THE STUDY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 inaugural ^ecture 
 
 Delivered in the Convocation Hall, 
 
 October IPAh, 1889, 
 
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 BY 
 
 W> J.-ALEXANDER, Ph. D., 
 
 Professor of English in University College, Toronto. 
 
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THE STUDY OF LITERATURE- 
 
 This chair, of which I have the honor to be the first 
 incumbent, is officially entitled the Chair of Eng- 
 lish, and includes, therefore, two very important and 
 distinct, though connected subjects, English Literature 
 and English Language. It is to the former that I in- 
 tend to direct your attention to-day ; not that I am dis- 
 posed to undervalue the second of these subjects ; on the 
 contrary, of such importance do I deem it, that I hope 
 the day may come when there will be in this Univer- 
 sity a chair devoted entirely to the English Language. 
 But in the scheme of that liberal culture which is the 
 aim of college training, I think it vi'ill not be question- 
 ed thiit English Literature is the more essential and 
 more important of the two. If I mistake not, this 
 chair is regarded primarily as a chair of English Lit- 
 rature b}'' the University authorities as well as by the 
 geneial public of this province. As therefore, it is im 
 possible within the limits of this inaugural lecture 
 to treat both divisions satisfactorily, I will confine my- 
 self on the present occasion to the subject which I con- 
 sider it to be my main business here to teach, viz., to 
 Literature. 
 
Perhaps there is no subject or study in which there 
 is a more pjeneral and widely diffused interest than in 
 literature. All who read, and they in our day and 
 generation constitute a very numerous and varied class, 
 are in so far students of literature. It is partly for this 
 very reason, from the fact that so many ill- trained 
 and half-trained mirids are in some measure devoted 
 to its pursuit, that the aims and methods of literary 
 culture are so generally misapprehended. The pop- 
 ularizing of a subject brings the cluims of mediocrity 
 to the forefront, and there follows the inevitable attempt 
 to find some easy mechanical method whereby the 
 secret of literary enjoyment and litei'ary culture may be 
 attained. Men adopt the method, and ignorant of the 
 true outcome of literary training, are unconscious that 
 they miss the aim. Perhaps, for example, the aspirant 
 to culture conscientiously wades through a supposed 
 authoiitative list of the one hundred best books. He 
 completes his tale, the incongruous selection of individ- 
 ual caprice — the Iliad, the Koran, Don Quixote, Sartor 
 Resartus and so on — without one moment of keen liter- 
 ary enjoyment, unthrilled by a single passage, with 
 scarce an iota of permanent result in the shape of in- 
 tellectual openness, flexibility, and polish which litera- 
 ture ought to give. He has won only the self content- 
 ment and self satisfaction of the sciolist, the worst 
 outcome of that dangerous thing, a little knowledge. 
 It is not- thr reading of many books, be they one hun- 
 dred or one thousand, but the manner in which they are 
 read that is essential. One play of Shakespeare pro- 
 
perly studied and properly appreciated will do more for 
 literary culture than countless books, however excel- 
 lent, read as most people read them. I think it very 
 necessary therefore that, in entering on our work to- 
 gether, we should come to an understanding as to the 
 aim of our studies, and the results which we expect to 
 flow from them, and as to the methods by which these 
 results arc likely to be beat attained. 
 
 The term literature, like most others, is ambiguous 
 in its use, and susceptible of a wider or of a narrower 
 meaning. If we take it in its widest sense, in the sense 
 sanctioned by its etymology, literature is written 
 thought. Anything written, provided it is not a mere 
 jumble of words or letters, hut represents some idea, 
 belongs to the domain of literature. Of the infinite 
 thoughts which have swept in ceaseless streams through 
 the numberless minds of successive generations, a few 
 were recorded, and of these again, a few are still pre- 
 served in written language. This is our material, be the 
 nature of the ideas and the form of the expression what 
 they may. Not merely the stately epic, the e'iborate 
 philosophical treatise, but the familiar letter, the monu- 
 mental inscription, the scribbled sentences on Pompeiian 
 walls, form a part of the literature of the world. So 
 that we may find ourselves concerned not only with 
 such works as "The Iliad" or "Lear," but with others like 
 " Euclid's Elements," or Darwin's " Origin of Species," 
 whose claim to the title " "^ literature would be less 
 
6 
 
 generally admitted. In periods fertile of books, it is 
 true, the purely literary student gives such works 
 scant attention, but in more barren times he is glad 
 enough to consider them. The historian of Early 
 English Literature readily admits the baldest state- 
 ments of facts, and does not scruple to dignify the 
 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the Laws of Ine with the 
 name of Literature. 
 
 Since, then, literature includes all sorts of books, 
 philosophical, historical, scientific, and so on, we must 
 next ask, how is the work of the student of literature 
 differentiated from that of the philosopher, or historian ? 
 It is evident he is concerned with books only in so far as 
 they are literature, i.e., only so far as they are the ex- 
 pression of thought. One book may be intended to 
 enlarge the bounds of philosophical knowledge, another 
 to teach political economy, and in so far the aim of one 
 book and one writer differs from that of another. But 
 this much they all have in conunon, they are all repre- 
 sentative of certain phases of thought and feeling in 
 the mind of the writer, and it is his intention to 
 reproduce these phases in the minds of others. It 
 is the business of the student of literature to realize 
 that intention. The written symbols are before him; 
 it is for him to reproduce within himself the mental 
 condition to which these symbols correspond. His 
 work is simply that of interpretation. The scientific 
 man reads the " Origin of Species " mainly to get at the 
 truth which it may contain or suggest. The literary 
 student, as such, stops short of that ; it is his peculiar 
 
business to dotermine what exactly Darwin meant. So 
 it is, that we students of literature are interested in all 
 departments of thought, and yet stand apart from and 
 outside ot all. Let us suppose, for example, that we 
 are sceptical of the utility of philosophic discussion, as 
 such, thiid^ metiiphj'sics a fruitless wrangle. Yet that 
 does not prevent us, in the course of our study of the 
 literature of England in the 18th century, from being 
 deeply interested in the works of Locke, Berkeley, and 
 Hume. We set ourselves to determine just what these 
 treatises of theirs contain and mean, not necessarily 
 because we suppose they will afford any substantial 
 philosophical result, but because we want to know 
 what men have thought, because of the insight we 
 srain into the character of these writers, and of the 
 age and nation in which they lived. 
 
