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 TUTOR'S COUNSEL TO HIS PUPILS. 
 
 REV. a H. D. MATHIAS, M.A. 
 
 LATE FELLOW OF KING'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 ^oxbj'irts, ^inbcr, t'orbiirts ! 
 
 Marshal Blucher {passim). 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN^ AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1866.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 UOBSON AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, 
 TANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
 
 
 TO HIS GRACE 
 
 THE DUKE OF EICHMOND, 
 
 m 
 
 GEATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 OF CONFIDENCE REPOSED BY HIM 
 
 IN THE AUTHOR. 
 
 1030753
 
 PEEFACE. 
 
 It is to the suggestion of a pupil that the 
 publication of the following pages is due. 
 They were originally scattered hints on 
 English composition, subjects for English 
 essays, and notes on conversations about 
 some of the many points on which the 
 intelligent observation of those who have 
 been lately public - school boys will often 
 ask for information. 
 
 Whatever truth there may be in the 
 charge of ignorance brought against the 
 Alumni of our two largest public schools, 
 the author of the following pages can at 
 least bear his testimony to their general
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 activity of mind and love of information. 
 If habits of continuous application are im- 
 perfectly developed, yet, according to the 
 author's experience, a passive contentment 
 with ignorance is almost unknown. It is 
 because he believes that there are many 
 such beyond the narrow circle of his own 
 pupil acquaintance that the author sends 
 this volume to the press, hoping that it may 
 contain answers (not easily found elsewhere) 
 to some of the questions often asked, and 
 explanations of subjects often discussed, by 
 those who are beginning to take a wider 
 interest in the studies and duties of life. 
 
 September 18G6.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 
 ni. 
 
 IV. 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 xn. 
 xm. 
 
 XIV. 
 XV. 
 XVI. 
 
 " Where had I best Travel?" 
 On the Study of Language . 
 
 J. N 
 
 On Entering the Army 
 On Entering the Army 
 To A Pupil Entering the Army 
 An Outline of the Life of Sir C, 
 " How is One to write an Essay 
 On Style .... 
 On English Composition 
 On English Composition 
 On Metaphor .... 
 How TO MAKE History interesting ? 
 What is the Difference between Simile 
 AND Metaphor ? . . . 
 
 On Tennyson 
 
 "What's the Use of Shakespeare?" 
 On Novels 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 16 
 24 
 34 
 51 
 apier 62 
 
 93 
 105 
 119 
 133 
 152 
 
 158 
 170 
 182 
 195
 
 Till 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 206 
 
 XVII. On Novels 
 
 xvin. To A Pupil at the University . . . 218 
 
 XIX. " How IS One to learn to Draw?" . . 228 
 
 XX. " How AWFULLY TEDIOUS "WORK IS !" . . 235 
 
 XXI. How TO GIVE Money away .... 243 
 
 XXII. A LITTLE Learning not a dangerous Thing . 258 
 
 XXIII. Hints on the Study of Shakespeare . . 267
 
 LETTERS AND ESSAYS. 
 
 WHEEE HAD I BEST TRAVEL? 
 
 "17" OU tell me jou are to travel for a year 
 -*- or so before you enter your ^^rofessioii ; 
 and you ask me what countries I advise you 
 to choose for your tour. 
 
 Now before we come to the countries, let 
 me beg you not to undervalue this year's 
 travel, and not to treat it as mere amusement 
 and nothing more: if you do, you will have 
 less amusement after all, and no profit from 
 it. Happily there is such a thing as ennui; 
 and time devoted to nothing but idle amuse- 
 ment is often as wearisome as it certainly is 
 misspent. 
 
 If you were starting for a few months' 
 shooting tour, you would carefully look to 
 your equipments ; suitable clothes for the 
 
 B
 
 Z WHERE HAD I BEST TEAVEL ? 
 
 climate, guns and ammunition in plenty, 
 means of repairing any damage done to your 
 gear, when far beyond the circle of civilisa- 
 tion : jarepare yourself in the above way for 
 youi" year's jom^ney; you have a month or 
 two before you start, and much may be done 
 even in so short a time as that. 
 
 And as the knowledge of their lano-uage 
 is tlie first and only approach to all know- 
 ledge of the peoj^le, pray rub -up all you 
 know of the spoken languages of whatever 
 countries you think of visiting. Tlie two most 
 important languages for continental travel 
 are certainly French and Italian : the former 
 will carry you through all the civilised parts 
 of Germany, while German will take you 
 nowhere beyond its own frontier, and Italian 
 will not only carry you through its own 
 glorious country^ 
 
 " Magna parens frugum, Saturnia tellus, 
 Magna vkum" — 
 
 where French is unknown, but tlu'ough many 
 of the cities of tlie Mediterranean coast be- 
 yond the boundaries of old Satiu'u's realm. 
 The more languages you know, the more 
 you multiply the avenues of knowledge and 
 amusement alike in your travels : when you
 
 WHERE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 3 
 
 are in the midst of foreigners, yon will find 
 how plentiful a harvest may be reaped from 
 the labour employed upon their language at 
 home. 
 
 You have, I conclude, some special tastes; 
 very few have arrived at your age without 
 acquiring some — either for art, or natural 
 science, or history, or some study or other. 
 Whatever your taste is, cultivate it with a 
 view to reproducing it and enlarging it upon 
 your travels. Some knowledge of history of 
 course you have ; fix it geographically be- 
 fore you start. My own especial taste is for 
 architecture ; I have fixed my information 
 on that subject geographically by underlining 
 in red all the places of architectural interest 
 on a travelling map of Avhatever country I 
 am about to visit : by this simple expedient 
 I have often been sujjplied with the means 
 of prosecuting a favourite study, when de- 
 layed or diverted from my route by acci- 
 dent, and have always been able at a single 
 glance to arrange a tour so as to comprehend 
 as many objects of architectural interest as 
 possible. 
 
 You have little idea, initil you try it for 
 yourself, how vividly and really historical 
 events come home to you when you stand
 
 4 WHERE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 
 
 Upon the spot which saw them take place. 
 In the midst of the bustle of Paris the Place 
 du Carrousel is again crowded by a howling 
 fui'ious mob, the Swiss guards again die 
 valiantly at their posts, again the death- 
 tumbrel rolls incessantly along the monoto- 
 nous Rue de Rivoli, the guillotine as inces- 
 santly falls with its deep thud, and above all 
 its victims the deathlike pallor of the royal 
 sufferer remains dee2;)est impressed upon the 
 memory. Or at Fontainebleau (for instance) 
 whole periods sweep before you at a glance, 
 from the gay and profligate court of the first 
 Francis to the tragic parting in the Cour des 
 Adieux, and add to the richness of the Renais- 
 sance art the interest which the joys and the 
 sorrows of our race cannot fail to arouse in 
 any one who has felt the truth of the old verse, 
 
 " Homo sum, liumani nihil a me alienum puto." 
 
 I have been told that a yomig under- 
 graduate peer, not many years ago, visited 
 the capitals of the great Italian republics of 
 the Middle Ages, history in hand, and on 
 his return showed himself the equal, if not 
 the superior, of his examiners, in his know- 
 ledge of his subject. I would venture to 
 assert a belief that the knowledo-e he dis-
 
 WHEEE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 5 
 
 played was no way siijierior to the jjleasnre 
 lie liacl enjoyed in the acquisition of it. 
 
 There are two classes of English travellers 
 whose example I recommend you not by any 
 means to follow. Do not think, with one 
 class, that when you have visited the prin- 
 cipal theatres and "places," you have seen 
 every thing, and so rush on to see if possible 
 as little of another town ; do not, with the 
 other, Murray in hand, painfully plod through 
 " sights" which have for you no interest 
 whatever. The conduct of the first is simply 
 frivolous and silly ; that of the last is another 
 form of the many-headed monster, humbug. 
 
 Think of the many different professions, 
 trades, employments, which occupy the people 
 of a country, and if the history of past times 
 does not interest you, you may yet learn a 
 good deal — be sure we in England are still 
 very far from perfect — from foreigners' man- 
 agement in such things as the administration 
 of their army, navy, in the organisation of 
 government in its many branches, in agricul- 
 tm'e, in education, in medicine, in popular 
 amusements, in the conduct of charitable en- 
 dowments. You will make some curious dis- 
 coveries, if you keep your eyes open, in many 
 points : how, for instance, with but little aid
 
 6 WHEEE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 
 
 from tlie taxes, the French organise an enor- 
 mous system of poor-relief; how, with a 
 naturally poor sandy soil, the Belgian and 
 the Hollander will raise many times more 
 produce than we can in our land, where their 
 system of perpetual manimng is not adopted; 
 how Belgian and French manufactiu'ers are 
 beginning to undersell ours as makers of 
 machinery which Englishmen invented ; how 
 a French freeholder is often poorer than an 
 English labourer any where north of the 
 Trent. If you would appreciate the fairness 
 of an English trial, attend, if you can, a 
 government prosecution in France ; if you 
 would see in their faces wdiere the intellect 
 of France has taken refiige, take a turn or 
 two up and down the arcades of the Palais 
 de Justice at Paris, and you will find your- 
 self in a moment amongst a race totally dif- 
 ferent to the habitues of the Bourse and the 
 cafes. If you would miderstand how far more 
 useful educated women may be in their ser- 
 vices to the poor, when reasonably organised, 
 rather than when left each to her own devices, 
 visit some of the many creches, ^. e. child- 
 homes, or some of the hospitals under the 
 tender care of the Soeurs de la Charite : and 
 above all, if you would understand the people
 
 AYHERE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 7 
 
 among whom you are staying, skim tlu'ongh 
 their chief newspaj)ers — all the best and some 
 of the worst ; notice their ^peculiarities, both 
 in what they omit and what they insert ; how 
 the "padding" of the feidlleton takes the 
 place of polities amongst us ; observe the 
 "conspicuous absence" of all notices of pub- 
 lic meetings, the careful repression of any 
 safety-valve for public feeling, and yet the 
 bitter hostility between different sections of 
 the public, as evinced by the violent language 
 of their antagonistic newspapers, — the Siecle, 
 for instance, versus the Monde; and you will 
 soon miderstand why there are a hundred 
 thousand men in barracks encamped within 
 twenty miles of the Tuileries, and how it is 
 that the streets swarm with bon-bon shops, 
 while you may often traverse several in a 
 vain search after a bookseller's. 
 
 You will do well, then, to visit a good 
 deal besides all the theatres and j^erhaps a 
 museum or two ; but yet, I would say, don't 
 visit any thing because it is the correct thing 
 to do so. You will often meet — and it is a 
 humiliating sight — the great British traveller 
 earnestly engaged in the conscientious per- 
 formance of this sham. I shall not soon 
 forg-et one I met in the old cathedi'al of Lau-
 
 8 WHEEE HAD I BEST TEAVEL ? 
 
 sanne. I was sketching at the time, I recol- 
 lect, when I heard behind me the well-known 
 tones of the great British traveller, this time 
 not in broken French, but yet not by any 
 means the purest English ; ho was employed 
 in describing the cathedral to his better half in 
 good solid sonorous utterances : it was exactly 
 as if an English verger had been dropped, 
 with all liis exact and dreary romid of infor- 
 mation comi)lete, into the Swiss cathedral. 
 In vain did the British traveller's poor wife 
 struggle to escape from the infliction of a 
 lesson expressed in language at least half of 
 which must have been unintelligible to both 
 of them : had he not a serious duty to do, 
 and does not England expect &c. ? On 
 flowed the current of unmeaning v^'ords : 
 " The triforium and clerestory of this ancient 
 building are unique ; observe the banded 
 columns of the tower -piers; the abaci are 
 &c. &c." And so on with persistent resolu- 
 tion from tower to altar, and from altar to 
 porch again ; when they finally retired, with 
 the conviction of duty nobly done on the 
 part of one, and (I hoped) a secret resolve to 
 rebel on that of the other. Poor thine; ! her 
 sufferings must have been acute, as tliey 
 certainly were prolonged. I wondered if
 
 WHEEE HAD I BEST' TEAVEL ? 9 
 
 they had done the whole map of Switzerland 
 upon the same scale. 
 
 Now just as the amount of your shooting 
 is hmited by the 2:)recautions you have taken 
 with respect to your guns and ammunition, 
 so you will find the pleasure of travelling ex- 
 actly proportional to tlie knowledge you take 
 with you, and the knowledge you are pre- 
 pared to gain by keeping your eyes open and 
 your wits about you while you are abroad. 
 And now, I think, you will almost have anti- 
 cipated my reply to your question : Where 
 do you advise me to travel ? 
 
 My answer is, " Exactly where your tastes 
 lead you ;" only try and acquire in this as 
 in every thing tastes as wide and large as 
 possible. If you take most deliglit in scenery, 
 you vv'ill, of course, rush to the Alps ; but 
 while there, seize the opportunity of visiting 
 the Swiss people in their homes, in their go- 
 vernments, their manufactures, their public 
 festivals, their religious rites. Some of the 
 Swiss governments are very original and in- 
 structive ; their public games, especially in 
 Appenzell and the eastern cantons generally, 
 date from days when we too had jniblic sports 
 in every village in England; while theirs have 
 lasted through the extinction of ours, and now
 
 lO WHERE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 
 
 see tlieir revival in the form of the volunteer 
 movament, the rifle-practising, and the gym- 
 nasia now being established in our large 
 towns. See for yourself whether the asser- 
 tion is true — I have heard it both asseverated 
 and contradicted — " that there is a marked 
 difference in the appearance of the homes, 
 in the cleanliness and comfort of the people, 
 between the Roman Catholic and the Pro- 
 testant cantons ;" and every where try and 
 judge for yourself : use the accounts of pre- 
 vious travellers much as an able navigator 
 uses an old chart, — as a field for observation 
 rather than as a standard of faith. 
 
 I remember — m connection with this sub- 
 ject — to have read not long ago a very in- 
 structive letter of the great German poet and 
 philosopher, Goethe, dated from Naples, May 
 28th, 1787 : he tells his correspondent that 
 " the useful and learned Volckmann" (the 
 Murray of his day) " asserts, and no one 
 had ever dreamed of contradicting him, that 
 there were from 30,000 to 40,000 idlers, va- 
 gabonds, tramps in short, in Italy." Of course 
 Najiles was their head-quarters ; so at Naples 
 he sets to work to investigate the statement, 
 which he does by going amongst the people 
 at all hours and' in all places : on the ([uays
 
 WHERE HAD I BEST TKAVEL .'' I I 
 
 lio finds a good many louno-er.s ; but on in- 
 (juiiy tliey turn out to be wind-bound fisli- 
 ormen (wliat hundreds maj be encountered 
 at times round our industrious ports !), wlio 
 flitted out of sight at once on the arrival of a 
 fair Avind. At the principal places in the 
 town he found many " idlers," but they were 
 porters and cab-(h-ivers waiting for work, 
 and only too glad to get some ; in the gar- 
 dens round the city lie found labourers unre- 
 mitting in their toil, dri\ing their donkeys 
 laden with garden-produce many times a day 
 i]ito the city, returning laden with manure, 
 vegetable-stalks, or any rubbish that could 
 enlarge the garden dung-heap ; and he adds, 
 " the rich little think, as they leave the Oi)era 
 at midnight, that before break of day some 
 industrious fellow Avill have carefully follov/ed 
 up the tracks of their horses Avith the same 
 object" On the sea-shore he Avatched little 
 children, some not more than three or four 
 years old, collecting every scrap of drift- 
 Avood, and packing it in bundles for the 
 mai'ket. In the market-place he amused him- 
 self Avitli noticing the Avatchful solicitude of 
 a Avatcr-melon merchant, aged about tweh-e, 
 OA'cr his Avares, Avhich he sold in slices to 
 some equally Avatchful customers, avIio, though
 
 I 2 WHERE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? 
 
 perhaps his juniors, looked equally anxious 
 to secui'e a fair farthing's worth for their far- 
 thing. And you will find in this, as in many 
 other instances, that much wider questions 
 are opened up by using your own powers of 
 observation, and not receiving as gospel the 
 somewhat reckless assertions of preceding 
 travellers. In this case you may be led to 
 inquire whether idleness can exist largely in 
 a state at all emerged from barbarism ; whe- 
 ther, in fact, its existence is not a proof of 
 barbarism resulting in great measure from 
 bad government. And yet do not suppose 
 that I undervalue good books of travels ; 
 what I say is, " Don't be implicitly guided 
 by them :" much may have been changed 
 between their date and yours. Read some, 
 however, before you start, or rather skim 
 through some, to gather what the writer 
 thought best worth seeing ; but far better 
 read (not skim) a good book of the history of 
 any country you are about to visit — that is 
 worth a hundred travellers' tales ; while a 
 good book of criticism on the chief European 
 jralleries is the best cicerone you can hire 
 for them. 
 
 Remember, too, that as you go abroad 
 to see foreign countries and foreign people,
 
 ■\^^IEnE HAD I BERT TRAVEl. ? I 3 
 
 and to hear foreign languages spoken, so 
 you will do vrell to avoid the promiscuous 
 swarms of English who fly yearly up the 
 Rhine, thi'ough Switzerland, and escape 
 homewards by some outlet into France, 
 during August and Se})tember : you can 
 arrange to be not on the Rhine or near 
 the Alps then ; or, if this is impossible, 
 make your way to smaller places (the Eng- 
 lish always travel in herds), as, for mstance, 
 in Switzerland, move on to Lauterbrunnen, 
 instead of cockney Interlachen ; to Brunnen, 
 the entrance of the grandest of Swiss water- 
 scenery, the Bay of Uri, instead of Lucerne ; 
 to Spietz, a thorough Swiss retreat, instead 
 of Thun ; or, better still, get away into St. 
 Gall and the Grisons, and the sublime 
 shores of the lake of Wallenstadt, away from 
 our countrymen's well-beaten tracks, which 
 are lined (as the bottom of the sea from 
 here to India is said to be) by empty beer- 
 bottles. 
 
 Few travellers have an idea how much 
 of interest is to be found away from the 
 beaten track, which is followed, not be- 
 cause it is the best, but because the majority 
 of English travellers are limited in point of 
 time, and foolish enough to measure their
 
 14 WHERE HAD I BEST TEAYEL ? 
 
 enjoyment by the distance tliey have tra- 
 versed, rather than by the objects of in- 
 terest they have visited. It is only witliin 
 qnite modern days that Paris has come (to 
 most Enghsh travellers) to represent France. 
 Even down to the Revolution, there Avere 
 nominally many provincial parliaments, and 
 every where the provinces still give pi'oofs 
 of their former independence, having, what 
 is totally wanting in England, each a long 
 individual history, at times entirely sej^arate 
 from that of France. A traveller has really 
 seen but- little of France who has not visited 
 Rouen and Caen, Tours and Blois, Rennes 
 and Le Mans, Bordeaux and Rlieims and 
 Nancy, and many other ancient cities, over 
 and above Paris, Lyons, and Marseilles, which 
 too often represent France to the modern 
 English traveller, as he hurries on to see 
 Italy, equally ill-represented by Genoa, Rome, 
 and Naples. 
 
 And pray do not forget that a gentleman 
 can't be too careful not to offend (even unin- 
 tentionally) the susceptibilities of foreigners. 
 I am afraid that we English have acquired — 
 and what is more, deserved — a bad character 
 in this respect. Pray do your best to recover 
 a better opinion of the manners of our coun-
 
 WHERE HAD I BEST TRAVEL ? I $ 
 
 trymen among foreign nations. We expect 
 tliem in England to behave quietly in our 
 cliurches ; to remain in them and onr law- 
 courts bareheaded, and generally to submit to 
 the customs and observances of our country: 
 and tliey expect the same of us. We are 
 guests on any soil but our own ; and it is 
 ill-manners to set yourself up as a judge of 
 your host's etiquette and regulations. Much 
 of our ill-mainiers in former days may, I 
 hope, be set down to the score of ignorance ; 
 but it is pretty widely known noAv that they 
 don't like to see people walk arm-in-arm in 
 a church, or turning their backs u})on the 
 high altar ; and they are somewhat indig- 
 nant, in the smaller towns especially, if you 
 do not uncover as a religious procession 
 passes. As Ave know these things, it is a 
 pity tliat our evil repute has not been long 
 ago erased fi'om the minds of our conti- 
 nental neighbom-s. " Every mickle makes 
 a muckle." In a year's tour you may do 
 not a little to aid in removing this o})pro- 
 brimn. It is in reference especially to our 
 disregard of the feelings and ideas of others 
 that the connnon French expression has be- 
 come stereotyped, — "C'est un Anglais; que 
 voulez-vous ?"
 
 II. 
 
 ON THE STUDY OF LA.NGUAGE. 
 
 "V"OU ask me whether there is any principle 
 -^ on which a lancruase is to be studied. 
 And I must own to not a little astonishment 
 at having had the question put to me not by 
 you merely, but by men many }'ears your 
 seniors ; because I can't for the life of me 
 conceive how Latin (for instance) is to be 
 taught at all, except on principle. 
 
 I Avill explain my meaning more clearly 
 by illustration. Not long since an excellent 
 mathematical scholar told me that he had 
 been obhged (much against his washes) to give 
 up Latin and Greek ever since he was fifteen 
 years of age, as he could make nothing of 
 them at all ; he much regretted his inabilit}^ 
 to learn a language grammatically, because 
 (independently of the sources of information 
 from which he was thus debarred) when in 
 Lidia it was of importance to him to know 
 more than one of the native languages tho- 
 rouglily, but he never could get beyond the 
 little that his ear taught him — a certain con-
 
 ON THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE. I 7 
 
 versational fluency, but not one word could 
 he ever learn to write correctly. 
 
 On iiu|iiiry as to wherein his difficulty 
 consisted, he told nic that it arose from no 
 defect of memory ; he could easily recollect 
 the meanings of the words in a Latin sen- 
 tence, but ho never could get them into con- 
 tinuous sense without more toil than the 
 results were worth — " le jeu ne vaudrait 
 pas la chandelle" — for, after all, the result 
 was but guess-work. 
 
 He used, he assm'ed me (and his i)lan 
 must seem to any scholar highly ingenious), 
 to work out a sentence on the mathematical 
 rule for permutations and combinations : so 
 many changes of the words were possible — 
 all possible ones must be tried, and the most 
 likely one adopted. Now, I quite believe 
 tliis to be only an exaggerated forjn of the 
 difficulties met with by so main' in the study 
 of Latin and Greek, for want of having the 
 first principles of those languages placed be- 
 fore them. On going closer into the matter 
 with my mathematical friend, he explained 
 his position more clearly by taking a A^irgil 
 and opening it at haphazard; we lighted on 
 
 " Res dura et regni novitas me talia cogunt 
 Moliri. et late lines custode tueri."
 
 I 8 OX THE STUDY OF LAXGUAGE. 
 
 Wliicli he considered to mean "lie was com- 
 pelled by the novelty of the state of affairs 
 to commit many cruel actions, and sentinels 
 protected his wide domains ;" which, you 
 will see, conveys an idea of the meaning of 
 the passage, but as a grammatical transla- 
 tion was wrong in every particular. I saw 
 at a glance that he had not an idea of the 
 fu'st principles on which the Latin language 
 is based. 
 
 Now, all the languages with which you 
 are at all likely to have to do — that is to 
 say, the two great languages of the ancient, 
 and two or three of the modern world — are 
 based each on one of two principles, or on a 
 mixture of the two. There is really a A'cry 
 broad gulf fixed between the ancient and 
 modern languages : it is simply this, they 
 inflected their substantives, adjectives, and 
 verbs ; and we, as a rule, do not. Of all 
 the great modern lano;uao-es the German in- 
 fleets most, and the English least. 
 
 I will make this distinction, this great 
 gtdf of separation, clearer by continuing our 
 conversation relative to these same two lines 
 chosen by the sortes Virgiliance. Where, I 
 asked, in yom* translation do you get all 
 your small words from — ' he,' ' was,' ' by,' 
 
 I
 
 ON THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE. 1 9 
 
 'to,' 'of,' the plural formations ' sentinel^,' 
 ' domain.s' ? — 0, all these must l)0 supplied, 
 as they have none of them in Latin. — But, 
 excuse me, they have every one of them as 
 rigidly and exactly as we- have. — Where? I 
 can't see any. — AVill you be good enough to 
 tell me the meaning of each word, one by 
 one? — Certainly: ' res' means a ' thing, event :' 
 'dura' means 'hard;' 'regni' means a 'king- 
 dom;' 'novitas,' 'novelty;' 'talia,' 'such;" 
 ' cogunt,' ' compel.' — Pardon me, you have not 
 given the meaning of any single word right ; 
 you have translated oidy a part of each word. 
 The Latin word for ' event' is not ' res,' but ' re ;" 
 for 'hard' is not ' dura,' but ' dur ;' for ' king- 
 dom' is ' regn ;' for ' compel' is ' cog.' You 
 smile at this, but I am not joking ; they are 
 simple facts that I am stating. And now, if 
 you want to express the word ' event' in the 
 nominative case singular, you say ' res,' you 
 affix an 's;' if you want to annex to 'dur,' 
 ' hard,' the idea of a nominative singular 
 feminine, you affix an ' a ;' if you want to 
 say ' of a kingdom,' instead of placing ' of 
 in front, as all the foreign languages exce})t 
 German do, you affix an ' i' to ' regn ;' in 
 fact, ' i' means ' of;' it is no capricious ter- 
 mination ; in this declension it can mean no-
 
 20 OX THE STUDY OF LANGFAGE. 
 
 tiling else in tlie singular. Here tlie nomi- 
 native of the Latin word ' novelty' is needed; 
 in more grammatical language you want to 
 employ ' novelty' as the subject of the sen- 
 tence, so ' as' is added to ' novit ;' so ' talia' 
 is not ' such,' but ' such things,' — not ' such 
 men or women,' nor 'by' nor ' with' nor ' from' 
 nor ' of nor ' to such things,' but simply ' such 
 things,' nominative or accusative ; so 'cogunt' 
 is not ' compel,' that is not enough, but ' they 
 are compelling,' or ' they compel ;' ' cog' 
 equals ' compel,' ' unt' equals 'they.' This 
 is the principle, the very opposite of our mo- 
 dren languages' principle, and it is carried 
 out to a much greater extent in Greek than 
 in Latin. Once master this idea ; look care- 
 fidly for all the small words in the right 
 place, namely at the end of the root- words, 
 and I wall venture to assert that, with your 
 mathematical memory, you will not be long 
 before you read Latin nearly as easily as you 
 read the Times. — But would you teach lan- 
 guages that way? — Undoubtedly, as soon as 
 the rudiments of the grammar are mastered : 
 you must know the Latin ' of,' and ' by,' 
 and ' from' first, directly you see them. 
 How would you learn English if you were 
 told that the little words did not sio-nifv ;
 
 ON THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE. 21 
 
 or French, if tlio ' do' and ' a' and ' du,' 
 &c. meant any thing or nothing? You Avill 
 find instead that sometimes in the chissi- 
 cid languages more is expressed than our 
 more chimsy form of speech can cope with ; 
 us with that curious tense, the Greek aorist, 
 which is, as its name tells us, of no time at 
 all. And though the i)]an 1 have suggested 
 may not be as amusing as guess -work at 
 fii'st, yet its unerring accuracy will soon 
 more than compensate for the absence of 
 tlie excitement of permiitations and combi- 
 natior.s. Listen now ; I Avill decline you a 
 word ; the root is ' domin,' found in Latin 
 in 'dominari,' to rule; 'dominatio,' a ruling; 
 ' dominus,' a master; found in English in 
 dominion, domineer, dominant. But with 
 us, unfortunately, when we have taken the 
 root, and formed a substantive, or verb, or 
 adjective from it, we can do no more : then 
 they are fixed for ever in one form, with 
 only the slight iuHoction of the plural in the 
 substantive, ami in the verb the disused se- 
 cond person, domineerest, the ])articij)les ac- 
 tive and passive. Now, if a Roman Avanted 
 to express the idea that ' h)rd' was the sub- 
 ject of the sentence, he made that unmis- 
 takable bv adding ' us' to the root ; if he
 
 2 2 ON THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE. 
 
 Avantecl to express ' the property of tlie lord,' 
 he said ' the property the lord-of,' or ' res 
 domini ;' putting the ' of after the word it 
 ([uahfies, instead of before it, and inserting 
 the ' of in the place of ' us,' which was not 
 wanted any longer, as the word ' lord' had 
 ceased to be the subject. And he dealt ex- 
 actly in the same way with the adjective ; so 
 exactly, that the declension of substantives 
 once well learned, the adjectives follow natu- 
 rall}\ So with the verb : we say ' I rule ;' 
 the Roman instead said with much more 
 terseness 'rule-I,' 'dominor;' instead of 'we 
 rule,' ' rule-we,' ' dominamm*.' But the 
 powers of inflection ranged far beyond this : 
 we have now to call in the aid of various 
 clumsy auxiliaries ; the Romans did this but 
 seldom ; the Greeks hardly ever. To express 
 the simple notion of the in:iperfect we must 
 introduce ' was,' and turn the verb into the 
 participle : ' I Avas ruling,' in Latin ' rul-ing- 
 was-I,' ' dominabar ;' and ffir beyond this 
 again, ' a-man-likely-to-rule' is in Latin one 
 word, ' dominaturus.' 
 
 I was surprised, I must own, to think 
 that a manifestly industrious man should 
 never have had this simple and self-evident 
 princi})lc made clear to him. For I am sure 
 
 I
 
 ON THE STUDY OF LANGUAGE. 23 
 
 tliat half a year's hard study of Latin on this 
 principle would have opened to him tlie stores 
 of ancient literature, ■which he so much de- 
 sired to read in their origmal language. 
 
 You will understand, of course, that I 
 have spoken of tiie simple sentence, or of 
 separate clauses in a compound sentence : 
 but very little more knowledge is required 
 to enable you to analyse a compound sen- 
 tence ; hardly more than is contained in the 
 simple rule that you must not on any con- 
 sideration put the cart before the horse — that 
 is to say, the relative before its antecedent, 
 or the dependent and helpless subjunctive 
 before the independent and autocratic indi- 
 cative.
 
 III. 
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 T T has been the frequent remark of foreign- 
 ers, after viewing — not without a little 
 secret envy, perhaps — our superlatively per- 
 fect collections of zoology and botany at the 
 Hegent's Park and at Kew, that it would be 
 very much to our discredit not to possess 
 such collections, considering our opportuni- 
 ties — considering that England stretches out 
 her arms over every sea, and has carved out 
 for herself some of the finest slices of every 
 continent. The argument, which is unan- 
 swerable, may be applied with equal truth 
 to certain points in connection with the 
 gallant profession you have just joined. In 
 two respects you have, as a young man, 
 unrivalled oj)portunities over any equal of 
 yours joining any other profession what- 
 ever. The first is time ; the second, travel. 
 Take the case of the ordinary professional 
 man, whether barrister, town-clergyman, so-
 
 ox ENTERING THE AintY. 25 
 
 licitnr, moreliaiit, Ijankcr, niodical man, — 
 yon will find their a\'('rago of Avork from 
 seven to nine hours a day; yours (after the 
 first few months' drill) is not, I think, under- 
 stated at about three hours. Now, I want 
 you elearly to realise this fact to yourself, 
 that you may at least enter upon yo\ir pro- 
 I'cssion with a knowledij;c of the advautao;es 
 you have in it. 
 
 Secondly, as regards travi;! : it would bo 
 simply foolish to compare or rather contrast 
 your opportunities w'ith those of any other 
 professional man ; with them a six w^eeks' 
 tour in Europe is ginierally the extent of 
 their loosest tether. There are but two other 
 professions to compare with yours in this 
 respect, the English navy and foreign mili- 
 tary service. 
 
 i\ji English naval officer has certainly the 
 richest opportunities of any man of " seeing 
 tlie world ;" but there is this counter-bal- 
 ancing disadvantage — liis view must ne- 
 cessarily be a ])artial and in some respects 
 a superficial one; he cannot be long al)sent 
 from his ship, and must consequently con- 
 fine his sicrht-secino; to the outside shell of 
 the countries he visits. How many naval 
 officers one meets who have been their four
 
 26 ox ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 years on the Mediterranean station, but have 
 had ilo opportunities of visiting Venice, Flo- 
 rence, or even Rome ; not to name Damascus, 
 Cairo, or Jerusalem. 
 
 Of the five great Em'opean armies, two, 
 the Prussian and the Italian, are confined 
 within the limits of their own countries — 
 within hearing of their omii language ; and 
 therefore the only advantage of travel that 
 their officers can gain through their profes- 
 sion is a knowledge of their respective coun- 
 tries. The Austrian officer is liable to serve 
 from Venetia in the west to Transylvania in 
 the east : but if he is an Austrian, he is re- 
 garded as an alien oppressor in both coun- 
 tries ; if he is of either province, as the 
 oppressor of the other ; in any case 20° of 
 longitude bomid the extent of his military 
 horizon. The great mass of French officers 
 never leave la belle France ; in Algeria a 
 comparatively small fraction has had an ex- 
 cellent school for irregular warfare ; beyond 
 Algeria, the French possessions are trifling, 
 and their military occupation not worth 
 mentionincr. The Russian officer alone is 
 at all on a par with the English in his 
 opportunities for seeing the world ; but 
 with all the vastness of Russia, there is
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 27 
 
 hardly that variety of scenery, climate, and 
 natural products which the English terri- 
 tories afford ; and from the great tedious- 
 ness and expense of moving large bodies of 
 troops through whole continents devoid of 
 railways, a Russian officer probably docs 
 not in a lono* lifetime traverse one half 
 of the surface of the globe, that many an 
 English subaltern has seen before he gets 
 his company. A nation which occupies 
 military stations from Montreal to Hong- 
 Kong, and from Inverness to Auckland — 
 whose troops liave within the last few years 
 taken Dellii, Lucknow, and Pekin — ought 
 to possess a body of officers whose large ac- 
 quaintance with geography, natural historj', 
 and foreign countries generally, should have 
 a perceptible influence upon the knowledge 
 and the thought of modern English society. 
 
