIVINE LIFE IN MAN. Second Edition.cloth.THE DOCTRINE OF THE DIVINE FATHERHOOD IN RELATION TO THE ATONEMENT. Is. 6d. cloth.REV. CHARLES STANFORD.One of the sincerest, manliest, and clearest writers we have . "—Christian Work." Mr. Stanford has an order of mind, and has acquired habits of study eminently adapting him to be a teacher of wise and thoughtful men. "-Evangelical Magazine.SYMBOLS OF CHRIST. Second Edition.. 3s. 6d. Small crown 8vo, cloth.CENTRAL TRUTHS. Third Edition. Small crown 8vo,price 3s. 6d. cloth.POWER IN WEAKNESS: Memorials of the Rev. WilliamRhodes. New Edition. 3s. 6d. cloth.INSTRUMENTAL STRENGTH; Thoughts for Students andPastors. Crown 8vo, price Is. cloth.JOSEPH ALLEINE: His Companions and Times. Second Thousand. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d."CDR. HOFFMANN ON THE NEW TESTAMENT PROPHECIES.THE PROPHECIES OF OUR LORD AND HIS APOSTLES. A Series of Discourses delivered in the Cathedral Churchof Berlin. By W. HOFFMANN, D.D. , Chaplain-in- Ordinary to the King of Prussia. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. cloth."These discourses are worthy of the highest commendation. They partake more of the form of the homily than of the doctrinal or expository discourse. They are characterized by extreme simplicity of style, and abound in rich suggestive reflections, penetrative thoughts,and a fine analysis of human feelings and motives. "-Contemporary Review."Dr. Hoffmann is an eminent German divine who has made the prophecies of the New Testament a special study, and gives us in these discourses, originally preached in the Cathedral of Berlin, the results of a considerable amount of thoughtful research..".-English Independent..27, Paternoster Row, E.C.DR. HAGENBACH'S CHURCH HISTORY.HISTORY OF THE CHURCH IN THEEIGHTEENTH AND NINETEENTH CENTURIES. By K. R. HAGENBACH, D.D. , Professor of Theology in the University of Basle,Author of German Rationalism. " Translated byJOHN F. HURST, D.D.In 2 vols. , 8vo, 24s. cloth."Hagenbach is a genial and graceful writer. Over the simplest and driest details he throws a grace and a charm which is more akin to poetry than to prose. He is thoroughly Evangelical in his views, and very successfully combats the errors and fallacies of the Neologian school of his country. "—Rock.THE5"The name of Dr. Hagenbach is favourably known among us as a divine of high talent and learning. The translation of this work has been well exccuted by Dr. Hurst, and the volumes deserve a place in every well-furnished library. "—Edinburgh Daily Review."The study of this history will be found easy and pleasant work. It is adapted not only for the professional student, but for the general reader, who will find in these volumes some of the ripest thoughts of the most learned students of modern Church history that our age has produced. -Methodist Recorder."The history of Dr. Hagenbach is worthy of his great learning and his pictorial and vivid style. The work before us is extremely interesting, readable, and instructive. "-British Quarterly Review."The author of this excellent and voluminous work is one of the most genial, attractive, and fruitful theologians on the Continent. The work is most comprehensive in its embrace, most catholic in its spirit, most graphic in its description, and most suggestive and elevating in its reflections. We scarcely need recommend it. Every student of sacred history and theolo gical science will feel it to be a necessary article for his library."-Homilist.GREAT PREACHERS.MASTERPIECES OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE, Ancient and Modern, with Historical Sketches ofPreachingin the Different Countriesrepresented, and Biographical and Critical Notices of the several Preachers and their Discourses. By HENRY C. FISH, D.D. In 2 vols. , 8vo,cloth, 21s. "" This work is unique both in design and arrangement, and supplies a want which has been long felt. We have here not only a history of preaching in ai: ages and in all parts of the world wherever the pulpit has been felt as a power, but we have brought within the reach of all the great masterpieces of pulpit eloquence-the best discourses of all countries and times,hitherto locked up in foreign languages, or procured with much difficulty and expense. There are able historical sketches of the Greek and Latin, the English, the German, the Irish, the French, the Scottish, the American, and the Welsh pulpits, with numerous discourses as specimens of each. "-Pulpit Analyst.FROM THE PREFACE. " The design ofthe work may be stated in a few words. It is, first,to render available to the lover of sacred things the great ' masterpieces of pulpit eloquence,'and the best discourses of all countries and times, hitherto either locked up in foreignlanguages, or procured with much difficulty and expense. Secondly, to furnish a history of preaching in all parts of the world where the Christian religion has prevailed, from its intro duction into each respective country down to the present time, with a view of the pulpit as it now stands. Thirdly, to bring again upon the stage the great and good of other days;keeping alive and promoting their acquaintance and allowing them to speak to the