Modern Men of Letters Honestly Criticised (2023)

From The Art and Popular Culture Encyclopedia

Jump to: navigation, search

"Mr. Sala, who in the flesh is goguenard, jovial, and externally something like Bardolph, is a very severe censor when he chooses. He is of a mature age— let us say forty-five-and has worked for the press nearly thirty years out of that, for he began early, and it is whispered wrote at one time for the excelling Mr. Edward Lloyd, of Salisbury Square, certain romances of the Mrs. Radcliffe school, which our best novelists of to-day have copied, such as "Adah, the Betrayed; or, the Murder at the Old Smithy," "Julia, the Deserted," and the like. These penny romances were not vicious, though morbidly exciting; one called "Sweeney Todd; or, the String of Pearls," related how a certain barber in Fleet Street cut the throats of his customers, and then sunk them down a trap to a kitchen, where they were made into, and whence they issued, as mutton-pies! We doubt if our eccentric genius wrote such stories, but certainly he worked hard and honestly at whatever came up, and we wish to heaven that some of the superfine, satin-wove, hot-pressed, gilt- edged, and fashionable novelists worked half as well and had had the same practice. Nothing in the world is there like it for style. Do you think, young author, that those easy incisive sentences, those quiet sly touches, those pretty turns of Sterne, or Fielding, or Thackeray, came by chance? If you do, you are as big a blunderer as Dogberry, when he declared that reading and writing were the gift of Nature."--Modern Men of Letters Honestly Criticised (1870) by James Hain Friswell

Related e



Rhombicuboctahedron by Leonardo da Vinci

Modern Men of Letters Honestly Criticised (1870) is a book by James Hain Friswell.

Mr. Sala, whose life was very severely commented on in this work, brought an action for defamation of character against , the publishers of the book, and obtained 500 pounds damages.


Full text


PREFACE.&&&HE ordinary mode of criticising the results.ofa scholar's hard and long- continued workis, as we are well aware, to test it here andthere by means of the index, and to show off thecritic's second- hand learning at the expense of theliterary subject which he is dissecting, pointing outa weak point here and an unsound spot there; butsuch a mode of treatment would be entirely besidethe mark in the present case. "The above sentence from a review in the Athenæumof May 21st, will be a sufficient explanation of, andexcuse for, the words on the title- page, " honestlycriticised. " The italics are not those of the journal,but added here to mark the openness of confession ,and, at the same time, the curious reservation infavour of Mr. Cox's work on the " Myths of theAryan Nations, " as if in any case so perfunctoryand essentially dishonest a method could be PREFACE.But there is even a worse " mode of treatment " withsome critics, which is to fall into, or even to commit,blunders and errors, and to attribute them to themore correct author. Those who have suffered fromsuch a treatment, have learnt the value of suchcriticism , and the causes which make the ordinarybook- notice valueless. As a rule, if an author begood and strong, he will succeed, and the moreantagonism he meets with, the better. The onlything valuable in this life is Truth, and althoughat present we may be overborne with a multiplicityand superabundance of error, although we are quiteaware that Truth can effectually be stamped downand hidden for years, still the more ardent and constant grows our belief in the ultimate triumph ofthat which is earnest and right . A bad book mayhave a wide- spread influence and may succeed fora time, but, as a rule, that influence is contemptibleand its reign is exceedingly short; goodness andwisdom win the day, they only are permanent andendure.-Another great fault in the criticism of the presentday is its cliquism . If the author of a book beunknown, if he veil his name for a time, he maychance to meet with a valuable, because an unPREFACE. viibiassed, review of his work. So well is this known,that we could count on our fingers ten of the bestauthors of the day who have written anonymouslyfor the express purpose of eliciting from the Pressa true value of their work; and as these gentlemenamong whom we may count Mr. Disraeli and LordLytton-have more than once resorted to thismethod, we presume that it has been successful .The simple suggestion, often most erroneous, thatMr. A has been very successful, and that his worksbring him much money, is sufficient to make theenvious and unsuccessful irritated and inimical .Not that critics have no generosity, they have oftenexhibited much, but that in the poorly-paid andpoorly-prized profession to which they belong, thetrials of which are so acute, and the nature of thoseengaged in it so sensitive , some seem to feel thesuccess of a fellow or a contemporary whom theyhardly recognised, as a personal insult. There isalso a Celtic and Bohemian delight in following thepractice of that humorous Irishman who, wantingto fight with somebody, walked out of the tent orbooth, and felt outside its canvas for the hardest,roundest, and biggest head of those who leantagainst its sides, gave it a crack with his shillelah ,viii PREFACE.and then waited for its owner to come and defendhimself. Many a peaceful author, thus refreshinghimself after his labour, has been cruelly assaultedin this way, and the pain resulting from such awound is acute-for it is but human nature that aman who has written a wise or clever book shoulddesire the guerdon of praise. That, we know fromthe purest and best penman who ever lived , “ isthe last infirmity of noble minds. ” Let us add,that if the wielder of the shillelah belongs to aclique, he spares the heads of his friends, out of aprophetic feeling that they in their turn will sparehis." To-morrow," says Disraeli in "Lothair, " "thecritics will be upon us. Who are the critics? theywho have been unsuccessful in literature and art;to which we would add, not always unsuccessful .One ofthe greatest dangers of an author arises fromthe successful, the genial, and the friendly critic ,who will applaud his mistakes, quote his platitudesfor beauties, patronise him in a way as open as itis oily, and who, while he reveals his bias , showsnothing else in three columns of grammatical commonplace. Such writing as this deprived a certainpaper of its selling value. There was a time when""PREFACE. ixa review in would sell an edition of a novel." If you can promise me a review there, " said awell-known publisher to a well- known lady writer,' I can raise the copy money by £150 or £200! ”But he would not do so now. As the Economistwisely notes in other matters, the Press, especiallythe London Press, is losing its influence; the causeis, that much of it is losing its truth. A paperknown to be skilful and honest is as influentialas heretofore. We have no reason surely to regretthe loss of an influence which is essentially immoral; we may be certain that the Press will regainthat influence when it deserves it , and that thereally influential portion does, even at present, bothhold and deserve it.Lastly, criticism which, as is too often the" mode," to use the word of the Athenæum, -layson the praise, or the contrary objurgation , in hugelayers, simple without being pure, is unworthy ofthe name. To judge fairly, you must at least bea judge. " It is an easy task to praise or blame, thehard task and the virtue to do both. " This sentencehas been borne in mind throughout this book, andhas never been absent from the writer's mind.Where blame has been freely expressed, reason hasX PREFACE.been given for it. We are getting weary of falsefriendships and falser animosities in literature; itis time to call a spade a spade. As the greatDryden-for the touch is his, though found in SirWilliam Soame's translation from "Boileau," whichhe altered and amended-said:" In our scribbling timesNo fool can want a sot to praise his rhymes:The flattest work has ever in the CourtMet with some zealous ass for its support:And in all times a forward scribbling fopHas found some greater fool to cry him up."And the present Laureate has left it on record thatreviewers are " indolent, " and that " raffs are rifein prose and rhyme. " The best way to discouragethe terrible waste of paper and print at presentgoing on, is for competent critics to speak outfirmly and fully, with an honesty which will secureattention, with a judgment that will carry conviction, with a severity which is more kind in realitythan ungrudging praise, and with a decision whichmust arise from all three. How far the writer hasbeen able to follow his own rule, he leaves to themost kind, yet severe, the most unbiassed and mostcompetent of all critics, the PUBLIC, to say.September, 1870.A CAVEAT,WHICH THE AUTHOR EARNESTLY REQUESTS THEREADER TO LOOK OVER, AND NOT TO OVERLOOK." We see that Mr. Friswell has in the press a volume entitled' Modern Men of Letters honestly Criticised. ' We confess weare not a little anxious to see the book. If it be what itprofesses to be, the author must be a more fearless man than most literary men are. If his criticism be unfavourable-andsurely it cannot all be flattering-he will find he had better haveput his head into a hornets' nest. Let him beware of the littleclique of brethren of the Society for Mutual Admiration. Ifhe refuses them the due to which they fancy they are entitled,it will go hard with him. "THIS paragraph, from the Literary World ofSeptember 2nd, will prove to the reader that somealteration is needed in the present mode of criticism ,if the fears expressed by the honest and able sheetwhence I quote it, have any foundation. It is tobe sincerely hoped that they have not. Surely theEnglish critics, from whom personally I have received so much kind consideration, are too manlyto be biassed by pique or spite . The paragraphxii A cited, however, because it affords the writer anopportunity to explain the nature of his book, andto apologise for its shortcomings.The reader will perceive that the sketches arebibliographical and biographical as well as critical;too many authors are debated to allow of the reviewsto be exhaustive, or to be other than they are-anintroduction to the study of modern writers . Thereader will also please to note that although thewriter has the honour to be known to almost allthe subjects of these pen-and- ink sketches, thepersonal notes are such only as could be made.from the public appearance, or from the photographic portraits of the authors; and that whileearnest opinions are strongly expressed, it is trustedthat such expression never oversteps the bounds ofgood breeding, nay, even of good nature.CHARLES DICKENSMR. MARK LEMONVICTOR HUGOCHARLES READE.ROBERT BROWNINGJOHN RUSKIN, M.A. , D.C.L , ETC.THE ETHICS OF RUSKINCONTENTS.ALFRED TENNYSON·MR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE .MR. CHARLES LEVER .MR. GEORGE GROTE•MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALALORD LYTTON•▸•MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH••THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI, P.C. , D.C.L. , M.P., ETC. ,•••·•••·ETC.••PAGEI49617791105119135147159171183195243257}xiv CONTENTS.›THOMAS CARLYLEHENRY W. LONGFELLOWMR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNETHE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEYRALPH WALDO EMERSONMR. T. W. ROBERTSONM. EDMOND ABOUT•·••••PAGE273285299313333346360CHARLES DICKENS.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS.HE great humorous novelist whose lifestands first in our volume is but latelydead. What follows was written whilehe was alive, but on careful revision the writerfinds nothing to alter. He was not one of thosewho flattered Dickens while living, nor is he one.who would alter his opinion when dead. Whatis written was and is felt, and the late author knewhow dangerous and fallible, how hurtful to a livingauthor is criticism which is injudicious in its praiseand unthoughtful even in its fault-finding. A Frenchwriter, if we believe the newspapers, relates thatDickens said to him that "he had been spoilt byover-much kindness, " or words to that effect; "this, "said the gentleman, "was not true; but he felt it, andif he felt it, it was true. " For a young author looksB2 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.for kindly guidance and a wise supervision . Heseldom finds either. The ordinary critic' Wonders with a foolish face of praise "at his brilliant passages, praises him too oftenfor his faults, checks him when he should beencouraged, and nurses a folly till it becomes a vice.' Don't mind the critics , " said Thackeray to me, “ Inever read what is written of me; I am tired ofseeing my name in print. " With these few wordswritten without arrière pensée, let us proceed to oursubject. The paragraph which follows I quote:" Charles John Hougham Dickens (the two intermediatenames being never used by him) was born on the 7th ofFebruary, 1812 , at Portsmouth, his father being Mr. JohnDickens, once a clerk in the Pay Department of the Navy,but who, at the close of the war, retired on his pension, and came to London as a newspaper reporter. After beingeducated at Chatham, Charles Dickens was articled to asolicitor in Bedford Row, and reminiscences of his office lifeare to be found in the clerkly doings at Messrs . Dodson andFogg's, and through the pages of “ Copperfield ” and “ Bleak House." But he did not take kindly to the law, and, havingacquired the mysteries of shorthand, soon obtained employmentas a reporter. His first engagements were on the True Sunand the Mirror of Parliament, but he soon joined the staff ofthe Morning Chronicle. The late Earl of Derby, then LordStanley, had on some important occasion made a grand speechin the House of Commons. This speech, of immense length,it was found necessary to compress; but so admirably had itspith and marrow been given in the Morning Chronicle, thatLord Stanley sent to the office requesting that the gentlemanwho had reported it would wait upon him at his residence inMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 3Carlton House-terrace, that he might then and there takedown the speech in its entirety from his lordship's lips, LordStanley being desirous of having a perfect transcript of it. Thereporter was Charles Dickens. He attended, took down thespeech, and received Lord Stanley's compliments on his work.Many years after, Mr. Dickens, dining for the first time witha friend in Carlton House Terrace, found the aspect of thedining-room strangely familiar to him, and on making inquiries.discovered that the house had previously belonged to LordDerby, and that that was the very room in which he had taken down Lord Stanley's speech." It is a mistake to suppose that Mr. Dickens's earliestwritings appeared in the Morning Chronicle under the editorship of Mr. Black. Mr. Dickens first became connected withthe Morning Chronicle as a reporter in the gallery of the HouseofCommons. This was in 1835-36, but Mr. Dickens had been previously engaged, while in his nineteenth year, as a reporter for apublication entitled the Mirror ofParliament, in which capacityhe occupied the very highest rank among the eighty or ninetyreporters for the press then in Parliament. "It was a natural leap from reporting to " sketching,as the term then was, and a Mr. White, in his"Mornings at Bow Street, " had made such sketchespossible and popular. In 1835 Captain Hollandconducted the Old Monthly Magazine, and in thesepages sketches of a humorous character, signed"Boz," first appeared. Almost simultaneously withthese was written a comic opera, entitled " VillageCoquettes," the verses of which survived for sometime, being sung at various concerts by Braham.When a gentleman who, writing to a paper, signshimself " J. G. , " took the editorship of the Old""B 24 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.. ،Monthly, Captain Holland, excellent editor! hadforgotten the name of his contributor, although“J. G.” had marked the verve and worth of theSketches." With some trouble it was found, andDickens, when written to , offered to furnish matter ateight guineas a sheet of sixteen pages; in six monthsfrom that date, so rapid was his rise , he could havecommanded one hundred guineas. Thus Dickenscommenced literary life . How easily he succeededhe has told us in a speech he made at a literarydinner. "I began to tread this life when veryyoung, without money, without influence, withoutcompanions, introducer, or adviser, " and he adds," I met with no dragons in the path, " to which onemay add, " No, but with many friends. "These " Sketches " were reprinted in 1836 and 1837respectively, and published by Mr. Macrone, ofRegent Street, illustrated by George Cruikshank,whose name was relied on to sell them rather thanthat of the author. The papers and illustrationsare worthy of each other; both are exaggerations ,rather than caricatures, the exaggeration being but aveil through which the truth was easily seen. Eachcharacter is drawn ad vivum, and our fathers thoughtthem very vulgar if very funny, but there is nowand then a touch of real genius; the sketch ofMonmouth Street is not only fanciful, but at thesame time true and pathetic. Their value as trueMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 5pieces of art may be seen in their present popularityin Mr. Bellew's Readings, and at "Penny Readings."They are not above the calibre of the lower middleclass, and suit persons easily amused by pantomimicaction. Some of them are far too free for straitlaced people of the present day, and the " Bloomsbury Christening " has been objected to by morethan one clergyman as profane. In a volume ofDickens's life, hastily got up, it is asserted thatDickens formed his style upon Mr. Pierce Egan's"Tom and Jerry; or, Life in London. " He didno such thing; he has named one of his sons HenryFielding and Smollett, and the influence of thosewriters on Dickens, no less than on Thackeray, isdistinctly traceable on every line of his works.The success of Dickens in the good old days whenpublishers really now and then suggested works toauthors, had the effect of inducing Messrs. Chapmanand Hall to propose that he should write certainlibretti, to plates of a comic character, and ofthe sporting- life class , furnished by a very cleverhumorous artist, Mr. Robert Seymour. There isno doubt that all that Dickens was expected to dowas to write up to these plates, and the accountsgiven by himself and Mrs. Seymour, widow of theartist, naturally vary. The idea floating in themind ofthe publishers was, that they would put beforethe public in Dickens's own words, " a monthly6 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.something to be the vehicle for certain plates to beexecuted by Mr. Seymour." This is distinct enough,the inferior position was assigned to the literaryartist. Here are Dickens's words:" I was a young man of two or three-and-twenty, whenMessrs. Chapman and Hall, attracted by some pieces I was atthat time writing in the Morning Chronicle newspaper, or hadjust written in the Old Monthly Magazine (of which one serieshad lately been collected and published in two volumes, illustrated by Mr. George Cruikshank), waited upon me to proposea something that should be published in shilling numbers—then only known to me, or, I believe, to anybody else, by a dimrecollection of certain interminable novels in that form, whichused to be carried about the country by pedlars; and over someof which I remember to have shed innumerable tears before Ihad served my apprenticeship to life. When I opened my doorin Furnival's Inn to the partner who represented the firm , Irecognised in him the person from whose hands I had bought,two or three years previously, and whom I had never seenbefore or since, my first copy of the magazine in which my firsteffusion—a paper in the ' Sketches, ' called ' Mr. Minns and hisCousin '-dropped stealthily one evening at twilight, with fearand trembling, into a dark letter- box, in a dark office , up a darkcourt in Fleet- street-appeared in all the glory of print; onwhich occasion I walked down to Westminster Hall, and turnedinto it for half an hour, because my eyes were so dimmed withjoy and pride, that they could not bear the street, and were notfit to be seen there. I told my visitor of the coincidence, whichwe both hailed as a good omen, and so fell to business . Theidea propounded to me was, that the monthly something shouldbe a vehicle for certain plates to be executed by Mr. Seymour;and there was a notion, either on the part of that admirablehumorous artist , or of my visitor, that a ' Nimrod Club,' themembers of which were to go out shooting, fishing, and so forth,and getting themselves into difficulties through their want ofdexterity, would be the best means of introducing these. IMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 7objected, on consideration, that, although born and partly bredin the country, I was no great sportsman, except in regard ofall kinds of locomotion; that the idea was not novel, and hadbeen already much used; that it would be infinitely better forthe plates to arise naturally out of the text; and that I wouldlike to take my own way, with a freer range of English scenesand people, and was afraid I should ultimately do so in anycase, whatever course I might prescribe to myself at starting.My views being deferred to, I thought of Mr. Pickwick, andwrote the first number, from the proof-sheets of which Mr.Seymour made his drawing of the club, and his happy portraitof its founder-the latter on Mr. Edward Chapman's description of the dress and bearing of a real personage whom he had often seen. I connected Mr. Pickwick with a club, because ofthe original suggestion, and I put in Mr. Winkle expressly forthe use of Mr. Seymour. We started with a number of twentyfour pages instead of thirty-two, and four illustrations in lieu ofa couple. Mr. Seymour's sudden and lamented death beforethe second number was published , brought about a quick decision upon a point already in agitation; the number becameone of thirty-two pages, with only two illustrations , and remained so to the end. ' Boz,' my signature in the MorningChronicle and in the Old Monthly Magazine, appended to themonthly cover of this book, and retained long afterwards, wasthe nickname of a pet child, a younger brother, whom I haddubbed Moses, in honour of the Vicar of Wakefield, which, beingfacetiously pronounced through the nose, became Boses, and, beingshortened, became Boz. Boz was a very familiar household wordto me long before I was an author, and so I came to adopt it. "This account has been questioned, and Mr.Dickens has told us that " Mr. Seymour neveroriginated an incident, a phrase, nor a word in thebook; that Mr. Seymour died when only twentyfour pages of the book were published; that he(Dickens) only saw Seymour once in his life , the8 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.night before his death, and that then he offered nosuggestion whatever. "In effect, the artist, overburdened with work, ina fit of derangement, committed suicide; and, veryluckily for Dickens, Mr. Hablot Browne, a youngartist who, by a drawing of John Gilpin, had wonan academy medal, was called in to do his work.He threw himself with ardour into the task. Mr.Dickens named himself " Boz, " H. K. Brownecalled himself " Phiz; " the character of the workwas altered , two illustrations were given instead offour, and thirty-two pages of letter press instead oftwenty-four. For some time the work was not verysuccessful, but at last it hit the public, and thesuccess was immense. The publishers presentedthe author with some silver punch- ladles, which , likeapostles' spoons, bore the chief characters in littlegilt and modelled figures on the handles, and gavehim a very handsome addition to the honorarium;it is said that the firm made £20,000 by the volume!By most people " Pickwick " is accepted as Dickens'sMagnum Opus. It certainly is a typical one, butwhile the whole book is farcical in the extreme,while character degenerates to caricature, and funto pantomimic romp and " rally," there are now andthen touches of very clever shrewd observation,most admirable sketches of character- SergeantBuzfuz and the trial scene are evidently quite true.MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 9to nature, and pathos of the genial easy and ordinary kind in which the author delighted.But asa novel of nature and of plot and character comparedto Fielding, "Pickwick " is very small. Who evermet with man, woman, or child, who could sit downby a winter fire and tell the " plot " of " Pickwick? "Had it come out as a whole book, it would havefailed to find readers, it would, like Hudibras, havepalled on the taste; it is too full of incident, scenesucceeds scene, and adventure, adventure. Thenovel is crowded with persons, and each person is—how different from real life and Mr. Trollope-notcut to pattern, but a character. There is the fat ,bland, benevolent, silly, vulgar tradesman, Mr.Pickwick, a man with a good heart and a soft head,with his unequalled servant, Mr. Sam Weller, whoone of the editors of the Spectator says, is superior toFalstaff. There are the volatile Jingle, the cheat ,and the rascal, and his servant Job, the cantinghypocrite, drawn as pendants to the honest masterand man; old Mr. Weller and the mother- in - law,the man in the Fleet, the lawyers Dodson and Fogg,Stiggins, the dissenting minister, with his proclivityto pine-apple rum; Bob Sawyer and Ben Allen , Mrs.Leo Hunter and her party, Potts and Slurk, the rivalnewspaper editors of Eatanswill; Mrs. Potts, the fatboy, and the pretty housemaid; all these sketches.dwell on the memory; the people lived then; do theyIO MODERN MEN OF now? do we meet them? That question trulyanswered will determine Dickens's value as a trueartist, as one who drew from " Pickwick" was finished, the author restedfor some months, and then brought out " NicholasNickleby." As in " Pickwick " he had made a violentattack on the Fleet Prison and imprisonment for debt,so in "Nicholas Nickleby" Dickens determined totilt at some of the social evils which will always besetGoing down to Yorkshire to study the cheapschools of that county, horrid places at which therewas carried on an advanced species of baby-farming*combined with education, and pretending to havethe child of a widow to put to school , he met with theoriginal John Browdie, and it is more than suspectedwith the original Squeers. The first said to him,"Well, misther, we've been very plaisant together,and I'll speak my mind tivvee . Doan't let weedursend ur little boy to yan o'our schoolmeasters, whilethere's a harse to hoold in a' Lunnun, and a goottherto lie asleep in. " Mr. Squeers said many precioussentences, and sat for his portrait. This picture ofSqueers in " Nickleby " was so true and natural that

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

for baby-farming, " angel-making." Alas! what will be theafter punishment of those who thus people heaven by the slowmartyrdom of those whose “ angels ” always behold the face of God!MR. CHARLES DICKENS. IImany of the schoolmasters identified themselveswith it; and one individual who happened to havebut one eye, and who, therefore, resembled Squeersphysically as well as mentally, threatened the authorwith an action at law.Mr. Crummles and his company show that theauthor had an intimate acquaintance with provincialtheatrical life behind the scenes-there is indeed alegend that he acted at Rochester theatre; whilstMrs. Nickleby is as true a picture of a genial, blundering, tiresome, affectionate, egotistical, silly, garrulous, middle- aged lady, as is Mrs. Primrose in the"Vicar of Wakefield." Mr. Mantalini, with hisgross overdoses of affectionate humbug, and continual"demmit," is just what one would expect a goodlooking, unprincipled man-milliner to be-but hedoes not do for too close consideration. TimLinkinwater, Miss La Creevy, Sir Mulberry Hawk,and Lord Frederick Verisopht; Mrs. Wititterley,and the Kenwigses, including Mr. Lillyvick, besidesmany minor characters just sketched in, such as theyoung proprietor of the hair- dresser's shop, canscarcely be exceeded in their truth to nature. RalphNickleby, the uncle, has been objected to as tootheatrically scowling and malevolent, and too calculatingly wicked. The other usurer, Gride, is amore common- place personage -simply a miser.Bray and his daughter, again, weakly melodramatic,12 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.but beneath the veil of exaggeration there is something of the reality of life . Newman Noggs is aneccentric creature, one of whom it is just possible tomeet in a lifetime, and the like of the BrothersCheeryble must be rare birds indeed. No sensiblecritic will accept such straw- stuffed figures, suchbenevolent theatrical dolls as truth, or anything nearit . With an obstinacy which continually manifesteditself, Mr. Dickens vehemently asserted that theyexisted, "and that their liberal charity, their singleness of heart, their noble nature, and their unboundedbenevolence, are no creations of the author's brain . "Happy, indeed, must be the poor who come withinthe orbit of their influence! Nicholas himself is theportrait of a generous, somewhat common- place, andnatural young man; and Kate is a very pretty girl—a fit sister to such a brother. There is little attemptat high-flown or sensational writing, and the interestis, to use a stereotyped phrase with critics, wellkept up.In spite of Dickens's assertion that he had no friendor companion to help him when he commencedliterature, we must own that his success, his talent,and his genial manner soon brought him many. Mr.John Forster, of the Examiner, and biographer ofOliver Goldsmith, devoted many patient hours tothe correction of all his proof- sheets; Mr. W. H. Wills,the sub- editor of All the Year Round, was readyMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 13to aid him as a faithful henchman, and to these wereadded Mr. Mark Lemon, Sir E. L. Bulwer, and eventhe trenchant Jeffery, of the Edinburgh Review.Indeed, the lonely and unaided young author seemsto have been peculiarly happy in the number and theinfluential character of his friends, and it is to themutual honour of these gentlemen that nothing butdeath has divided them, and that they who were hiscompanions and admirers in his youth, were as ardentand warm as ever till death divided them.It began to be whispered about this time thatDickens was well acquainted with low life , as if anauthor, or as he himself uses the word, an artistcould paint only from well- dressed lay figures anddid not delight, in the very depths of his artisticnature, in light and shadows. Mr. Dickens nextendeavoured the delineation of low life, and in " OliverTwist," first published in Bentley's Miscellany, ofwhich he became editor, revealed some of the darknesses of London life , and instituted a class ofliterature from which we have never since then beenfree. This story, illustrated with a vigour and agenius equal to that ofthe text, by George Cruikshank,is one of the best Dickens has ever written. Neverwere the precincts of Field Lane, which stood opposite.the terminus of the Metropolitan Railway in VictoriaStreet, and one side of which remains, more beneficially explored. Never were workhouses more cleverly14 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Jdealt with; the heaviest blow ever given to "Bumbledom "-the name dates from the book-was thereindealt. The portraits of Fagin, Charley Bates, andthe Artful Dodger, are works of art. Nor are BillSykes and Nancy to be forgotten; the murder ofNancy, the flight and death of Sykes, and the trialof Fagin, are masterpieces of earnest descriptivewriting, and show the true intuition of genius . WhenDickens read, or rather acted, the murder scene, theintensity of his acting filled his hearers with horror;the scene itself had evidently been studied for daysand nights by the author, who always dwelt on hisown creations. One or two characters are meresketches . Monks is a gloomy scoundrel; and RoseMaylie, a milk- and- water damsel of the real Dickensianideal: but amidst vice, depravity, cunning, theft, andmurder, the author treads firmly and cleanly, andteaches us that best of lessons-to pity the guiltywhile we hate the guilt, and especially to" Look upon the poor with gentle eye,For in their figures often angels desire an alms."He had often experienced the force of his writings;he tells us that the Fleet Prison exposed in " Pickwick " is no more, and that Yorkshire schools arebetter. Mr. Laing, a coarse magistrate, portrayedin a like manner in this book, felt the power of thenovelist, and was glad to resign.The conclusion of " Oliver" was better carried outMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 15than that of " Nickleby; " but the latter had beenspoiled by a dramatist, now alive, who dramatisedthe story before it was finished . The author resentedthis pilfering with one or two hard blows. Thedramatist suggested that it was " fame" to an authorto be so dramatised . "So," said Dickens, " RichardTurpin, Tom King, and Jerry Abershaw have handeddown to fame those upon whomthey committed theirmost impudent robberies. ”At the conclusion of " Oliver Twist " Dickens.resigned Bentley to Harrison Ainsworth, with ahumorous preface, about the old and new coachman,and, after the plan of Addison's Spectator, commenceda weekly issue, " Master Humphrey's Clock. " Ofthis we will say little; the plan failed , the correspondents' letters were given up, and a prose epicof the " Old Curiosity Shop " soon alone remained .Poor old Weller, Sam, and Pickwick, were resuscitated, and were soon again laid in their graves.The comic portion of this book is excellent . Swivellerhimself is beyond praise; so are the Marchioness,Quilp, the old Schoolmaster, and Sampson Brass.But there is a serious side even finer. The poetryof little Nell's life, her beautiful devotion to hergrandfather, her childlike wisdom, sharpened to anunnatural extent, are touching in the extreme. Thepoetry of her death is still finer, and the very prose,if but divided into lines, will , as Mr. Horne pointed.16 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.out in the "New Spirit of the Age, " form that kindof gracefully irregular blank verse which Shelley andSouthey have used . The following is from thedescription of little Nell's funeral, without the alteration of a word:M"When Death strikes down the innocent and youngFrom every fragile form, from which he letsThe parting spirit free,A hundred virtues rise,In shape of Mercy, Charity, and Love,To walk the world and bless it.Of every tearThat sorrowing nature sheds on such green graves,Some good is born, some gentle nature comes."In " Barnaby Rudge, " his next tale, Mr. Dickensopened up fresh ground, and commenced an historicaltale of the Lord George Gordon Riots. The storyis vigorous and full of beauty. The description ofthe riots far surpasses, in our opinion, the celebratedscenes of the " Porteous " mob, by Sir Walter Scott,to which it has been likened. The characters arereplete with truth, with hardly one exception .Barnabyhimself-poor mad Barnaby with his raven,is a finished picture; the raven comparable tonothing in literature so much as to a certainimmortal dog, possessed by one Lance, drawn byMaster William Shakespeare. The rough characterof Hugh, Mr. Dennis the hangman, old Varden, thecharming Dolly, and Emma Haredale-not toMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 17mention the wondrously real Miggs, with Mrs.Varden reading her Protestant tracts -form anadmirable group. The character of Lord George isfaithfully preserved , but another historical personageis hardly treated with justice; this is Lord Chesterfield, who is attempted under the name of Sir EdwardChester; but Dickens's sketch shows no appreciationof Chesterfield's true character. In fact, " BarnabyRudge " is at the very head of that rare class offiction-the good " historical novel. "66After the conclusion of " Barnaby, " Mr. Dickensset sail to America, now about a quarter of a centuryago, and produced from his voyage AmericanNotes, " dedicating his book " to those friends inAmerica who had left his judgment free, and, who,loving their country, can bear the truth when it istold good- humouredly and in a kind spirit. " Thebook was met with a storm of disapprobation . Falseand exaggerated, were light terms to be applied to itby the Americans, but Dickens stuck to his colours ,and, republishing it after eight years, had nothing toalter; " prejudiced , " he says, " I have never been ,save in favour of the United States. " Lord Jefferywrote a very kind letter about it , said that theaccount of the prisons was as poetical and powerfulas had ever been written, and congratulated him onselling 3,000 copies in one week, and in putting£1,000 into his pocket.с18 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.In 1843 the voyage to America was again turnedto account, by a new tale, " Martin Chuzzlewit, " insome respects his best. The hero, a selfish fellowenough till taught and softened in the tale, is thebest drawn of his heroes, and admirably contrastedwith Tom Pinch; Pecksniff's name has become asynonym for falseness and humbug, and JonasChuzzlewit, Montague Tigg, Todgers, Bailey, Tapley,and others, are all admirably drawn characters.As in all his works, the great author, whose creativepower seems unbounded, had an aim. Hospitalnurses were bad enough, and a shrewd death-blowwas given to them by the immortal portrait of Mrs.Sairey Gamp, the origin of Mrs. Brown and numbersof fatuous imitations. The scenes in America havebeen acknowledged by Americans to be as true asthose sketches of England with which we are sofamiliar. Elijah Pogram and his defiance, and hisreference to his country, whose " bright home is inthe settin' sun, " is immortal. We have not spaceto linger over the book. It was in 1843 thatDickens struck new ground in his Christmas books,of which it is difficult to speak without praisefulexaggeration. And truly, perhaps, the most whollybeautiful production of Dickens' is his " ChristmasCarol. " If ever any individual story warmed aChristmas hearth, that was the one; if ever solitaryself was converted by a book, and made to be merryMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 19and childlike at that season "when its blessedFounder was himself a child, " he surely was by that." We are all charmed with your Carol, " wrote LordJeffery to its author, " chiefly, I think, for thegenuine goodness which breathes all through it, andis the true inspiring angel by which its genius has beenawakened. . . . . You should be happy yourself, forto be sure, you have done more good, and not onlyfastened more kindly feelings, but prompted more.positive acts of benevolence by this little publication ,than can be traced to all the pulpits and confessionalssince Christmas, 1842." Perhaps not that; but thestory filled many old hearts with the vigorous youthof charity, and thrilled young souls with a sympathetic love of man, that drew them nearer toGod.There are four more Christmas books, “ TheChimes " and " The Cricket on the Hearth, " almostequal to the Carol; while " The Battle of Life " and"The Haunted Man " show a certain falling off,although those parts which relate to the Tetterbyfamily were most touchingly written . Let us nowpass over " Dealings with the Firm of Dombey andSon, " as less satisfactory than most of his works,and proceed at once to " David Copperfield, " themost finished and natural of his works; it is morethan good. The boyhood of the hero; the scene inchurch; the death of his mother; the story ofC 220 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Peggotty. Poor little Em'ly; that touching love,so true, so perfect, and so delicate and pure, whichthe rough old fisherman has for his lost niece , cannotbe surpassed. The mellow strength and maturedvigour of style, the modest ingenuousness of Copperfield's relation of his progress in literature, supposedtruthfully to portray Dickens's own career; thechild-wife, her death, and David's final love forAgnes-all rush upon our memory, and put forwardtheir claims to be admired. The original charactersare all good, and the family of Micawber form agroup as original as was ever drawn by Mr. Dickens.The dark and weird character of Rosa Dartle, andthe revolting one of Uriah Heep, are the only painful ones in the book. But they are full of finetouches of nature, which also illumine the darkdrawing of the Murdstones. After this Dickens gaveus " Little Dorritt " in 1857, and a most excellentstory—an historical novel, well considered, andworked out with abundant force-in 1859 , " A Taleof Two Cities " (we have omitted " Hard Times " of1854); and " Great Expectations, '" published inthree volumes in 1861 , a tale admirable in all respects,which had adorned the pages of Mr. Dickens'sserial.In 1851-3 he had written a " Child's History ofEngland," as in 1846 he had given us " Pictures fromItaly, ” and in 1860 had gathered up from HouseholdMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 21""Words a number of sketches called the (( Uncommercial Traveller, " which are worthy of the author—which, perhaps, is too much to say of the secondbook mentioned; and lastly, in 1865-6 he issued hismost recent work, in numbers, " Our Mutual Friend,'a work full of original and eccentric characters, andstudded with charming bits of pathos and of description; but, although the author never had alarger sale, the work did not obtain that hold of thepublic which his others have.In spite of, and in addition to , the immense amountof work above recorded, Dickens, whose literaryactivity was enormous, and who seems to have beenimpelled always to make a closer and more familiaracquaintance with his public, established , on the21st of January, 1846, the Daily News, his namebeing advertised as " head of the literary department. ”Young papers have to make readers; and, as a rule,newspaper buyers do not rate at a high value successful novelists. We need not wonder, therefore, thatthe Daily News, though now existing, and honourablyknown for its independence, is not so successful asit deserves to be, from the courage and vigour withwhich it has advocated true Liberal principles.*