 You will have, after allowing a large 
 margin for amusements, some hours at 
 least a day which you can, if you will, de- 
 vote to something of more worth than the 
 inevitable billiards or the irrepressible whist: 
 not that I undervalue the skill required for 
 either, especially the latter, game ; but they 
 should be amusements {a musis), a turning 
 aside from more serious studies. What
 
 28 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 those more serious studies should be is de- 
 cided primarily by your choice of a profes- 
 siou ; you arc bound in honour to master 
 tliat profession botli in its principles and 
 details. It may be ever so true that the 
 chances are against your ever needing that 
 knowledge in the field ; but remember that 
 tlie same shallow argument would abolish 
 your profession altogether. This is, I know, 
 one of the two poor arguments usually 
 brought forward by a young officer against 
 making a study of his profession ; the other 
 is as baseless, that a general, like a poet, 
 "nascitur, non fit." Let us examine each 
 in turn. 
 
 The very existence of an army is based 
 on a contingency, at least with us : with 
 some foreign armies, unhappily, the first ob- 
 ject of an army is to overawe their own peo- 
 ple ; with us the one sole object is to meet 
 the contingency of foreign war. You are 
 therefore bound in honour to the Queen and 
 countiy you serve to be in as highly effective 
 a condition as possible to meet the one contin- 
 gency for which you exist, whenever it may 
 arise. When that great man and true sol- 
 dier. Sir Charles J. Napier, was making his 
 oriiiinal comments for his own insti'uction
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 29 
 
 upon all tliiuojs military, from Alexander and 
 Hannibal to Marshal Saxe and Nai)()lcon, 
 what chance do you suppose he thought he 
 had of ever bringing that knowledge to 
 the test of actual warfare? He tells us in 
 his diary more than once that he thought 
 then he had none. And yet his masterly 
 campaigns in Scinde — campaigns equally 
 memorable for the genius with which they 
 were planned and the vigour with which 
 they were carried out — were the undouljted 
 results of his military thought and studies of 
 more than thii'ty years previously. liis ori- 
 (jinal and most efficient schemes for camel 
 and baggage corps, his exact appreciation of 
 all the duties and difficulties of the jirivates, 
 were the fruit of studies in the " piping days 
 of peace," — peace which all men reasonably 
 expected to last for at least the next half- 
 century. In fact, the occurrence of war is 
 always a matter of the greatest uncertainty ; 
 we live in a mist until the thunder-cloud 
 bursts upon us. The first great Exhibition 
 was to have inaugurated ^' a term of uni- 
 versal peace ;" and the re])ly to this amiable 
 ])r()phecy was first the Indian mutiny, then 
 the Crimean, and thirdly the Italian, war, 
 and last and o'reatest, the American ci\ il
 
 30 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 ■war. Depentl upon it, tlieii, tliat on tlio 
 soberest principles of reason, as well as on 
 tlie higher grounds of honour, a soldier is 
 bound so to live in peace that war may 
 never find him unprepared. 
 
 Tlie other argument, derived from a dis- 
 tortion of the truth about heaven-sent genius, 
 is, I am afraid, often a merely specious cloak 
 for idleness. For, first, we are not speak- 
 ing of genius at all, but of a perfect and , 
 most efficient knowledge of your profession. 
 Apply the argument to other professions, — 
 does the barrister, or the civil engineer, or 
 the physician refuse to study because he feels 
 his industry chilled in the shade of such 
 great names as Mansfield, Stephenson, or 
 Jenncr ? When you know more intimately 
 the lives of great men, you will sec that their 
 greatness was mainly the result of their in- 
 cessant study of their professions, acting upon 
 a capacious memory and a well -disciplined 
 reason. It is not a little singular to see how 
 actions which appear to the uninformed to 
 be great strokes of genius are really (often 
 confessedly) nothing but a rapid exercise of 
 memory. 
 
 You know how serious was the disparity 
 of numbers and guns between us and the
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 3 I 
 
 French at the battle of the Xilo ; you know, 
 too, how greatly Nelson's stroke of genius 
 was admired by Avhicli lie placed his ships 
 inside the French, between them and the 
 shoal-water, arguing that- ''where a largo 
 French sliij) could swing, a smaller English 
 one could float ;" how he thus attacked his 
 enemies on their unprepared quarter, since 
 tliey had not their guns in working order 
 tliat were pointed towards the shoal. It was 
 undeniably a master-stroke ; but that it was 
 not the inspiration of the moment we have 
 the best authority for believing, namely, 
 Nelson's own : he told his captains that " he 
 rememhered to have heard Lord Hood sug- 
 jrest such an attack under similar circum- 
 stances." 
 
 Not many years ago, one of the most 
 acute of our lawyers, then chief-justice, was 
 trying a gang of sharpers who had plucked 
 some silly }'oung fellow of all his feathers in 
 a railroad earriao;e at various games of cards. 
 A ])aek of cards found in the possession of 
 these worthies was produced during the trial, 
 accompanied by a certificate from the Lon- 
 don detectives, stating that they had exa- 
 mined the pack, and found it an honest one. 
 The chief-justice took the pack, looked at
 
 32 ON ENTEBING THE AEMY. 
 
 it carefully for a minute or two, wliile tlie 
 trial was going on, and laid it down. When 
 he came to charge the jury, they were not a 
 little astonished by his taking up the cards 
 and assuring them that they xcere a sharper's 
 pack, though both the detectives and the 
 prosecutor's counsel had tailed to discover 
 the fact. The prisoners visibly shuddered 
 at the bar ; their last lio]ie was gone, as the 
 judge assured the ju]y he would instantly 
 name any card they liked to draw : he then 
 called their attention to their flowery backs, 
 and pointed out a quiet demure-looking little 
 flower in one corner with dots for petals, 
 which dots he showed them varied in num- 
 ber and position according to the A-alue of 
 the card. On being asked afterwards how 
 he had detected so clever a fraud, the judge 
 simply replied that "he roaembered it; he 
 had seen something of the kind many years 
 before." You will by these instances learn 
 to appreciate the great force and worth of 
 memory ; and pray o'cmemher this, that me- 
 mory is of all mental powers the one most 
 capable of improvement by cultivation ; like 
 good steel, it will bear any amount of work 
 and grinding. 
 
 You will now admit that I have o-iven
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 33 
 
 you some good reasons for making a study 
 of your profession. I will in my next letter 
 suggest what subjects you can and ought to 
 study. 
 
 D
 
 IV. 
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 HE study and mastery of one's profes- 
 sion is, you assure me, a very different 
 matter in the army to what it is in any other 
 hne of life : that elsewhere industry almost 
 certainly brings success, whereas in the army 
 success is very doubtful indeed, depending 
 upon many other conditions besides merit. 
 I do not deny the general truth of your ar- 
 gument ; but let me remind you that success 
 is not the only object in life ; let me again 
 urge you to study on the plea of duty, be- 
 cause it will make you a more efficient sol- 
 dier than an ill-read and unscientific man can 
 be ; and last (but not least) because it will 
 supply healthy occupation for the mind, which 
 otherwise is almost certain to betake itself 
 to unhealthy occupation. 
 
 Perhaps the greatest drawback in the 
 army, as a profession, for a young officer, is 
 the small amount of time demanded for his 
 regidar duties, and the slight amount of study
 
 ON ENTEEING THE AmZY. 3 5 
 
 requisite to seciu'c his promotion. By study 
 I don't mean mere l:)Ook-Avork, far from it : 
 "vvhat I mean I will explain by an example, 
 and will say that a young barrister who had 
 no more knowledge of how to conduct a de- 
 fence than many a young officer I have heard 
 of has of light-infantry manoeuvres, would 
 soon find his promotion more than problem- 
 atical. The only corrective to this ignorance 
 is a keen conviction in the mind of an officer 
 that it is a matter of duty to understand his 
 business as well as he would do if his daily 
 bread depended on it. 
 
 As regards the subjects of study over and 
 above the practical details of his regimental 
 duties, an officer has this immense advantage 
 over the members of any other profession, 
 that there is hardly one subject in science or 
 literature that does not bear directly on the 
 art of war. I do not deny that able men in all 
 professions do to their great mental profit keep 
 pace (to a certain extent) Avith the discove- 
 ries and great intellectual efforts of the time ; 
 but such study is midertaken rather for relax- 
 ation from the severity of their professional 
 duties, and can influence and extend their 
 professional knowledge very indu-ectly; but 
 in your case all your study will bear directly
 
 S6 OS ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 upon the one great point, how to become an 
 abler officer. In literature, take for instance 
 military history and biography ; there has 
 not been in modern times a single great com- 
 mander who has not largely profited by the 
 experience of those who have gone before 
 him ; by a knowledge of their knowledge, 
 their abilities, their successes, ay and their 
 errors too ; for, after all, war is but a repe- 
 tition of the same game, with slightly differ- 
 ent pieces : mountain ranges will have to be 
 _ passed, rivers to be crossed, combinations to 
 be effected, commissariat to be supplied, the 
 enemy to be outwitted or overwhelmed, to 
 the end of time. And nov/ consider what 
 advantages a general possesses who carries 
 about with him, ready for instant use, a per- 
 fect knowledge of how all these and more 
 have been effected by able men before him. 
 You can hardly conceive any position in 
 wliich an officer in command of troops can 
 be placed which has not been already de- 
 scribed in the biographies of eminent soldiers: 
 war carried on against civilised or barbarous 
 nations in every Idnd of country and chm- 
 ate, with or without allies, allies more or less 
 untrustworthy ; a position with an army 
 well or ill supported by the government at 
 
 II
 
 ON ENTEEING THE AEMY. 37 
 
 home, in a coimtiy liostile or friendly, with 
 troops your own countrymen or foreigners, 
 with troops more or less mutinous, on the 
 march or in transports, with sickness or ship- 
 wreck to contend against, with siclaiess on 
 the march, from cholera in Lidia to frozen 
 limbs in Canada, with bad barrack accom- 
 modation and consequent sickness and ill- 
 feehng amongst the men ; all these and many 
 more contingencies of the same natm'e you 
 will find fully recorded in the annals of mi- 
 litary histories ; and, depend upon it, the 
 knowledo-e of how others have met similar 
 difficulties will be most serviceable to any 
 officer, whether general or subaltern, when 
 he is himself similarly situated. 
 
 Much, too, may be learnt from the his- 
 tory of disasters clearly and honestly told. 
 If you would learn how not to carry on a 
 campaign, read the expedition to the Isle of 
 Ehe in Charles I.'s time, or General Biu- 
 goyne's disastrous campaign in the American 
 war, or (worse than all) the Walcheren ex- 
 pedition. Your greatest difficulty will be in 
 choice of subject, you are met by an emharras 
 de richesses ; as regards military history the 
 old adage of "non multa sed midtuni" is 
 as true as it is in the masterv of all rudi-
 
 38 ox ENTEllING THE AEMY. 
 
 meiitary knowledge : begin first with a cam- 
 paign in Napier's Penmsular War, and mas- 
 ter it by frequent reading, with a good map 
 at jour side, so that you could tell the whole 
 of it to a friend as accurately as if you had 
 been engaged in it yourself: you will find 
 also the study of Napier's criticisms at the 
 end of each grand movement an exceUeut 
 model to form your own upon. 
 
 I suppose there is no man who reads at 
 all who does not delight in history and bio- 
 graiDhy ; other branches of study are far less 
 generally popular; some men cannot with- 
 out the greatest — and therefore the most 
 useless — toil master a languao-e ancient or 
 modern ; others again find themselves re- 
 pulsed at their first attempt to scale the 
 heights of science ; but all minds ahke, whe- 
 ther by nature literary or scientific, meet on 
 the common ground of history, which of all 
 branches of knowledge is happily the one 
 most profitable for a soldier : it is a study 
 about which a soldier can make no mistake ; 
 he may carry his science, or rather be run 
 away with it, for all practical purposes, too 
 far ; but you can never know too much of 
 the principles upon which men in other days 
 and countries have achieved success, re- 
 
 il
 
 ON ENTERING THE AKSIY. 39 
 
 deemed losses, or sustained defeat. It is a 
 study, too, wliicli can be carried out any 
 where ; books are now liappily almost uni- 
 versal, and history needs no professor or 
 moonslice at youi* side to. smooth over diffi- 
 culties and correct mistakes ; all your requi- 
 sites for any amount of study are the book 
 itself, a good map, and a note-book to make 
 yoiu' own comments in. 
 
 But supposing that your natural bent of 
 mind is towards science, you will find that 
 there is not one branch of science from the 
 root — namely, pure mathematics — upwards, 
 which will not return a rich harvest to the 
 soldier-student. Surveying, road - making, 
 fortification, architecture, are all foimdcd 
 upon the basis of mathematics. I know a 
 young officer, who after with great difficulty 
 weathering the gale of the army examination, 
 has been of the greatest service to his regi- 
 ment in India by his practical knoAvledge of 
 draining, building, &c., and thus restoring 
 health and quieting panic in barracks situ- 
 ated — as I am told they often are in India 
 — in the most unhealthy localities. Which 
 fact reminds me that that branch of science 
 which the French call h)/gitne is a most im- 
 portant study for an officer who has to com-
 
 40 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 niancl men in countries where, as in Canada, 
 the thermometer sinks to 30° below zero, 
 and India, where it rises to 150°; and 
 has to do his best to preserve his own and 
 his men's health under either extreme of 
 temperature. A knowledge of the main facts 
 of physiology — which I daresay you know is 
 only a long word for a man's domestic eco- 
 nomy — useful for all, is doubly important 
 for one who is intrusted with the health of 
 a number of men as stupid and perverse 
 about the preservation of their health as 
 English soldiers seem to be in all and esj^e- 
 cially in hot climates. " Prevention is better 
 than cure," says the old proverb ; but really 
 in a hot climate there is no comparison be- 
 tween them at all : by wisdom and firmness 
 you may prevent disease, where a cure is 
 simply hopeless and luilooked for. Now you 
 are almost certain to be sent before long to 
 India : there was some excuse in former days 
 for a young officer's arriving there a " Grif- 
 fin," raw and inexperienced, ignorant of how 
 to meet the exigencies of the climate, unable 
 to adapt himself to the circumstances of life 
 so different to those at home. There is no 
 excuse now ; you may, by a little carefid 
 reading, not about " India" generally (as
 
 ON ENTEEING THE ARMY. 41 
 
 people loosely talk), but about that country 
 in it where you will be quartered, — you may 
 know exactly the whole life there before you 
 have set foot on its soil : and a very slight 
 knowledge of your own domestic economy 
 will convince you that if you are not tem- 
 perate, especially in the matter of spirits, 
 you will quickly manufactm-e m p/'oprm 
 'persona that great delicacy which has long 
 immortahsed the ancient city of Strasburg. 
 
 In the East, Avhich is now the best, al- 
 most the only field for distinction open to a 
 young officer, the passports to distinction are 
 languages and applied mathematics. Of the 
 value of the latter I have just spoken : many 
 who can't master mathematics often possess a 
 singular facility for acquiring languages, and 
 for these you have in India " ample field and 
 verge enough." Nor can the labour be very 
 great, when you hear a language spoken con- 
 stantly about you. An Englishman of aver- 
 age intelligence Avill by residing in a Ger- 
 man family in Germany soon acquire a very 
 considerable knowledge of their language ; 
 and the same principle of teaching must 
 hold good Avith all languages : when your 
 servants, cab-di'ivers, shopmen, all places 
 of public amusement, the very beggars, are
 
 42 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 your teachers, a man must be very dense or 
 very careless, wlio does not, even with but 
 little labom', soon gain a general acquaint- 
 ance with the spoken language, and with 
 labour acquire a ^^erfect command of it. Nor 
 is Charles V.'s well-known saying about lan- 
 guages at all obsolete yet. 
 
 Considering how widely, our army is scat- 
 tered over the earth's surface, and what va- 
 rieties of scenes it meets, it is very surprising 
 that the study of drawing should be so ne- 
 glected as it is in the education of boys 
 intended for the army. For cU'awing is not 
 merely a most useful servant to a soldier, 
 but a very amusing companion. I have 
 mentioned in another letter the advantag-es 
 of a laiowledge of it, and the principles on 
 which it can so easily and so truly be studied. 
 I will only add now that an officer in an or- 
 dinary marching regiment coidd, after a few 
 years' foreign service, bring home a richer 
 collection of drawings and paintings than 
 any but the wealthiest traveller could amass : 
 indeed it rarely happens that very wealthy 
 men can spare the time which a tour in 
 India, China, or Australia demands, and 
 none but the wealthy can endm-e the ex- 
 penses of so long a journey. You get your
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 43 
 
 joiimey-money free, and can get plenty 
 of time at your disposal as well. I have 
 heard also of the large London printsellers 
 paying officers very highly for good views 
 and S})irited sketches in foreign parts ; but, 
 independent of the money-question, you will 
 find yourself amply repaid for your labour 
 by a portfolio of the pleasantest souvenirs 
 one can bring back from distant lands. 
 
 It is a mere truism to add that a correct 
 eye and a clever hand for draughtmanship 
 have many a time pointed out a young officer 
 to his general for employment and promotion, 
 and that few claims are better established. 
 Let me, however, add this warning, based 
 on com])laints I have heard made by com- 
 manding officers, that a showy and super- 
 ficial sketch is always worthless and often 
 mischievous ; it is the report of a scout who 
 foro;ets a good deal of his intcllio;ence and 
 exaggerates the rest. You can't be too ac- 
 curate in your drawing. This complaint of 
 the inaccm'acy of young officers' drawings 
 is duo no doubt to the shallow system on 
 which drawing is generally taught. Once 
 master Iluskin's " stone out of the road," 
 get its shape exactly, mark all its spots cor- 
 rectly, round all its little projections, and
 
 44 ON ENTERING THE AEMY. 
 
 sink all its concavities rigidly, and after prac- 
 tice of this natm^e you need not fear tlie im- 
 putation of making a picture equally pretty 
 and valueless. So all - important indeed is 
 accm-acy in military matters, that photo- 
 graphy will eventually suj)plant most hand- 
 drawing on the field, wherever it is possible 
 to get a small camera, which is almost every 
 where ; and if you can acquire half the skill 
 in the use of the camera that many amateurs 
 now possess, you will find there another great 
 resoiu'ce of personal amusement and profes- 
 sional utility. 
 
 I remember going a good many years 
 ago to see a travelling circus in company 
 with a young surgeon. We saw the usual 
 exhibition of well-trained horses and men 
 displaying an almost incredible activity and 
 suppleness of body. " Ah ! shouldn't I like 
 to have the dissecting of one of those fel- 
 lows !" was the rather sanguinary remark of 
 my companion. Very 2)rofessional, you will 
 think, but very natural : to the rest of us 
 the show had been one of skill and dexterity; 
 while he had seen nerves strained and mus- 
 cles elastic to tlieir uttermost far below the 
 mere surface, to which our unscientific view 
 was Hmited.
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 45 
 
 TJiis I believe is the spirit in Avliich an 
 officer determined to tlioroiiglilj master liis 
 j)rofcssion views every ])lacc he sees. Many 
 spots will awake a twofold interest, that of past 
 military history as well as of future military 
 contingencies. Li Canada and India, our 
 two most important military occupations, there 
 is hardly a place of note that is not sacred 
 ground to a true soldier. Whatever we hold 
 in cither we have fought and fought well 
 for : our supremacy in both countries has 
 more than once trembled in tlae balance ; and 
 in considering the history of that supremacy 
 do not for a moment estimate a commander 
 by the size of the army he commands. Tlie 
 Walchereu expedition consisted of 40,000 
 men, it was conducted with infatuated stu- 
 pidity and ended in humiliating discomfitm'e ; 
 while Wolfe carried the heights of Abraham 
 witli 3600 men : with 1000 English and 2000 
 sepoys Clive scattered 50,000 of the enemy 
 at Plassy to the winds ; Avhile Modre — 
 greater than either — turned at bay, and con- 
 quered with less than 16,000 men, exliausted 
 with weeks of forced marches over bad roads, 
 with scanty food and in miserable weather, 
 dispirited with the consciousness of retreat, 
 but inflexibly supported by the loyal beHef
 
 46 ON ENTEEING THE ARMY. 
 
 that their general's ability was equal to any 
 emergency. Tlie sequel of this glorious story 
 proved how truly soldiers can gauge the 
 merits of their commanders, and that no 
 combination of untoward circumstances can 
 crush British soldiers led by a general they 
 can trust. 
 
 There is, as I said, a double interest to 
 the soldier in travel, arising from the sight 
 of places immortalised by his comrades' vic- 
 tories, and attractive from the interest they 
 excite as places of military importance. 
 Charles Napier could not, when travelling 
 through the Continent, visit Ceneva without 
 estimating the value of the Swiss militia ; or 
 walk up the Simplon without observing the 
 gentleness of the gradient ; or survey Milan 
 without commenting, like a soldier, on the 
 Austrian military arrangements, and hke a 
 statesman on the injustice and unnaturalness 
 of their position. In fact, the advantages 
 that you possess in combining foreign travel 
 with private study are simply incredible. 
 No good historian will nowadays think of 
 describing a battle or a siege, or any great 
 mihtary operation, without first visiting the 
 ground. Macaulay notoriously did so. But 
 there are many scenes that no ci^dlian his- 
 
 A
 
 ON ENTERING THE AEMY. 47 
 
 rian could visit. How can an orclinaiy stu- 
 dent visit Assayc, Scringapatam, or Bhurt- 
 poor ? You have every advantage in this 
 respect ; don't neglect them. Add to this 
 the fact that the man who studies a battle 
 carefully from the best sources of informa- 
 tion may know its events more correctly than 
 officers who were actually present, being 
 limited (as a man must necessarily be) to one 
 part of the field at a time, and, if a regi- 
 mental officer, to one part of the field alto- 
 gether. This rather improbal)le fact is curi- 
 ously pro^'ed by an anecdote in the life of 
 the great German historian Niebulir : he was 
 one day discussing with some friends the 
 details of the great defeat of the Prussians 
 at Jena ; the battle, you will recollect, which 
 laid Prussia at the feet of the French Em- 
 peror. Two officers were present who had 
 been engaged in different parts of the field ; 
 both flatly contradicted the historian as re- 
 gards some movement Avliich he asserted had 
 taken place at a certain time ; a statement 
 based, if I remember right, upon the forma- 
 tion of the ground on the field. Si)lendid 
 as was Niebulu''s historical knowledge, his 
 geographical was more marvellous still, and 
 both were here called into court at once. An
 
 48 ON ENTERING THE AKMY. 
 
 arbiter must be appointed. Would the dis- 
 putants submit to the decision of the mihtary 
 archives at the Berhn Avar-office ? Tlie offi- 
 cers — how could they otherwise ? — consented 
 most readily. Notes were made by third 
 parties of the points in dispute, the Prussian 
 records of the battle consulted, and their 
 evidence was decisive in favour of the histo- 
 rian. Tlie officers had viewed the scene with 
 eyesight limited in scope and half-blinded 
 with the smoke of musketry and artillery. 
 The historian surveyed the field with aU the 
 aid that could be supplied by many eye-wit- 
 nesses of the struggle at various points, by 
 general orders, despatches, adjutant-generals' 
 and quarter-master-generals' returns ; in a 
 word, he had amassed that knowledge for 
 his own personal infonnation, which you will 
 I trust amass of many a great battle to en- 
 able you to become a first-rate officer. 
 
 I have spoken mostly hitherto of the 
 knowledge to be gained from books. As 
 my evidence on books may appear partial, 
 hear what an old officer. Sir C Napier, 
 writes to a young officer — the warrior of 
 forty-five years' hard service to an ensign : 
 " Whether a regiment be in good or bad 
 order, it ought not to affect a young man of 
 
 I
 
 ON ENTERING THE ARMY. 49 
 
 sense, because hj reading professional books 
 you will discover what is faulty in }-our 
 corps, if faults there are ; you Avill then learu 
 how things ought to be, and will by daily 
 observation sec how they are. Tims you can 
 form yom* comparisons, which will in time 
 teach you your profession. I hope your 
 regiment is in good order ; but if not, take 
 care that your company or section is, when 
 you are intrusted with one. Keep up all 
 knowledge that you have gained, and gain 
 as much more as you can. U>/ reading^ you 
 will be distinguished ; without it, abilities 
 are of little use. A man may talk and write, 
 but he cannot learn his profession without 
 constant study to prepare, especially for the 
 higher ranks, because he then wants the 
 knowledge and experience of others im- 
 proved by his own. But ivhen in a j^ost of 
 responsibillti/ he has no time to read; and if 
 he comes to such a post with an empty skull, 
 it is too late to fill it, and he makes no figure 
 Thus many people fail to distinguish them- 
 selves, and say they are unfortimate, which 
 is imtrue : their 0'.Aai previous idleness un- 
 fitted them to profit from fortune. The 
 smith who has to look for his hammer when 
 the iron is red strikes too late : the hammer
 
 5° 
 
 ON ENTEEING THE AEMY. 
 
 should be uplifted to fall like a thunderbolt 
 while the white heat is in the metal. Thus 
 will the forging prosper." And this, remem- 
 ber, is the language of a man as original as 
 he was well-read. 
 
 ill 
 
 I
 
 V. , 
 
 TO A PUPIL ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 T HAVE written at greater length con- 
 -*- cerning tlie many lessons to be learned 
 from books, because tliesc are, from some 
 unaccountable reason, so distasteful to many 
 young men nowadays; and yet think how 
 unreasonable is your dislike. You Avould sit 
 and listen by the houi* together to the J)uko 
 of Wellington or the Napiers, or any great 
 soldier recounting the narrative of his cam- 
 paigns ; and Avhat else are their despatches, 
 or diaries, or biographies, but conversations 
 or lectures, lacldng indeed all the life of 
 personal narration, but even superior in ac- 
 curacy and carefulness and fulness of nar- 
 rative ? 
 
 There is, hoAvever, a large class of sub- 
 jects where study and experiment must go 
 hand in hand — such as chemistry, all the 
 applied mathematics, and the physical sci- 
 ences, and one other study of the deepest 
 importance to a young officer ; it is certainly
 
 52 TO A PUPIL ENTEEING THE AEMY. 
 
 a dull one, but to every officer and soldier of 
 tlio greatest moment, and can happily be 
 studied, not only in books, but also by actual 
 observation and experience. I have spoken 
 of all studies, except history, as more or less 
 useful: history is no doubt essential to an 
 officer. You may or may not be a linguist, 
 di'aughtsman, mechanician, chemist, or en- 
 gineer. So much the better if you are any 
 or all of these ; but remember, a judge you 
 must be. You will ao;ain and again be 
 called on to decide on questions affecting 
 the liberty, the honour, and perhaps the life 
 of your fellow-soldiers. Now I am sure you 
 are far too kind and high-principled not to 
 wish to do your very best when on a court- 
 martial ; and I am equally sure that the 
 thought that you had voted an unjust sen- 
 tence woidd cause you bitter regret, and 
 perhaps lasting remorse. But don't think 
 that kind-heartedness and high principle can 
 teach you how to weigh and estimate evi- 
 dence : study and experience will alone do 
 that. Apropos of study versus good inten- 
 tions, there is an amusing anecdote of 
 Simeon, the leader of the Low -Church 
 party at Cambridge for many years. How 
 a yomig clergyman who belonged to his
 
 TO A rUPIL ENTERING THE AlUZY. 53 
 
 school came to visit liim after a year's ex- 
 perience of parish- work, lamenting his great 
 deficiencies as an extempore preacher, re- 
 comiting what trash he uttered, if he did not 
 break down altogether ; concluding liis con- 
 fession with the remark, " I suppose, sir, it 
 is the want of faith that makes me so miser- 
 able a preacher?" "Not in the least, my 
 dear young friend.; justification comes by 
 faith, but extempore j)reaching comes by 
 works." 
 
 I remember to have read somewhere a 
 detailed account of the court-martial held 
 ujwn Admiral Byng, which condemned him 
 to death ; over whose remains his relations 
 erected a monument — still extant — informing 
 posterity that the government of that day 
 had judicially mmxlered him. I well re- 
 collect the impression of intense remorse 
 conveyed to my mind by the language 
 used by more than one of the officers who 
 had condemned him on the court-martial, 
 and had sentenced him to death — not the 
 least expecting that government woidd carry 
 out the sentence ; but who discovered, when 
 too late, to their horror and distress, that 
 they must abide by their decision. Byno- 
 was to be sacrificed to the clamom' of the
 
 54 TO A PUPIL ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 mob, through the instrumentality of their 
 verdict. No poet could load a victim with 
 heavier burden of remorse than this re- 
 flection would be to any man of honour ; 
 the sense of havino- killed a brother officer 
 and branded his name and family unrighte- 
 ously. 
 
 Now the learning, or rather the ability, 
 to be acquired to enable you to form a just 
 judgment, is really not very great. It has 
 nothing whatever to do with the quirks and 
 technicalities of the law : it is simply to 
 learn what evidence is; how far what you 
 hear or read is trustworthy; how far im- 
 probable, when it is wortliless ; also the 
 weight of it, how very much is needed for 
 a conviction even for a minor offence. Now 
 you wiU be almost certainly quartered, 
 soon after joining your depot, at or near 
 an assize town. Attend the Crown Court 
 regularly ; some one you laiow will get 
 you, as an officer, a quiet and comfortable 
 seat. Make notes mental, and, if you can, 
 in pencil too, of the evidence ; and -paj 
 particular attention to every word of the 
 judge's charge to the jury, which comments 
 on the evidence. He will point out where 
 the evidence is contradictory — either that of 
 
 I
 
 TO A PUPIL ENTERIXG THE AP.MY. 55 
 
 one witness with anotlier, or one Avitness 
 with liimself ; he will notice what evidence 
 is weak and irrelevant, and what is con- 
 vincing and conclusive ; he will draw the 
 attention of the jury to the real points at 
 issue — often carefull}^ obscured hy the pri- 
 soner's counsel (that is their duty), and to 
 the evidence on which these main points 
 turn. Tims you will get a series of lessons 
 in weighing evidence from a man whose 
 experience in these matters began probably 
 before you were born, and has continued 
 uninterruptedly improving ever since. Can 
 any reasonable man doubt that if officers 
 thus learned how to value evidence — to view 
 it apart from all extraneous circumstances of 
 what other people think, apart from any in- 
 fluence of fear or favour ; with the judicial 
 calmness which characterises our bench — 
 can any man doubt that coui'ts-martial would 
 stand much higlicr in public estimation than 
 they do at present? 
 
 Now, pray don't misunderstand my ex- 
 act meaning. I know that courts-martial 
 arc diftbrently constituted, have a different 
 and, in some respects, simpler form of pro- 
 cedure to our civil courts. But the objects 
 of both ai'c identical — to o;ct at the truth, to
 
 56 TO A PUPIL ENTEEING THE ARMY. 
 
 punish the guihy, and acquit the innocent; 
 and the means by which you obtain the 
 knowledge to form a decision upon are 
 identical — evidence written and oral ; and 
 the principles on which that evidence is 
 sifted must be, and notoriously are, the 
 same. If, then, a young man has made up 
 his mind to enter the army, the sooner he 
 attends some of the assize com-ts and listens 
 to the evidence there given, the better. It 
 cannot be right or fair to the prisoner that 
 his judge should take his first lessons in 
 jurispriidcnce in his case, however trifling a 
 one. The cases may be simple that first come 
 before a young officer, but the light of natm'e 
 never taught any man yet how to meet the 
 manoeuvres of a practised liar, or discriminate 
 between the nervousness of unpractised per- 
 jury and that of an anxious temperament 
 and natural timidity. Practice alone will 
 give this power ; and if you are attentive 
 to even a few criminal trials, you will be 
 siu-prised to find how differently you begin 
 to regard evidence ; how weak some appears 
 on reflection, which at flrst seemed so con- 
 vincing; how slight often a whole mass of 
 evidence aj^pears, when you consider, as did 
 an old lawyer more than two centuries ago,
 
 TO A rUPIL ENTERING THE ARMY. 57 
 
 " tliat two-hundred white rabbits don't make 
 (tiio "wliito horse;" that any amount of ac- 
 cumnlati\'0 evidence proving a man a mis- 
 chievons demagogue generally, will not con- 
 vict him of treason. Of all your studies let 
 this be the first: to gain that knowledge, 
 without which you cannot possibly do that 
 Avhich you solemnly undertake, to judge 
 justly and fairly. Happily, an occasional 
 attendance at a trial is regarded as an 
 amusement rather than as a hardship by 
 most educated Englishmen. 
 
 You will see that I have exliausted 
 a good large list of subjects of study all 
 directly connected with your profession. 
 There arc other pui'suits which you wiU 
 have ample opportunities of following up, 
 which wiU not only supply both pleasure 
 and interest at the time, but add consider- 
 ably to our general stock of knowledge. 
 The immense advance made of late years 
 in the studies of geology, mineralogy, and 
 meteorology, is due, in great measui-e, to 
 amateur students. Discovery paid and or- 
 ganised by government is ahvays an after- 
 thought. You may, with three simple in- 
 struments — the thermometer, the barometer, 
 and the rain-gauge — add no insignificant
 
 58 TO A PUPIL ENTEEING THE AEMY. 
 
 item to the general knowledge of the laws 
 of climate. With a hammer and onlj as 
 much book - knowledge as a small hand- 
 book will supply, you may, in distant 
 countries, materially increase om- daily- 
 enlarging stores of geological knowledge. 
 Indeed, you may, when abroad, advance 
 these sciences far more efnciently than much 
 abler men can do at home. Chemistry and 
 the mathematics may, spealdng generally, 
 be studied in any civilised place ; but these 
 studies must be, in the main, local ; and it 
 is seldom, in the history of scientific dis- 
 covery, that a Humboldt can devotfe whole 
 years to travel, while an English soldier 
 must travel far and wide. Natiu'al history, 
 too, you may well advance both by rod and 
 gun. Only lately we have been told that 
 M. Agassiz has discovered already hundreds 
 of fishes, hitherto unknown, in the Amazon 
 alone. Englishmen are widely famous for 
 the energy and pluck they show in hunting 
 wild animals, and many a poor Hindoo vil- 
 lager blesses the day when first a party of 
 English officers pitched their tents near, 
 and slew their ch'eaded tigers. This same 
 hmating expedition might enrich a private 
 natural-history collection at home, or add
 
 TO A PUPIL ENTERING THE AR^IY. 59 
 
 valuable specimens to your local museum, 
 or even supply a deficiency in the already 
 overladen shelves of our great national col- 
 lection. 
 