living,which is done by giving sketches of their lives, and by reproducing their choicest discourses." The historical sketches of the Greek, Latin, English, German, and Irish Pulpits, French,Scottish, and American Pulpits are critical as well as historical, and abound in facts and thoughts of extreme value to those who study the eloquence of the pulpit . The selections chosen to illustrate the different styles of the different pulpits are characteristic and fair; and many ofthem are extremely fine specimens of eloquence. It is a work which no clergyman anxious to speak his best for God's glory to his people should be without. "-Rock."To ministers and students of divinity these volumes will have a peculiar value. The natural interest which such must feel as to the different styles of pulpit address may be here fully gratified. Many a fruitful hint and suggestion may be gathered from the sermons here given, not a few of which have a historical value frem the influence they have had at the time of their delivery and subsequently. And what is more than this, high views of the sacred calling, and ambition to follow the steps of those in past ages who have magnified it, cannot but be fostered by their perusal. "-Edinburgh Daily Review.1.Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton.JOSEPH PARKER, D.D. I.Now ready, handsomely bound in cloth, red burnished edges, price 6s.THE CITY TEMPLE:SERMONS PREACHED IN THE POULTRY CHAPEL, 1869-1870.6"There is something very refreshing about these sermons. As a rule, pulpit discourses do not form very pleasant or attractive reading, but Dr. Parker is one of the few men who really know how to preach. He puts thought into all that he says, and, notwithstanding all his unquestioned ability, it is doubtful if he ever insults his hearers by coming before them without having previously prepared his remarks with all the care of which he is capable. These sermons bear ample traces of the study bestowed upon them. In the terse, epigrammatic sentences of which they are mainly built up, grand ideas are put forth, the general style showing that while the preacher in no wise underrates the importance of the message he has to deliver, that on the contrary, he is powerfully impressed with the responsibilities attaching to his office, he at the same time quite understands that if the hearts of those addressed by him are to be got at, their ears must in the first place be secured. Some of the lectures,more especially those delivered on Thursday mornings, are cast in an altogether different mould from that which usually gives shape to pulpit discourses, being rather allegories or parables illustrating in each case some great central truth. This style could not be adopted with safety by many persons, but with Dr. Parker there is no need to fear lest the idea to be conveyed should be lost in the wrappings wherewith it is surrounded, and, indeed, these sketches are, as a whole, singularly effective, from whatever point they are regarded. We are glad to see that the ' City Temple ' has now become firmly established, and trust the accomplished orator, whose utterances are here given for the benefit of a larger congregation than any human voice can reach, will be spared to send forth many such volumes as the one before us. "-City Press.All the Numbers ( 1 to 45) can be had, price One Penny each; and Casesfor Binding, price Is. each.A HOMILETIC ANALYSIS OF THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MATTHEW. With an Introductory Essay onthe Life of Jesus Christ, considered as an appeal to the imagination. In8vo, price 7s. 6d. cloth.II."This is the only English work which deserves to be ranked along with Lange's ' Bibelwerk' for value in affording really useful hints to ministers and preachers. The thoughtful and original essay with which this volume is introduced opens or points out a new and interesting mode in which the truth of the Evangelical history can be defended."Evangelical Christendom.III.1 SPRINGDALE ABBEY: Extracts from the Diaries andLetters of an English Preacher. 8vo, 7s. 6d. cloth."An interesting and amusing volume. "-Pall Mall Gazette."Full of new and enlivening thought. "-Churchman." It is unquestionably able and interesting. "-Nonconformist.IV.ECCE DEUS: Essays on the Life and Doctrine ofJesus Christ.Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo, 5s.<< A very able book. The thoughtis freshand suggestive, often rich and beautiful