 It must not, however, be granted that, because the 
 v/ork of the student of literature is thus limited to in- 
 terpretation, it is thereby adjudged to be unsatisfactory 
 or superficial. Interpretation in its fullest sense gives, 
 as 1 hope to show before I close, abundant scope for the 
 highest exercise of our faculties, and leiads.to the pro- 
 foundest investigation of human nature. At times, 
 indeed, our task is comparatively easy. Euclid writes ; 
 "Two straight lines which are parallel to the same 
 straight line, are parallel to one another," and this is a 
 proposition whose terms we have merely to compre- 
 hend, in order to attain Euclid's point of view in writ- 
 ing i . But if we turn, for example, to the works of 
 Herodotus, we find numerous stories whose terms in- 
 
8 
 
 «lec(l arc not less ensily comprehended than tliosc of 
 Euclid, but which strike us as childish or incredible. 
 In merely understanding their iMirporthave we repro- 
 duced ITerodotus's state of mind in writing them ? Did 
 .the stories seem childish or incredible o him? The 
 question calls for lit(Mary investigation. The student 
 must examine the whole work of Herodotus, and deter- 
 mine its general scope. He finds that it professes to 
 be a serious history,and comes to the conclusion, perhaps, 
 that Herodotus gives the narratives under considera- 
 tion in all seriousness and good faith. Still he does 
 not understjind the author's state of mind in writing the 
 passage. How came a man of evident intellectual 
 power and culture to believe fables whose absurdity is 
 manifest to the school boy of to-day ? To answer this 
 question the student betakes himself to the study of 
 Greek history and Greek modes of thought : and until 
 he has thrown himself into Hellenic life of the iifth cen- 
 tury and grasped Herodotus's relation to the civilization 
 of his time, he will not have attained the aim of liter- 
 ary stud}'', the reproduction in one's self of the writer's 
 state of mind. Or again, before we can be said to under- 
 stand the Dialogues of Plato, we have many problems 
 to solve. In the Socrates here represented, did Plato 
 intend to give a picture of the historic Socrates? In 
 how far are the opinions put in Socrates's mouth held by 
 the author himself ? What is the explanation of the 
 manifest fallacies which occasionally mar the reasoning 
 of the dialogues ? In answering the last question the 
 student learns how the intellectual power even of a 
 
Plato is subjocb to tlio limitations of his time, and un- 
 able, without the assistjiiuM) of a Ibrmulntocl loijic, to 
 escape the snare of siniple fallacies, and how the study of 
 a laniruairc other than the native tongue was needful to 
 enable men to distinu^uish between the thinLj and its 
 nauie. Such eixjuiries as these give the positive results of 
 literary work. How necessary these preliminary deter- 
 minations are in order that the works of Heiodotus 
 and Plato may be used by the historian and philosopher 
 respectively, is sulHciently app»Vient. So in all depart- 
 ments of study, written authorities nuist be submitted 
 to the crucible of'hiohci- ci-itieism (as it is called) before 
 they may be safely and profitably employed. We 
 may realize the importance of such work by recalling 
 the fact that the most interesting and one of the most 
 active provinces of the higher criticism in our day is 
 the canon of the Old and New Testaments. The 
 revision of the Authorized Version is an attempt by 
 literary students to determine more exaetlv what the 
 various sacred authors actually said ; whiles the recent 
 discussion between Professors Wace and Huxl(;y has 
 drawn popular attention to the un])recedented activity 
 of scholars in determining the authenticity^, dates, and 
 relations of the various books of the Bible. 
 
 With the increasing of these positive results, however 
 we, in our course, have but little to do. Literature is 
 with us an instrument of culture, and culture comes 
 not from the results of investigation, but irom the pro- 
 cess. In the process of literary investigation, as we 
 have seen, it is sometimes necessary for us to grasp the 
 
10 
 
 spirit of a nation or of an age. At other times, we 
 must find our solution in the individual character of a 
 writer. It may be, for example, that on comparing 
 the works of Thucydides with those of the almost con- 
 temporary Herodotus, we should conclude that the pecu- 
 liarities of the latter's history are due, not so much to he 
 times, as to the personal character of the author hita- 
 self. Thus the study of literature becomes the study 
 of human natui'e under varying conditions, Its fun- 
 damental requisite is, that the student should escape 
 from himself, his own narrow conceptions and sur- 
 roundings, that he should sympathize with, so far as to 
 understand (for understanding postulates S3^mpathy) 
 men of very different character, in times and countries^ 
 perhaps, remote from his, with feelings and modes of 
 thought even more remote. In no other pursuit is he 
 in contact with such a variety of ideas, in no other 
 study has he to make them so thoroughly his own. 
 He has not done with them, as the scientific student, 
 when he ascertains that they are false; he must com- 
 prehend their genesis, and how, though false, they once 
 seemed true, whether the explanation lies in the writer 
 or in his age. He becomes at home and at ease among 
 ideas, as is the man of the world among men. As those 
 qualities which characterize the man of the world are 
 acquired through intercourse with men of various types^ 
 and not through intercourse simply, but through being 
 obliged to use and to manipulate them ; so the analog- 
 ous discipline of literature gives the analogous qualities 
 of intellectual openness and flexibility, which in turn, 
 
