IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 '- illM 
 
 |50 
 
 IM 
 
 ■ 40 
 
 IM 
 
 ||Z2 
 1 2.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 
 1.25 1.4 
 
 1.6 
 
 
 ^ 6" - 
 
 
 ► 
 
 m 
 
 ^ 
 
 m 
 
 % 
 
 /. 
 
 e. 
 
 ^1 
 
 ^ '^v 
 
 
 .p. 
 
 ■W J>^' 
 
 
 yS^ 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, NY. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 

 CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHIVI/ICIVIH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut canadien de microreproductions historiques 
 
Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibllographiques 
 
 The Institute has attempted to obtain the best 
 original copy available for filming. Features of this 
 copy which may be bibllographlcaily unique, 
 which may alter any of the images in the 
 reproduction, or which may significantly change 
 the usual method of filming, are checked below. 
 
 Coloured covers/ 
 Couverture de couleur 
 
 I I Covers damaged/ 
 
 
 Couverture endommag6e 
 
 Covers restored and/or laminated/ 
 Couverture restaurde et/ou peliiculde 
 
 Cover title missing/ 
 
 Le titre de couverture manque 
 
 □ Coloured maps/ 
 Cartes g6ographiques en couleur 
 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 
 n 
 
 D 
 
 n 
 
 Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ 
 Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) 
 
 Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ 
 Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur 
 
 Bound with other material/ 
 Reli6 avec d'autres documents 
 
 Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion 
 along interior margin/ 
 
 La reliure serrde peut causer de I'ombre ou de la 
 distortion le long de la ma'ga int6rieure 
 
 Blank leaves added during restoration may 
 appear within the text. Whenever possible, these 
 have been omitted from filming/ 
 II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajout6es 
 lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, 
 mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont 
 pas 6t6 filmdes. 
 
 Additional comments:/ 
 Commentaires suppl^mentaires: 
 
 L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire 
 qu'il lui a dtd possible de se procurer. Les details 
 de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du 
 point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier 
 une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une 
 modification dans la mdthode normale de filmage 
 sont indiquds ci-dessous. 
 
 I — I Coloured pages/ 
 
 n 
 
 This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ 
 
 Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqu6 ci-dessous. 
 
 Pages de couleur 
 
 Pages damaged/ 
 Pages endommag6es 
 
 Pages restored and/oi 
 
 Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul6es 
 
 Pages discoloured, stained or foxei 
 Pages ddcolor^es, tachet6es ou piquies 
 
 Pages detached/ 
 Pages ddtachdes 
 
 Showthrough/ 
 Transparence 
 
 Quality of prir 
 
 Quality in6gale de I'impression 
 
 Includes supplementary materit 
 Comprend du matdriei supplimentaire 
 
 Only edition available/ 
 Seule Edition disponible 
 
 I — I Pages damaged/ 
 
 I — I Pages restored and/or laminated/ 
 
 I — ~} Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ 
 
 ry\ Pages detached/ 
 
 r~~] Showthrough/ 
 
 I I Quality of print varies/ 
 
 I I Includes supplementary material/ 
 
 I — I Only edition available/ 
 
 Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata 
 slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to 
 ensure the best possible image/ 
 Les pages totalement ou partiellement 
 obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, 
 etc., ont 6t6 film6es A nouveau de fapon d 
 obtenir la meilleure image possible. 
 
 
 10X 
 
 
 
 
 14X 
 
 
 
 
 18X 
 
 
 
 
 22X 
 
 
 
 
 26X 
 
 
 
 
 30X 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 y 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 12X 
 
 
 
 
 16X 
 
 
 
 
 20X 
 
 
 
 
 24X 
 
 
 
 
 28X 
 
 
 
 
 32X 
 
 1 
 
The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks 
 to the generosity of: 
 
 Harold Campbell Vaughan Memorial Library 
 Acadia University 
 
 L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d la 
 g6n6rosit6 de: 
 
 Harold Campbell Vaughan Memorial Library 
 Acadia University 
 
 The images appearing here are the best quality 
 possible considering the condition and legibility 
 of the original copy and in keeping with the 
 filming contract specifications. 
 
 Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le 
 plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et 
 de la nettetd de l'exemplaire film6. et en 
 conformitd avec les conditions du contrat de 
 fllmage. 
 
 Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed 
 beginning with the front cover and ending on 
 the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- 
 sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All 
 other original copies are filmed beginning on the 
 first page with a printed or illustrated impres- 
 sion, and ending on the last page with a printed 
 or illustrated impression. 
 
 Les exemplaires originaux dont la couvertura en 
 papier est imprimde sont filmds en commenpant 
 par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la 
 dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'Impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second 
 plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires 
 originaux sont filmds en commenpant par la 
 premiere page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'Impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par 
 la dernidre page qui comporte une telle 
 empreinte. 
 
 The last recorded frame on each microfiche 
 shall contain the symbol — ^ (meaning "CON- 
 TINUED "), or the symbol V (meaning "END"), 
 whichever applies. 
 
 Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la 
 dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le 
 cas: le symbole — ♦-signifie "A SUIVRE", te 
 symbole V signifie "FIN". 
 
 Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at 
 different reduction ratios. Those too large to be 
 entirely included in one exposure are filmed 
 beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to 
 right and top to bottom, as many frames as 
 required. The following diagrams illustrate the 
 nri^Jtcd: 
 
 Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre 
 filmds d des taux de reduction diffdrents. 
 Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre 
 reproduit en un seul cliche, il est film6 d partir 
 de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, 
 et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre 
 d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants 
 illustrent la mdthode. 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
r 
 
 J 
 
 r?xr-'>c?. ^'/S'^^7^' 
 
 'I 
 
 I THE STUDY OF LITERATURE. | 
 
 INATTGUIIAL ADI)RF:SS 
 
 j>^ Delivered at the Convocation of DalJiousic University^ 
 %\ Halifa.w N. S., Oct. 2St/i, 1SS4. 
 
 BY 
 
 W. J. ALEXANDER, B.A. (Lond.), Ph.D. (J.H.U.) 
 
 Munro Professor of English Language and Literature, 
 Sometime Fellow of the Johns Hopkins University. 
 
 HALIFAX : 
 
 I'RI.NTKU AT TllK OKFICB OF TUB NOVA SCOTIA PRINTINO COMPANY. 
 
^i 
 
 (■ 
 
 ^- i 
 
Jr. - 
 
 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 INAUGURAL AD])RESS 
 
 Dclh'crcd (it fhc Convocation of Dalhousic University^ 
 Halifax, N. S., Oct. 2Sth, 1SS4. 
 
 BY 
 
 W. J. ALEXANDER, B.A. (Loncl), Ph.D. (J.H.U.) 
 
 Miinro Professor of English Language and Literature, 
 Sonictiine Fellow of the Johns Hopkins University. 
 
 I 
 
 HALIFAX : 
 
 PUINTF.n A1 TlIK OFVICF. OF TIIR NOVA SCOTIA PRINTIN* COMPANT. 
 

 /I 
 
s 
 
 5 
 
 THE STUDY OF LITERATURE. 
 
 We of tliis iv^c, m coniplacency over our 
 achievements, are very fond of contrasting our 
 own times with those that liave preceded We 
 call our iige, by way of distinction, the age of 
 progress, the age of invention, the age of steam ; 
 with no less truth we may characterize it as the 
 age of Itooks. It is not merely that we possess 
 the accumulated literature of tht; past, but new 
 books are produced daily in nundjers of wdnch 
 our ancestors never dreame<l. And while books 
 are thus nuiltiplying, the readers of them have 
 increased in still more rapid ratio. Not so very 
 long ago the people who read — nay, who could 
 i-ead, — were a select few ; now the non-readers 
 are rapidly sinking into an insignificant minority. 
 The nineteenth "century is, as distinguished 
 from all its forerunners, a reading century ; and 
 w^e, upon this continent, exhibit in this respect, 
 as in most others, the tendencies of our age in 
 their most exaijcuerated form. We are the 
 greatest readers that the world has yet seen; 
 although most of our reading is not of a very 
 serious kind, but, in the etymological sense of 
 the woi-d, a " pastime," a refuge from ennui and 
 from vexing thoughts. Even such reading, 
 however, has more than negative results. The 
 man wdio reads only his ne-\vspapers, the lady 
 who reads the lightest novels, gain, as compared 
 
 lOlllO 
 
4 
 
 with those who iv.vl notliinf^, some of the 
 advantages of literary culture. Their occupation 
 (litters in manner and degree, but not in kind, 
 from the occupation of the most serious literary 
 student. The reading of all of us liere is wider 
 in extent than this: so we may, for the moment 
 at least, consider ourselves students of literature, 
 and I may perliaps venture to make an a<hlress 
 to this mixed audience without heaving the 
 limits of my own department. Furthermore, 
 the authorities of this university liavi^ made the 
 study of English Litt-rature obligatory on every 
 candidate for the arts degree ; and, as I feel it is 
 the stuilents here whom 1 am particularly 
 addressing, and since students, with their eyes 
 fixed on examinations and degrees, are even more 
 prone than other mortals to forget the end in 
 the moans, I think it most appropriate to 
 consider for a little this study on which we are 
 about to enter together— what we are to aim at 
 in it, and what results we expect to How from it. 
 As every reader may be held to be in a 
 measure a student of literature, so literature 
 includes everything that can be read. Literature, 
 in its widest sense, is written thought, and 
 embraces a vast range of material, from a private 
 letter or an inscription to works of the highest art. 
 Since the results which How from the study of 
 literature in its highest form, are necessarily 
 much more varied and complex than those which 
 How from its simplest, I propose to consider 
 literature in three stages of complexity. First, 
 in its most elementary aspect, literature is the 
 simple presentation of thought. But all presen- 
 tation of thought which has show^n permanent 
 vitality, " possesses a certain power, fitness, or 
 