  • In 1846 appeared the first number of the Daily News, with

Charles Dickens as its editor. His duties were uncongenial to him,and it cannot be denied that his management was unsuccessful.In his " History of Journalism, ” Mr. Frederick Knight Hunt, who22 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Mr. Dickens, though aided by Mr. Wills and byJohn Forster, soon ceased to have any connectionwith this paper, and in 1850 established a weeklyperiodical, taking the proud line-for a hero or aperiodical " Familiar in their mouths as household.words." Connected with this was a monthly narrative, which, as containing news, involved the proprietors with heavy expenses as to stamp duty-nowhappily removed. The judgment was given in favourof Dickens, and the first step towards a free pressthus taken. In 1851, Dickens and Lytton broughtforth a project, the Guild of Literature and Art, alsoabortive, although it has had a certain existence,and certain almshouses, which no author will inhabit,are built on Lord Lytton's estate, near Stevenage.Lytton wrote a comedy, " Not so Bad as we Seem; 'and Dickens, Jerrold , John Forster, Mark Lemon,Topham the artist, Charles Knight, and others, werethe actors. To back up this comedy, Mr. Dickens""well knew all the circumstances, says, " Mistakes were no doubtmade, and large expenses incurred , but the errors were corrected ,and the losses gallantly borne. " Mr. Dickens soon gave upthe editorial chair; but the " Pictures from Italy" were originallypublished as letters from his pen in the columns of the DailyNews. In the preface to the " Pictures from Italy," he avowsthat, " Bent on correcting a brief mistake I made not long agoin disturbing the old relations between myself and my readers,and departing for a moment from my old pursuits, " he was aboutjoyfully to revert to his former style of serial publications.赟MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 23+and Mark Lemon produced a weak farce, called' Mrs. Nightingale's Diary. " We have noted thatour vivacious author has also written an opera, veryprettily and gracefully, and here insert a poem—a graceful and sweet apologue, probably the bestverses ever written by him-reminding one of themanner of Hood:"A WORD IN SEASON.،، They have a superstition in the EastThat ALLAH written on a piece of paperIs better unction than can come of priest,Of rolling incense, and of lighted taper;Holding that any scrap which bears that name,In any characters, its front imprest on,Shall help the finder through the purging flame,And give his toasted feet a place to rest on."Accordingly they make a mighty fuss,With every wretched tract and fierce oration ,And hoard the leaves; for they are not, like us,A highly- civilised and thinking nation;And always stooping in the miry waysTo look for matter of this earthly leaven,They seldom, in their dust- exploring days,Have any leisure to look up to Heaven."So I have known a country on the earth,Where darkness sat upon the living waters,And brutal ignorance, and toil, and dearth,Were the hard portion of its sons and daughters;And yet, where they who should have ope'd the doorOf charity and light for all men's finding,Squabbled for words upon the altar floor,And rent the Book, in struggles for the binding.24 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."The gentlest man among these pious Turks,God's living image ruthlessly defaces;Their best High Churchman, with no faith in works,Bowstrings the virtues in the market- places .The Christian pariah, whom both sects curse,(They curse all other men and curse each other) ,Walks through the world not very much the worse,Does all the good he can, and loves his brother. "Following up our history, we may note that,owing to certain circumstances, having their originin a domestic estrangement, which Mr. Dickenshimself made public in 1858, and to which, nor tohis married life, we have here neither space norinclination further to allude, our author secededfrom Household Words, and established, in conjunction with Mr. Wills, All the Year Round—a similarjournal, in which he did excellent work, by whichhe aided many young authors, and through whichhe for many a Christmas charmed our hearts withtender and rare stories, and with such sweet andquaint creations as few but he could give; let usinstance that touching, wholly good and humanDr. Marigold, who deserves to stand side by sidewith the best character its gifted author ever drew.When Mr. Douglas Jerrold died, it was foundadvisable for the benefit of his family to raise afund by subscriptions from the public, and on theevening of Jerrold's funeral, sitting at the GarrickClub, two or three friends, of whom, says ourMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 25authority, I was one, drew up a programme of aseries of entertainments which was at once takenround to the newspapers. From the success of thisarose his determination , which it seems to us wasalways very prevalent with him, of coming beforethe public and reading his own works. This he didon the 29th of April, 1858, at the New St. Martin'sHall, now converted into the Queen's Theatre, andthe following speech was given by him at theopening:—“Ladies and Gentlemen-It may perhaps be known to youthat, for a few years past, I have been accustomed occasionallyto read some of my shorter books to various audiences, in aidof a variety of good objects, and at some charge to myself, bothin time and money. It having at length become impossible inany reason to comply with these always-accumulating demands,I have had definitely to choose between now and then readingon my own account, as one of my recognised occupations, ornot reading at all. I have had little or no difficulty in deciding on the former course. The reasons that have led me to itbesides the consideration that it necessitates no departurewhatever from the chosen pursuits of my life —are threefold:firstly, I have satisfied myself that it can involve no possiblecompromise of the credit and independence of literature;secondly, I have long held the opinion, and have long actedon the opinion, that in these times whatever brings a publicman and his public, face to face, on terms of mutual confidenceand respect, is a good thing; thirdly, I have had a prettylarge experience of the interest my hearers are so generous asto take in these occasions, and of the delight they give to me,as a tried means of strengthening those relations—I may almostsay of personal friendship—which it is my great privilege andpride, as it is my great responsibility , to hold with a multitudeof persons who will never hear my voice nor see my face .26 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Thus it is that I come, quite naturally, to be among you at thistime; and thus it is that I proceed to read this little book, quiteas composedly as I might proceed to write it, or to publish it, in any other way. "In America and in England Dickens continuedthese readings for twelve years, and the greed ofenterprising entrepreneurs, who were glad enoughto take a huge share of the money the great authorearned, sometimes taxed him beyond his strength.He was very glad, however, to be before the public;he had the memory, the ways, the love of publiclife, of an actor, and surely no author in the worldever had such a full appreciation of his own works.When many authors and artists gave Dickens afarewell dinner previously to his second journey toAmerica, in answering for literature he spoke onlyof himself, he quoted himself three times, and endedwith " the words of Tiny Tim, ' God bless you all .' "Why those words should be assigned only to TinyTim, when heaven knows they are too often, toolightly, and too easily in all men's mouths, wedon't know. Another author Dickens quoted wasBulwer. He seems to have thought that the " Ladyof Lyons " was rare poetry, and in the course ofhis published speeches it will be seen that he usesthree or four times the rhodomontade about—"Those twin goalers of the daring heart,Low birth and iron fortuneAfter being advised by his medical men to leave off""

(Video) 3 Minutes of the Game of Thrones Cast Being Disappointed by Season 8

MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 27Wehis readings, he returned to them again, and onthe 15th of March, 1870 , gave his farewell readingat St. James' Hall, being the " Christmas Carol 'and the " Trial from Pickwick. " He told theaudience, with some emotion, when he ended, thathis readings had given him much pleasure; that inpresenting his own cherished ideas for the recognition of the public, he had experienced an amountof artistic delight and instruction which was givento few men; that in this task he had been " thefaithful servant of the public, always imbued witha sense of duty to them (it) , always striving to dohis best, and being uniformly cheered by the readiestresponse, the most generous sympathy, the moststimulating support. " He then concluded with anexcellent advertisement of his new book-and thiswas also characteristic of the keen man of business-in the following words: " Ladies and gentlemen-In but two short weeks from this time I hope thatyou may enter in your own homes on a new seriesof readings, at which my assistance will be indispensable, but from these garish lights I vanishnow for evermore, with a heartfelt , grateful, respectful, and affectionate farewell. " As a speech- makerperhaps no one surpassed Dickens, he always saidthe right thing in the right place, and said it veryhappily. Whether at the Academy or Lord Mayor'sdinner, at the Newsvendors' or Poor Clerks' Pension""28 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Society, Dickens made the best speech, better thanGladstone or Bright, or any brilliant legal luminary.Perhaps nothing could surpass in its tender happinessthe last speech he made at the Royal Academy inreference to his friend Maclise, who had just died.Within a few short months the " effects " of boththese men of genius were brought to the hammer,and the relic- hunters gave more for a stuffed birdof Charles Dickens ( 120 for the raven, and a veryugly specimen, too! ) than for a noble picture orsketch by Maclise! After concluding his readingsDickens commenced " The Mystery of EdwinDrood," not a good title, descriptive of Cliosterham,Rochester, nor did the book promise to be very good.In it he described, of course, something new. He hadbeen taken by Mr. Parkinson to the East End, andhe saw some Chinese coolies and other poor wretchessmoking opium! He describes this from his ownpoint of view, others say it is a very false one.People smoke their opium out of pipes made ofpenny ink bottles; * enough to kill a company ofsoldiers! Sir John Bowring remonstrated, and senthim a sketch of a real pipe, its size and capacity;but Dickens replied, being as characteristically surethat he was right, as ever " Tom Macaulay " was in

  • An opium-pipe made by the Chinese will hold opium about

half a pea in size, and of this very little is pure.MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 29Sydney Smith's anecdote, " that he had seen what hepainted." So, also, when Mr. Lewes proved that spontaneous combustion did not exist , Dickens was surehe was right, and did not hesitate to describe ahuman body disappearing in smoke, and leavingnothing but a little viscous residuum like the smokeof burnt brown paper behind!On June 9th, twenty- four hours after an attack ofapoplexy, Dickens, who had been working all day at"Edwin Drood, " died at his house, Gadshill Place,Higham, by Rochester, of apoplexy, an effusion ofblood on the brain . He had not only been hard atwork on the day when he fell, but had written threeletters, which have been published, to one of whichwe shall refer. He died through overwork, which inhis case was needless, through living always freely,and adding to the labour of his brain often an excessive labour of his body in walking and exercise .Men of genius always die young, even when theylive beyond the usual period of life , as did Fontenelleand Voltaire, Landor and Rogers; or if they die whenjust past middle age, as did Shakespeare, falling fromus when he was but fifty-two, and had but recentlywritten the most freshly creative and the youngestin spirit of his dramas, the " Tempest "--or CharlesDickens, who passed away at fifty- eight. The reasonis, that their creations are always fresh and new, and30 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.linger with us and people our brains, recalling our ownloved and cherished youth long after we are old . Noone has exercised this power-which is common alsoto actors, who enjoy for a very long period a kind offactitious youth—more widely than Charles Dickens.What with the immense circulation of his books, theinnumerable editions in England, America, Germany,France, Russia, Spain, Italy, Denmark, Sweden, andother countries; what with their cheap and almostuniversal reproduction-without copyright-in theUnited States; the popular readings given by theauthor, in which he so well embodied his owncreations, and their dramatisation by other authorsno man was ever in his lifetime so popular, or enteredfamiliarly into so many houses and spoke to so manyhearts. He had a great privilege , a very great privilege indeed, granted him by Almighty God, that ofbeing born of the English-speaking race, a racewhich covers and owns three- fifths of the globe, andwhose language will in a very short time, perhaps, bethe lingua franca, or free tongue, of half the globe.He had the privilege of speaking the tongue whichShakespeare had rendered musical, and which Milton ,Bacon, and Locke had made classical and concise.He was, moreover, of that great country which, withall its shortcomings, reverences the Bible more thanany other of its gifts, and which, by subscription andotherwise, has, in a few years, circulated upwards ofMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 31V $thirty millions of copies of the Word of God withinits own shores, to say nothing of the numbers it hasscattered abroad. And it was also the privilege ofthis great author to be well read in this Book, —sowell read, indeed , that in a leading magazine therewas lately an article which dealt exclusively with hisknowledge of the Bible, and his use of its images.Let us add to these gifts of his that great one of atender heart, coupled with a quick and vivid apprehension, and a most joyous, lively spirit. We willnot here dispute with Shelley the assertion, that"Most wretched menAre cradled into poetry by wrong,—They learn in suffering what they teach in song ."We can instance Fielding, Shakespeare, and CharlesDickens, as essentially poets in tenderness andcreative power, as men who had the truest enjoyment of life, and in the midst of all their merrimentthe tenderest feeling for the woes of others. No mansaw a thing so quickly and so comically as Dickens;and what he saw, he described as faithfully. Suchare the innumerable happy touches of habit whichgive so life-like a character to his creations . WitnessMrs. Gamp, while watching her patients, rubbingher nose along the warm brass bar of the nurseryfender, a trick which he must have seen; MontaguTigg, diving behind his stock to pull up his collar ina dignified way, and fetching up a string; the style32 MODERN MEN OF which the clerks disport themselves at the Circumlocution Office; the mysterious ways of the Punchand-Judy men, Codlin and Short; and in that clevertale of his, " Barnaby Rudge, " the obtuse old innkeeper, John Willett, who, not being quite able torealise how his son has lost an arm , goes quietly tohis top- coat, which is hanging up, and feels along thesleeve, as if he might find it there! These, and a hundred other touches, are as true as the more subtle renderings of a photograph, and are such as could neverbe described unless seen. But not one of them isdescribed ill-naturedly. Dickens was very often exaggerative and pantomimic. He saw things in sovery comical a light, that we, of soberer brains andless extensive experience , were quite behind him inperceptiveness. But the humour was the humour ofa pantomime, full of fun which delights children ,and hurts nobody. The man of science whose eyeMr. Sam Weller blackens, and the beadle whom hethrashes so soundly that he declares he has spoilthim, and that the parish must find another, are, wemay be sure, not very much hurt, and will comeround again. He is never wantonly cruel; he neveris in a rage with any of his characters, except themean and the base. He visits Fagin and Bill Sykeswith extreme punishment, but dismisses Bumble andNoah Claypole to a mean livelihood, and to infinitecontempt. He is always honest, always for theMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 33rights of labour, for the good sound workman'shaving his fair wage, and being happily rewarded.He is never a snob. Dickens, in all his works, nevermade it a question whether a man should marry onthree hundred a-year, or not marry at all, but live,like a grub in a nut, a selfish bachelor. His idealworkman marries on about fifty pounds, or, at most, ahundred pounds a-year, and has a tidy neat little wife,andtwo orthree healthyyoung children round his knees.And at the same time we must remember that hedid not flatter the working-man, but told him of hisfaults as well as his virtues. With Dickens, themost industrious of authors, whose too early deaththere is little doubt was caused by over- exertion ,honest industry was the only way for the workingman to be honest and independent; and with it hebecame, as he deserved to be, a hero in Dickens'seyes. How many pleasant houses has our departedfriend peopled with the humble and lowly, fromTrotty Veck's poor dwelling to that of the railwayofficial , who never can get the dust out of his hair,and who does not particularly care for tracts! Andall this he did at some risk, and showed that indeedhe followed Massinger's golden rule, " to look uponthe poor with gentle eyes, " at some trouble to himself. He arose at a time when the novels of Englandwere both vicious and snobbish, when one set ofwriters was producing the Satanic school of literaD34 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.ture, and another, like those poor things whom wename to forget, the Countess of Blessington and LadyCharlotte Bury, was cultivating what was appropriately called the silver-fork school. An acutereviewer, speaking of the large sums obtained forher novels by the Countess—a very cruel, bad woman,by the way- tells us that " Lady Blessington nevertook her pen in hand to write a story that she didnot immediately proceed to describe , in terms calculated to raise a blush on a modest girl's cheek,intrigues that would shock the morality of a greenroom, and the delicacy of a kitchen. " This is quite true,and too many lady novelists are doing the same thingnow. But when Dickens arose with all his fun-and hewas veryfondoffun-about babies and monthlynurses,he never wrote an improper word, or penned a sentencethat could give rise to an improper thought. Hiswas a manly way of treating things; a manly, open ,sunshiny style; he made no prurient secrets; hedid not profess to be above or beyond Nature, norto be feverishly full of heat, nor frigidly full of an unnatural sanctity. He abounded in honest, healthygood tone, like an upright English gentleman; he described a sweep with all his soot about him, or a millerwith his white jacket and dusty hair, face, and hands;but these honest workmen brought no contagion withthem; they did not come from the fever court, nor werethey reeking with the foul oaths of the casual ward.MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 35Another great merit of Charles Dickens is, that hedoes not look down upon people. The men andwomen he describes are various, and some of themplaced in such degraded positions that one mightalmost sicken at them. Yet the great author justpassed away had an almost Shakesperian faculty ofmaking his readers look upon the bright side of hisrogues. Mr. Montagu Tigg is a swindler and acheat; Mr. Chevy Slime is all that his name indicates; Mr. Mantalini lives upon the earnings of thewoman he robs and cheats; and yet, while to theinitiated in life this baseness is apparent, all thatthe innocent reader sees is a most amusing character,without any of the " flimsy nastiness, " again to quoteour reviewer, so apparent in the works of the silverfork school. Surrounding these persons are others.who are common- place good people, -tradesmen,clerks, and shopmen; and at these, especially atsuch of them as belong to the middle classes ,Theodore Hook, Lady Blessington, and the silverfork school, who were in the saddle when Dickenswas a young man and was forming his style , were inthe habit of sneering; their novels were made upalmost entirely of abusive descriptions of the " shopocracy, " vulgar people who dropped their H's, talkedungrammatically, were always fond of pushing intosociety superior to themselves, and who, with thebad morals of the aristocracyunited the worst taste andD 2}

36the slipshod and miserable grammar of the tradesman.Charles Dickens never stooped to this. If he laughsin his juvenile sketches at the " Tuggses at Ramsgate, " and a few others, it is to be remarked that heoften makes his young men of business his heroes,cares nothing about a gentleman, who is a gentlemanand nothing else, elevates his merchants into anatmosphere of generosity and benevolence, and findsa dozen better things to laugh at than the old, wornout conventional, and farcical resort of making a man.say, "'Ow do you do? ' Ave some happles. " Allthis showed great taste and courage on the part ofa young author; but Dickens had formed himselfupon the very best model of manly English a mancan have upon Henry Fielding. Let the reader, asa proof of this, take the first few pages of " NicholasNickleby," and then some of those marvellously acuteessays at the commencement of each book of "TomJones." The first, he will see, is an inspiration fromthe other.MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.But Dickens was distinguished from Fielding bygreater invention; such fertility had he, that no one,except perhaps Lope de Vega with Shakespeare, hasequalled or surpassed him in this respect. He hasinvented or portrayed, all accurately, if more or lessin caricature, a thousand persons who people ourbrain, and of whom we talk familiarly. There areMrs. Nickleby, Mrs. Gamp, Pickwick, Sam Weller,MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 37Mr. Pecksniff, the Chuzzlewits, Inspector Buckle,Old Weller, the Shepherd, Bumble, and a hundredothers whom the reader may supply. The Frenchtranslator of his works has happily hit off this peculiarity. He says, “ C'est un panorama mouvant de toutesles classes de la Société Anglaise; ** une vaste composition où mille personnages se meuvent et posent devant lelecteur. " And in all these crowds there are personswhom we at once recognise, persons drawn anddescribed with wonderful accuracy; and not onlypersons, but animals and birds. Now and then hehas made a dash at describing a pony, and hiscarrier's dog elicited the strongest praise fromLandseer; while the raven belonging to BarnabyRudge is known to everybody. Landscapes, houses,rooms, the very clothes of men, were so portrayedby this master, that we seem to have them before us.Perhaps few authors—and we all receive manyletters were so plagued with correspondence asDickens. We have spoken of his use of Bibleimages. He was essentially of a faithful , reverentnature; but now and then his fun forgot itself, andhe made use of an image that men more strict haveset aside as holy. Upon any of these occasions adozen angry letters assailed the writer, and it ispleasant to record the answer to one such. In" Edwin Drood, " chap. x. p. 68, he made a slip ofcomicality referring to " the highly popular lamb,38MODERNMEN OF LETTERS.who (instead of which) has so long and unresistinglybeen led to the slaughter "-the Saviour's image ofHimself; and somebody wrote to call his attentionto it. The last letter but one that he ever wrote wasthis, penned on the very day of his seizure: — “ Itwould be quite inconceivable to me-but for yourletter-that any reasonable reader could possiblyattach a Scriptural reference to a passage in a bookof mine reproducing a much- abused social figure ofspeech, impressed into all sorts of service , on allsorts of inappropriate occasions, without the faintestconnection of it with its original source. I am trulyshocked to find that any reader can make the mistake.I have always striven in my writings to express veneration for the life and lessons of our Saviour; becauseI feel it, and because I re-wrote that history for mychildren, —every one of whom knew it from having itrepeated to them long before they could read, andalmost as soon as they could speak. But I havenever made proclamation of this from the housetops. -Faithfully yours, CHARLES DICKENS, " closedthe paper.The letter is very valuable, as indicative not onlyof the author's faith, —and this is strongly reiteratedin his will, but also of his peculiar " colour blindness," his determination to see things only in oneway, and that way the one he wished to use them in;who could use a quotation, including an imageMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 39、""essentially a symbol of the Saviour, " without thefaintest connection of it with its original source;but Dickens had not the scholar's brain amidst allhis gifts. Nor had he the gift of drawing any noblegentle woman, —his women are at best but dolls, —orany fine, true-hearted gentleman. A Colonel Newcome, for instance, or an Uncle Toby, are milesbeyond his reach. As Costard says of his opponent,he may be " a marvellous good man and a very goodbowler, but as for Alisander, you see howit is a littleo'er- pasted. " One of Thackeray's men, or CharlesReade's women, are worthy a cart- load of Dickens'smiddle- class dolls . His pathos is pathetic! Don'tsmile; he intended it to be so, and it is , but it wantstrue art so much that you always see the artist;you swallow the confectionery, but you think of thecook; otherwise it is very well suited for his readers,and not a very high class of them. As in one of hissensational murders, you watch the clouds gatheringbefore the storm begins, so you see the tendernessand tears vigorously shaken up before they affect thereader in the next page.But, after all , Dickens worked well and loyally;he was a very great author, and he knew it as wellas the public, which is always ready to cheer andhelp a brave man, and which paid back his worknot only with money, of which he had enough andto spare, but in a hearty love and appreciation>40 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.which it is given to few men to know. " I amsatisfied, " he said, " with my countrymen and theirapproval, but not with the reward of my country."Just before he died Her Majesty went to look at him;but Prevost Paradol, in half of Dickens's literary life ,and with a tithe of his genius, was an intimate withhis Monarch, and an ambassador to a great power.We desire even less than Dickens desired, ―men ofletters to be diplomatists; but certainly we do wanta Court that is not quite Eastern, and thoroughly unEnglish in its reserve , and in its recognition ofliterature . It is said that Dickens was offered tobe made a Baronet, and afterwards a Privy Councillor, and that he refused both honours; but theevidence that this was true has not yet come out."GodDickens's public was not that which Milton wishedfor, " fit, though few; " but it stretched from sea tosea, and upon the sea in out- going and in- comingEnglish ships, -vessels leaving or reaching that homewhich his pen had made dearer to them.bless you, Dickens, " wrote Hood, even then nearhis own death, God bless you for that sweet storyof yours, the ' Christmas Carol.' It will preacha wider and a kindlier lesson than a thousandsermons. " This is true, the wider lesson, no doubt,but let us remember that his was the great lessontaught, thank God , in all our pulpits-the lesson ofpeace and good-will to all mankind.bMR. CHARLES DICKENS. 4166I will say nothing about Dickens's will, concerning which I have heard his friends say bitter things;that is not a literary work within a critic's province.It contained a comical kick at our undertakers , whoare not so barbarous after all as such gentry in othercountries; and it declared dogmatically that to wearany outward sign of mourning was a disgustingbarbarism, " or something of that sort. It openedup the question of domestic relations best left closed,and Dickens well knew that the will would bepublicly and widely read; but it contained a manlyand humble declaration of his faith in Christ,through whose meritorious sacrifice he looked forsalvation . That this faith should have survived theloose fast- talkers and shallow- thinkers, with whichevery public man is surrounded, is a happy fact,especially as we have heard the great author claimedas a Unitarian by one party, as a Freethinker byanother.They buried him in the Abbey, and the nationwas pleased. No man was so widely mourned; hehad been with us from our boyhood, and was somuch our own that we all felt that we had lost adear friend. Foreign nations, even frozen Russiaand sunny Italy, mourned with us, and set himbefore us at his true value. We know now what akindly genius we have lost .So let him rest with that glad hope of pardoning142 MODERN MEN OF and healing faith. It is a great thought fora widely-read author, and one which must oftenhave occurred to Dickens, that in all the manymoments and the flying hours which make up Time,in that portion of Eternity which is allotted to us,and which we little beings call life , that not onemoment passes but some, young or old, joyous orsorrowful head is bent down over his books, drinkingin his words, loving what he pictures as heroic,hating what he has portrayed as base, and buildingeven its moral tone , although insensibly to itself,and its future life upon his words. It must havebeen a consoling thought in that sharp agony of theseizure which preceded his death, when the wholewide landscape of his past life was lit up by thelightning flash of conscience, that told him he hadnot left one line which could corrupt, nor plantedwith intention one seed which could turn to poison. *

  • The chief portion of this paper appeared in the London

Review, November 16th, 1867.MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 43I subjoin two letters, one from an English, anotherfrom an American paper, which will exhibit (beingeach curious in its way) the different estimates placedupon the author. Mr. Dodge's paper is extractedas a specimen of what appeared in the Americanpress.SHAKESPEARE AND DICKENS.[TO THE EDITOR OF THE SPECTATOR. "]" Sir,-In your admirable ' Topics of the Day,' in which thereis always so much to agree with, I find a note (June 11 ) whichastounds me. In the greatest gift of genius-humour-you place Dickens beyond Shakespeare. 'He is the only English writerof whom it can be truly said that in any one line in whichShakespeare was not only great, but at his greatest, this other was greater than he. But as a humourist we think this is trueof Dickens. ' You then cite Mrs. Gamp and Juliet's nurse asparallels; they seem to me to be quite distinct; one is a merehireling by the job, the other an adherent of the family, a woman of some position, a duenna of an humble sort. But take Mrs.Quickly, Gossip Quickly, and Mrs. Gamp, and then say whichis the greater, broader, more natural character? Or, take SamWeller, and compare him with Shakespeare's greatest, Sir JohnFalstaff? Why, in fifty years the fun of the one may be past andforgotten, a sealed language, an argot which only contemporariescould understand; while certainly Falstaff will be as alive infifty centuries as he is now. Shakespeare works ab intra, andpaints human nature; Dickens ab extra, and gives us particulars and classes. Has Dickens any one character to compare intruth, not with Falstaff, but with either Nym, Pistol, Pompey in' Measure for Measure,' Maria, Sir Toby Belch, -not to fly atmore subtle characters and higher game, Touchstone and the"44 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Fools in Lear ' and ' Twelfth Night?' And with all reverencefor the great author just dead, whom I knew both in books andin the flesh, has he drawn any characters at all superior, or evenequal, to Partridge, Parson Adams, Uncle Toby, Corporal Trim,Strap, —not to go abroad, and call up Sancho Panza?Comparisons are perhaps at this time more odious than evenin the proverb, but Dickens when alive complained that he hadbeen spoiled by his critics; and his worst enemy, if he had any,could not injure him more than by a false elevation.-- I am,Sir, &c. , J. HAIN FRISWELL."،،[ Mr. Friswell does not understand our criticism. We do notbelieve, as we have elsewhere maintained, that Dickens everdrew a real character. Mrs. Gamp is -in a very true sense, —though it sounds paradoxical, but we have explained our meaningelsewhere, his highest idealism. Shakespeare hardly ever created a character that was not real in its whole basis. Butas a feat of humour, we do seriously hold that Mrs. Gampstands above Shakespeare's greatest efforts in the same direction,-even, and no doubt that is an enormous ' even,' -even SirJohn Falstaff. Whether or not Mrs. Gamp may be unintelligibleto posterity seems to us entirely irrelevant. We can understandher, and can also understand Shakespeare's highest feats ofhumour, and are therefore perfectly competent to compare therelative successes of the two.-ED. Spectator, 18th June, 1870. ]"At Gad's Hill Mr. Dickens's habits became more confirmed.He drank more often. His liquors were of the choicest kind .Wines ofthe rarest vintage were stored in his cellars . Highlyspiced beverages came to be liked, and he was vain of his skillin compounding them. The ' cider- cup of Gad's Hill ' —a drinkcomposed of cider, limes, brandy, pine-apple, toasted- apples ,lemon peel, and sugar, —became famous as a speciality of theplace. A friend of mine who spent a day and night at Gad's

MR. CHARLES DICKENS. 45Hill last year, a gentleman to whom Dickens felt under great personal obligations, and for whom he may therefore haveemphasised his hospitality, describes the visit as a continuedbibulous festivity from noon till midnight. There was the cidercup on arriving at half-past twelve p.m. , sports in the open airtill two, when came brandy and water—a long walk through thefields till six, when curaçoa with other liqueurs were served—dress, dinner from seven till ten, with every variety of wines—coffee and cigars , and then pure spirits, or various compounds ofspirits, until bedtime. If any one infers from what I have written that Charles Dickens was an intemperate man, in theusual acceptation of the word, whether in this country or inEngland, he mistakes my meaning. Dickens was never drunk.His intellect was never obfuscated by excess. But he ' enjoyedlife.' He lived indeed too fast. This he himself felt, and hencehis long walks of from six to ten miles a day, to counteract theeffects of indulgence. For the last twelve months of his life hehad been increasing in stoutness. He noticed this, and fearingwhat it portended, increased his hours of exercise . It wouldhave been better had he begun at the other end. ”[Letter from Mr. Dodge, who had been introduced to Dickensat the Exhibition of 1851 , and who appears to have been familiarwith him. ]}..MR. MARK LEMON.

MR. MARK LEMON.L1N the old and, indeed, in the new orderof nobility, we used to call, and do call,the person whose name was admitted tothe Libro D'oro by the name of his chief victory.Thus, we have Lord Dudley of Agincourt, Baron(then Viscount) Nelson of the Nile, Lord St. Vincent,not to mention the heroes who fought at Sobraonand relieved Lucknow, and our latest militaryaddition , Lord Napier of Magdala. As for our latestliterary addition to the peerage, it was to have been—if the premier, Mr. Gladstone, could have had hisway-Baron Grote of Greece—for surely that history,luminous and full of learning as it is, is worth avictory or should we call him Viscount Grote ofPlato, or of Socrates and his Companions? Thoseare true books and worth recording, and, in givingMr. Mark Lemon his title , it is worth while remembering his chief or his life work. He is Mark Lemonof Punch, the kindly editor who has held the whipfor more than a quarter of a century; the wiseE50 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.manager who has quarrelled with no man, and hasput down each of his contributors at his true value;the friend of Jerrold, Thackeray, and Leech: theagent, as it were, by whom whatever money thosegentlemen earned was paid them; a man of businessas well as a man of letters, and equally honourableas both; a man who was always employed in goingabout doing good, and of whom the most mordant cadof a littérateur-and we have one or two of the genuscad in our ranks, not more-can say no word, nohonest word that reflects anything against him; nay,this very person is obliged to wind up with, " Afterall he was a good fellow, jolly old Mark! ”A plague upon Time that he takes advantage ofus! ' There are only two honest men in the world,"says Falstaff, " and one of them grows old." Morethan sixty years, summers and springs mostly, havefallen upon Mr. Mark Lemon's head, and have turnedthe black hair to an iron grey, have lined and seamedthe face, but they have not dimmed the kindly outlook of the eyes, and have but softened and madesweeter the playful smile that hovers round themouth. And the face is a remarkable one in its wayit has such a look of power and good- naturemingled. You may see it, in company with a veryample form, dashing up Regent Street in the centreof a Hansom cab, which Mark Lemon fills out withan admirable sufficiency; you may see it surmount1MR. MARK LEMON. 51ing a fancy costume at a reading at St. James'sHall; or you may see it coming from the IllustratedNews Office, or looking from a photograph of a burlyfarmer-like man in Spooner's shop in the Strand;but wherever you see it you will find kindliness ,force, good humour, concentration, and manliness.And never more of that kindly manliness which hasdistinguished him was ever seen than when, at thefunerals of his two friends Thackeray and Leech, wesaw the upturned eyes streaming with tears, greatheavy tears that came " napping " down the palecheeks, and again and again gathered and fell fromthe saddened eyes.Whether Mark Lemon, as we shrewdly suspect,be of that ancient race which gave kings to Judæaand prophets to the world, it boots not to enquire.He was born in the year 1809 , near Oxford Street,London, and a pretty boy, with curly hair, something like young Disraeli, used to be seen, nigh sixtyyears since, in a lady's carriage, when WimpoleStreet was the seat of aristocracy, and CavendishSquare in its glory. From carriages and such likeour hero must have fallen to evil fortunes and days,for there is a rumour that Mr. Lemon once purveyedother refreshments than those mental kickshawswhich he gives us every week. He made his earliestattempts, too, at stage plays, was jolly both off andon the stage, and lived the life of a literary BohemianE 252 MODERN MEN OF the time Mr. Gilbert Abbott a'Beckett, a briefless.young barrister, wrote for Figaro, and rubbed hisstuff gown into holes by waiting in and outside thecourts in Westminster Hall in hopes of a brief.courseThis Figaro-" Figaro here, Figaro there, " and of"everywhere "-was a rabid Radical publication; but Radicalism had a cause then, and,heaven knows, the Tories wanted shaving. RobertSeymour was an artist who drew and managed tolive; his sketches were hardly then known; andJohn Leech and Kenny Meadows (whom people tookfor a comic artist! ) were drawing on the gallery ofcomicalities in Bell's Life. Mr. Mark Lemon,Mr. Blanchard, Henry Mayhew, Horace Mayhew,Maginn, Albert Smith, E. L. Blanchard, and DouglasJerrold met one day at the shop of Joseph Last,in Wellington Street, after various preliminarystruggles, and did resolve upon imitating a certainFrench periodical, the Charivari-which, indeed,might itself have been imitated from our Figaro orBlack Dwarf. For the Black Dwarf had been putin prison, and Figaro had died . The Englishmenmight have been original, but they were not. Look,for instance, at Mr. Alfred Thomson and the Period—that indecent imitation of Le Journal Amusant andLe Petit Journal. Why should the conductors ofthe Period, with which is combined the Echoes, thusdrag the name and fame of English letters in theMR. MARK LEMON. 53dirt, after a French fashion? If they must prostitute themselves to the vice of the age, why not inan original way?Why they were so stupid as to call Punch—perhaps the very best name ever suggested for acomic paper-by the second title of the EnglishCharivari, which it is not, and never was, alwayspuzzled the present writer, even when, as a boy,he bought its first number. Some of its writers.had been over to Boulogne, and Thackeray-whowas not there at the commencement, and came onafterwards, a swell from Frazer's Magazine, and acollege-man-had lived in Paris; but Messieurs lesabonnés who took Punch in , knew about as muchabout the Charivari as they did about Sanskrit.The Charivari was epigrammatic, caustic, savage,full of wit, often indecent, and strongly political .Punch, too, had its wit, tried to be epigrammatic,was full of sound, honest English humour, notheartily political, but thoroughly social, and wasnever improper nor indecent, but always cleanlyand manly. The very varnish on Punch's noseglistened with a holy dew of cleanliness; thevery second cut which John Leech did was asatire on those unfortunate foreigners, those loungersof Regent Street and the Colonnade of the Quadrant(since taken down) , those " Foreign Affairs, " whichLeech, from the bottom of his entirely English54 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.heart, most thoroughly despised. Besides this, theCharivari was often in opposition to the reigningpowers, and was actually always disloyal. Punchwas, has been, and is, always loyal; loyal in a true,good, and wise sense, as an English gentlemanmight be. We are not exaggerating the fact whenwe say that to the wise loyalty of Punch, its writers,and its artists, the reigning Sovereign owes much,very much, of the best and heartiest popularity shehas. We believe that Mr. Lemon has never touchedone penny of public money, but we are sure that thegood he has done, the value of the honest service hehas rendered, has been simply incalculable.For a nation must laugh, and there is all thedifference whether it laughs like a satyr, or likethose bitter fish-women did in France at blood andslaughter, or like we have laughed under Punch'sauspices for many years. The proprietors of thepaper were wise enough to find out that their editorwas a good one, and we, who have served undermany, and have commanded heavy vessels ourselves,here declare that a good editor is just the one thingneedful for the success of a publication. You canget plenty of good writers, if you know where topick them out; you can select your artists, and youcan contrast your goods so as to show each otheroff; or you can call fools into a circle and spoil thelot! Pauca pallabris; let the world slide . " Sessa! ”MR. MARK LEMON. 55quoth Christopher Sly; how many publishers have,with the help of editors, poured their money downgutters!Mr. Mark Lemon did not succeed to the editorshipof Punch till Henry Mayhew had retired , and Mr.Joseph Last, the publisher, had sold his share, andthe shares of the literary gentlemen, too , we believe,to Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, who have sincethen published our veteran contemporary with suchsignal prosperity and such success. Not only was ourfriend editor, calling to his aid Jerrold, Thackeray,Tom Taylor, Percival Leigh, Burnand, and a host ofothers, and helping artists , poor old Newman, KennyMeadows, Phiz, Bennett, M'Connell (neither of themlearned), as well as Charles Keene and Du Maurier(who are learned in art) , —but he was a song and a dramatic author. He has produced upwards of seventypieces , farces and else . Where are they now? One ortwo of them still keep the stage, but modern dramaticliterature—even such great poems as " Formosa ”and " Billy Taylor "-soon drop into the grave.Mr. Lemon, as an author pur et simple, is not verygreat. He has written " largely," as the ordinarywriter has it, in Household Words and the IllustratedLondon News, and what he has done has been donewith a workman- like finish and neatness. He haswritten, and honestly, in the Daily News; hasfurnished the music- sellers with some capital songs;56MODERNMENOF LETTERS.has given pleasure to our little ones in some fairytales of very sufficient workmanship, the " EnchantedDoll " and " Legends of Number Nip; " and whenthere was a run upon Christmas books, did not theindustrious Mark Lemon come forward with a Christmas hamper stuffed full of good things? He haswritten also in Cruikshank's Magazine and in A.Beckett's Almanac for the Month; and lately—yearsfly by rather quickly-he let us have two novels,'Wait for the End " and " Loved at Last. " Finally,he did a bold but somewhat careless piece of workin editing " The Jest Book " for Macmillan. Thisshould have been the very best book in the language.It is not so good as we might have expected ."When Dickens was at Devonshire House-" surrounded with rank and beauty, " say the liners, andfor once within the memory of living man, there wasa duke who took notice of pressmen, and saw thatliterature is a living force, not to be despised andutterly neglected—there were certain plays got up,and admirably acted, by the Punch staff, JohnForster, and others; and amongst these actors, ifDickens was the best, Mark Lemon was the second.He has since turned this schooling to account bygiving dress " recitals " of Falstaff with admirableeffect.Reading this over, and leaving the subject of oursketch alone sole monarch of Punch, we find we haveMR. MARK LEMON. 57said nothing against him. Let us save ourselveswith a caveat. Therefore cave, caveto! we havenever taken one penny of Mr. Mark Lemon's money,and only know him slightly and by repute, andindeed do charge him with making Punch successful ,and, therefore, breeding a crowd of stupid imitators,who have made wit (?) vulgar, detestable, often indecent and common-in fact, to quote our wisest ofwitty men, frightfully " corrupting." We find, too ,that we have not quoted any of our author's writings.Therefore, oh reader, remembering the sweet andgentle nature of the man, take down any volume ofPunch, and selecting, not the long articles, but theadmirably fitted in padding (for the last thirty years) ,pick out the sweetest, neatest, and the most pointedparagraphs and epigrams, and put them down witha clear conscience to its editor, Mark Lemon. *