 A man must have some emplojTnent in 
 the army» over and above his profession. 
 Happily Englishmen have too superabmidant 
 energies to spend hom'S making and smoking 
 cigarettes, as a Spanish gentleman will do. 
 Tliere is tliis fui'ther argument to encoui'age 
 you to take up some study ; that if you don't, 
 you are sure to take up with some mischie- 
 vous amusement, or learn to idle and fritter 
 away yom' time in a manner miworthy of any 
 reasonable man. You know how constantly 
 men have to leave the army from debt con- 
 tracted entirely out of idleness and a silly 
 recklessness either in gambling or horse- 
 racing. Our gardens loill grow something: 
 put in good seed, work and cultivate them, 
 and you will have a plentiful return ; neglect 
 them, and they won't remain passive, grow- 
 ing neither good nor evil ; it only depends 
 upon the natm'e of the soil what sort of 
 weeds will flourish there : therefore, don't 
 give them a chance ; fill up tlie ground — 
 every inch of it — with whatever suits yoiu* 
 turn of mind : first giving place to those
 
 6o TO A PUPIL ENTERING THE ARMY. 
 
 studies wliicli I have tried to show you it 
 is your absolute duty to prosecute, and 
 which alone can fit you for the higher 
 ranks of the honourable profession you have 
 chosen. 
 
 To sum up, then, in few words, my pre- 
 vious arguments. You have, in the vast ex- 
 tent of the British territories, a wider range 
 for general observation than any members 
 of any other profession can have. You have, 
 from the nature of your duties, an immense 
 amomit of time at your disposal ; you are 
 sure to misuse that time if you don't employ 
 it well — there is no middle path. You have 
 chosen a profession where the minimum of 
 knowledge required by regulation is small, 
 but that required to make a man a good 
 officer is really considerable, and therefore 
 you are bound in honour to acquire that 
 knowledge. These studies are both interest- 
 ing and very unrestricted, gi^^ng you so 
 free an option that it is impossible that you 
 should not have a taste for some. And, 
 finally, your very amusement and observa- 
 tions in foreign countries may be of the 
 greatest service towards increasing the ge- 
 neral stock of human knowledge, to which it 
 is equally a pleasure and an honour to add, 
 
 i
 
 TO A PUPIL ENTERING THE ARMY. 6 1 
 
 inasmuch as the experience of history teaches 
 witli unvarying uniformity tliat whatever adds 
 to the knowledge adds to the hapjiincss and 
 the security of our race. We were bom to 
 be the lords of created nature ; only ignorant 
 nations are its slaves ; but this supremacy is 
 only to be won and maintained by studying 
 the laws of nature, by ever accumulating 
 fresh stores of knoAvledge : and none have a 
 grander or richer field to work than those 
 whose duties call them to brave every climate, 
 and watch over the interests of our fcllow- 
 subjccts in every quarter of our globe. 
 
 i
 
 VI. 
 AN OUTLINE OF THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 TN tlie toughest and bloodiest of all liis 
 -^ many battles, "the day he overcame the 
 Nervii," Csesar tells us how he was com- 
 pletely surprised by the enemy, and forced 
 into a general engagement without having 
 made the slightest jDreparation to meet the 
 danger. Of his troops, some were at work 
 with mattock, spade, and axe — true Roman 
 weapons as much as spear or sword — forti- 
 fying the camp ; some were scattered fur- 
 ther a-field looking for materials for the 
 chevaux-de-frise for the rampart ; some had 
 not yet arrived on the field ; no scarlet flag, 
 the signal for battle, was displayed, no 
 bugle-calls sounded, no speech made to the 
 soldiers, no watchword passed ; — and the 
 Imperial historian adds, so short was the 
 interval, and so rapid the enemy's assault, 
 that most of this was lefb undone. Then 
 what in the world saved his army from 
 
 il
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. NATIER. 63 
 
 being doubled up, eruslicd, and swept into 
 space by the most ferocious and resolute of 
 all the Gallic tribes ? Let Caesar's own 
 words reply ; none can be terser or more 
 • to the point: "his ditficultatibus diisc res 
 erant subsidio, scientia atque usus mili- 
 tum." Tlie two things which saved them 
 were the soldiers' scientific and practical 
 knowledge of war ; they understood the 
 theory, and had already tested it in prac- 
 tice ; they brought both to bear upon the 
 crisis, and converted imminent ruin into a 
 decisive victory. 
 
 "Scientia atque usus" — there lies the 
 key to all success in every profession ; in 
 the army remarkably so. And I now pro- 
 jjose to give you a sketch of the life of a 
 soldier, whose brilliant career was, by his 
 own admission — his o"s^ni boast rather — due 
 to the honoui'able and persevering study of 
 the art of war, and of all other branches of 
 knoAvlcdge that woidd tlu'ow any light upon 
 the main study of his life. 
 
 And let me not be mistaken. I do not 
 hold up Charles James Napier as a pattern 
 man, or even as a perfect soldier : a soldier 
 in a constitutional country at least ought to 
 l)ossess more self-control, to show less con-
 
 64 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 tempt for the foolish opinions of those by 
 
 whom he is surrounded and by whom he 
 
 will, if he gives offence, be surely thwarted ; 
 
 he must be less credulous, and far more 
 
 pliant than this gallant officer ever was. 
 
 Like the great hero of the Greeks, he too 
 
 was 
 
 " Impiger, iracimdus, inexorabilis, acer ;" 
 Bold, passionate, unbending, vehement ; 
 
 like him too, 
 
 " Jura neget sibi nata, niliil non arroget armis."' 
 
 He would recklessly disdain the ^' ignomi- 
 nious tyrants" of the East, and be anxious 
 to fight a duel with any one who criticised 
 his conduct. But all this only made his seat 
 a more difficidt one to retain ; his brilliant 
 campaigns and wonderfully successful rule 
 only shine more successfully out of clouds 
 which would have totally eclipsed the light 
 of any mind less vigorous or talented. 
 Avoid his errors, if you can; the ardent 
 pursuit of his profession you certainly can 
 imitate, for the acquisition of laiowledge de- 
 mands only industry and zeal. 
 
 You can hardly start in your profession 
 with less knowledge than the Napiers pos- 
 sessed. It is certain that William, the great
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. KAriER. 65 
 
 historian, the only military author of repute 
 since Raleigh, could not spell when he joined 
 the army. Charles had not apparentl}- had 
 much education, but he had what is worth 
 cart-loads of knowledge compulsorily attained 
 — namely, zeal ; the knowledge was sure to 
 follow. 
 
 In some respects, no doubt, Charles Na- 
 pier possessed a few singular ad^'antages ; 
 but we must never forget how heavily 
 these were comiterbalanced by the many 
 enmities he managed, justly or unjustly, to 
 collect ai'ound him in his official life. The 
 outline of his early military career runs 
 thus : gazetted at seventeen, he had eight 
 years of uninterrupted peace before war 
 broke out, the terrible Peninsular war — 
 four of the bloodiest years of which he 
 served through ; then a short inter-\al of 
 peace ; then a brief campaign on the Ame- 
 rican coast, followed by six years of un- 
 broken peace and study, mitil he •^^^as ap- 
 pointed to his post in the Ionian Islands, at 
 tlie age of thirty-seven. Tlu'ice again in 
 his life he appears in a public capacit}', and 
 on each occasion with aclaiowledged success 
 and honom'able distinction : as Commandant 
 of the Northern Military Division in Eng- 
 
 F
 
 66 THE LIFE OE C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 land, during the Chartist movements ; as 
 Governor in Scinde: and as Commander-in- 
 Chief in India. 
 
 Now, you will observe that during the 
 earlier years of his military career, years 
 during which the character is formed, and 
 the attainments acquired for life — say from 
 seventeen, when he joined, to thirty-seven, 
 when he received his first great command, — 
 out of those twenty years about five were 
 spent in active warfare. What became of 
 the other fifteen ? 
 
 Consummate as no doubt were his natu- 
 ral talents for war, great as was the military 
 knowledge — the scientia atque usus — he 
 gained under so accomplished a king of men 
 as Sir John Moore, it is not merely this 
 military skill that astonishes a reader of his 
 biogra])hy ; it is his vast acquaintance with 
 a hundred other branches of knowledge, — 
 civil-engineering, political organisation, in- 
 sight into the political as well as the social 
 characteristics of savage clans, sound and 
 enlarged views on the subject of trade, a 
 prescient judgment of its future course, 
 civil government in all its branches and in 
 every detail. Now none of this knowledge 
 comes by nature ; the fifteen years of peace 
 
 1
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. XAPIER. 67 
 
 Tvliicli elapsed between the ages of seventeen 
 and thirty -seven will, if examined, tell us 
 very accurately whence all this varied in- 
 formation and rich experience came ; he 
 carried with him the wide experience of the 
 best men who had gone before him, and 
 arrived at each post to which he was sum- 
 moned a practical administrator, requiring 
 only to see and hear the data in each sepa- 
 rate case. And wliile others would be rack- 
 ing empty brains for heaven-sent ideas, he 
 solved the various problems of government 
 or command by the application of principles 
 with which he had long been familiar. In 
 fact, it was with him individually what was 
 the case with Sir J. Moore's famous Light 
 Division collectively : they were acknow- 
 ledged as veterans the first day they went 
 into battle in Spain ; so trained were they 
 by constant practice — so inured to the 
 strictest discipline — that whatever disasters 
 befel other regiments, they seemed by some 
 fatality exempt from aU ; and in the famous 
 march to Corunna, though they covered the 
 retreat, they lost less men than other regi- 
 ments who had only to march without fight- 
 ing. But Corunna was won at the camp at 
 Shorncliffe, and Charles Napier's victories
 
 68 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 on the field ; and success in government was 
 equally won in his studj, years before he 
 held any higher command than that of a 
 regiment. 
 
 Of his studies previous to the outbreak 
 of the Peninsular wai* we have not the full 
 detail that we have of the later ones ; but 
 one short notice of what he was at the age 
 of twenty-foul- will accomit for much of his fu- 
 ture success. "Amidst these men" (the offi- 
 cers of the famous Light Division) "Charles 
 Napier's strong character was soon noticed. 
 Nothing di'ew him from his study; he never 
 gambled, drank no wine, had but few inti- 
 mates, was mostly absorbed in thought, and 
 though ready for good-fellowship in all manly 
 games, eschewed it in the mess-room." It ■ 
 was now, if ever, that he enjoyed any of 
 those " peculiar advantages" which idleness 
 generally ascribes to those who have risen, 
 and excuses itself by the absence of the 
 same. Tlie peculiar advantages of Napier's 
 life were these two, shared in common with 
 many gallant men at that time ; the first of 
 wliich may perhaps not be regarded as pe- 
 culiarly advantageous by some young officers 
 of to-day: firstly, his strict training in every 
 branch of military duty under Sir J. Moore 
 
 f 
 
 I
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 69 
 
 at ShomclifFe ; and secondly, the opportunity 
 of testing this discipline and skill in the 
 fiery furnace of Mar for the fom* next event- 
 ful years of life. 
 
 That he was already, at the age of twenty- 
 seven, no mean critic of large military opera- 
 tions, his strictures upon the Talavera cam- 
 paign will prove : the justice of which the 
 Duke admitted in after years; the excuse 
 being that he was deceived by false infor- 
 mation, and was compelled to advance on 
 pohtical grounds alone. 
 
 At the age of thirty-one Napier found 
 himself in this position; he had seen fom*- 
 teen years' service, had been terribly womidcd, 
 engaged in four great battles, served also ac- 
 tively on the American coast, risen by hard 
 work alone through every grade up to Lieu- 
 tenant-colonel ; and was now, by the sudden 
 arrival of peace, reduced to half-pay — peace 
 which gave every promise of being lasting, 
 and which did last for the next forty years 
 in Europe, broken only by the brief and 
 sudden tempest of the one-hmidi-ed days. 
 But Napier had made the army his pro- 
 fession ; and just when those who had not 
 so made it would have given up in despair, 
 he recommenced those studies which made
 
 70 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIEE. 
 
 Mm, a quarter of a ceutmy later, the fore- 
 most soldier of his time. 
 
 " Nil actum reputans dum quid superesset agendum," 
 
 seems to have been his motto at this time ; 
 and he sowed the seed from which he reaped, 
 so many years later, so abundant a harvest. 
 
 As to what those studies consisted in, let 
 the heading of one chapter in his biography- 
 speak for itself. I copy it word for word: 
 " Exchange to the 50th Regiment — Mihtary 
 College — Notes — War — Conquest — ^Alexan- 
 der the Great — Hannibal — Order of Battle — 
 Cavalry — Booty — Horses — ^Armour — Com- 
 mand — Soldiers' Marriages — Dress — Bajx- 
 gage — Freedom — Rienzi — Languages — 
 Lawyers — Nations — Strange Dreams — Epi- 
 grams." And, later stiU, we read in his Hfe 
 that at the age of thirty -four, "w^ar was 
 over, he was still on half-pay, and his futm'e 
 was mipromising; yet his note-book shows 
 that general literature, commerce, agricul- 
 ture, civil-engineering, and building — es]De- 
 cially structui'es for the poor — ^jaolitical eco- 
 nomy, and international law, were subjects of 
 study as well as war and government." 
 
 It might be supposed that in so large a 
 range of reading, of subjects so various and 
 
 i
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 7 1 
 
 SO dissimilar, details would be neglected ne- 
 cessarily : but you will find very noticeable 
 instances of the closest attention to very 
 minute detiiils, such as the computation of 
 saving a thousand horses in any army of fifty 
 regiments, by copying the French model and 
 having the officer's personal baggage carried 
 amongst the men of his own company — one 
 man carrying sliirts, another socks, »fcc. And 
 yet this close examination of details is consis- 
 tent with the clearest and widest generalisa- 
 tion, as when he says, " If ever I command 
 a cavalry regiment, I will never lose sight 
 of tlu'ee things — rigid discipline for the body, 
 fencing for the individual, a light load for 
 the horse." This note he wrote at Bermuda 
 at the age of thii'ty-oue ; and this was the 
 forging of the bolt : the bolt was launched 
 with deadly effect against some of our most 
 miscliievous enemies in Scinde thirty years 
 later, " when he organised ami taught the 
 famous Scinde Light Horse, whose excellence 
 became proverbial." 
 
 There are too, and there must ever be, 
 times in the life of a conmiandinir- officer 
 when he will be called upon to act, and that 
 promptly and with decision, and in cases too 
 which may severely test his judgment, and
 
 72 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 demand the exercise of much tact and dis- 
 cretion. Now, these difficidtics are just the 
 points in life on which distinction or extinc- 
 tion hinge : no wise man will wait for their 
 arrival ; most of them, all perhaps, may be 
 forestalled, and the mind may be so habituated 
 to the examination of a few main principles, 
 that all circumstances, however a2)parently 
 various, must fall within the scope of one of 
 them. If you have never studied the main- 
 springs of character, you must clearly be 
 unequal to decide upon questions demanding 
 that knowledge for their solution : if you 
 have, for instance, decided, with Charles 
 Napier, that "change in itself is bad," you 
 will avoid a common error of men in office, 
 the issuing of frequent orders ; and as you 
 issue but few, you will value them the more 
 highly, and enforce them rigidly ; you wiU 
 be astonished, when you think it over, to 
 find how large an area a few main principles 
 cover — not merely in your own, but in every 
 profession in life. The three alone that Na- 
 pier dwells upon, in the note headed " com- 
 manding-officer," would avoid a thousand 
 blunders : first, issue few orders ; second, 
 see that every one you issue is exactly 
 obeyed, letter and spirit; third, avoid the
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 73 
 
 liabit of scolding, — punish severely, if ne- 
 cessary, but don't scold. Now, what I want 
 particularly to bring before you is the fact, 
 that the acquisition of these principles of 
 conduct are no less the fruit of study and 
 quiet thought, than a knowledge of strategy, 
 or a profound acquaintance with military 
 liistory. 
 
 Tliis was how the fifteen years of peace 
 were passed ; and let his four commands 
 testify to the harvest he reaped from them. 
 Witness in Cephalonia, roads carried along 
 precipices and over chasms, new harbom-s pro- 
 jected, light-houses raised, public buildings 
 erected, the mischievous old feudal authority 
 crushed, reforms carried out in every de- 
 partment, and the revenue largely increased. 
 Witness in the Northern military district of 
 England, his wise and humane dealiiig with 
 the misguided men Avho sought to gain by 
 civil war what is foirly attainable by honest 
 ])()litical agitation; his inviting some of the 
 Chartist leaders to the barracks, and showing 
 them the mananiATes of a battery of horse- 
 artillery, upon which they returned sadder 
 and wiser men — advising moral and not 
 physical-force Chartism for the future. Wit- 
 ness in Scinde his two great victories aciainst
 
 74 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIEK. 
 
 some of the bravest warriors in India, with 
 odds of about fifteen to one against him ; his 
 just and generous government of the con- 
 quered nations ; the records of his active 
 brain and far-reaching hand every where — 
 baggage and camel corps organised; prin- 
 ciples readily adopted with masterly versa- 
 tility to meet the exigencies of climate or 
 character ; witness the present mercantile 
 greatness of Kurrachee, his favourite cliild, 
 and the growing traffic on the Indus, his pro- 
 phecy of twenty-five years ago ; his perfectly 
 unique campaign against the robbers of the 
 Cutchee hills ; his vast engineering plans 
 for irrigation and recovery of land from the 
 flooding of the Indus ; in a word, a large 
 country recovered from the misrule of the 
 basest and most degraded tyrants, and 
 brought into a state of quiet contentment 
 and industry — the spade superseding the 
 sword, the robber converted into the la- 
 bourer. 
 
 But this is but a crude, bare, and most 
 imperfect outline of this great soldier's ca- 
 reer: the whole pictm'e is weU worth a 
 very careful study; but as you study it, re- 
 member where its successes were really won ; 
 where the foundation was laid on which
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. XAPIER. 75 
 
 coukl be raised so brilliant a superstruc- 
 ture; how it was that an old soldier was 
 found to be an accomplished administrator 
 and successful governor. The secret of the 
 mystery lay in the spell, so simple indeed, 
 but to so many so distasteful, expressed by 
 the old poet in the words, "labor omnia 
 vincit improbus," or in the Clmstian motto 
 of " qui laborat orat." Nor was this amass- 
 ing of knowledge upon many topics valuable 
 only in a piu'ely scientific view of the mili- 
 tary life ; his meditations upon character, and 
 the various methods by which varieties of 
 character are to be addressed and won, are 
 well exemplified in his life. It is generally 
 noticed that characters such as his, fearless 
 and impetuous, are generous and forgiving ; 
 but they don't often display such genial tact 
 and thoughtfuluess as are expressed in that 
 famous letter, in vol. ii. p. 445, to an officer 
 on neglect of duty — a neglect covered by a 
 false jn'ctcnce of conscientiousness; or such 
 humorous kindliness as beams tln'ough every 
 word of his letter to a private soldier, in 
 vol. iii. p. 43, where he recommends peti- 
 tioner to promotion, if he is, as he says he 
 is, a remarkably sober man — and signs him- 
 self " Charles Napier, Major-general and
 
 'jd THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIEE. 
 
 Governor of Scincle, because I have always 
 been a remarkably sober man." No one 
 will wonder, after reading these and many 
 letters and other documents of a similar 
 character, at the passionate love felt for him 
 by privates and officers alike; at such hearty 
 enthusiasm as was well expressed by a yoimg 
 officer (vol. iii. p. 346): "When I see that 
 old man on his horse, how can I be idle, 
 who am young and strong? By God, I 
 would go into a loaded cannon's mouth if 
 he ordered me !" No wonder that a cam- 
 paign pronomiced im^Jossible should suc- 
 ceed gloriously, when, after taking every 
 precaution, and making every preparation, 
 a general could act so decisively on principles 
 based on a profound acquaintance with cha- 
 racter as Napier does (vol. iii. p. 218) ; an 
 argument, be it observed, not merely logically 
 irrefi-agable, but shortly ])roved conclusive by 
 the still more irrefragable logic " of facts," 
 the vmconditional submission of hill-tribes, 
 which had set at naught all conquerors — 
 from the great Iskander downwards — who 
 from their rocky fastnesses had laughed at 
 the helpless attempts of great generals for 
 certainly two thousand years. 
 
 It is easy enough to despise display and 
 
 i
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 'J'] 
 
 denounce luxury when neither your means 
 nor your position will support or sanction 
 either ; it would be natm*al for a private 
 soldier to declaim ao;ainst the flaijrant in- 
 justice of a court - martial which would 
 break a private and honourably acquit an 
 officer on charges of drunkenness equally 
 proved in either case; an Indian officer 
 naturally prized tlie long ser\'ices and disci- 
 pline of the native sepoy ; and educated and 
 highly-refined civilians have borne witness 
 to the courteous manners of a Hindoo gen- 
 tleman ; a subaltern, smarting beneath his 
 severity, will not unreasonably denomice a 
 martinet : but it demands a rare combina- 
 tion of gifts — some natural, more acquired 
 by study and thought — to be equal to all 
 these various influences. A man must have 
 large sympatliies who could write and act 
 as Napier wrote and acted, when a general 
 officer in high command, on these and many 
 more kindred topics or occasions. And re- 
 member kindliness alone will not create 
 sympathy, any more than a good intention 
 will comi)letc a good action : for the latter 
 you neotl also perseverance ; for the former 
 knowledge of the position and circumstances 
 of the person with whom you sympathise.
 
 78 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 Shakespeare, with his world-wide sympa- 
 thies, did not create his hundreds of un- 
 dying characters but by keen observation 
 and incessant thought. 
 
 I am told that this life of Napier is 
 much more read amongst yoiuig officers 
 than it was a few years ago. No one who 
 has the well-being of the Enghsh army at 
 heart but would heartily rejoice if such is 
 the case ; it is only by some such example 
 that the mischief will be met, so clearly 
 foreseen long ago by Na2')ier himself, — the 
 mischief which must ensue when the offi- 
 cers think little of duty except as an inevit- 
 able bore, and value amusement as of all 
 importance, and imagine that to belong to 
 a fast regiment is the tiling; i.e. "a regi- 
 ment unfit for service, commanded by an 
 adjutant, and having a mess in debt ; while, 
 on the other hand, the private soldier goes 
 daily to school or to his library — now always 
 at hand — and thus daily acquires knowledge, 
 while his dignified officer goes to the billiard- 
 room or the smoking-room." 
 
 If what I have now vsritten should in- 
 duce you to read — no, not read, but study, 
 note, digest Charles Napier's life — it will be 
 some reward for the little trouble this out-
 
 THE LIFE OF C. J. NAPIER. 
 
 19 
 
 lino lias cost mo ; for Ijc sure of this, that 
 sifter his worst enemies or warmest friends 
 liavo " notliing exaggerated, nor set down 
 aught in mahce" about his character, he 
 was a man, and emphatically a soldier, 
 " take him for all in all, we shall not look 
 upon his like again."
 
 i 
 
 VII. 
 
 HOW IS ONE TO WRITE AN ESSAY? 
 
 TT is singular that so mucli difficulty is 
 ■^ made about English comj)osition, con- 
 sidering that the material you have to work 
 in is the language you have known from 
 your cradle ; and it is almost more singular 
 that you should assert your difficulties to 
 be increased by the fact of your never 
 having written an essay at school in your 
 life. Now, you have done original Latin 
 prose composition for years ; at some schools 
 not a week passes without yom' having to 
 send in a theme — that is to say an essay on 
 some given subject ; and as the principles 
 of composition in all languages are identical 
 — as language is but the flesh which enfolds 
 the same skeleton in all cases — I do not 
 understand why you find this difficidty that 
 you complain about so despairingly. 
 
 Now composition, as its name implies, is
 
 now IS ONE TO WRITE AX ESSAY ? 8 I 
 
 simply to comjpono ; to arrange your siiljjcct 
 in intelligible form ; to marshal yom* troo])s 
 as an army, instead of getting tliem clubljcd 
 — as not a few ^vriters do — as a mob. That 
 remarkable genius for organisation which 
 the French display equally in all depart- 
 ments of the government, and in arranging 
 an imeute to overturn the government when 
 perfectly organised, they display equally in 
 all, and especially in their periodical litera- 
 ture. An article in the Revue des deux 
 Moudes, for instance, is quite a lesson in 
 htcrary organisation to many of our writers ; 
 fi'om first to last the writer never lets you 
 lose sight of the main object of his writing ; 
 even if forced by circumstances into an oc- 
 casional digression, he will be sure to keep 
 you always in sight of the port you are 
 steering for, and to land you safely there at 
 last. 
 
 Now, there are three indispensable requi- 
 sites for wTiting on any subject in any lan- 
 guage : 1st, a fair Ivnowledge of the resom'ces 
 of the language you are about to employ ; 
 this I will discuss in a future letter, as- 
 suming now that you laiow enough of yoiu* 
 own language to express your ideas fluently 
 and correctly in it : 2dly, a knowledge of the 
 
 G
 
 82 HOW IS OKE TO AVEITE AN ESSAY ? 
 
 subject given you for your essay : Sdly, a 
 lucid arrangement of the ideas you have 
 formed on your subject, which latter is tech- 
 nically termed composition. 
 
 One great — perhaps the greatest — cause 
 of failure is the absence of the second requi- 
 site. A man's innate sense or taste will, in 
 many cases, supply a deficiency of formal 
 knowledge of the third requisite ; if a man 
 is naturally clear-headed, he won't talk or 
 write confusedly ; but no amomit of mother- 
 wit can supply ideas on subjects about wliich 
 you have never thought or read, or (what is 
 often most useful) conversed; you are like 
 the Israelites tiu-ned out into the fields brick- 
 making without that most important item, 
 the straw. 
 
 Now, all the innumerable subjects that 
 can be proposed for an essay are contained 
 in one of two classes : they are either sim- 
 ple or compound. Under the first are reck- 
 oned such subjects as " the Feudal System," 
 ''Commerce," the name of a place, e.g. Lon- 
 don, Gibraltar: on such subjects you will 
 write historically or descriptively, rather than 
 argumentatively. In the second are jjlaced 
 such subjects as " Slavery, the curse of the 
 country that maintains it," " The power of
 
 HOW IS ONE TO WRITE AN ESSAY ? 83 
 
 public opinion is irresistible :" these must be 
 treated argumentativcly. Now, Avliatever be 
 tlic subject, it is clear that you can't draw 
 water from an empty well ; and if you have 
 never discussed or read and thought about 
 slavery, and are suddenly set down to a desk, 
 with however ample a provision of writing 
 materials, you will bo totally helpless and in- 
 capable of either treating it historically and 
 generally, or investigating the causes Mdiich 
 make it an equal curse to master and slave 
 alilce. In a word, here too, as happily every 
 where, you will find that only industry and 
 mental activity can supply you with the re- 
 quisite materials ; you have not yet got so 
 far as your scaffolding; you have not yet 
 collected your bricks and mortar, and timber 
 and slates ; and, as in actual building, indus- 
 try alone must apply them. When we come 
 to the scaffolding question, then skill and 
 judgment arc required, but as yet industry 
 alone for collecting the materials. 
 
 Tliese materials can be drawn only from 
 two sources — readins; and conversation : and 
 by reading I don't mean merely the reading 
 of books — though, if you want to gain a full 
 insight into any subject, you must have re- 
 course to them — but rather reading, or, still
 
 84 now IS ONE TO WEITE AN ESSAY ? 
 
 better, if you have tlie opportunity, listening 
 to good lectures on any subject that interests 
 you; and better still, hearing aftill and warm 
 debate in the Houses of Parliament upon 
 some question of policy : then you will hear 
 both sides of the question, and your judg- 
 ment will be called more actively into play, 
 as well as your attention. Spirited conver- 
 sation, too, is a capital field for instruction, 
 in which you are either a listener or a com- 
 batant ; there, too, you see a question well 
 sifted, with less formality, and therefore less 
 mental effort than is demanded for a "debate 
 in the house." 
 
 Supposing, then, that your materials are 
 collected well in hand for immediate use, 
 your next step is to set up your scaffolding — 
 that is to say, to write out the heads of what 
 you intend to say, all arranged exactly in 
 the order in which you intend them to come 
 in your composition. 
 
 But example is better than precept. I 
 will show you how a master in composition 
 wrote a treatise or essay on " Old Age," 
 which the opinion of many generations has 
 pronounced a master -piece ; an essay so per- 
 fect in its composition that you never for a 
 moment lose tlie tliread of the argument — so
 
 now IS ONE TO WRITE AX ESSAY ? 85 
 
 clear in illustration, that each page convnices 
 you more fully of tlie invincibility of the 
 •writer's position — expressed in language so 
 choice and refined, that had liis other works 
 been lost, the charm of this alone would 
 place its author amongst the first of the 
 greatest of Latin writers. I shall gladly 
 welcome the opportunity, too, at the same 
 time, of showing you that the principles of 
 composition are absolutely identical in all 
 good writers, whatever material they may 
 happen to have worked in. 
 
 Now, the point of view from which 
 Cicero approaches his subject is to examine 
 the charges usually brought against old age, 
 and to refute them each in order. I shall 
 refer to the chapters for convenience, though 
 of course they were not specified by Cicero, 
 though they follow accurately his own di- 
 visions of the subject. The first chapter, 
 then, is what we should call the dedication 
 and preface : he dedicates the essay to his 
 friend Atticus ; gives his reasons for writing 
 at all on the subject, and also for composing 
 it in the form of a dialogue ; tlie subject is 
 introduced from chapters ii. to v., where 
 Scipio and LjeHus are represented eliciting 
 from the old Cato his sentiments on the sub-
 
 86 HOW IS ONE TO WEITE AN ESSAY ? 
 
 ject of old age, who fortifies his position with 
 respect to the usefulness of old age by copious 
 references to the experiences of men he had 
 known of the past generation, and by quoting 
 examples drawn fi'om other countries besides 
 his own. 
 
 Thus the subject is fairly laid open be- 
 fore the reader; then the author distinctly 
 informs you the heads imder which the sub- 
 ject will be discussed, and the order in wliich 
 they come. Cato tells us he will reply to 
 each of the four charges in tmni ; and they 
 are these : firstly, its removing us from ac- 
 tive hfe ; secondly, its weakening the natm^al 
 powers ; thirdly, its depriving us of almost 
 all our pleasures ; and, fourtlily, its close 
 vicinity to death. The first point he dis- 
 cusses in chapters vi. vii. and viii. Li rej)ly 
 to the first charge, the writer represents 
 Cato as holding to the " irresistible logic of 
 facts," and quoting many an instance from 
 their own history of the valuable services con- 
 ferred upon the state by the wisdom of the 
 old men in comicil ; and indeed maintains 
 truly enough that the prudence and care- 
 fulness of age is needed in the commonweal 
 to counterbalance the recklessness and im- 
 petuosity of youth : this he rightly considers
 
 HOW IS ONE TO WRITE AN ESSAY ? 87 
 
 SO demonstrable from reason and their OAvn 
 liistorj, that he dwells the less on the sub- 
 ject, and passes on quickly to the second 
 point, which is examined in chapters ix. x. 
 and xi. The gist of old Cato's argument is 
 tliis : you say the natural powers are abated 
 by old age ; granted, if you mean a man's 
 physical strength ; but if you mean his 
 mental faculties, 1 deny it altogetlier. And 
 again lie illustrates his point by many feli- 
 citous anecdotes drawn from his vast stores 
 of historical knowledge, and by his o"\^^l ex- 
 ample ; he was himself an author at the age 
 of eighty. The third di\'ision of his subject 
 he discusses at much greater length — the 
 charge against old age of depriving us of 
 almost all our pleasures : this he continues 
 until the end of the eighteenth chapter, and 
 rephes to most fully; fh-st, by glatUy ad- 
 mitting the truth of the charge, if by plea- 
 sm'e is meant the ^•iolent passions of youth ; 
 and, secondly, by denying the truth of it 
 altogetlier, if by pleasure is meant the su- 
 preme delight of adding daily to one's stores 
 of Iviiowlcdge, of communicating that know- 
 ledge to others, of enjoying well-ordered 
 society, and, most of all, of pui'suing the 
 study of agriculture, ■which the old Roman
 
 88 HOW IS ONE TO WRITE AE- ESSAY ? 
 
 dwells upon with all the love that the most 
 active minds of the most active - minded 
 nations have ever shown for ' this pm-snit : 
 this leads the writer into a considerable di- 
 gression upon the pleasures of farming — en- 
 livened hy some good anecdotes illustrative 
 of the advantages of rural life- and occupa- 
 tions for old ao;e. The fom-th and last di- 
 vision of his subject begins at the nineteenth 
 chapter, and continues to the end of the 
 book ; it is in itself a complete and very- 
 eloquent essay on the question, "whether 
 the neighbourhood of death to old age is an 
 evil ;" for the old, he argues, death is the 
 natural conclusion of life, and he fondly 
 dwells upon the recollection of the many 
 Komans of former days who had rushed to 
 meet a voluntary death at the hands of 
 their enemies for their country's sake, and 
 these both yomig and often uneducated 
 men ; a weighty lesson, he asserts, to us, 
 wdio are certainly old, and consider ourselves 
 well educated. But the real consolation in 
 death is the hope of meeting the great and 
 good in the other world ; and this belief he 
 expounds in language of undying force and 
 beauty — in language so choice and powerful 
 that, had no speeches of the great writer come
 
 now IS ONE TO WRITE AN ESSAY ? 89 
 
 down to us, wo could have judged that his 
 eloquence was of no common order from this 
 peroration alone. 
 