beauty of expression ; for, as tlioiinrht when once 
 oxpressod becomes common property, maiikiiul 
 niitnriillv cares to ])n'S('i'V(' tlie words, not of liim 
 wlio has expressed it first, l>ut of liim wlio luis 
 ('X])ress(Ml it best. I wid corisidci-, tlu'rcforc, in 
 tlie second plae*', litiTatuic; not nu'rely as 
 expressiii"^- thou:j,lit, but as expressing- it power- 
 fully, appropriately and beautifully; that is, 
 literature in its nari-ow(>r sense, — written thou<fht 
 which possesses the characteristic of style. 
 Finally, wd>en thou^'ht is express(«d with the 
 hi^dies^t l)eauty, fitness and power, it receives an 
 adtlitional element of form, and l)ecomes poetiy. 
 So that, in the third place, I shall consider tlu; 
 perfection of literature ns exhibited in poetry. 
 
 (1.) Iji accordfinee with the detinition n'iveii. 
 the subject of our study includes, not merely the 
 dramas of Sophocles, but the elements of Euclid ; 
 not merely Tetmyson's /^/////.s of the King, but 
 Darwin's Or'u/iii ofS/xu'lcs. As the litcjrary stu- 
 dent, then, may be employed now on the mati.'rial 
 of the mathematical, now on that of the historical 
 or scientific student, the difierentiation of his 
 study must Ije soue-ht. not in its material, but in 
 its aim. Euclid has, as a nuithematician, one 
 end in view, and 'J'hucydides, as an historian, 
 another; but jnasnuich as both were writers, they 
 nuist have had also a common end, and it is in 
 this end we nnist seek the aim of literary study. 
 Now, every written thoueht is the repr(;sentation 
 of a certain mental condition, and its aim is the 
 reproduction of that condition either in the mind 
 of others, or in tlie writer's own min<l at anothei- 
 time; and, consequently, the aim of the student 
 of literatui-e is simply the reproduction within 
 himself of this mental condition of the writer. 
 
6 
 
 Ho has attained liis ond vvlioii lie lias put liiiiisolf 
 exactly at the p(jint of view ol' tli(! antlioi- in 
 writing;' the passai^e inKJcr eonsidd-atioii. At 
 times this is a comparatively simple matter. 
 Euclid writes : — " Two straiLclit lines which are 
 parallel to the same straiL,dit liim are parallel to 
 one another " — and this is a j)ro|)osition whoso 
 terms we have merely to compreliemi, in order 
 to be at the point of view at wdiieh Enciid uas 
 in writin;^- it. Jhit it' we turn, let us say, to the 
 works of Fh^rodotus, we find numerous stories 
 whoso tei'ms indeed are not less easily compre- 
 hended than thos(^ of Euelid, hut which seem to 
 us, it may he, childish and inei'cMlible. Jn UK.'ndy 
 undcrstamlini^- their purport, have; we reproducc^d 
 Herodotus' state of mind in wi itinn' tliem ^ Did 
 the stories seem childish or incredible to him .'' 
 The question calls for literary investiufation. 
 The student must examine the whole work of 
 Herodotus and determine its eeneral sc^ipo. He 
 finds that it piof(.'sses to be a serious history, and 
 comes to the conclusion, perhaps, that Herod(jtus 
 gives the narratives under considei-ation in all 
 seiiousness and ^-ood faith. Yet still he does not 
 understand the author's state of mind in writintr 
 the passage. How came a man of evident intel- 
 lectual power and culture to believe fables 
 whoso absurdity is manifest to a 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 Gre(dv life of the fifth century 
 and grasped Herodotus' relation to the civili/a 
 tion of his time, he will not have attained the 
 aim of literary study, — the reproduction in one's 
 self of the state of mind of the writer. Again, 
 
 k* 
 
the true understanding^ ol' tlio Dialogues of Plato 
 postulatos tlio soluti(jii oF nunici'ous ])i'oM('ins. 
 In tliu Socrates licrc rcju'cscntt'd did Platointond 
 to ^'ivG a ))icturc of the Instoric Soci'ates ? In 
 liow far aro the ()])inions put in Socrates' mouth 
 held l»y the author himself ^ What is the 
 explanation of tlu! manifest fallacies which occa- 
 sionally mar the reasoniui;' of these <lialoL,aies ? 
 In answeriiiL;' the last ([uestion the student learns 
 how till! intellectual ])ower even of a Plato is 
 Huhject to the limitations of liistimc, and unable, 
 without the assistance of a formulated logic, to 
 escape the snare of simple fallacies, and how the 
 study of a langua^'e other than the native tongue 
 was n(!edful to enahle men to distinguish hetween 
 the tiling and its name. The determination of 
 such (juustions prepares tlie works of Herodotus 
 and Thucydides for tlie use of the historian and 
 philosopher, and gives the positive results of 
 literary investigation. 
 