  • Alas! since this was written, Mr. Mark Lemon died, June,

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

VICTOR HUGO.1VICTOR HUGO.&&&HE Kings of the realms of Mind, those uncrowned monarchswho enter into our secretthoughts, and rule us from their graves,are very often opposed to the Kings of the World.When the world has accepted a family for manyyears, and there is a species of loyalty engendered inthe poet's mind, he will symbolise the monarch inevery virtue. She will be Una; she will be the " Fairvirgin throned by the West; " she will make bubbleupon the poet's lips honied adulation so sweet, soexaggerated , that we poor moderns stare and gape atthe subserviency of a noble mind. But the greatnessof a monarch must be identical with that of the country before a Spenser can allegorise , or a Shakespearecan flatter. When the interests of the country andthe spirit of patriotism are separated from the Kingof Men, then the poet, without a moment's hesitation,casts his lot with his country. The Court poets ofCharles I. were pretty singers, and there are nobleverses of Lovelace that deserve to stand side by side62 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.with those of Milton. But we are speaking of thesupreme mind. There was no question , there couldbe no question, which side Milton would take."There can be madeNo sacrifice to God more acceptableThan an unjust and wicked king."Thus he translates from Seneca; and through life, inevil or good report, he casts his lot in with the Commonwealth. So there could be no question in thiscase of Cæsarism on which side Victor Hugo, thesupreme French mind of this century, would be whena vast shadow grew between Liberty and France,and, absorbing the strength of many mediocrities, andleaning on the fears of the Bureaucracy, LouisNapoleon rolled back the progress of French liberty,and constituted himself the Autocrat of France. Letus add, that to us-although the crime of the 2nd ofDecember cannot and should not be forgotten-LouisNapoleon has falsified many fears, and has made abetter and even a nobler ruler than one could havesupposed from the crooked ways in which he crept tothe throne. * But what an Englishman may forgive,a true Frenchman never can condone. Napoleon hashis day—not even now so great as Victor Hugo onhis little rocky asylum-and Hugo will have his: onewill be Hugo the Great, the other Napoleon the Little.

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

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:

" So far from art being immoral, little else except art is moral;that life without industry is guilt, and industry without art isbrutality and for the words ' good ' and ' wicked,' used of men,you may almost substitute the words ' Makers ' or ' Destroyers.'For the greater part of the seeming prosperity of the world is,so far as our present knowledge extends, vain; wholly uselessfor any kind of good, but having assigned to it a certain in evitable sequence of destruction and of sorrow. Its stress isonly the stress of wandering storm; its beauty the hectic ofplague and what is called the history of mankind is too oftenthe record of the whirlwind, and the map of the spreading of theleprosy But underneath all that, or in narrow spaces of dominion in the midst of it, the work of every man, ' qui non accepit inMaouJOHN RUSKIN. ΙΟΙvanitatem animam suam,' endures and prospers; anant or green bud of it prevailing at last over evilfaint with sickness, and encumbered in ruin, the true workersredeem, inch by inch, the wilderness into garden ground; bythe help of their joined hands the order of all things is surelysustained and vitally expanded, and although with strangevacillation, in the eyes of the watcher, the morning cometh, andalso the night, there is no hour of human existence that doesnot draw on towards the perfect day."And perfect the day shall be, when it is of all men understood that the beauty of Holiness must be in labour as well asin rest. Nay! more, if it may be, in labour; in our strength,rather than in our weakness; and in the choice of what we shallwork for through the six days, and may know to be good at theirevening time, than in the choice of what we pray for on theseventh, of reward or repose. With the multitude that keepholiday, we may perhaps sometimes vainly have gone up to thehouse of the Lord, and vainly there asked for what we fanciedwould be mercy; but for the few who labour as their Lordwould have them, the mercy needs no seeking, and their widehome no hallowing. Surely goodness and mercy shall followthem, all the days of their life; and they shall dwell in the houseofthe Lord-FOR EVER." —Lectures on Art.small rem And thoughHere is a writer after our own heart; no dreamerafter Arthur and his knights, no searcher after HolyGrails, no petty describer of sensation trials for murder or adultery, no mere painter of comic people whonever existed , of " character " which boils and bubblesonly in his own too humorous brain. For while.Ruskin tells us of Function , be sure that he honoursthe function of the writer, and that is not merely todistract nor to amuse, not to take us now to Thebes,now to Athens, as Horace has it , to make us weep ,3102 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.laugh, or creep all over at mere ghosts-no, tenthousand times No! It is this noble function of awriter which John Ruskin has nobly discharged—tobind our hearts closer to our brothers, and to lift oursouls nearer unto God!THE ETHICS OF RUSKIN.་ 41.THE ETHICS OF RUSKIN.DE((HESE are the times, " wrote Thomas Paine,the infidel and agitator, in No. 1 of TheCrisis " these are the times that try men'ssouls." That was a forcible sentence, worthy of thetitle of the paper-The Crisis . But we all live in acrisis, " and all times try men's souls; indeed, eachage adapts its trial and its pressure with abundantcare, so that each soul finds the burden and the soreweight, nor need complain when others are tried aswell. But these are times, we will say, that havepeculiar trials. Such is man's conceit. Before thebirths of conquerors and kings, Nature-fond nurse ofthese fortunate great ones- had given note that thefuture has something worth seeing behind her veil.Before great Julius died, as Shakespeare, musicallyrepeating Plutarch, lets us know, old Beldame Earthwas in strange taking: hurricanes toppled downtowers, in the sky floated ashes and stars of fire,comets flew eccentrically here and there, and thesheeted ghosts did squeak and gibber in the Romanstreets! To what purpose were these warnings, if106 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.they ever existed? Amiracle twice repeated becomesno miracle; nay, we shall have learned men who willjust look again into that miracle and prove that it isbut a law. So we, of a sceptical age, are rightlysceptical as to these peculiar times. The exordiummay do for the ordinary preacher who wishes to wakeup his drowsy flock; but it will not serve us. Thepresent times are fraught with severe lessons, bigwith the future; but not more so than others. Wehave had the most brutal revelations of cold-bloodedmurders plotted in peaceful, Christian England, bythose lamb-like martyrs, the working men. We havehad a congress of idle men, sitting like a secretsociety, a band of assassins, or the Vehme Gerichte,and decreeing that one of their number shall bemaimed, wounded, put out of the way, or shot todeath, because he dared to try and gain a free andhonest living. We have had popular teachers andwriters, who yelled like angry madmen at GovernorEyre for saving an English colony by the courtmartial trial of a rebellious negro, silent as to themurderer Broadhead, because he was and is a socalled working man, and so-called working men takein their papers. We have had organised bands ofroughs who broke down the Park palings, and amember of Parliament who apologised for them. Wehave had a meeting of Conservative working menmobbed, hooted, hounded, and beaten out of a publicTHE ETHICS OF RUSKIN. 107hall, in which they had legitimately called a meeting,by Radical Reformers, who, at the same time, claimedliberty of speech, and shrieked with comic indignationbecause not allowed to speak in Hyde Park, whichnever was intended but for recreation. We have hadorganised desperadoes rob sixty, or seventy, or ahundred people in the open day in London streets;and a Protestant lecturer stir up a Romanist mob toriotous ruin in Birmingham; and yet these are notextraordinary times. Our union murders have existedfor one hundred years, and we have lived throughthem. Our workmen have been so ill- advised, sopetted by goody books and ignorant editors, that at theParis Exhibition we were beaten on our own ground.While the workman strikes and starves for fanciedwrongs, while our teachers have for twenty-five yearsbeen ashamed of Protestant feelings and Bible teachings, our newspaper writers have been ere this moreignorant than they are now; and this is all the comfort we can give anyone-we have lived through allthis, so we are actually not living in strange times.But this is certain, there is a great change coming;and John Ruskin, one of our greatest modern teachers,has been the first, or one of the first, to warn us of it.As an Art critic, he has done much good. He broughtlove, truth, honesty, vision, knowledge, to bear onArt. He cut deep into that shameless obstruction,the Royal Academy; he exalted new men. Mr.108 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Millais owes much to Mr. Ruskin; he made the preRaphaelites; indeed , his success made them foolishlyconceited, and spoilt them somewhat; but this heintended not. A singularly quick and fertile thinker,he produced some noble works very rapidly, and inthese he scattered suchwonderfully eloquent thoughts,such noble vindications of God's works, that no oneEnglish writer, save Jeremy Taylor, can be cited ,who can show such blood, life , colour, motion,passion, and reality in his sentences . Ruskin's wordslive; they are not merely bits of type-there theyare, and there they will be. But it is not to these,which will remain great monuments for artists torefer to, that we would point at present. We haveotherwork to do; for Ruskin, abandoning nowfor sometime the province of Art teacher, in which he is first, hastaken to a wider school, perhaps the noblest that a meremodern prose writer can take up, that of teacher of Political Economy to a nation which boasts of its economists, and believes itself to be, rightly or wrongly, theforemost nation, as regards that science, in the world.Now, Political Economy has a name to young ladiesand vapid young gentlemen which is the most deadlyand tiresome, and yet it is the most vital, sweet, andinteresting. It resembles that philosophy of whichMilton sang that it was charming and divine—“ Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,But musical as is Apollo's lute. ”THE ETHICS OF RUSKIN. 109The mission of Moses was economic, for he propounded the Oikonomia, or house- law, whereby everyman should go in and possess the land, and every onein the vast tribes of Israel should dwell at peace, andno one should hurt his neighbour; or if, by mischance,he did so, he should atone for it, if by crime, shouldsuffer; so that goodness should abound, wisdomshould be exalted, peace should ensue; the ways ofthe Lord should be known as pleasant ways, andtheir sons should " grow up as the young plants, " andthe daughters should be chaste, pure, and beautiful"as the polished corners of the temple." Trueeconomy, then, is the science of life; it comprehendsthe best knowledge of the world, it concerns itselfwith the happiness of man, it makes life sweeter andbetter; it restrains the evil, exalts the good, banishesselfishness, makes us understand the luxury of virtue,and undertakes to supply the greatest happiness tothe greatest number. It must be founded not on selfishness, but on religion; not on mere political dicta ,or the garbled, ill - conceived maxims of the trader;not on the interested notions of either the consumeror the producer, but on certain canons, which, generously conceived and wisely interpreted, in givinggood to one, will give it also to all.It is not too much to say that Mr. Ruskin's politicaleconomy aims at all this. He is a great man and awise thinker; but we must not suppose that hisIIO MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.doctrines are therefore received at once by the political quidnuncs who patch up old ideas of selfishness,which they call Political Economy. Mr. Ruskin'sessays are full of forcible, eloquent writing . Theywere received partly with ridicule, partly with avacant non- comprehension, partly with indignantdenial; but they have, as he himself says of PoliticalEconomy, " a plausible idea at the root. ”Of course numbers 3 and 4 are propositions* whichhave been received with loud denials and indignantprotestations; and it is but fair to say that Ruskinhas hardly developed his theory, since certain letters ,published in a Manchester paper, are not yet republished by himself, corrected and annotated; so thateven in these deductions, except in the last, whichwe quote in his own words, we may be guilty of someerror. However, his ethics have made a very great,and very deep and wide sensation.A correspondent, writing to us to request ouropinion on these things, says: " I send you theseletters, but I still retain a few, which are really unfitfor perusal, having been well thumbed by ' greasymechanics ' in a mechanic's greasy workshop duringmeal and leisure hours, when the hands are ratherblack, and the reading-desks are massive but dirtycastings. We believe you to be a leader of thoughtand opinion in England; and there are not a few of

  • See page 99.

THE ETHICS OF RUSKIN. IIIus here who desire to have your opinion upon theseas soon as possible. " Now, papers that are read byworking men at Ancoats, will be read and ponderedover by working men all over the world, and workingmen now have the position in their own hands. Therelations of capital (which we take here to be meremoney and possessions, not brain capital, which thelabourer also has) and labour are undergoing a revision, and it would be mere cowardice to shut our eyesto the fact. Mr. Ruskin earnestly desires to " removethe temptation to use every energy for the possessionof wealth, ” and in that we have long been with him.He desires earnestly to benefit mankind, and hebelieves that this gentle spoliation of the too richclasses will be gradually brought into force frombeneath, without any violent or impatient proceedings.These are weighty words; and among all our weeklyand daily teachers we have not yet found a man ableand willing to tackle their author or confute his arguments, unfinished and inchoate as they yet are.To state Mr. Ruskin's case fairly, we must firstrefer to our definition of true Political Economy asgiven above, and reiterate that the basis of his teaching is generosity or charitable ( affectionate) feelingtowards man. " You have seen long ago, " he wroteto a friend on the 7th of last March, " that the essential difference between the Political Economy I amtrying to teach and the popular science, is, that mine112 MODERN MEN OF based on presumably attained honesty in men, andconceivable respect in them for the interests of others,while the popular science founds itself wholly on theirownsupposed constant regard for their own " (interest) .This is perfectly true. To make as much as onecould, to govern by dividing others, to buy in thecheapest and to sell in the dearest market, to riseearly so that one could anticipate others "in pickingup the worm," these were the destructive axioms ofEconomy, falsely so called . But Mr. Ruskin wiselyputs all that aside as an error. " Your way of makingmoney so that you may be the head of a village , theonly rich man amongst hundreds of poor, " he wouldsay, “ is a selfish, vicious way; and, because vicious,it is unwise. You corrupt yourselves, and you renderothers envious. Howdwelleth the love of God in you?"Of course, this teaching of Ruskin, the lifting up ofthe community, the cultivation of each and singular,is not new. It is merely God's law, the Bible law,and therefore Christian law, for Christianity is themost levelling of all religions; it lifts the poor manout of the mire to set him among princes, and thegreat prince it makes low. Few people can quote theBible, as few people have so well studied it , betterthan Ruskin: with him it is a force, a weapon- avery two- edged sword. In the letter quoted he puts.forward the Bible to prove that song, and dance, andwine, were given to man to make glad his heart inTHE ETHICS OF RUSKIN. 113religious ceremonies, not to be prostituted to thewretched can- can of the French, nor to the CoventGarden Pantomime with its "forty clever swells, "young women half undressed, smoking forty bad cigars,neither to the drunkenness and stupid howlings of aSwiss harvest home. And then, taking the lowesthuman estimation of the Bible, he argues uponthat; so that putting aside Divine authority, he proves"how peculiarly ghastly is our festivity in its utterjoylessness, in the paralysis and helplessness ofa vice in which there is neither pleasure nor art. "And in watching and reporting on certain Parisiandancers who have since appeared in London, he says:" Nothing could be better done in its own evil way, theobject of the dance being throughout to express in everygesture the wildest fury ofinsolence and vicious passionspossible in human nature. So that, you see , though forthe present we find ourselves utterly incapable of a rapture of gladness and thanksgiving, the dance which ispresented as characteristic of modern civilisation is stillrapturous enough, but it is the rapture of blasphemy. "The argument to be drawn from these powerful butsomewhat raphsodical letters seems to be, that we areas much gone out of the true wayin Political Economyas in dancing. We want recalling to true Art; andwhether we take the Bible as a book of mere wisesentences, or as a book every syllable of which is inspired, we are equally wrong. And here we may giveI114 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Mr. Ruskin's view of the Bible, which he so constantlystudies. There are, he says, four ways of regardingit. The 1st, " As being dictated by the SupremeBeing, and every syllable of it His Word. " Thistheory is, he adds, of course " tenable by no ordinarilywell- educated person. " The 2nd is, " That thoughadmitting verbal error, the Bible is absolutely true,furnished to man by the Divine Inspiration of thespeakers and writers thereof, and that every one whohonestly and prayerfully seeks for such truth as isnecessary for salvation , will infallibly find it there. ""This," he continues, " is the theory held by most ofour good and upright clergymen, and the better classof the professedly religious laity; " among which wemay assuredly reckon Mr. Ruskin. The third theory,denying the inspiration , allows the historical accuracy,the record of " true miracles," and of a " true witnessto the resurrection and the life to come." This is thetheory held by most of the active leaders of modernthought. The fourth and last possible theory places.the Bible on a par with the best moral books of theEgyptians, Greeks, Persians, and Indians, and that itis with them to be reverently studied. And so certain is Ruskin of the truth of his Economies, that headdresses this fourth class of thinkers, and appeals tothe Book which for some 1,500 years has been thechief guide of Europe, which forbids pride, lasciviousness, and covetousness-which enjoins truth, temperTHE ETHICS OF RUSKIN . 115ance, equity, and charity. Now, all great thinkers havedone the same; ergo, on that humble basis and premissRuskin builds up his theories, and from that small coinof vantage they will assuredly go forth and conquer.His faults are not many, but we may mention them.He preaches a kind of Communism, which, althoughpractised by the Apostles and early Christians, wasin no way commanded, and which nowhere, except inUtopian Cloud Land, could exist beneficially. Hebelieves too much in worldly prosperity for the mass,while he rightly tells us how miserably evil it is toalmost all individuals. He talks very proudly andcruelly of those who, like us, have " dared to insolently preach contentment to a man with thirtyshillings a-week; " and he is hasty in his denunciations of follies which arise from education, from a longpeace and prosperity, and from the cowardice of ourpreachers and our writers for many years, and fromthe selfishness of the ministries of all parties, whohave given all the honours and rewards to rich men,and have therefore made riches the only incentive.But Ruskin has a very noble heart, and one that isvery tender, too; is most nobly eloquent, and will belistened to; he sympathises with poverty and ignorance, but is tempestuously moved at vice and folly,forgetting that they are the saddest phases of povertyand ignorance. He raises up a warning voice at atime when change has come upon us, and tells us toI 2116 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.go back to the old times of earnestness, of trade guilds,of honour, obedience, reverence; of industry andwork in each man; " every youth in the State, fromthe King's son downwards, should learn to do something finely and thoroughly, " -not forward to merewallowing in wealth, and corrupting, selfish ease.And Ruskin must be listened to; or else , so surelyas we allow thousands to starve in ignorance andwant, to fester in slothful ease , to plot and planselfish murders, to die starving and helpless while weare full of meat and wine, to go on in the wretchedignorant way we allow our lowest classes to do, we shallpass away as Persia and Greece and Rome have passedaway, with more guilt to ourselves and less excuse."Take unto yourselves heed ," says Joshua, " thatye love the Lord your God; else if ye do in any wisego back, know for a certainty that the Lord yourGod will no more drive out any of these nationsbefore you; but they shall be snares and traps untoyou, and scourges in your sides, and thorns in youreyes, until ye perish from off this good land whichthe Lord your God hath given you. " These, simply,are the ethics of John Ruskin, even the ethics of theBible. Let us be just, and fear not; let us followthis great teacher; but alas! how can we be just,when out of one thousand children in Manchester,barely four hundred can read, and the rest areignorant, and know not good from evil?

ROBERT BROWNING.7ROBERT BROWNING.Nthat marvellous opening of"Faust" wherethe Poet, the Manager of the theatre, andMr. Merryman (der lustige Person) debateas to the proper thing to put before the public,the Poet demands for his art the chief admiration;the Manager, on the contrary, thinks of the scenery,and Mr. Merryman of fun and frolic . The Poet saysof himself, and quite truly, that" His voice is fame; he gives us to inheritOlympus and the loved Elysian field .The soul of man sublimed-man's soaring spiritLives in the POET gloriously reveal'd."Whereto Mr. Merryman makes a very wise andbeautiful answer:“A poet yet should regulate his fancies;

  • * * *

For oh the secrets of the poet's art,What are they but the dreams ofthe young heart?Oh, ' tis the young enjoy the poet's mood,Float with him on imagination's wing,1120 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Think all his thoughts, are his in everything,Are, while they dream not of it, all they see! " *And then Goethe launches out into one of those marvellously subtle , daring, and tender expositions whichmake him what he is.We need this reference when speaking of RobertBrowning. With him we feel that a poet gives mansomething to inherit, while at the same time hemakes us repeat with Mr. Merryman that sentenceabout " regulating his fancies. " Half the Englishspeaking world could not understand Browning; letus say two-thirds, or three-fourths; or what do yousay to nine- tenths? Take all the people who reallycan read Shakespeare with pleasure, and comprehendthat clear, deep, intense writer; not one- half of thesecould understand Browning. And yet he is a greatpoet, deep, intense, but seldom quite clear. He thinks

(Video) Anthony Mackie Explains Why Hollywood Movies Suck Now

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

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.ܐܢE protest that in the reference to Tennysonwe have not been unjust. We love him aswell as most young ladies; perhaps weunderstand him better. But it is a sign of a weakage when living men of letters are puffed up with aflatulent laudation , and are exalted above the illustrious dead. Any one knowing English literaturewill recall the dull time when Alexander Pope waselevated above that poor creature, Shakespeare, whowas looked upon as a wildly- luxuriant clownishgenius who wanted improving as he has been improved by Tate and Cibber. There still was a galaxyof poets all revolving round one central star-Garth,Tickle, Spratt, King, Eusden, Sheffield! Howdreary read those names now, and yet each man had-egad, each man has-merit. They were very prettyfellows, but flattery in their day slew them. Beforeyou condemn them wholly, read them. They werenot entirely without some good; yet in their daystheir flatterers made them gods. Now, Tennyson136 MODERN MEN OF just as far from Shakespeare as ever Tickle, orGarth, or Eusden is from him; —and Mr. AnthonyTrollope is about as far from Fielding.Yet we all like Trollope much. He writes " asa gentleman for gentlemen, " as the phrase of theday has it, as if Homer, the led-blind man as theycalled the nameless one, wrote only for one class.But in this picked age, you see , we label our worksof genius. Every vapid shilling's worth testibusTyburnia or The Best Society-you could not go fartherfrom good literature, nor fare worse on the wholedescribes itself as a " first-class " magazine. Thatis why such are purchased only by third- class passengers, and those flunkeys and housemaids whoshoulder us poor Bohemians in the second- class.Every paper is a first-class organ, and essentially inthis meaning Mr. Anthony Trollope is a first- classnovelist, and yet he is very clever, and has had aneffect on this age. "Sir, " says a character in Jerrold's " Housekeeper, " " I am a student of humannature." " Yes, " retorts his interlocutor, " youstudy human nature as a housebreaker does a house,to take advantage ofits weakest parts. " Trollope has donethis with our parsons. Of him we may say that he' To parsons gave up what was meant for mankind.”For from the Bishop and his wife in " BarchesterTowers " to that good old fellow, the Rev. Mr.MR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 137Crawley, who puts the noble ballad of Lord Batemaninto Greek verse, preserving the measure and therhyme, Trollope is never tired of introducing usinside the clerical waistcoat . Do we think anythingbetter of the parsons? We know parsons well,and, upon the whole-though we find them men likeourselves, sometimes not too elevated, not too selfsacrificial, not too noble—we can only think that theclerics drawn by Trollope are a disgrace, and almosta libel . We do not say that they are not true.They are photographically true, but they are neverso from the highest and noblest sight- point. Vandyke, whose portraits are true to nature, andLawrence, in a lower way, never painted anythingbut a gentleman or a lady. So some few of ourphotographers elevate their photographic sitters .They take them at their best. They look clever,well, at ease, capable. Other artists stand on alower ground, and give us those sombre, hardfeatured, commonplace English men and women whomake our photographic albums a horror, and theportraits of our actresses in the shop windows a sinand a disgrace. Mr. Trollope hath dealt somewhatafter this fashion with our clergy. He has not doneany better with our dukes and men in office; he has notflattered our pretty commonplace English girls, andas for our equally commonplace young Englishmen,let Johnny Eames bear witness that he pictured them138 MODERN MEN OF very ordinary Philistines and fools. And yet we allread him, and like him. What is the power he hasover us? Simply there is but one answer. It is art -itmay be commonplace art, but it is art. Mr. Trollopeis a literary workman of a sort; but a true workman.His outward appearance symbolises, or ratherpictures, his inner. When you look at his face, youexclaim, with Addison's Cato, " Plato, thou reasonest.well. " For, as that great one said , the soul choosesa fit house wherein to dwell, you must own that thesoul of Trollope has fitted itself with a proper and suggestive tabernacle. His portrait is gaunt, grim, partlygrey, and looks taller than he is; his eyes are noticeable, dark, and brilliant; two strong lines down eachside of his mouth, lost in a tufted American- likebeard, give him a look of greater ill - nature than hepossesses. He is unquestionably a gentleman , butof the middle- class look, by no means of the hautécole. He gives one an idea—that is , if one knowslife and town pretty well-that he has seen hardservice in the drudgery of some government office;he has a cut- and- dried official look, and seems capable of scolding and otherwise irritating his juniors.He looks his age-about fifty-five-and is a man onewould hardly choose to confide in. A Winchester,and afterwards a Harrow boy, he gave little promiseof inheriting any of the brilliant caustic genius of hismother, whose most truthful pictures of the UnitedMR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 139States made the Americans hate her; while her immortal figure of the widow Barnaby caused her sexnever to forgive her.His inherited genius is of a different kind, less incisive, much less vulgar, as people have it , but, as wethink, far inferior. The sons of great ones generallyshow this. There are living men of letters whoinherit the nomen et preterea nihil else of the father,and who yet pick up a decent living on their intangible estate. Neither Anthony, nor his brother ThomasAdolphus, who is five years his senior, owe anythingto their mother's style or manner. Both are educated gentlemen, who have been too much and toowell taught to be copyists . They both write well;in his way the historian , T. A. Trollope, perhaps thebetter of the two, but we repeat there is not even asoupçon of the old flavour of Mrs. Fanny Trollope.Anthony has been a most industrious writer. Henever made a big hit or a sensation, but he has hitthe public continually in the same place, and hassucceeded in making an impression. From "Barchester Towers, " " The Bertrams, " " Castle Richmond," by far his wittiest story, to " The Small Houseat Allington, " " Rachel Ray," " Can You ForgiveHer?" "Phineas Finn," and his " Vicar of Bullhampton," which was originally bought for Once aWeek, and now walks alone on its own hook, thereare many novels, but only two distinct grounds, Irish140 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.and clerical. The " clothes " which Trollope “ occupies are chiefly clerical, a very shabby clerical suit;and it is hard to say whether his bishops or hisbishops' wives are the more distasteful. We don't likeeither. What students in the lower life.think of theirpastors and masters in the higher life, so repeated.and photographed by Trollope, we forbear to say.They must regard them with infinite disgust. Selfish,very meanly small and narrow, without strengthenough to be positively hateful, they amuse us, flatterour vanity skilfully by showing us how much betterwe are than they; and then they are forgotten . Thereare not many notes in their music; bloodless , passionless, highly genteel, they are content to live and to befed and their talk is like them.""These true pictures of an age very poor and weakin its nature, very much subdued, sceptical, lymphatic, and with an eternal need of " prodding " and"goading" to make it stir; of an age which couldbelieve in Lord Palmerston as a God- guided minister;have found an excellent illustrator in a man who hasgreat merit, but which the age persists in acceptingas an illustrative artist-you might as well call hima balloonist-John Everett Millais. He is as wellfitted to Trollope as Phiz is to Dickens. When Phiztried to illustrate our author, as he did in “ Can YouForgive Her? " he failed miserably; he absolutelyput life and humour into some of the figures underMR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 141which Trollope had written such subscriptions asthese-dry, empty as old nuts, but singularly descriptive of the author and his mind. Here are the titles ,taken haphazard: "And you went at him at thestation? " (two backs of young men, a shawl and abonnet in the distance-Millais) . " Won't you takesome more wine? " (old fogies drinking-Millais) ."Would you mind shutting the window? " (youngdoll and withered old doll in petticoats-Phiz) . " Bell,here's the inkstand ” (female model on a ladder, backview; side view of a ditto , holding ladder-Millais) .We will not go on. When you look at these, youwill think that the author and artist have conferred asweet boon upon you, but your blood will not runmore rapidly, nor your heart bound with nobler expansion. At least, ours don't. Some of our modernwooden artists , elevés of the great manufactory ofDalziel Bros., are raffolent about these cuts. " Look,"they will say, " at the folds of that gown, sir! Ah,Jove! what a coat sleeve! " Well, but what aboutthe figure inside?" I've seen much finer women, ripe and real,Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal,"said Byron. Of course he had not, but that's neitherhere nor there. One could not well surpass the Venus,Hercules, or Apollo in flesh and blood; but if youwere to put Millais ' gowns and coats into RegentStreet, one could match them.142 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.The same may be said of the author's personages.They are made to pattern , and to supply a demand.The public wants a commonplace English girl, and itgets Lucy Robarts or Lilly Dale. The tone is low,quiet; the study solid, repeatedly painted , and round;the ideas, the manners, the very words of the day arereproduced. Will they live? No, not twenty years!Live! Why should they? Who would care to loadhis shelves with paper and print containing suchwords as these: " Mamma, dear, give me a postagestamp. ' ' There is one, Lilly. Are you going to thepost? ' ' No, I think old John Boston will comethis way. He may as well take it . ' ' So he may,'said Mrs. Dale, thoughtfully "-and so on for pages.But it is so real! Now is not the postage- stamp real?Yes, as real as his women, Lady Glencora Palliser,Mrs. Proudie, Mrs. Crawley, Mrs. Gazebee, andthe rest; as real as his men, Mr. Plantagenet Palliser,the Duke of Omnium, Mr. Fothergill, Johnny Eames-we need not particularise. Some of his vulgarsketches are very clever—Mr. Scruby and the manwho travels with iron furniture, Captain Bellfield andMr. Chesacre. They are British Philistines proper,and have not an ounce of nobility among the lot, andwhat Mr. Trollope does not find he certainly doesnot put in. His stories are drawn from such arealistic standpoint, that the effect of reading hisbooks is as deadening as a photographer's glass doorMR. ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 143case full of ordinary men and women. Have thesepeople souls? Do they possess hearts and brains?Should we be proud of belonging to such a race?They are the true pictures of the age; can we rejoice in the times we live in? They have not goodness enough in them to be saved. Heaven, unless aheaven of gigs, nice clothes, and five hundred a-year,would be utterly superfluous, they are so much lowerthan the angels; neither have they force or strengthenough to be damned. An utterly relentless annihilation is all that we can demand for them; practically, we give them that; we read on and on, andforget.Is it worth while being a novelist, however clever,to produce so small an effect? Are clergymen alwaysbut walking respectabilities in white chokers? Areour mothers and sisters such quiet, shadowless dummies? Have we no hopes and fears, no tears, laughter,rejoicings, no death, no future hope beyond this earth ,no heroic feelings which lift us beyond this earth'ssphere? Thank God, good people, whose goodnessis confined to the fact that they do not swear, commonplace bishops and vinegary bishop's wives, squiresand their educated do- nothing sons, girls who feeblyintrigue as they play croquet for a good match, andare utterly regardless of good men, are passing away.If Mr. Trollope paints—and he paints firmly, consistently, and with a quiet obstinate kind of art-all.144 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.that can be found in English society, the sooner thatsociety is changed for something of a more decidedpattern the better. No one can care for the faintand obscure outlines, and the colourless sort of wool,with which Mr. Trollope weaves his human and hisfaded tapestry.