 As a summary, then, of the lesson of 
 composition to be drawn from this treatise, 
 we will suppose that Cicero wrote out — cer- 
 tainly had in his mind before he began the 
 actual writing — an abstract of it, that ran 
 thus : Dedication to my friend Atticus — Li- 
 ti'oduction of subject — Dialogue — Cato chief 
 speaker — The worth of old age — Fom* main 
 charges to be refrited. Such would really 
 be the first outline of the subject, the first, 
 sketching-in of the figm'es in a picture. And 
 now, to show you how such brief notes as 
 these are capable of expansion — how some 
 sinews are laid upon the bones before the 
 flesh is completed — how some good stout 
 scaffolding is erected before you begin your 
 bricks and mortar, — we will suppose the 
 author looking over the first chai'ge against 
 old age, viz. " that it removes a man from 
 active life :" from outline the argument is 
 thus worked up more fully : What is meant 
 by active life? Of active mental life our 
 ancestors fm'nish innumerable examples — 
 quote Ennius or Appius Claudius — illustrate 
 by the old pilot at the helm — let Cato quote
 
 90 HOW IS ONE TO WRITE AN ESSAY ? 
 
 his owni example of active interference in 
 state affairs — Senatus derived fi*om Senes — 
 quote Nffivius on the mischief wrought by the 
 inconsiderateness of youth — examine the 
 charge of failm-e of memory — Themistocles 
 and myself evidence to the contrary — no old 
 man forgets what it is to his own interest to 
 remember — memory a matter of industry — 
 anecdote of Sophocles' (Edipus Coloneus — 
 collect instances of powerful memories among 
 the poets, the philosophers — examine briefly 
 whetlier the society of the old is disagreeable. 
 This would be sufficient framework to 
 rest his building operations on ; and be as- 
 sm-ed that a system of construction wliich 
 great writers have not disdained, Httle writers 
 must gratefully avail themselves of. All the 
 rest of Cicero's argument may be analysed 
 in the same manner ; and exactly as I have 
 picked to pieces before your eyes this one of 
 the most perfect essays in Roman literature, 
 so you may treat a good composition in any 
 language; the same rules hold good whatever 
 is the nature of the composition : if you exa- 
 mine a sj)eech of Demosthenes, of Cicero, or 
 of Burke, you will find introduction and ex- 
 planation of the subject ; secondly, a review 
 of all the aro-uments that will maintain their
 
 now IS ONE TO "WHITE AN ESSAY ? 9 1 
 
 own and impugn tlieir adversaries' position ; 
 lastly, a peroration as it is called, or conclu- 
 sion, briefly recapitulating tlie previous argu- 
 ments, and appealing strongly to the feelings 
 of their hearers : it is to ' these perorations 
 that one looks for the highest efforts of ora- 
 tory, last impressions being always most im- 
 portant, the feelings of the speal^er and his 
 audience being ever Idndled into mutual sjan- 
 pathy, and the orator conscious of the neces- 
 sity of throwing himself into one last effort 
 for the interests of his cause. But here I am 
 rather wandering into the second division of 
 my subject, viz. style ; at present I have a 
 little more to say about the structm*e of your 
 essay. 
 
 If, then, you really wash to compose well, 
 you must practise yom'self in making ab- 
 stracts — I have shown you liow^ ah'cady — 
 first of short essays ; take any good articles 
 m a good weekly review, tlie Spectator or the 
 Saturday for instance ; then try longer arti- 
 cles, such as you wall find in MacmiUaii's, the 
 Fortmjlitlyy or one of the Quarterlies ; don't 
 be afraid of not finding enough w'oi'k in an 
 analysis of tliis kind ; you will find in some 
 articles much to imitate, in some as much 
 to avoid. Notice, what is so difficult to a
 
 92 now IS ONE TO WEITE AN ESSAY ? 
 
 beginner at English composition, the com- 
 mencements of good essays ; how the subject 
 is ushered into society, sometimes by an 
 anecdote, sometimes by a quotation, some- 
 times by a simple statement of who he is ; 
 he sends in, in fact, his name and business. 
 Notice too, in a really good essay, how, after 
 the completion of the building, the scafiPolding 
 has been carefully removed, and all signs of 
 it effaced. 
 
 And now, I think, if you find much diffi- 
 culty in composing, on a moderate scale at 
 least, the difficulty will lie elsewhere ; where, 
 I expect, it mostly lies — not in ignorance 
 of the principles of building, but in want 
 of materials wherewith to build : that defi- 
 ciency I have ah'eady discussed, and its re- 
 medy ; but if you read, and discuss con- 
 versationally, and pick up all information 
 fi'om every quarter, you will not long feel 
 hampered by this difficulty. There is no royal 
 road to this more than to any other Ijranch 
 of learning ; if you would always be ready 
 to meet your foes in war, you must keep 
 yom' armomy well filled and well furbished 
 in time of peace.
 
 VIII. 
 ON STYLE. 
 
 T OOK at this picture : " Flanders is sub- 
 -*-^ clued; the Ocean and tlie Mediterranean 
 are reunited; vast harbours are excavated; 
 a chain of fortresses encircles France ; the 
 colonnades of the Louvre ai*e raised ; the 
 gardens of Versailles are designed; the work- 
 men of the Low Countries and Holland find 
 themselves excelled by the new workshops 
 of France; a rivalry in labour, in fame, in 
 greatness, spreads every whore ; a new and 
 splendid language recounts and glorifies these 
 wonders for all future time. Boileau's letters 
 ai'e dated from the conquests of Louis XIV. ; 
 Racine puts upon the stage the weaknesses 
 and elegancies of the com*t ; MoHere surren- 
 ders his mighty genius to the greatness of 
 the throne ; La Fontaine himself appreciates 
 the groat deeds of the young king and be- 
 comes his flatterer. Such is the brilliant
 
 94 ON STYLE. 
 
 picture presented us by the first twenty years 
 of this memorable reign." 
 
 Now on this : " Tlie twilight of history 
 first dawns ujDon us in Asia; and thi'ough all 
 succeeding centuries, during which Africa 
 still remained almost entirely sunk in pro- 
 found darkness, and Europe itself arose tar- 
 dily and laboriously from out of the same, 
 there hovers a light over Asia which shows 
 us great revolutions, whose arena it was, not 
 indeed in equal, but in ever-increasing clear- 
 ness ; so that we can survey its progress in 
 every thing, and thence di'aw general prin- 
 ciples to milock the history of our race. 
 The further we travel back into this history, 
 the more we compare the Sagas of the na- 
 tions one with another from their origin and 
 their later accidents, and the more we learn 
 withal to recognise the diiferences of their 
 external civilisation, the more we shall be 
 always led back to Asia ; and the more pro- 
 bable does it appear that man has his home 
 peculiarly there, however much he may have 
 raised or degraded himself in other divisions 
 of the world, under foreign skies, and under 
 the influence of favourable and unfavourable 
 circumstances." 
 
 Now these are quotations from two books
 
 ON STYLE. 95 
 
 of prose extracts, compiled respectively by a 
 Frencliman and a German for the tuition of 
 their respective youth : the Grerman book is 
 published " by authority," and is the German 
 reading-book for the middle classes of their 
 higher academies : either therefore may be 
 taken as a representative book, and no one 
 ^vho knows any thing of French and German 
 prose will assert that the quotations I have 
 made are other than honest rei:)resentatives 
 of French and German style respectively. 
 Those styles are at the very opposite poles 
 of composition ; the former delighting in 
 sentences brief and perspicuous, the latter in 
 such as are lengthy and laborious: indeed 
 my extract is a very moderate example of tlie 
 German ; easily could sentences be quoted 
 of double and treble the length; some of 
 Kant's would fill an octavo page. The tend- 
 ency of the former is no doubt to monotony 
 and to effects somewhat spasmodic ; that of 
 the latter to confusion and hopeless obscur- 
 ity: but whereas the tendency of the German 
 writers to theu' error is a constant quan- 
 tity, and that a very largo one, that of the 
 French is a comparatively trifling one. The 
 French style is always Hn'cIv, translucent, 
 harmonious; the German (with tlic excep-
 
 gS ON STYLE. 
 
 tion of three or four of their great writers) 
 is nebulous, perplexed, and wearisome ; and 
 for this reason he piles clause on clause luitil 
 the overloaded sentence sinks in the waters 
 of confusion. I do not deny he writes for- 
 titer in re; his thoughts, muddy in expres- 
 sion, are original and profound ; but the 
 vehicle he conveys those thoughts in to your 
 door ! — it reminds one of one of his own eil- 
 wagen, such as were common enough a few 
 years back in unvisited parts of Grermany, 
 and called in bitter mockery '^ post - haste 
 chaises," with timber enough in them to 
 have built a jolly-boat, with rope -harness 
 and jades of posters, the lineal descendants 
 (probably) of the steed immortalised by 
 Shakespeare that carried Petrucliio to wed 
 the Shrew. 
 
 If, then, the first great object of style is 
 to present your thoughts in an intelligiljle 
 form to yom' reader or hearer, form your 
 sentences sim2:)le and decisive, with few and 
 brief clauses ; interpose here and there a 
 simple sentence of only one clause if pos- 
 sible ; avoid parentheses as far as you pos- 
 sibly can; if the choice hes between repe- 
 tition and obscurity, choose the former in- 
 stantly as the lesser fault : repetition may
 
 ON STYLE. 97 
 
 throAV some further light even if it is mono- 
 tonous ; obscurity is fiital, subversive of the 
 only object of yom' expressing your ideas in 
 language at all. 
 
 And now that we have decided that the 
 French model should be chosen, and the Ger- 
 man eschewed, for the framework of our 
 sentences, I will quote an anecdote of De 
 Quincey's to guide us in our choice of words ; 
 and you can have no better example of a 
 manly, nervous, and refined English style 
 than De Quincey's. " Some eight years 
 ago," he tells us, "we had occasion to look 
 for lodgings in a newly-built suburb of Lon- 
 don to the south of the Thames. The mis- 
 tress of the house Avas in regular training, it 
 appeared, as a student of newspapers. She 
 had no children ; the newspapers were her 
 children. There lay her studies ; that branch 
 of learning constituted her occupation from 
 morning to night; and the following were 
 among the words which she — this semibar- 
 barian — poured from her cornucopia diu*- 
 ing the very few minutes of our interview ; 
 Avhich interview was brought to an abrupt 
 issue by mere nervous agitation upon oiu* 
 part. The words, as noted down within an 
 hour of the occasion, and after allowing a 
 
 H
 
 98 ON STYLE. 
 
 fair time for our recovery, were these : first, 
 
 * category;' secondly, ' predicament;' thirdly, 
 
 * individuality ;' fourthly, ' procrastination ;' 
 fifthly, ' speaking diplomatically would not 
 wish to commit herself;' sixthly, ' would 
 sjoontaneously adopt the several modes of do- 
 mestication to the reciprocal interests ;' and 
 finally (which word it was that settled us), 
 seventhly, ' anteriorly ;' concerning Avhicli 
 word we solemnly declare and make affidavit 
 that neither from man, woman, or book, had 
 we ever heard it before this miique rencontre 
 with this abominable woman on the staircase. 
 The occasion which furnished the excuse for 
 such a word was this : from the staircase 
 window we saw a large shed in the rear of 
 the house ; apprehending some nuisance of 
 ' manufacturing industry' in our neighbour- 
 hood, ' What's that ?' we demanded. Mark 
 the answer : ' A shed ; that's what it is : vide- 
 licet a shed ; and anteriorly to the existing 
 shed there was — ' What there was pos- 
 terity must consent to have WTapt up in 
 darkness ; for there came on our nervous 
 seizure, which intercepted further communi- 
 cation. But observe as a point which took 
 away any gleam of consolation from the case, 
 the total absence of all malaprop picturesque-
 
 ON STYLE. 99 
 
 iicss, tliiit might liavc defeated its deadly 
 action upon the nervous system. No ; it is 
 due to the integrity of her disease, and to 
 the com])leteness of our suffering, that we 
 should attest tlio unimpeachable correctness 
 of her words, and of the syntax by which 
 she connected them." 
 
 The style of all the better and more in- 
 fluential newspapers has no doul:)t improved 
 since Do Quincey related this humorous anec- 
 dote ; but in the smaller provincial prints 
 you will find language as " tall" and mean- 
 ingless still ; in American papers you will 
 see it in its rankest luxuriance. Like bad 
 taste in dress or furniture, or bad manners, 
 it has its uses ; the same which our ances- 
 tors thought they extracted from the exhi- 
 bition of gibbeted highwaymen up and down 
 the high-roads. But there is a dee]ier 
 truth still, besides the warning, to be gathered 
 from that sublime vulgarity " anteriorly." 
 The sources of our noble English language 
 are double ; Home gave us one, Germany the 
 other ; and the worthy landlady, like many 
 of the " great semi -educated," drew from the 
 former well in preference to the latter : these 
 sources are so distinct that not merely pass- 
 aircs but whole books have been almost ex-
 
 I OO ox STYLE. 
 
 clusivelj composed in either of the two dia- 
 lects, if I may so term them ; it is this double 
 source that gives oui' language its peculiar 
 richness and munificence. From the German 
 we draw words of narrative and simple de- 
 scription, from tlie Roman words of thought 
 and passion ; from the one the language of 
 childhood, from the other that of reason, the 
 maturcr pov\^er of manhood : our position is 
 unique amongst the languages of Europe, 
 j)robably of the world ; we can write in two 
 languages at once ; not a word but has its syn- 
 onym, many two or three, not that they are 
 even exact equivalents, but sufficiently so for 
 ordinary purposes ; and to prove to you this 
 is no mere paradox, I would refer you to the 
 writings of such men as John Bunyan, Svv'ift, 
 and Cobbett, for Saxon, and Jeremy Taylor 
 and Jolmson for Latin-English. You will 
 find Avhole pages in either set of authors, 
 where one has hardly a word of Latin origin, 
 and the other not a word of Saxon, except 
 prepositions and auxiliaries, and such as are 
 unavoidable. Compare, or rather contrast 
 these two extracts ; I have purposely drawn 
 them from simple narratives of journeys, one 
 through Hampshire, the other through Scot- 
 land; and judge for yourself how the simpli- 
 
 .ii
 
 ON STYLE. lOI 
 
 city of Saxon-Englisli excels the laboriousness 
 of the Latmised, wherever the latter is not 
 demanded by the more complex character of 
 the subject. 
 
 " We got leave to go and see the grounds 
 at Waverley, Avhere all the old monks' gar- 
 den-walls are totally gone, and where the 
 spot is become a sort of lawn. I showed liim 
 the spot where the strawberry-garden was, 
 and where I, when sent to gather hautboys, 
 used to eat every remarkably fine one, in- 
 stead of letting it go to be eaten by Sir Ro- 
 bert Rich. I showed him a tree close by 
 the ruins of the abbey, from a limb of which 
 I once feU into the river, in an attempt to 
 take the nest of a crow, which had artfully 
 placed it upon a branch so far from the 
 trunk as not to be able to bear the weight of 
 a boy eight years old. I showed him an old 
 elm-tree which was hollow even then, into 
 which I, when a very Httle boy, saw a cat 
 go, which was as big as a middle-sized spa- 
 niel-dog ; for relating which I got a great 
 scolding, for standing to which I at last got 
 a beating, but stand to which I still did; 
 I have since many times repeated it, and I 
 would take my oath of it to this day." And 
 so for pages together of Cobbett's clear and
 
 I02 ON STYLE. 
 
 simple narrative you will not find a single 
 Latin intruder into liis domain of uncorrupted 
 English prose. And now listen respectfully 
 to tlie language of the great critic of the 
 eighteenth century. 
 
 " We are now treading that illustrious 
 island which was once the luminary of the 
 Caledonian regions ; whence savage clans 
 and roving barbarians derived the benefits 
 of knowledo;e and the blessino-s of religion. 
 To abstract the mind from all local emotion 
 would be impossible if it were endeavoiu'ed, 
 and would be foolish if it Avere possible. 
 Whatever withdraws us from the power of 
 oiu- senses, whatever makes the past, the dis- 
 tant, or the future predominate over the 
 present, advances us in the dignity of think- 
 ing beings. Far from me and my friends 
 be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us 
 indifferent and unmoved over any ground 
 wliich has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, 
 or virtue. The man is little to be envied 
 whose patriotism would not gain force on 
 the plains of Marathon, or whose piety would 
 not grow warmer among the ruins of lona." 
 
 With the exception of the last sentence, 
 the style of which is excellent, thanks to its 
 simplicity, what pompous, labom-cd, "tall"
 
 ON STYLE. 103 
 
 talk all this is! Aiid yet our grandfathers 
 tliouglit this as magnificent as it certainly is 
 mugnil()(|uent ; happily Burns, Scott, and 
 Byron, and Cobbett, Wordsworth, and Sou- 
 thcy have lived since then to redeem us from 
 such lifeless artificialities. 
 
 As a rule, then, never use a long word 
 when a short one is equally exjjressive ; 
 never use a Latinised w^ord when a homely 
 Saxon one will suit as well. On the other 
 hand, there is a pedantry to be avoided here 
 too : Avhen you get beyond simple subjects 
 and ordinary narrative into the higher re- 
 gions of argument, or philosophy, or criti- 
 cism, freely use the words they demand, 
 w'hicli our language, above all others, is rich 
 in : don't desjiise its wealth, but don't em- 
 ploy it on unsuitable objects: to ''narrate" 
 a journey in Johnson's sesquipedaUa verha is 
 just to build a boat wdth timbers cut out 
 for a ship. 
 
 It is a frequent and not an unreasonable 
 complaint, that the clergy choose their words 
 from a vocabidary utterly beyond the com- 
 prehension of most of their hearers. If they 
 woidd adopt this simple rule, to expunge any 
 word of Latin birth t)ut of their sermons 
 wherever a Saxon word would suit, this
 
 I04 ox STYLE. 
 
 would relieve them from half their dulness 
 by removing all obscurity of their language 
 at any rate. What think you would have 
 been the fate of Bunyan's immortal book had 
 he related the Pilgrim's journey in the pon- 
 derous " -osities" and " -ations" of John- 
 son, or the gorgeous Latinisms of Taylor? 
 Would all Burns's true pathos and hearty 
 humom' have secured, rather I should say 
 asserted, for his poems a place on every cot- 
 tier's shelf, had not the language, simple, 
 plain, unaffected, secm^ed them a home in 
 every cottier's memory ? And so when Eng- 
 Hsh preachers again adopt old Latimer's 
 simple Saxon and homely illustrations in 
 their sermons, they too will find, as he did, 
 no lack of audience or attention. 
 
 Adapt, therefore, your language to your 
 subject, and your audience or yoiu' readers, 
 as the case may be ; always erring, if err 
 you must, on the side of simplicity; just so 
 in the composition of your sentences, mar- 
 shal, as the French do, two deep, rather than 
 as the Germans, ten, twenty, any thing up 
 to infinity; and then too err, if err you 
 must, on the side of perspicuity; fear no- 
 thing so much as the charge of artificial lan- 
 guage and a cloud v stvle.
 
 IX. 
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 A S yet I have spoken of style only with 
 -^^ reference to yom* audience ; now we 
 will examine its principles on other grounds. 
 At present I have treated it, as De Quincey 
 has well put it, "as a mechanical process ; 
 whereas style is really organic ;" that is to 
 say, instinct with a life and power of its own. 
 Every style, if truly developed, is just what 
 good music is — really the reflection of the 
 composer's character, of his powers and dis- 
 position, intellectual and moral. This you 
 can see at a glance by reference to the writ- 
 ings and speeches of the best authors and 
 orators ; their styles are remarkably differ- 
 ent, and yet harmonise decidedly with their 
 characters : tlie fervid temperament and im- 
 petuous pride of Chatham, the philo80i)hic 
 and cultivated mind of Burke, the calm, 
 thoughtful, and judicial spirit of Hallam, are 
 as visible in their Avorks as in their biom-a-
 
 Io6 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 pliies, and — magnis componei'e jKirva — it is so 
 with us all. If youi' disposition is natui'ally 
 quiet, amiable, and retiring, you may write 
 as elegantly as Gray ; but if you aim to imi- 
 tate the vivacity of Fielding, it will be but 
 an imitation, a faint spectre, such a relation 
 as the ghosts in Homer bore to men : but on 
 the other hand, if your sense of the ridicu- 
 lous and inconsistent is peculiarly keen, you 
 may copy Swift's humoiu- and solemn irony, 
 and improve upon them by omitting his 
 coarseness. 
 
 You will notice continually in the course 
 of your reading how widely this truth is 
 spread. Li writing history, for instance, 
 which demands a considerable variation in 
 style, the statesman warms to the passages 
 descriptive of great acts of policy and great 
 state trials ; the soldier's style rises as his 
 heart kindles at the description of battles and 
 sieges; the scientific or artistic mind dwells 
 fondly on the progress of the victories of 
 industry. And it is just here that the an- 
 cient writers had so great an advantage over 
 us moderns — they lived so much more varied 
 lives than we do, that they could tlu'ow them- 
 selves into the labours of writing with a rich 
 exjoerience, drawn not from a well-filled li-
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 1 07 
 
 braiy, but from a personal knowledge of the 
 occm'renees in wliicli they had themselves 
 played no insignificant part. What won- 
 der that -^schylus should recount in im- 
 perishable language the overthrow of the 
 cU'caded Persians, when he had himself been 
 one of that gallant band who charged down 
 the plain of Marathon in tlie decisive battle 
 of the world ? We talk, by the Avay, loosely 
 enough of the decisive " battles," in the 
 plm-al ; as if any battle yet fought by mortal 
 man could compare with that which saved 
 Athens from becoming the chef -lieu of a 
 prefecture in some bloated Asiatic satrapy; 
 saved it for her own great futui'e and our 
 own, and all times, — the sacred altar from 
 whence all comino- o-enerations should kindle 
 their torches of science, literatm-e, or art. 
 
 What marvel is it that Thucydides the 
 scholar sliovdd Avrite inspired by the fire of 
 Thucydides the soldier, and the wisdom of 
 Thucydides the politician? Or that Xcno- 
 phon the well-educated country -gentleman 
 should still claim our attention to the diaries 
 of Xenophon the volunteer and general? 
 Or that note-books of Caesar's should still 
 interest — Caesar the statesman, general, and 
 first emperor of Rome ; the one man of his
 
 Io8 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 time who could read the future of his mighty 
 country ? 
 
 In each of these great writers, too, their 
 style is unmistakably a reflected image of 
 their own character ; nor, if you think a mo- 
 ment upon it, could it well be otherwise, if 
 a man is but ''true to himself" It is im- 
 possible to conceive Hooker's style — Hooker, 
 the father of English prose — as careless or 
 undignified ; or Dryden's, whoso prose has 
 happily outlived much of his verse, as feeble 
 and obscure ; or Gibbon's as mean and vul- 
 gar ; or Burke's as incomplete and timid ; or 
 Napier's as tame. Each adopted, as all great 
 writers have done, their own style, formed 
 not luifrequently on the model of another, 
 but not with any slavish imitation ; they 
 made their models' style their own, and thus' 
 their own became, as I said before, an or- 
 ganic, not a mere mechanical existence. 
 
 Now, as you are anxious to form a 
 good style for yom"self, I will extract some 
 passages at once characteristic of some of 
 our greatest writers, and expressive of a 
 variety of feelings and passions, which 
 each possessed more or less conspicuously, 
 and which they have clothed in words, 
 either with the aid of simple language, or 
 
 
 I
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 109 
 
 by adopting some figrn'o of spcecli or pecu- 
 liarity of style. 
 
 I have already spoken of the language 
 and style suitable for a plain simple narrati\'e 
 of simple life — a style based on Cobbett and 
 Swift, Cobbett's master — which you would do 
 well to cultivate ; as Turner worked for years 
 with brown and gray tints alone, before he 
 ventured to enter the realms of jroro-eous co- 
 lour, in which he afterwards reigned as king 
 without a rival : but the moment you reach 
 beyond this narrow limit, and have energetic 
 action to describe, your language must rise 
 to the occasion. See how Napier's does, — 
 his sentences fall swift and decisive as one of 
 Jus own rifle shot. If you w^ould know how 
 varied and rich a language om-s is on one, 
 and that a very narrow', topic, how lively, 
 vigorous, and animated w^ords themselves be- 
 come in the hands of a master, himself full 
 of lofty sentiment and generous sjTiipathy 
 with the scenes, deeds, and men he has im- 
 mortalised, — read the battles and sieges in 
 Napier's Peninsular TFar, and read tliis now as 
 a sample ; it is the closing scene at Albuera. 
 
 '' Suddenly and sternly recovering, they 
 closed on their terrible enemies; and then 
 was seen with what a strength, and majesty
 
 no ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 the British soklier fights. In vain did Soult, 
 by voice and gesture, animate his French- 
 men ; in vain did the hardiest veterans, extri- 
 cating themselves from the crowded cohimns, 
 sacrifice their lives to gain time fi3r the mass 
 to open out on such a fair field ; in vain 
 did the mass itself bear up, and, fiercely 
 striving, fire indiscriminately upon friends 
 and foes, while the horsemen hovering on 
 the flank threatened to charge the advan- 
 cing line. JSTothing could stop that aston- 
 ishing infantry; no sudden burst of im- 
 disciplined valour, no nervous enthusiasm, 
 weakened the stability of their order ; their 
 flashino; eves were bent on the dark columns 
 in their front; their measured tread shook 
 the ground ; their dreadful voUeys swept 
 away the head of every formation ; their deaf- 
 ening shouts overpowered the different cries 
 that broke from aU parts of the tumultuous 
 crowd, as, foot by foot, and with a horrid 
 carnage, it was driven by the incessant vi- 
 gour of the attack to the furthest edge of the 
 hill. In vain did the French reserves, join- 
 ing with the struggling multitudes, endea- 
 vour to sustain the fight; their efforts only 
 increased the irremediable confusion, and 
 the mighty mass giving way like a loosened
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 1 1 1 
 
 cliff went headlong do'^^^l the ascent. The 
 rain poured after in streams discoloured with 
 l)l()od, and fifteen hundred imwoundcd men, 
 tlio remnant of six thousand unconquerable 
 British soldiers, stood triumphant on the 
 fatal field." 
 
 And here observe, besides the impetuosity 
 of the st}de, rivalling that of the soldiers it 
 describes, how decidedly and persistently the 
 narrative itself marches forwards ; the sen- 
 tences may be long, but they are never in- 
 volved ; and notice above aU what Mrs. Mala- 
 prop liked so well, "a choice derangement of 
 epitaphs ;" each adjective and adverb fitting 
 into its place almost as if placed there by 
 Shakespeare's unerring hand. None but a 
 master in composition can summon each 
 epithet he requires, and set them without 
 stint and yet without redundance into the 
 posts they are to occupy. 
 
 Amonffst a crowd of Avriters not much 
 inferior I must mention to you two who, 
 invaluable in other respects, should also be 
 read as masters in the art of descriptive 
 writing; Macaulay, of scenes in history; 
 Ruskin, of scenes in nature and criticisms 
 in art. In the essays of the former the trial 
 of Warren Hastings, and in his history the
 
 112 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 battle of Sedgemoor, tlie trial of the seven 
 bishops, and the siege of Londonderry, stand 
 j^reominent for vividness. You will see there 
 all that language can do to recal the past. 
 A reader must indeed have been denied by 
 nature the gift of imagination who cannot 
 see that dignified court, the gifted accusers, 
 and the splendid throng that crowded to 
 the impeachment of the great proconsul of 
 India. 
 
 Macaulay is so well known, and his 
 works so widely circulated, that you can 
 easily find the places I have referred you 
 to, and read them at length. Huskin's are 
 imfortunately less appreciated, partly from 
 their great expense, partly fi'om the fact 
 that art is naturally not so popular a sub- 
 ject amongst Englishmen as political liis- 
 tory. I will quote an extract from liis 
 Stones of Venice, that you may judge for 
 yourself whether it is not advisable to know 
 more of an author who can at least express 
 his thouo;hts in lano;uao;e at once so nervous 
 and so picturesque. 
 
 You must miderstand, that in order to 
 bring the scene of St. Mark's Place at Venice 
 most vividly before his readers he takes you 
 first to the west front of an English cathedral,
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. l I 3 
 
 and tlion passes rapidly to the great Italian 
 clmrcii : lieiglitening the lights and deepen- 
 ing the shadows, and brightening the co- 
 loured niarhles of the latter by contrasting 
 thein with tlie sober tints and uniform grays 
 of the northern stones and the northern 
 climate. "And so we will go along the 
 straight walk to the Avest front, and there 
 stand for a time, looking up at its deep 
 pointed porches and the dark places be- 
 tween their pillars, where there were statues 
 once, and Avhere the fragments here and 
 there of a stately figure are still left, which 
 has in it the likeness of a king — perhaps 
 indeed a king on earth — perhaps a saintly 
 king long ago in heaven ; and so higher 
 and higher up to the great mouldering 
 Avail of rugged sculpture and confused ar- 
 cades, shattered and gray, and grisly Avith 
 the heads of dragons and mocking fiends, 
 Avorn by the rain and SAvirling Avinds into 
 yet unscemlier shape, and coloured on the 
 stony scales by the deep russet orange lichen, 
 melancholy gold; and so higher still to the 
 bleak toAvers so far above that the eye loses 
 itself amongst the bosses of their tracery, 
 though they are rude and strong, and only 
 sees, like a drift of eddying black points now 
 
 I
 
 114 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 closing, now scattering, and now settling 
 suddenly into invisible places amongst tlie 
 bosses and flowers, tlie crowd of restless 
 birds, tliat fill the old square with that cease- 
 less clangour of theirs, so harsh and yet so 
 soothing, like the cries of birds on a solitary 
 coast between the cliffs and the sea." 
 
 And now study this beautiful word-paint- 
 ing of the art of the sunny sovith. " We will 
 push fast through them into the shadow of the 
 pillars at the end of the Bocca di Piazza, and 
 there we forget them all ; for between those 
 pillars there opens a great light, and in the 
 midst of it, as we advance slowly, the vast 
 tower of St. Mark's seems to lift itself visibly 
 forth from the level field of chequered stones, 
 and on each side the countless arches prolong 
 themselves into ranged symmetry, as if the 
 rugged and irregular houses that pressed 
 together above us in the dark alley had been 
 struck back into sudden obedience and lovely 
 order, and all their rude casements and 
 broken walls had been transformed into arches 
 charged with goodly sculpture and fluted 
 shafts of delicate stone. 
 
 "And well may they fall back, for beyond 
 those troops of ordered arches there rises a 
 vision out of the earth, and all the great 
 
 i/!
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. I I 5 
 
 •square seems to have opened from it in a 
 kind of awe, that wo may see it far away ; a 
 multitude of pillars and wliite domes, clus- 
 tered into a long low pyramid of colom*ed 
 light, a treasure - keep, it seems, partly of 
 gold, and partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, 
 holl(Jwed beneath into five great vaulted 
 porches ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset 
 with sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber, 
 and delicate as ivory — sculpture fantastic 
 and involved, of palm-leaves and lilies, and 
 grapes and pomegranates, and birds clinging 
 and fluttering among the branches, all twined 
 too-ether into an endless network of buds and 
 ])lumes ; and in the midst of it the solemn 
 forms of angels,, sculptui'ed and robed to the 
 feet, and leaning to each other across the 
 gates, their figures indistinct among the 
 ii'leamino; of the fjolden o-round throuo-h the 
 leaves beside them, interrupted and dim, like 
 the mornino; lifjlit as it faded back amono- the 
 l)ranchcs of Eden, when first its gates were 
 angel - guarded long ago. And round the 
 walls of the porches there are set pillars of 
 variegated stones — jaspar and porphyry, and 
 deep green serpentine, spotted with fitd<.cs of 
 snow, and marbles that half refuse and half 
 yield to the sunsliine, Cleopatra-like. ' their
 
 1 1 6 ox ENGLISH co:mpositiox. 
 
 bluest veins to kiss ;' the sliadow, us it steals 
 back from them, revealing line after line of 
 aznre undulation, as the receding tide leaves 
 the waved sand ; their capitals rich with 
 interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herb- 
 age, and drifting leaves of acanthus and 
 vine, and mystical signs all beginning and 
 endino- in the cross. And above them in 
 the broad archivolts a continuous chain of 
 lano'uao-e and of life, an^rels and the signs of 
 heaven, and the labours of men, each in its 
 appointed season upon the earth ; and above 
 these another range of glittering pinnacles, 
 mixed with white arches edged with scarlet 
 flowers — a confusion of delight — amidst 
 which the breasts of the Greek horses are 
 seen blazino; in their breadth of golden 
 strength, and the St. Mark's lion lifted on 
 a blue field covered with stars, until at last, 
 as if in ecstasy, the crests of the arches break 
 into a marble foam, and toss themselves far 
 into the bhie sky in flashes and wreaths of 
 sculptured spray, as if the breakers on the 
 Lido shore had been frost-bomid before they 
 fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them 
 Avith coral and amethyst. 
 