 Results such as these, however, concern us here 
 but little ; for from our elementary studies we 
 cannot expect them, and, indeed, though valuable 
 as contributions to the sum of human knowledge, 
 to tlie individual student they are of merely 
 infinitesimal worth. Liberal culture aims at the 
 improvement of the individual; and that improve- 
 ment comes, not from the results of investigation, 
 but from the process. We have seen how, in the 
 process of literary investigation, we are some- 
 times forced to comprehend the spirit of a nation 
 or an age ; and so, at times, we nuist seek expla- 
 nation in the individual character of the writer. 
 It may be, for example, that, on comparing the 
 character of Thucydides with that of the almost 
 contemporary Herodotus, we should conclude 
 
8 
 
 that tlic peculiarities in the work of the latter 
 arc due, not so much to tlic a!_;"o, hut to tlie 
 personal character ot;' tlie autlior Jiiniself. Tlius 
 the study of literahirc becomes a study of human 
 nature under vaiyiuL;' conditions. In short, its 
 fundamental rrtjuisite is tliat the student shouM 
 escape from himself, his own narrow conceptions 
 and surroundini^'s. — that he should s^-mpathize 
 with, so far as to understand (for understanding 
 postulates syiupathy), men of very diiFercnt char- 
 acter, in times and countries perhaps remote from 
 his, witli feelings and modes of thouglit even more 
 remote. In iio other study is he in contact with 
 such a variety of ideas; in no other study has 
 he to make them so tlioroughly liis own. He 
 has not done with them, as the scientific student, 
 when he ascertains that thev are false: he must 
 comprehend 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 case among ideas, as is the man of 
 the world among men. As those qualities which 
 characterize the man of the world are acquired 
 only through intercourse with men of various 
 types, and not through intercourse simply, l)ut 
 through being forced to un<lerstand them and to 
 manage them ; so the an;dagous discipline of 
 literature gives the analagous qualities of intel- 
 lectual openness an<l liexi'oility, which in turn 
 beget a tolei-ance and coolness of judgment 
 especially characteristic of thorough culture. 
 The student of science comes into contact with 
 facts : interrogated natuie says tliat a thin<T is so, 
 or not so. The student of litci'ature comes into 
 contact with ideas, moulded to the mind which 
 has grasped them, intermixed with error and 
 
I) 
 
 modified by emotion. Ho is under iha necessity 
 of conipreliondinn- how tJic form of a conception 
 is the result of cliaractei- and surroundings. He 
 learns to do this in books of a more "'or less 
 remote past, trcatinp- of questions in which he 
 has no innnediate interest, and Avliieli he can, 
 therefore, view vrith coolness ai]<l impartiality.' 
 Having acquired this habit of mind in a remote 
 sphere, ho learns to apply it to the burning ques- 
 tions of the day. Here, too, he analyzes and 
 makes allowance. He comprehends the relativity 
 of truth, the inevitable limitations of the human 
 intellect, and the aliiiction of whole generations 
 by a connnon obliquity of ment;d vision. The 
 novelty or nppaivnt absurdity of an idea does 
 not repel him. lla investigates the grounds of 
 an opinion with which he docs notagive, and the 
 residuum of tiuth which forms the basis of 
 most errors, will not inqu'obably serve to rendor 
 his own conceptions more just. In any case, 
 having attained his opponent's point of view, he 
 is able to attack it more ellectivelv and hold'his 
 own more surely. For it is a" psychological 
 prniciple that to know anything thoroughly we 
 must know its opposite : "just ;\s we are uncon- 
 scious of the motion of tlic earth, because wo 
 have never experienced any other sensation. 
 Were we absolutely fixed in relation to all objects, 
 the visible world wouLl appear to us a flat 
 surface. Not less necessary is it that in the 
 intellectual world we should Ije capable of 
 assuming diflei-ent points of view. To the uncul- 
 tured man, however, nothing is more dillicult. 
 The presentation of the oilier side (.f a question 
 causes hini an uneasy feeling of ins(,.curity, and 
 irritates him. He reads his'own 7iewsi)ai)er, Init 
 
10 
 
 is careful to shun that of tlie opposite party ; and 
 to him it seems that moral obhquity mn^t ho the 
 ground of opinions differing from liis own. Ihe 
 men in Gay's fahle who dispute about the colour 
 of the chameleon, afford a typical example of the 
 state of mind from wdiich literary discipline tends 
 to set us free. We know that, not chameleons 
 alone, but political questions, social questions, 
 religious questions, appear different under differ- 
 ent circumstances. From the study of literature, 
 then, in its most elementary form, as a simple 
 presentation of ideas, hence from the study of 
 all literature, we note two great results : — first, 
 openness of mind, that is, a readiness to admit 
 ideas, however strange, and to comprehend and 
 accept whatever truth they contain; secondly, 
 flexibility of mind, the capacity to seize a point 
 of view not our own, to understand othei men 
 and other times — what, in short, we may call 
 intellectual sympathy. 
 