t 
 
 11 
 
 beget u tolerance and coolness of judgment especially 
 characteristic of thorough culture. The student of 
 science conies into contact witli facts ; interrogated 
 nature suys that a thing is so or not so. The student of^ 
 literature comes into contact with ideas, moulded to the 
 mind which formulated them, intermixed with error 
 and modified by emotion. He is under the necessity 
 of comprehending how the form of a concei)tion is the 
 result of character and surroundings. He learns to do 
 this in books of a more or less remote past, often treat- 
 ing questions in which he has no immediate interest, 
 and vvliich he can therefore view with coolness and im- 
 partiality. Having acquired this habit of mind in a 
 remote sphere, he is rendered capable of maintaining 
 it in examining the burning questions of the day. 
 Here, too, he analyses and makes allowance. He 
 comprehends the relativity of truth, the inevitable 
 limitations of the human intellect, the common obli- 
 quity of mental vision w^hich afflicts whole generations. 
 The novelty or apparent absurdity of an idea does 
 not repel him. He is ready to investigate the grounds 
 of an opinion with which he does not agree, and the 
 residuum of truth w'hich forms the basis of most errors, 
 will not improbably serve to render his own concep- 
 tions more just. His comprehension of his opponent's- 
 position enables him to attack it more effectively, and 
 to hold his own more surely. Were we absolutely 
 fixed in relation to all objects, the visible world would 
 appear to us a flat surface. Not less necessary is it that 
 in the intellectual world we should be capable of assum- 
 
 (yi 
 
12 
 
 ing different points of view. To the man of undisci- 
 plined mind, nothing is more difficult. The presentation 
 of the other side of a question causes him an uneasy 
 feeling of insecurity and irritation. To him moral obli- 
 quity seems the necessary source of opinions differing 
 irom his own. The men in Gay's fable who disputed 
 about the color of the chameleon, afford a typical ex- 
 ample of the state of mind from which literary discipline 
 tends to set us free. Not chameleons alone, but political 
 questions, social questions, religious questions, present 
 different aspects under different circums;tances. Here, 
 then, are two great results which may be expected to 
 flow from all genuine literary training — first, openness / 
 of mind, that is, a readiness to admit ideas however 
 strange, and to comprehend and accept whatever of 
 truth they contain : secondly, flexibility of mind, the 
 capacity to seize a point of view not our own, to under- 
 stand other men and other times, — what, in short, we 
 may call intellectual sympathy. 
 
 You will note that these qualities of mind are 
 developed by the intellectual gymnastics of seizinof the 
 ideas of others, of putting ourselves at their standpoint. 
 Hence they are results that ibllow from the study of 
 . everything that can be called literature, however little 
 inherent excellence it may possess. But we have fur- 
 ther to consider the study of literature in its narrower, 
 higher, and perhaps more usual, sense. All presentation 
 of thought which has maintained permanent vitality, 
 possesses a certain power, fitness, or beauty of ex- 
 pression ; for, as thougTit when once expressed becomes 
 
13 
 
 common property, mankind naturally cares to preserve 
 the words, not of him who expressed it first, but of 
 him who expressed it best. In these treasured utter- 
 ances we have not the mere colourless presentation of 
 an idea, or of an objective fact ; there is an additional 
 element of form impressed by the writer, and the liter- 
 ary student finds here wide scope for the interpre- 
 tative function. The entering completely into the 
 thought of an author was in the case of purely objec- 
 tive statements, such as those of Euclid, a simple matter. 
 In Herodotus the interest and difficultv of our task 
 were increased by the introduction of a subjective 
 element. And, in general, it is true that the less purely 
 objective the thought is, and the more the author im- 
 presses on it his personality, his emotions, — sets it 
 before us, not exactly as it is, but as it appears to him, 
 the more does the student of literature find himself 
 concerned with it. This subjective factor in literature 
 makes itself generally felt through the manner, the 
 form ; and the most pervading manifestation of form 
 is style Style is that in the written thought which 
 corresponds to the personality of the writer, and is 
 the outcome of that personality. Two narratives may, 
 as you are well aware, affect the reader very differently, 
 although the framework of fact in each case may be 
 the same. The difference in effect cannot result from 
 the matter ; it arises from the manner or style ; and 
 that, in turn, comes from the attitude of the writer to- 
 ward the facts, an attitude which he reproduces in his 
 reader. As that attitude may be analyzed into two 
 
14 
 
 -elements, the permanent element of character, and the 
 transient element of mood ; so style, reflecting the 
 varying mood of the writer, is pathetic, or humorous, 
 or indignant ; and yet, behind all that, there is a con- 
 stant element of individual chai acteristics which serves 
 to distinguish one author from another, and to which 
 we refer in speaking of the style of Demosthenes or of 
 Virgil, of Burke, or of Milton. "Ze style" says the 
 adage, ** c'est rhomr}ie." The genuine stylist depicts 
 himself to the competent literary critic, with uncon- 
 scious fidelity, in lineaments adequate and unmistake- 
 able. 
 
 Through style, then, we come in contact with that 
 which is greatest in man, character, — that unity of ten- 
 dency and impression which springs from all his moral 
 and intellectual forces. Those who have been fortunate 
 enough to encounter in life a great and noble person- 
 ality, know that it is the most inspiring and marvel- 
 lous of spiritual forces. As the chord in one instrument 
 responds to the vibrations of its fellow in another, so the 
 emotions of the human soul vibrate under the influence 
 of a great and ardent character. But in the limitations 
 of time, and space, and circumstance, by which our lives 
 are bound, such encounters must needs be rare ; and 
 fortunate it is that through literature we are able to 
 feel the kindling spiritual presence of the mighty dead. 
 It is true that but few can thus transmit themselves 
 through the ages ; but these few are among the greatest 
 spirits of our race. The power of style in the highest 
 degree is the prerogative of genius alone. When style 
 
15 
 
 in that highest degree is present, we are not merely 
 told how the writer felt, but his feelings are com- 
 municated to us; not how he saw, but we are enabled to 
 see as he did ; not what manner of man he was, but we 
 are introduced into his very presence. In the sphere 
 of studies, I know nothing comparable to this. History 
 and biography tell us about men, we see them imaged 
 in a more or less imperfect medium ; but here we feel 
 the thrill of their emotions, the power of their presence. 
 So that, not only does literature bring us into contact 
 with ideas, the higher literature brings us into contact 
 with men, the choice and master spirits of all ages. 
 Here is a society ever open to us, the best and most de- 
 sirable we can conceive, the truest aristocracy of the 
 human race in their happiest moods, with their wisest 
 and deepest thoughts on their lips. 
 