MR. ALFRED TENNYSON.BOLFRED TENNYSON, is he not the luckiestman of letters in this very lucky age, thisday of small things, this money- seeking,veneer-loving time? " Sir," said a gentleman in thestalls at the Olympic, " I can't understand ' LittleEm'ly' at all ." " You seldom can comprehend adramatised novel," said we. "Have you not read'David Copperfield? ' " "Why, no; we young fellows " —he was about ten years younger than his collocutor-" have not time for deep reading; we areengaged in picking up the sixpences!"An age that calls Dickens deep reading, and picksup the sixpences, will appreciate Alfred Tennyson.Look at his photograph. Deep-browed, but not deeplined; bald, but not grey; with a dark disappointment and little hopeful feeling on his face; with hairunkempt, heaped up in the carriage of his shoulders,and with his figure covered with a tragic cloak, theLaureate is pourtrayed, gloomily peering from two ineffective and not very lustrous eyes, a man of sixty,L 2148 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.looking more like a worn and a more feeling man offifty. His skin is sallow, his whole physique not jovialnor red like Shakespeare and Dickens, but lachrymoseand saturnine; lachrymose! and yet, as regardsfame and reward, what a successful man he has been!At the age at which Shakespeare was holding horses,he was a pensionary of the Court. When he was veryyoung the critics killed a far greater poet, JohnKeats, so that they might shower down repentant andself-recalcitrant praise on the successor. When hewas but young, an old worn- out poet-a true proseman, but a poet still-contended for the Laureateshipafter years of toil and pen labour, but the youngsinger was crowned, and received the Laureate'swreath, the Laureate's fame and pension-the gloryof which wreathwas made purer and higher from thatof his predecessor, Wordsworth.Tennyson's access to fame was sudden. " LorsqueTennyson publia ses premiers poëmes," says M.Taine, "the critics spoke mockingly of them," andlet us say the critics were right. " He was silent, "continues the French author, " and for ten years noone saw his name in a review, nor even in a catalogue, his books had burrowed their way alone( ‘ avaient fait leur chemin tout seuls et sous terre' ) , and onthe first blow Tennyson passed for the greatest poetof his country and his age." It was because the agehad been sinking in verve and true poetic feeling thatMR. ALFRED TENNYSON. 149"Tennyson, great as he is in some points, at once roseto the level of its highest appreciation . He had oneor two things about him, not of him but exterior tohim , which pleased the public. He was a gentleman,the son of a Lincolnshire clergyman of good family,and of a melodious and high- sounding name. Hisuncle, Charles Tennyson, assumed the name ofD'Eyncourt, to mark his descent from that ancientSaxon house. He was a ' Varsity man, as the slangypeople of to - day call those educated at Oxford orCambridge; he was not political nor enthusiastic;he " was excessively much " of the drawing-room,and smelt of the " Keepsake " and " Friendship'sOffering " so strongly that the very names of hisheroines seem to come out of gilt leaves, red silk ormorocco covers, and their portraits to have beendrawn by Boxall or Chalon, and engraved by Heath.Sweetly smiling Adeline, Eleänore, Lilian , “airyfairy Lilian," St. Agnes, Clara, Fatima, Maud, asTaine has it, " toutes les choses sont fines et exquises." Even a lady cannot frown without pleasingso well-bred a poet:" Frowns perfect- sweet along the brow,Light-glooming over eyes divine,Like little clouds sun-fringed. "This is pretty, pretty, very pretty. The Quarterly,which had done its best to kill Keats, strode up toTennyson as did the mad Ajax after slaying the150 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.sheep, and laughing, strode away, saying indignantthings of this puling poet. What an effeminate thing,in effect, says the Quarterly, to write thus:" Oh! darling room, my heart's delight;Dear room, the apple of my sight;With my two couches, soft and white,There is no room so exquisite;No little room so soft and brightWherein to read, wherein to write."Possibly not, as to the room; but if one wants to getmanly poetry, we would rather have it from the worndeal desk of Scott, and from the plough- tail withBurns, and from the rough mountain stone whenceWordsworth communed with Nature.،،It has cost long years for Tennyson to free himselffrom the drawing-room style of poetry. Indeed theKeepsake " and " Book of Beauty " haunt him forever, and have effectually forbidden him to be a greatpoet. And yet he had something of a chance thatway once. There is the divine afflatus perceptible ,but he has been educated too much, and is too carefuland too timid. They write of him as of one who lieson the sofa all day, and smokes cigars: he has a softness and an effeminacy which is altogether false;even Bulwer has twitted him about being " a schoolmiss Alfred " when he was a great bearded roughfellow of forty:" Even in a love song man should write for men, "said Bulwer, in reference to the Laureate. But fromMR. ALFRED TENNYSON. 151off that mental sofa Alfred Tennyson never has risen.He is a retired recluse and somewhat sulky gentleman, that is but one kind of man; a true poet shouldbe of all kinds. His very passion is theatrical, and thegreat heart of the man who weeps or cries out doesnot beat sufficiently to rumple the starched shirtwhich covers his manly chest." O my cousin, shallow- hearted! O my Amy, mine no more!O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung;Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!"You see that while he curses the false girl, thisyoung gentleman remembers apt alliteration's artfulaid. Mark well those f's and the s's. Compare thiswith the mad rage of Hamlet, when he believes thatOphelia is playing false with him, and with the wildrhapsodies he indulges in at her death.Tennyson's popularity, as a poet, grew down fromthe higher classes. Afew young people of high lifebegan to admire him, and Moxon sold his booksslowly; then the next stratum of society under these.took the fever, and found in the Laureate's poemseasy things to understand; and then again, and again,a wider but a commoner circle took up his songs.By his books he made at last much money. Hisbrothers Charles and Septimus, both singers, were atone time rivals, but he soon distanced them andothers. It was whispered that the Queen admired152 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.and that Prince Albert read his poems, and thenwith the loyal English- speaking people his famewas made. Moxon died, and the house paid Tennyson all that his books brought, save a percentage offifteen per cent. , so that for some years the poet foundhis lines golden. When Macmillan and the Cornhillmagazines were started , their proprietors wantednames to attract, and they paid the Laureate aguinea a line for some weak kickshaws:" I stood on a tower, in the wet,When the old year and new year met,”and a weak story about a City clerk, which werehardly worth printing. The magazines did themselvesgood as regards advertising, but much harm to theLaureate. It is not well to drag a great name abouton an advertising van; yet, in spite of this, the poetstep by step grew in popularity, and critics wrote ofhisgreat wisdom, and reviews praised the Cambridge prizeman, and spoke with bated breath of his high genius.It will be as well to look to some few dates to seehow his fame had culminated. Tennyson was 1810; educated at Cambridge at the same time atwhich Thackeray was there; Thackeray never graduated, one of Tennyson's poetic themes gained aprize. In 1830 the Laureate published poems, chieflylyrical, with prose notes full of egotism, which wereproperly laughed at, and since then, it is said, TennyMR. ALFRED TENNYSON. 153son has abandoned prose for ever. In 1832 this littlebook of poems again appeared, with most of the sillyones cut out, and the others very greatly improved.In 1842, after ten years of polish , appeared a largerand fuller edition, and the very reviews which hadlaughed at him began to praise him. In 1847 hepublished the " Princess, " which was somehowthought to be connected with Royalty, but was onlya pleasant medley, not too strong, and full of feminine sweetnesses. The public was delighted with it;the " Book of Beauty" flavour pervaded it like vanilla:how touchingly superior must a man, a college- man,have felt as he read:،، Pretty were the sightIf our old halls could change their sex, and flauntWith prudes for proctors , dowagers for deans,And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.I think they should not wear our rusty gowns."In 1850 Tennyson made a great step in advance asa poet, but not as a thinker, by writing-or rather bypublishing, for he keeps his works a long time by him"In Memoriam. " The friend, celebrated and regretted so much in that poem, is Arthur H. Hallam,son of the historian. In 1851 occurred the GreatExhibition, and the Laureate, who had done noLaureate's work, might have greeted it as he did thatof '62 , but it was left to a volunteer laureate, Mr.Thackeray, who, in the columns of the Times, wrote154 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.a May-day ode with more true " grit " in it than anything Tennyson has done. In 1852 died the Duke ofWellington, and Tennyson reported his funeral innoble verse, perhaps the noblest he has ever written.In 1855 he published " Maud, " which he believes tobe, as he has told certain friends, the best thing hehas ever written, and which certainly has in it morepassion of the kind felt by the Baker Street and Westbourne Grove classes than any other of his pieces.In 1861 came his contribution to a great epic on thetheme of King Arthur, " Flos Regum Arturus, " andin 1864 " Enoch Arden " and other poems.For nearly forty years, then, Alfred Tennyson hasbeen before the public; for twenty years he has beenthe Laureate, taking the laurel{"greener from the browsOf him that uttered nothing base;"for nearly ten years his bust has stood in the vestibuleof his college, Trinity, as the somewhat genius of theplace; and for all that time at least he has beenaccepted as the greatest living poet. Lately twoconcordances to his works have been published, anhonour only yet accorded to the Bible, Shakespeare,and Milton, and only last year an enterprising publishing firm is said to have given the poet £4,500a-year as the calculated profit of publishing hisworks! Poetry pays, then, even now; the Queensalutes the Laureate with respect; it has been said,MR. ALFRED TENNYSON. 155and has been denied, that he has been offered andrefused a baronetcy. Can grateful England be moreprofuse to her singer and her son?Yes, Tennyson is a greatly successful, but he is nota great poet. The next age will surely reverse theverdict of this . He is sugar sweet, pretty- pretty, fullof womanly talk and feminine stuff. Lilian, Dora,Clara, Emmeline-you can count up thirty suchpretty names, but you cannot count any great poemof the Laureate's. Shelley has his Ode to the Skylark, Keats his to the Grecian Urn, Coleridge hisGeneviève, his weird Ancient Mariner, Wordsworththat touching, yea, aching sublimity on the Intimationsof Immortality—where is there one thing of Tennyson which can approach that? He has kept himselfaloof from men; he has polished his poems till all areripe and rotten; he has no fire and no fault; he hasnever lifted one to Heaven nor plunged us to thelower depths. He has no creed, no faith, no depth.When another poet would bare his heart he talks ofhis pulses:" My pulses therefore beat againFor other friends that once I metNorcan it suit me to forgetThe mighty hopes that make us men."What a grand line is that last , and what a feeblebeast crawls on its belly before it! Can we forgivea poet “ suiting to forget " Heaven, Hell, Christ and156 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.His Death upon the Cross, His agony and bloodysweat?-Heavens, that a Christian poet should befound lisping out that!No, he is no great poet. Mr. Tennyson has beenvery discreet, and a very good Court poet, -for amanufactured article really none better; but he islike the lady who did not want to " look frightfulwhen dead, " and so put on the paint and the fucus,and he will take no deep hold of the world. Whatdid sweet Will Shakespeare do? Did he not say thathe had"gored mine own thoughts;

Sold cheap what is most dear,And made myself a motley to the view."Did he not give us blood and passion with his poetry?But what says Tennyson: " Nor can it suit me toforget " that I am admired by all young ladies, andam a Laureate . Further he adds," I count it crimeTo mourn for any overmuch. "And posterity will count it folly to place a halfhearted and polished rhymster amongst her shininggreat ones who were fellows with poverty and disrespect in this life, and who learnt in suffering thatthey might teach in song.MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.!1MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.つぶつOOKING, with a merry, audacious, boldlook, out of your photographic portraitalbum, which contains so many vile slanders upon yourself, your wife, and your friends, is onewhose name stands at the head of the present paper,a Bohemian writer of a bad school, but yet a braveman; one that has done very little good , and yet onefull of capabilities for good; a writer of sound English and a scholar, and yet a driveller of tipsy, highflown, and high-falutin' nonsense; a man of understanding when he likes, and yet of bosh and nonsenseas well when he chooses to debase himself; one ofkeen.intellect, high qualities, prodigious memory, greatpicturesqueness , and a photographic accuracy, andyet so utterly careless of his own reputation, of thedignity of letters, of what is due to himself, that hecan sell his pen to describe a Jew clothier's, anadvertising furniture dealer's, a Liverpool draper's,a Manchester hatter's, or a St. Paul's Churchyardbonnet- shop . A man who ought to have taken the160 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.lead on any paper, but one who, clinging to the oldtraditions of our pen profession, has done but littleupon one only. There is an odious Americanism,"reliable, " meaning that those to whom it is appliedcan be trusted , or leant upon . In ninety cases out ofthe hundred G. A. S. will bring up his copy with theaccurate regard to time which newspapers require,but at the last number in every decennial he willhave failed. This has gained him respect with thedullards who generally conduct and start papers, whobelieve that a man of genius cannot but be irregularand eccentric. If the " genius " gets into the handsof the Jews, is often drunken, always in debt, sometimes in prison , and is totally disreputable, living àtort et à travers the rules of society, these newspaperproprietors think more and more of him, and godown on their knees and bribe him to write."Great wits to madness sure are near allied ,And thin partitions do their bounds divide."When the " great wit " writes a novel, draws all themoney, gets in a mess with it, and asks somebodyelse to finish it whom he is unwilling to pay; orwhen he starts on his travels, leaving a proprietor ofa periodical with a half finished serial on hand, theadmiration of Bohemia, printer, and public, is enormous. The recalcitrant author is afterwards pardoned ,and received with open arms. What a clever fellowhe must be for these people to stand this!MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 161Like this has been the reasoning with regard to Mr.Sala, of whom we, of course , do not narrate all theselittle fables. Yet such men exist, and the offences ofsuch are condoned with wonderful ease by the publicwhom they do not touch, just as a reference by Mr.Charles Matthews to his little escapades with hiscreditors raises a merry laugh. To the stupid publicit is a matter of dubious yet unmeasured admiration,this juncture of social unfitness and fluent verbiagewhich they take for wisdom. To think that you maysee, let us say, Theodore Hook and Dr. Maginnrolling drunk in Fleet Street, and peacefully reposingin the kennel over night, and the next day read thosehighly-flown articles in the John Bull condemnatoryof Queen Caroline, in which it demonstrated that thatpoor lady had not one rag of virtue left to cover her,and that they (the writers) had a chestful of virtuousblankets and undergarments, besides the superfine ,double-milled , thick clothing they stood upright in—to think on this, is it not wonderful indeed! Butreflect, oh, British public-those Pagan Romans didnot choose their Censors thus!

Mr. Sala, who in the flesh is goguenard, jovial, andexternally something like Bardolph, is a very severecensor when he chooses. He is of a mature age—let us say forty-five-and has worked for the pressnearly thirty years out of that, for he began early,and it is whispered wrote at one time for the excellingM162 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Mr. Edward Lloyd, of Salisbury Square, certainromances of the Mrs. Radcliffe school, which ourbest novelists of to-day 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,"related how a certain barber in Fleet Street cut thethroats of his customers, and then sunk them downa trap to a kitchen, where they were made into, andwhence they issued, as mutton- pies! We doubt ifour eccentric genius wrote such stories, but certainlyhe worked hard and honestly at whatever came up,and we wish to heaven that some of the superfine,satin-wove, hot- pressed, gilt- edged, and fashionablenovelists worked half as well and had had the samepractice. Nothing in the world is there like it forstyle. Do you think, young author, that those easyincisive sentences, those quiet sly touches, thosepretty turns of Sterne, or Fielding, or Thackeray,came by chance? If you do, you are as big ablunderer as Dogberry, when he declared that readingand writing were the gift of Nature.When Dickens established his Household Words,with its unattainable motto," Familiar in their mouths as household words,which it certainly was not, a dozen young knights ofMR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 163the pen rushed to aid the Arthur of the literary RoundTable. Our hero was one, and as Mr. Dickens, withsingular generosity and blindness , determined thateverybody should " gush " as he gushed and writeDickenese as he wrote, the facile pen of Sala was ingreat request. Sketch after sketch of real verve andmerit, each of which was attributed to the greatDickens, and many of which were republished in hisname in New York, proceeded from Sala, notably"Captain Quagg's Conversion, " "The Key of theStreet, " and others of the same sort. They were fresh,sparkling, and fast , written with abounding spirit andthat sort of devil- may- care cleverness which is sopleasing to young men. When an author lets youinto his confidence, and knows everything, is equallyfamiliar with a sailors' home in Wapping, a thieves'.cellar in Liverpool, the Queen's palace at Berlin , theEmperor's cabinet in Paris, the Eleusinian mysteries ,and the game of Knur and Spell, you know that youare reading the remarks of an uncommon cleverfellow. The implicit confidence which young readers,and old fellows, too , of the middle class, place in thedissertations of the young lions of the Daily Telegraphis founded on the love they have for the bold buccaneering style in which the latter write. We haveit from a certain Camarilla that sits upon the wildlucubrations of some of these famous leaders, that thegrammar is very bad indeed, and as to the Latin, weM 2164 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.know that even the lynx-eyed supervisors cannot keepthat right. But what then-Que voulez vous mes amis?You get your lurid leader, all blue fire and glitter,and wonderful of its sort. Well, it is nice to read;but, after all , what does it mean? You begin a dissertation on the Virgin Mary, and you find that, ereyou have read three lines, there is a learned essayon the Paphian mysteries and the wondrous rites ofVenus. As for policy and study of the constitutionof this great country, Heaven only knows whereto theD. T. has led us! When that fine property was inthe market, after the gallant Colonel Sleigh hadbrought it out and failed , there was a perturbationamong the band of Bohemians who wrote its articles .Sala was among them, of course; does not everyoneknow his style? He had gone to Russia for Dickens,and was always talking of the Nevskoi Prospect andeternal snow. He has been here, there, and elsewhere, and he lets you know it. Happily for theband of penmen, astute gentlemen of an ancient butexiled people bought the Daily; its sale went up;advertisements made it pay, and Sala was very wiselymade a special correspondent.Perhaps, for a cheap paper, there is no man betterfitted for this work. He cannot understand politics ,but he is well up in art; he cares very little aboutreligion, but he has a photographic eye. He doesnot write the blatant untruths and braggadocio ofMR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 165Mr. Dash, the Parisian correspondent; but he doesgive you an insight into the manners of the people.Some of his touches are simply admirable. Take thesecond volume of " FromWaterloo to the Peninsula: "the description of the laziness, misery, sunshine, rags,pride, and folly of Spain were never better given . Amaster of words, he paints a figure at a touch, as thatof the beggar, proud and sturdy, whose " rags wereflamboyant behind, while his worn plush inexpressibles were rayonné in front. " Gustave Doré, whoseillustrations of Spain in Le Monde Illustré are in hisbest style, has no touch like it.While doing all this hard work, and, according tohis lights, doing it honestly and well, with no highaim, but giving the public what it asked for, and nomore-trifle and whipt cream-not teaching thepeople, nor preaching to them, nor incidentally evenreproving them, but amusing and tickling them, Mr.Sala republished many of his sketches, and one ortwo tales and stories that he had written. His booksare not very successful . They have been issuedcheaply or at a high price, but when the facile authorremoves to a higher class of writing or of readers hesomewhat fails . Not more than one of his books canbe said to have achieved a decided success. Mr.Sala's published works are as follows:How I Tamed Mrs. Cruiser, " 1858; " Journeydue North, " 1859; " Twice Round the Clock, " 1859;166 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS." The Baddington Peerage, " 1860; " Gaslight andDaylight, " 1860; " Lady Chesterfield's Letters, "1860; “ Looking at Life, " 1860; " Make your Game, "1860; " Dutch Pictures, with some Sketches in theFlemish Manner, " 1861; " Seven Sons of Mammon, "1861; " Accepted Addresses, " 1862; " Ship Chandler,and other Tales, " 1862; " Two Prima Donnas,"1862; and since that time, at intervals , " AfterBreakfast; " " My Diary in America in the Midstof War;" " From Waterloo to the Peninsula, " and"A Trip to Barbary by a Round- about Route. "Of these books his light London sketches are thebest and most successful, such as " Twice Roundthe Clock, " published first in the Welcome Guest, andillustrated by a very wooden and angular youngartist, since dead, William McConnell. Perhaps itis unfair to call the poor fellow an artist, for mostassuredly he understood little art; he was a woodenwood draughtsman, very hard and full of lines, buthe had the merit of drawing the scenes from reality.Next in merit are the travels, which are full of observation and curious reading, for Sala, if a desultorystudent, is in some sort a scholar. He once talkedof some poor woman " in a sleazy (thin and worn)shawl," whereon a pundit in the Saturday Reviewasked what is " sleazy," and did not know thatancient and perfectly correct but provincial word.He is a curious and out- of-the- way reader, and not·MR. GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 167to be sneered at. Next follow his touch-and-gosocial articles, beautifully calculated for the meridian of Cockneydom and the intellects of virtuous.publicans, intelligent greengrocers, and the readersof a certain class generally; and last of all inmerit are his novels. Small wits talked of the"Badly-done Peerage " and the " Seven Tons ofGammon, " and not without reason were these namesgiven. There are, however, pages of admirablewriting in both, but a sustained plot and well pourtrayed characters seem to be beyond the author'spainting. His women are dolls, his men the tinselledtheatrical figures we are all acquainted with as boys,and that is all.And so we part with G. A. S. There has been themaking of many a good author in him. As Thackerayonce said of him, he is " a horse big enough to pullany shay about, " but he is a horse that does not gowell in harness. To some his tipsy writing is odious;to few even his very best work can be of use. Hisface, as one can see in a coloured photograph, is anindex to his style . He is bold, ready, and Bohemian .He is grateful to Dickens, and says , in a touchingmemorial of that author, "the first five-pound noteI ever earned in literature came from his kind hand. ”His career is a coup manqué, and if he leave a nameto survive till his youngest Bohemian admirer be anold man—for it will survive no longer-it will yet168 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.carry with it no affectionate reverence, and will notbe conducive to much good.. He is a man ofpotentiality, not of accomplished fact. In the meantime, reckless writing has produced money, recklesslygotten and, it would seem, as recklessly distributed,and so far the end which the vivacious writer hasaimed at in literature is answered. A nobler purposewould have achieved a nobler and far higher result.

MR. CHARLES LEVER.•1! «MR. CHARLES LEVER.HmHE " Prince of neck- or- nothing novelists, "as he is called , Charles James Lever,Esquire, Her Majesty's Consul at Florence,is not a Waterloo officer, nor a Peninsular veteran .It is well to assure the reader of this fact, for Mr.Lever has told so many stories about fighting andfighters, told them, too , with so much art and truth ,and has so thrown himself into military life, thatwhen we first read his entrancing books as boys, wealways believed " Dr. Lever, " as we called him forwe had an inkling of his status-was a surgeon- majorto the most dashing and ubiquitous corps in theBritish army, and had been wounded at Waterloo,and (would have been, if in a foreign army) decoratedon the field.But you see how fancy plays with us. That somewhat fair, rotund, farmer-looking gentleman, withround shoulders, broad and massive; with the goodhumoured face, twinkling eyes, thin hair, and capacious head, which looks as if it had done nothing else172 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.!but superintend agricultural produce, is a physician ,and has never been in the army. He is the son of abuilder; was born in August, 1806, at Dublin, andfor some time taught at home. But during thoseeventful years of our lives in which boys learn most,when John Leech and William Makepeace Thackeray,nor must we forget their school-fellows and contemporaries, Martin Farquhar Tupper and George-wewill spare the rest of the names, the prenomina in thiscase-Reynolds, the pennyblood- and- thunder novelist,were at the Charterhouse, Charles Lever was beingeducated in France. Thackeray has thrown tenderrecollections about his school. Colonel Newcome,you remember, dies as a poor brother of the Charterhouse, as many a good man has died; but we don'tthink that Leech, Reynolds, or Tupper has said aword about it . That is a good sign in a boy anda man when he takes to his old school, and lets hisimagination play fondly about it. The Charterhousereturned the love. We were present at Thackeray'ssale when a huge price was given for an old schooldictionary of the dead author's, and that was boughtfor a relic by his old school. Moreover, the authorities have put up two tablets , one to Leech and oneto Thackeray. In fifty years John Leech will be forgotten, but Thackeray's name will be greater thanever. Tupper and Reynolds are still alive-the firsta scholar and a gentleman, though no poet, theMR. CHARLES LEVER. 173second a most mischievous writer. We don't thinkthe Charterhouse will ever put up tablets to either.After studying and passing, young Lever was sentto the North of Ireland on a medical commission, anddistinguished himself as medical officer in the districtof Londonderry, Coleraine, and Newtown Limavady,so that, not long afterwards, he received the appointment of physician to the Embassy at Brussels, whereSir George Hamilton Seymour was then envoy tothe Belgian Court. Here he met with many militarymen, and seems to have made that study of the lifeof a soldier which has stood him in such good stead.While at Brussels Mr. Lever made a sudden plungeinto literature, and with such success that he "awokeup famous " after a fashion . His first venture, whichseems to have been issued by Orr in 1840, was" Harry Lorrequer, " a tale of dash and devilry, whichmay, in some measure, be regarded as an Irish pendant to Dickens's " Pickwick. " The amount of.. spirit " in each of these novels is hardly to be estimated in these sober days. Fun, frolic, adventure,doings which by some would be called vicious, andby others who do not object to the vice would be stigmatised as snobbish, are chronicled with tremendousglee . Drunkenness is a virtue, sobriety a folly, lovemaking an amiable pastime; and to be surrounded bydebt and duns, to set the law at defiance, to duck asheriff's officer, and to frighten an attorney out of his1174 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.wits, is the normal state of the Irish Bayard, who issignificantly described as "the man for Galway. ”This fun came upon our cold English intellects likea pleasant douche bath of warmed and perfumedwater-or rather whiskey and water. We were refreshed while we were slightly intoxicated, and boughteagerly the monthly instalments in pink covers, whichwere rendered even more couleur de rose by a symbolical design by Phiz. You saw Ireland, not as adejected damsel, but as the prettiest little shepherdessin the world. Donnybrook Fair, then fast dying out,did not represent faction fights, with the hatred ofgenerations fomented rather than healed by the priests,but a few friendly contests with the shillelagh , inwhich Irish knights, not in steel armour but in longfrieze coats, took part, while Biddy as a Queen ofBeauty stood ready to crown the gentle , the courteous,and above all the humorous champion.It is asserted that all Lever's stories are drawnfrom the life . If so , what wonder that we Saxonsdon't understand the Irish? If not the very safestpeople—for they are represented as being prodigiouslyhandy with their duelling pistols-to live amongst,they are in Lever's novels certainly the very pleasantest; and if an Englishman will only put up withthe good-humoured jest of having day turned intonight, and be prepared to jump any amount of stonewalls upon an Irish blood horse of prodigious speed.MR. CHARLES LEVER. 175and bone, he can live in Paradise in the GreenIsland.It is difficult for us to say what contemporarycritics thought of Lever's successes, for the Quarterlydoes not notice him, and Mr. Cordy Jeaffreson , whohas spoken with adulation of forgotten writers, issilent. Asfor his popularity, it is undoubted. "HarryLorrequer " paid , and was speedily followed by somecharming novels-stories which have poetry, sensation , purity, and extreme interest, not without a dashof history and a certain knowledge of society and highlife in them very cunningly mixed. We know of nonovels which are at once so interesting and so harmless. Great skill as a raconteur, vivacity, wit, humour,in a small degree, and broad fun in a very full degree,distinguish them all. And with the knowledgesaddened by events-that Charles Lever possesses ofhis countrymen, it is astonishing how cleverly he hasconcealed their many faults and vices, and how prominently he has put their virtues before the world, andyet without a suspicion of flattery. He is not an oldman, but as full of wisdom and spirit as ever. If hisjudgment be equal to his insight, we should say thathe of all men living is the one to be consulted as tothe best way of governing Ireland . For years he haslived at a distance from his country, and is not to bedeceived by party glamour and that intoxication byexcitement which seems to turn the best brains at176 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.home. "Papæ! Papæ! " you cry with the Chelseaphilosopher, "wonderful indeed! " What, make anovelist a statesman! But let us remember thatthe most prosaic people in the world, the Spartans,made an old, blind, song- making school-master theirgeneral, and that he led them on to glorious victory.After " Harry Lorrequer " there followed in quicksuccession " Charles O'Malley, " 1841; "Jack Hinton,the Guardsman, " 1843; "Arthur O'Leary," 1844;" The O'Donoghue, " 1845; " Tom Burke of Ours,'1846; " The Knight of Gwynne, " 1847; " ConCregan, the Irish Gil Blas, " and " Roland Cashel, "1849; "The Daltons, " 1852; "The Dodd FamilyAbroad," 1852; "The Fortunes of Glencore, " 1857;"The Martins of Cromartin, " 1859; " Maurice Tiernay, the Soldier of Fortune, " and " One of Them, "1861; " Tales of the Trains, " by Tilbury Tramp, " St.Patrick's Eve," and more lately, in the Cornhill Magazine, " That Boy of Norcotts "-a capital story-andin Blackwood's Magazine, the various conversations,notes, epigrammatic turns, and reflections of CorneliusO'Dowd, Esquire. All these have been valuableworks to the booksellers. As to the public, it hasbeen amused and delighted in a very gentle, honest,open way. Mr. Lever is a gentleman, cleanly andhonourable; and, though he has not " eschewedsack," yet he admits no scurrilous lines in his tunes.He has ripened as he has grown older; and got wiser99MR. CHARLES LEVER. 177and better as time wears away. He does not writethose rattling works now, and even dear old Thackeray,whom we are about to quote , would hardly find anything salient enough to sketch. We quote Thackeray,chiefly to give a picture of what Lever can do , for, asthat famous hand wrote " George de Barnwell ” withgreater verve and learning than Bulwer, and surpassed Disraeli in his mock novel of " Codlingsby,'so he threw even Lever into the shade in his burlesquestory of " Phil Fogarty. " Don't you know " PhilFogarty "-perhaps the best bit of good honesthumorous fooling out? " Phil " is a genuine brotherto "Tom Burke " and " Harry Lorrequer. " Wequote Thackeray as the best possible means of conveying in one minute the method of Lever:


  • * * * * *

"The gabion was ours. After two hours' fighting, we were inpossession of the first embrasure, and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would admit. Jack Delamere, TomDelancy, Jerry Blake, the Doctor, and myself, sat under a pontoon, and our servants laid out a hasty supper on a tumbril.Though Cambacères had escaped me so provokingly after I cuthim down, his spoils were mine; a cold fowl and a Bologna sausage were found in the Marshal's holster; and in thehaversack of a French private, who lay a corpse on the glacis, wefound a loaf of bread, his three days' ration. Instead of saltwe had gunpowder; and you may be sure, wherever the Doctorwas, a flask of good brandy was behind him in his instrumentWe sat down and made a soldier's supper. The Doctorpulled a few of the delicious fruit from the lemon-trees growingnear (and round which the Carabiniers and the 24th Leger hadmade a desperate rally) , and punch was brewed in Jack Delacase.N178 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.mere's helmet. ' Faith, it never had so much wit in it before,'said the Doctor, as he ladled out the drink. We all roaredwith laughing, except the guardsman, who was as savage as aTurk at a christening. "Here, too, follows one of the songs in imitation ofLever, who, by the way, writes a capital ditty:“ You've all heard of Larry O'Toole,Of the beautiful town of Drumgoole;He had but one eye,To ogle ye by—O, murther, but that was a jew'l!AfoolHe made of de girls , dis O'Toole.'Twas he was the boy didn't fail,To tuck down pitaties and mail;He never would shrinkFrom any strong dthrinkWas it whiskey or Drogheda ale;I'm bailThis Larry would swallow a pail.O, many a night at the bowl,With Larry I've sot cheek by jowl;He's gone to his rest,Where there's dthrink ofthe best,And so let us give his old soulA howl,For ' twas he made the noggin to rowl. "Mr. Charles Lever has long become a moderateConservative, and his opinions upon the Irish ChurchBill, and his prophetic foreshadowing of the verytroubles Ireland now suffers from, are well worthMR. CHARLES LEVER. 179studying. The society he pictured has long passedaway. We have now no Mickey Free, any morethan we have Pickwick's servant, Sam Weller.Happily, too, for us, Stiggins in the lifetime of hisportrayer, has died out; unhappily, too , the goodold Father Tom, the Irish priest who was a gentleman, educated at St. Omer, and with a smack ofParisian breeding in him, has died out, too . Insteadof that, we have priests educated at Maynooth, thesons of cottiers and the brothers of the poor peasantrywho are so misguided and misled . These, too, withan unerring pen, Mr. Cornelius O'Dowd has portrayed, but the pen lacks the old fun; we have growngradually duller in these serious times." Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat? "How many times will that be requoted? WhatHorace demanded has been permitted to Lever, whohas not only told the truth with a smiling face, buthas brought the tears into many eyes, and with allhis fun and frolic has never brought a blush to anycheek. He has not attempted to preach; he hasnot been either a stoic or a cynic. His philosophyis rather of the garden of Epicurus, and the enjoyment he teaches is that of manliness and reason , andfor good, clean, wholesome reading, which will headache nor heartache, and no dregs within themind, commend us to Charles Lever. Messrs. SmithN 2180 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.and Son seem to have a monopoly of his novels, andthey are to be bought on every railway stall. Reader,instead of the new prurient half- crown's worth, buy"Tom Burke " or " Harry Lorrequer " for two shillings-and be happy..>MR. GEORGE GROTE.XM