 " Between that grim cathedral of England 
 and this, what an interval ! there is a type of
 
 ON EXGLLSII COMPOSITION. 1 1 7 
 
 it in tlio very birds that liaunt tliom ; for 
 instead of tlic restless crowd — hoarse-voiced 
 and sable -winged — drifting on the bleak 
 upper air, the St. Mark's porches are full of 
 doves that nestle among the marble foliage, 
 and mingle the soft irridescence of their liv- 
 ing plumes, changing at every motion with 
 the tints hardly less lovely that have stood 
 unchanged for seven himdrcd years." 
 
 Now these are but extracts from one of 
 a series of great works, the greatest yet that 
 have ever appeared on art in the English 
 language. And we shall value style the 
 more highly when we remember that the 
 author undertook to establish princi})les 
 either forgotten or ignored or des])ised by 
 the artists and critics of his day; to do battle 
 against the fetish-worship of great names and 
 pretentious authorities; to raise the noble arts 
 of architecture and painting from being the 
 plaything of the Avealthy, to be the delight 
 and instruction of all who would educate 
 themselves sufficiently to a])preciate their 
 Avorth; to establish a standard of eternal 
 principles — i)rinci})les not true because ar- 
 tistic, but artistic because true — against the 
 dogmas of men who ruled in art for the same 
 reason that the one-eyed man was king
 
 1 1 8 ox ENGLISH COMPOSITIOX. 
 
 amongst tlie blind. Eemembering all tliis, 
 we shall value the aid of such an ally as 
 style more than ever — an ally which in this 
 case, though at times perhaps too caustic and 
 assuming, has by its own vigour and loveli- 
 ness attracted many to a class of works which 
 would otherwise have been passed by un- 
 opened. What a pleasant address, and a 
 clear enunciation, and musical voice, and 
 genial manners are to a man, that and much 
 more is a good style to composition ; and we 
 need no more convincing proof of its puis- 
 sance than the total revolution in opinion 
 concerning art mainly effected through the 
 instrumentality of the charming writings of 
 this one author. 
 
 i
 
 X. 
 
 ox ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 T PROPOSE in this my last letter on this 
 -^ subject to give illustrations of what are 
 called the ornaments of composition — such as 
 irony, pathos, Avit, banter, &c. ; the hills and 
 valleys, broken rocks and stately masses in 
 the ordinary and necessarily dead level of com- 
 position, ■whether in history, argument, or ora- 
 tory. But in reading extracts from speeches, 
 you must recollect that these passages Avero 
 composed and introduced as spoken, not 
 written compositions; whatever tameness at- 
 taches itself to them now is attributable to 
 them in their present form. Picture to your- 
 self any assembly of English gentlemen, any 
 House of Commons — that of the austen* Bare- 
 bones alone excepted — and then imagine tlie 
 shouts of laughter that nnist have greeted the 
 birth of the following witty meta})hor. 
 
 In order fully to enjoy the absiu'dity of the 
 picture, you must understand that the Earl
 
 I20 ON EXGLISn COilPOSITlOX. 
 
 of Chatham had. just seriously damaged his 
 great reputation for wisdom and lessened his 
 2)0])ularity by the acceptance of a peerage ; 
 he was no lono;er " the great Commoner." 
 And in order to get a ministry together, lie 
 liad been reduced to collect them from the 
 most opposite and least likely quarters. Burke 
 Avas now a rising member in the O])position, 
 having cntei-ed the House comparatively 
 late in life, rich with the thought and study 
 of years, and gifted with that astonishing 
 eloquence which could excite his hearers 
 equally to laughter or to tears — ^wliicli could 
 enliven by vivid illustrations the most weari- 
 some subjects, and ennoble a debate by 
 founding it upon arguments based on prin- 
 ciple, instead of on tactions interests. 
 
 He has thus immortalised the handiwork 
 of the newly-created Earl of Chatham. "He 
 made an administration so chequered and 
 speckled ; he put together a piece of joinery 
 so crossly indented and so whimsically dove- 
 tailed ; a cabinet so variously inlaid ; such a 
 piece of diversified mosaic; such a tessellated 
 pavement Avithout cement, here a bit of black 
 stone and there a bit of white ; patriots and 
 courtiers ; king's friends and republicans ; 
 Whiefs and Tories : treacherous friends and 
 
 I
 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 1 2 1 
 
 open enemies, — tliat it was indeed a very 
 curicnis sliow, but utterly unsafe to touch and 
 unsure to stand on. The colleagues "whom 
 lie had assorted at the same boards stared at 
 each other, and were obliged to ask, ' Sir, 
 ■\-()ur name?' ' Sir, you have the advantage 
 of me.' 'Mr. Such-a-one, I beg a thou- 
 sand pardons.' I venture to say it did so 
 hapj)cn that persons had a single office di- 
 vided between them who had never spoken 
 to each other in their lives until they found 
 tliomselves, they knew not how, pigging to- 
 gether, heads and points, in the same truckle- 
 bed." 
 
 And now, if you would conceive how 
 deeply the sceva indi<jnatio at the perpetra- 
 tion of a shameful faction can stir a gene- 
 rous mind, read this majestic protest against 
 one of the gravest crimes that blackens the 
 })ages of the history of England — the em- 
 ployment of Indians in our war against the 
 Americans for their independence ; a war 
 Avhich, begun in obstinate' infatuation, was 
 conducted with imbecility and concluded 
 with dishonour. The noble lord referred 
 to by the Earl of Chatham is Lord Sutfolk, 
 who had defended this disgraceful measure 
 on the ground that it is perfectly allowable
 
 122 ON EXGLISII COMPOSITION. 
 
 to use " all tlie means -wliicli God and nature 
 have put into our hands ;" which sentiment ' 
 would of course have included a liberal use 
 of poisoned Aveapons and poisoned wells and 
 food. " My lords," was the scathing reply 
 of the old orator, " we are called u])on as 
 members of this House, as men, as Chris- 
 tians, to j^rotest against such horrible bar- 
 barity. ' That God and nature have put into 
 our hands.' What ideas of God and natm'e 
 that noble lord may entertain I know not; 
 but I know that such detestable principles 
 are equally abhorrent to religion and hu- 
 manity. What ! to attribute the sacred 
 sanction of God and nature to the massa- 
 cres of the Indian's scalping -knife ; to the 
 cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, de- 
 vouring, drinking the blood of his mangled 
 victims ! Such notions shock every precept 
 of morality, every feeling of humanity, every 
 sentiment of honour. These abominable prin- 
 ciples, and this more abominable avowal of 
 them, demand the most decisive indignation. 
 I call upon that right reverend and this most 
 learned bench to vindicate the religion of their 
 God, to support the justice of their country; 
 I call upon the honour of your lordships to 
 reverence the dignity of your ancestors a::d 
 
 j
 
 ON ENGLTSn COMPOSITION". I 23 
 
 to maintain your own ; ] call iijjon tlic spirit 
 and liumanity of my comitry to vindicate tlio 
 national cliaractor." 
 
 But of all tlio ornaments, or rather powers 
 — forces, I should say — of composition, none 
 equal in sustained strength that which {^wift 
 nsed so mightily in all, and especiall}' in his 
 political -writings. " The lord of irony, that 
 master-spell," as one poet has descrihed him; 
 who could "laugh and shake in Rahelais' 
 easy- chair," as another has m'cII pictured 
 him ; to which remark a third added the 
 mournfully true reflection that " it was the 
 soul of liahelais dwelling in a diy place." 
 Whether the images evoked are sim]»ly lu- 
 dicrous and lively, as in some of his travels, 
 or grave and serious, or grotesque and hor- 
 rible, the effect is equally irresistible, the 
 blow equally trenchant. In one of his pam- 
 phbts on Ireland he discusses at great length 
 and with an unrivalled mock gravity, the pro- 
 priety of killing and salting down all Irish 
 babies for the English market. Do not omit 
 to notice in this extract (as in all his Avrit- 
 ings) the transparent clearness and (if I may 
 so call it) the nervous elasticity of his simple 
 Saxon language, so well suited for the ex- 
 pression of that master- s})ell which Sydney
 
 I 24 ox ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 fSmitli too, amongst other political writers, 
 well nnderstood how to wield. 
 
 The extracts I have chosen are from one 
 of the most j^owerful of all Swift's works, and 
 the very title of which is too good to be for- 
 gotten : " An Argument to pro^-e that the 
 abolishing of Christianity in England may, 
 as things now stand, be attended with some 
 inconvenience, and perhaps not produce those 
 good effects proposed thereby." 
 
 " It is likewise urged that there are by 
 computation in this kingdom above ten thou- 
 sand parsons, whose revenues, added to those 
 of my lords the bishoj)s, would suffice to main- 
 tain at least two hundred young gentlemen of 
 wit and pleasure, and freethinking enemies 
 to priestcraft, narrow principles, pedantry and 
 prejudices, who might be an ornament to the 
 coiu't and town ; and then, again, so great a 
 number of able- [bodied] divines might be a 
 recruit to om* fleet and armies. This, indeed, 
 a})pears to be a consideration of some weight. 
 But then, on the other side, several things 
 deserve to be considered likewise ; as, first, 
 whether it may not be thought necessary 
 that in certain tracts of country, like what 
 we call parishes, there should be one man at 
 least of abilities to read and write. Then it
 
 OSr ENGLISH COMPOSITION. I 2 5 
 
 seems a mtoii*;^ computation tliat ilie reve- 
 nues of the Church throngliout the island 
 would bo largo enough to maintain two 
 Imndred young gentlemen, or even half that 
 mimber, after the present refined way of liv- 
 ing ; that is, to allow each of them such a 
 rent as, in the modern form of speech, would 
 make them easy. 
 
 "It is again objected, as a very absm-d 
 ridiculous custom, that a set of men should 
 be suffered, mucli less employed and hired, 
 to bawd one day in seven against the lawful- 
 ness of those methods most in use towards 
 the pui'suit of greatness, riches, or pleasure, 
 which arc the constant practice of all men 
 alive. But this objection is, I think, a little 
 unworthy so refined an age as oui's. Let 
 us argue this matter calmly. I appeal to 
 the heart of any polite freethinker whether, 
 in the pursuit of gratifying a predominant 
 passion, he hath not always felt a wonderful 
 incitement bv rcflectino- it was a thinof for- 
 bidden ; and therefore we see, in order to 
 cultivate this taste, the wisdom of the nation 
 hath taken special care that the ladies should 
 be furnished with prohibited silks and the 
 men with prohibited Avine. And, indeed, it 
 were to bo wished that some otlier prohibi-
 
 126 . ox ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 tions were promoted in order to improve tlie 
 pleasm'es of tlie town ; which, for want of 
 sucli ex]5edients, begin ah'eadj, as I am told, 
 to flag and grow languid, giving way daily 
 to cruel inroads from the spleen." 
 
 It is rather a singular coincidence that 
 two of the most thrilling and therefore best- 
 known instances of pathos should occur in 
 the speeches of two of the greatest orators 
 in the world — speeches delivered on almost 
 identically the same subjects, and yet at an 
 interval of more than two thousand years ; 
 Demosthenes pleading the cause of the un- 
 happy Phocians, Burke that of the miser- 
 able inhabitants of the Ca^'uatie, in language 
 almost as touching to read now as when it 
 was composed. But the passage in Burke is 
 well known ; for who that has once read can 
 ever forget the crowd of prisoners " enve- 
 loped in a whirlwind of cavahy ;" the " peo- 
 ple in beggary — a nation that stretched out 
 its hands for food;" "the fulfilment of their 
 impious vow by Hyder Ali and his yet more 
 ferocious son ;" and the climax, where the 
 orator bids his audience figure to them- 
 selves an equal extent of " our sweet and 
 cheerful country — from Tliames to Trent 
 north and south, and from the Irish to the
 
 ox ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 1 27 
 
 (jrcrman Sea cast and -west — emptied and 
 embowellcd (may God avert tlie omen of our 
 crimes !) by so aecomplislied a desolation" ? 
 
 There is another example of pathos, less 
 oratorieal in its language, hut still more afi^'ect- 
 iug in its nature, in Burke's mention of his 
 son, in his memorable reply to the attacks 
 made by *tlio Duke of Bedford and Earl of 
 Lauderdale upon his pension. As an ex- 
 pression of personal grief and desolation it is 
 manh', unostentatious, and yet singularly 
 affecting ; never did words convey more 
 vividly how the iron had entered into the 
 soul of a i)arent. To understand the reason 
 for his seemingly intruding his o"\vn private 
 sorrow upon the public, you should read the 
 " Letter to a Noble Lord," and master the 
 circumstances to which that letter owed its 
 existence : often must the noble lord — and 
 futm'c generations of his family too perhaps 
 — have cursed the spirit of folly Avliich evoked 
 such an annihilating rejoinder. Wit, sar- 
 casm, learning, logic, ekxpieucc, an unequal- 
 led copia verhonim, are ruthlessly devoted 
 to crushing his ill-judging critic ; and the 
 memory of his captious assailant is now only 
 preserved to us by the genius of his mighty 
 antagonist.
 
 128 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 Long before the year 1770 the rapid in- 
 crease of the national debt had akeady caused 
 great uneasiness : in that year it attracted 
 special attention, and public meetings were 
 held in varioiis counties to compel the reduc- 
 tion of our excessive annual expenditure ; 
 the Duke of Richmond in the Upper House, 
 and Burke in the Lower, adverted to the 
 subject; and in 1780 Burke moved for leave 
 to bring in no less than five bills to abolish 
 useless places and otherwise reduce this pre- 
 posterous extravagance — an extravagance we 
 are still paying for now, and which many a 
 generation after us will have to bear too. 
 Here again you should read, or rather study, 
 the whole speech ; it is a masterpiece of 
 argument, of thorough acquaintance with 
 and exliaustion of his subject, a storehouse of , 
 sound political principles on the subjects of 
 revenue and commerce, and embellished with 
 such graces of style as one would have 
 thought impossible in a speech on so un- 
 poetic a subject as economy and trade. 
 
 Amongst other propositions in the bill 
 was the following : that all claimants on the 
 exchequer, including officers of the court and 
 ministers of state, should be arranged in cer- 
 tain classes, and paid according to whatever
 
 ON EXGLISH COMPOSITIOX. I 29 
 
 class llioy stood in ; tlic first before the se- 
 cond, and so on up to the ninth and hist: if 
 tlicre was not sufficient money in tlic ex- 
 chequer to pay all, the deficit was not to Lo 
 made good — as had liitherto been done — by 
 forestalling the revenue of the coming year, 
 but the ninth class were to lose their sala- 
 ries, then the eighth, and so on. Now the 
 classes were arranged according to their 
 utility to the country, and the inability to 
 recover their due on the part of the members 
 of that class : so the judges were placed in 
 the first, the ambassadors in the second, 
 but in the eighth the officers of honour about 
 the king, and in the ninth the premier, the 
 chancellor of the exchequer, and other lords 
 of the treasury : thus — assuming that the 
 vast allowance of the civil list was sufficient 
 — it was just, as well as politic, that the loss 
 should fall on those through whose delin- 
 quency it was occasioned. Then follows a 
 most ludicrous picture of the consternation 
 and uproar in the royal household, upon 
 whom the loss would fell innnediately after 
 the great minister of the crown, on tlic arri- 
 val of an insolvent quarter. 
 
 " If the failure from the delinquency 
 shonld be very considerable, it will fall on 
 
 K
 
 130 ox ENGLISH COMPOSITIOX. 
 
 the class directly above the first lord of the 
 treasury, as well as upon himself and his 
 
 board It will fall lipon masters of the 
 
 horse, upon lord-chamberlains, upon lord- 
 stewards, upon grooms of the stole, and lords 
 of the bedchamber. The household troops 
 form an army who will be ready to mutiny 
 for want of pay, and whose mutiny will 
 be really dreadful to a commander-in-chief. 
 A rebellion of the thirteen lords of the bed- 
 chamber would be far more terrible to a 
 minister, and wordd probably affect his power 
 more to the quick, than a revolt of the thir- 
 teen colonies. What an uproar such an event 
 woidd create at court ! What petitions and 
 committees and associations woidd it not pro- 
 duce ! Bless me, what a clattering of white 
 sticks and yellow sticks would be about his 
 head ; Avhat a storm of gold keys would fly 
 about the cars of the minister ; what a shower 
 of Georges and Thistles, and medals, and col- 
 lars of S.S. would assail him at his first en- 
 trance into the antechamber after an insol- 
 vent Christmas quarter ! A tumult that could 
 not be appeased by all the harmony of the 
 new-year's ode." 
 
 I have quoted thus largely out of Burke's 
 speech for two reasons ; firstly because of 

 
 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. I 3 I 
 
 tlic excellence and the variety of the style 
 of ornament ; and secondly because there is 
 certainly no other single orator from -whose 
 works so much is to be learnt of sound prac- 
 tical wisdom in the science of government : 
 it is no mere orator or voluble talker that we 
 have to learn from, but a man gifted Avith 
 a clear insight into principles, and yet well 
 awaro of how far those principles would be 
 practicable in politics; deeply imbued witli 
 Solon's wisdom, to know the best laws pos- 
 sible, but propose the best that would be toler- 
 ated. Burke, remember, was the one and only 
 man who, as Adam Smith admitted, at once 
 comprehended the total revolution he pro- 
 posed in political economy, and who, in fact, 
 had in thought anticipated him. Burke was, 
 beyond all doubt, ''the best judge of a pic- 
 ture he ever kncAV," was the assertion of Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds ; his knowledge was as 
 various as his genius was profound ; a laiow- 
 ledge embracing even one or two handicrafts. 
 If therefore you can acquire vigour and ele- 
 gance of style simultaneously with an insight 
 into sound political truths, so much the bet- 
 ter. Too often with us the jewel is spoilt by 
 the setting ; worth marred by tastelessness : 
 here you have, with some exceptions — huma-
 
 m 
 
 132 ON ENGLISH COMPOSITION. 
 
 owm est ervare — the jewel and its setting each 
 in their perfect beauty. It is better, more- 
 over, not to try too much at first : the learner 
 in geology studies a gravel-pit, then a valley, 
 before he tries to trace dislocated strata across 
 a broken country. Few were the authors, 
 but thoroughly read and re-read, from whom 
 Southey learnt his Enghsh prose ; and there 
 are few greater masters in English prose 
 writing than Southey. And if you cannot 
 content yourself wath Swift and Burke for 
 masters to study with for some time at least, 
 you may perhaps, as a witty Irish priest told 
 an Englishman who ridiculed his belief in 
 Purgatory, " go further and fare worse."
 
 XI. 
 ON METAPHOR. 
 
 lUTETAPHOR is at once the oldest and 
 ■^ -^ tlie most "widely used of all the orna- 
 ments of composition in every language, wlie- 
 tlier of civilised or barbarous nations, and in 
 every form of poetry and prose alike, extend- 
 ing from a single word to a complicated 
 sentence. It is, to a great extent, not so 
 much an ornament of language as a neces- 
 sary part of language itself — simple ideas 
 necessarily preceding complex. Just as the 
 expression "would run, " the savage animal 
 devom's "with his mouth;" so it is not so much 
 poetical as natural to speak of " the mouth," 
 not " the edge" of the sword ; and a flame 
 as a "devouring" fire, and ''tasting" of 
 death, as the old Hebrews did. Again, in- 
 asmuch as the natural expression of joy is 
 laughter and song, it is not (as wo usually 
 term it) a poetic image, but rather a neces- 
 sary mode of expressing the simi)lest ideas,
 
 .134 0^ METAPHOE. 
 
 to speak of tlie fields standing so thick Avitli * 
 corn that they "laugh and sing." Not that 
 I deny the poetic beauty of metaphor, but as 
 a matter of fact it can easily be shown that 
 in all early literature (which always takes the 
 form of poetry to aid the memory) metaphor 
 was employed, not because it was poetic, but 
 because it was indispensable for the purpose 
 of expressing one's ideas in intellfgible lan- 
 guage at all. In later, not in primitive times, 
 it is emj)loyed not compulsorily, but volun- 
 tarily, to add a vividness and piquancy to 
 words and ideas that would otherwise sound 
 bald and tame. 
 
 It is said by those who have studied the 
 subject, that a nation may be known by its 
 proverbs ; certainly the bent of a nation's 
 disposition is at least as clearly marked in 
 the metaphors most in vogue amongst its 
 speakers and writers. The ruling passion 
 with the Athenians — whom we really mean 
 when we talk loosely about " the old Greeks" 
 — was a love of the sea, a craving after and 
 determination to secure and maintain their 
 naval supremacy; and so strongly is this fact 
 marked in their literatm'e, in their use of 
 metaphors alone, that had their history been 
 lost, we could have rightly assumed that a
 
 ox ]^rETAPnoR. 1 3 5 
 
 people Avho could hardly open its mouth with- 
 out expressing its ideas in naval imagery 
 must have been very devoted to, and de- 
 pendent on, the sea. Which in point of fact 
 the Athenians were : their empire lay scat- 
 tered (like ours) over a crowd of islands and 
 sea-girt promontories; their mines lay be- 
 yond the sea; their daily bread came ovi'r 
 the sea ; they depended on the sea ccfually 
 for their daily subsistence and their ])oh'tical 
 supremacy. Their city, though originally 
 built inland, they, as it Avere, dragged down 
 and chained to the sea by their long walls ; 
 and every stone of those sea-walls overlooked 
 the bay of Salamis, the scene of such a naval 
 victory to them as those of La Hogue and the 
 Nile and Camperdown and Trafalgar might 
 perhaps be to us rolled into one, or as if we 
 could localise the many various spots where 
 the Spanish Armada suffered, partly from our 
 attacks, but mostly from tempests, and fix tliat 
 one spot within sight of St. l^aul's Cathedral. 
 It is an emharras des ricJiesses, " a sea" of 
 metaphors taken from the sea, wdiich greets 
 you at every step in the Athenian writers. 
 When Medea, in Euripides' greatest drama, 
 wants words to express her utter desolation, 
 she does not merely describe her loneliness.
 
 136 ON METAPHOE. 
 
 as Catharine (in Henry VIII.) does so mov- 
 ingly, 
 
 " Alas, I am a woman friendless, helpless." 
 
 Whose complaint runs thus : 
 
 " Nay, forsooth, my friends, 
 They that must weigh out my afflictions. 
 They that my trust must grow to, live not here ; 
 They are, as all my other comforts, far hence 
 In mine o^vn country, lords." 
 
 Notice how Medea's language, exactly the 
 same in meaning, differs in metaphor : 
 
 " Nor have I 
 Or mother's love, brother's, or friend's, wherein 
 Safe anchorage to find from these my sorrows." 
 
 And in the next scene, where her banish- 
 ment is announced to her : 
 
 " Most wretched am I, utterly undone : 
 My foes crowd every stitch of sail to harm me. 
 Nor friendly port appears to save from ruin." 
 
 And when at length gleams of hope do arise 
 upon her clouded horizon, the same metaphor 
 is still sustained : 
 
 " For this good man, just where I lahour'd most, 
 Appears a port of refuge for my jilans : 
 Here will I bind my hawsers to the shore." 
 
 Nor is it to be thought that this language is 
 peculiar to the character ; in the play oiHer^
 
 ON METAPHOR. I 37 
 
 cules gone mad the injunction given to Mad- 
 ness runs thus : 
 
 " Eouse liim to fuiy, let murder loose full sail." 
 
 So in the CEdlpxis at Colonics y the Chorus 
 Lids the man of many sorrows, 
 
 "Begone, cast off your moorings from our land." 
 
 And lest this should be tliouo-lit the more 
 exalted language of tragedy, turn to Aristo- 
 phanes' broad comedy, and hear the language, 
 bold and reckless, of the outspoken Athenian 
 populace : the key-note to the whole passage 
 is struck in the use of the word ' sea ;' in a 
 natural, not a metaj^horical sense at all ; 
 but in a moment the wits of a naval people 
 are set workino; out naval imafjes. See his 
 Kniglds (1. 432), where in the course of a few 
 lines you have three speakers sharing be- 
 tween them the following metaphors : " a fu- 
 rious squall of rage and anger," '' take in 
 reefs," " run before the gale," " sovmd the 
 pump," '' slack away the sheet," " a gale of 
 false accusations," " let go your clew-lines," 
 '•the gale's abating:" — it would be impos- 
 sible to translate the passage without adding 
 much explanatory matter. Both here and 
 in many another passage in their great co- 
 median you may easily see how largely me-
 
 138 ON METAPHOR. 
 
 taphorical language among the Athenians 
 was indebted to the sea and naval affairs : 
 they were seamen to the backbone ; and out 
 of tlie abundance of the heart a nation's 
 mouth speaks, as well as a man's. 
 
 Still more decisively is the singularly 
 double character of the other great nation 
 of antiquity sketched in their use of meta- 
 phors. To some writers, who have looked 
 only on one side of the Roman character, 
 that great nation has appeared a band of 
 ferocious soldiers, annexing country after 
 country, annihilating all national life, ab- 
 sorbing every people, of whatever language, 
 religion, or race, into one compact uniform 
 body, governed by the same laws which 
 were imposed by the one central power, 
 and administered by one uniform system 
 of government. Those writers, on the other 
 hand, who have looked to their government 
 of their subject provinces, rather than to the 
 means by which they acquired provinces to 
 govern, are astonished at the general success 
 of their system ; how wisely and largely they 
 adapted themselves to the circumstances of 
 the different states they had to rule ; and 
 yet how perfectly they organised govern- 
 ment in all its parts throughout all their 
 
 il
 
 ox METAPHOR. 139 
 
 vast empire; its armies less tliaii lialf of 
 Avliat has been for a ecutury required to keep 
 the same comitries now in order ; its perfect 
 system of communication from tlic Gram- 
 pians to tlio Euphrates ; the freedom of trade 
 throughout their vast dominions ; the great 
 works of public utility, whose size and mas- 
 sivencss in a third or fourth-rate town sur- 
 ])ass ours in the capitals of the world; one 
 code of laws, civil and criminal, for all the 
 numerous inhabitants of most of Europe, a 
 large tract of the Avest of Asia, and all 
 Africa that was inhabitable. Organisation, 
 discipline, order, rule, system — this was the 
 mainspring of the Roman life. Neglecting 
 art almost entirely, sciences completely, lite- 
 rature very largely, he devoted himself to 
 the developing this idea of discipline in two 
 branches only ; and, as is the case with most 
 men with an idea, he succeeded perfectly. 
 War and law were to him the two objects 
 of life ; "regere imperio populos," " debel- 
 lare superbos" — to rule tlio nation with sove- 
 reign sway, to crush all Avho resist — were his 
 two ideas : is it extraordinary if his ruling 
 passion has been petrified in his language ? 
 With Cicero, to resist the temptations of 
 vice is ''to declare war ai-ainst it ;" the
 
 140 ON METAPHOE. 
 
 final performance of duties is " tlie having 
 served all yorn- campaigns ;" to take a part 
 in an agreement with a fair share of success 
 is "justo Sacramento contendere," which I 
 think is hardly translatable into English at 
 all. So the ideas which Ave express by vigour, 
 tone, energy, are in Latin homely and coarse 
 images derived from military training and 
 battle-scenes ; " blood," " nerves," " arms," 
 " bones ;" the ideas of the recruiting-ser- 
 geant predominate. 
 
 As regards their other great foible, law, 
 their use of its language for metaphor is 
 even more strongly marked ; and though 
 this would appear pedantic to us, it was not 
 so with a nation of lawyers : with them the 
 forms and processes of the law were far more 
 simple than with us, and every educated man 
 understood them perfectly ; indeed, for some 
 centiu'ies every Roman gentleman was ex- 
 pected to defend his dependant personally 
 in the law-court : no wonder, then, that lite- 
 rature and speeches should smack of their 
 education ; that " to call upon a man to ans- 
 wer for his proceedings" was expressed by 
 " threatening him with an action ;" to "agree 
 in your dislike to a man" was to '' sign 
 your name to a bill of accusation against 
 
 ll
 
 ON METAPHOR. I4I 
 
 lilni ;"' to attack a man's cliaraetcr violcntlj 
 was to " take an oath in court that you do 
 not accv^sc him out of maHce," and so on : the 
 wliolc atmosphere of their hterature is redo- 
 lent of pleas, demurrers, witness-boxes, and 
 jurymen. The Romans, too, were great 
 farmers ; consequently this pursuit furnished 
 them with metaphors not a few ; not so 
 many, however, as to make the subject 
 worth dwelling upon. Quotations with re- 
 ference to their two great characteristics 
 might be made by pages full. 
 
 With ourselves our interests are many 
 and various ; so that I do not find that any 
 one national pursuit has given its colour to 
 om* common metaphorical language. In no 
 country in Europe is there so complete a 
 blending of different occupations, so little of 
 the supremacy of one profession or employ- 
 ment ; consequently all professions, all trades, 
 business, amusement, games, ancient recol- 
 lections, modern ideas, all alike contribute 
 to supply the metaphorical language of every- 
 day life. Take manufactures, for example : 
 the whole "machinery" of state worked im- 
 perfectly; the "wheels" of business Avere 
 clogged ; and finally, " the whole machine 
 broke hopelessly down." Take law : I " de-
 
 142 ON METAPHOR. 
 
 murrecl" to liis statement on many grounds ; 
 he died, and the question passed, to a higher 
 " tribunal" than man's ; a " trumped-up 
 charo;e." Take trades : strike while the 
 "iron" is hot; "cement" an alliance with 
 another nation ; a hope " built" on sm^e 
 "foundations." From medicine: an "anti- 
 dote" to the mischief going on ; " sinews of 
 war." Take games: "he played his cards 
 well;" a "trump;" a "fine stroke." An- 
 cient customs : " to throw down the gaunt- 
 let." Music : " harmonise with ;" " discord;" 
 " disconcerted." The Scriptures : the real 
 inducement was the " loaves and fishes ;" t& 
 " wash your hands" of the whole proceeding. 
 
 But with us, as with the ancient Athe- 
 nians, the salt water has great influence ; to 
 nothing like the same absorbing extent with 
 us as with them ; but yet, great as are om* 
 other interests, whether of business or plea- 
 sure, I think this is the greatest, and that 
 our many metaphors drawn from the sea 
 prove that such is the case. 
 
 Nor is it to be wondered at; no other 
 scene is equally one of duty and profit and 
 amusement. Our royal navj absorbs scores 
 of boys annually; our merchant-service more 
 still. Half the paterfamiliases in business
 
 ON METAPHOR. I 43 
 
 look to their six weeks at the sea as the year's 
 one liohday ; and yachting is happily a very 
 flourishing institution. Little wonder, then, 
 that Jack has imported his lingo duty-free 
 into our inland regions, and given a smack 
 of the sea to the conversation of very unsea- 
 manlike characters indeed. "We " sound" a 
 person's intentions, " fathom" the mystery, 
 " drift" helplessly into difficulties ; the state 
 is thrown on its " beam-ends," or some great 
 statesman takes the "helm" and "pilots the 
 vessel of the commonwealth into smooth 
 water;" we "run foul" of an adversary; 
 our fortunes are "wrecked;" there was the 
 "rock" they split upon; we "press" all we 
 can into our service, " run" before the gale, 
 or in a difficidty " sail as near the wind" as 
 possible. 
 
 Nor are we in bad society in these nau- 
 tical metaphors. In one of the best-known 
 and most patlietic speeches in any of his 
 plays Shakespeare makes the great Cardinal 
 thus describe his fallen fortunes : 
 
 " Say, Wolsey, that once trod tlie ways of ylory, 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 
 Found thee a waj^ out of his wreck to rise in, 
 A sure and safe one, though thy master missed 
 it."
 
 1 44 ON 3IETAPH0E. 
 
 I do not set mucli store b}' any rules 
 about the use of metaphors, except against 
 the confusion of them. Hamlet's expression, 
 " to take arms against a sea of troubles," 
 has been condemned as false metaphor; pro- 
 bably unjustly, because to take up arms has 
 become an idiom, and equivalent to the idea 
 of resistance and opposition, so entirely that 
 the original notion of seizing one's sword 
 and shield is wholly lost by lapse of time. 
 A rapid change of metaphor, which is very 
 common in Shakespeare, arising from the 
 exuberance of his poetic fancy, is very beau- 
 tiful when guided by good taste. I mention 
 the fact because a frigid criticism has con- 
 demned such changes, which are in reality 
 to be highly valued ; as the art of the archi- 
 tect who can cover a doorway with gorgeous 
 sculpture — men and angels, and trees and 
 flowers, and birds and beasts, figures and 
 medallions, bas-reliefs and high-reliefs — and 
 yet without a sign of oppression or over- 
 crowding the original design. Take, for 
 example, 
 
 " The current that -with gentle murmur glides, 
 Thou knowest, being stopped, impetuously doth 
 
 rage ; 
 But "^vhen his fair course is not hindered,
 
 ON METAPHOR. 1 45 
 
 He malies sweet mvtiic with the enamelled stones, 
 Giving a gentle hiss to every sedge 
 He overtaketh in his^>(7<7;7'/«fl(7o." 
 
 Here you liaAC four inetapliors in tlircc lines. 
 He would be a bold critic ^^'ho would ven- 
 ture to condemn tlio abundance of tlicni. 
 The spirit of true ornament is better under- 
 stood now. If guided by good taste, you 
 cannot have too much, any more than the sun 
 can set in too gorgeous a firmament of many- 
 coloured clouds. It is worth observing: how 
 much may be expressed by a single Avord of 
 metaphor ; but then it is a master's hand 
 that has summoned that word into that place. 
 Could any one word express more perfectly 
 the disgust of men disappointed of their ex- 
 pectations from one they had helped to raise 
 than " this ingrate and cankered Boling- 
 broke" ? 
 
 When Hamlet is determined to solve the 
 qiTcstion of his uncle's fears, he will not 
 merely watch him through the ]>lay, but 
 " I mine eyes Avill rivet on his face."' 
 