 (2.) Let us now proceed to consider litera- 
 ture in its second aspect. You remember that 
 the Elements of Euclid are included in the 
 material of our study, as well as the (CEdipus of 
 Sophocles, but that in the works of Euclid, as 
 compared with those of Herodotus, we found 
 but little to detain the merely literary student ; 
 because the former is a statement of purely 
 objective fact, while the latter contains also a sub- 
 jective element. And, in general, it is true that 
 the less purely objective the thought is, and the 
 more the author iinpresses 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 
 
11 
 
 it. Of siicli woirrht, iii()co<l, is tin's suLjoctive 
 factor, tluit, wliile witliout (Lnibt all written 
 thou^'lit coniL's tht'oretically within tlio doniaiii 
 of literature, yet the term literature is often used 
 to tlic exclusion of ])nr<'ly (^hji'ctive works, like 
 those of Euclid. Now the .subjective factor in 
 literature inav usually he hronci'ht under the 
 cate<;'ory of ft)nii ; and its simplest and most 
 usual manifestation 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 ditterently, 
 although the framework of fact in each case 
 may be the same. The difierenco in cfi'ect can- 
 not result from the matter: it arises from the 
 manner or style : and that, in turn, comes from 
 the attitude of the writer towards the facts, an 
 attitude which he reproduces in his reader. As 
 that attitude mav be analyzed into two elements, 
 the permanent element of character and the 
 transient clement of mood ; so style, retlectinof 
 tlie varying mood of the writer, is pathetic, or 
 humoi'ous,or indignant: and yet, behind all these, 
 there is is a c.instant element of individual 
 characteristics, which serves to distinguish one 
 authoi' from another, and to which we refer in 
 speaking of the style of Demosthenes or of 
 Virgil, of IJurke or of Milton. That constant 
 element is, to pinvsons of literary capacity and 
 training, a revelation of the man ; as lUilibn says, 
 "Ze si[)h, G est r Iiommc" Of the truth of that 
 adace we have recently had a strikinL"- example 
 We have seen how the loftiness, the impassioned 
 energy, the ruggedness and obscurity of a style 
 with which we have long l)een familiar, find 
 
12 
 
 tlicir couutt'ipart in the merits aiul defects of 
 the man Carlyle. 
 
 Thronii'li style, tlien, we come in contact 
 with that whicli is i^reatcst in man — char- 
 acter; for the cliaracter of a man is the 
 resultant of liis wliole beinn', moral and intellec- 
 tual. Those who have been fortunate enough to 
 encounter in life a great and nol)le personality, 
 know that it is the most inspiring and marvellous 
 of spiritual forces. As the chord in one instru- 
 ment responds to the vibrations of its fellow in 
 another, so the emotions of the human soul 
 vibrate under the inlluence of a crreatand ardent 
 character. Ihit in the limitations of time and 
 space and circumstance b}'- which our lives are 
 l)Ound, 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 only few can thus 
 transmit themselves through the ages ; but these 
 few are among the greatest sp^ 'ts of our race, 
 for the power of style in a 1 ii degree is the 
 prerogative of genius alone. Nor need this sur- 
 prise us, when we reflect what a marvellous power 
 it is. Style does not merely tell us how the 
 writer felt, but communicates his feeling to us ; 
 not how he saw, but makes us see as he did ; 
 not what manner of man he was, but dominates 
 us with his presence. In the sphere of studies 
 there is nothing comparable to this. History and 
 biography tells 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 
 iiigher literature brings us into contact with rncn, 
 
13 
 
 the choice and master spirits of all ages. Here 
 is a society ever open to us, the best and most 
 desirable we can conceive, — the truest aristocracy 
 of the human race in their hafpiest mood, 
 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 influ- 
 ence of a great work on a competent literary 
 capacity does not differ in kind from the influ- 
 ence of personal contact. If somewhat is lost in 
 vividness, many of the liipitations of personal 
 converse are absent. But if in the best literature 
 we find, in no merely hyperbolical sense, society, 
 it is, like all good society, difficult of access. Not 
 much of worth in this world but is the prize 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 
 
 " Who saw life steadily and saw it whole, 
 The mellow glory of the Attic stage." 
 
 in the same easy fashion in which he skims 
 through the last popular novel, or an ephemeral 
 essay of the periodical 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 subject, 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 common, in most men a measure of innate 
 
14 
 
 capability is dormant. To rouse tliis dormant 
 capability, to guide it ari^lit when roused, to 
 teach the proper s])irit in which to approach tlio 
 masterpieces of literature, and to keep the mind 
 in contact with them — tliis should form a main 
 part of every course in literature ; and 1 claim 
 that, cxcludini;' the other benefit.-; of college work, 
 it would be no inade<|uate return, should the 
 student gain this alone, the appreciation of what 
 is noblest and best in Ijooks, and a love for the 
 society of that august company of whom we have 
 spoken. 
 