 It is in no figurative sense, but in sober truth, that I 
 call this "society." From what has been said of style, 
 it is manifest that the influence of a great work on 
 a competent literary capacity does not differ in kind 
 from the influence of personal contact. If somewhat is 
 lost in vividness, many of the limitations of personal 
 converse are absent. But if in the best literatuie we 
 find, in no merely hyperbolical sense, "societ}'," it is 
 like all good society, difficult of access. Not much of 
 worth in this world but is the reward of merit, of toil, 
 of patience. The gardens of the Hesperides stood 
 ever open, but to fetch the golden apples was the 
 labour of a Hercules. The books are waiting on the 
 shelves, but he is far astray indeed who thinks to win 
 the secret of Goethe, of Shakespeare, of him — 
 
16 
 
 " Who saw life steadily and saw it whole, 
 Tho mellow glory of the Attic stage," 
 
 in the same easv fa.shion in which he skims throujjh the 
 last populur novel, or an ephemeral essay of the period- 
 ical press. To experience the power of literature, to 
 appreciate style in its fulness, to feel not merely the 
 main emotion but the whole complex of emotions with 
 which a writer regards his sul»ject, is the outcome only 
 of constant and careful study, combined with a large 
 innate susceptibility to literary art. Though the 
 capacity for the highest literary appreciation is not com- 
 mon, in most men a measure of innate capability is 
 dormant. To rouse this dormant capability, to guide 
 it aright when roused, to teach the proper spirit in 
 which to approach the masterpieces of literature, and 
 to keep the mind in contact with them, this should form 
 a main part of every course of literature ; and I claim 
 that, excluding the other benefits of college work, it 
 would be no inadequate return, should the student gain 
 this alone, the appreciation of what is noblest and best 
 in books, and a love for that august company of whom 
 we have spoken. 
 
 Style is the most pervading manifestation of form. 
 We find it present when the literary structure is not 
 otherwise elaborated. Thucydides's History, for ex- 
 ample, has the simple mould of a chronicle of events 
 narrated year after year, as they occuvred. Its style, 
 however, is very marked ; the character of the writer is 
 felt throughout, and, with consummate skill, he bathes 
 such narratives as those of plague at Athens or the 
 
17 
 
 Sicilian Expedition in a certain emotional atmospliero. 
 But an author may not merely impress his character 
 and mood upon his matter, he may shape that matter 
 itself to the production of certain ettects. Here we 
 reach liteiaturc in its purest form, — literature which is 
 literature tii'st of all, not history, or science, or philoso- 
 phy. In it the writer's aim is primarily artistic, the 
 embodiinent of a beautiful cone ^.tion in ap])ropriRte 
 language. Of this species, there are several varieties, 
 but we may take poetiy as the best and highest repre- 
 sentative. The poet is in the fullest sense creative ; the 
 subjective factor reaches its maximum ; and hence poetry 
 is, in an especial degree, tlu5 subject of the studejit of 
 literature. In Euclid we have, as near as may be, the 
 colourless presentation of fact. In Thucydides the 
 main object is still the presentation of fact, though it 
 is colored by emotion. Poetry, on the other hand, is 
 differentiated from these in that the production of 
 <.imotion is here the chief aim, in subordination to which . 
 the facts themselves are chosen and moulded. As by 
 its form, then, so by its aim, poetry is the highest 
 species of literature. For the higliest manifestations of 
 human nature arc emotional. Emotion raises morality 
 to religion. Nay more., the work of Christianity itself 
 was to introduce the reign of emotion, to substitute | 
 for the tribunal of an unchanging code, the arbitrament 
 of an inner and over progressive emotional state. 
 
 The stimulation of noble and pleasing emctions is 
 the aim of the poet. But emotion cannot exist by 
 itself; it is merely the form, the garb in which s'^'ne- 
 
18 
 
 tliinsf more substantiMl is clotlied l)V tha mind : ancl this 
 suhstaiiC'c, in tlie caso of all i;roat and altidini,^ artistic 
 work, is truth. No art, no heaiity of expression can 
 give more than a temporary hold on the minds of the 
 rap(? to what is fundamentally untrue. Enduring- works 
 or inia!j;inati()n are not fiction in the sense of hein^- 
 false ; on the contraiy, ihey are truer emhodiments 
 of observation and insijiht than the vast niaioritv of 
 inaTdvind can arrive at for themselves. 'J'here is nuich 
 false fiction in the world, doubtless, giving misleading 
 ideas of men and things, — enough to afford .some ground 
 to the old, fa.shioned prejudice ngainst reading nov( Is. 
 But falsity is neither a noces. iry characteristic of 
 fiction, nor a consequence of the unreality ot the per- 
 sons and events which works of imagination usually 
 ])resent. Falsity can no more be invariably attributed 
 to what is called fiction, than truth to what is called 
 history. Indeed, I know not if the .sum total of truth 
 contained in Enorlish lictio)i be not greater than the sum 
 total of truth contained in Enolish history. The greatest 
 English novelist of the last century mockingly called 
 his works hi.stories, and in the introductions which he 
 prefixed to the divisions of one of them, humorously 
 vindicates their claim to truth in comparison with 
 works usually so denominated. And the claiiii is not 
 without justification. In the eighteenth century, 
 Fielding attempted to give a picture of English social 
 life as it was, Hume of English political life as it had 
 been ; beyond question Fielding's is the truer work, 
 as timo has shown it to be the more enduring. Each 
 