MR. GEORGE GROTE.SAMফT speaks well for the Republic of Lettersthat, when Mr. Grote was leading theOi polloi of Reform and Democracy, andwriting in the Edinburgh Review , the Tory Quarterlyhailed the writer of the " stirring and stately narrative " as " not merely a historian , but the historianof Greece. " And this title , it must be remembered,was given while Mitford and Dr. Thirlwall headedthe Greek historians, while Müller and Ranke investigated, while Niebuhr took up ancient stories,and tried to reduce, or did reduce them to merelegends. " The works of these men, " says thegenerous Quarterly, " look thin and blasted besidethe full proportions of the long research whichunfolds the rise and progress of the Athenian democracy. "In writing of George Grote, then, we shall have towrite of a truly noble man of letters, and it says verylittle for Toryism, or Conservatism, or whatever agreat party may now be termed, that it has neverA184 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.honoured Literature as it should be honoured . Ofcourse, in these degenerate days, and in the reigns ofthe Brunswick, the patronage of the Court is butsmall. No men have been more wisely loyal thanmen of letters; no men have been more scantilyrecognised. A fourth-rate Academician-by whichwe mean a painter-showed us, the other day, apicture, four of such as he could well paint in a year,and for which he asked and got a price larger thanmost first- rate authors get for the work of their lifetime. But then a painter furnishes your house, andmakes your walls look grand; an author only furnishes your brains-if you have any. We do notcomplain; we only urge that the scantiness of payshould be a reason of more honour from the Court.It would be ridiculous to institute a comparison ofthe value of an author in comparison with a painter,towards the State . In educating, in leavening, andennobling, or in degrading a people, the author hasalmost infinite power. Mr. G. W. M. Reynolds,with his " Mysteries of the Court " and his mischievous novels, which sell so largely in America,was of more consequence than twenty Landseers andforty Ettys, and did more harm than two hundredsuch Academicians could do good. Once upon atime, when John Leland wrote a certain novel, whichwe shall not name, and painted " in glowing colours, "as he terms them, a career of vice, the GovernmentMR. GEORGE GROTE. 185paid the too clever rogue a pension not to write again.Wise persons those. Our Court has let the peopletumble and trudge on through mud and mire, andinfinite chaotic folly and filth, and has neitherpunished nor rewarded . The consequence is——well, " Formosa; " the likenesses of courtesans inour most chaste shops, a general corruption, andgirls of the period .As for any rewarding of intellect, that has chieflybeen done bythe Whigs or Liberals. Lord Houghton,or, as they call him, Haut-ton, a good plain poet;Macaulay, with his cock- sure and subjective style,which will, as soon as we get to be scholars, stink inour nostrils; even Bulwer helped to his Baronetcy,attest the fact that the Whigs do try to ennoble geniusor talent. Here, again, is a rumour, and we believea perfectly true one, that Mr. Gladstone did offer tomake Mr. Grote, once the leader of the " Rads, " andthe one to whom was entrusted an annual motion onthe ballot, a baron! Would he have been BaronSedgmoor; or would he, having overthrown Mitfordand Thirlwall, boldly hail from Greece, as doesLesseps from Suez?Here, indeed , is an admirable man of letters; atrue scholar; a learned, patient, excellent writer ofthe good old fashion; a man celebrated , not notorious;too wise to be subjective, like Macaulay and hisenemy but imitator Hepworth Dixon; too truthful186 MODERN MEN OF describe scenes of which he only found a hint,with the vivid falsehood of the Daily Telegraphcorrespondent, who described the resplendent effulgence of a full moon when she was perfectly hidden inher first quarter. Of such writers we shall shortlyhave to speak enough. Here we have one who isindeed good; whom to admire is to prove your taste,and this is the banker- scholar-as Rogers was thebanker- poet -George Grote, D.C.L., F.R.S., whowas born at Clay Hill , near Beckenham, Kent, in1794. Nearly seventy- six years old; the white hairvery thin and scant, the eyes dimmed with poringover many books, the head bent with study morethan by age. Seventy- six years old , say near eighty!a long time to wait for honour, and it is nearlyfifteen years since his Magnum Opus was written.Some time since the Queen drove up to town to visitDean Stanley-Arthur Penrhyn Stanley-a dean anda courtier. Her Majesty honoured him with herpresence at luncheon , and it was arranged that twoillustrious men, both old in years and honours, untitled and unrecognised, however, by any gazette,should be found chatting with Stanley when theillustrious and widowed dame dropped in. One ofthese men, found in learned ease on this truly regalvisit-for Windsor Castle is not so large, of course,as Dean's Yard, Westminster-one of these men wasThomas Carlyle, philosopher of Chelsea; the otherMR. GEORGE GROTE. 187George Grote, historian of Greece. Her Majesty nodoubt enjoyed the luncheon!When History is written philosophically, as byMr. Grote, it becomes much less interesting, but it iseminently more true. After a long study of all thebest writers of that little peninsula, which at onetime contained an army of great men and philosophers, and now seems but to hold a segregation ofthe acutest sharpers of all Europe, Grote set himselfto study the meaning of words. " The modern historian, " he says, " strives in vain to convey theimpression which appears in the condensed andburning phrases of Thucydides, " and, of course, allthat is left him is to expand, to amplify, or to condense. We all know how Lord Macaulay and hisschool used history. They made it a picture book,after the manner of Walter Scott, with or withoutleave or license, with or without a hint in the barechronicle which they expanded . We heard how thesea roared (when it was a calm); how some heroshouted (when he never said a word); how theheroine lifted up her voice and wept (when she wassilent in terror, or dumb from contempt) . This ishistory with a vengeance; nor was the historiancontent with this untruthful and shameful perversion.What is legitimate with the novelist is contemptibleand detestable cheating with the historian. " Why,dear Sir Walter, " said an old lady to Scott, “ you188 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.seem as if you had lived in these times and saw allyou describe. Where do you get it all from? ” “ Iread a great deal, " replied the novelist, " and Iimagine the rest. I am like the theatrical manager,when I can't snow white I snow brown. " Perhapsthere never was a more annoyingly untrue and inartistic book than Dixon's " Life of Lord Bacon. " Heintroduces people as present who were absent; helets us hear them talk when they said nothing; heattributes motives, sets up and pulls down characters,and moves his puppets about in a most theatricalmanner. People who reflect and who know aredisgusted, and truly one gentleman has taken thetrouble to write a volume to expose the so - calledhistorian's follies and misrepresentations, but thepublic is gulled. In the meantime the real actors inhistory denounce it and laugh at it . " Don't readme history," said the sick Sir Robert Walpole tohis son, " for that I know must be false. ”It is the greatest praise of Mr. Grote, that he haskept strictly to the letter of his brief. If he expands " it is learnedly, and with reason. WhenThucydides or a chronicler uses a peculiar phrase,Grote, finding out the meaning, will properly turnhis narrative. We do not have the " lurid smiles, ""the slow and cautious step " of accord or approachwhich we have in inferior novelists, but we do havea solid structure, and not a barley- sugar sham.MR. GEORGE GROTE. 189If it were worth while to dwell on trifles in thisshort sketch, one might applaud or object to Mr.Grote's method of nomenclature. Personally, wethink that he is right, but nationally we are bound tothink him wrong. He will write Alkibiadês, Sôcratês,Peisistratus, Héraklês , Skiônê, and the like . TheGreeks wrote them so. So the Latins talk of Pompeius Magnus, while we talk of Pompey. But thewhole " kit " of classic names will one day have tobe rewritten. Nikias does not look so well as Nicias,but it is more like the original, and let us be as neartruth as we can. Some day we shall say Kikero andKaisar, instead of Sisero and Seizer. At present weare bad enough, but the French are worse. Aristidêsis pronounced Airêsteêd, and Tullius Cicero is reducedto Toole (Tulle) . Why Grote should talk of thepeople always as a demus, a soldier as a hoplite, anda founder as an ækist, is not so clear. We want thehistory of Greece written in English, not in Greek.After all, the very best painting, because the truest,is portrait-painting, and the very best history is biography. This is especially true in Grote's case. Hislater work on " Plato and the other Companions ofSocrates, " is the most entertaining of all that he haswritten. And the subject is worthy of him. Thehistory of no mere man that the world has seen isequal to that of the little stone- mason figure- cutterof Athens who used to ask questions. The noble.190 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.galaxy of great spirits who surrounded him-Plato,Xenophon, Critias, Crito, each a king of men-wasonly fitted to be crowned by the philosophicalmonarch, who died as he would have slept, the chiefactor in a tragedy without the strut of the tragedian,the victim in a martyrdom without the song andcrown of the martyr. We need not recommend Mr.Grote's work, but we will urge our readers to get it.If they want to get rid of contemporary nonsense,and to clear their minds of cant, while they fill themwith great and sublime images, they should read ofPlato and Socrates in the pages of Grote.Mr. Grote has written on the ballot , has contributedto the Edinburgh and Westminster; has issued apamphlet on Plato's theory of the Earth, and anotheron the Republic of Switzerland. A philosophicalrepublican and yet a despiser of demus, an ardentsupporter of the ballot because, we fancy, he fearsthe corruption of the people, a man of learned easeand yet a most laborious scholar, this great historianseems to be a contradiction, and yet is a wholehearted, honest, wise man. To give a specimen ofhis great history-a large work, in twelve volumes-would be to bring a brick from Babylon underthe notion of picturing the elevation of the housesand plan of the streets. Let the reader dip into itwhereever he may, he cannot go wrong, and will beabundantly rewarded. For the scholar there isMR. GEORGE GROTE. 191an interesting and masterly discussion on the mythsand legends of early Greece; for the student ofliterature the disquisitions upon Homer, and all thepoets, historians, and philosophers, from Æschylusand Herodotus down to Plato and Plutarch; for thestatesman, the remarkable descriptions of the legislation of Lycurgus, the object of ostracism, the workingof the Athenian constitution, the influence of thedemocratic form of government, and the causes ofthe decline of the once invincible republics of Greece;and for the "general reader," the narrative of thewar against Xerxes, the battles of Marathon andThermopyla, the retreat of the Ten Thousand,the expedition to Syracuse, and a hundred otherepisodes, any or all of which he will follow withbreathless and sustained interest. Mr. Grote's workhas revolutionised our notions of ancient Greece.It is a wonderful story, and is wonderfully told.

KamalātikāāsZi can Istay prof__ of25__THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI,P.C. , D.C.L. , M.P. , &c . , &c.0-·

  • .

THE RIGHT HON. B. DISRAELI ,P.C. , D.C.L., M.P. , &c . , &c.&&&&MANKIND, then, ' said Vivian Grey, ' ismy great game. At this moment howmany a powerful noble only wants witto be a Minister; and what wants Vivian Grey toattain the same end? That noble's influence . Whentwo people can so materially assist each other, whyare they not brought together? Shall I , because mybirth baulks my fancy, pass my life a moping misanthrope in an old chateau? Now let me probe myself.Does my cheek blench? I have the mind for theconception, and I can perform right skilfully uponthe most splendid of musical instruments-the humanvoice to make others believe those conceptions.There wants but one thing more-courage, pure,perfect courage; and does Vivian Grey know fear?"He laughed an answer of the bitterest derision. "This extract from "Vivian Grey" will show whyMr. Disraeli has been at once feared , distrusted, andhated. When he was Prime Minister two literary02196 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.gentlemen, both partially disagreeing with his politics, desired , for the honour of their class, to give hima dinner, whereat authors of all shades of opinionshould join to celebrate the accession to the highestpost of this Royal Republic-for England is by farmore truly republican in its fairness and openness ofcareer than America-of an author who had writtensome brilliant novels, who had said some of the bestepigrams in political life , who had written leaders forthe Times, conducted the Representative, and who atleast was never ashamed of his craft. The answers,let us say so far, revealed respect for the motives ofthe senders, but bitter animosity to Disraeli. Peopleseemed to be unable, if in common fairness only, toseparate the man from the minister; and nobleauthors, politically of his own way of thinking, wrotefour sides of note-paper in which they bespattered thevery clever politician and author with caustic abuse.The dinner was obliged to be renounced, but a certainnumber of scholars and gentlemen succeeded in gettinghim on the committee of a literary dinner, in taking thechair of which, Vivian Grey made a most clever andcharming speech, and worked his way with undauntedcourage, with singular bonhomie and unflagging pluck.Another cause of his being disliked and mistrustedis his singular cleverness. We know what Byronsaid about the dull world which loves not those whoare too clever for it. “ He who surpasses or subduesBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 197R2*WaitaMereuchau.mankind, " said the noble author, " must look togarner up a pretty fair share of hatred. " He must,indeed, and a reputation for cleverness is as fatal asthe thing itself. Now, clever as Mr. Disraeli undoubtedly is, his reputation for talent exceeds thatwhich he holds. Country members, and the dulnessof the House, if we may presume that there are suchin that brilliant assembly, look with suspicion upon aman of such reputation, and, like certain banks, Mr.Disraeli's paper currency far exceeds the weightybullion of real worth that he keeps at home.It is because he has written a book, aye, and tenbooks , all clever, wild , and nonsensical too; for this,people cannot forgive him; and the reason they cannot do so is because these books have an air ofinsincerity. The ordinary Britisher has the feelingof Herr Philister about him, so far as this , he cannotseparate mental from moral character. Those whobest know Mr. Disraeli , let us say his wife, LadyBeaconsfield, and his late brother, James Disraeli,loved him , and love him with a devotion which doeshonour to both. The man is a hero to his valet- dechambre, but as he has never concealed his hatred ofshallowness, his knowledge of the pretence of greatcourts, his belief, a thousand times proved to be wellfounded, that " a good cry " will move the Englishpeople very much better than a noble cause, peoplehate him. He has let the world know how clever he-198 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.་is, and the world has discounted his sincerity. Hehas touched the right nail on the head very often, andpeople have cried-What a happy guess! He hasdone that dangerous thing about which Lord John'smisquotation from Job-" Oh that mine enemy hadwritten a book! " —has passed into a proverb, andpeople have judged him very severely by those verybooks. He has never had fair play. He has beenlooked on by his party as a clever mercenary, a sortof political Bashi- bazouk, useful for skirmishing andfor getting killed . He has been treated as the laterRoman Emperors used their Saxon and barbarianbody- guard, as capital defenders, fighters, flesh forDacian swords or Persian arrows, but not as of theold Roman stuff. He has been at least as true toEngland and to his party as Lord John, who oftenplays the worst of all tricks to England and to Protestantism ( " Johnny's upset the coach again, " saidthe late Lord Derby) , but people believed in thatbumptious little statesman, and not in Disraeli. Hehas had a marvellous amount of unluck, but he neverdeserted his leader after once settling down, and wasnever ashamed of his race or people. But in spite ofall difficulties , and an unjust and superabundanthatred, he has been Prime Minister, is leader of theoldest party in Europe, will be honestly and sincerelymourned when he dies—and be buried in WestminsterAbbey.

meratenwirudedbutthehisthat"(BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 199teveAfter this exordium the reader may perhaps be surprised to find that we do not admire his novels,believe that they are very much overrated, that theywill not live twenty years after his death, and that ifMessrs. Longmans give £10,000 for his " Lothair,"they only miscalculate on the curiosity of novelreaders and the elasticity of Mr. Mudie's subscription .The rumour is, however, an advertisement—and Mr.Disraeli is not properly a novelist, nor a man ofletters pur sang, any more than a firework- maker isan artilleryman. He is actually a free lance inpolitics, using literature as a sword, revolver, culverin, bow and arrow, or any offensive weapon a freelance would carry. Cleverly he has used it; but itis because his service to letters-great Goddess! whoart so jealous that no half-worshipper gains thy fullsmile is insincere that his readers have formed theidea that he is not sincere . Le style c'est l'homme!That truth, too, has betrayed him; a silly, affected,tinselly style, a "damme how clever " method ofwriting, fine but without eloquence, distressful butwithout pathos , glittering but without humour or fun—a shaft that strikes but does not remain-this, too ,has ruined him, or at least carried away from himthe glory which his young ambition desired.You can see him near Grosvenor Gate walking inthe sunshine, an old man who looks older than he is,bent down, with his hands behind his back, thought200 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.ful, sallow, his face lined with care. You can seehim, too, after a triumph in the House, youthfulalmost, very good-natured , genial and wise- looking,with a tender face, and a statesman- like look, aworthy chief to follow, something of the old youngDisraeli who used to be found, in black velvetbreeches, by the way, at the Countess of Blessington's assemblies, side byside with the present Emperorof the French. Or you can see him walking brisklyalong, talking to a man whom he wishes to convince,eager, active, and well- looking; one who was untillate in life called young Disraeli, and whom, in spiteof his sixty years, it is difficult to think of as old, whohas the gift of a renewed youth, as some actors have;who when seen in the House, always contrasts withthe ideal formed of him; one who has gathered fromthose with whom he lived an air of haut ton whichhis brothers never had, and which old Isaac Disraelinever had either, although he had an universal mindin its way, literary, but petty literary; the mind notof the poet nor of the noble prose- man, but of thebook collector and dilettanté. Would, by the way,that we had more such book-men now.A short time ago an old gentleman, who still livesnot far from the British Museum, related to theauthor that he was intimate with the grandfather ofthe present Prime Minister and the father of oldIsaac Disraeli, the author of " Curiosities of LiteraBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 201ture. " This old gentleman-himself of that grandFaith, in which alone Unitarianism is philosophicand epic in its sublime beauty, the faith of Judaism,which peddling critics would call the Jewish persuasion-is remarkable for having been at one time thesuccessful rival to Rothschild; for to him and to hishouse was offered the gigantic loan of 1815 byRussia,on which the greater fortunes ofthe house were built .He refused it; Rothschild took it , and went up intothe skies like a balloon . This, however, by the way.Our friend knew Disraeli's grandfather, a poor man,who was an Italian descendant of one of thoseHebrew families whom the Inquisition forced toemigrate from the Spanish Peninsula at the end ofthe fifteenth century. His ancestors had droppedtheir Gothic surname on their settlement in theTerra Firma; and grateful to the God of Jacob whohad sustained them through unheard- of trials, theyassumed the name of Disraeli (a name never bornebefore nor since by any other family) , in order thattheir race might be for ever recognised. "This is a turgid sentence , written when the authorwas a mature man; and yet the " race ” which is tobe " for ever recognised , " bids fair to be known butfor a short time. Benjamin Disraeli had but onebrother, James, who died unmarried , while the greatleader of the family has no children. His grandfather was named Benjamin, " the son of the right202 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.·hand, " and came to England in 1748, resolved tosettle in a country where the dynasty seemed established, and where public opinion seemed definitivelyaverse to persecution on matters of creed and conscience. " One may notice, as we pass them, thestrange use of prepositions in these sentences. Mr.Disraeli's ancestors " settle in terra firma, ” and hetalks about persecution " on matters of creed. " However, he has reason to be proud of his descent. Hisfamily was of the Sephardim, that is, of those children of Israel who had never quitted the shores ofthe Mediterranean, and who looked down upon allother Jews as of an inferior caste. To the claim ofancestry of such a man as this, that of our nobles andourselves must seem absurd. Ours is but puddleblood compared with that of the noble Jew. Date aswe may, as a Stanley, a Percy, or a De Vere, fromthe successful soldiers who regenerated the cause ofthe robber William with the baptism of success, whatis a descent of eight hundred years compared withthat which must have run a thousand years beforethe time of Christ, and which stretches beyond thatat least two thousand years? Mr. Disraeli hasalways felt this. Unlike the Laureate, who wrote"" Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,In yon blue heavens above us bent,The grand old gardener and his wifeSmile at the claims of long descent"BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 203·༈he has put forward the value of race, the generosity " (generosus, of good birth) of long descent,and has urged to the utmost the claim of hisown people for hereditary talent. Let us especially note that he has never been at all ashamedof being a Jew in race and blood, and neverwould join with the silly Hebrews who write tothe Pall Mall Gazette to complain that in thepolice reports a man is often described as "aJew."A Jew, then, a believer in the old covenant, oldBenjamin Disraeli left the falling state of Venice onehundred and twenty years ago, and settled in England. After a prosperous life , he died at the age ofninety- six, leaving a studious, brown- eyed boy, a loverof books, a connoisseur, a dilettanté, and one not atall likely to advance the fortunes of the family. Thiswas Isaac Disraeli, the author of " Curiosities ofLiterature," an amiable, learned , and excellentman, who aimed at uniting the style of Horace.Walpole with the universal book- learning of PeterBayle, and who has produced a most amusingand valuable work; shreds of other works, butone which will live . The literature of Isaac Disraelilifted him into fashionable society. He knew themen of the day, and came westward a shortstep, moving from Red Lion Square into Bloomsbury Square; at the south-west corner of which((204 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.his son Benjamin was born on the 21st December, 1805.*This gentle, admirable old man of letters , certainlynever made the family richer. That it was not verywell off in the world's goods may be proved by thefact that Benjamin Disraeli, after an education at asuburban academy, was articled to a firm of cityattorneys, dwelling most appropriately in the OldJewry. But this apprenticeship he did not complete.The young man, ambitious, full of fire , an alien inblood, stamped with much of the peculiar facialqualities of his race, yet learned, fashionable, amarked man, had this problem set him: how to makehimself the foremost man of the country he hadadopted. Had not Joseph been sold into slaverythree thousand years before, and had he not risen tobe the Prime Minister of the Pharaohs, and thesaviour of his people? Could not Benjamin, though

(Video) Criminologist Reviews Serial Killers From Movies & TV | Vanity Fair

  • Some Christians scoff at him as a Jew, with a singular dis

regard of all they owe to the Hebrew race. Now the fact is ,that (in plain English) Disraeli is neither an apostate nor a Jew.He was born of Hebrew parents, but his father, thinking fit toquarrel with his synagogue, failed to teach his child Judaism.One day Rogers, the celebrated banker- poet, happening to visitat Isaac Disraeli's house, at Hackney, when Benjamin was fiveor six years old, and regretting to find so intelligent a youthwithout religious instruction, took him to Hackney Church.From this event dates his absolute and complete severance fromthe Jewish communion. He became a Christian, and a greatgenius was lost to us. -Jewish Chronicle.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 205Aof a scattered race, do much the same? His grandfather had, with an admirable foresight, chosen thenation wherein this problem was to be worked out.It was by political daring that he (Benjamin) wouldrise to political power.Some such thoughts must have run through Mr.Disraeli's brain: we say must, because, althoughpictorial biography is, in most cases, deplorably false,yet in this one instance it is absolutely true. Mr.Disraeli has written many novels , and in more thanone of these he represents himself as an ambitiousyouth, of foreign extraction or of Eastern birth , who,in answer to such dreams as these, does make certain advances, which bring him to the top of the tree.In the heroes of his own fictions, Mr. Disraeli hasprophesied and foreshadowed his own political life;and, as we read this biography, we may just castaway for ever the foolish assertion that any man is" held down " or oppressed in free England. Givenambition and talents-and these not always of thehighest-an attorney's clerk shall rise to be theleader of the Government of the proudest and mostancient monarchy of Europe. The uncertainty of apresidential election in the United States is a mereshadow to the certainty of this. Remember, we donot say that the position is worth the winning tocertain pure yet ambitious minds; but we do assertthat the chance is given, and that it may be won.206 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.The future Prime Minister soon threw off thetrammels of the attorney's desk, that dull prelude toso brilliant and so variegated a career, and strippedhimself for the encounter. He started, just as hewas twenty-one, a kind of Tory- Liberal paper, theRepresentative, * with just as much Toryism in it as aman of ancient blood might want, and just as muchLiberalism as the readers might demand. But thissoon came to grief. It was in truth very badly written, bombastic, vociferous-pot-valiant, as it were;for Mr. Disraeli's style as a writer is, in our opinion ,far from good; whereas his style as a speaker, or awriter of vindicatory and vindictive letters, is excellent. Like a French soldier, he is always admirable,and full of fire in his attack. Not at all disheartenedby his political failure , our hero then tried his pen,which he had flashed in politics, in romance, andwrote a series of political novels; each, we may besure, with a deep meaning. They won for theirauthor a certain renown. They took the town, andwere everywhere talked of. They were accepted asvery clever, brilliant novels, written more for thepurpose of showing the views of a party, and for exhibiting the undoubted talent of their author, than

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

made an elision of the passage concerning this paper. Mr.Murray started it, and Mr. Lockhart edited it. It lived fivemonths.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 207""for anything else. They were " Vivian Grey," the" Young Duke," " Contarini Fleming, " " Voyage ofCaptain Papanilla, " " Henrietta Temple, " " Venetia,"Coningsby," the "Wondrous Tale of Alroy," aprose poem, &c. These have been often reprinted,but we doubt whether any of them will long survive.Coningsby " is the best, and exhibits political lifein anything but admirable colours. We may lingerawhile over these stories , more to study the characterof them and their author than for anything else .Every one of them is written in a bombastic andstilted style, but very pretentious, and certainly"taking, " just as any novelty (ritualism, for instance) is taking at the time. They are præRaphaelite in effect, in rawness and brightness ofcolour; that is, in just the faults, and not the virtues, of the remarkable young painters; they are, orrather were, new , just as the turgid " Guy Livingstone ' was new; and they, one and all, bear witnessto the intention and ambition of the author. To oneof them Mr. Disraeli had prefixed the motto, " Why,then, the world's mine oyster, which with my swordI'll open; " and with the same courage as that of anadventurous knight in the Middle Ages, it is evidentthat in the early part of this century the youngauthor intended to go into the great lists and win. Wehave said the style is bad. It is that of a Byronicand Ossianic prose, not like the sweet simplicity of"(""208 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."" ،،our best writers, and some of it fairly sets our teethon edge, though we are ready to confess that it mayplease others. Take, for example, this rhapsodyfrom "Contarini Fleming: ' Oh, inscrutable, inexorable destiny, which must be fulfilled! -doomthat mortals must endure, and cannot, direct! Lo, Ikneel before thee, and I pray. Let it end! let itend! let it end at once! " [ The young gentlemanis raving for his sweetheart. ] .. And shall it not be?Do I exist? do I breathe, and think, and dare? AndI a man and a man of strong passions, and deepthoughts? And shall I, like a vile beggar upon myknees, crave the rich heritage that is my own byright? If she be not mine, there is no longer time,-no longer human existence, no longer a beautifuland an everlasting world. Let it all cease; let thewhole globe crack and shiver; let all nations and allhuman hopes expire at once; let chaos come again, ifthis girl be not my bride! "After this, superfine reviews may condemn pennynovels if they like; but we, who endeavour to befair, must own that many of the cheap novels boasta purer style, and even tear their passions into moreeffective tatters, when they do tear them, than doesthe Prime Minister. But it was not all rant thatfilled these novels. Disraeli claimed for his race thesupreme talent and the directing mind of the world;and, although the claim is by far too wide, there wasBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 209"(something in it; and it was, and is, a noble sight tosee a young David of an oppressed race steppingforward so boldly , with only the sling of his genius,and the stone of his bitter tongue, to slay the uglyGoliath of popular ignorance and prejudice." Hathnot a Jew eyes? " " If you prick us do we notbleed? " says the universal Shakespeare , anxiousonly to put a Jew on the same footing as ourselves.Is not a Jew the best musician in the world, the bestfinancial minister, the best dancer, theatrical entrepreneur? asks Disraeli; in short, has not the Jewthe oldest blood and the finest genius in the world?"The Jews," says Coningsby, are essentiallyTories; " " Race is the only truth; " " The Jewsare of the purest race, the chosen people; they arethe aristocracy of Nature. " You will find all thesein “ Tancred, or the New Crusade," published in 1847,in which year the author also argued the admissionof Jews into Parliament against the views of his ownpolitical friends . This was brave, courageous, andto be applauded . Many of his assertions are bombastic, and his proofs futile. All the genius of theworld does not, as he asserts , lie in the Jew musicians,Mendelssohn and Mozart; but his generous boldnessis to be applauded; and as great an amount of geniusand talent is to be allowed to the Jewish people nowexisting as to any other people; but certainly notmore.GERETNgeP210 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.To go back to the novels. After the very rapidproduction of the earlier ones, Mr. Disraeli left England in 1829, spent the winter in Constantinople, andtravelled in the spring through Syria, Egypt, andNubia. He returned in 1831 with new views, as wehave seen, of race, and of the Asian mystery, andfound the people very much agitated about Reform .He put up for Wycombe, a nice little borough inBucks, about five miles from his father's seat atBradenham , and started with a recommendation fromMr. Hume and from Daniel O'Connell as somethingbetween Whig and Tory. All that is certain is, thathe went in for triennial Parliaments and vote byballot. He fought three electioneering battles here,got defeated each time, and then turned up atTaunton as a Conservative of Lord Lyndhurst'stype; that is, as very much the sort of leader he isnow. Here it was that he indulged in a sneer, notundeserved, at O'Connell, and brought down upon.himself that coarse castigation which has become afamiliar quotation . " He calls me traitor, " saidO'Connell; " my answer to that is, that he is a liar.He is a liar in action and in words. His life is aliving lie." And, as if that was not strong enough,the demagogue went on: " When I speak of Mr.Disraeli as a Jew, I mean not to taunt him on thataccount. Better ladies and gentlemen than amongstthe Jews I have never met. They were once thewww.watBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 211Andenenbio*******chosen people of God. There were miscreants amongthem, however; and it must certainly have been fromone of those that Disraeli descended . He possessesjust the qualities of the impenitent thief who diedupon the cross, whose name must have been Disraeli. (Roars of laughter. ) For aught I know, thepresent Disraeli is descended from him; and withthe impression that he is, I now forgive the heir-atlaw of the blasphemous thief that died upon the cross .(Loud cheers, mingled with laughter. )This is very Irish, very wrong, and very shocking,and yet all the world laughed at it . Disraeli theYounger, as he was then called, stood against thejeers of the world, answered the agitator with invective, and as the latter could not fight, beingprecluded by a vow, he challenged his son, Morgan.O'Connell, to resume " his vicarious duties of yielding satisfaction for the insults which his fatherlavished with impunity on his political opponents! "The challenge was not accepted. Mr. Disraeli thenwrote to O'Connell a wonderfully strong letter, before the brilliant style of which all the writer's novelspale and fade. "Although you, " he wrote, " have"" *Mr. Disraeli has been blamed for replying to these hardwords, and Professor Goldwin Smith is very angry at being called a "social parasite; " but did not Goldwin Smith himselfjust say something quite as hard in intention , something about a lackey in the guise of a statesman?P 2212 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.long placed yourself out of the pale of civilisation ,still I am one that will not be insulted, even by aYahoo, without chastising IT. ** I called uponyour son to assume his vicarious office of yieldingsatisfaction for his shrinking sire. I admire yourscurrilous allusions to my origin. I knowthe tactics.of your Church; it clamours for toleration; it laboursfor supremacy." Then, in allusion to O'Connell, hecompares himself to him. "You say that I was oncea Radical, and am now a Tory. My conscience of ever having deserted a political friend , or ofever having changed a political opinion . I havenothing to appeal to but the good sense of the people.A death's head and cross- bones were not blazonedon my banners. " (This in allusion to O'Connell'sdisturbance in Ireland . ) "My pecuniary resources,too, were limited . I was not one of those publicbeggars that we see swarming with their obtrusiveboxes in the chapels of your creed . Nor am I inpossession of a princely revenue, arising from astarving race of fanatical slaves . I expect, however,to be a representative of the people before the Repealof the Union. We shall meet at Philippi. ”The letter closed with a threatened castigation ofthe " big beggarman, " who was then collecting"rint " from the deluded Irish peasantry, for thepurpose of obtaining a repale, " which he knew heshould never get. Mr. Disraeli sent also a letter to،،BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 213O'Connell's son, in which he said , " I will take everyopportunity of holding your father's name up to publiccontempt; and I fervently pray that you , or some ofyour blood, may attempt to avenge the inextinguishable hatred with which I shall pursue his existence. "This is strong language; but it was forty years ago,when people were somewhat rougher than they arenow. Mr. Disraeli, then writing in the Times, utterlyextinguished the editor of the Globe, who took upO'Connell's cause. "An anonymous writer," hesays, should at least display power. When Jupiterhurls a thunderbolt, it may be mercy in the god toveil his glory with a cloud; but we can only viewwith contemptuous lenity the mischievous varletwho pelts us with mud as we are riding by, and thenhides behind a dusthole. " Altogether these politicalattacks, although often unjust, did Mr. Disraeli animmense deal of good; they brought him out; theyproved him to be a master of fence. " The editor ofthe Globe, ” he said (it is worthy of remark that thepaper now is the staunchest supporter of thePremier) , " has recorded in his columns a livelymemento of his excited doltishness . What does itsignify? His business is to chalk the walls of thenation with praises of his master's blacking. He isworthy of his vocation; only it is ludicrous to seethis poor devil whitewashing the barriers of Bayswater with the selfsame complacency as if he were،،214 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.painting the halls of the Vatican." Mr. Disraeliwas now a marked man, even as a politician; and inthe next election ( 1832) he found that the first stepof the ladder had been mounted, and that he was aBritish representative, as member for Maidstone .When still a young man, and in the enviable position of the enjoyment of the fulfilment of his firstand young ambition, " I shall be, " he wrote toO'Connell, " a representative of the people beforethe Repeal of the Union. " His prophecy had beenfulfilled , and, happy in his quiet but " immense selfsufficiency "-to borrow a phrase from M. Louis,Blanc-he set forward in his career as a member ofParliament. Now, the House of Commons, likeevery other large club where men congregate, andwhere individual weight is felt, is just the place totake the nonsense out of a man. Each member soonfalls to his natural level; and the good nature aswell as the good sense of the House is remarkable.The whole House, it has been said, has always morecommon sense and more genius than any singlemember, or than any dozen members, even thoughthey were the best; and it is curious to find howevery new man, however great he may promise to bebefore his election, is absorbed in the House, andbecomes, excepting in the rarest instance, a verysmall portion of it . Look even at the two greatestand most popular men of 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 painters, the

seed pearls, Valenciennes lace and bullion, the mixture of colours,and the showy display of knowledge, which reveals ignorance,are all in the best style of caricatura.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 231shoulders in twenty thousand minute ringlets; it hung to herwaist, and below it. A light- blue velvet fillet , clasped with adiamond aigrette (valued at two hundred thousand tomauns, andbought from Lieutenant Vicovich, who had received it fromDost Mahomed) , with a simple bird of paradise, formed herhead- gear. A sea-green cymar, with short sleeves , displayedher exquisitely- moulded arms to perfection, and was fastened bya girdle of emeralds over a yellow satin frock. Pink gauzetrousers, spangled with silver, and slippers of the same colour asthe band which clasped her ringlets (but so covered with pearls,that the original hue of the charming papoosh disappeared entirely) , completed her costume. She had three necklaces on,each of which would have dowered a princess; her fingersglittered with rings to their rosy tips, and priceless bracelets,bangles, and armlets wound round an arm that was whiter thanthe ivory grand- piano on which it leaned.”Here, too, is a touch not to be left out, as it is thechief point and high light of the picture: " Mylord's pipe is out, ' said Miriam, with a smile,remarking the bewilderment of her guest-who, intruth, forgot to smoke; and taking up a thousandpound note from a bundle on the piano, she lightedit at the taper, and proceeded to re-illumine theextinguished chibouk of Lord Codlingsby. "-This is fine caricature, but really the paintingis not much more overlaid than the original novel isin many parts. Disraeli paints, as we have shown,with a full brush; he overpowers the imagination ofthe vulgar, and wins or compels admiration by proceeding like a Timbuctoo lover, first knocking hisfuture bride down. Here, for instance, from232 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.66 Lothair, " is a piece of work combining a cleversketch of a Bond Street jeweller, which is marvellously like that written by Thackeray:" Very interesting, ' said Lothair, but what I want are pearls.That necklace which you have shown me is like the necklace ofa doll . I want pearls, such as you see them in Italian pictures-Titians and Giorgiones-such as a Queen of Cyprus wouldwear. I want ropes ofpearls.'—' Ah! ' said Mr. Ruby, ' I knowwhat your lordship means. Lady Bideford had something ofthat kind. She very much deceived us, -always told us hernecklace must be sold at her death, and she had very bad health.We waited, but when she went, poor lady! it was claimed by theheir, and is in Chancery at this very moment. TheFustiniani'shave ropes of pearls—Madame Justiniani, of Paris, I have beentold, gives a rope to every one of her children when they marry—but there is no expectation of a Justiniani parting with anything.Pearls are troublesome property, my Lord. They require greatcare; they want both air and exercise; they must be worn frequently: you cannot lock them up The Duchess of Havanthas the finest pearls in this country, and I told her Grace,"Wear them whenever you can; wear them at breakfast,” andher Grace follows my advice, —she does wear them at breakfast.I go down to Havant Castle every year to see her Grace's pearls,and I wipe every one of them myself, and let them lie on a sunnybank in the garden, in a westerly wind, for hours and days together. Their complexion would have been ruined had it notbeen for this treatment. Pearls are like girls , my Lord, the yrequire quite as much attention ." "<Now and then Disraeli's satire peeps out with adelicate and good- natured flash, as in this description of the present slang of society: " English isan expressive language, ' said Mr. Pinto, ' but notdifficult to master. It consists , so far as I canBENJAMIN DISRAELI. 233observe, of four words ' nice, ' ' jolly, ' ' charming,"and ' bore ' and some grammarians add ' fond." "And the author deserves much credit for the realgood nature of that satire , which is never morbid andhopeless. Indeed, some persons think it is hardlybitter enough. In pointing out the enemies of England-the perverts who would lead her to perdition ,the silent, deceptive, and oily-black soldiery of theJesuits, from whom, as well as from their antagonists,the secret societies , Mr. Disraeli's gay and gildedsociety, his charming dukes, beauteous duchesses,and divine Corisandes, with stately parks and domainslarger than ordinary counties, have so much to fear—the author does not betray any peculiar feeling, orany hatred . He loves England , he must venerate itas the home of civil and religious liberty, but he lookswith marvellous good- temper upon those gentlemenwho are quietly undermining the walls of that home,and are storing up their gunpowder, barrel after barrel,to blow all such liberty to the sky. This easinessgives an air of lightness and persiflage to his work.The feeling of unreality begotten by the overloadedstyle is strengthened by the calm easy manner inwhich Monsignore Catesby and his crew are described. * And when one has read the book, clever as