 (8.) Style, I said, is the most universal mani- 
 festation or form. Wo find it present when the 
 literary structure is not otherwise elaborated. 
 Thucydides' hist<ny, for example, has the simple 
 mouhl of a chronicle ; eveivts are narrated year 
 after year as the}' occurred. Its style, however, 
 is very marked ; the character of the writer is 
 felt throaghout, and with consummate skill he 
 permeates such nari'atives as those of the plague 
 at Athens or the Sicilian expedition with a cer- 
 tain emotional atmosphere. But an author may 
 not merely impress his character and mood 
 upon his matter, he may shape the matter itself 
 to the production of certain etlects. This elabo- 
 ration may be carried out to a greater or less 
 extent, but reaches its highest form in poetry, 
 which 1 propose to consider as representative of 
 the third stage of literature. The poet is, in 
 the fullest sense, creative; the subjective factor 
 reaches its maximum ; and hence poetry is, in 
 an especial degi-ee, the subject of the student of 
 literature. In Euclid we have, as near as may 
 be, the colourless presentation of fact. In Thucy- 
 dides the main object is still the presentation of 
 
16 
 
 fact, though it is coloured by emotion. Poetry, 
 on the other hand, is dirt'erentiated from these in 
 tliat the production of emotion is here the 
 main end, in subordination to which the facts 
 themselves are chosen and moulded. As by its 
 form then, so by its aim, poetry is the hi<,diest 
 species of literature For the highest manifesta- 
 tions of human nature, love, reverence, joy, and 
 so on, are emotional. Emotion raises morality to 
 religion. Nay more, the work of Christianity 
 itself was to introduce the reign of emotion, to 
 sul)stitute for the tribunal of a fixed eternal code 
 the arbitrament of an inner and ever progressive 
 state. 
 
 Emotion is the main element of poetry, but 
 emotion cannot exist by itself ; it is merely the 
 form in which something is grasped by the mind. 
 The material with which, in tlie case of poetry, 
 emotion co-exists, is truth. That the substance 
 of poetry is truth, may seem a bold assertion : 
 it is certainly not in accord with the prevalent 
 conceptions as to works of the imagination. We 
 often liear it said that history should be read in 
 prefence to novels ; because history is true, and 
 novels are not true. The advice, no doubt, is often 
 good ; but the reason alleged is a bad one. That 
 a large part of existing fiction is false, is 
 undoubted ; yet, take all the history written in 
 English, and all the fiction, I venture to assert 
 that the sum-total of truth contained in the 
 latter is much greater than in the former. 
 The greatest English novelist of the last century 
 calls his works histories, and in the introductions 
 which he prefixed to the divisions of one of them, 
 humourously vindicates its claims to truth in 
 comparison with w^orks usually so denominated 
 
i; 
 
 — and witli justif'o. In t1io oi«;litocntli century 
 FioMini;- .'itttMnptLMl to i-'ivo a pictni'c of English 
 life as it was, Ifnniu of Knulisli life as it had 
 been ; heyond (|Uestion FieldinL;'s is tho truer 
 work, as time lias shown it to l)e the more 
 endui'ini;-. Each generation of I'^nglishnien iinds 
 it necessary to i'(!-\vrite tlx! history of England : 
 each generation of scholai's,the histories of (Jreece 
 and Home ; for eaeli sees the inade(|nacy of its 
 pi-e(lecessors' att('m})ts. Hut iliat inadequacy lies 
 not in the incompetcnci' of the wi'iters, hut in 
 the iiisnlliciencv of their data, 'i'liat an historian 
 should give us an al)solutely true, or even an 
 approximately true picture of the actual Brutus, 
 for example, on the data which are left us, is an 
 impossihility ; hut Shakespeai-e, like the geome- 
 trician, makes his own hypotheses. He assigns a 
 certain character to Bi-utus, and selects cei'tain 
 men and circumstances to act u])on it in such a 
 way that the assassination of Ciosar is the result. 
 The rejjresentation is ahsolutely true, not as a 
 picture of the liistoric Drutus, — that the poet 
 does not attempt, — hut of how a certain char- 
 acter, under the intluence of certain circum- 
 stances, would have acted. The truth of the 
 picture comes from the poet's control over his 
 facts, as the truth of geomr'try comes from 
 the arbitrary nature of its assumptions. In 
 a certain sense, ti'uth may be denied to the 
 results of geometry, innsnnich as they correspond 
 to nothing in reality ; while, in another sense, 
 they possess the highest truth, and, applied to the 
 concrete woi'ld, as in astrono^uy, give results the 
 most accurate which science has attained. There 
 is a certain analog v to this in the work of the 
 poet. The truths of history and biography are 
 
17 
 
 at Itcst particular : to apply tliciii to life wo must 
 i^n MIC rail/".' tlu'iii. Tlic ■/•(•pr('s<'iitatii)ns ul' poutiy, 
 on the otlicr hand, ha\'! iin •K'lncnt oF univcr- 
 oalitv. Shakespeare's iin'n ami wuiucn ai'c, as 
 Colcri<h''c says, ciiilMjiliiiiciit.^ (A' the nniv('r>al, 
 individualizations of tlif type, and consccpicntly 
 possess validity every v. liei'e, and for tdl time. 
 