19 
 
 <Teneration of En^dishmen finds it necessary to re-write 
 the history of England ; each generation of scholars 
 the histories of Greece and Rome ; for each sees the 
 inadequacy of its predecessors* attempts. That inade- 
 (juacy lies not in the incompetence of the writers, 
 but in the complexity of their subject and in the 
 insufficiency of their data. That an historian should 
 give us in detail an absolutely true picture of the 
 actual Bi'utus, on existing data, is an impossibility. 
 But Shakespeare, like the oeometrician, makes his 
 own hypothesis. He ascribes a certain character to 
 Brutus, and represents him as influenced by certain 
 men and certain circumstances, so that the assassina- 
 tion of Cfxjsar is the natural and inevitable outcome. 
 The representation is absolutely true, not as a picture 
 of the historic Brutus, — that it is not tlie business of 
 the poet to give — but of universal human nature, of how 
 certain characters would have acted under the influ- 
 ence of certain surroundings. Tlie truth of the picture 
 comes from the poet's control over his facts, as the 
 unvarjdng exactness of geometrical deductions comes 
 from the arbitrary nature of the fundamental assump- 
 tions. In a certain sense, truth may be denied to the 
 results of geometry, inasmuch as they have no exact 
 correlatives in the real world ; while in another sense 
 they possess the highest truth, and when applied to the 
 concrete universe, as in astronomy, give results the 
 most accurate attained by science. There is a certain 
 analogy to this in the work of the poet. The truths of 
 history and biography are at best particular ; to apply 
 
20 
 
 them to life, we must generalize them. The representa- 
 tions of poetry, on the other hand, have an element of 
 universality. Shakespeare's men and women are, as- 
 Coleridge says, emboiliments of the universal, indi- 
 vidualizations of the type ; and eonsecpiently posse.ss 
 validity everywhere and for all time. 
 
 But it is not merely truth of the historic type, — 
 pictures of human action and character, — that poetry 
 presents. It presents also truths of a scientific or 
 philosophic nature. Unlike science and philosophy, 
 however, poetry, aiming mainly at emotion, confines 
 itself to a certain range of truths fitted to kindle 
 this, and is more concerned with the maimer in which 
 they are expressed than with their novelty. Indeed 
 they are the old fundamental truths, the patrimony 
 of the race, intertwined with all our inherited in- 
 stincts, that poetry treats by preference ; for these 
 are most deeply rooted in our emotional nature- 
 Novel truths, on the other hand, it rather shuns; 
 the intellectual effort in grasping them, and the lack 
 of unquestioned certainty which attends them, are 
 fatal to emotional absorption. The novelty of ))oetry 
 therefore lies in its form, rather than in its material. 
 Poetry owes its powei to its manner, in virtue of 
 which it transmutes dead terms a[)prehended by the 
 intellect only, into living convictions grasped by 
 the wliole moral nature, which vibrates respon.sive to 
 them. The difference is illustiated by the analogous 
 contrast in the sphere of religion, between the cold 
 assent of reason and the warm embrace of faith. Ac-^ 
 
 ,./ 
 
21 
 
 cordinpfly, tlio (liffcrenco between the poetic and scicn- 
 iifie presentation of truth, thouf^h merely one of man- 
 Jner, is inimeaHurably ^reat. To ^'ive a glimpse of this, 
 allov^ ine to present an example or two of the same 
 faets stated scientifically and poetically. In a scientific 
 work, you mii,djt perhaps find some such statement as 
 this : " The extin( ,;on of man and of all that ho has 
 produced is assure<l by the action of certain forces on the 
 terrestrial globe, which must ultimately result in the 
 destruction of that body and its return to its primi- 
 tive nebulous condition." Shakespeare expresses the 
 same idea ; 
 
 "And, like the baseliiss fabric of this vision, 
 'I'he cloud -capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself. 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve 
 
 ■ 
 
 And like this iiisu))8tantial pageant faded 
 Leave not a wrack behind. We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." 
 
 Again in the closing chapter of the First Book 
 of Samuel, we find an historic statement of certain 
 facts : 
 
 "Now the Philistines fought against Israel; and the men of 
 Israel fled before the Philistines, and fell down slain in Mount 
 Ciilboa. And the Philistines followed hard iipon Saul and upon his 
 son ; and the Philistines slew Jonathan, and Abinadad, and Mel- 
 chishua, Saul's sons," and so forth." :./. 
 
 In the following chapter this narrative is fused into 
 form and beauty by the glowing emotion and imagi- 
 nation of the poet David : 
 
22 
 
 "And David lamontcd with tluH lamontattoii over Saul and over 
 Jonathan hin Hon. 'r|i«« iHuiuty of IhiiicI is Hlain upon thy high 
 placua ; how arc; the nii^iity falloii ! Ttill it not in (}ath, piihliMh it 
 not in tho HtioctH of Ankuh)!! ; IcHt th« daughtoi-H of tho IMiiliHtinen 
 rejoice, lest the daughterH of tlio uncircunicisud triumph. Yo nioun- 
 tains of (lilboa, lot there bo no dew, neitlier let tiiere \ni any rain 
 upon you, nor tiehlH of ofl'eringH ; for tliere the Hhichl of tho mighty 
 is vilely east away, ti>e sliicld of Saul, as though he had ii(»t boon 
 anointed with oil. Saul and , Jonathan were lovely and pI'eaHant in 
 their lives, and in their death they were . »t divided ; they were swifter 
 than eagles, they were stronger than lions. How are the mighty fallen 
 in the midst of battle I Oh, ilouathan, thou wast slain in thy high 
 places ! I am distressed for thee, my brother .Jonathan : very pleasant 
 hast thou been t(t mo ; thy love to me was wonderful, passing t\\e love of 
 women. How aro the mighty fallen and the weapons of war perished ! " 
 