The style is vigorous and epigrammatic. "-British Quarterly Review. "A brilliant and masterful argument for the very divinity of our Lord. "-London Quarterly Review. (c' A remarkable and most instructive discussion of many points in that vast subject which no human exposition will ever exhaust, and in which every truly thoughtful and religious student will surely find something to make up for his own labor, and make it useful to others. There is much that is truly beautiful and noble in the picture that 'Ecce Deus' presents of Christian ethics. Incidents of the work of the United States Christian Commission. War. Eight Full Page Illustrations Corona 8vo, 6s ". The trials and successes of the United States Christian Commission during the end of the Civil War will always be interesting and moving, but now they are especially compelling. It will guarantee, and deserves to guarantee, a large number of attentive readers." -Echo . MEN OF FAITH; or, Reviews of the Book of Judges. By Rev. LUKE H. WISEMAN, M.A., author of "Christ in the Wilderness. Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth." 4 . Jephthah. -5. Samson." Wiseman he demonstrated remarkable power in combining precision of detail with vividness of effect. Careful and minute study of the sacred text, discreet but vigilant work to detect and display the graphic touches of the original writer which our translation has not fully captured, picturesque delineation of the scenes recorded, the keen appreciation of men and character, the reverent acknowledgment of God's will to work in and for the heroes of history and the people they freed from pagan domination, are some of the main features of this charming book, which is as helpful as it is useful. it's interesting. ." -London Quarterly Review.r' This is an admirable work. The author deals with a part of Hebrew history of great interest, though, we fear, little studied; and he draws it with great skill and power. He writes in a style of English pure and dignified, and his language not infrequently rises in passages of true eloquence. The practical observations, interspersed with the sketches of history, are highly commendable. "-Edinburgh Daily Review. JAMES CALVERT. Prefixed by an Account of the Islands and Inhabitants of Fiji, Rev. by THOMAS WILLIAMS. Edited by GEORGE STRINGER ROWE. Cheap revised edition, in one volume, 608 pp., illustrated, price 6s. "c No novel has so many thrilling crises, wild scenes, hair-splitting and horrors. constant victories won by the labors of gentle men and heroic women over unspeakable ferocities."-London Review. numerous and truly illustrative. "-Clerical Journal ". that we are presented with volumes as rich as those before us, in observation, in glimpses of wild life, and in descriptions of men, whose disposition and habits are all that we can imagine as a wild future." - North British Review. "The volume is as interesting as a novel, and by the results it records is not unworthy of being considered a continuation of the Book of Acts. "-Free man." with whom they never came into real contact. "-Saturday Review.1Works published by Hodder & Stoughton, REV. R.W. DALE, M.A. THE EPISTLE TO THE HEBREWS: A popular exposition. Second and cheapest edition. Crown 8vo, 6s. Fabric. DELIVERY ON SPECIAL OCCASIONS. In crown 8vo, 6s. . cloth." In 'Speeches on Special Occasions' by Mr. Dale, we have some of the best examples of modern preaching. &quot;-Contemporary Review.&quot; noble eloquence.&quot;-British Quarterly Review.8DISCOURSESPAXTON HOOD.I.Just published, a new edition of REV. E.DARK SAYINGS ON A HARP, and other sermons on some of the dark questions of human life. On crown 8vo, 6s. cloth." Christians who have found that there are some mysterious questions to be answered, some terrible things in justice, some dark sayings on the harp to be heard, and who long for the light, the divine promise, and perfect rest, will read it with interest and gratitude.. Your dark words often shine with light."-British Quarterly Review. "There is a remarkable originality throughout the volume, and a great freshness and brilliance of thought.. JUGS AND TRUMPETS: Readings on the Vocation of the Preacher. Illustrated with biographical, historical and enlightening anecdotes of all orders of pulpit eloquence, of great preachers of all ages. According to Mil. IOS. 6d. cloth.” All those who know the fertility of our author's pen, the extraordinary wealth of his literary resources, the rare abundance of his illustrative anecdotes, the vigor and abandon of his style, will also know that it would be difficult in such a short time to do this justice. to a work of such scope and multipurpose.”—British Quarterly Review ""Contains much interesting material, carefully collected and well assembled. "-Black Wood's Magazine. , and Illustrations -Historical and Biographical- of Books and Times, Recent and Remote. According to Thousand. Grand crown 8th, 10s. 6d.cloth, 700 pp.CONTENT SUMMARY.Ways and Means of Doing Good-Romantic Transformations of Human Life Great Events of Trifles-Dogs, and the Animal World-Crime and Cruelty-Silence and Some of its Vows-Adventure Illustrations - Ghosts, dreams and the supernatural - Anecdotes of life and character - Humor and the humorous side of life - Clerical things and pulpit celebrities Cooks and culinary - Varieties of femininity - Lawyers' instances of human folly and some of their words and manners - Death and agony. "f Full of intelligence and wisdom. Much taste and judgment was exercised in the selection of the extracts, which, being of a varied and absorbing character, are ingeniously grouped around well-defined themes of thought and study, which Mr. Paxton Hood has made his book as entertaining and instructive as any novel." -Standard". A full repertoire of wise and intelligent anecdotes. Suitable for picturesque illustrations of subjects about which they are to speak or write. "-Edinburgh Daily Review.