 But it is not mei'ely ti'uths oi the histoi'ic 
 kind which poetry \>y> seiits ; it presents also 
 truths of the scientilie ov philos(»j-»hic kind. 
 Unlike science and philosop'hy, ho\ve\e]-. poetry, 
 ainiiii!;' maiidy at emotion conllnes itself to a 
 certain ran<^^o of truths littecl to kindle this, and 
 is more concerned with tlie manner in wliich 
 they are expressed than with tlieii' novelty. 
 Poetry owes its power to its maimer, in virtue 
 of which it transnmtes dead tei-ms, ai)])rehended 
 Ly the intellect only, into lixinij,' convictions 
 grasped by the wliole moral natui'e, which 
 vibrates responsive to tliem. You may make 
 the ditl'erence clearer perhaps in the familiar 
 sphere of reli«L;ion, where we lind the cold assent 
 of reason contrasted with the warm embrace of 
 faith. Accordinu,'ly, the ditference between tlio 
 poetic and >cientitic presentation of truth, 
 tlioug'h niei'ely one of maimer, is innneasural)ly 
 great. To e-ive a glimpse of this, allow me to 
 present an exam])le or two of the same facts 
 stated scientifically, and poeticalh'. 
 
 In a scientitic work you n!ii;ht perliaps find 
 such a statement as this : " d"he extinction of man 
 and of all that he has pnjduced, is assured by the 
 action of certain forces on the terrestrial e'lojje, 
 which nmst ultimately lesult in the destruction 
 of that body and its return to its ])rimitive 
 
18 
 
 nebulous condition." Shakespeare expresses the 
 same idea: 
 
 '* Anil, like the liaselcsH fabric of thin viwioii, 
 Tlie cloud-cappi'd towers, tlic ,t,'orL;eouH jialacea, 
 The solemn temples, the <;reat filohe itbelf, 
 Yea, all which it iuliei-it, shall dissolve 
 And like this insubstantial pageant faded 
 Leave not a wrack behind. We are such stuff" 
 Aa dreams are made on, and our litth; life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." 
 
 Af,min in tlie closing- chapter of the First Book 
 of Samuel, we find an historic statement of cer- 
 tain facts : — 
 
 "Now the Piulistines fou-^dit a,^^■linst Israel ; and the men 
 of Israel fled before the riiilistinos, and fell down slain in 
 Mount Gilboa. And the Philistines foUowe.l hard upon 
 Saul and upon his son ; and the IMiilistines slew .Jonathan, 
 and Abinadab and Melchishu.i, Saul's sons "- and so forth. 
 
 In the followin;^ chapter this narrative is 
 fused into form and beauty by the flowing 
 emotion ?.u<\ imagination of tlie poet David : — 
 
 "And David lamented with this lamentation over Saul 
 and over Jonathan his son : The beauty of Israel is slain upon 
 thy high places : how are the mighty fallen ! Tell it not in 
 Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon ; lest the 
 daughters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the 
 uncircumcised triumph. Ye mountains of Gilboa let there 
 be no dew, neither let there be any rain upon you, nor fields 
 of offerings ; for there the shield of tlie mighty is vilely cast 
 away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been anointed 
 with oil. Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant m 
 their lives, and in their death they were not divided ; they 
 were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions. 
 How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle ? O, 
 Jonathan, thou wast slain in thy high pla«es. I am distressed 
 for thee, my brother Jonathan ; very pleasant has thou been 
 to me ; thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of 
 women ! How are the mighty fallen and the weapons of war 
 perished !" 
 
 Thus in poetry we do not stand outside the 
 thoughts and characters presented, we enter 
 
 I 
 
19 
 
 into thein ; not nioroly tho ran^ijc of our know- 
 ]ed(fo is widened, l>nt tlio ranf(o of our exporicmce, 
 tliroiiL^di that sympathy witli n()l)lG emotion 
 whicli it is th<; essence of poetry to kindle. 
 To us, in tlie somewhat narrowiuLj conditions of 
 our daily lives, sucli stimulus and expansion are 
 especially necessary. Our sin"roun<linL,^s and 
 education are wont to leave neglected tho 
 {esthetic side of our nature, anil, except literature, 
 we have scarcely any means for its cultivation. 
 In this land the younj,^ and ardent spirit cannot 
 fin<l food for ideal aspiration in the masterpieces 
 of Phidias and of Praxiteles, of Raphael and of 
 Titian. Our colleo-c towns are not Oxfonls, nor 
 can we cnjo}'' the ennol)lin<^^ influence of the basi- 
 licas and toweis of Tusean\', nor of the cathedrals 
 of Normandy and England. The more necessary 
 is it that this one source of aesthetic culture, 
 which is fortunately at once tho broadest and 
 the most easily appreciated, should not be 
 neo'lected. Thouu'h our aBsthetic sensibilites are 
 not the most important part of our nature, they 
 yet form a part which lil)eral culture cannot 
 atlbrd to overlook. On the individual oi" nation 
 which neo'lects or represses them, they exact 
 veno-eance in narrowness of intellect or of morals. 
 The world's history has more than once shown 
 that, when the hi<;-her emotions are stifled, the 
 lower ones assert themselves, and plunge society 
 into an orgie of sensuality, sucli as followed the 
 iron rule of Puritanism in England. And not 
 merely for itself is beautiful emotion desirable ; 
 its purifying effects have been known in 
 psychology since the days of Aristotle. For to a 
 spirit vibrating in sympathv with noble action 
 or noble chara'iter, whether in nature or in art, 
 