 Thus in j)()utry vvc do not .stand outside the thouglits 
 and characters presented, we enter into them ; not 
 merely the range of our knowledge is widened, but 
 the range of our experience, thiough that sympathy 
 with emotion which it is the essence of poetry to 
 kindle. To us in the somewhat narrowing conditions 
 of our daily lives, such stimulus and ex|)ansi{)n are 
 especially necessary. Our surroundings and education 
 are wont to leave neglected the aesthetic side of our 
 nature, and except in literature, we have scarcely any 
 means for its cultivation. In this h\rd, the young 
 and ardent spirit cannot find food for ideal a -spiration 
 in the masterpieces of Phidias, or of Praxiteles, of 
 Raphael, or of Titian. Our College towns are not 
 Oxfords ; nor can we feel the serene and mnjestic calm 
 which clings about the Cathedrals of England and , 
 Normandy, or the towers and basilicas of Tuscany. 
 In our native Province we grow to manhood un- 
 
23 
 
 touched by, and for the most part, i<jfnoraiit of, tho 
 leducatinj^ ])ower of plastic art. Perhaps tho very 
 huildiiio- in wliicli we stand, lias been the first to waken 
 'in us that elevating senso of beauty and repose which 
 |archit(;eture can give. The more need then, in the 
 dearth of other means of aesthetic culture, that we 
 should have I'ecouise to literature, which i.s fortunately , 
 at onc(^ the widest, most erficient, and most easily 
 api)reciated of artistic forces. Our aesthetic sensibil- 
 ities form a part of our own nature which liberal 
 culture; can by no means afford to overlook. On 
 the individual or nation which neglects or re|>res8es 
 them, tliey exact vengeance in narrowness of intellect 
 or morals. The world's history lias more than once 
 shown, that when the higher emotions are stifled, 
 the lower assert themselves, and plunge society into 
 an orgie of sensuality, such as followed the iron 
 rule of Puritanism in England. Anil not merely 
 for itself is beautiful emotion desirable. Aristotle, 
 long ago, noted its purifying effects on the mind. It 
 cannot, of course, be denietl that aesthetic sensibility 
 may co-exist with weak moral chai'actcr, and tUat fine 
 feeling does not necessarily leail to noble action ; yet 
 its general elevating tendency is none the less real. 
 The soul vibrating in sympathy with the great deeds 
 and lofty character, the soul touched with the sense of 
 human sorrow and human guilt, whether in nature or 
 art can, for th«i time at least, find no pleasure in any- 
 thing that is ignoble or degrading. And if the study 
 of poetry is an emotional discipline and a moral force^ 
 
24 
 
 it is no less an intellectual discipline and practical aid. 
 " The highest poetry," Matthew Arnold says, " is at 
 bottom a criticism of life, and the greatness of a poet 
 lies in the beautiful and powerful application of ideas 
 to life, to the question — how to live." It is the busi- 
 ness of science to attain truth, of poetry, to seize that 
 truth in as far as it is applicable to life, and to give it 
 perfect expression. Hence Wordsworth has called 
 poetry *' the impassioned expression wdiich is the coun- 
 tenance of all science;" and again, "the breath and 
 liner spirit of all knowledge." It is in virtue of this 
 side of his work that the poet is a philosopher and 
 comes to the assistance of the thoughtful spirit craving 
 an answer to the great problems of life. PhilosopAjy 
 or metaphysics attempts to solve these, but studies 
 so profound and technical require special intellec- 
 tual endowments, and must ever remain the sphere of 
 the few. Yet any solution to which the unaided 
 individual can attain, will inevitably be narrow and 
 eccentric. It must be broadened from everv source at 
 command ; and not least, in literature is to be found a 
 treasure house of aid — suggestions, the more stimulat- 
 ing that they are but suggestions ; partial solutions the 
 more enduring that they are but partial, and sometimes 
 where we least expect it, a complete philosophy im])licit. 
 So that in poetry we find not ordy a fountain of beauty, 
 whence we may drain perpetual draughts of joy, but a 
 store houf-e of wisdom, whence we may draw treasures 
 new and old, and arm ourselves with weapons for the 
 battle of life. 
 
25 
 
 Thus far we have considered the results — the discip- 
 line, the knowledge, the enjoyment — which we are to 
 look for in the study of literature. It remains tlmt I 
 indicate succinctly the method by which these results 
 are to be attained. It has been made sufficiently evi- 
 dent, in the previous part of this address, that our 
 studies must primarily and chiefly have to do with the 
 great works of literature themselves, not with facts 
 about them or their authors, nor with the judgment of 
 critics concerning them. If we wish to cultivate our 
 musical taste, we must hear good music ; if we wish 
 to understand and enjoy painting and sculpture, we 
 must see good painting and sculpture. And it is both 
 logical and natural to acquire some interest in, and 
 acquaintance with literature, before we enter the 
 history of literature. Yet it is no uncommon practice, 
 in the teaching of this subject, to begin with the 
 names, dates, and authors of books of which the student 
 has perhaps not read a word, and in which conse- 
 quently, he has no intelligent interest. He is made to 
 recite glibly criticisms of whose justice he can form no 
 possible judgment, lacking the first of all requirements, 
 ac(iuaintance with their object. On the other hand, 
 if we follow the natural method, we cannot be wrong ; 
 and it is a fact that men of aptitude for literature all 
 acquire their love and knowledge of literature in the 
 same way. They become interested in certain books : 
 then their curiosity is awakened with regard to the 
 
. , 26 
 
 authors, and the circumstances amidst which the 
 hooks were produced. They are led from the study 
 of particuhir works to the study of writers, and periods. 
 i.e., to the history of Hterature. The development of 
 interest and understanding, however, is the earlier, the 
 more difficult, and by lar the more' important task.- If 
 a teacher is successful in making a student conscious 
 in some adequate measure of the excellence of a single 
 great work — " Hamlet," or *' Lycidas," or " Waverley," 
 or " Tintern Abbej^" he has done infinitely more for 
 that student than if he had made him a complete ency- 
 clopa3dia of the facts with regard to all books in the 
 English language from Cfedi\}on to Tennyson. The 
 man who has, in any adequ;.te measure, been made 
 sensible of the beauty and power of any ^reat work, 
 has had the love of literature kindled in him, and has 
 learnt the secret of literary interpretation. 
 