27, Paternoster Row, E.C.THE PULPIT ANALYST,DESIGNED FOR PREACHERS, STUDENTS, AND TEACHERS.Vols. I. to IV. , price 7s. 6d. each, handsomely bound in cloth.?Vol. I. -Summary of Contents.A HOMILETIC ANALYSIS OF THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAT THEW. Chaps. I. to XII. By JOSEPH PARKER, D.D. THE PULPIT. Discourses by various Clergymen and Ministers.NOTES UPON DIVINE REVELATION AS RELATED TO HUMAN CON SCIOUSNESS. By the EDITOR.A HOMILETIC ANALYSIS OF THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO MAT THEW. CHAPS. XIII. to XXVI. By JOSEPH PARKER, D.D.Vol. II. -Summary of Contents.SOCRATIC SERMONS ON FAITH AND REVELATION. By the EDITOR.THE GOSPEL OF ST. JOHN, with an Interlinear Translation by T. D. HALL,M.A. Conclusion.THE PULPIT. Discourses by various Clergymen and Ministers.DISCOURSES by Revs. R. VAUGHAN,D.D., J. C. JACKSON, J. STOUGHTON,D.D., EDWIN JOHNSON, B.A. , Professor R. FLINT, MAURICE J. EVANS, B.A., H. ALLON, and WM. BELL, M. A. MISREAD PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE.Bythe Rev. J. BALDWIN BROWN, B.A. THE FOREIGN PULPIT: Discourses by J. J. VAN OOSTERZEE, D.D. , Pasteur PASTEUR BERSIER, E. DE PRESSENSE, PASTEUR VERNY, ALEXANDRE VINET.FIFTY SUGGESTIVE OUTLINES OF SERMONS.THE STATE OF THE BLESSED DEAD.Advent Sermons by HENRY ALFORD, D.D. AD CLERUM; ADVICES TO A YOUNG PREACHER. By JOSEPH PArker, D.D.,Author of " Ecce Deus, " &c.Vol. III. -Summary of Contents.THE EPISTLES TO THE CORINTH.IANS. With the Unemphatic Words indicated as a Guide to the best method of Public Reading. By ARTHUR J. BELL.NOTES ON THE INCIDENTS OF OUR LORD'S LIFE. By the EDITOR.A NEW TRANSLATION OF MARK'S GOSPEL. Conclusion.Prof. J. GODWIN. With Notes.SEVENTY SUGGESTIVE OUTLINES OF SERMONS.THE GOSPEL OF ST. JOHN. Chaps.I. to X. With an Interlinear Translation.By T. D. HALL, M.A. THE ILLUSTRATOR.ST.ByPreaching.REVIEWS OF CURRENT LITERA TURE, &c. , &c.9SIXTY SUGGESTIVE OUTLINES OF SERMONS.ELEMENTARY RULES OF GREEK SYNTAX.REMOTER STARS IN THE SKY OF THE CHURCH. Biographical Sketches by the Rev. GEORGE GILFILLAN, Author of " The Gallery of Literary Portraits," &c.ILLUSTRATIVE EXTRACTS FROMPreachers andANCIENT AND MODERN SOURCES.REVIEWS OF CURRENT LITERA TURE, &c. , &c.Vol. IV. -Summary of Contents.ROUGH NOTES FOR EXTEMPORE PREACHING.GERMS OF SERMONS.THE TRANSLATOR: -New Translation of St. Mark's Gospel, with Notes. By Prof. J. H. GODWIN.PREACHER'S DIRECTORY: -Perma nent Preaching for a Permanent Pastorate.Method in Sermons.REVIEWS OF BOOKS, MISCELLANEA,&c. , &c.SHOMILETICAL NOTES ON SCRIP TURE TEXTS.THE FOREIGN PULPIT. Discourses by Eminent Continental Preachers.STRAY SIDE LIGHTS ON SCRIPTURE TEXTS.ILLUSTRATIONS OF SCRIPTURE TEXTS.SUGGESTIVE OUTLINES OF SER MONS.REVIEW OF CURRENT TURE, EXTRACTS, &c.LITERACeWorks Published by Hodder & Stoughton,THE DAILY PRAYER-BOOK, for the Use of Families, withadditional Prayers for Special Occasions. Edited by JOHN STOUGHTON,D.D. Crown 8vo, 5s. Cloth; or morocco antique, Ios. 6d.LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS.IORev. HENRY ALLON.Rev. THOMAS BINNEY.Rev. R. W. DALE, M. A.Rev. J. C. HARRISON.Rev. W. PULSFORD, D.D.“ An admirable Daily Prayer Book. It breathes the spirit of true devotion. "-New York Observer.Rev. J. STOUGHTON, D.D. Rev. ROBT. VAUGHAN, D.D. , the late.Rev. JOSIAH VINEY.Rev. EDWARD WHITE."The prayers glow with holy feeling, and are beautifully expressive of our deepest wants and highest aspirations. There is no preaching in them, but a rich and sweet and elevating fellowship with God. The collection of prayers is judicious, wise in conception, and tender in execution. "-British Quarterly Review.THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ST. MARK. A New Translation, with Critical Notes and Doctrinal Lessons. By JOHN H. GODWIN, Author of " A New Translation of St. Matthew's Gospel, " &c.Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d. cloth, red edges.6c The translation is in vigorous English of our own day. The notes contain much valuable research and many excellent suggestions. The book is a real addition to our critico-theological literature."-Christian Work,REMARKABLE FACTS: Illustrative and Confirmatory ofDifferent Portions of Holy Scripture. By the late Rev. J. Leifchild,D.D. , with a Preface by his Son. New and cheaper Edition, crown 8vo. , 3s. 6d. cloth." The narratives are admirably told, and many of them of the most singular character. Amore impressive book, or a weightier testimony to the truth of Bible principles, it would be difficult to find. " -Christian Work.66 Preachers who like anecdotes should buy this book. The narratives are valuable because they are authentic. " -Pulpit Analyst.CREDO. Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth.CONTENTS.A SUPERNATURAL BOOK.SUPERNATURAL BEINGS.SUPERNATURAL LIFE.SUPERNATURAL DESTINY."The book is clearly original, thoughtful, and readable. The writer is thoroughly in earnest, and really writes because he has something to say. The aim of his little volume is to defend the broad grand truths of Christianity against the attacks of all enemies, especially that school which makes it their express business to doubt, to pull down, and to destroy. ”Standard.gTHE STATE OF THE BLESSED DEAD. AdventSermons. By the Very Rev. HENRY ALFORD, D.D. , Dean of Canter bury. Third Thousand. Square 16mo, Is. 6d. cloth."Characterized by clearness and vigour of thought. The Dean has carefully traced from Scripture his account of the intermediate state, and he gives also a view of the condition after the resurrection which is comprehensive and satisfying. "-Christian Work.27, Paternoster Row, E.C.THE THEOLOGY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT: AHandbook for Bible Students. By the Rev. J. J. VAN OOSTERZEE.Translated by the Rev. M. J. EVANS, B.A. Crown 8vo, 6s. cloth.IITHE SON OF MAN: Discourses on the Humanity ofJesusChrist. Delivered at Paris and Geneva. With an Address on theTeaching of Jesus Christ. By FRANK COULIN, D.D. In fcap. 8vo,5s. cloth."He who wrote this book must have gazed upon the face of Jesus Christ till in it he gained knowledge of the glory of God. M. Coulin has not only the faculty of the seer, but he can re veal what he has seen. His cultured heart has traced the lines of grace and beauty in that inimitable image of truth, of goodness, and of love. " —London Quarterly Review."The life of Christ is illustrated as that of perfect humanity, and in a singularly fresh,interesting, and instructive manner. "-Daily Review.THE IMPROVEMENT OF TIME: An Essay, with otherLiterary Remains. By JOHN FOSTER, Author of " Essays on Decision of Character, " &c. Edited by J. E. RYLAND, M.A. Crown 8vo, 6s.cloth."The reader will find in it all the characteristics of the author's mind, great power of observation, strong originality of thought, with more ease and freedom of style than is always met with in his later writings. The fragments of sermons are many ofthem deeply interesting,and the same may be said of the letters. "-British Quarterly Review.THOUGHTS IN THEOLOGY. BY JOHN SHEPPARD, Authorof " Thoughts on Devotion, " "An Autumn Dream, " &c. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 4s. 6d. cloth.CHOSEN WORDS FROM CHRISTIAN WRITERS ONRELIGION: Its Evidences, Trials, Privileges, Obligations. Edited by the Author of " Thoughts on Devotion, " &c. &c. In fcap. 8vo, price4s. 6d. cloth, red edges.<c" The selection appears to be a good one. "-Guardian."They are intended for men of mature age and busy lives, to whom they well serve as useful aids to reflection. "-Evangelical Christendom. 