  • One ofthe most conspicuous characters in the ecclesiasti

cal intrigue which is the main subject of Mr. Disraeli's new234 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.îit is, it is soon forgotten. It makes no abiding impression. We move among a fantastic crowd ofconspirators and great priests, wealthy converts andrich men, and we forget that he but paints the reality,and pictures Dr. Manning, and Cardinal Wiseman,and the Marquis of Bute, and other people of our day,because he has drawn reality with so unreal a touch.To the great people with whom he has lived intimately for years, Disraeli's conduct, in picturing hisintimates in such a " high falutin " style, and ingiving, in their own exaggerated language, their ownportraits, doings and sayings, has seemed little lessthan base, or as they say, " exceedingly improper, "for one who has been a Prime Minister. To thelower and dangerous classes-to whom such a book,filtered through demagogic papers, will seem but aproof that the stories of G. W. M. Reynolds and theLondon Journal are actual truths-Mr. Disraeli hasstory, is a certain Monsignore Catesby. The name smacks oftreason, conspiracy, and gunpowder. The inquisitive people.who profess to see real and living persons under the novelist'smasks have decided to their own satisfaction that MonsignoreCatesby is a respected and accomplished English priest, verywell known in London, Father Capel. By a strange oversight,Mr. Disraeli has in one instance allowed the name Capel to beprinted instead of Catesby. The error will be found in page 254ofthe third volume of " Lothair ." We will not speculate as to theorigin ofthe blunder, which, whether or not it proceeded from theauthor's pen, has certainly escaped his eye. But it is curiousenough to be worth recording .-Daily News.BENJAMIN DISRAELI. 235pointed out the plate-chest. The democrats who meetin Hyde Park, and who vote the instant demolition ofthelounging classes, " the equalisation of property,and the extinction of poverty by making us all alikepoor and destitute, must feel, after having read ofsome of Mr. Disraeli's fabulously rich dukes, like thethievish soldier Marshal Blucher, who, after walkingthrough Cheapside and seeing the jewellers ' shopsand riches of the City, and mounting the Monumentand beholding equally rich streets stretching on everyside, could only ejaculate, " Mein Gott, what plunder! "Whether the author will succeed in awakening theProtestants of this sceptical age to their danger, wevery much doubt.Lastly, the unreality of Disraeli's novels carries.away from them any kind of conviction. Their brilliance tires; their knowledge puffeth up, but doth notedify, " or, in English-for our Bible there followsthe Latin too much-their knowledge puffeth up, butthe higher knowledge of the true writer buildeth up.That is an edification which is beyond Disraeli ." But, then, " says the reader, " the publishers havegiven £10,000 for his new novel, and do you dare topronounce his work not of the first class? " Dearreader, listen and perpend. The publisher wouldgive a large sum for a novel by Lady Mordaunt, if itwas the greatest bosh in the world, because of thenotoriety of her name: people would rush to read it.""236 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.What is good the publisher as a rule does not know;what will sell he does know. " One day, " said a ladyof rank to the author, " I was desperately in want ofsome money, and I mentioned my want. It was torelieve some poor relation of Lady C. B. , a woman oftitle who wrote, and who had written herself out.She jumped for joy. That's just what I want; C. orB., the publisher, has been haggling with me last novel; I want three hundred; they offerme two, because I have written too fast. Why, ' saidI, ' you gave me seven hundred for my first . ' ' Yes,my lady,' said the Tonson of the day, ' your namewas fresh then; if you will get us a fresh name witha title , we will give you seven hundred again . 'And they did, too . Lady C. B.'s novel was publishedas by the Countess , edited by the real authoress ,and the publisher netted a considerable sum from theextra attraction . The story is quite true; we couldmention the book. It will show you why so large anamount is to be given for " Lothair. " As a man ofletters, then, to us, we must openly confess Disraeliranks but as a mediocrity; we admire his pluck, butwe cannot wholly admire his novels.Let us add two pretty little stories which have beenthe round of society, and which prove the love andattachment subsisting between the late Premier andhis wife. Some one was saying that his face washandsome. " Handsome!" cried Lady Beaconsfield,،" ""BENJAMIN DISRAELI . 237▸"it is beautiful; you should see him while he sleeps!"The illusions and the love of youth had survived eventill the autumn of life in the heart that could thusspeak! Again, driving down to the House to hear agreat speech from her husband on an important occasion, he, full of his subject, and preoccupied as hejumped from the brougham, shut one of her fingersin the door. Agonising as was the pain, she utteredno cry till he was out of sight, and then calledher footman to open the door. " My dear, " she isreported to have said, to one to whom she told thestory, " I would not have cried out for the world; inthinking of my pain he would have been so agitatedthat he would have forgotten all the chief points inhis speech. "Let us, too, add, that in all his novels there is noincident more chivalric and graceful than that whichbelongs to history, of a Prime Minister who hadmade dukes, and added more than one historic nameto the peerage, refusing all honour himself, andlaying the coronet of a viscountess at the feet ofhis wife.And, apart from his literary fame, it will be as wellto consider the lesson of his life . Since the beginning of this century there have been, omitting Mr.Gladstone, twenty-three Premiers, and but twosave Disraeli -not of the patrician order. Thesewere Mr. Canning and Sir Robert Peel. Mr. Disraeli-238 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.•makes a third; and his elevation M. Louis Blancregards as " very natural, yet very singular; verysad, yet very fortunate. " He is not at all rich;in fact, were it not for a recent legacy, he wouldbe a poor man. "What is it, then, " asks thisable writer, " that has put England-and, to beginwith, the English aristocracy—at the feet of thisplebeian, this Jew, this cosmopolite, this man ofso anti- English a character? There he stands, atthe head of a party he had taken such trouble toeducate! erect on the body he has so dexterously ledto commit suicide. " His intellect is no ordinary one;but his is not the triumph of intellect: he has beentrue to one party, and that is himself. " It is sad,therefore, " concludes M. Louis Blanc, " for it is afatal example of respect for political rectitude havingno share in his success. It is fortunate, because itshows that henceforth, in England, power will be nolonger the exclusive property of a few patrician families. " This has long been the case, M. Blanc. FromMr. Disraeli's story we take a happier augury. Webelieve that he has risen because he has read surelyand truly the lesson of events, because he had boldness, talent, pluck, and honesty on his side, andbecause he has determined to set aside conventionaldulness, and to open the way to the aristocracy ofmind. And it is incumbent upon us, in the presentcrisis of the world's history, to aid such men. InBENJAMIN DISRAELI . 239stead of barring the door with the dull impassiblearistocrat, and the land or mill owner, we shouldrather open it to those who have spirit and geist.Mind assuredly will win the day; they who are deadto it will soon be themselves dead in a dead nation .We must be a foremost nation in Europe; an activenation, a busy and somewhat meddlesome nation inthe politics of the world, or it is clear enough to allthat we shall cease to be. With us, apathy meansdeath. Either in the forefront of the race, or elsein what Carlyle calls " ocean- abysses, " England willarrive. And it is clear that she will achieve herforemost place, not by sneering and undervaluinghand-work and clever brain- work. Nay, to becommonly just, we must own that it is the vulgarmind that attributes to low means and base appliances the successes of great men. Shakespeare'sdictum is ever to be borne in mind if we wishcharitably to judge of others. Corruption winsnot more than honesty; fair dealing and hard workare at the bottom of a larger percentage of thesuccesses of this world than the ill- natured imagine.But more than all, Mr. Disraeli's history ischeering, because it proves the thorough liberty ofEnglishmen, and that the brightest career is open tothe poorest youth. God, " said poor Shelley, " hasgiven man arms long enough to reach heaven , if hewill only put them forth. " Here, then , is a man who(6Uor MA240 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.has put forth his arms: the grandson of an alien , ofa despised race, educated at no public school, with nofortune, and a tongue that made enemies rather thanfriends, he placed a daring goal to his ambition; andthrough the heat and turmoil of a long race, throughaccident and chance, he distanced by a head hismore favourite competitors, reached the winningpost, and governed the country which received hiswandering grandsire as its guest. Who shall prophesythe fall , who shall set bounds to the glorious futureof a nation, which holds out such a prize to theaspiring youth she nourishes in her bosom?Maou-LORD LYTTON.R

LORD LYTTON.BY birth Bulwer- Lytton was (is) above theclass from which the ranks of the literaryprofession are filled; for, though not ofa dazzling lineage, he was, on both sides, of gentleorigin." It is very easy to copy from the " Peerage. "Is it necessary to tell of a certain Bolver, son ofThunder, a Dane who came over with the Conqueror, and was descended from some DanishViking? You can read that in Bulwer- Lytton'sgenealogy in Sir Bernard Burke's " Peerage. " Thetruth is, Bulwer is a gentleman, and he looks it;a man of good blood and sound breed; his hands,feet, hair, and air show it. But Mr. Jeaffresonought to know that our best writers are almost allof " gentle " origin, testibus Milton, Dryden, Addison ,Sterne, Waller, Shaftesbury, and Shakespeare. However, let us back to Bulwer. It is a long wayfromShakespeare to Bulwer; let us take the leap!This " gentle " origin, falling upon the offspringof two families, each of which had money, led toR 2244 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.our author's custom of changing names. At onetime he was Lytton- Bulwer; at another he wasBulwer- Lytton. His eldest brother, William Bulwer, the only one undistinguished out of three,holds the ancestral house at Heydon Hall , Norfolk,as fine a specimen of the architecture of the timeof James I. as one can see, and in the village thereis to be found one of the neatest of little inns, withthe " Bulwer Arms " as a sign. As Bulwer, too,this great author-for he is great, in spite of hisshortcomings and his vanity—made himself known;as Bulwer he won his first fame by novels full ofprecocious wisdom and a dangerous finesse; asBulwer he wrote those famous plays, full of wit,point, cleverness, sparkle, and miserably gilded, orrather lacquered, poetry; as Bulwer he gave usboys those admirable sentiments from the mouthof Claude Melnotte, which we took for poetry, andspouted till the tears came from our eyes. Do notwe all remember them?“ Nay, dearest, nay, if thou would'st have me paintThe home to which, could love fulfil its prayers,This hand should lead thee-listen!A palace lifting to eternal summerIts marble walls from out a gloomy bowerOf coolest foliage, musical with birdsWhose songs should syllable thy name!"Well, they were pleasant days when we believed inthis very clever writer's poetry. He gave it us raw,LORD LYTTON. 245but it had such a glamour of cleverness over it thatwe accepted it as something very rare, and did notquite relish the unconscionably loud laughter intowhich Thackeray threw us when he tore the maskoff the " Sea Captain " in Fraser's Magazine. Sometender soul, who has a love for poetic pruriency,and thinks that God-given talent should be usedfor the corruption of God's creatures, has writtento us, shocked at our treatment of Swinburne. Wewill show him, who has read little and understands.less, how Thackeray and Tennyson could handle(critically, of course) Bulwer- Lytton, and howThackeray could carry the attack on the fair possessions of Tennyson. Remember, we are only onthe side of Truth. We allowed all due appreciation for Mr. Swinburne's poetry. We wish thathe, in carrying out his fine cookery of Greek andFrench dishes , had done that which the Englishgentleman requested the Irish waiter to do-servedthem in separate plates, and had allowed us to mixthem ourselves. But enough. " Strike and sparenot " is our motto here, when the blow is deserved .Praise, and praise generously, is but a pendant to it .To our subject. Walking, let us say, up the hallof the Freemasons' at a Literary Fund dinner, thereis a gentleman, rather feeble, doddering, a CousinFeenix, with tumbled hair, a face rouged, flushed, anoble forehead and high aristocractic nose, a gentle246 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.1،، ""man unmistakably, a gentleman with "the truenobleman look " that you do not find one man ina thousand has, and of which Pope spoke. He isnot very strong, this gentleman, and has a scaredkind of stare-that, indeed, of a student out in theworld. In this living face, and in photographs fromit , there is a suspicion that it is " got up " to whatits owner thinks its best; that Pelham would beyounger than he is. Vain struggle with Time; whatgentle waggoner can put a“ skid on his wheelwhen he is going down hill, " or with a finger stayIxion's wheel, " as Keats has it? Look at the hairbrushed forward and manipulated, the eyebrows,whiskers, and hair somewhat darkened, the moustache and imperial! The whole look of the manhas just the clever artistry —not insincerity, forLord Lytton is a true man-which is the little bit ofbad taste which has prevented its master from beingthe very first in his rank. The little reft within thelute, and little rotten speck of garnered fruit-youknow the rest. How wonderfully like his booksevery man is! Noble Charles Kingsley; superfineLord Lytton; rocky Ben Jonson , with the " mountain belly and the rocky face; " gentle Shakespeare;pure and biblical John Milton; and " wicked " LordByron, as vain as wicked, and as wicked as vainhow you throw your own shadows and lights uponyour pages!-LORD LYTTON. 247This man, Lord Lytton, who has writen a mostacute essay on the difference between Genius andTalent, has so high a share of the latter that hetouches on the confines of the first . His industryis marvellous-as great as his genius.Let usrapidly see what he has done. He was born in 1805.His father, General Bulwer, died in 1807. In 1810the little precocious fellow wrote verses in the Percyballad style. In 1820, at the mature age of fifteen ,he sent out " Ismael, an Oriental Tale, " with otherpoems, one on Waterloo, in which Corporal Shaw,the Life Guardsman, figures as a hero:¡" Meantime brave Shaw usurps the martial plain ,And spreads the field with Gallic heaps of slain. "" Ismael " is not bad stuff; many a poet of fiftyworries his face into wrinkles because the press willnot praise worse verses. The young poet went toCambridge after a course of private tutorship, andbecame a swell at Trinity Hall . In 1825 he wonthe Chancellor's Prize Medal, and, after anothervolume of verse, gave us, in 1827, his first novel,"Falkland, " the hero of which is, of course, Byronic,wicked, Satanic even. So much harm had theByron. fever done. To laugh sardonically, to hatemen much and women more, to scorn the world,and yet to hunger for it, was then thought fine andstrong. His next work was Mortimer; or, theAdventures of a Gentleman," which the publishers,248 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.}with their usual insight, rejected . However, theword " Mortimer" was altered to " Pelham, " and theeffect was magical. The publishers issued it , andthe public bought and praised it . It is a wonderfully clever novel for so young a man (published in1828) of the superfine kid-glove and silver-forkschool. Bulwer had used his education as well ashis observation, and sarcasm and quotations arepretty well mixed in the result. In 1827 Bulwergraduated B.A. In the same year he married RosinaWheeler, daughter of a gentleman of Limerick,and the marriage has not been a happy one,testibus Lady Lytton's spiteful novel of " Cheveley;or, the Man of Honour, " and others; but from thismarriage sprang the Hon. Edward Robert Bulwer(born 1832) , a poet of no mean order, known asOwen Meredith.In 1828, after " Pelham, " came the " Disowned, "and then, in quick succession, " Devereux, " " PaulClifford," " Eugene Aram," a drama on the sameghastly subject, the " Siamese Twins, " " Englandand the English, " " Last Days of Pompeii, " " TheCrisis " (politics) , " Rienzi, " " The Duchess de laValliere," a drama, " Lady of Lyons, " ditto, " Richelieu , " ditto , Money, " ditto; then " Ernest Maltravers," down to " My Novel, " "The Caxtons, ""What will he do with it? " and others. From1828 to 1869, we have thirty-one years, and, count،،LORD LYTTON. 249ing pamphlets and plays, more than forty volumes!Nor must we, in justice, forget his more ambitiousworks, such as " Athens: its Rise and Fall, " ( 1837);"King Arthur, " a poem (Colburn, 1849); and " TheNew Timon, " a trenchant satire, written in admirable verse . All these called loud plaudits fromthe press at the time, and we are not of those whotake simply to novelty, and abuse an old and anexcellent servant. "The New Timon " had, unfortunately, a romantic story interwoven with itssatire; had it not that, had it been a satire pur etsimple, it would have nearly equalled those of Pope,or, let us say, Gifford . In style, it was betweenthe two.Some moral obliquity of vision , too, made Bulwerwrite those thrice damnable highwaymen stories,wherein we have gentlemen highwaymen, scorningsociety, and philosophic footpads. If his lordshipspent all the money he ever had from all his novels.and plays put together in reformatories—and thesum has been a very large one, Routledge payinghim for a stereotyped edition £15,000 —he could notundo a tithe of the evil he has done, by giving animpulse, with that much worse writer, HarrisonAinsworth, to the Penny Murder and RobberyNovel, which has filled our gaols with some of thebrightest boys of England. "Gentleman Jack " andthe " Boy Highwayman " are the true blood des+250 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.، ،cendants, if illegitimate , indeed, of " Clifford " and"Jack Sheppard. " The deductions were as odiousas the sentiment was false . Thackeray, who seemsto have hated Bulwer's works with an honest scorn ,and to have pursued him with the pertinacity of abloodhound, lashed him as no man has ever beenlashed for his " Sea Captain, " and in Punch wroteperhaps the wisest, wittiest, and best parody everseen, on Aram, " in " George de Barnwell. " Wellmight the romantic Bulwer have blushed andwrithed; but, unfortunately, the people who wouldbe corrupted by " Paul Clifford " and " Aram, ” arejust those who have not the wit to read the satire,nor the open daylight knowledge (loving darknessrather than light) to feel that a rogue can never becalled a wise, witty, or a truly clever man. This,Bulwer could not see. It is not too much to saythat the whole of British society is at present disturbed by the result of such teachings, infinitelydiffused by the talk and reproduction of inferiorminds.In 1831 Bulwer was member for St. Ives; then,in '32, for Lincoln, till '42; was rejected till '52 ,when he became member for Herts; in '35 he tookhis M.A. degree; in '38 was made a baronet . In'44 his mother died, and he took the name ofLytton; in 1853 he was made honorary D.C.L.of Oxford; in 1856 Rector of Glasgow University;LORD LYTTON. 25Iin the same year he was offered a seat in LordDerby's cabinet; in 1866 he was created LordLytton of Knebworth. He won his baronetcy, webelieve, from the Whigs, and his barony from theTories, but his whole weight and popularity fromhis capital and clever novels, so suited to a restless, ambitious youth of readers , so seducing, sodangerous, and yet in many parts so wise. Onthe whole one cannot deny the highest crown onecan bestow upon the next- step - to-genius to Bulwer.He ripens as he goes on, but his art is imitativerather than original. He is too clever by half.His best works are often echoes, melodious echoes,with a different sound in their repercussion, butevidently from the cries of others. The " Caxtons "echoes back the strong shout of " Tristram Shandy; "the historical novels, those of Scott and even James;the history, those of Thirwall; the dramas, those ofKnowles with the poetry of Scott; the satire hasthe silver ring of Pope, often his very casura in thelines. Thus Bulwer is an imitative genius ratherthan an original one. He has written because hehas had something to say, no doubt, but alsobecause he wished to place himself upon the same.high pedestal with the highest names in literature—and for a time he has done it . But posterity has aknack of taking down these plaster casts of greatones before she puts up the alabaster statue which252 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.shall endure.looks uncommonly well.We have said that Bulwer can hit out withvigour, and that he ripens. His " Horace, ” latelypublished, is a most admirable work, full, let ussay, of genius in minute touches, of clever workall over. Lastly, as we cannot in our space followBulwer's busy life any longer, let us thank him.for his honest, hard, and, on the whole, manly work.That he has not been more so, that he has notbeen conducive to Christian nobleness, that hisheroes are often snobs, is not his fault- it is congenital; and upon this natural wood, so well adaptedfor the Bulwerian cabinet, education has placed avery fine veneer, and art a splendid French polish.Here, too, we add a literary curiosity-Bulwer'sattack on Tennyson, and Tennyson's reply inPunch. The fight was a great deal too well carriedon to last. Bulwer loq. , but anonymously, as the"New Timon " was published as a mystery:(6Nevertheless, fresh plaster- of- ParisNot mine, not mine ( O Muse forbid! ) the boonOf borrow'd notes, the mock- bird's modish tune,The jingling medley of purloined conceits ,Out-babying Wordsworth and out- glittering Keats;Where all the airs of patch-work pastoral chimeTo drown the ears in Tennysonian rhyme!

  • * * * *

Let school- miss Alfred vent her chaste delightOn ' darling little rooms so warm and light; 'Chant ' I'm a-weary ' in infectious strain,And catch the ' blue fly singing i ' the pane; 'LORD LYTTON. 253Tho' praised by critics and adored by Blues,Tho' Peel with pudding plump the puling muse,Tho' Theban taste the Saxon purse controls,And pensions Tennyson while starves a Knowles"We need not more. Tennyson, who had had £200a-year granted him, was touched to the quick, andwrote -for once and only once in Punch — asfollows:" THE NEW TIMON AND THE POET.We know him out of Shakespeare's heartAnd those full curses which he spoke;The old Timon, with his noble art,That strongly loathing, greatly broke.So died the Old; here comes the New.Regard him: a familiar face;I thought we knew him: What, it's you,The padded man that wears the stays.Who killed the girls and thrilled the boysWith dandy pathos when you wrote;O Lion! you that made a noiseAnd shook a mane en papillotes.And once you tried the Muses too ,—You failed, Sir; therefore now you turn;You fall on those who are to youAs captain is to subaltern.But men of long- enduring hopes,And careless what the hour may bring,Can pardon little would- be PopesAnd Brummels, when they try to sting.An artist, Sir, should rest in Art,And waive a little of his claim;To have a great poetic heartIs more than all poetic fame.254 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.But you, Sir, you are hard to please,You never look but half content,Nor like a gentleman at ease,With moral breadth of temperament.And what with spites and what with fears,You cannot let a body be;It's always ringing in your earsThey call this man as great as me.MWhat profits now to understandThe merits of a spotless shirtA dapper boot—a little hand— If halfthe little soul is dirt?You talk of tinsel! Why, we seeOld marks of rouge upon your cheeks.You prate of Nature! You are heThat spilt his life upon the cliques.A Timon you! Nay, nay, for shame;It looks too arrogant a jest—The fierce old man to take his name—You bandbox. Off, and let him rest .”Clever but wrong, as the gentleman said underpeculiar circumstances. You see these great soulsare disturbed. When one poet calls anotherschool-girl, and the other retorts with the accusationof his opponent being a rouged bandbox, the timehas come to leave off. You can say no more. Butwe like these old free fights; the men are both broadenough to forgive and to forget; their success,immense talents, and the full appreciation that thepublic has given them, are alike undeniable. Maythey rest under their laurels!7MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH.

MR. HARRISON AINSWORTH.CET us start with an opinion , fearlesslyexpressed as it is earnestly felt, that theexistence of this writer is an event to bedeplored; and the fact that he is able to assume thathe is a Man of Letters who has been of service to hiscountry, and that he has received from the handsof a Prime Minister, himself a Man of Letters, thereward of £100 a-year pension for literary services ,is a disgrace to this bewildered and Philistine nation .Mean as is the sum of £1,200 a-year which is setaside for the reward of those noble soldiers in Literature and Art who lead the van, who write for thepeople, who instruct the people, and help all theycan with fine-hearted thoughts and words of a puresavour, it is made yet smaller by placing upon itpersons who absorb a very large portion of it . ThusLady Phipps, the wife of a Queen's servant, whosaved Her Majesty hundreds of thousands, takesaway a fourth; Lady Mayne, the widow of a wellpaid police-officer, takes away an eighth; the widowS258MODERNMEN OF LETTERS.of a highly-paid President of the Royal Academy, herself earning much money, pockets a fourth; a writer ofhighwaymen's romances a twelfth, and so on. Ifyou have speculated and built an exhibition, thenyour widow may be rewarded by this Literary CivilList. Ifthe Queen has no other way to reward herservants, you will be put upon this list . It is reallytime that the English people should speak their mindas to their public servants, the authors. They stand inthe stead of the prophets of old; they form the mindsof the young; they set the bias of the mind towardsvirtue or vice, towards unholy greed, a cold lust ofselfish gain, or a generous and manly life of duty,honesty, forbearance, and holiness.Now, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth has not done thelatter. He is, perhaps, not so much to be blamed,poor man, being a person of small attainments andnot a very strong intellect, as the times in which hewas born. In that yeasty and lively age, in which theresults of a long war, deeds of violence at sea and onland, the press- gang, cheating lawyers, bad laws, adebauched king and court, a " frowsy old Floribel,"had produced among the people a taste for suchliterature as the " Memoirs of Harriet Wilson, "accompanied by books less vicious only in degree,not quite as bad in intention, such as " Tom andJerry, " " The Corinthian Club, " and the like, —inthat very lively age people required a literatureMR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 259that teemed with adventure and had " go " in it.Mr. Coombe, in his " Doctor Syntax," feels this,and leads his hero into innumerable scrapes, andmakes him describe each scene from the playhouseto the graveyard. To judge from his lines, matterswere not much better then they are now in theformer. When he has seen a play Syntax exclaims:"'Twas Shakspeare-but in masquerade:I've seen a farce, I scarce know what,'Twas only fit to be forgot.I've seen a critic and I've heardThe string of nonsense he preferred .Heaven bless me! where has Learning fled?Where has she hid her sacred head?Oh! how degraded has she grown,To spawn such boobies on the town! "The booby, John Leland, by the way, was wiselypensioned by the minister, on express condition thathe would not write any more corrupting romances.Mr. Ainsworth has apparently received his moneyunder other conditions"(Qualis ab incepto processerat Et sibi constet. "He began by writing highwaymen romances, andhe has only just at present (August, 1870) concludedastory of " Claude Duval, a Tale of the Days of Charlesthe Second, " in that widely- circulated journal, BowBells. Let us add that he writes evidently withS 2260 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.more decency and less open applause of robbery andbrutality for one penny, than he did when one paidhalf- a-crown for his rubbish. His Claude Duval isnot the Knight of the Road after all . The highwayman's name is merely taken as a " draw " by thevulgar novelist. He knows that little thieves andincipient burglars will be taken in by the name.He knows that in the purlieus of the New Cut, in thewynds of Glasgow, in the slums of Manchester andBirmingham, the name of Claude Duval is a nameof might. He therefore takes it, but he wishes tobe virtuous as well; he is as modest as a lady of acertain fame and occupation is at a christening—agreat deal more modest than virtue itself. ClaudeDuval shot by the Duke of Buckingham! -( Ha, ha!what says Dame History to that?) -in single combatin Windsor Park, is attended in his duello by afemale page dressed as a man, " with a wild shriekthat betrayed her sex " —oh, you foolish old copyist,are not the discarded women-pages of Sir PhilipSidney and of Shakspeare yet done with?—but hasyet life enough left him to ride and plunge into amorass. Sabine, his she- page, leads him thither." Not there,' rejoined Duval. 'Your father's spirit pointedtowards the lake. Take me thither to the morass- you understand.'She divined his terrible purpose, but did not attempt to opposeit. She led him down the long sweeping glade, along whichthey flitted like phantoms. She guided him swiftly and unMR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 261erringly, through the thick woods encircling the lake, andbrought him to the borders of the morass.'Now leave me. Farewell for ever! ' he cried.And with a last effort he forced his horse into the fatal swamp.Sabine remained looking on in a state of stupefaction. Whenall was over she prepared to follow.' Leave you! Never! ' she exclaimed . ' I am yours in lifeas in death! ' (sic. )And she plunged in after him. The morass willingly (!)offered them a grave in its oozy depths, and kept their secret well.À miserable pretender afterwards appeared as Claude Duval.With him we have nothing to do. He was very deservedlyhanged."Now this is mean in the extreme. Here is thisold and accomplished author, who has drawn hisbrilliant existence, as the sun draws exhalationsfrom a swamp, from the Newgate Calendar; whohas sent so many boys to prison that Governmenthas forbidden his plays to be acted with one handand has pensioned him with the other; and yet, inhis old age, he deserts the highwaymen, and onlyin the last paragraph but one of his book, lets out thesecret that the true Duval is " a miserable pretender, " and was very deservedly hanged. Mean,very mean: Ainsworth is, in fact, the pretenderhimself.Thirty years ago, a portly, red-faced gentlemanmight have been seen on the Harrow Road, hummingthe tune of the most popular song of the day-hisown " Jolly Nose. " There was a good- natured262 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.joviality about the gentleman, a genial dispositionto feed well, sleep well, and take care of himself.He had been a lucky, and he thought himself ameritorious man- not at all an unusual matter. Hewas born in 1805, and is therefore of the mature ageof Lord Lytton, another author who has illustratedthe lives of thieves. His father was a Manchestersolicitor; but his son, who was brought up to thesame profession, became, "through the allurements of literature, " says that "high falutin ’ ” -biographer, Mr. Cordy Jeaffreson, " a carelessstudent of the law, and ere the conclusion of histwenty-first year he presented the world (! ) withhis first work of fiction, ' Sir John Chiverton." "Mr. Jeaffreson here makes out a great case forhis friend, whom he does not seem to care muchabout, as he dismisses him in a few lines; but thestatement that he was " intended for the law,"and that he was a student, though a carelessstudent, of that blessed institution , stands him instead. From law to a defence of crime, indeed tolooking upon crime as a jovial and necessary (forthe lawyers) sort of occupation, is but a step . From"Sir John Chiverton " to " Ovingdean Grange, "and this about Claude Duval, Ainsworth has writtensome twenty- six books or romances, and takingthese at three volumes each, is author of nearlyone hundred volumes of rubbish . Early in hisMR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 263life , the success of Dickens gave him a goodopening as playing second to that author. WhenDickens resigned his management of Bentley's Miscellany-having written therein a thieves' story, butvery differently treated, by the way, and quite moralin its tenour and its results, its real abhorrence ofnot admiration for crime-Dickens wrote a prefaceto the volume containing the comic and dignifiedsimilitude of the old and new coachman. It suitedliterary men to be looked upon as "jarvies," orwhips, and to consider Bentley as a coach. Thenew whip, having mounted the box, drove straightto Newgate. He there took in Jack Sheppard andCruikshank the artist, and aided by that very vulgarbut wonderful draughtsman, he made an efficientstory of the burglar's or housebreaker's life . Hemight have done this and kept to the truth, or havepointed a moral. He did neither. He gave Jacka kind of apotheosis; he made all his villains on theside of the law, and all his rogues and slatternlystrumpets, washings of the kennel and gatheringsfrom the stews, whom he termed fair and charmingwomen, law-breakers, but to be admired by thereader!Bad as this bald piece of writing was, the successof Cruikshank's capital etchings, some of them equalto anything that Callot ever did, except in grace(we allude to the crowds in the space of a thumb264 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.nail in the hanging procession) , was enormous, andMr. Ainsworth, who had been a publisher at onepart of his busy life , next set up Ainsworth's Magazine,and in it wrote certain stilted nonsense- "TheTower of London," " Old St. Paul's, " " The Miser'sDaughter, " and so forth. Of these not one couldhold the public without its illustrations. Some ofCruikshank's best work went to these rubbishybooks, which are now bought at large prices for theengravings.Previous to this the poor scribe , whose historicalnovels were a mere list of the frippery of the wardrobe, had written another thieves' romance out of apenny chapbook, of which he has such a great ideathat he has given the public the most touchingscene to weep over. It is the death of Dick's mare,"Black Bess. "" Dick's eyes were blinded as with rain. His triumph, thoughachieved, was forgotten; his own safety disregarded. He stoodweeping and swearing, like one beside himself.' And art thou gone, Bess? ' cried he, in a voice of agony,lifting up his courser's head, and kissing her lips, covered withbloodflecked foam. Gone, gone! and I have killed the beststeed that I ever crossed! And for what? ' added he, beatinghis brow with his clenched hand-' for what? for what? ' "(The illustrious author himself has told us how hefelt when he wrote that celebrated passage . Thefeelings of Gibbon at Lausanne, after having writtenthe last line of his magnum opus, were small comparedMR. HARRISON AINSWORTH. 265with those of Ainsworth. After informing the publicon the important point where he " achieved " thisat the Elms at Kilburn-he continues:"Well do I remember the fever into which I was thrownduring the time of composition . My pen literally scouredover the pages. So thoroughly did I identify myself withthe flying highwayman, that once started I found it impossible to halt. Animated by kindred enthusiasm, I clearedevery object in my path with as much facility as Turpin disposed of the impediments that beset his flight. In hiscompany I mounted the hill- side, dashed through the bustling village, swept over the desolate heath, threaded thesilent street, plunged into the eddying stream, and keptan onward course—without pause, without hindrance, without fatigue. With him I shouted, sang, laughed, exulted,wept; nor did I retire to rest till in imagination I heardthe bell of York Minster toll forth the knell of poor BlackBess. "-Knell of poor Black Bess! that never existed ,that was never ridden to York, save in the brain ofsome half- starved author of a penny chapbook! Andif this author had the common sense to have followedFielding, he might, if he chose, have falsified historywithout making vice alluring. But such is the perverse blindness of such genius as inspires Bulwerand Ainsworth, that they represent the lazy loaferwho took to the road in fear and trembling, whenhe could no longer live on the wages of sin his poorfemale companion brought him as a puissant knighterrant; and the mercers, travellers, and bagmen asso many cowards, who trembled at the sight of them.266 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.The truth is, these same " cits" sometimes frightenedthe highwaymen with a brass candlestick. One oldbeau stuck a fellow by the head on the spikes of hiscoach, and dragged the dirty hector into London ,and cleared Hounslow Heath, by terror of this deed,for months. Once women took a highwaymanprisoner; and the scoundrelly " Knights of the Road ”always fled before any men equally well armed . Somuch for their valour!Nor can we too often refute the foolish old saw ofthere being honour amongst thieves. King beingarrested, and crying out for help, Turpin deliberatelyshot his friend , so that he could not " peach " (giveinformation against him). "Dick, " cried King,thinking that the shot was meant for the officer,' you have killed me. " Nevertheless, he lived for aweek, and long enough to peach about his friend'shiding- place at Hackney Marsh. Turpin then, touse the expression of this historian, " removed intoYorkshire," where he supported himself by a cunningmixture of horse stealing and horse dealing. Takenat last under his assumed name of John Palmer,found out by a returned letter, of which he had notpaid the postage, he was tried, condemned, andexecuted . Finally, as they dress this hero on thestage, he was so shabbily dressed—no sticking- plasterboots, silver-hilted swords, gold- laced hats, or velvetcoats-that he bought "a new pair of pumps and aMR. HARRISON AINSWORTH . 2Pfustian-frock to wear at the time of his death." Heleft a ring and some other articles to a " marriedwoman," not his wife, with whom he had beencohabiting. He trembled and turned white when hecame to the ladder, stamped his foot with somebravado, mounted the ladder, and there conversed.with the executioner for half-an-hour before he threwhimself off." Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,And often took leave, but seemed loath to depart. ”We find we have made the trifling omission of amurder and a round dozen of brutalities in this shortsketch, but trifles are of little moment in the life ofa hero. " It is needless to add that the story of theride to York," says a Newgate historian, with somecontempt, " and of the wondrous deeds of the highwayman's steed, Black Bess, are like many othertales of this fellow (! ) , the fabrication of some poeticalbrain! "Whenthese glittering productions were dramatised ,so many young boys imitated the tinsel heroes of thestage, that the authorities wisely forbade their representation . Mrs. Keeley for some time acted JackSheppard, and respectable women were found foolishenough to bedizen themselves in mob caps , andrepresent the "historical personages " of the trullsand strumpets whom Ainsworth created as thequeens of the burglar's seraglio.268 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Well, after thirty years or so , we have seen theresult. The crop of penny highwaymen books isperennial. * Jack Sheppards (spelt a little differentfor copyright considerations) , Blueskins, Turpins,Claude Duvals, rise like foul fungi from the cheappress, and shed their poison, and die down to appear