 Horace has been quoted, and rightly, as 
 supplying excellent instances of mctai^hor, 
 regulated by perfect good taste ; and from 
 his example attempts have absurdly been 
 made to di'aw a strin£rcnt rule ao-ainst the 
 
 L
 
 146 ON METAPHOR. 
 
 use of more than three or four words at 
 most in the same metaphor. It would really 
 be as reasonable to confine the prolific fancy 
 of a Shakespeare or a Milton within Hora- 
 tian limits as it would be to attempt to ac- 
 commodate an eagle within the exquisite 
 workmanship of the humming-bird's nest. 
 I admire heartily the excellent taste of such 
 metaphors as 
 
 and 
 
 ' Qaofonte derivata clades 
 In patriam populumque^?/.rt!^;" 
 
 " Incedis per ignes 
 Svppositos cineri doloso." 
 
 But because Horace thus — most wisely I 
 doubt not — limited himself, are we to dis- 
 parage Milton's most lovely lines — 
 
 " or they led the vine 
 To ived her elm ; she, spoused, about him twines 
 Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 
 Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn 
 His harren leaves ;" 
 
 where the metaphor is continued through at 
 least seven words ? The truth is, that no 
 rigid rule is applicable. The principle is 
 identical in Horace and all other great poets 
 and composers in all languages. Never pro- 
 tract your metaphor so far as to cause tlie
 
 ON METAPHOK. 1 47 
 
 least obscurity : this will alone account for 
 tlie brevity of Horace's metaphors. Of all 
 faults of writing he dreaded obscurity or 
 confusion the most, and naturally trusted 
 himself least where there were the strongest 
 temptations. It is a noticeable proof of the 
 largeness of heart of our great Shakespeare, 
 that so many of his most powerful metaphors 
 are taken from the common events, usages, 
 implements of every - day life : it is another 
 lesson in calling nothing common or unclean, 
 in "findin<x the soul of o;ood" in thinfr.s '' com- 
 
 o o o 
 
 mon," if not " evil." 
 
 I will give you a few instances of meta- 
 phors from his plays — a treasure-house of 
 metaphor ; and as they are often not under- 
 stood, I will leave you to puzzle them out for 
 yourself, as there are always good editions of 
 Sliakes];)eare within reach : 
 
 " For thus the native hvie of resolution 
 Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought." 
 
 Then that perfect description of the functions 
 of sleep — 
 
 " Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care." 
 
 And the singular but most expressive meta- 
 phor by which Lady Macbeth expresses the 
 total helplessness of the drunken guards —
 
 148 ON METAPHOR. 
 
 " For them 
 Will I with wine and wassail so convince, 
 That memory, the warder of the brain. 
 Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason 
 A limbeck only." 
 
 Of course an ornament of composition so ftill 
 of life and power in poetry cannot fail of 
 being as effective in oratory : and tliere, next 
 to poetry, we find it in full force — often indeed 
 carrying all before it, through the speaker 
 who really understands the use of the weapon 
 he is wielding. If any hit is made in a 
 speech more telling than usual, you may be 
 sui*e that in six cases out of seven the orator 
 has introduced some well-applied metaphor. 
 Metaphor was an ally as much prized in the 
 Athenian law-courts as at St. Ste2)hen's now- 
 adays. There is a very amusing instance of 
 it in a speech of Demosthenes made in behalf 
 of a gentleman named Ai'iston, who brought 
 an action for assault and battery against one 
 Conon. Ariston had manifestly been in the 
 army, and he recounted his story to his 
 counsel in military language : how he had 
 been marching down the street, and was at- 
 tacked in the rear, I believe, — I quote from 
 memory of the speech read long ago — taken 
 in the flank, squashed in the melee — and so 
 on ; all which expressions Demosthenes stored
 
 ON METAPHOR. 1 49 
 
 iij), :unl reproduced in court to tlic vast amuse- 
 ment of the jurj. 
 
 One of" the best instances of metaphor — 
 and this we may notice for the advantage of 
 believers in the Horatian maxim — extend- 
 ing through several pages, is to be found in 
 Burke's great s])eeeh on economical reform : 
 " I speak, sir, of the board of trade and plan- 
 tations. This board is a sort of temperate 
 bed of influence ; a sort of gently ripening 
 hot-house, where eight members of parlia- 
 ment receive salaries of a thousand a year 
 for a certain given time for doing little, in 
 order to mature at a proj^er season a claim to 
 two thousand, to be granted for doing less, 
 and on the credit of having toiled so long in 
 
 that inferior laborious department 
 
 This board, sir, had both its original forma- 
 tion and its regeneration in a job. In a job 
 it was conceived, and in a job its mother 
 
 brought it forth It was projected in 
 
 the year 1G88, and it contiinied in a totter- 
 ino; and rickety child] lood for about three or 
 fom' years, — for it died in the year 161)3, a 
 babe of as little hopes as ever swelled the 
 bills of mortality in the article of convulsed 
 or overlaid children, Avho have hardly stepped 
 over the threshold of life. In the year 1G96
 
 " 
 
 1 50 ON METAPHOR. 
 
 the court called into life tliis board of trade 
 wliicli had slept since 1693." Notice now 
 how the same metaphor is felicitously car- 
 ried on to its children " Two colo- 
 nies alone ow^e their origin to that board. 
 Georgia .... that colony has cost the 
 nation very great sums of money. Where- 
 as, the colonies which have had the fortune 
 of not being godfathered by the board of 
 trade never cost the nation a shilling, ex- 
 cept what has been so properly spent in 
 losing them. But ihe colony of Georgia, 
 weak as it was, carried with it to its last 
 hour*, and carries even in its present pallid 
 visage, the perfect resemblance of its pa- 
 rents Tlie province of Nova Scotia 
 
 was the youngest and the favourite child 
 of the board. Good God ! what sums the 
 nursing of that ill-thriving, hard-visaged, 
 and ill-favoured brat has cost to this wittol 
 nation !" 
 
 1 have now told you something of the 
 origin of metaphor in different languages, 
 and of its employment by the best authors ; 
 false metaphor, or the joining forcibly two 
 disconnected and dissimilar images, is so 
 palpable a fault, that there is the less need 
 of enlarging on it. I will only, in conclu-
 
 ON METAPHOR. I 5 I 
 
 sion, remind you that in proportion as meta- 
 plior is powerful, so is care required in the 
 use of it. A skilful workman will carve an 
 infinity of scenery and figures lovely, ludi- 
 crous, pathetic, or grotesque, with half-a- 
 dozen gouges and chisels ; while the careless 
 or ignorant will but cut his fingers, and 
 quarrel with his tool-chest.
 
 XII. 
 
 HOW TO MAKE HISTORY INTERESTING? 
 
 TTOW is one to make history interesting? 
 -^ I have mentioned in another essay how 
 much history is to be found contained within 
 the small limits of a county map. Did it ever 
 occur to you that in your rides round your 
 own homes you are often treading on ground 
 whose history would at the same time much 
 increase the interest of your ride and add not 
 a little, at the same time, to your knowledge 
 of days and men gone by ? 
 
 It is one of the great privileges of an old 
 country that its soil abounds in reminiscences. 
 No small number of the country houses we 
 flit by on the raih'oad are connected with 
 names of lasting interest ; while some build- 
 ings, such as Westminster Abbey above all, 
 and to a certain degree all oiu" larger cathe- 
 drals, can each " mifold a tale" we should 
 be glad enough to know. Nothing strikes
 
 HOW TO MAKE HISTORY INTERESTING ? I 5 3 
 
 an cduoatod American more forciltly in this 
 country tlian its numerous liistorical asso- 
 ciations. He speaks of the sacred f^round 
 of Runnymede, and Stratford Chui-cli, and 
 Chalgrove Field, and the transepts of West- 
 minster, in language which a])pears to us 
 little less than strained and aft'ected, thouirli 
 certainly the blame lies with those with whom 
 "familiarity has bred contempt." 
 
 You would be siu'prised if you noticed 
 the amount of history of our own country 
 — and that I assume must have some con- 
 siderable interest for an Englishman — that 
 lies close at ovir doors. ^\ e are at this spot 
 within an easy day's excursion of a castle 
 which is almost unique in England, com- 
 bining a perfect Roman and perfect Norman 
 fortress in one ; a ruined abbey, wdiose want 
 of history is fully compensated by its sin- 
 gular beauty and the perfect history it gives 
 of its own building in its own architecture ; 
 of another once much grander monastery, 
 now unhappily almost a complete wreck, 
 but where you still are shown the tower 
 in which the heroic Margaret of Anjou 
 took sanctuary in the troublous wars of the 
 Roses, where the ill-advised Perkin "War- 
 beck fled for the same seciu-it}- about thirty
 
 I 54 HOW TO MAKE HISTORY INTERESTING ? 
 
 years later, and where you may still see 
 tlie moat and walls with which the first 
 noble owner of it fortified himself against 
 the French privateers who swarmed over 
 these seas in those times, and whose incur- 
 sions were checked by some half-dozen forts 
 still extant as a proof of the care of the eighth 
 Henry for the honour of his country. And 
 this brings us to another spot of interest hard 
 by — to the scene of the great naval battle 
 in Henry VIII. 's reign, so well described by 
 Froude, which the king viewed from the main- 
 land ; and of the landing which the French 
 effected close by, to their own speedy dis- 
 comfiture — their last serious landing on Eng- 
 lish soil. Within a few miles of us rise the 
 walls of a town wdiich saw the fifth Henry's 
 gallant fleet depart for Agincourt, and the 
 yearly arrival of the rich argosies from Venice 
 with the prized stores of eastern sj^ices and 
 goods unknown, except through them, in 
 the English markets ; and omitting historical 
 studies of less importance, we can stand at 
 the very place in the street where the miu'- 
 derer Felton struck down the then first sub- 
 ject in England, Charles the First's favom'ite 
 minister, almost before the eyes of his wife. 
 We can visit the two prisons last occupied
 
 now TO MAKE HISTORY INTERESTING ? I 5 5 
 
 l)V tlio unhappy Charles before lii.s death ; 
 and after seeing the Avindow he tried to 
 escape through in tlie one, we are not so 
 much surprised at the other lonely fortress 
 in which he passed so many solitary months, 
 that dreary sea-girt promontory, where he 
 must have. indeed felt that he "who enters 
 here leaves hope behind." 
 
 Now, the scenes of these historical events 
 are contained within so small a space of 
 country, that we in the centre are nowhere 
 more than twelve miles distant from any scene 
 that I have mentioned to you. But you Avill 
 tell me that we are situated here on very 
 " classic soil" indeed. I shall be much 
 surprised if any one of your homes is upon 
 ground of less historic interest. Let us see ; 
 I will take any one at haphazard. 
 
 You have within easy distance of yoiu* 
 home one field of battle — a o-reat decisive battle 
 too — in Alfred's days ; some curious British 
 antiquities immortalised in one of Scott's most 
 tragic novels ; and the mansion of a noble 
 family, singular from the cause of its erection 
 in so lonely a situation, the great plague, one 
 of "our homes of ancient peace;" another, 
 the delight of the antiquarian, tlie terror of 
 the superstitious neighbom'hood ; two battle-
 
 I 56 now TO MAKE HISTORY INTERESTING ? 
 
 scenes of the civil wars between kino; and 
 parliament. Your country is bisected by a 
 Roman road, underlaid by Roman pave- 
 ments, piled up with earth -works perhaps 
 older still : as every where almost in our 
 little island we have a tangible history of 
 tlu'ee or four conquests, and many an epoch 
 of war and peace besides, within, at furthest, 
 an easy drive of our own firesides. 
 
 It would be mere repetition to select any 
 other centres, though many I could name : 
 the neighbourhood, for instance, of York, 
 Winchester, Stamford, Bristol, Windsor, 
 would be found to own far higher claims 
 to the title. of classic ground than either of 
 the centres I have chosen. You will be 
 satisfied by these two examples that there 
 is plenty to be seen; plenty of the liveliest 
 interest to us who boast that we live as much 
 in the past as in the present ; plenty of in- 
 terest to a i^eople the titles of whose magis- 
 trates and officers have remained unchanged 
 for near upon 1000 years, whose counties 
 and parishes embrace the same limits they 
 did when Doomsday Book was made, whose 
 government is but a gradual development of 
 principles of liberty conceived and carried 
 out at least a century in advance of any
 
 now TO MAKE HISTORY INTERESTING ? I 57 
 
 otlior nation in Europe; where arcliitecturo 
 readied its perfection in the fourteenth- cen- 
 turv, and whose House of Commons was a 
 forniichi])lo ])owcr in the State in the fifteenth ; 
 
 " A land of settled government — 
 A land of just and old renown, 
 Where freedom slowly broadens down 
 From precedent to precedent."
 
 XIII. 
 
 WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN 
 SIMILE AND METAPHOR? 
 
 ''TN a simile, tlie two subjects are kept 
 -^ distinct in the expression as M'^ell as in 
 tlie thought ; in a metaphor the two subjects 
 are kept distinct in the thought only, not in 
 the expression," is the definition that has 
 been proposed of the diflFerence between the 
 two. Like many definitions, it is not a par- 
 ticularly exact one, and will be best supple- 
 mented by laying before you various ex- 
 amples of either figure. 
 
 And first you will observe that, as a rule, 
 similes are found only in poetry, metaphors 
 in prose and poetry alike ; and of the various 
 kinds of prose most of all in oratory, the 
 orator being next of kin to the poet. And, 
 indeed, a first-rate orator often displays far 
 more poetry than a third-rate poet. Again, 
 we must not confuse simile with allegory or 
 parable : the latter is a perfect tale com|)leto 
 in itself, dependent solely upon the imaginu-
 
 SIMILE Am) METAPHOR. I 59 
 
 tion of the reader to supply its key ; whereas 
 a simile makes little or no demand uj)on our 
 imagination — from the outset its counterpart 
 is openly announced, and all that is required 
 of the reader is to judge of the fitness of the 
 comparison. In saying that similes are pe- 
 culiar to poetry, I do not mean that they are 
 never employed in prose ; generally not more 
 than a dozen or twenty words in length, but 
 sparingly, so that you may read a good deal 
 of excellent English prose and never find 
 one ; there is one known exception in one of 
 those two whom S. T. Coleridge considers 
 one of the four great English prose writers ; 
 and his similes are so beautiful that I will 
 extract one before we pass on to consider 
 their place in poetry. In his Holt/ Dying 
 Jeremy Taylor is speaking of considerations 
 prc})aratory to death, and reminding us how 
 great is the change between " the spright- 
 fulness of youth and the fair cheeks and full 
 eyes of childhood, from the vigorousness of 
 five-and-twcnty to the hollo^A^less and dead 
 paleness, the loathsomeness of a three-days' 
 burial." To illustrate this thought he con- 
 tinues : '•'■ but so have I seen a rose newly 
 springing from the clefts of his hood ; and 
 at first it was fair as the morning, and
 
 I 60 SIMILE AND METAPHOE. 
 
 full with tlie dew of heaven as a lamb's 
 fleece ; but when a rude breath had forced 
 open its virgin modesty, and dismantled its 
 too youthful and unripe retirements, it be- 
 gan to put on darkness and to decline to 
 softness and the symptoms of a sickly age ; it 
 bowed the head and broke its stalk ; and at 
 nio'ht, havino- lost some of its leaves and all 
 its beauty, it fell into the portion of weeds 
 and outworn faces." 
 
 You must have noticed similes of all kinds, 
 some of them of equal beauty and force, in 
 the great classical authors. Homer goes so 
 far as to illustrate the hosts of the Greeks 
 arming for battle by five different similes in 
 immediate succession to one another. Virgil 
 has many, and some singularly apposite 
 similes, expressed in language equally nerv- 
 ous and dignified. You may learn too, in- 
 cidentally, a good deal of the genius of a poet 
 by his similes. Whereas Homer's are almost 
 always from natural objects — the crane, the 
 horse, the lion, and boar, or the grander 
 scenes of nature, the undulating corn-field, 
 the blazing forest, the heaving ocean, — Vir- 
 gil not only seeks his (as all j)oets must) 
 from natural objects, but presses also into his 
 service city scenes, as the turbulent populace 
 
 J
 
 SIMILE AND METAniOR. I 6 I 
 
 and the commanding orator ; nor docs ho 
 dis(hiin the merry cliiJdrcn's phiy around the 
 wliirling toj). 
 
 To say tliat simile and meta})h()r are two 
 of the purest ornaments of poetry, is to as- 
 sume tliat Shakes})care gives us instances 
 inmnnerable of tlie happiest application of 
 them : in the mouths of some of his charac- 
 ters the exuberance is perfectly startling : 
 take, for instance, a speech of Ulysses, "from 
 ■\vliose mouth words flowed sweeter than 
 honey," in the third act of Troilus ; it is the 
 speech begimn'ng " Time hath, my lord, a 
 wallet at his back." He starts with a very 
 bold figure of speech, allegorical rather than 
 metaphorical, in which Time is personified 
 with " wallet crammed ■with alms for obli- 
 vion :" no sooner is this figure ended than a 
 simile is introduced, in which retirement from 
 the eyes of men is compared to a mail-coat 
 huno; over the o-rave of a dead Avarrior : then 
 metaphor u))on metaphor succeeds, almost 
 every one bringing forth a fresh on(% followed 
 by two more similes in which the rush of 
 claimants for popular ap])lause is compared 
 to the rising tide, and the retired favourite 
 is represented as a foundered horse left as 
 pavement for the abject rear. Then "• Time 
 
 Ji
 
 I 62 SIMILE AND METAPHOR. 
 
 is like a fashionable host :" then follows a 
 marvellous richness of metaphors, numerous 
 enough to have supplied a second-rate dra- 
 matist for an act, instead of lavishing them 
 upon a single speech. 
 
 By this speech of Ulysses alone, you can 
 "vvell judge of the power of simile in the liands 
 of a master ; but these were all very short — 
 too short for beauty — but well suited to the 
 situation ; the " many-counselled" chief try- 
 ing to carry away the resentful warrior in 
 his torrent of imj)etuous eloquence. Where, 
 however, the occasion is not so pressing, 
 and there is suitable time and opportunity 
 for a more deliberate speech, see how well 
 Shakespeare can prolong a simile through 
 half a speech of forty lines, and yet not wear 
 it threadbare. In Henry V. act i. he com- 
 pares a well-ordered state to the kingdom of 
 the honey-bees, dilating upon their officers, 
 merchants, soldiers, emperor, mechanics, por- 
 ters, the sad-eyed justice, the pale executor; 
 and far fi*om feeling overburdened by this 
 lengthened simile, we readily greet no loss 
 than four more in the next few lines : — the 
 arrows meeting in one mark — the roads in 
 one town — the streams in one sea — the lines 
 in one dial. You will find in Henry VIII,
 
 SIMILE AND METAPHOR. 163 
 
 act iii. scene 2, a good illustration of simile 
 and nictaplior combined, where Wolsey la- 
 ments his past ambition in lines of the deep- 
 est pathos; the lines are in the si)eech begin- 
 ning " So, farewell to the little good you bear 
 me." In one line he introduces and com- 
 pletes the simile in which he compares him- 
 self to " little wanton boys that swim on 
 bladders:" all the rest is metaphor; "the 
 sea of glory, beyond my depth ;" " the break- 
 ing of the high-bloAvn pride;" " the mercy of 
 the rude stream that must for ever hide me." 
 Knowing, as we do, Milton's tastes — his 
 love for music, his vast learning, biblical 
 and classical, his great experiences in the 
 world, his love of travel, and the deep har- 
 mony between his mind and the book of 
 nature — we are the less astonished at finding 
 a great variety and wealth of similes in his 
 poems : you woidd be surprised to see how 
 soon the list mounts up, if you made one 
 under the different heads of classical, natural, 
 and biblical subjects. Of the first you will 
 find a capital instance in book ii. line 520, 
 Pamdise Lost : 
 
 " As at the 01ymi)ian games or rytbian fields, 
 Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 
 "With rapid wings, or fronted brigads form."
 
 164 SmiLE AND METAPHOR. 
 
 And in tlie line immediately following you 
 will see a manifest recollection of Virgil's 
 
 " Armorum sonitum toto Germania coelo 
 Audiit," 
 
 expanded into 
 
 " As when to warn proud cities war appears 
 "Waged in the troubled sky, and armies rush 
 To battle in the clouds, before each van 
 - Prick forth the aery heights, and crush their spears, 
 Till thickest legions close." 
 
 In his similes taken from nature, where 
 not directly copied from Homer or some 
 other classic, you will find a vast preponder- 
 ance of images derived either from astro- 
 nomy or navigation, either the skies or the 
 sea. For the former we can easily account ; 
 his visit to the learned Galileo had made an 
 ineffaceable impression upon his youthful 
 memory. To explain the latter, we must 
 have recourse to the innate admiration of all 
 our island race for the sea, and the particular 
 sympathy which it has excited in the hearts 
 of our most passionate poets. Milton actu- 
 ally records his visit to the great Italian 
 astronomer in Paradise Lost, book i. line 285, 
 where he compares Satan's shield to 
 
 " the moon, whose orb 
 Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
 
 SIMILE AXD METAPHOR. 165 
 
 At evening, from the top of Fesolo 
 Or in Viiklarno, to descry new lands, 
 llivers, or mountains, in his spotty globe." 
 
 Anotlicr example you "will find in buuk ii. 
 
 line 710: 
 
 " Satan stood 
 Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
 That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
 In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
 Shakes pestilence and war." 
 
 Amoiii^ his similes from the sea you Avill 
 observe ISataii floating ou tlie burning lake 
 compared, in book i. line 200, to 
 
 " Leviathan, whom God of all his works 
 Created hugest that swim the northern stream ; 
 Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam, 
 The pilot of some small night-founder'd skiff. 
 Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, 
 With fixed anchor in his scalj"^ rind 
 Moors by his side, under the lee, while night 
 Invests the sea, and wished morn delays.'' 
 
 Where you will recognise another version of 
 that delicious talc of our boyhood, the voyages 
 of Sinbad the Sailor. 
 
 It is not merely the sea that Milton de- 
 lights in — " the barren sea," as Homer calls 
 it — but the human interest connected -with 
 it; perhajis in fond recollection of liis lost 
 Lycidas, Milton so often connects the sailor's
 
 1 66 SIMILE AND METAPHOR. 
 
 hoj)es and cares and fears "vvitli the glorious 
 
 element lie makes his home upon. 
 
 In book ii. line 285, the murmur of the 
 
 assembly is 
 
 " As wlien hollow rocks retain 
 The sound of blustering winds, which all night long 
 Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull 
 Seafaring men o'erwatch'd, where bark by chance 
 Or pinnace anchors in a craggy bay 
 After the tempest." 
 
 In book V. line 261, you have similes from 
 both the sky and sea successively : 
 
 " As when by night the glass 
 Of Galileo, less assured, observes 
 Lnagin'd lands and regions in the moon ; 
 Or pilot from amid the Cyclades, 
 Delos or Samos first appearing, kens 
 A cloudy spot," 
 
 I cotild quote you many more examples ; 
 but, if you are interested in the subject, you 
 can readily find them for yourself; and if 
 you are not, it would be mere Avaste of time 
 and space to continue a proof already con- 
 cluded. I will only finally point out to you 
 what a halo of poetry Milton threw round 
 what were modern scientific discoveries in 
 his days, showing that modern science, in- 
 stead of diminishing, enlarges the field of 
 poetry almost illimitably. In describing the
 
 SIMILE AND METAPHOR. I 67 
 
 uniform ;ind yet silent growth of the vast 
 ]iall of Pandemonium, in book i. lino 700, he 
 j)aints it most vividly by the comj)arison, 
 
 " As in an organ, from one blast of wind 
 To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes." 
 
 And in book iv. line 814, he makes his reader 
 realise the effect of the touch of Ithuriel's 
 spear upon the fallen angel : 
 
 " As when a spark 
 Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid 
 Fit for the tun, some magazine to store 
 Against a rumour'd war, the smutt}' grain, 
 With sudden blaze diffused, inflames tlie air, — 
 So started up in his own shape the fiend." 
 
 If you would care to investigate further 
 the effect of modern scientific discovery on 
 poetry, read by all means the eloquent and 
 majestic peroration (I must call it, rather 
 than conclusion) of Professor Tyndal's book 
 on " Heat;" and if you would see how the 
 Professor's belief has already been carried 
 out into practice, you will find instances 
 passim in Tennyson's In Memoriam. 
 
 I have drawn so many illustrations from 
 our greatest, that there is less need to seek 
 for fresh ones from our well-filled ranks of 
 minor poets : you will, as a ruK', find the 
 use of similes a good test of the author's
 
 I 68 SIMILE AND METAPHOR. 
 
 study of, and also of yoiir own appreciation 
 of and delight in natural scenes and objects. 
 We might assume, a priori, that Pope and 
 his school knew little enough of the realities 
 of nature from their weak, paltry, and untrue 
 descriptions of it, from their similes bor- 
 rowed secondhand from greater poets, and 
 so villanously tampered with that you might 
 think they were not describing the works of 
 nature, but of one of" nature's journeymen." 
 But with a healthier school a truer style reap- 
 pears ; and from the days of Cowper, Burns, 
 and Goldsmith, to Wordsworth and Tenny- 
 son, there have never been wanting men who 
 penetrated within the sanctuary of nature, 
 and preached aloud the glorious lessons 
 therein learnt, on the temple steps, to the 
 multitude outside. In Burns w^e meet again 
 the same prodigality of similes so noticeable 
 in Shakespeare, and so impossible with any 
 but poetic genius of almost the highest order. 
 To make us realise the fleeting character of 
 Tam O'Shanter's midnight revelry he tells us : 
 
 " But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
 You seize the flower, the bloom is shed ; 
 Or like the snow falls in the river, 
 A moment white, then melts for ever ; 
 Or like the borealis race, 
 That flit ere you can point their place ;
 
 SnriLE AXD METAPHOR. 169 
 
 Or like the rainbow's lovely form 
 Evanishing amid the storm." 
 
 Hardly ever was a more perfect jwotic image 
 conceived than that of tlic instantaneous ex- 
 tinguishing of evanescent loveliness, the snow 
 crystals in the river — luiless Burns's own 
 simile of sorrow deepening with time be better 
 still : 
 
 " Time hut the impression deeper makes, 
 As streams their channels deeper wear." 
 
 And to remind you that Burns's spirit 
 and poetic insiglit is not extinct yet, I give 
 one more extract ; and it is a worthy conclu- 
 sion to my subject. We began with Shake- 
 speare's similes ; and Shakespeare himself 
 could not have imagined one more true, or 
 expressed in language more sublime than 
 this. Though some years have passed now, 
 you can recollect the sliock that came so sud- 
 denly that, though other national events of 
 that date will be forgotten, it will be recalled 
 when you are old, the fearful a^■alanche of 
 woe which fell upon her, 
 
 " Over all whose realms to their last isle, 
 Commingled with the gloom of imminent war, 
 The shadow of his loss moved like eclipse, 
 Darkening the world."
 
 XIV. 
 
 ON TENNYSON. 
 
 "^OU tell me that, though you much wish 
 -^ it were otherwise, you cannot make out 
 what Tennyson means in many of his shorter 
 poems, let alone the longer ones. I must 
 honestly reply that I am not altogether sur- 
 prised at your difficulties ; but would, at the 
 same time, beg you to ask yourself whether 
 a great poet, a philosopher who writes for 
 men, can possibly be comprehended by any 
 one at the matui'e age of eighteen. You 
 would smile if I asked you for a correct 
 analysis of a church of Michael Angelo, an 
 allegory of Albert Durer, or a sonata of 
 Beethoven ; and yet music and sculpture and 
 drawino; are the universal lano;uae:e of all 
 civilised nations. The real fact is, in order 
 to understand a great work, in Avhatever 
 material its mighty thoughts may be en- 
 shrined, you need either special training or
 
 ON TENNYSON. I7I 
 
 tlic experience of some years of life acting 
 upon a naturally sensitive imagination. If 
 you want poetry that you can comprehend 
 at a glance, I can refer you to plenty, and 
 that by most voluminous Avriters. The large 
 school represented by Dr. A\^atts and Mrs. 
 Tlcmans Avill never draw upon you for much 
 thought or study, l)ut it will hardly supply 
 you with more tluui superficial entertain- 
 ment. If you would draw li\ing water from 
 the wells of Shakespeare or Wordsworth or 
 Tennyson, you must not complain if the wells 
 are deep. 
 
 But there are mere surface difficulties in 
 Tennyson, Avhich a few words of explanation 
 will remove. His poems, you may have no- 
 ticed, are cast in a mould mainly lyrical and 
 descriptive ; but beneath this outward appear- 
 ance you will observe, on closer inspection, a 
 form essentially dramatic. Lochsleij Hall is 
 purely miintelligible, except as a dramatic 
 composition disguised in epic form. Once 
 observe this peculiarity of the poet, and 
 many a difficulty will straightway vanish ; 
 the ice that lies crusted over the depths 
 beneath is every where more or less trans- 
 parent; and they are real depths beneath, 
 full, some of them, of truths ])ro found and
 
 172 ox TEX^^YSON. 
 
 awful — lessons on whicli we may w^cll pon- 
 der in the spirit the poet thus describes : 
 
 " How pure in heart and sound in head, 
 With what divine affections bold, 
 Must be the man wliose thoughts would hold 
 An hour's communion with the dead." 
 
 Turn to the Vision of Sin, and see such a 
 lesson. First read it throngh^ and you will 
 probably understand next to nothing of it. 
 But notice its composition : it is in five parts. 
 Examine the metres ; there are three : the 
 first, the third, and the fifth parts are in the 
 same, the ordinary ten -syllable — "Pope's 
 metre," as it is called ; the second part be- 
 gins with the same, but soon changes into 
 an irregular lyric metre, where the rhythm 
 of each line is in great measure dependent 
 on the ideas which are to be conveyed in it ; 
 the fourth part is in short metre, in quatrains, 
 the alternate lines carefully rhymed. The 
 poet calls his poem " a vision ;" and there 
 is, no doubt, an additional obscurity in the 
 allegory of most of it, especially when con- 
 trasted Avith the dreadful realism of the 
 fourth part. He sees a youth riding towards 
 a palace-gate ; his horse has wings, for it 
 rej)resents his soul winged with buoyant 
 hope and noble aspirations; but the heavy
 
 ON TENNYSON. I 73 
 
 rider — tlio evil passions of sense and sen- 
 suality — keep liim doAvn. From tlie palace 
 
 ^ comes a child of sin : at once ho follows her, 
 without an effort to shun the danger. The 
 rising- of the fountain theyawait is the re- 
 turn of satiated a]>petite ; their dreamy, list- 
 
 . less, worthless existence is well pictured in 
 
 ; the simile, 
 
 " As when the sun, a crescent of ech'psc, 
 Dreams over lakes and lawns and isles and capes." 
 
 And now you must pause for a minute, 
 and remember the extreme difficidty of the 
 subject the ]ioet has proposed to himself: 
 ho has to publish that which will not bear 
 publicity; the prophet must u])lift his voice 
 against sin, and yet not oU'end the delicacy 
 of modesty, nor even the fastidiousness of 
 refinement. And if you will now carefully 
 read the second i)art, you will, I think, be 
 equally charmed and surprised at the skill 
 Avith which this task is accomj)lished. 
 
 Notice particularly the aiil the poet 
 brings from metre. Strict hric metres are 
 essentially passionate. Here the lines avou- 
 derfully express the passion of voluptuous- 
 ness ; yet there is not an image that disgusts, 
 not a thouoht that could insult the most
 
 1 74 ON TENNYSON. 
 
 delicate sensitiveness. Nor is it a mere 
 word -picture — indistinct, and therefore un- 
 real : the all-absorbing power of passion, the 
 absolute slavery and degradation of its vic- 
 tim, the total loss of self-respect, and for- 
 getfulness of all duty, are portrayed in a 
 gorgeousness of language unparalleled else- 
 where, I think, even in Tennyson's poetry. 
 
 And now, in the third part, we return to 
 the metre of the first again; and let me, in 
 passing, call your attention to the fact that 
 there is a great difference in the rhythm of 
 the lines between this and Pope's metre : 
 with him, and usually, the sense concludes 
 with the rhyme ; here, as in Keats' Endy- 
 mion, the sense runs as it were athwart the 
 rhyme, concluding often in the middle of a 
 line, as blank- verse does : thereby is added 
 some of the dignity of blank-verse to the 
 natural richness of rhyme ; for truths noble 
 and solemn demand a noble metre and so- 
 lemn language : diamonds should not be set 
 in any other than the purest gold. 
 
 And now the poet's " vision" closes on 
 the scene of luxury and sensuality, and the 
 degradation of all that is good and true in 
 man, and opens on the grand daily opera- 
 tions of nature as they march stately on
 
 ON TENNYSON. I 75 
 
 tlieir course, unmoved by man's sin and 
 folly, bearing silent witness, -vvlietlier we will 
 hear or whether we will forbear, to a spirit 
 of majesty and purity and might, and to 
 scenes of glory of which even they in all 
 their magnificence are but a ty})e. Every 
 morning (" day by day we magnify Thee") 
 God shows his awfulness to man in the rosy 
 flames of dawn, by the profligate and the 
 reveller unheeded ; and then from those 
 same heights whence comes the daily witness 
 of God's presence and majesty descends also 
 daily nearer the cold, hueless, formless va- 
 pour of death, and that too moves on un- 
 heeded by the besotted reveller. And here 
 do not fail to mark a touch of nature seem- 
 ingly thrown in by accident, but which ma- 
 terially deepens the impression of a terrible 
 reality. The poet struggles, as men do in 
 dreams, to speak and warn the madman ; 
 but, as in dreams, ho cannot : " no man 
 may deliver his brother, nor make agree- 
 ment unto God for him." 
 