1THE MELODY OF THE TWENTY-THIRD PSALM.By ANNA WARNER. Square 16m0, 25. cloth."A most comforting little gift-book at this or any other season, especially to the afflicted or distressed. "—Record."Marked by true Christian feeling, and deep thought."-City Press.THE SONG OF CHRIST'S FLOCK IN THE TWENTY THIRD PSALM. Third Edition. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth.▸"Mr. Stoughton's volume may be earnestly and warmly reccommended. Its chaste piety will make it deservedly acceptable to a large class of readers. Looked at with the purpose of the writer, we know of no recent volume of religious meditation which is likely to be more profitably read or pleasantly remembered. " -Daily News.121.2.3.Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton,REV. WILLIAM TAYLOR, CALIFORNIA.THE ELECTION OF GRACE. In small crown 8vo,price 35. cloth.1CALIFORNIA LIFE ILLUSTRATED. New Edition,with 16 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 4s.ANECDOTES OF THE WESLEYS: Illustrative of their Character and Personal History. By the Rev. J. B. WAKELEY. SecondEdition, crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth.CHRISTIAN ADVENTURES IN SOUTH AFRICA.With Portrait and 15 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 6s. 6d.<<" There is not one page ofthe book without interest. Samuel Wesley, sen . , Susannah Wesley,Charles Wesley, and Samuel Wesley, jun. , are all brought before us in sprightly form; but John Wesley fittingly receives the largest attention. "-Watchman."The whole family were remarkable during several generations for wit, intelligence, and accomplishments; and Mr. Wakeley's collection is interesting, not merely because it relates to men so distinguished as the Wesleys, but for the intrinsic wit and vivacity of the anecdotes themselves."-European Mail.THE LIFE OF THE REV. DANIEL JAMES DRAPER,Representative of the Australasian Conference, who was lost in theLondon, " Jan. II , 1866. With Chapters on the Aborigines and Education in Victoria, and Historical Notices of Wesleyan Methodism in Australia. By the Rev. JOHN C. SYMONS. Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth. With Portrait.CC66" This volume is well worth reading. It is a faithful history of a man of very considerable gifts, who consecrated himself perseveringly and sagaciously to the service of his Master, as indeed the present condition of Wesleyan Methodism in the Australian Colonies is manifestly the fruit of his wise and loving exertions. "-Presbyterian.THE STUDENT'S HAND- BOOK OFTHEOLOGY. By Rev. BENJAMIN FIELD.with a Biographical Sketch, by the Rev. JOHN C. SYMONS. Crown 8vo,5s. cloth.OF CHRISTIANSecond Edition. Edited,"Scholarly, well arranged, and carefully executed. "-Sword and Trowel."To students it will be found invaluable; its arrangement is clear, and matter carefully selected ."-Rock.The present issue has an additional chapter, and the last corrections of the truly excellent and amiable author; also a very interesting biographical sketch of Mr. Field, by the editor, the Rev. John C. Symons. "-Watchman.IPHIGENE. A Poem. By ALEXANDER LAUDER.somely bound. 4s. cloth.Hand"The whole conception of the poem is very vivid, and much of the detail is manipulated with exquisite grace. ”—Literary World."In a poem which appears to us of great merit, Mr. Lauder celebrates, under the name of Iphigene, the most tragic story of Jephthah's daughter. He introduces us into the scenes of ancient life in Palestine with much power. His pictures are complete and graphic, and his rhythm generally effective and musical."-Christian Work.