 It is at this stage, — when we have the works before 
 us, — that we can first make profitable use of the ci'iti- 
 cisms of others. Such ci'iticisms are not dogmas to 
 be adopted, but helps to the directing of our own 
 eyes, and the awakening of deeper insight into that 
 which we have already read. In making use of 
 critical helps we should, however, be on our guard 
 against the common error of losing sight of the whole 
 in the study of the parts. Too often the main end — 
 the enjoyment and comprehension of a great work, is 
 lost sight of in the excessive explanation of phrases 
 and allusions. It is of course .essential to accurate 
 scholarship and honest thinking that the meaning of 
 
^ 27 
 
 each word and phraseas used by the author should be 
 understood. It is not, however, essential that the 
 history and etymology of a word should be explained, 
 except in so far as light is thereby thrown on the use 
 of the word in the passage under consideration. When 
 the student comes to the Miltonic line : 
 
 " Who left untold 
 The story of Cambuscan Bold" 
 
 it is proper that he should know that it was Chaucer 
 who did this, and that the circumstances of the story 
 being untold should be explained. It is out of place 
 and distracting that he should have foisted upon him an 
 outline of Chaucer's life and works, and a discussion of 
 Cambuscan, mythical and real. I have heard that a 
 professor of English, when asked for counsel by a 
 student as to his reading; during the vacation, recom- 
 mended that he should read Macaulay's Essays, making, 
 himself fully acquainted, as he went along, with every 
 person, place, or thing mentioned. The suggestion as 
 to reading Macaulay may have been excellent; but 
 think of the proper names and allusions scattered so 
 thickly over his Essays, and judge, not how many 
 essaj^s, but how many paragraphs the student would 
 have mastereu. At the close of the summer, instead 
 of knowing anything of Macaulay, or the subject of 
 an essay, he would have crammed into his brain a 
 farrago of miscellaneous, ill-digested, superficial infor- 
 mation. Even this information could not, in most 
 cases, be lasting. The mature mind prefers that its 
 
28 
 
 facts and ideas should be acquired in large masses 
 of logically connected material. The miscellaneous 
 knowledsre obtained in notes remains in the student's 
 mind till the exanunation is passed, and then for the 
 most part gradually evaporates. 
 
 Having warned you against this Scylla of literary 
 study, let me caution j'ou, on the other hand, against 
 the Charybdis of slovenliness and innccuracy. The 
 student of literature, perhaps more than others, is 
 tempted to dilettanteism, too apt to be satisfied with 
 a species of passive enjoyment, prone to overlook the 
 claims of accuracy and thoroughness. Experience in 
 my own case, and observation in that of others, has 
 taught me that it is a great mistake to study in a 
 subject just what we care for and what is pleasant to 
 us. Thoroughness and completeness lend interest in 
 time to the dryest subjects, but slovenliness and self- 
 pleasing are fatal to it. We owe a debt of gratitude 
 to examinations, much as it is the fashion to abuse 
 them, for the safeguards they erect against this kind 
 of study. Remember that we, inside the University, 
 are scholars, not amateurs, and thoroughness is the 
 first characteristic of the true scholar. 
 
 The enjoyment and understanding of literature — 
 the fundamental requisite of the literary student — has 
 accidentally originated in various men through the 
 perusal of very different books, as tastes and circum- 
 stances may have determined. In College classes, where 
 individual preference cannot be consulted, and where 
 students have attained considerable maturity, I believe 
 
29 
 
 thtit in the dramas of Shakespeare we find the best 
 instruiiieuts for awakening genuine literary taste, and 
 for the desciplining of that wliicli lias been already 
 awakened. The wcrks of Shakespeare are to be pre- 
 ferred, not merely on account of their surpassing 
 greatness, but also because wo find in them a breadth 
 of knowledge and sympathy which gives points of con- 
 tact and interest for men of the most diverse capacities 
 and temperaments. Other writers appeal to a more or 
 less narrow circle, Shakespeare to all men. There are 
 men, not merely of intellectual ability, but of consider- 
 able literary aptitude, to whom Wordsworth is a sealed 
 book. One is blind to the excellence of Pope, another 
 to that of Spenser. Even a man of Matthew Arnold's 
 pre-eminent literary insight fails to do justice to 
 Shelle}'-. But if a student has any aptitude for 
 literature whatever, and even if he has none, he may 
 usually be made to perceive on some side the greatness 
 of Shakespeare ; so multitudinous and striking are the 
 excellences of that most human and universal of 
 writers. Having acquired some insight into Shakes- 
 peare, we ought in the same way to make an accurate 
 study of, and learn to enjoy a considerable number of 
 our greatest and most typical English writers. The 
 more diverse these are in genius, the more complete 
 and adequate will the student's training and culture be. 
 . But our University studies must not stop here. This 
 is merely tiie first, though the most important and 
 most difficult, stage. When we have read a book with 
 interest, when it has been a source of keen enjoyment 
 