 And noAV the scene of the vision is again 
 dianged. The youth who had ridden the 
 horse with wings, and so entered the gates 
 of the palace of pleasure and sin, leaves the 
 gates a gray and gap-toothed man, as Kan as
 
 I "](> ON TENNYSON. 
 
 death ; what he had become in character ho 
 tells us himself in the fourth part of the poem. 
 The metre changes again, following always 
 the current of the ideas. The youth has 
 passed through the fullest gratification of 
 every sensual passion into a cruel and in- 
 tense misanthropy: he needs the sharp, short 
 decision of the metre to express his bitter 
 bons-mots, his gibes and sneers at all that 
 is lofty and noble, and he avails himself of 
 the advantages of the metre to the full ; scorn 
 and insult to the servants who come out to 
 take his horse and lead its master into the 
 inn, sneers at all the world in turn, at name 
 and fame and friendshij:), at virtue, at pa- 
 triotism, at freedom and tyranny alike ; not 
 a gibe without some truth in it, and yet in 
 all of them the perverted truth, which is the 
 worst lie of all. There is ability, plenty of 
 it, a sad perversion of the intellect, in the old 
 man's mockery and scoffing ; he has widely 
 observed mankind, both as individuals and 
 as nations, and believes, or rather says he 
 believes, the sum of all to be, that 
 
 " Every heart, when sifted well, 
 Is a clot of warmer dust, 
 Mixed with cunning sparks of hell." 
 
 To show you how the true meaning of this
 
 ON TENNYSON. I -Jf 
 
 poem lias been misunderstood, I may men- 
 tion that I have seen extracts made from this 
 old cynic's soliloquies and set to four-})art 
 music (and very good music too) as a drink- 
 iiiiX sono;. 
 
 You have now the key to the whole of 
 the fourtli part. I need not analyse at length 
 individual passages in it ; you can see and 
 weigh well enough for yourself the epicurean 
 refrain of the song, "Fill the cup and fill the 
 can," &c., the gradual passage from mockery 
 to coarseness, and the revelling in all that is 
 loathsome ; the sneers at the hopes of youth ; 
 an attitude towai'ds Death at once defiant 
 and reckless ; and when you have noted all 
 this, do not leave it without reflecting that 
 this is no fancy picture, neither is it a ser- 
 mon written to adapt itself to a text ; it is a 
 lesson clad in lanmiage of undving strength 
 and beauty, taught by a lawman, one of tlio 
 most gifted and deeply thoughtful men of 
 our age, who warns us here how a life of self- 
 indulgence must end in an old age of bitter 
 misanthropy and selfish disbelief in all tliat 
 is good. Nor is it merely the vice of the old 
 man that is so appalling; it is even more his 
 vjnovance of all the better part of man. The 
 whole ^•ast world of truth and honour, gene- 
 
 N
 
 17^^ ON TENXYSON. 
 
 rositj and purity, is to him inconceivable — 
 he never moved in it; and thinking that his 
 own httle circle of sin and self-indulgence is 
 " the world," he scoflPs at all beyond that 
 circle as impossible or hypocritical. This is 
 a useful lesson to the so-called wisdom of 
 men of the world, as they are termed, the 
 " Sir Mulberry Hawkes" of society : their 
 knowledge is no doubt very perfect as far 
 as it goes, but how far is that ? to the pur- 
 lieus of riot and gambling and vice, and 
 what they impudently call " the world." 
 What can such as they, what could this 
 aged voluptuary here, understand of the 
 spirit that animated the crew and soldiers of 
 the Birkenhead, who put the women and 
 children into the boats, and themselves sank 
 into the cruel South Atlantic waves, swarm- 
 ing with sharks, each man standing in his 
 rank as calmly as on parade ? Conceive the 
 impertinence and ignorance of a man who 
 tells us with a sneer that virtue, friendship, 
 honour, love of country, are but hollow 
 mockeries, while we see a Garibaldi winning 
 a whole country in the field, and then con- 
 tentedly retiring to his little island farm; 
 while not a week passes without its history 
 of generous (often fatal) self-exposm'e to
 
 ON TENNYSON. 1 79 
 
 rescue the cIro^^^ling from a wreck or the 
 suffocating from a mine. These, remember, 
 are your " men of the world," who ask us 
 to beheve this misanthropic trash. You liave 
 heard perhaps of the beetle who, as he crawled 
 across the pavement of St. Paul's, scntcn- 
 tiously remarked, " Xo, he coidd not at all 
 approve of the architectm'e of the building, 
 there were far too many cracks in the pa\c- 
 ment, and his legs fell into them." Your 
 ancient roue takes about as extended a view 
 of life, and the mixtiu'e of good and evil of 
 which that life is compounded. Would you 
 have sounder, juster, truer views of life? 
 Svu'voy rather a Avider horizon than that 
 which limited this old man's view. Woidd 
 you possess a judgment unpoisoned, and a 
 mental vision undistorted ? then live purely in 
 yoiith. The old misanthrope did but reaj) in 
 his old age the fruits of that which he had 
 sown in his youth ; it could not be other- 
 wise. ' 
 
 There is a stately grandem* in the conclu- 
 sion of the poem ; the metre again abruptly 
 changes with the sense, the last faint echoes 
 of mockery die away as the mountain range 
 again appears before us ; this time Death is 
 at work Avith its subtle chemistry, producing
 
 1 8o ON TENNYSOJr. 
 
 lower life out of the dissolution of nobler 
 things ; while through the air, above aU this 
 decay, ring the questions which every thought- 
 ful man must often have asked himself in 
 vain. The Saviour's great command, " Judge 
 not, that ye be not judged," has lost happily 
 none of its ancient force yet. First mercy 
 pleads, " It was a crime of sense, mere sen- 
 sual indulgence ; it brought its o^vn punish- 
 ment, for it faded and perished as time fled 
 on ; siu'ely he suffered in this world enough 
 in losing that for which alone he lived." 
 The reply is obvious, " The crime is more 
 than you think, not of sense merely; it was 
 that originally, but grew to be one of malice, 
 — a crime of the wiU, not one of the mere 
 passions." To this again the rejoinder comes, 
 subtler but not less true ; it admits the truth 
 of the accusation, but pleads extenuating cir- 
 cumstances : "After all, some sj)arks of hfe 
 are left; are they to be quenched? His 
 very bitterness and cynicism prove the exist- 
 ence of some m'ain of conscience left smould- 
 ering below." Fain woidd we know what 
 lies " behind the veil ;" often would our 
 curiosity, or a nobler feeling of inquiry into 
 the world beyond, demand " is there any 
 hope ?" But still the reply comes (happily,
 
 ox TENNYSON. I 8 1 
 
 no doubt, for us), miderstood l)y none. But 
 ^^•c have still the Father's works to contem- 
 plate ; still many a lesson to learn from the 
 rain which falls equally on the good and bad 
 alike, the life which is given to all to use or 
 misuse as they Avill ; still, above the \ace and 
 riot of our luxurious cities, above too the 
 questionings of the philosopher, the self-tor- 
 menting spirit of modern inquiry, 
 
 " On the glimmering limit far withdrawn 
 God makes Himself an awful rose of daw-n."
 
 XV. 
 
 WHAT'S THE USE OF SHAKESPEARE? 
 
 "XT^OU mentioned the other day that you did 
 -*- not see what practical use there was in 
 Shakespeare. Of course a good deal must 
 depend upon the very ambiguous term use. 
 We should probably attach quite different 
 meanings ; but I will suj)pose that you mean 
 to value his plays, not merely by the low 
 standard of how much money or money's 
 worth can be made out of the study of his 
 works, but what lessons he gives us for the 
 practical life of this practical age. 
 
 First, I must protest against this as a 
 test of more than a very small part of Shake- 
 speare's worth ; and then, with this protest 
 entered, I will take him at yom* standard, 
 and show you, I think, one very important 
 lesson on the spot. You remember our 
 laughing very heartily at an account of the 
 hustings performances — speech there was 
 none — of a poor young gentleman brought
 
 what's the use of SHAKESPEARE ? I 83 
 
 forward at tlio last general election to re- 
 present a southern county ? How one of an 
 unsym])atliising audience cruelly remarked 
 "that he 'ad more in his 'at" (viz. his writ- 
 ten speech^" than he 'ad in his 'ead :" how, 
 on his declaring with perfect truth that he 
 could not speak, they good-naturedly re- 
 joined, " Give us a song then, governor." 
 AVell, what was very funny to us Avas equally 
 distressing to him and his friends. You may 
 perhaps be on the same hustings in a few 
 years' time. I hope you may never be in his 
 humiliating position. Let us see if Shake- 
 speare can help to save you from attaining 
 to " such bad eminence" as this unha2)py 
 candidate found it. Now it so happens that 
 Shakespeare, w^ho has given us several mas- 
 terpieces of debate, has given us at least two 
 hustings speeches : one as bad as a man of 
 any note could make ; the other, the reply, 
 as excellent as it was successful ; and I will 
 venture to assert that any man who coidd 
 apply the principles on which Mark Antony 
 framed his speech to the mob, woidd be able 
 to carry a large portion of his hearers with 
 him, even in the teeth of their own coha ic- 
 tions. The two speeches arc in Julius dvsar^ 
 tlie second act and first scene. Both are to
 
 I 84 what's the use of SHAKESPEARE ? 
 
 the same crowd ; but Brutus has this great 
 advantage, that he addresses a not unspn- 
 pathising audience. Tlie deepest-rooted of 
 any of the baser feelings of our nature is 
 en\y; and to say that Csesar was great — 
 great in ahnost any sense of the word — is. 
 to say that he w*as largely envied. Antony 
 had a very up-hill game to play. As we 
 are to regard this from a strictly practical 
 point of view, I shall do no more than notice 
 the literary distinction Shakespeare has made 
 between the prose of Brutus and the poetry 
 of Antony. It could not have been written 
 otherwise with truth ; but that we must not 
 dwell upon now, only I must beg you to 
 notice that poetry itself has more to do with 
 practical life than you think of. There was 
 no prose, except the absence of metre, about 
 the noblest passages of the speeches of Fox, 
 the two Pitts, Sheridan, and Burke. As 
 you have to learn rather than unlearn, we 
 will not dwell long on Brutus's speech. 
 Read it through, and then ask yourselves if 
 ever mortal man was influenced by such a 
 hodge-podge of cold, lifeless antitheses. One 
 would think it was a pedantic rhetorician, 
 not a statesman, speaking, or rather weigh- 
 ing out his miserable word-clauses oimce by
 
 what's the use of SHAKESPEARE? I 85 
 
 ounce. " Hear me for my cause," lie says. 
 Now for something neat and pretty, and voiy 
 nice to match that, antithetical if possible. 
 ^' Be silent that you may hear." To criti- 
 cise one sentence is to criticise all. Was 
 ever human heart aroused by such heartless 
 stuff? Look on a few lines, the same silly 
 rhetorical prettinesses. " Ca}sar lives — ^you 
 are slaves ; Caesar dies — you are free men ;" 
 the strained climax, "As Ca3sar loved me, I 
 weep for him ; as he was fortunate, I rejoice 
 at it ; as he was valiant, I honour him ; but 
 as he was ambitious, I slew him." And so 
 on with the same dreary commonplaces to 
 the end. But poor as the speech is, he has 
 a potent ally in the vulgar hatred of tyranny 
 amongst a mob who have not brains cnouo'h 
 to see that the days of senatorial tj-ranny and 
 misgovernmcnt Avere ended, that an auto- 
 cratic tA'ranny there must be — if not of the 
 great and wise, then of the man of narrow 
 heart and feeble brain. 
 
 And noAv let us picture the scene in our 
 imagination. Antony ascends the rostra, i. e. 
 the hustings; around him a boisterous sea of 
 faces, each in his own way more or less vio- 
 lently expressive of hopes and feelings the 
 very opposite of the orator's. The foAv articu-
 
 1 86 what's the use of shakespeaee ? 
 
 late words that are heard above the general 
 uproar are to the effect that Csesar was a 
 tyrant, and " we are bless'd that Rome is 
 rid of him," and "'twere best he speak no 
 harm of Brutus here." Yet, if you look on 
 to the next street-scene, these same ardent 
 partisans of Brutus and haters of Ca3sar are 
 tearing the conspirators to shreds, and build- 
 ing up a funeral pile for the body of the great 
 emperor. Never did orator ascend hustings 
 with the chances more seriously against, not 
 only his success, but his own personal safety ; 
 never did orator descend more superlatively 
 victorious. What wrought this marvellous 
 change ? When Pitt was on a visit to Paris 
 during the short peace of 1783, he was asked 
 by some French statesman, " How can a man 
 like Fox, a man of pleasure, ruined by the 
 dice-box and the turf, have such weight with 
 you in England?" He replied, "You have 
 never been under the wand of the magician." 
 And yet Antony's secret is no profound 
 one, though profoundly hidden from states- 
 men and orators of the Brutus school. " One 
 touch of nature makes the whole world kin." 
 Appeal to men's feelings, the massive deep- 
 laid foundation of all sympathy between us 
 all. Antony appeals in tmii to their a^Dprc-
 
 what's the use of Shakespeare ? i i-j 
 
 ciation of frienclship, their soisc of pity, their 
 curiosity (a very potent spell with all, espe- 
 cially the uneducated), their g-ratitudc, their 
 military pride, their hatred of ingratitude ; 
 and finally he carries their feelings away by 
 the mute eloquence of the visible, — Cajsar's 
 rent mantle and bleeding wounds, exciting 
 to the highest pitch all the feelings previously 
 appealed to, on the principle well embodied 
 in the Avell-known Horatian lines : 
 
 " Segnius irritant animos domissa per aures 
 Quam qu;c sunt oculis subjecta tidelibus." 
 
 It is but the few who can appreciate choice 
 language, apt illustration, delicate satire, 
 gorgeous metaphor, and the other graces of 
 oratory, which must be acquired to enable 
 you to address with weight an educated 
 audience ; but the merest mob — and I am 
 speaking of a hustings address to a mob — 
 can appreciate what they see. The Avarmest 
 hearts and most ardent feelings are as often 
 found under fustian as under broad-cloth ; 
 any ordinary crowd can and will heartily 
 love and honour friendship expressed even 
 for an enemy ; they can and will pity the 
 fjiUcn, respect gratitude, and hate the mi- 
 grateful, even if he has benefited them ; for
 
 iSS what's THE USE OF SHAKESPEARE ? 
 
 there Is a strong rough sense of justice and 
 honour to wliich one never appeals wholly in 
 vain. 
 
 Antony's task Is twofold ; for he has first 
 to disarm the mob of their anger against 
 Cajsar, to disabuse them of their admiration 
 of Brutus's conductj and secondly to arouse 
 them (if possible) to expel the conspirators 
 bodily from E,ome, and leave the coast clear 
 for the operations of his, the Cassarean party. 
 Notice the extreme caution of the opening 
 words: "I come to bury Ca3sar, not to praise 
 him;" he disarms their resentment by dis- 
 claiming all idea of a formal funeral lauda- 
 tory oration. Notice the subtle suggestion in 
 the seventh line of the j)ossibility of Brutus 
 being mistaken about Caesar's ambition : ^^ If 
 it were so, it were a grievous fault." He 
 does not venture at first to do more than 
 suggest the possibility of error on Brutus's 
 part, but leaves the oily suggestion to do its 
 work, merely reminding them that Ca3sar 
 had grievously paid for it, if Brutus and the 
 other honourable men were right. But in 
 the thirteenth line of his speech he strikes a 
 chord which he knows will ring deep and 
 true through the hearts of the people : '' He 
 Vfas my friend ; faithful and just to me." I
 
 what's the use of SHAEESPEAEE ? I 89 
 
 at least, as a private man, may and will say 
 so mueli. He may have been ambitious or 
 not, but he was my friend — faithful and just; 
 tJiat you can appreciate and honoui' even in a 
 tyrant. 
 
 And they did appreciate the feeling, and 
 listened quietly while the cunning orator 
 cautiously began " spargere voces in vulgum 
 ambiguas," and suggest that it was no am- 
 bition to fill the " generaV coffers, to weep 
 when the " poor have cried ;" to " tlmce 
 refuse the kingly crown ;" closing his state- 
 ment by the prudent disclaimer of disproving 
 Brutus's words, but basing his assertions on 
 the inexorable logic of facts : " I do speak 
 what I do know." The nail is driven well 
 home. He sees the crowd moved by his 
 eloquence ; one more blow, and Brutus's 
 work will be undone. The crowd, never 
 tolerant of the praise of others, are getting 
 well nauseated by the continued repetition 
 of the honom'able character of Brutus and 
 the rest, as contrasted with the facts which 
 Antony " did knoAv." Once excite their 
 feelings, their reason is more than half 
 convinced, and all is gained. He cju-ries 
 them back to past days — days which none 
 can think of without emotion. " You all
 
 190 what's THE USE OF SHAKESPEARE ? 
 
 (lid love lilm once," then why not mourn 
 at least for him now? I do not ask you 
 for more : with broken voice the skilful 
 orator stammers through the next two 
 lines, and then sto^^s, overpowered by his 
 feelings : 
 
 " Si vis me flere, dolendum est 
 Primum ipsi tibi." 
 
 Tlie crowd is evidently moved, but still un- 
 certain ; however, their former belief in 
 Brutus's infallibility is wrecked : "If thou 
 consider rightly of the matter, Csesar has 
 had great wrong ;" " If it be fomid so, 
 some wiU dear abide it ;" all point to which 
 way the wind is setting : Antony has secured 
 their feelings, and his game is safe. But yet 
 he needs caution ; the very anxiety that the 
 crowd show to listen proves that though they 
 have lost faith in Brutus, they are not yet 
 converted to Antony. Notice, then, with 
 what consummate skill the orator excites 
 first their pity — picturing Csesar yesterday 
 so great, to-day so low. Widely spread as 
 en^y is, pity is — at least amongst all minds 
 but the basest — as deeply planted. Notice 
 the wise introduction of the idea of mutiny 
 In a conditional sentence, as before he intro- 
 duced the doubt about Csesar's ambition :
 
 what's the "USE OF SHAKESPEARE ? 1 9 1 
 
 " If I were disposed to stir your Iiearts and 
 minds to mutiny and rage." Notice tlio 
 strong appeal to the spirit of curiosity, as 
 strong a passion in many, especially unedu- 
 cated, minds : " liis will, -which, 2)ardon me, 
 I do not mean to read ;" how he dare not 
 read it for fear of enlistino; their feelino-s too 
 strongly on Caasar's behalf; how cleverly ho 
 disclaims, as if casually, the important fact 
 that they, the people, were his heirs : and 
 then observe the almost undisguised scorn 
 in which he now speaks of the honourable 
 men, anticipating the reply fi'om some — 
 ''they were traitors;" exacting from all the 
 imiversal cry of " the will, the testament !" 
 He is now on the full flood-tide of success, 
 and has only to consider how he may safely 
 steer his ship into port ; yet he will excite 
 the raging waves more : his object is sedi- 
 tion, mutiny, and rage ; death to the con- 
 spirators, fire to their homes. 
 
 He now appeals victoriously, in no timid 
 uncertain note as before, to their ])ity for 
 Caesar. He makes them stand with him 
 round the body; he kindles again the t)ld 
 Homan worship of military distinctions, as 
 he holds up the scarred and rent mantle, 
 and reminds them in one line of his owu
 
 192 what's THE USE OF SHAKESPEAEE ? 
 
 presence too at one of the hardest fouglit 
 of all Cassar's great battles, " the day lie 
 overcame the Nervii." What recollections 
 must have thrilled through them of the oft- 
 repeated news of fresh victories won, fresh 
 provinces torn from their hereditary enemy 
 the Gaul ; of countries, before mitrodden by 
 a Roman, made part of the imperial domain 
 — that domain of which they were the lords. 
 Then picture the impassioned gestures of the 
 orator as he described, carefully prolonging 
 the account in each detail, the separate 
 wounds of each conspirator. And see the 
 deepening fury on each swarthy southern 
 face, the wildness of revenge which southern 
 nations alone are capable of feeling or ex- 
 pressing. " Now you weep," as you look 
 but at the mantle. He has excited all this 
 burst of passion by the dead garment alone ; 
 now come and regard the late living body 
 which it contained. 
 
 But the work must not be done by halves ; 
 the mob must be possessed with the convic- 
 tion of the worthlessness of the conspirators, 
 and the overwhelming claim that Caesar has 
 ujjon their love. How inimitable is the 
 suggestion, that as this assassination could 
 not have been done on public grounds, there
 
 what's TUE use of SHAKESPEARE ? 1 93 
 
 must hiivG been private ones, arousing 'oy a 
 line the latent distrust of the governed for 
 the governing : " What private griefs they 
 have, alas ! I know not." While his dis- 
 claiming all eloquence such as Brutus had 
 would be almost ludicrous, did Ave not re- 
 member that an excited croAvd will believe 
 any thing. One more appeal to their pity : 
 " Sweet Caesar's wounds, poor ])oor dumb 
 mouths," followed by the reminder of the 
 will and the announcement of its contents, 
 and the successful orator may well hug him- 
 self with the thought that " mischief is well 
 a-foot," and be reckless of its consequences. 
 
 I coidd add not a little upon the words 
 put into the mouths of the different indivi- 
 duals amongst the audience, the very " mo- 
 bile vulgus ;" but though there is a very good 
 study of the worshipful many-headed (under 
 which appellation I should include myself or 
 you, if we were found shouting a modern equi- 
 valent to " Great is Diana of the Ephesians," 
 and (piite ignorant of '' why we had all come 
 together") ; yet I have in this essay ])roj)()sed 
 to set before you one consideration only ; 
 and I think you will admit that I have been 
 as good as my word — that I liaAC given you 
 reason to think that Shakespeare is not alto- 
 

 
 1 94 what's the use of shakespeaee ? 
 
 gether useless for practical life, but would 
 teach you one thing at least, how to talk 
 a mob over into accordance with your own 
 views ; in other words, how to make a capital 
 speech from the hustings.
 
 XVI. 
 ON NOVELS, 
 
 TTT'HEN, about a hundred years ago, a 
 * " worthy country rector wrote a series 
 of letters to his pupils, one of which was on 
 Novels, he could not but speak ill of them, 
 both as reo;arded their intrinsic worth and 
 tendencies ; and any one who is at all ac- 
 quainted with the works to which he refers, 
 will, I think, in the main, endorse his con- 
 dcnniation. Happily, since he wrote, we 
 liave seen a totally ncAv school of no^•elists 
 arise ; and so far from condemning the 
 works of a great majority of them, I heartily 
 wish I could induce you to read them nuich 
 more than you do ; and this I feel not merely 
 in the despairing spirit in which a pater- 
 familias is reported to have ejaculated, '' If 
 my boys would read any thing — if they 
 would only read Punch, I should have better 
 hopes of them ;" but rather as believing that 
 a irreat amount of real and Aaluable infor-
 
 1 96 ON NOVELS. 
 
 mation is contained in them — some, perhaps, 
 which you will hardly find elsewhere. Now, 
 of course, as of most things, " there are 
 novels and novels;" and I know that there 
 is more trash introduced into public life in 
 this costume than in any other — more his- 
 tory falsified, truth caricatured, impossibilities 
 created, life distorted. Yet, on the other 
 hand, there is in the works of the best (and 
 they are happily very numerous) such ad- 
 mirable sketches of life both past and pre- 
 sent, such happy analysis of character, so 
 many beauties of style, that we may well say 
 of them what Hamlet said a play should be, 
 that they " hold as 'twere a mirror up to 
 nature, to show virtue her own feature, scorn 
 her own image, and the very age and body 
 of the time his form and pressure." There 
 is no young man who is to move in your 
 position in life who would not be better 
 armed to play his part in life well by know- 
 ing two or three of Thackeray's novels well ; 
 he would there see at least " how scorn was 
 shown her own image ;" and might start 
 with a sounder estimate and truer value of 
 meanness, and flattery, and self-conceit, and 
 e\'erv thino- untruthful. 
 
 Not to burden you with many names,
 
 ox NOVELS. 197 
 
 and in order to simi)]if>' my romurks as 
 much as possible, I M-ill coniiiie iiiyscli" to 
 tlio tlnx'c <2;reat novelists of the eentmy — the 
 three to whom I think all others would con- 
 cede the palm, or whom they Avoukl consi- 
 der the best after themselves — the value i)ut 
 upon Themistocles by the confederate generals 
 after Salamis. The great Duke of Marl- 
 borough used to say that all he knew of 
 English history was contained in Shake- 
 speare ; and on the same principle he would, 
 no doubt, had the Wizard of the North then 
 livetl, have added to his store a good deal 
 more of history from Scott's novels. You 
 miffht irct much worse information from 
 many professed historians : indeed it has 
 been evident, ever since the days of Hero- 
 dotus and Thucydides, that to be a good his- 
 torian you must possess some of the qualifi- 
 cations of both tragedian and novelist ; if you 
 would describe a character correctly, you 
 must have insight into character, a delicate 
 perception of motive, traceable often in un- 
 important actions; and if you would describe 
 a scene correctly, you nuist wield the wand 
 of the magician, and picture the past by an 
 effort of the imagination. The famous '' cha- 
 racters" in Clarendon's History demanded
 
 198 ON XOVELS. 
 
 talents of tlie same nature to describe tliem 
 as did Shakespeare's Henrys and Ricliards. 
 Macaulay's word-pictures of the trials of the 
 seven bishops and of Warren Hastings are 
 the results of the employment of the same 
 faculties as those which painted the pageants 
 in Kenihvortli, or the torture-scene in Old 
 Mortality. 
 
 I do not deny that there is truth in the 
 criticism, that Scott's novels have too much 
 of a family-likeness amongst them, — that 
 there is too uniform a set of characters 
 throuo-hout : but a man must be a much 
 greater novel-reader than you are likely to 
 be at present to discover that weakness ; and 
 when he has found it in Scott, he will find it 
 as luimistakably and quite as inexcusably in 
 other novelists : but of this I am sure, that 
 you will learn not a little soimd history from 
 the Crusades, to the " Forty-five," and gain 
 a considerable insight into all — and especially 
 Scotch — character by a perusal of Scott's 
 novels. You will have brought vividly be- 
 fore you, painted in colours which can never 
 entirely fade, the enthusiastic crusade-period 
 both at home and abroad, the brilliant court 
 of Elizabeth, London life in James I.'s time, 
 the days of the Puritan ascendancy, and the
 
 ON NOVELS. 1 99 
 
 reaction against that ascendancy under tlio 
 third Stuart, tlie talc of mingled cruelty and 
 courage of the fanatic Covenanters, the hoj)c- 
 less attempt of Fifteen, and the all-bnt suc- 
 cessful one of Forty-five, — all described in 
 language as vivid as the style is natui'al, and 
 by a pen guided by so high a sense of duty 
 that not one word calls for erasure to meet 
 the eyes of the pui'est-minded or most fas- 
 tidious. If for no other purpose, Scott's 
 novels will always be studied as examples of 
 a perfectly unaffected style, untainted by a 
 pretentiousness which other great novelists 
 might well have avoided. 
 
 You have told me more than once, when 
 called on to write an essay descriptive of 
 some place or scene, how difhcult a VNork 
 it is either to think of what to say, or to find 
 fit words in which to express your ideas. I 
 cannot do better than recommend to you a 
 careful study of some of Scott's descriptions ; 
 }'0U will find them very numerously scat- 
 tered up and down his Avritings : indeed they 
 are the distinguishing feature of his works, 
 and so o;ood that the most exacting critic has 
 never yet found fault with them. Among 
 the best is his picture of the coast of Fife- 
 shire in Tlie Antiquanj, under the cireum-
 
 200 ON NOVELS. 
 
 stances of a gathering and then raging tem- 
 pest, and with all the natnral awfnlness of 
 the scene heightened by the narrow escape 
 of the chief characters from death. It is too 
 good not to be quoted at length : 
 
 " The sun was now resting his huge disk upon the 
 edge of the level ocean, and gilded the accumulation 
 of towering clouds through which he had travelled the 
 livelong day, and which now assembled on all sides, 
 like misfortunes and disasters around a sinking empire 
 and fallen monarch. Still, however, his dying splen- 
 dour gave a sombre magnificence to the massive con- 
 gregation of vapours, forming out of their unsubstantial 
 gloom the show of pyramids and towers — some touched 
 with gold, some with purple, some with a hue of deeji 
 and dark red. The distant sea, stretched beneath this 
 varied and gorgeous canopy, lay almost portentously 
 still, reflecting back the dazzling and level beams of 
 the descending lumiuary, and the splendid colouring of 
 the clouds amidst which he was setting. Nearer to the 
 beach the tide rippled onward in waves of sparkling 
 silver, that imperceptibly yet rapidly gained upon the 
 
 sand Following the windings of the beach, they 
 
 passed one jDrojecting point of headland or rock after 
 another, and now found themselves under a huge and 
 continued extent of precipices by which that iron-bound 
 coast is in most places defended. Long projecting reefs 
 of rock, extending under water, and only evincing their 
 existence by here and there a peak entirely bare, or by 
 the breakers which foamed over those that were par- 
 tially covered, rendered Knockwinnock Bay dreaded by 
 pilots and shipmasters. The crags which rose between 
 the beach and the mainland to the height of two or 
 three hundred feet afforded in their crevices shelter
 
 ON NOVELS. 201 
 
 for unnmulicrcd sea-fowl, in situations Recmingly se- 
 cured by their dizzy lieight from the rapacity of man. 
 Many of these ^\■'M tribes, with tlie instinct that sends 
 tliem to seek the land before a storm arises, were now 
 winging towards their nests with the shrill and dis- 
 sonant clang which announces disquietude and fear. 
 The disk of the sun became almost totally oljscured ere 
 he had altogether sunk below the horizon, aud an early 
 and lurid shade of darknoss blotted the serene twilight 
 of a summer evening. The wind began to arise ; but 
 its wild and moaning sound was heard for some time, 
 and its effects became visible on the bosom of the sea, 
 before the gale was felt on shore. The mass of waters, 
 now dark and threatening, began to lift itself in larger 
 ridges, and sink in deeper furrows, forming waves that 
 rose high in foam upon the breakers, or burst upon the 
 beach with a sound resembling distant thunder," 
 
 You will hardly, after reading this, ex- 
 perience the " aching void" you speak of 
 upon having to describe a well-known scene ; 
 and this is but one specimen of very many 
 scores of such in Scott's novels : it is one of 
 the best, but there are not a few others equal 
 to it ; such as the rush of the flood-tide over 
 the S(jhvay Firth in Redgaiintld, the wildncss 
 of the border-land in Gnij Manmring, and 
 the iron coast of Galloway in the same novel, 
 the Scotch highlands in Waverley, and even 
 scenes which were known to the writer only 
 by books and described only through the 
 united eiFort of a well-storod nKnni)r\' aud a
 
 202 ON NOVELS. 
 
 ricli imagination, sucli as the Syrian desert 
 in The Talisman, or the Alpine pass in Anne 
 of Geierstein, which latter a Swiss critic could 
 not believe had been written by a man v/ho 
 had never seen a glacier or heard an ava- 
 lanche. Nor indeed was it in descriptions 
 of natural scenery only that Scott's genius 
 was preeminent : whenever the canvas had 
 to be filled by many figm-es, the more lively 
 was the scene, the more successful were the 
 artist's efforts. He will introduce you into 
 the golden pageantry of Elizabeth's court as 
 readily as Shakespeare does into the stately 
 revels of the courts of her father and her 
 father's great minister. AVould you traverse 
 the streets of London in days when the ap- 
 prentices' persuasive tongues were employed 
 at the doors, instead of, as now, behind the 
 counters? Scott will take you down the 
 Strand arm-in-arm with Nigeh He will 
 usher you into the courts of kings as readily 
 as into the worshipful society of Alsatians 
 and gipsies ; he is equally at home by the 
 farmer's snug fireside, in the smuggler's 
 boat, at the hospitable board of a Saxon 
 thane, or the silent supper of the rigid 
 Puritan. You cannot fail of being carried 
 along with your cicerone : you feel the spell
 
 ON NOVELS. 203 
 
 of tlio magician upon you, and oLcy you 
 must. 
 
 It is fair criticism tliat Scott's types of 
 character are not many. It is true they are 
 not ; but the few there are are perfect in 
 tlicir way. We will omit all historical cha- 
 racters — and you may go further and fare 
 worse in your search after better likenesses 
 of them — but his oAvn creations are well 
 worth an introduction to. In these days, 
 when law and society necessarily level many 
 eccentricities, and help to throw the leaden 
 mantle of uniformity over all of us, it is 
 pleasant to be introduced to such extinct 
 species as Edie Ochiltree and Meg Merri- 
 lies and the fjxithful Caleb, and to realise 
 what life must have been like in days that 
 could e^'oke the mercenary courage of Du- 
 gald Dalgetty, or the iron fanaticism of Bal- 
 four of Burley. You will find all the richest 
 and best types of Scott's characters — all the 
 raciest humour and all the truest pathos — in 
 (as is natural) his Scotch novels. Aflter all, 
 the petty belt of land from the Grampians to 
 the Cheviots, and from the Firth of Forth to 
 Portpatrick, is Scott's own. All his best no- 
 vels (with the single exception of the P irate') 
 took root in that soil. It was to him what
 
 204 ox NOVELS. 
 
 tlie backwoods of America were to Cooper ; 
 what England — not tlie United Kingdom — 
 lias been to Dickens ; and London fashion- 
 able life and English country-houses have 
 been to Thackeray. 
 