←↓27, Paternoster Row, E. C. 13HELPS TO FAITH AND A HOLY LIFE. By Rev. J. P. BARNETT. Crown 8vo, 4s. 6d. cloth.THE EDUCATION OF THE HEART: Woman's BestWork. By Mrs. ELLIS, Author of " The Women of England, " &c.Fcap. 8vo, 3s. 6d . cloth ." To show the comprehensive character of the book, we may state that it includes Female Education-Women on Education-Preparation for Life-Good Faith-Good Principle-Early Training-Love and Hate-Truth and Fiction- Moraland Physical Courage-Lawand Order -and the Mother. With all these subjects, Mrs. Ellis deals with her usual power and attrac tiveness."-Christian Work.THE KING'S DAUGHTERS: Words on Work to EducatedWomen. By ANNIE HARWOOD. Fcap. 8vo, 2s. 6d. cloth extra." Full of quiet womanly observation, good sense, and feeling, and therefore well worth reading. It contains very much that is worthy of careful thought at the hands of all those who are practically interested in the great work of woman's education .”—Standard.THE FAMILY: Its Duties, Joys, and Sorrows. By COUNT A. DE GASPARIN. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. cloth.""' The advice is sensible, the style pleasing: it is the result of sustained thought and careful observation, and as it is a handsome volume, would be an appropriate present to a newly married pair."—Guardian.BIBLE- CLASS STUDIES ON SOME OF THE WORDSOF THE LORD JESUS. By JESSIE COOMBS. Small Crown 8vo,3s. 6d. cloth.THOUGHTS FOR THE INNER LIFE.Author. Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth.LIFE. By the sameWHOLESOME WORDS; or, Choice Passages from Old Authors. Selected and Arranged by J. E. RYLAND, M. A. Fcap. 8vo,Is. 6d. cloth."The compiler has shown admirable judgment in the selection of passages. As a collection ofseed-thoughts and spirit-gleams for the scattered moments of leisure in busy lives, there could be nothing more delightful or, scarcely, more precious. " -Nonconformist.COUNCILS, ANCIENT AND MODERN. From theApostolical Council of Jerusalem to the Ecumenical Council of Nicæa,and to the last Papal Council in the Vatican. By W. H. RULE, D.D. ,Author of " The History of the Inquisition. ' 18mo, Is. 6d. cloth.Christ our Life. By">THE HERITAGE OF PEACE; or,T. S. CHILDS, D.D. Square 16mo, 2s. cloth."A very clear and logical appeal on behalf of Christ to all reasonable men. It is irresistible as an argument, and admirable as an appeal . "-Rock.ANCIENT HYMNS AND POEMS; chiefly from St.Ephraem of Syria, Prudentius, Pope Gregory the First, and St. Bernard.Translated and imitated by the Rev. T. G. CRIPPEN. Fcap. 8vo, price2s. cloth, red edges.•"Mr. Crippen has selected some of the most beautiful poetical effusions of the early and medieval Church. " -Clerical Journal.Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton,HODDER & STOUGHTON'S PRESENTATION BOOKS.Price Seven Shillings and Sixpencé.PRIESTAND NUN: A Story of Convent Life. By the Author of " Almost a Nun, " &c. Nine Illustrations. Second Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth.14VESTINA'S MARTYRDOM: A Story of the Catacombs. By EMMA RAYMOND PITMAN. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant.SERMONS FROM THE STUDIO: Stories Illustrative ofArt and Religion. 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Fcap. 8vo, cloth elegant.THE FRANCONIA STORIES—Stuyvesant, Caroline, Agnes.By JACOB ABBott, In one volume. Fcap. 8vo, cloth.THE WEAVER BOY WHO BECAME A MISSIONARY.Livingstone's Life and Labours. By H. G.Feathered Families, " &c. Portrait and IllusFcap. 