  • Further evidence of the pernicious effect on youthful 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 Americans, who rightly or wrongly repudiate Aristocracy-or rather, since thatword is ignorantly profaned and misused,a titled class, which is very different from the Aristoi—have an awkward habit of making their great meneither judges, generals, or professors. "Professor "is a word of very modest meaning, warped from itsreal significance into something somewhat charlatanic . Professor Browne who cuts hair, ProfessorChallis who cuts out trousers scientifically, ProfessorAnderson who pretends to conjure and expose spiritrapping with the agile awkwardness of a plethoricbutcher, rise before one's mind as you say the word.They are humbugs, saltambanques, mere palliasses,with raddled noses and painted faces, who do theirjugglery in a miserable way, poor fools! -but Professor Longfellow is a learned man, a scholar, agentleman, and a true poet.He does not look much like one as he walks nearhis home at Cambridge, U.S. He resembles a sub286 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.stantial English farmer. He is more English in hislook than Tennyson, quite as much so as Browning.He has a cheery red face like a farmer, white hairfalling about it in long locks, and black eyebrows.Forcible lines and features adorn that face; thereis more strong thought in it , and much less delicacyand womanliness in it, than one would have thought.And yet he is essentially a woman's poet.He is easily understood, for instance, much moreeasily understood than even Tennyson or Swinburne.Longfellow's meaning lies on the surface. Is this aproof that he is not a poet? By no means. Browning has ruined himself by his involved no- meaning.We do not want a poet who thinks in knots, andthough we love Browning and rate him at a muchhigher value than Longfellow, we are apart from himby the space of the wide heavens in thinking hisserious bewilderment a beauty. You can read Longfellow softly, gently, and with a calm delight; he"sweetly creeps, " as the Prince of Poets says, " intoyour study of imagination." You can't understandBrowning unless he is wonderfully well read by a poetwho can read, and then, with emphasis and properinflection , you see the fine depths of the man. LikeRembrant's pictures, his poems want a false andartificial light thrown on them. When Mr. WilliamShakespeare was a young man, a scholar, not amaster, he affected obscurity-for a purpose, too—HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 2871in his sonnets , but his sublimities are all daylight.He is no blackly dark mine, no mammoth cave withtwenty-inch stalactites, but whole Alps and Himalayas, a Monte Rosa or Pilatus in the sunshine oftrue poetry. That poet who, like a cuttle- fish ,escapes from being caught by dirtying the water, isof essentially small mind"A man's best things are nearest him— Lie close about his feet. "And the best poetry is, like our English Prayer- book,"to be understanded of by the common people . " Letus point to the admirable quotation just used, fromRichard Monkton Milnes Lord Houghton-it is asgood and as plain as the best Wordsworth.Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is an earnest manand a good worker. If half of his countrymen wereas earnest as he, we should have had less " Bunkum'talked , and more sound sense . He was and is welleducated, and is no doubt educating himself now.Born in February, 1807, he entered Bowdoin College,New Brunswick, at the age of fourteen, graduated inhonours at eighteen, and in 1825 was studying lawwith his father, but, offered the Professorship ofModern Languages in his college, he left home toprepare himself, by a three and a half years' travelin Europe-in France, Spain, Italy, Germany,England-and this earnest work shows itself in his288 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.poems. Le moyen d'y parvenir with Henry W. Longfellow, oh Bohemian friend, who loafs in and out ofNew York drinking- shops, is hard work-laying hisbrains to, and achieving what he undertakes. In1829 Longfellow returned home, and entered on hisprofessorship . In 1835 , on the death or resignationof Mr. G. Ticknor, Longfellow was offered the samepost at Harvard College, Cambridge, and the poetagain went abroad to cram, as it were, for his post.He then spent more than a year in Denmark, Sweden,Germany, and Switzerland, and in 1836 returned andsettled at Cambridge, where he has since resided ,save but for brief intervals of travel for the sake ofhis health. In 1842 he was again in Europe; in1861 his wife perished by a dreadful death, that byfire; in 1869 Longfellow spent some time in Europe .This is all the personal history that we shall relate .He has been many years before the public as anauthor and as a poet. In 1833 he published histranslation from the Spanish of the celebrated poemof " Don Jorge Manrique, ” on the death of his father,together with an introductory essay on Spanishpoetry; in 1835 , his " Outre-Mer; " in 1839,"Hyperion, " a romance, and " Voices ofthe Night,'his first collection of poems; in 1841, " Ballads andother Poems; " in 1842, " Poems on Slavery; " in1843, "The Spanish Student, " a play; in 1845," The Poets and Poetry of Europe, " and " TheHENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 289Belfry of Bruges; " in 1847, " Evangeline; " in 1848," Kavanagh," a tale; and in 1849, "The Sea- sideand the Fire- side; " " The Golden Legend " in 1851;and " The Song of Hiawatha " in 1855; then came" Miles Standish " in 1858; "Tales of a WaysideInn, " 1863; and, some two years ago, a translationfrom Dante, which was received but coldly. Peoplehad been accustomed to look for something peculiar,gentle, and entirely his own, from Longfellow. His" Dante " has not been a success, and yet we wantsomething that will render Dante in the actualterza rima. Our very best translation at present isthat by Cary, which is decidedly Miltonic. TheMessrs. Cassell have very wisely printed that withthe lurid and overrated illustrations of Gustave Doré,which, by the way, are about the best illustrations.that he has ever done, excepting the weird picturesto Balzac's " Contes Drolatiques."No American author is so well known in Englandas Longfellow. Many of his verses have becomehousehold words, and many of them richly deserveto be so. Thus the last line in this extract is quotedby every young lady. It is from " Evangeline: "“ Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted;If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returningBack to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment;That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain.U290 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.!Patience, accomplish thy labour; accomplish thy work of affection!Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endurance is godlike. ”This sweet story is founded on a tale of " British ”cruelty, by the way miserably magnified, and willperpetuate a good deal of poetic dislike to theEnglish. Happily it is in a lilting hexameter, aGreek and Latin measure which the learned Southeywas, before Longfellow, silly enough to try to bringinto use. Admirable, most admirable as it is inHomer, sweet and excellent as it is in Virgiland Lucretius, the hexameter does not suit ourtongue in any way. If it could have been naturalised, Longfellow would have done it. Thesweetest English hexameters are those in " Evangeline " where the devoted girl dies. " Still stands.the forest primeval, " they commence, and end withthe picture of the two lovers lying at rest in the littlechurchyard in the heart of the city:"Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside them,Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at rest andfor ever,Thousands ofaching brains, where theirs no longer are busy,Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased fromtheir labours,Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have completed theirjourney. "In the earlier portraits of Longfellow, there is adull melancholy imprinted on his face, and this isto be found in his poems. It is one cause of theirHENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 291ness.popularity; it is the great proof of his own weakHe has little of the strength of a kinglypoet, little of that jovial merriment, that buoyantforce of old Chapman or Daniel, let alone Shakespeareand Homer. These poets are, to use a vulgarprovincialism, " all alive like a bag of fleas; so isBurns, so is Beranger, so is Dante, even in hisfiery hatred and fierce revenge. Longfellow, onthe other hand, is as melancholy as a yellowand-green sick school-miss. Even in 1840, whenhe was but a young man, we see this, in his " Voicesof the Night," and even in the " Psalm of Life, "which is so often quoted and recited, there is acondemnable return of that vile melancholy whichdestroys all energy:" Art is long and Time is fleeting,And our hearts, though strong and brave,Still, like muffled drums, are beatingFuneral marches to the grave. """-And this pervades the poet. Even in the earlierpoems, all written before the age of nineteen, "someof which," says the writer quaintly and naïvely," have found their way into schools, and seem tobe successful, " there are traces of this weak passion,and in almost his last verses we find the same fault,and we may well be angry with a poet for thusdashing his singing robes with tears . We have agreat quarrel with him for his last verses in " TalesU 2292 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Jof a Wayside Inn " (Weariness) , which are yetvery beautiful. They commence with:" O little feet! that such long yearsMust wander on through hopes and fears,"and they end with this verse:" O little souls! as pure and whiteAnd crystalline as rays of lightDirect from heaven, their source divine;Refracted through the mist of years,How red my setting sun appears,How lurid looks this soul of mine! "This is not Christian doctrine. Pure and whiteare pretty adjectives, but a father ought to knowthat there is as much possible wickedness andactual selfishness in a child as ever there is in atrue old poet. But this affectation—or possibly atrue humility-is also to be found in Hood, a muchhealthier poet mentally, but one who suffered fromill-health bodily.Longfellow's translations are capital. They arefrom many languages, and they are all quaint andgood. Look, for instance, at that capital sonnetfrom Lope de Vega, " To- morrow: "" Lord, what am I , that, with unceasing care,Thou didst seek after me, —that thou didst wait,Wet with unhealthy dews, " &c. ,which is worthy of all praise. Read also , withmuch gusto, many of his Danish and Swedish pieces.HENRY W. LONGFEllow. 293That he loves the old land , and truly, is provedby many little touches; notably by his writingthe very best verses, save Tennyson's, ever writtenabout a man who in years to come will grow intoa hero, the Duke of Wellington. The poem iscalled, " The Warden of the Cinque Ports, " andwas published in the Atlantic Monthly shortly afterthe Great Duke's death. So, also, we might citethose beautiful verses on the poor dying soldier inthe hospital at Scutari, kissing the shadow of SantaFilomena ( Miss Nightingale) as it fell upon thewall at his bedside. The story is a poem of itself,but Longfellow, raised, as he said, to a "higherlevel " by the deeds in the Crimea, does not hesitateto prophecy that the light of the deed shall lastMode" On England's annals, through the longHereafter of her speech and song,That light its rays shall castFrom portals of the past."So also, to be perfectly national—and a good poetmust be national-in the midst of the war with theSouth-when will a poet arise to sing the heroicbravery of that small unaided people?-Longfellowprophecied the victory of the North. The Northernsloop, the Cumberland, was run down in HamptonRoads by an iron Southern vessel, and the men,' tis said, went down with a cheer, whereon Longfellow sings out:294 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS."Ho! brave hearts that went down in the seas!Ye are at peace in the troubled stream.Ho! brave land with hearts like these,Thy flag that was rent in twain,Shall be one again,And without a seam! "The fellow- countrymen of America, who have notyet produced the national poet, are very proud, andnaturally so, of this honest, manly, cleanly writer.About Longfellow, " writes an American critic, inan amusing style, "there is never any mawkishsentimentality, no versified cant, no drivelling, nodiabolic gloom. His bold, broad brow catches thesunlight from the four points of heaven and disperses it, glittering and fructifying through the homesteads of his readers. Longfellow is the healthiest,the heartiest, and the most harmonious of all theAmerican poets. True to nature, he is truest tohimself. The most barren legend is made fruitfulby the warmth and fervour of his intellect; butwhen, as in this ' Song of Hiawatha,' he adoptsa tradition charged with the elements of socialprogress, his genius, baring its broad pinions to thesky, shows us only the more unmistakably howyearning it leans to man, and to man's happiness. "We have said nothing about the three best or mostambitious poems of Longfellow, one-a kind of"Faust "—the " Golden Legend, " is freely and finelywritten. The opening is admirable, but yet it isHENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 295but wine-and-water to Bailey's " Festus, " to saynothing of Goethe's " Faust. " The second isHiawatha, " and the third " Miles Standish. " Oneis to be, it is said, the epic of America, the otherof New England. Neither probably will live except as curiosities. " Hiawatha " is written insmooth iambics, very easily to be imitated, and thusthey run:(6

  • * *

"As unto the bow the cord is ,So unto the man is woman;Though she bends him she obeys him,Though she draws him, yet she follows.Thus the youthful HiawathaSaid within himself and pondered ,Much perplexed with various feelings ,Listless, longing, hoping, fearing,Dreaming still of Minnehaha,Ofthe lovely Laughing WaterIn the land of the Dacotahs. "This, as Touchstone says, is the " right butterwoman's rank to market. " One could rhyme to ita whole summer's day. Epics are not made likethat. Besides, the subject of the loves of a redman and his squaw, who can be no ancestors toanybody, who were of the most cruel , brutal, anddegraded of races, are hardly hero and heroine forthe supreme race Caucasian. " Miles Standish " isvery weak, and in hexameters, and that disposes ofthat being an epic.296 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.1.But nothing will dispose of our gratitude to asweet, good, and learned poet; one who hashonoured his country and honoured his race; whohas never written one word which, dying, he couldwish to blot; whose book, like a circumambientand omnipresent fairy, has entered thousands uponthousands of American and English homes, andhas never entered one without bringing with itpurity and pleasure.{MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.

MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.&&&T is very possible Mr. Swinburne mightobject to being called a " man of letters. "He said once publicly that he is not aliterary man, and he would, rather than otherwise,cast scorn upon living by his pen. Not that suchmen refuse the honorarium given by publishers. Onthe contrary, we presume, purely for the good of thepoor fellows who write, they demand and receiveheavy rates of pay when their name is good in themarket.Mr. Swinburne, then, is a poet, but by no means.pure and simple, taking those words " at the foot o'the letter;" but a poet he is of rare order-forcible,free, salt, and buoyant as the sea; full of fire , dash,feeling and expression; a poet who at one leap sathimself at the side of the crowned singers, and whodivides Olympus with Tennyson, or disputes empirewith Browning. For it is a thing damnable enoughwith Fame, that the old worn soldier of a hundredfights shall at once give place to a boy- soldier, and300 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.that the fierce flame of the hero of the day shalleclipse the constant splendours of him who haswon and worn the diadem of song for years. Thisyoung, and, as we believe, almost utterly spoilt childof fortune, is the latest comer amongst letters, andhas already reached to the highest form.In appearance, as you see him, let us say at aliterary dinner, in answer to some call upon him ofwhich he does not approve, he has a young, unripe,and not very healthy look. He has ancient blood inhis veins, but it has not run to form and flesh.There is no doubt as to the quality of his brain,neither is there any doubt as to that of his heartand body; one is of the finest order; of the othersthe less said the better. In height this poet isabout five feet six; in age rising upon twenty- seven(born at Holmwood, Surrey, 1843); his hair, whichis bushy and plentiful, is of a fiery red; his face hasthat pallor which accompanies red hair, a palenessheightened by study, passion, and the fierce rebelliousspirit within . Thin, badly dressed-or badly tailored ,for the " clothes he occupies, " as Artemus Wardhas it , seldom seem to become him-the fiery littlespirit looks neither a poet nor a gentleman, and yethe is both-by birth. An Eton boy and an Oxfordman-he was a Balliol student and a first-rateGrecian the wide and correct reading of the poethonours both his college and his school. He leftMR. ALGERNÓN C. SWINBURNE. 301Oxford without taking a degree, and in 1861 published his first poems, the " Queen- Mother " and"Rosamond," both of which fell dead. Four yearsafterwards he produced " Atalanta in Calydon, " awhite quarto with a Grecian binding, which at oncetook the public and the press; and it was thenremembered that the young poet was an Etonian,Oxonian, and nephew to a baronet of ancientdescent. All these things tell in the scale. Povertyand low birth are matters now- a- days which weighdown many a genius-a pure diamond it may be,but which wants the sun to make it glitter.The sun shone on " Atalanta. " The larger papers.noticed it , and to say truth it deserved all the praiseit got. It is pure Greek, as Greek in its feeling asif Keats had written it, or as if Shelley had translated it from Eschylus. Its author must have justrisen, when he was fired with the idea, from " Orestes "and the " Eumenides." There are , indeed , distincttraces of the sublime Greek Trilogy in the poem,and the mournful music is worthy the theme. Thetwo passions or devils which possess this little fieryman of genius were kept pretty tightly chainedduring this translation, but now and then one showshis cloven foot. What are these devils? Incontinence is one-or, if you like Teutonic best, lust—and an arrogant rebellion against God is the other.Mr. Swinburne would admit neither, if we believe.302 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.{certain stories current in literary society. He doesnot admit that there is a revelation for one matter,and he believes that lust is a natural and excellentlaw. Now, we shall not repeat a tittle of what iswell known in literary society, and which will besure to be known to the world some day. Letgossips read what gossips write, and scavengerscollect their heaps, of which they will find enough;we have only to deal with the books of this reallyfine poet. If he has a right-which we deny-topublish such stuff, we have a right to criticise it.We have said that one little devil showed himselfin "Atalanta," and this was rebellion against God.Of course, in the Greek tragedy, veiled like astatue of Satan covered with his wings, it lookedbeautiful indeed-majestic, sorrowful, and sublime."Atalanta " strikes the key- note of blasphemy on thevery earliest page. The gods give us poisonousdrink for wine, and herbs that infect our blood; butthe chorus speaks out even more plainly againstONE God:" Seen above other gods of shapes of things,Swift without feet and flying without wings;Intolerable, not clad with death or life;Insatiable, not known of night or day:The Lord of love and loathing, and of strife,Who gives a star and takes a sun away;Who shapes the soul, and makes her a barren wifeTo the earthly body and grievous growth of clay,MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. 303Who turns the large limbs to a little flame,And binds the great sea with a little sand;Who makes desire and slays desire with shameWho shakes the heavens as ashes in His hand;Who, seeing the light and shadow for the same,Bids day waste night as fire devours a brand:Smites without sword, and scourges without rod:THE SUPREME EVIL, GOD. "There can be little doubt of the spirit which dictatedthis; yet the age welcomed it and praised it, andweak young men thought it " plucky, " and spoutedit at Atheistic meetings-we beg pardon—antitheistic or anti-theologic is the phrase. Not onepaper, that we remember, bore witness against it.The Saturday declared that we " were listening toone of the contemporaries of Euripides, who soughtto copy the manner of Eschylus, " to a poet fullof vivid force and fulness of expression. The Spectator, that the work " was a little too ingrained withGreek awe, but still exceeding fine. " H'm. OneGod and Most High are hardly Greek! The Times,that he had a keen eye for natural scenery (thatdear old Times! What had that to do with it? )and a copious vocabulary of rich, yet simple English!The Athenæum, that " no one since Keats could touchhim"-and it might have said that Shelley could nottouch him for blasphemy. And the matronly andchaste Morning Herald introduced the poem with achuckling, " Assuredly this is the most complete and

.304choicest effort which has for a long time announcedthat a scholar and a poet has come amongst us. "A scholar! There's the fault. Mr. Swinburnehad prefixed two sets of Greek elegiac verse, ofvery good quality as college exercises, and dedicatedto that exceedingly Greek old man and fine writerof very plain English, Walter Savage Landor, withwhom he had sometime dwelt at Florence, andthere was little doubt that here was indeed a scholar.But he is not only a scholar in Greek, but in French.Brought up in France, he writes French with asmuch ease as he does English, and his little Rondelsin that language have been very much admired.This cross of French- Greek education, with a dashof Landor-Italian, had been too much for a smallbut very fine brain . Indeed, that brain must besmall which, after reading Job, can take the onesided view of God or nature, or, if he choose so tocall it, the great First Cause, that Mr. Swinburnedoes. We shall shortly see whither this FrenchGreek, or modern Priapeian, has brought our poetto . We desire that our readers will think thatwe have no unkindness in our criticism, but willmeditate on what we have pointed out.For Mr. Swinburne is, as to this age, a veryfine poet; perhaps the finest that our age has produced, save one. But he has begun his fight withthe world . His intellect is subversive. He caresMODERN MEN OF LETTERS.MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURne. 305not what creed, nor what system of morals heoverthrows. He fights as did our old sea- dogs,yard-arm to yard- arm. " There we lay, " saysCommodore Trunnion, " sending shot and shellinto her, hurling hand-grenades hot as hell , andthrowing stink-pots into her hold. " Mr. Swinburnehad been long dealing out hand- grenades. In theyear 1865, the house of Moxon, which used to be,until Tennyson withdrew from it , the reputed publishing house of poets , issued a certain volume of" Poems and Ballads, " by A. C. Swinburne , and thepress, for a wonder, discovered that a very deadlystink-pot (a fire-weapon, that with a thick fume andchoking stench, almost poisoned those it slew) hadbeen hurled into our midst. Thereon the respectable house of Moxon apologised to the public, bywithdrawing the book and refusing to sell it . Theplacing of a work in an Index Expurgatorius wasa good advertisement, and Mr. Swinburne (Punch,we believe, christened him Swine-born , and theepigram was received with acclamation) fitted himself with an active and enterprising publisher inthe person of Mr. Hotten, and the sale went merrilyon. The poet defended himself, and urged that hedid not write for boys and girls, and that therewas a literature far above the bread- and - butter andpinafore school, -which is very true. But, unfortunately, these poems are not written for men, unlessX306 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.for those unfortunates who have been on Circe'sshore, and are transformed to beasts.The volume is a pretty volume, and contains wondrous poetry. In excellent prose Mr. Swinburne has(for he writes in the Fortnightly) told us of hisantagonism to Christ. In this volume he not onlyproclaims this, but chooses to hint to the world, inmost unmistakable terms, that he preferred the worship of Venus. Something yet worse is to be found inthis sad book. We do not believe that any pure manor woman can realise the unutterable baseness ofsome of the verses, nor dare we print our exposition of them; but we will give a few specimens, andthese, we need not say, are not by any meansthe worst. In this first musical rhapsody, the poetdeclares his scorn of the Saviour of the world:“ Thou hast conquered , oh, pale Galilean; the world has growngrey from thy breath;We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fulness ofdeath. * *Oh, lips that the live blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods ,Oh, ghastly glories of saints and limbs of gibbeted gods!Though all men abuse them before you in spirit, and all kneesbend,I kneel not, neither adore you, but standing look to the end."In the next lines this ardent votary of Venus prophesies her triumph; still addressing Christ:66 Though these that were gods are dead, and thou being deadart a god!MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. 307Though before thee the throned Cytherean be fallen andhidden her head,Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Galilean, thy dead shall go downto thee dead.Ofthe maiden, thy mother, men sing as a goddess with grace clad around;Thou art throned where another was king; where another wasqueen she is crowned.Yea, once we had sight of another, but now she is queen, saythese,Not as thine, not as thine, was our mother, a blossom offlowering seas,Clothed round with the world's desire, as with raiment andfair as the foam,And fleeter than kindled fire , and a goddess and mother ofRome! "Reduce this to prose, and the argument is notvery strong, consisting only of the fact that Swinburne prefers the world's desire and Venus- worshipto the worship which exacts purity and submission.We will not further insult our readers with theparallel of the two queens of Rome-Venus and theBlessed Virgin . The poem is itself a study, exceedingly melodious, and by an oft- repeated trick ,apt alliteration , very liquid. Let us now pass from asenseless dislike of faith to a declaration of no faith .The first was in an ancient guise, a " Hymn to Proserpine, ” after the proclamation of the Christian faithin Rome; the second is a little French song of adieuto a certain Félise. This lady, of whom the loveris apparently very tired , is told mockingly to pray:X 2308MODERNMEN OF LETTERS.Behold! there is no grief like this;The barren blossom of thy prayer,Thou shalt find out how sweet it is.Oh, fools and blind , what seek ye there,High up in the air?Ye must have gods-the friends of men,Merciful gods, compassionate,And these shall answer you again .Will ye beat always at the gate,Ye fools of fate?Ye fools and blind; for this is sure,That all ye shall not live but die.Lo! what thing have ye found endure?Or what thing have yefound on high,Past the blind sky?The ghosts of words and dusty dreams,Old memories, faiths infirm and dead.Ye fools; for which among you deemsHis prayer can alter green to red ,Or stones to bread?"Clearly, young Mr. Swinburne does not understandthe nature of Christian prayer, and fancies that webelieve in a Providence which sends down pennyloaves at our asking. But this godless and ignorantyoung man, who, because he can write Greek andFrench verse, believes his education finished, has yetsomething that he prays to; and, in proving this, weshall touch but lightly upon that French- Priapeianmethod of his of bruising, and biting, and kissing,and sundry passionate exercitations quite Gallic orBacchic, or Delian if you like; but neither Englishnor manly. Thus hymns he to his goddess:MR. ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. 309" Thou wert fair in the fearless old fashion,And thy limbs are as melodies yet,And move to the music of passionWith lithe and lascivious regret.What ailed us, oh gods, to desert youFor creeds that refuse and restrain;Come down and redeem usfrom virtue,Our Lady ofPain! "What a line-what a prayer is that! Shall we goa step further in this passage; shall we glanceat "Hermaphroditus "? But no; to people whocomprehend, this is enough.When the French Republic of 1870 was proclaimedamidst so sad trials, and a situation of such unspeakable difficulty for the French nation, without oneomen of good import, all who loved Liberty andadvancement of the People looked grave with care ,but the Poet Swinburne lashed himself to fury, andwrote an ode " at a sitting." We will quote thecriticism of one of the leaders of public opinion , ratherthan give our own upon this very hasty production."The wildness, the frenzy, the incoherence of M.Hugo's prose are even surpassed in Mr. Swinburne'sverse. It is a strain—in a double sense—of soundand poesy: a poem which surpasses even the Swinburnian models in the tremendous vehemence ofwords. We cannot describe it better than in thebard's own phrase, as'The blood of thought which travailethTo bring forth hope with procreant pains.'

(Video) Everyone Everywhere Needs Waymond Wang (and Ke Huy Quan)

310 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.·The blood of thought labours much, but thehope is disappointed . The produce is a deformedthing, a misshapen monster, inspiring more mirththan terror. Strophe and antistrophe echo withportentous rumblings, but it is sound and nothingmore. Our ears are racked with groans and thunder,our eyes made red by frequent blood and fire .There is a vast amount of crying, and hissing, andbiting, with the usual Swinburnian effects . But theresult is something which must be reckoned, even inthe artistic part, the worst and weakest of all theproductions of Mr. Swinburne's genius. "Mr. Swinburne is overborne by this age of coldproprieties at the half-life of society. At thepassion which exhales in asking for a postage- stamp,in Mr. Trollope's cold-blooded way, he is aghast andweary. He is sick of Philistines, but he hungersnot for love in the hearty, manly English fashion .Poor boy! what a career he has missed. For, withthe many glimpses of great talent that he hasshown, with all his fine melody, mastery of verse,and even true genius, the books he has produced cannever be read by the young-to whom a poet chieflyaddresses himself. His chief and most high worksare but mocking songs of the atheist that erst mighthave been sung in Sodom, and lascivious hymnsto Adonis that might fitly have been howled inGomorrah.CHARLES KINGSLEY.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.،،(CANON KINGsley. )SOT is twenty years ago, or more, that ayoung man of letters -who, indeed, hadnot won his spurs, and was rather to becalled a boy of letters after teaching a class ofworking- men Mathematics and the rudiments ofLatin, strolled into the coffee- room belonging to theInstitution , " and looked with some interest on itswalls. Heaven knows they were bare enough;Heaven knows that the rough working- men hetaught were uncouth and rude , and that they onlythanked him by learning quickly, and that thereligious and political bookseller who had beggedhim to join the Institution, and to work for thebenefit of the working- classes, was a humbug; butthere was a glamour and an illusion, and the youngfellow felt that he was doing something towardsimproving mankind , and making the world, in hislittle way, something better than he found it. This,=314 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.then, was his reward, and as he looked at the whitewashed walls, he felt that he was not living quiteuselessly.The Institution has broken up now, and to Latinand mathematics the working-men have unmistakably shown that they prefer the Great Vance's"Walking in the Zoo, " " Champagne Charley, " anda host of ridiculous songs. But in those days therewas much stir among the people; 1848 had beenand passed, but the Charter and the Five Pointswere still debated . The masses were seething. InFrance, Lacordaire preached the Gospel, and withit the benefit of the poor. The Abbé Lamennaishad made a social tract of some of the words of theSaviour, under the title, we think, of " The Gospelof Freedom; " and before the spectator, upon the whitewashed walls of the Institution, hung two remarkable portraits: one was that of Eugene Sue, thenso well-known for his socialist novels; the other thatof Charles Kingsley, M.A. , author of "Alton Locke. ”M. Eugene Sue, who had been in the FrenchNavy, was a man of some forty-five years of age;unmistakably a Frenchman, although utterly differentfrom the old Frenchman of the haute noblesse, andequally so from the modern production. He had athick black beard and moustache, a high black satinstock, with a black satin waterfall over his shirt- front,short black hair, dark eyebrows, and glowing brightCHARLES KINGSLEY. 315

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 .

328 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.7wild lyric which set the blood in the veins of theTories, and especially the Editor of the Quarterly, ina ferment. But why bark and shut up the teeth?Such a song Kingsley had heard, no doubt, but heput order and fire into it. The song is sung by agipsy boy, " at a revel of discontented labourers. ”“ I seed a vire o' Monday night—A vire both great and high;But I wool not tell you where, my boys,Nor I wool not tell you why.The varmer he came screeching out,To save un's new brood mare:Says I, you and your stock may roast,For aught us poor chaps care .Chorus-Here's a curse on varmer's allThat toil and grind ye poor,To reap the fruit of all their work,In for evermore—r—r! "This is " direct and offensive , " said the reviewers;but " we have a more recent, more direct, and moreoffensive adoption and exposition of these detestabledoctrinations. " Mr. Drew, minister of St. John's,Fitzroy Square, London, invited Kingsley to takepart in some evening lectures in June and July, 1851 .On the 22nd of June, Kingsley preached the sermon ,and after it was over Mr. Drew stood up in hisreading- desk, and said to his congregation, that he" believed the doctrine of a great part of thediscourse was untrue. " Mr. Drew was perhapsright in freeing his soul from what he thought wasCHARLES KINGSLEY. 329error; but Professor Maurice, through whose intervention Kingsley had preached, states that Mr.Drew especially invited Mr. Kingsley because hehad read and admired his works. And what was itthat was so offensive in the sermon? One sentence,full of "subversive doctrine, " the censor of Kingsley'sethics gives us. Prepare yourselves for a dreadfuloutburst! " I assert that the business for whichGod sends a Christian priest in a Christian nation isto preach and practice liberty, equality, and brotherhood , in the fullest, deepest, widest, simplest meaning of those three great words. " There was muchmore to the same effect . Kingsley had dared to saythat the accumulation of capital out of the needs ofthe poor was contrary to God's wish; that He wouldcry out, " Woe unto you who to make few rich makemany poor. Woe unto you that oust the massesfrom the soil their fathers possessed of old; " and hehad even said that " the history of the Church inevery age is full of the sins of the clergy against thepeople. " All this is fearfully subversive, but nineteenyears have not gone by since , and Montalembert—staunch son of Rome though he was—has borne hisdying testimony about one such; and the Parliament.of England has given to the Irish masses an inalienable right to the soil whereon they live, if only theypay that which God, Nature, and man alike demand-the rent of labour.330 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.Since that time Kingsley's fortune has alwaysmarched onwards, if but slowly. He has never beena rich man, but always one held in honour. He hasbeen made a chaplain to the Queen, a tutor to thePrince of Wales, a canon of Chester. In 1859 hewas appointed Professor of Modern History in theUniversity of Cambridge. He wrote other works:" Phæton," " Alexandria," " Glaucus," "6 Hypatia; "a novel, "Westward Ho: " A finer, nobler storyfor boys does not exist .After this came miscellanies, studies, and reviewarticles chiefly; a fairy story, " The Water Babies, "which is praised as a poetic chef d'oeuvre; "TheCelt, the Roman, the Dane, " lectures on history;"The Hermits, ""Hereward the Wake, " and " Lettersfrom the Tropics. " But our space has run out.We have not even room to sum up the character ofthis most excellent writer, who has done so muchgood in presenting manly and true thoughts, which,although they seem now latent enough in the heartsof the young, will , we know most assuredly, springup and bear fruit a hundred- fold , when we, and he,and his sons, and, sons' sons, are resting and awaitingthe Judgment- day.1