. 30 
 
 and stimulus, when it has widened our horizon, we 
 then naturally wish to know something of its author 
 and the circumstances of its production. This, indeed, 
 as 1 explained at the opening, is a necessary factor in 
 the complete understanding of a hook. We are thus 
 led from the study of single works to the study of 
 writers, — from books to men. But again, we find it 
 is not sufficient merely to master a man's collective 
 writings and the details of his life. To complete our 
 imderstanding of the work, or our conception of the 
 writer, we must know something of the intellectual 
 atmosphere which surrounded him, of the currents of 
 thought, and the of spirit of his time. In doing this, 
 we pass from the stud}' of the individual writer to 
 the study of the period in which he lived — to the 
 history of literature. Arrived at this stage, we 
 find that books and authors, possessing but little in 
 them.selves to merit our attention, have now, as links 
 in the chain of literary development, a new interest 
 and importance through their influence upon greater 
 wnuters, and through the insight which they afford into 
 the current thought of the age. Thus, starting from 
 single authors, with a desire of fully understanding 
 their works, and of forming a complete and true like- 
 ness of them as men, we find a new conception and a 
 new aim dawning upon us— the conception of the . 
 solidarity of literature, the aim of forming a complete 
 image of the thought of an age in all its manifold 
 relations. As a writer unconsciously reveals himself 
 in his work, so a nation, at each epoch of its history, 
 
reveals itself in its coUeetive literary products. As 
 one's knowledge and insiglit deepen, nil books, all 
 writers assume theii* proper places in the picture ; 
 great currents of thought, obscure streams of influence, 
 the manifold relations ot thinkers, the action and re- 
 action of thought become manifest, and the whole 
 adjusts itself in fitting persi)ective. But this picture 
 is still incomplete unless we follow backward and for- 
 ward the lines of development, and see the passing phe- 
 nomena in their relation to their antecedents and their 
 results. We thus at ive at our final task, as students 
 of Enirlish literature at least — the task of tiacino- out 
 and imaging the development of national thought from 
 the time when it tiist emerges from the obscuritv of 
 an illiterate and pre-historic i)ast, to its culmination in 
 the multidinuous streams of literary activity amidst 
 which we ourselves live. 
 
 You see, then, in brief what practical course we 
 ought to take. First, we must awaken and discipline 
 literary taste by the study of indivielual works. !Next, 
 this taste should be widened by a thorough knowledge 
 of the best works of the greatest writers. Thirdly 
 we must make the literature of a period our subject, 
 study minutely its leading works, familiarize ourselves 
 with its chief writers by reading, to some extent 
 their less important works also, and widen our know- 
 ledge of the literature of the period by a course of 
 reading among secondary authors. It is impossible 
 and undesirable, however, that the ordinaiy student 
 should spend much time on books which have merely 
 
82 
 
 fin historical interest. So that, at this point in hi» 
 course, lit' may profitably make use of abstracts and 
 criticisms of books which ho himself has not been able 
 to read. 'J'hese facts and opinions have now a frenuine 
 inteiest for h'un, throijoh the relations which minor 
 works bear to the general comse of l''erary develop- 
 ment. Thus, havinj"' mastered the literatiu'e of one or 
 two periods, iin(i knowin*,' somethiiio- of the great 
 literatui'e of all ])eriods, it would be well, in the fourth 
 place, (if time precludes such detailed examination of 
 the whole of English Literatui'e,) that the student 
 should have put before him a brief sketch (>f th(! entire 
 development of our Literature, so that all that he has 
 learned, oi' will learn, may fall into its fitting place in 
 the scheme of the whole. 
 
 I have thus completed a brief exposition of the 
 main results which may be expected to spring from 
 the study of literature, and a still briefer indication 
 of the proper method of attaining them. If in urging 
 its importance, I have maintained its su))eriority in 
 some respects to other subjects, it is in no spirit of 
 disparagement to these, for I well know that they in 
 their turn atlord a discipline which litei-ature cannot 
 give. The place 1 claim for literature among her sister 
 studies is a high one, and can be filled by none of 
 them ; but cultui'e is bioader than literature, and as 
 the curriculum of this Universitj* indicates, a truly 
 liberal culture must be many sided. Again, I have 
 
33 
 
 represented the results of literary study in their 
 highest manifestations — have sot up an ideal towards 
 which we mUst strive. But the laws of the universe 
 are mostly realized in tendencies, and if our studies 
 only tend to bring about the results indicated, we must 
 not be discouraged but work patiently towards a more 
 perfect realization. Nor have I urged the cause of 
 literature in any narrow sense. What I have said is 
 applicable, not merely to English Literature but to all 
 literature. Especially do I acknowledge here the 
 claims of classical literature, which seems to me, if 
 pursued in a proper spirit, especially fitted to produce 
 that openness and flexibility of mind and soundness of 
 judgment of which I spoke in the earlier part of this 
 lecture. Valuable above all is the literature of Greece, 
 whether we regard its variety, its perfection of form, 
 its wealth of ideas, its unique development, or its 
 abiding force in moulding the thought of Western 
 Europe. On the other hand, the various modern 
 literatures are much more quickly and easily acces- 
 sible, and come nearei- to us in thought and iceling. 
 According to taste and temperament, one student will 
 feel himself attracted to that of Germany, another to 
 that of France, or of Italy. But, after all, the wide, 
 varied and splendid literature open to all of us in our 
 mother tongue, is a suflBcient instrument of literary 
 culture, and from it at any rate we must begin. 
 Literary taste and love of books must be developed 
 there. None of us will be lisposed, I think, to differ 
 from Professor Huxley when he gives utterance to the 
 
remark with wliicb I will close : " If an Englishman 
 cannot j^et litorary cultmo out of his Bihlo, his Shake- 
 speare, his Milton, neither will the profoiindest study 
 of Homer and Sophocles, Viryil and Hornce, pfive it to 
 him." 
 
 
 
 
 
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