8vo, cloth elegant.Being the Story of Dr. ADAMS, Author of " Our trations. Second Edition.LOST IN PARIS, AND OTHER STORIES. By EDWINHODDER. Illustrations. Square 16mo, cloth elegant.WALTER'S ESCAPE; or, the Capture of Breda. By J. B. DE LIEFDE, Author of " The Beggars. " Twelve Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo.F27, Paternoster Row, E.C.Three and Sixpenny Books-CONTINUED.MADELEINE'S TRIAL, and OTHER STORIES. ByMadame DE PRESSENSÉ. Fcap. 8vo. Four Illustrations.BIBLE LORE; or, Brief Studies on Subjects relating to the Holy Scriptures. By Rev. J. COMPER GRAY, Author of " Topics for Teachers. " Fcap. 8vo.BEACONS AND PATTERNS: a Book for Young Men. By the Rev. W. LANDELS, D.D. Fcap. 8vo.TOSSED ON THE WAVES: A Story of Young Life. ByEDWIN HODDER. Frontispiece. New Edition. Square fcap. 8vo.THE STORY OFJESUS IN VERSE. BY EDWIN HODDER.Ten Full- page Illustrations. Square 16mo.WITH THE TIDE; or, a Life's Voyage. By SIDNEY DAryl.Illustrations. Square 16mo.STORIES FROM GERMANY. Translated by ANNIE HAR WOOD. Illustrations. Square 16mo.SILVER LAKE; or, Lost in the Snow. By R. M. BALLANTYNE.Illustrations. Square 16mo.15Price Half-a-Crown.ADRIFT IN A BOAT. By W. H. G. KINGSTON. Illustrated.Square 16mo.OLD MERRY'S TRAVELS ON THE CONTINENT.Profusely Illustrated . Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo.RECONCILED; or, the Story of Hawthorn Hall. By EDWIN HODDER. Illustrated. Square 16mo.PITS AND FURNACES; or, Life in the Black Country. ByMrs. ALFRED PAYNE, Author of " Village Science. ” Square 16mo.BENAIAH: A Tale of the Captivity. By the Author of " Naomi; or, the Last Days of Jerusalem, " &c. New Edition.TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. Short Stories for Long Evenings. By SIDNEY DARYL. Illustrations. Second Edition. Sq. 16mo.QUEER DISCOURSES ON QUEER PROVERBS. ByByOLD MERRY. Illustrations. Square 16mo.FIRESIDE CHATS WITH THE YOUNGSTERS.OLD MERRY. New and Cheaper Edition. Frontispiece. Sq. 16mo.WASHED ASHORE; or, the Tower of Stormount Bay. By W. H. G. KINGSTON. New Edition. Illustrations. Square 16mo.BUSY HANDS AND PATIENT HEARTS. By GUSTAV NIERITZ. Translated by ANNIE HARWOOD. Illustrations. New Edi tions. Square 16mo .THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF Q.Q. By JANE TAYLOR.Thirteenth Edition. Fcap. 8vo.THE BUTTERFLY'S GOSPEL, and OTHER STORIES.By FREDRIKA BREMER. Illustrations. Square 16m0.Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton.Price Eighteen- pence.THE YOUNG MAN SETTING OUT IN LIFE. ByRev. W. GUEST, F.G.S. Cheap Edition. Fcap. 8vo, cloth .THE JUNIOR CLERK: A Tale of City Life. By EDWIN HODDER. With a Preface by EDWYN SHIPTON, Secretary ofthe "Young Men's Christian Association. " Third Edition. Fcap. 8vo, neat boards.HYMNS FOR INFANT MINDS. By ANN and JANETAYLOR. Frontispiece. Newand improved Edition (the Forty- seventh) .18mo, cloth elegant.CHILDHOOD IN INDIA: A Narrative for the Young.Founded on Facts. By the Wife of an Indian Officer. Illustrations.18mo, cloth extra.16Hodder & Stoughton's Shilling Presentation Series,THE ROMAN PAINTER AND HIS MODEL. ByMARIE SIBREE.THE DYING SAVIOUR AND THE GIPSY GIRL.By MARIE SIBREE.AFFLICTION; or, the Refiner Watching the Crucible. By Rev. CHARLES STANFORD, Author of " Central Truths. "THE SECRET DISCIPLE ENCOURAGED TO AVOWHIS MASTER. By the late Rev. J. WATSON, of Hackney.AROUND THE CROSS. By NEHEMIAH ADAMS, D.D.MEDITATIONS ON THE LORD'S SUPPER.NEHEMIAH Adams, D.D.ByHodder & Stoughton's Little Books on Great Subjects.In neat Wrapper, 2d. each, or 12s. per 100, assorted.PERSONAL RELIGION: A Letter to some Young Friends.By JANE TAYLOR.WHERE SHALL I BE ONE HUNDRED YEARSHENCE? By Rev. J. METCALFE WHITE, B. A.SANDY FOUNDATIONS. By Rev. J. METCALFE WHITE,B. A.SHIPWRECKS. By Rev. J. METCALFe White, B.A.SECRET PRAYER. By Rev. CHARLES STANFORD, Authorof " Central Truths, " &c.FRIENDSHIP WITH GOD. By Rev. CHARLES STANFORD.LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, PATERNOSTER ROW.Pardon & Son, Printers, 】 [Paternoster Row, London.

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