 i 
 
20 
 
 all that is mean and flofjrarHn;;' is rlistasteful. 
 And if tlu; study of pot'try is an I'liiotionid dis- 
 cipline; and a moral force, it is no less nn intcl- 
 loctnal discii)lini' and a iiractical aid. " Tho 
 hi^^diest poetry," iMatthew ArnoM says, is at 
 bottom a criticism of life and tlu- o-reatness of a 
 poet lies in the heantii'ul and poweifnl [ipplica- 
 tion of ideas of life to tlu; question,— how to live." 
 It is the hnsiness of science to attaiii trnth, of 
 poetry to seize that truth in as far as it is appli- 
 ahle to life, and to ^irive it perfect expression. 
 Hence Wordsworth ' has called poetry " the 
 impassioned expression which is the coinittmance 
 of all science," and a^-ain, " the breath and finer 
 spirit of all knowded«;-e." It is in virtue of this 
 side of his work that the poet is a philosopher, 
 and comes to the assistance of the thout^htful 
 spirit craving an answ^cr to the .i^reat problems 
 of life. Philosophy or metaphysics atti^mpts to 
 solve these, but stndies so profound rji 1 techni- 
 cal reqnire special intellectual endowments, and 
 mnst remain the sphere of the few ; while any 
 solution to which the nnai«led individual can 
 attain will inevitably bo narrow and eccentric. 
 It mnst be broadened from every source at com- 
 mand, and not least, in literature is to be found 
 a treasure-house of aid— sugii^estions the more 
 stimulatini,^ that they are but sno-(restions, partial 
 solutions the more enduring that they are but 
 partial, and sometimes a complete philosophy 
 implicit, where least expected. My pivdecessor 
 in this chair, in his inaugural address, admirably 
 exhibited the philosoi)hy of life that lies implicit 
 in Shakespeare's plays, and not Shakespeare 
 alone, but all great poets, have been pi-ofound 
 critics of life. So that we tind in poetry not 
 
21 
 
 only a fountain of Itcniil y, wlionco wc may drain 
 |)orpt!tiial fli-aunhts of joy; but a tower of wisdom, 
 whence we may draw weapons for tlie liattlo of 
 life. 
 
 I have tlnis completed my summary survey 
 of Hteratui-e fiom its simplest aspect, as a vehicle 
 of ideas, to its most complex, as an emhodinient 
 of heauty and ve'hicle of trutli and emotion, and 
 have pointed out some of tlu; eluef advantages 
 wliicli How from tiic proper study of its various 
 forms. In \n',L;inL,^ its claims I necessarily point 
 out that in cei'tain respects this study is superior 
 to others, — not as dispaia^imi; these, hut know- 
 in<^ well that they, in their tuiii, allbrd a 
 discipline which litcraturt! cannot <^^ive. The 
 place 1 claim for literature amoiij,^ her sister 
 studies is a hii;'h one, and om; which can be tilled 
 by none of Lheiu ; lait culture is broa<ler than 
 literature, and, as the curriculum of this univer- 
 sity indicates, a ti'uly liberal cultui-e nmst be 
 many-sided. A^'ain,! have represented the results 
 of literary study in their hiujhest manifestations, 
 have set up an ideal towards which we must 
 strive. But the laws of the univei'se are mostly 
 I'ealized in tendencies, and if our studies only 
 tei}d to brini^^ about the results in<licated, we 
 nmst not be discournncd, but strive patiently 
 tow^ards a more perfect realization. In this 
 endeavor to attain fulness of literary culture, it 
 is expedient that the ran(j;e of material should be 
 as wide as possible. Especially does a proper 
 study of ancient literature seem titte(l to produce 
 that or)eimess and liexibilitv of mind and sound- 
 ness of jud«;inent of which T have spoken. 
 Vabiablo' above all is the literature of Greece, 
 
22 
 
 whether we regard its variety, its perfec- 
 tion of form, its "wealth of ideas, or ita unique 
 development. On the other hand, the literatures 
 of modern Europe have, in comparison, the 
 advantage of being much less difficult of access. 
 Among tliem, in virtue of its nearness to our 
 sympathies, its wealth of modern ideas, and their 
 profound application to life by the greatest poet 
 of later times, the German literature claims us 
 first. But, after all, the wide, varied and 
 splendid literature open ^o all of us in our 
 mother-tongue is a sufficient instrument of 
 literary culture, and from it, at any rate, we 
 must begin. Literary taste and love of books 
 must first be developed there ; for, to close with a 
 very true remark of Professor Huxley—" If an 
 Englishman cannot get literary culture out of 
 his 'Bible, his Shakespeare, his Milton, neither 
 will the profoundest study of Homer and 
 Sophocles, Virgil and Horace give it to him." 
 
 
Alexander, W J 
 
 T he study of 1 ite r at ure ; 
 
 A 
 
 PN85 
 
 ill exam er, W J 
 
 202729