RALPH WALDO EMERSON.}1RALPH WALDO EMERSON.MONG the Curiosities of Literature, aprofession beset with so many thorns andso much trouble (stones and stumblingblocks to the weaklings and trials to the strong) ,there should be preserved a late curt answer fromMr. Carlyle to an inquiring spirit. " Sir, " wrotethe inquirer, " people say you are a Pantheist;is it true? " "Sir," answered the philosopher,"I am neither a Pan-theist nor a Pot-theist.Yours, T. CARLYLE. ”It is impossible to write of Emerson withoutrecalling Carlyle; it is difficult to think criticallyof his writings without remembering that to himalso the grave charge of Pantheism has been laid ,and if one were a special pleader it would not bedifficult to establish that charge. Indeed, both toCarlyle and Emerson, but to the latter especially,the charge preferred against Socrates might wellbe laid. They do " corrupt and lead aside theyouth of this city. " But Emerson does it in a334 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.much wider and efficient way than Carlyle, becausehe is a much less man, much less of a Christian ,much less in heart, in feeling, and in deep earnestness. We pray any one who reads this to believethat not one word is written that is not written intrue love and honesty, and without cant. Emersonnever pretends to be a Christian in the acceptedsense, while his faith inthe precepts of the ManJesus are about as strong as is his belief inZoroaster or Confucius (Koonfootze) . The mostardent admirer of Emerson will find that weappreciate him as much as he does . But we lovenot that mind which is destructive and criticalrather than consoling and edifying. To edify,Mrs. Brownjohn, is to build up. As regards Faith ,Emerson has done his best to fill all young menwith a vast unutterable longing, an admiration forthe great, a windy, wide, and dispersed ambition,a love of nature and a curious pantheistic reverencefor something-what it is, it is not known. He isan admirable purveyor for the Papacy and creedsthat restrain, for these unutterable longings neverget realised , these wide and windy thoughts dieout like sudden gusts, these negative faiths leavethe heart empty and comfortless, and then thereader becomes the habitans in sicco, and, afterwandering about for some time, betakes him to aconcrete creed , " a firm footing, and the sevenRALPH WALDO EMERSON. 335devils of superstition, so that his last state is worsethan his first .The biography of Emerson will just show uswhat the man is and how he is . He is an Americanof the old school, an honour to his country, oneof the greatest men of his age. Wide and windy ashe is in faith , he appears firm set to the wanderingstars of America; he has plenty of culture, widereading , scholarship, research , cleverness. He haslittle tenderness, no pathos, and yet much poetry.of a sort and that a subtle and good sort. Herein petto is what he is and what he has done.He is a sharp, thin, thoughful man, aigre, cleverlooking, with high but not very ample forehead.He is nearing his seventieth year, having beenborn in 1803; is an ultra- Unitarian—if so much(or so little) in Christian creed. He graduated atHarvard in 1821; was ordained minister of theSecond Unitarian Church at Boston, a high seatof wide views of Faith, and having after some timeembraced peculiar, and we presume even wider,notions, abandoned his pulpit, and settled in thepeacefully- named village of Concord, to betakehimself to the study of man and of Nature.Being an American he soon began to " orate; " hadhe been a Britisher he would have lectured. In1837 he delivered an oration called " Man Thinking, "before the Phi- Beta-Kappa Society of Boston, and336MODERNMEN OF 1838 published " Literary Ethics: an Oration. "Mr. Emerson took the world by surprise . Histalk embraced innumerable subjects; was ambitious,daring, grandiose. It was especially suited toyoung men and a young country. He said thathe did not pretend to argue, he announced; hedid not teach, he exhibited. Similarly, he didnot lecture to persuade, he " orated. " Bear thisin mind, and you have the key to the Emersonianpopularity. In 1839 Mr. Emerson published " Nature:an Essay; " in 1840 he commenced The Dial, amagazine of Literature, History, and Philosophy,in which all three were very wild, and utterlyunlike anything that would be published in Germany, France, or England. The conditions ofliterature are so different in new America to whatthey are in old Europe. Here our writers insome degree subordinate themselves to publicopinion; there they subordinate a raw and untaught public opinion to themselves. They are,therefore, the more free and daring, while Europeanthought is the more solid, compressed, andenduring.Emerson now began pouring out his bottles ofmental champagne very quickly. In 1841 he gaveus "The Method of Nature,"" Man the Reformer,"three lectures , and the first series of his Essays.In 1844 the second series, " New England ReRALPH WALDO EMERSON. 337formers," " The Young American, " and a lectureon the West Indian Emancipation . In 1845-9 hedelivered lectures on Swedenborg, Napoleon , andothers, afterwards published as " RepresentativeMen. " In 1852, working with Mr. Ellery Channing,he published the " Memoirs of the CountessD'Ossoli " (Margaret Fuller) . After a visit toEngland he published, in 1856, a work called" English Traits, " in 1860 another, a very littlebut very sweet book, called "The Conduct ofLife, " and early in the spring of 1870, " Societyand Solitude," his last, and by far the slightest andworst work he has written .Now, in all these books there is a certain amountof honest work and thought, if there be also a gooddeal of gilt gingerbread and flash jewellery. Let usspeak of the faults first. Let us take two or threesentences hap- hazard from his last book, which,weak as it is, is very entrancing for a boy or ayoung man to read . Tis sweet to talk of kings , "say the old satirists , and when Emerson familiarlygossips of " Paul, Plato, the Zendavesta, Vishnu,Brahma, Socrates, Jesus, and such teachers ofmen, " we half believe that we know something ofsuch good company. But just sit down afterreading an essay by Emerson, and ask, What haveI got out of it? That is the test. Hear him,for instance, on Art:Ꮓ338 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS." Herein is the explanation of the analogies which exist in allthe Arts. They are the reappearance of one mind working inmany materials to temporary ends. Raphael paints wisdom;Handel sings it; Phidias carves it; Shakespeare writes it; Wrenbuilds it; Columbus sails it; Luther preaches it; Washingtonarms it; Watt mechanises it. Painting was called ' silentpoetry,' and poetry, ' speaking painting.' The laws of each Art are convertible into the laws of every other. "Now, in addition to this last truism being a lameexpansion of Horace, —De Arte Poetica:" Pictoribus atque poetisQuidlibet audendi semper fuit æqua potestas "we find in the first the simple Pantheism of the lastfew verses in the Laureate's last volume, and , indeed,he has compressed the whole into those curiousrhymes, " Flower in the Crannied Wall, " whereinhe is so bold as to say " plucking it out of thecrannies " that, if he only knew how the flower"growed," as Topsy has it, he (Mr. Tennyson)"would know what God is and man is . " In thevery much " lower Pantheism, " as our sages wouldcall it, of Pope, God not only "paints andmechanises, arms, sails, and preaches," actingthrough all things, as indeed He does, but He isin all things worshipped; He is " Jehovah, Jove, ourLord, " all in one. Perhaps one of the missions ofthe Saviour was to beat down that folly, into whichthose who reject Him are sure to fall. Beyond thesetwo matters, and a glib enumeration of names, thereRALPH WALDO EMERSON. 339is nothing. Here, again, is a peculiarly Emersoniansentence upon the "Bibles of the World , ”Bible, by the way, to him, as good as another:one" I mean the Bibles of the world, or the sacred books of eachnation, which express for each the supreme result of their experience. After the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures , which constitute the sacred books of Christendom, there are the Desatirof the Persians and the Zoroastrian Oracles; the Vedas andLaws of Menu; the Upanishads; the Vishnu Purana; theBhagvat Geeta of the Hindoos; the books of the Buddhists;the Chinese Classics , and others of four books, containing thewisdom of Confucius and Mencius. Also such other books ashave acquired a semi- canonical authority in the world. Suchare the Hermes Trismegistus, pretending to be the Egyptianremains; the Sentences of Epictetus; of Marcus Antoninus;the Vishnu Sarma of the Hindoos; the Gulistan of Saadi; theImitation of Christ of Thomas à Kempis; and the Thoughts ofPascal. "This braggadocio sentence cannot fail to remindthe reader of the merry old gentleman who takes inthe vicar of Wakefield with his flood of learning,comprised in one sentence , which he is alwaysrepeating. "The cosmogony or Creation of theWorld has puzzled philosophers of all ages. Whata medley of opinions have they not broached upon theCreation of the World! Sanconiathon, Manetho,Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus have all attemptedit ." We are almost, indeed, inclined to interruptMr. Emerson, and ask him, " Is not your nameEphraim Jenkinson , with the simple Dr. Primrose when awakened from his dream? " We areZ 2340 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.not learned enough to pronounce on the ChineseClassics, nor on the Desatir of the Persians, but weknow enough of the Bhagvat Geeta, the Talmud,and the philosophy of Confucius (by far the best) ,to assure the reader that these sacred books arewild and nonsensical fairy tales , dogmatic nonsense,mere Eastern drivel, and clotted follies, entangledwith wild fancies and prurient stories, which nosane man dare compare with the clear reason andpower ofthe New Testament.Look again at the wordy sentence . The ImitationeChristi and the Pensées of Pascal are put last. Why,there are more sound high thoughts, sublime resolves ,and God-taught endeavour, in one section of eitherof these books than in all the far- Eastern nonsenseever raked together! Epictetus or Marcus Antoninuswould beat the lot!But put him on his own ground, not upsetting hismind with windy ideas from big books with whichhe is not fully acquainted, and Emerson is a firstclass writer. No man would do better as an editorof a Quarterly Review, or a contributor thereto .His two most valuable books are " English Traits,"a most generous, thoughtful, and valuable estimateof the English people and nation, beyond all praisefor its honest truth, its acute perception, its interesting and thorough style, its fearless speaking-fearlessin blame and in praise; and the " The Conduct ofRALPH WALDO EMERSON. 341Life. " In the last we meet Mr. Emerson as a poet,wild, novel, suggestive; but he has written otherpoems besides these heads of chapters. As rhymeand melody are to be distinguished from poetryproperly so called, so Emerson, it must be remembered, writes poetry with melody or rhyme. Hislines are not exactly verse, and yet they are poetry.Generally this poetry is in short verse-as uneasyas a macadamised road new done, and much resembling a translation from the Anglo- Saxon , or apassage from Tusser's " Hundred Points of Husbandry. " Here, however, is a sonnet:(CRHODORA." In May, when the sea-winds pierced our solitudes,I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,To please the desert and the sluggish brook,The purple petals, fallen in the pool,Made the black water with their beauty gay;Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,And court the flower that cheapens his array.Rhodora! if the sages ask thee whyThis charm is wasted on the earth and sky,Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,Then beauty is its own excuse for being:Why thou wert there, O rival of the rose!I never thought to ask, I never knew;But in my simple ignorance supposeThe self-same power that brought me there, brought you."In this you find a parallel thought to that of342 MODERN MEN OF LETTERS.•Tennyson's very insufficient " Flower inthe Crannied Wall "—but how much truer, greater, andbetter!We conclude with an astute passage from " EnglishTraits: "(6England is the best of actual nations. It is no ideal framework,—it is an old pile built in different ages, with repairs , additions, and makeshifts; but you see the poor best you have got.London is the epitome of our times, and the Rome of to- day.Broad-fronted, broad-bottomed Teutons, they stand in solidphalanx foursquare to the points ofthe compass: they constitutethe modern world, they have earned their vantage-ground, andheld it through ages of adverse possession. They are wellmarked and differing from other leading races. England istender-hearted . Rome was not. England is not so public inits bias; private life is its place of honour. Truth in private life , untruth in public, marks these home-loving men. Theirpolitical conduct is not decided by general views, but by internal intrigues and personal and family interest. They cannotreadily see beyond England. "Emerson is not the best of actual essayists;neither the most tender, nor the most true, themost powerful, nor the wisest. But he looks thewisest and most knowing of all; he is and will bealways a great favourite with the young; he does notspeak to your heart, but he does to your head. Theeffect of reading his works, until you are quite behindthe scenes and know something, is that which acollege lecturer has upon a freshman; and yet,after all , of himself Emerson says little; and whathe does say stimulates, but it 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 ABOUT.}ĮM. EDMOND ABOUT.STAVAMHERE are two men* whose names aremore frequently cited by our chief writers—either in the Spectator, the Saturday, orthe Times-than those of any others, and whoseviews are eagerly looked for, translated, quoted, andput forward, by such conductors of papers—and their

  • For the purpose of compactness , we have treated 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. Yet they who think thus maysympathise with a brave people in its misfortune;and pray that sounder counsels and wiser governorsmay raise La belle France out of her distress , andplace her on that true pinnacle of greatness, whereinher glory, arising from herself and her children , willnot be sought by the humiliation or subordination ofanother. And, indeed , M. About is typical of France.He has done so much that is good, that he need not,even in the agony of suspense and the humiliation ofdefeat, drive his excellent style into hysterics toattract attention.UNWIN BROTHERS, PRINTERS, 24, BUCKLERSBURY, LONDON.A Selection of WorksFROMHODDER & STOUGHTON'S CATALOGUE.PhonMODERN MEN OF LETTERS HONESTLY CRITICISED. By J. HAIN FRISWELL, author of " Essays on English Writers," &c. , &c. Crown 8vo. 7s . 6d.FIRST PRINCIPLES OF ECCLESIASTICAL TRUTH. Essays on the Church and Society.By J. BALDWIN BROWN, B.A. 8vo. Ios. 6d.By the same Author,THE DIVINE MYSTERIES: the DivineTreatment ofSin, and the Divine Mystery ofPeace. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d.DR. PRESSENSE'S HISTORY OF CHRISTIANITY.I. JESUS CHRIST: His Times, Life, andWork. Cheap Edition, large crown 8vo. cloth, 9s.II. THE EARLY YEARS OF CHRIS.TIANITY. ASequel to " Jesus Christ: His Times, Life,and Work." 8vo. cloth, 125.III. THE MARTYRS AND APOLOGISTS. By E. DE PRESSENSE, D.D. Being the SecondVolume of the " Early Years of Christianity. " 8vo. [Nearlyready.2 A Selection from Hodder & Stoughton's Catalogue.THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THEREV. JOHN WESLEY, M.A., Founder of the Methodists. By the Rev. LUKE TYERMAN. Vol. I. , 8vo. 12S.To be completed in 3 vols. , 8vo. price 12s. each.THE WORLD OF ANECDOTE: anAccumulation of Facts, Incidents, and Illustrations, Historical and Biographical, from Books and Times, Recent and Remote. By E. PAXTON HOOD. Crown 8vo. 1os. 6d.THE WORLD OF MORAL AND RELIGIOUS ANECDOTE. Illustrations and Incidentsgathered from Words, Thoughts, and Deeds, in the Livesof Men, Women, and Books. By E. PAXTON HOOD.Crown 8vo. Ios . 6d.CHRISTIANWORKONTHEBATTLEFIELD: Being Incidents of the Labours of the United States Christian Commission. With an Historical Essayon the Influence of Christianity in alleviating the Horrorsof War. Eight full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6s.ASELECTIONOFCOMMONSAYINGS,WORDS, AND CUSTOMS: their Origin and History.By HENRY JAMES LOARING, author of “ Signs-their Antiquity and Derivation," &c. , &c. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. cloth .THE INTERIOR OF THE EARTH.By H. P. MALET, E.I.C.S. , author of " New Pages of Natural History," &c. Crown 8vo . 4s. 6d. cloth .MODEL WOMEN. By the Rev. WILLIAMANDERSON, author of " Self- made Men." Crown 8vo.5s. cloth, gilt edges.PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OFENGLISH ENGINEERS, and of the Introduction of the Railway System in the United Kingdom. By a CIVIL ENGINEER, author of " The Trinity of Italy. " Evo. , 12s.A Selection from Hodder & Stoughton's Catalogue. 3PICTORIAL SCENES FROM THEPILGRIM'S PROGRESS. Drawn by Claude ReigniER CONDER. Chromo-lithographed by VINCENT BROOKS,DAY & SON. Imperial 4to. elegantly bound, 15s.THE COMING OFTHEBRIDEGROOM.Advent Sermons. By the Very Rev. HENRY ALFORD,D.D., Dean of Canterbury. Imperial 32mo. Is. 6d.THE STATE OF BLESSEDDEAD. Advent Sermons. By the same author.Thousand. Imperial 32mo. Is. 6d.THEThirdONE THOUSAND GEMS FROM REV.HENRY WARD BEECHER. Edited and compiledby Rev. G. D. EVANS. Crown 8vo. with Portrait, 5s.ECCLESIA: Church Problems considered ina Series ofEssays. Edited by HENRY ROBert Reynolds,D.D. Second Thousand. 8vo. 14s. cloth.DR. STOUGHTON'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND.I. THE CHURCH OF THE CIVILWARS, AND THE CHURCH OF THE COMMON WEALTH. By JOHN STOUGHTON, D.D. Being theFirst and Second Volumes of " The Ecclesiastical Historyof England." 2 vols. 8vo. 28s.II . THE CHURCH OF THE RESTORATION. Forming the Third and Fourth Volumes of "The Ecclesiastical History of England. " 2 vols. 8vo. 25s.-DR. HAGENBACH'S CHURCH HISTORY.THE HISTORY OF THE CHURCH INTHE EIGHTEENTH AND NINETEENTH CENTURIES. By K. R. HAGENBACH, D.D. , Professor of Theology in the University of Basle, author of " GermanRationalism. " In 2 vols. , 8vo. 24s. cloth.4 A Selection from Hodder & Stoughton's Catalogue.CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR; or,ThePulpit in Relation to Social Life. By ALEXANDER MACLEOD, D.D. Crown 8vo. 5s.THE LAND OF THE SUN: Sketches ofTravel. With Memoranda, Historical and Geographical,of places of interest in the East, visited during many years'service in Indian Waters. By Lieut. C. R. Low (lateH.M. Indian Navy) , author of " Tales of Old Ocean," &c.Crown 8vo. 5s,THE EARLY YEARS OF ALEXANDER SMITH, POET AND ESSAYIST. ChieflyReminiscences of Ten Years' Companionship. Bythe Rev.T. BRISBANE. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. cloth.IPHIGENE. A Poem. By ALEXANDERLAUDER. Handsomely bound. 4s. cloth.THE FAMILY: Its Duties, Joys, and Sorrows. By Count A. DE GASPARIN. Crown 8vo.7s. 6d. cloth.THE EDUCATION OF THE HEART:Woman's Best Work. By Mrs. ELLIS, author of " TheWomen of England," &c. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. cloth.THE KING'S DAUGHTERS: Words onWork to Educated Women. By ANNIE HARWOOD. Fcap.8vo. 2s. 6d. cloth extra.MASTERPIECES OF PULPIT ELOQUENCE, Ancient and Modern, with Historical Sketchesof Preaching in the Different Countries represented, and Biographical and Critical Notices of the several Preachersand their Discourses. By HENRY C. FISH, D.D. In2 vols. , 8vo. 21s. cloth.A Selection from Hodder & Stoughton's Catalogue. 5SECULAR ANNOTATIONS ΟΝSCRIPTURE TEXTS. By the Rev. FRANCIS JACOX.Crown 8vo. 6s.AD CLERUM: Advices to a Young Preacher.By JOSEPH PARKER, D.D. Crown 8vo. 5s.ECCE DEUS: Essays on the Life andDoctrine of Jesus Christ. By the same Author. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s.SPRINGDALE ABBEY: Extracts fromthe Diaries and Letters of an English Preacher. Edited by JOSEPH PARKER, D.D. 8vo. 7s. 6d. cloth.INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OFEDWARD WRIGHT. Including Reference to his Work among the Thieves of London. By EDWARD LEACH,Author of " Sketches of Christian Work among the Lowly."Crown 8vo. 5s. , with Portrait.FIFI AND THE FIJIANS. BY THOMAS WILLIAMS, and MISSIONARY LABOURS AMONGTHE CANNIBALS. Extended, with Notices of Recent Events. By JAMES CALVERT. Edited by GEORGE STRINGER ROWE. Cheap and Revised Edition, in One Volume, 608 pages. Illustrated. Crown 8vo. 6s.DR. TODD'S VISIT TO CALIFORNIA.THE SUNSET LAND. By JOHN Todd,D.D., Author of " The Student's Manual. " Small crown8vo. 5s. , cloth.LAMPS, PITCHERS, AND TRUMPETS: Lectures on the Vocation of the Preacher. Illus-.trated by Anecdotes-Biographical, Historical, and Elucidatory-of every order of Pulpit Eloquence, from the GreatPreachers of all Ages. By E. PAXTON HOOD. Second Thousand. IOS. 6d. cloth.6 A Selection from Hodder & Stoughton's Catalogue.TALES FOR FAMILY READING.THE BAIRNS; or, Janet's Love andService. By the Author of " Christie Redfern's Troubles,"&c. Second Thousand. Crown 8vo. 5s.TALES OF OLD OCEAN. By Lieut. C. R. Low. Illustrated . Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 5s.cloth.THE BEGGARS; or, the Founders of theDutch Republic. A Tale. By J. B. DE LIEFDE. SecondEdition, crown 8vo. 5s. , cloth elegant.WALTER'S ESCAPE; or, The Capture ofBreda. By the same Author. Twelve Illustrations, Fcap.8vo. 3s. 6d.MADELEINE'S TRIAL, and other Stories.By Madame DE PRESSENSE. Translated by ANNIE HARWOOD. Four Illustrations. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d.SERMONS FROM THE STUDIO.Stories Illustrative of Art and Religion. By MARIE SIBREE. Crown 8vo. , handsomely bound, price 7s. 6d . ,gilt edges.VESTINA'S MARTYRDOM. A Storyof the Catacombs. By EMMA RAYMOND PITMAN. In crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. cloth.CONSTANCE AYLMER. A Story of theSeventeenth Century. Crown 8vo. 6s . cloth.PRIEST AND NUN. A Story of ConventLife. By the Author of “ Almost a Nun,” &c. , &c. Crown8vo. 7s. 6d. cloth.،،LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, Paternoster Row.WORKS PUBLISHED BYHODDER & STOUGHTON,27, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.VabaerTHE CHURCH OF THE RESTORATION. By JOHN STOUGHTON, D.D. In 2 vols. , 25s. cloth."An author who has brought to the execution of his work, not only unusual capacity and knowledge, but also a spirit of strict impartiality."-Illustrated London News."Without exception, Dr. Stoughton's is the most candid and equitable history of the eccle siastical controversies involved in the period he reviews which has ever been written; it must also, we think, be admitted to be the most accurate, penetrating, and comprehensive."London Quarterly Review."His book is largely the fruit of independent research, which he has prosecuted both among public and private records to which he has had free access, and is entitled to take high position as the most complete, honest, and impartial history of the ecclesiastical movements of the time which we possess."-Literary World.BY THE SAME AUTHOR.THE ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND,from the Opening of the Long Parliament to the Death of Oliver Cromwell.2 vols. 8vo, 28s. cloth.VOL. I. THE CHURCH OF THE CIVIL WARS.VOL. II. THE CHURCH OF THE COMMONWEALTHS"Amarkedly fair, charitable, large minded, and honestly-written history. "-Guardian.<cSpeaking of the book as a literary work, and a history which was wanted upon the most important period of the ecclesiastical career of the country, it is one which will win for its author a permanent place in the increasing rank of Church historians, and will repay a careful perusal."-Gentleman's Magazine.ECCLESIA: Church Problems considered in a Series of Essays.Edited by HENRY ROBERT REYNOLDS, D.D. Second Thousand. 8vo.14s. cloth.CONTENTS.1. Primitive Ecclesia: its Authoritative Principles and its Modern Representations. By JOHN STOUGHTON, D.D. 2. The Idea of the Church regarded in its Historical Development. By J. R. THOMSON, M. A. 3. The " Religious Life ” and Christian Society. By J. BALDWIN BROWN, B.A. 4. The Relation of the Church to the State. By E. R. CONDER, M.A.5. The Forgiveness and Absolution of Sins. Bythe EDITOR.6. The Doctrine of the Real Presence and the Lord's Supper. By R. W. DALE, M.A. 7. The Worship ofthe Church. By HENRY ALLON.8. The Congregationalism of the Future. By J. G. ROGERS, B.A. 9. Modern Missions and their Results. By JOSEPH MULLENS, D.D."A breadth of thought and charitableness of feeling is here displayed which will surprise those readers who have adopted conventional ideas with regard to Nonconformity and its pro fessors. The present volume will go far towards the correction of such ideas."-Athenæum."The essays before us are, for the most part, written with such ability, good sense, and good feeling, that they cannot fail to contribute something to the settlement of the ' problems'which they discuss . We may say generally that we have read it through with great pleasure,that it reflects the greatest credit on the communion which it represents, and that while we differ from many of its conclusions, we have noted no indications of a defective or narrow study on the part of its writers of the topics which they discuss . "-Spectator.Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton,NEW VOLUME OF SERMONS.Six Ser LIFE PROBLEMS ANSWERED IN CHRIST.mons. By LEIGH Mann. With Preface by Rev. A. MACLAREN, B.A.Just Published, crown 8vo, 4s. 6d.CONTENTS:Christ and Suffering- Christ and Death- Christ and Faith-Christ and theLaw- Christ the Cup of Blessing-Christ and Destiny.2"The work of a mind and heart singularly tender and strong, pure and true, touched with an imaginative_beauty and penetration by loyal attachment to our dear Lord."-FROM MR.MACLAREN'S PREFACE." In freshness, in spiritual penetration, in devout feeling, in spiritual and assimilating power,Mr. Mann's sermons will bear comparison with any that we have seen of late years. "-British Quarterly Review."A short collection of sermons, in which Christ stands out as the great example in all the various trials and events of life. They are written with much force and beauty, and with true spiritual insight.” —Christian Work."Is a series of six exceedingly earnest and well- composed sermons. "-Daily Telegraph."Mr. Maclaren's commendation of these sermons is well deserved."-European Mail.I.2.3.BY REV. T. BINNEY.Now Ready. Fourth Edition. With NEW PREFACE Preface.THE PRACTICAL POWER OF FAITH. An Exposition of part of the Eleventh Chapter of Hebrews. Crown 8vo, 5s.cloth.MONEY: A Popular Exposition in Rough Notes.Remarks on Stewardship and Systematic Beneficence.Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth .WithThird Edition.MICAH THE PRIEST-MAKER. A Handbook onRitualism. Second Edition, enlarged. Post 8vo, 5s. cloth.DR. LILLIE ON PETER.LECTURES ON THE FIRST & SECOND EPISTLES OF PETER. By JOHN LILLIE, D.D. , Author of " Lectures on theEpistles of St. Paul to the Thessalonians, " &c. With a Preface by PHILIP SCHAFF, D.D. In 8vo, price 12s. cloth."In treatment there is an endeavour to combine the advantages of the exegetical commen tary with the popular discourse. The style is plain and unadorned, but clear and forcible;the doctrine is sound, the lesson practical, and the spirit high- toned and devotional. "-Pulpit Analyst."We very heartily commend this exposition to Biblical students. It is a valuable contribu tion to the exegesis of the New Testament, enriched with all the lights of modern scholar ship. "-English Independent."Hitherto the exposition of Leighton on the First Epistle of St. Peter has held an un challenged place; but Dr. Lillie's is, in our estimation, far before it, though in some respects the two can scarcely be compared. It is a noble volume, got up in a style which well befits the subject. Preachers will find it singularly full and suggestive."-Methodist Recorder.I.27, Paternoster Row, E.C.WORKS BY DR. PRESSENSÉ.THE EARLY YEARS OF CHRISTIANITY. ASequel to " Jesus Christ: His Times, Life, and Work. " 8vo, 12s.cloth..د3"To a writer of Pressense's powers, it was comparatively easy to give a graphic narrative of those portions of the history which bear upon the lives of the Apostles. To throw apopular charm around such themes as the various types of doctrine in the Apostolic Church,the origin of the New Testament Scriptures, and all the questions which modern criticism has raised regarding their age and character, was evidently a more difficult undertaking.It is here, however, that his success has been most complete. 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. The Life of Christ is more dramatically unfolded in this volume than in any other work with which we are acquainted."-Spectator."The successive scenes and teachings of our Lord's life are told with a scholarly accuracy and a glowing and devout eloquence, which are well presented to the English reader in Miss Harwood's admirable translation. "-British Quarterly Review.4.3. THE MYSTERY OF SUFFERING, AND OTHER DISCOURSES. New Edition. Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d. cloth."In these sermons we recognise the same intellectual power, the same exquisite felicity of diction, the same sustained and dignified eloquence, and the same persuasive invigorating Christian thought which are conspicuous in that work-(' Jesus Christ: His Times, &c.' ) ” —British and Foreign Evangelical Review.5.THE LAND OF THE GOSPEL: Notes of a Fourney in the East. In crown 8vo, 5s. cloth." 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


style is vigorous and epigrammatic. "-British Quarterly Review . "A brilliant and masterly argument for the proper divinity of our Lord. "-LondonQuarterly Review. (c' A remarkable and very instructive discussion of many points in that vast subject which no human exposition will ever exhaust, and in which every really thoughtful and religious student is sure to find something to repay his own labour, and make it useful to others. There is much which is really beautiful and noble in the general view which ' Ecce Deus ' presents of Christian ethics."-Contemporary Review.↓27, Paternoster Row, E. C. 7CHRISTIAN WORK ON THE BATTLE-FIELD: Being Incidents of the Labours of the United States' Christian Commission.With an Historical Essay on the Influence of Christianity in alleviating the Horrors of War. Eight full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 6s."The account given of the origin, the labours, the trials, and the successes of the United States' Christian Commission during the late Civil War, would be at any time interesting and touching, but is just now especially attractive. It will secure, and deserves to secure, agreat number of attentive readers."-Echo.MEN OF FAITH; or, Sketches from the Book ofJudges. Bythe Rev. LUKE H. WISEMAN, M.A. , Author of " Christ in the Wilder ness. Crown 8vo, 5s. cloth.""CONTENTS.1. The Period of the Judges. -2. Barak and Deborah. -3. Gideon.4. Jephthah. -5. Samson."Mr. Wiseman has shown remarkable power of combining accuracy of detail with vividness of effect. Careful and minute study of the sacred text, unobtrusive but watchful labour in detecting and exhibiting the graphic touches of the original writer which our translation has not fully caught, picturesque delineation of the scenes recorded, keen appreciation of men and character, reverent recognition of God's working in and by the heroes of the history and the people they delivered from heathen domination, are amongst the leading characteristics of this delightful book, which is as profitable as it is interesting. "-London Quarterly Review.r' This is an admirable work. The author deals with a portion of Hebrew history of great interest, though, we fear, not much studied; and he traces it with great skill and power. He writes in a style of pure, dignified English, and his language not seldom rises into passages of true eloquence. The practical remarks, interleaved with the sketches of the history, are worthy ofall praise. "-Edinburgh Daily Review.MISSIONARY LABOURS AMONG THE CANNIBALS.By Rev. JAMES CALVERT. To which is prefixed an Account of the Islands and Inhabitants of Fiji, Rev. by THOMAS WILLIAMS. Edited by GEORGE STRINGER ROWE. Cheap and Revised Edition, in one volume, 608 pp . , illustrated, price 6s."c No romance has so many exciting crises, wild scenes, hair-breadth escapes, and horrors. No history, even of the Church, contains such a straightforward and convincing account of a moral transformation-of rapid and steady victories gained by the labours of gentle men and heroic women over unutterable ferocity. "-London Review."Exceedingly interesting, both as furnishing the history of a strange people, and giving aminute account of their evangelization. The engravings which accompany the work are numerous and really illustrative . "-Clerical Journal."The book is complete and well written. The additions Mr. Rowe has made, as far as we can trace them, seem judicious. "-Contemporary Review."C' It is not often that we have presented to us volumes so rich as those now before us are, in observation, in glimpses of wild life, and in descriptions of men, whose disposition and habits are all we can picture a savage's to be."-North British Review." The volume is as interesting as a romance, and in the results it records is not unworthy to be regarded as a continuation of the Book of Acts. ”—Freeman."The execution of the volumes is very thorough. They contain an astonishing mass of small facts compressed skilfully together, and when we close them, we feel as if we understood the Fijians as well as civilized men can ever understand savages with whom they have never come into actual contact. "-Saturday Review.1Works Published by Hodder & Stoughton,REV. R. W. DALE, M.A.THE EPISTLE TO THE HEBREWS: A Popular Exposition. Second and Cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s. cloth.DELIVERED ON SPECIAL OCCA SIONS. In crown 8vo, 6s. cloth." In Mr. Dale's ' Discourses on Special Occasions ' we have some of the finest specimens of modern preaching."-Contemporary Review."It is long since we read sermons more full of stimulating thought, of catholic sympathies,of manly and noble eloquence."-British Quarterly Review.8DISCOURSESPAXTON HOOD.I.Just published, a New Edition ofREV. E.DARK SAYINGS ON A HARP, and other Sermons on someofthe Dark Questions ofHuman Life. In crown 8vo, 6s. cloth."Christians who have found out that there are some mysterious questions to be answered,some terrible things in righteousness, some dark sayings upon the harp to be listened to, and who are longing for light, and divine promise, and perfect rest, will read it with interest and gratitude. His dark sayings very often sparkle with light. "-British Quarterly Review."There is a remarkable originality throughout the volume, and great freshness and brilliancy of thought. "-Evangelical Magazine.II.LAMPS, PITCHERS, AND TRUMPETS: Lectures on theVocation of the Preacher. Illustrated by Anecdotes-Biographical, His torical, and Elucidatory -of every order of Pulpit Eloquence, from the Great Preachers of all Ages. Second Thousand. IOS. 6d. cloth."All who know the fertility of our author's pen, the extraordinary affluence of his literary resources, the rare abundance of his illustrative anecdotes, the vigour and abandon of his style,will also know that it would be difficult in a brief notice like this to do justice to a work ofsuch compass and multifarious aim. ”—British Quarterly Review ""Containing much interesting matter, carefully collected and well put together. "-Black wood's Magazine.III.THE WORLD OF ANECDOTE: An Accumulation ofFacts,Incidents, and Illustrations-Historical and Biographical -from Books and Times, Recent and Remote. Second Thousand. Large crown 8vo, 10s. 6d.cloth, 700 pp.SUMMARY OF CONTENTS.Ways and Means of Doing Good-Romantic Transformations of Human Life Great Events from Trifles-Dogs, and the Animal World-Crime and Cruelty-Silence and some of its Votaries-Illustrations of Adventure -Ghosts,Dreams, and the Supernatural-Anecdotes of Life and Character-Humourand the Humorous Side of Life-Things Clerical, and Pulpit Celebrities Cooks and Cookery-Varieties of Womanhood-Instances of Human Folly Lawyers and some of their Words and Ways-Death and Dying."fFull of wit and wisdom. So much taste and judgment have been exercised in the selection ofthe extracts, which, being of a varied and absorbing character, are grouped artistically around well-defined subjects of thought and study, that Mr. Paxton Hood has made his book as entertaining and instructive as any novel. "-Standard."A complete repertory of wise and smart anecdote. "-Nonconformist."The humorous, the pathetic, the romantic, the instructive, have all a place, and the classi fication, along with the copious index, makes the volume the more useful for reference by those who desire to have convenient access to picturesque illustrations of subjects on which they have 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. By MARIE SIBREE. Crown 8vo, cloth elegant, gilt edges.COBBIN'S CHILD'S COMMENTATOR ON THEHOLY SCRIPTURES. Twelve Coloured Illustrations and manyWoodcuts. Square 16mo, embossed cloth, gilt edges.Price Five Shillings.THE BAIRNS; or, Janet's Love and Service. By the Author of " Christie Redfern's Troubles, " &c. Second Thousand.TALES OF OLD OCEAN. By Lieut. C. R. Low. Illus trated. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, cloth.THE BEGGARS; or, the Founders of the Dutch Republic.A Tale. By J. B. DE LIEFDE. Second Edition, crown 8vo, cloth elegant.GEOGRAPHICAL FUN: Being Humorous Outlines ofVarious Countries. Printed in Colours by VINCENT BROOKS, DAY & SON. 4to,cloth elegant.OLD MERRY'S ANNUAL FOR 1866, 1867 , 1868, 1869.Profusely Illustrated . Square 16mo, bevelled cloth elegant, gilt edges.OLD MERRY'S ANNUAL FOR 1870.Price Three Shillings and Sixpence.OLIVER WYNDHAM: A Tale of the Great Plague. By the Author of " Naomi; or, the Last Days of Jerusalem, " &c. Frontispiece.New and Cheaper Edition. 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.

Retrieved from ""

(Video) Sherlock Is Garbage, And Here's Why


1. A Brief Look at Jordan Peterson - SOME MORE NEWS
(Some More News)
2. Honest Trailers | Every Quentin Tarantino Movie
(Screen Junkies)
3. The Ugly Truth About Gandhi
(The Infographics Show)
4. Ant Man 3 Will Make You Hate Movies
(The Critical Drinker)
5. If YouTube Polyglots Were Honest
(Language Simp)
6. Everything WRONG with Woke Feminism!
(Baggage Claim)
Top Articles
Latest Posts
Article information

Author: Gregorio Kreiger

Last Updated: 05/10/2023

Views: 5810

Rating: 4.7 / 5 (57 voted)

Reviews: 88% of readers found this page helpful

Author information

Name: Gregorio Kreiger

Birthday: 1994-12-18

Address: 89212 Tracey Ramp, Sunside, MT 08453-0951

Phone: +9014805370218

Job: Customer Designer

Hobby: Mountain biking, Orienteering, Hiking, Sewing, Backpacking, Mushroom hunting, Backpacking

Introduction: My name is Gregorio Kreiger, I am a tender, brainy, enthusiastic, combative, agreeable, gentle, gentle person who loves writing and wants to share my knowledge and understanding with you.