 The original idea of the Scott monument 
 at Edinburgh — still, I believe, incomplete — 
 was to surround the central figure of the 
 great magician with the figures of the cha- 
 racters which his spirit had called fi'om the 
 vasty deep. It would have been far more in 
 accordance with his genius to have executed 
 his great historical and exquisite natural 
 scenes in fresco, in a hall wdiich would have 
 led up to the great master's statue, while 
 still adornino; that hall with statues of the 
 best of his characters. But the time when 
 he died was not ripe for such a work ; we 
 had not architectural knowledge sufficient to 
 see that rows of statues in the open air are 
 an extravagant absurdity in a northern cli- 
 mate ; and there was no general perception 
 then of the vast superiority of his scenes over 
 his characters ; or rather the school had not 
 then risen which was to delineate the various 
 shades of character of the present as skilfully 
 as he had roughly but vigorously painted the 
 past, else it would have indeed been a memo-
 
 ON NOVELS. 205 
 
 riiil worthy of the subject to have enslirinccl 
 Scott in a hall glowing with bright colours, 
 where luider one roof the impetuous Charles 
 of Burgundy and his wily suzerain, the 
 courtly Leicester and the witty Rochester, 
 the unhappy Queen of Scots and tlie bril- 
 liant Chevalier, might have delighted the 
 eyes of many generations. Nor would room 
 h.ave been wanting for homelier scenes ; and 
 the Antiquary might have discovered the 
 Prwtorium, and Caleb Balderstone have rub- 
 bed his imaginaiy plate, and old IMausc have 
 preached martyrdom to the vmwilling Cud- 
 die, and Dandie Dinmont have mustered the 
 many generations of Peppers and Mustards 
 for ever. Dis allter visum. May future ge- 
 nerations recognise their opportunities more 
 wisely, and may Scott's characters and scenes 
 be part of the education of all futvu-e Eng- 
 lishmen, as they have been of every educated 
 Eno'lishman hitherto !
 
 XVII. 
 ON NOVELS. No. 2. 
 
 nnHE enormous popularity which Dickens 
 -^ met with from the outset of his career 
 leaves me the less to say, as you are ac- 
 quainted with more of his novels than of any 
 other author. There is, perhaps, more mere 
 amusement and less information to be gained 
 from them than from either of the two other 
 great novelists. The lessons which Dickens 
 midoubtedly intended to convey, and to a 
 considerable extent did successfully impart, 
 are now less needed ; not a little, we may 
 believe, thanks to his writings. To take but 
 two instances : this much is certain, that an 
 improvement in the character and compe- 
 tency of nurses for the sick dates from the 
 introduction of the firm of Mesdames Gamp 
 and Prig to the public ; and the fact that 
 some dozen northern private schoolmasters 
 threatened Dickens with legal proceedings 
 is a pretty clear proof that the mysteries of
 
 ox NOVELS. 207 
 
 Do-tlie-boys Hall were most righteously un- 
 veiled to the public gaze. I cannot recom- 
 mend you to study Dickens for style. It is 
 sometimes slipshod and weak, and sometimes 
 strained and artificial. The weaknesses of an 
 author's style are seen most vividly in his 
 admirers and imitators ; and you will see 
 Dickens's style miintentionally caricatm'ed, 
 and that to perfection, in many of the se- 
 cond-rate periodicals of the day. Nor is the 
 author to blame for this. Through all time 
 Horace's " imitatores servum peous" will 
 abound, — men who have neither the taste 
 to perceive nor the sense to avoid the exag- 
 gerations of a master. Doubtless Dickens, 
 too, has many a time felt what Horace not 
 only felt but expressed : 
 
 " ut milii sfrpe 
 Bilem, sajpe jocum vestri movere tumultus." 
 
 Sometimes you will find an English scene 
 painted in words singularly forcible and ap- 
 propriate, as the well-known gale at Great 
 Yarmouth in David Coi:)perJield ; but from 
 the very first and best of all his works it is 
 unmistakably apparent what his real powers 
 are. Humour rich and rare ; the hapjiiest 
 conception, not merely of individual clia-
 
 2o8 ON NOVELS. 
 
 racter, but of the funniest circumstances in 
 wliicli to place them ; the most feheitous 
 filling of the canvas by each figm'e in its 
 right place ; a certain extravagance of ab- 
 surdity which is never out of place in the 
 society in which it occurs, — are character- 
 istics which at once assured and have since 
 secured to him the Avidest and most lastino; 
 popularity of all contemporary novelists. 
 
 There is no doubt a certain latent error 
 in this excess of fun ; his life is rather that 
 of children than of men ; and after the pub- 
 lication of his first and richest display of 
 humour, Dickens felt the truth which Shake- 
 speare has in all his plays persistently main- 
 tained, that life is not all joke nor all serious- 
 ness. In his most solemn tragedies there is 
 some comedy, in the cheerfullest melodi'ama 
 some tragedy : the careworn Bolingbroke and 
 his fiery nobles are succeeded in the next scene 
 by Falstaff, and Bardolf, and Mrs. Quickly; 
 the road to battle lies by Justice Shallow's 
 country house ; Hamlet does not die until he 
 has "chaffed" the grave-digger in his own 
 quaint vein. You will soon notice for your- 
 self, as you read, where Dickens's superiority 
 lies, and you will probably regret with me 
 that there are not more Pickwicks, and less
 
 ox NOVELS. 209 
 
 Bleak Houses, despite tlio fact that Pickwick 
 is a burlesque tliroughout. 
 
 I shall add no more about Dickons than 
 that I am sure you may spend many an idle 
 hour worse than in the worshipful society 
 of Sam AYcller, Mr. Peeksniff, Mrs. Gam]), 
 Mr. Bumble, and Mr. Micawber. How many 
 who were young when Mrs. G amp first quoted 
 Mrs. Harris would Avish that they had no 
 worse-spent hours to look back ui)on ! 
 
 It is a remarkable fact that two writers 
 so great and so dissimilar should have been 
 contemporaries as Dickens and Thackeray. I 
 will merely point out to you that they arc 
 almost the counterparts of one another, and 
 leave you to conjecture whether, if the powers 
 of both had been united in one person, wo 
 should not have had a man m'eat with some- 
 thing of Shakespeare's greatness, that many- 
 sidedness which all can admire and none can 
 attain to. In Thackeray you will find the 
 daily life of London, fashionable and idle, as 
 well as laborious and vulgar, described in 
 language equally lively, nervous, and exact. 
 You may learn many a lesson in self-know- 
 ledge, as the critic cruelly lays bare the mixed 
 motives which too often guide our best, and 
 the mean ones wliich guide the worst, of our
 
 2 I O OX NOVELS. 
 
 actions: "mutato nomine, de me fabnla nar- 
 ratur," eacli of us may, in one page or an- 
 other, say of ourselves. And we can never 
 admire enouo;li the vahant battle he wages 
 throughout with shams of all kinds ; from 
 sham dinner-parties to sham jiatriotism, which 
 latter Dr. Johnson well defined as " the last 
 refuge of a scoundrel." 
 
 The predominant element in Thackeray's 
 writings is imdoubtedly the critical spirit ; a 
 spirit of almost suspicious mistrust of all ex- 
 ternal appearances. He reminds one of the 
 instruments we have read of detectives usinp; 
 to discover hidden papers — hammers to tap 
 for secret drawers, long skewers to probe 
 cushions and chair-seats. Perhaps (for per- 
 fect works of art) there is too much of it in 
 his novels ; but consider whether in a coun- 
 try where wealth has increased far faster 
 than education has improved — I don't mean 
 only learning, but the mental training which 
 makes the gentleman and lady — where Avith 
 many a display of money and money's Avorth 
 is the sole test and criterion of the gentle- 
 man — whether such a preacher as Thackeray 
 was not imperatively called for, and does not 
 exactly meet the wants of the times. And 
 none but very superficial readers — and these
 
 ox NOVELS. 2 1 1 
 
 are the last novels to bo read superficially — 
 •would assert that Thackeray's heart docs not 
 warm as readily to goodness as his scvva in- 
 dignatio kindles at imtruthfulness or cruelty. 
 As one of the best illustrations of the truth 
 of this, I would advise you to read without 
 delay, if you have not done so already, that 
 very clever pair of pictui'es, the " Curate's 
 Walk," and a " Dinner in the City," ])ul3- 
 lishcd in the second vohnne of " Miscella- 
 nies." You will rarely find any tiling- more 
 tender, loving, kindly, and good, than the 
 former ; the different sketches of the throe 
 little sisters in their solitary home, which 
 they keep exquisitely neat, and where they 
 work all day — the eldest of them ten, who 
 " had been a mother ever since she was five" 
 — their Sunday "holiday" spent at church 
 and the Sunday-school; the description of the 
 room, Avith the tea got ready at three o'clock 
 P.M., two or three bits of dry bread and a 
 jug of water — covdd not have been dl■a^^'n ))ut 
 by a man Avhose heart warmed instinctiAcly 
 to all that was good and true. 
 
 Notice too the quiet satire in the account 
 of the glories of Mr. Filch's shop-window: 
 the scene so natural when the drunken father 
 sends the child off before he o;ocs to drink
 
 212 ON NOVELS. 
 
 away the value of the waistcoat just pawned ; 
 the keen insight which could see the pride of 
 the shoemaker of " advanced" opinions, as 
 the proud priest supplied him with food and 
 money ; and above all, the humorous epi- 
 sode of the children to Avliom, " though 
 knowing it is wrong to give away large 
 sums of money promiscuously," he gives a 
 penny ; and the neglect of the mangy puppy 
 that ensued thereupon. You will hardly 
 find in all Thackeray's works a better ex- 
 ample of his singrJar power (the kindly heart 
 and vigorous brain) than is contained in this 
 simple little story. 
 
 And the pendant is as good a miniature 
 of his powers of another class. The assem- 
 bling of the guests, the decorations of the 
 table, the enumeration of the viands, cul- 
 minate in the summary of the banquet itself: 
 
 " A steam of meats, a flare of candles, a rushing to 
 and fro of waiters, a ceaseless clinking of glass and 
 steel, a dizzy mist of gluttony, out of which I can see 
 my old friend of the turtle-soup making terrific play 
 among the peas, his knife darting down his throat." 
 
 But, above all, do not merely read but study 
 the speeches ; they are models of what after- 
 dinner oratory should not be, to all time : 
 the hel})less blunders of the old general, the
 
 ON NOVELS. 2 1 3 
 
 pompous emptiness of tlie seci'ctiiiy of tho 
 tape and sealing-wax office, the fluent con- 
 ceit of the American minister, are all alike 
 inimitable. 
 
 I have spoken as yet only of Thackeray's 
 poAvers as an artist : what I Aalue most is 
 Thackeray the moralist ; and I wish that any 
 of you who are to enter upon Belgravian litb 
 knew all liis great novels well. Forearmed 
 is forewarned ; and it is well to liavc read of 
 all kinds of character — of both Lady Kew and 
 Lady Rockminster, Colonel Newcome and 
 the Marquis of Farintosh, Ethel and Becky 
 Sharpe — before you meet them. And in 
 these novels you will travel far beyond Eng- 
 lish homes of kindliness and boudoirs of 
 scandal. Would you like to know the sort of 
 company that waits your arrival at a German 
 gambling board ? Here is one of them 
 ch'awn to the life : 
 
 " That man, so calm and Avell-bred, with a string of 
 orders on his breast, so well dressed, with siieli wliito 
 hands, has stabbed trusting hearts, severed family ties, 
 written lying vows, signed false oaths, torn up pitilessly- 
 tender appeals for redress, and tossed away into the lire 
 supplications blistered with tears ; i)acked cards and 
 cogged dice, and used pistol or sword as cahnly and 
 dexterously as he now ranges his battalions of geld 
 j)ieces."
 
 214 ON NOVELS. 
 
 You may travel in Tliackeray's company 
 (and who could wish for better ?) more than 
 once through tlie Rhine country and Switzer- 
 land, into all the ruined glories of ancient 
 Rome, and the eccentricities of artist life in 
 modern Rome ; you can attend a hall at the 
 Prince Polignac's, or smoke your cigar at the 
 Cafe Grreco ; but, after all, as the Border land 
 was Scott's own country, so the Parks, and 
 Belgravia, and Brighton, in the season, are 
 Thackeray's : he will point out aU the nota- 
 bilities to you do"\\ai Rotten Row and in the 
 Oj)era ; will introduce you to a quiet party at 
 Greenwich, and a noisy one at the Star and 
 Garter ; and so will many another novelist, 
 but they will not raise the veil and show you 
 the real characters of the men as Thackeray 
 will ; you will not learn from them, as you 
 do from Thackeray, to see the meanness con- 
 cealed beneath the cloak of ostentation, and 
 hypocrisy in the mask of honour : above all, 
 few others will give you such true views of 
 life, few will be true to truth, and dare to 
 describe the gallant simple-minded preux 
 chevalier dying in his little room, a pensioner 
 at Greyfriars — concerning which I will only 
 say I do not envy the man who can read that 
 chapter with dry eyes — and Miss Becky
 
 ON NOVELS. 2 I 5 
 
 I Sliarpe entertaining licr clique at ]3atli as 
 Lady Crawley. And yet each luul ]-c:i])cd 
 as they had sown ; but few novelists are true 
 enough to say so in their works. It was right 
 that Becky's manoeuvres should end in a 
 somewhat questionahle respeetahihty in Bath 
 society, and that tlie siniple-niinded Colonel 
 Newcome's childlike character should be the 
 victim of his own simplicity, and that he 
 should be deserted by the friends of his 
 wealth. 
 
 And yet even now' Thackeray's works are 
 (like Tennyson's) caviare to the multitude : 
 they are harder to ap])reciate than either 
 Dickens or Scott, or indeed than any other 
 of our novelists ; hai'der because they con- 
 tain a more subtle and more j)rofound ana- 
 lysis of character, because they are written 
 to teach as Avell as to amuse ; hartler because 
 they describe a society of which the itjnoh'de 
 vulr/us care only to hear scandal ; harder be- 
 cause the great British public is not yet 
 educated to appreciate the delicate shades of 
 character by which Thackeray chiefly charms 
 us, the mixed motives, the weaknesses of the 
 o-ood, the nobler moments of tlie frivolous 
 or sclHsli ; but all the more therefore should 
 excellences such as these, so true to nature.
 
 2 1 6 ON NOVELS. 
 
 and yet so rare in books, be felt and admired 
 by men of education. There is too a tone of 
 melancholy pervading his finest works which 
 is characteristic of all the greatest authors, 
 and of none but the greatest; and this too 
 will probably long retard the popularity of 
 his writings amongst the large class to whom 
 a burlesque is the noblest effort of the drama, 
 and a sensation novel the perfection of litera- 
 ture. It is a simple subject the sight of an 
 old letter ; but read what associations it re- 
 calls to a man of deep feeling : 
 
 " See the faded ink on the yellow jiaper that may- 
 have ci'ossed and recrossed the ocean, that has lain 
 locked in chests for years and buried under piles of 
 family archives, while j^our friends have been dying 
 and your head has grown white. Who has not dis- 
 interred mementos like these, from which the past 
 smiles at you so sadly, shimmering out of Hades an 
 instant, but to sink back again into the cold shades, 
 perhaps with a faint, faint sound, as of a remembered 
 tone — a ghostly echo of a once-familiar laughter? I 
 was looking of late at a wall in the Naj^les Museum, 
 whereon a boy of Herculaneum, eighteen hundred years 
 ago, had scratched with a nail the figure of a soldier. 
 I could fancy the child turning round and smiling at 
 me after having done his etching. Which of us that is 
 thirty years old has not had his Pompeii ? Deep under 
 ashes lies the life of youth, the careless sport, the plea- 
 sure and passion, the darling joy. You open an old 
 letter-box and look at your own childish scrawls, or
 
 ox NOVELS. 2 1 7 
 
 your mother's letters to you when you were at school, 
 and excavate your heart. O me 1 for the daj' when the 
 whole city shall be bare, and tlie chambers unroofed, 
 and every cranny visible to the light above, from the 
 Forum to the Lujianar !"
 
 XVIII. 
 
 TO A PUPIL AT THE UNIVEPtSITY. 
 
 T DO certainly recommend you to join both 
 A- the "Union" and the "Amateur Dra- 
 matic ;" and I will defend my advice not only 
 on the ground of reason but of antiquity ; 
 the most redoubtable conservative of ancient 
 customs shall admit the force of the argu- 
 ment. 
 
 You are not expected, you tell me, by 
 your friends to take more than an ordinary 
 degree : if it were otherwise, I should still 
 advise your joining one of the two societies 
 you were asking me about ; and that because 
 a man not only needs much in life that he 
 can learn otherwise than through books, but 
 yet fm-ther, he needs much that books cannot 
 possibly teach him in any way. It is a curi- 
 ous fact in the history of University studies 
 that every object of study except book- work 
 has steadily died out there ; only one im- 
 portant name is left at Cambridge testifying
 
 TO A rUPIL AT TUE UNIVERSITY. 219 
 
 to quite a different line of study in days gone 
 by. The wranglers were really the ablest dis- 
 putants of their year ; the moderators played 
 the part, and somewhat more, of the mode- 
 rator in the Scotch ecclesiastical assemblies — 
 they were chairmen, and guided and judged 
 the fray. Whether or no the University has 
 done wisely in abolishing all this training — 
 training, you will notice, of quite a different 
 kind to that tested by papers in an examina- 
 tion-hall — time alone will decide ; but I do 
 without hesitation maintain the belief that the 
 lessons once taught by " wrangling" in the 
 schools are now taught, perhaps more effectu- 
 ally because less compulsorily, in the Union 
 debating; rooms and on the boards of the 
 Amateur Dramatic. Powers of composition 
 are at least as A'aluable as those of analysis ; 
 we have run crazy on criticism in England 
 ever since Coleridge's time ; it would be well 
 if the tables were turned for a while, and Ave 
 had more of the old training of the wranglers 
 and less of the modern training of books 
 alone : the one evoked quickness in percep- 
 tion, readiness in language, facility in reply, 
 self-dependence, presence of mind, and the 
 qualities necessary for men in any public 
 station. Now as no men seek an University
 
 2 20 TO A PUPIL AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 education who do not intend to appear more 
 or less in public life, I earnestly advise you 
 to seize the only opportunities of cultivating 
 these powers which University life still offers 
 you. Your work for your examinations will 
 teach you to think ; what you want fiu'ther, 
 is to gain the result of thought — composition, 
 not criticism ; synthesis, as it is technically 
 termed, not analysis. For all University 
 men, as a rule, are preparing for one of three 
 spheres of life — the barrister's, the country 
 gentleman's, or the clergyman's. As regards 
 the first of these professions, how many able 
 men have been lost to active life, and been 
 obliged to subside into chamber -counsel, 
 from want of the powers we have spoken of, 
 is known really to none, and can only be 
 very slightly guessed at ; but by all accounts 
 it is considerable. In their case one failure 
 fi"om want of language, readiness, tact, or 
 presence of mind, is fatal ; the victim passes 
 away into obscurity : and perhaps many wish 
 that the victims of a similar inca})acity in the 
 other two spheres of life did the same ; but 
 they don't, and this is often very visible and 
 very vexatious. For, say what you will, it 
 is a sad deficiency not to possess the slightest 
 frao-ment of that oift which has been well
 
 TO A PUPIL AT Till'] UNIVERSITY. 22 1 
 
 defined as " tlio power of tliinkiiio; on your 
 legs." It is a serious drawback for a young 
 man entering ])ul)lic life to liave tlic sneer 
 recorded aiiainst liim tliat lie manafrod the 
 speech in his hat not so badly after all : it 
 is a real affliction to be seized with a fit of 
 sudden dumbness as you rise to propose some 
 trivial toast at a bucolic festival : it is a real 
 grief to a high-minded clergpnan to tread 
 out the weary round of formal sermons week 
 by week, to notice the flagging interest and 
 watch the glazing eyes and nodding heads 
 of his congregation, and know that his rival 
 the Independent tinker can, any evening in 
 the week, collect hundreds of the parishioners 
 on the village-green to listen to his execrable 
 theology, but homely and vigorous English. 
 
 Now as you have to look forward to facing 
 some of these difficulties before many more 
 years of your life are over, you are unques- 
 tionably right in having chosen to add this 
 especial study to those now provided by Alma 
 Mater; and if you were reading for high 
 honours, I should (after some years' experi- 
 ence of the world) advise your joining one 
 of the two societies you name, as in your 
 case I advise joining both. And this I do 
 knowino- well the common objoctions raised
 
 2 22 TO A PUPIL AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 against either, whicli are, like most olijec- 
 tions, "very sound as far as they go." It 
 is easy enough to ridicule the speakers at 
 the Union (where, by the way, I never made 
 one myself) ; but if all societies were to be 
 snubbed, and if possible abolished, where 
 absurd speeches were made, what would be- 
 come of the great debating society at St. 
 Stephen's, Westminster ? If no crude know- 
 ledge, no exaggerated statements, no " tall 
 talk," were to be permitted, the daily papers 
 would be vacant with the horrible vacancy of 
 the recess all the year round. A sneer never 
 proved any thing 3^et, except how very dis- 
 agreeable the sneerer was ; but you may be 
 sure that if you begin by carefully listening to 
 debates of the Union, and by degrees gain 
 confidence to take part in them, you will ac- 
 quire powers at least as valuable as a know- 
 ledge of Paley's profound morahty, or of the 
 construction of a common-(place) pump; you 
 will exercise your memory in collecting ma- 
 terials for your own orations, your judgment 
 in seizing upon the right points to wdiich to 
 reply in yoiu" component's speech ; you will 
 add enormously to your vocabulary and to 
 your knowledge of the strength and resources 
 of the English lanixnace.
 
 I 
 
 TO A rUI'IL AT THE T-NIVERSITY. 223 
 
 Tins last acquisition alone is a matter of 
 the very greatest importance. How often of 
 late years have really able men broken down 
 in public life from the pure and simjilc ignor- 
 ance of their OAvn language. Even when they 
 had mastered their subject thoroughh', and 
 held their disconnected facts (like marbles 
 loose in a bag) at command by the thousand 
 together, they could not collect the scattered 
 threads, or Aveave them into any fabric pre- 
 scntal)le to the least fastidious audience. 
 And it is no use to possess tlu'eads of purple 
 and lawn and gold, if you can only jiroducc 
 them as frayed, as meagre, as dilapidated as 
 the jacket of a ragged schoolboy. Depend 
 u})on it there was much to be said for the 
 old wrangling or disputing in the schools in 
 former days ; it degenerated no doubt into a 
 fiirce, but the spirit should have been main- 
 tained, though the form was changed : 
 
 " The old order chnngeth, giving place to new, 
 And God fuHils Himself in many ways." 
 
 But the clean sweep that was made of all 
 oral examination, and the entire substitution 
 of paper-Avork, are at best questionable ad- 
 vantajres. No doubt writing is the test of 
 acem'acy, and accuracy is the first tiling no-
 
 2 24 TO A PUPIL AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 cessary in mental discipline; but tlio many 
 mental powers elicited, developed, and ma- 
 tm-ed by debate, are of no sliglit weight in 
 the daily affairs of men, and must always 
 remain so. It is, too, a considerable ad- 
 vantage for a man who has not the goal of 
 " honours" before his eyes, to have set be- 
 fore him a weekly subject for discussion ; 
 some at least of the subjects proposed will be 
 to your taste ; and you will surely lay no 
 bad foundation for more complete knowledge 
 as a 2:)olitician in the careful study of a few 
 such subjects at your present time of life. 
 It is notorious that many of the best speakers 
 of late years in '' the House" were fore- 
 most in the debates of the Oxford Union of 
 their day ; and Ruskln would probably teU 
 you that it is to the same practice that he 
 owes the power of " calling from the vasty 
 deep," not spirits, but living words, which 
 indeed are instinct with a life and spirit of 
 their own, whether he wants with them to 
 colour a cottage wall, or catch the fleeting 
 thunder-cloud, — whether to employ them on 
 errands of invective or sarcasm, or to invoke 
 pity or awe. As regards the amateur acting, 
 of course the great attraction to you is in the 
 fun of the thing, and that I can fully sympa-
 
 TO A PUPIL AT TJIE UXIVERSITY. 225 
 
 tlilse -witli ; but there is nnicli more lliau 
 tliis in tlic backoTound. It is no sliolit n;ain 
 to be able to acquire even a few of tlic quali- 
 fications of a good actor ; it is not every body 
 wlio can so throw off liis own personality and 
 identify himself with the feelings, desires, 
 circumstances, and character of another. 
 And the strengthening one's memory is no 
 slight consideration: you must "learn your 
 part" — in a very different sense to that in 
 which you learned it at your repetition lessons 
 at school ; and if you want to become a good 
 actor, you must fully understand all the parts 
 of the other characters who appear with you. 
 The merely intellectual labour required is of 
 itself no slight recommendation ; and if any 
 body has a doubt about the general tendencies 
 of such an amusement, let him read the ac- 
 count of the Eton private theatricals of about 
 half a century ago, in that amusing account 
 of Eton entitled Etoniana. 
 
 There may be, of course, olijcctions to 
 the Amateur Dramatic, indoi)endent alto- 
 gether of the principle of the tlu'iig ; there 
 may be at times an itndesirable body of men 
 at the head of it, with Avhom it is not pru- 
 dent for you to associate. That is a separate 
 question altogether, and mu>t bo treated in- 
 
 Q
 
 2 26 TO A PUriL AT THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 depenclently. Your own sense and good 
 feeling must, then, decide your course. I 
 have written merely regarding the spirit and 
 object of the two societies ; and if quickness 
 of perception, readiness of speech, fluency of 
 language, and a graceful carriage, are mat- 
 ters of real importance in the affairs of life, 
 then, on the principle that whatever is worth 
 doing at all is worth doing well, I shall hope 
 to hear of you as a " skilful gladiator" in 
 debate, and a " decided success" on the 
 amateur boards. It is well known that for 
 purposes of public speaking there are few 
 schools more effective than the amateur the- 
 atre. The copia verhonwi supplied by the 
 study of several parts in different plays is very 
 great. The strengthening of the memory, 
 by the continual exercise in which it is kept 
 by the fours deforce which on an emergency 
 it must be capable of, is far more important 
 than is generally imagined. You gain too 
 in habits of confidence and self-dependence. 
 You are prepared to face, not sin-ink from, 
 the public. There is no ordeal so sharp, no 
 test so crucial, as the criticism of your own 
 equals. The value of this test is one of the 
 commonest arguments for the maintenance 
 -of the old custom of reciting speeches at our
 
 TO A PUPIL AT TIIK UXIVEllSITY. 2 2/ 
 
 puLUc schools; and if true ii; tliat case, it is 
 doubly true in the one before us : " a man 
 must screw up liis cournf:^e to the stickini^- 
 place" before lie can run the gauntlet of 
 men as unsparing of criticism as University 
 men naturally arc.
 
 XIX. 
 
 HOW IS ONE TO LEARN TO DRAW? 
 
 f\F ftll the " accomplishments," as they are 
 ^-^ most erroneously termed, there is none, 
 perhaps, the ignorance of which is more often 
 regretted in later years, or whose principles 
 are more easily mastered in youth, than this 
 of drawing. I am speaking of drawing with 
 pencil or pen, not of painting in any material. 
 It is a curious but well-proved fact that num- 
 bers of people are born more or less colour- 
 blind, as numbers are more or less unmusical, 
 that is, music-deaf; but very few, if any, are 
 blind to form and shadow ; and drawing is 
 nothing else but the correct representation 
 of these two. If but a fraction of the time 
 that is laboriously wasted, sometimes upon 
 languages, sometimes on music, sometimes 
 on so-called science, i. e. young ladies' school- 
 room science (Heaven save the mark !), were 
 devoted to studying drawing on right prin- 
 ciples, our sight would be disciplined, and a
 
 UOW IS ONE TO LEAEN TO DRAW ? 229 
 
 habit of correct observation v.ould be formed 
 — a point of paramount importance, and 0110 
 of the first cliaracteristics of an educated 
 mind — and we should be furnislied with one 
 of the pleasantest companions on our join-neys 
 abroad or at home, there being no diary to 
 compare with a well-filled sketch-book, and 
 besides, Avith a pleasant employment for many 
 an idle hour, on wet days, A\dien even chro- 
 nic billiards and an occasional look at the 
 stables will not keep off the evil spirit of 
 ennui. 
 
 Some studies are almost impossibilities to 
 many minds, and minds too of no ordinary 
 calibre. No powder on earth, Dr. Ai'nold 
 said, coidd have made him understand a 
 really difficult problem in algebra. That 
 eminent scholar the late Archdeacon Hare 
 was another example of the same inabilit}'. 
 A correct pronunciation of French is pro- 
 bably never accpiired by au}- man after the 
 age of twenty. Tlie first rudiments of science 
 are to many as iucom^jrehensible as I have 
 been told music is to many scientific or lite- 
 rary minds. But it may be doubted whether 
 there really are so many as five per cent in 
 your position, and with your education, who 
 coidd not be tauoht to lU'aw correct! v — I
 
 230 HOW IS ONE TO LEAIIN TO DEAW ? 
 
 mean so as to give pleasure to themselves 
 and convey information to others. The re- 
 markable success of drawing-lessons esta- 
 blished amongst classes without half your 
 education and opportunities, has decidedly 
 proved how liberally nature has endowed us 
 all with this power of describing the distant 
 and the unseen. And yet it is painfully evi- 
 dent that drawing is impopular. I am con- 
 tinually met with the same answer : " I wish 
 I coidd learn ; but it is awfully stupid work, 
 learning." The reason is truer than many 
 similar ones ; the study is made an awfully 
 stupid one. Its unj)opularity lies in the fact 
 of the extremely mu-easonable system on 
 which it is taught; a system which makes 
 no pretence to a knowledge of principles, 
 which teaches a hodge-podge of disjointed 
 facts, or rather fails of teaching even them, 
 from the weariness and disgust which its 
 stupidity is sui'e to create. 
 
 Now there are but two difficulties to be 
 mastered, two points of study in all ; one 
 is form, and the other is shadow. By the 
 first you observe and imitate the relative 
 shape and size of objects, and their relative 
 distance from each other ; by the second you 
 discover and imitate the secret of their round-
 
 HOW IS ONE TO LEAllX TO UltAW ? 23 I 
 
 ness, and tlio effect of siiii-liolit hjjoh tlion. 
 You can get no further by drawing tliau 
 this : form will tell you that in distance 
 objects appear, and therefore must be rejire- 
 sentedj smaller than those nearer to you ; and 
 sliadow will tell you that in distance shadows 
 will, except in a partially lighted scene, ap- 
 pear lighter, mitil they disappear into the 
 skv-shadow in the distance ; every thin<x 
 being more or less shadow, except the smi 
 itself. 
 
 If you really wish to teach yourself — 
 and, if you have a spark of enthusiasm, }ou 
 may get far worse instructors — get lluskin's 
 Elements of the Art of Drawing, a small and 
 jjcrfectly intelligible volume, and from it 
 (experlo crede) you will learn more in a few 
 days than any ordinary di*awing-master wiU 
 teach you in his lifetime. Ruskin will show 
 you how to draw a common j)ebble, taken by 
 chance out of the road; and you will feel how 
 when once that has been really mastered, 
 you. can then easily draw a distant alp, and 
 a fleecy cloud curling round its precipices. 
 But you must honestly and laboriously fol- 
 low his advice ; not skip some lessons and 
 rush on to more interesting ones ; and aliove 
 all, I advise you to attend to his hints about
 
 232 HOW IS ONE TO LEAEN TO DRAW ? 
 
 the use of the pen. You may be grievously 
 disgusted after a few years to find the gloss 
 and dej)th and richness of your pencil-draw- 
 ing fast disappearing ; but the pen work is 
 as enduring as print : and we may humbly 
 remember, too, that such artists as Raphael 
 and Rembrandt and Turner would not have 
 used the pen so fi'eely without good reason. 
 I mention this because pen-shading is at 
 once far more tedious and difficult than 
 pencil-work, and at 3-our age present diffi- 
 culties are often more regarded than future 
 advantages. 
 
 Do not either be disheartened by some 
 kind friend assuring you that " a little know- 
 ledge is a dangerous thing," which of all 
 common sayings (the tyi'annous " chacun a 
 son gout'''' alone excepted) has been perhaps 
 the most abused. A little knowledge is never 
 a dangerous thing ; a little smattering is not 
 only dangerous, but contemptible ; but if 
 you study in the way I have mentioned, your 
 learning must be knowledge, not smattering : 
 knowledge is founded on principle, smattering 
 on isolated facts — " cram" work, in short. 
 However you may succeed, you will at least 
 attach a higher value to form wherever seen, 
 and a deeper meaning to shadow ; and I shall
 
 now IS ONE TO LEAUX TO DUAW ? 233 
 
 be much mistaken if yon do i.ot soon oxcv- 
 come tlie druclgeiy, and begin to fill your 
 sketch--book Avitli a keener sense of jjleasuro 
 tlian of toik 
 
 One word more : do not imdervaluo 
 di'awing because you cannot colour ; it woiUd 
 be as unreasonable to depreciate a sufficient 
 knowledge of music to accompany a ballad 
 because you can't play Beethoven's sonatas. 
 If you have the '' coloiu*" in you, colour Avill 
 be sure to follow ; in many cases I am sure 
 it will follow ; it is not easy to study the 
 simpler principles of form and shadow with- 
 out a longing to penetrate the mystery of 
 colour too. Here again, as in drawing, you 
 will find that there are princi])les which you 
 must grasp, which is exactly the point that 
 masters in general do not teach you; and 
 here again you will find much practical ad- 
 vice in the same book of Ruskin to which I 
 have already referred you. After the ]irin- 
 ciples contained in that little volume have 
 been well digested, you will do -well to get 
 instruction from a master in the mechanical 
 part of painting. Whether any of their in- 
 sti'uction beyond the mcn-ely mechanical con- 
 sists of the gold of prinei})les or the tinsel of 
 •disjointed facts, you will be capable of judg-
 
 2 34 HOW IS OiSTE TO leahn to draw ? 
 
 ing for yourself, and acting npon yom- judg- 
 ment. But even if tlie study of colour docs 
 not follow, you will still find yourself in later 
 days looking with delight over your sketches 
 of foreign toiu's, and recalling many a plea- 
 sant recollection of friends, perhaps gone 
 from you for ever, whose jokes and laughter 
 and kindliness come back through the j)otent 
 spell of a few lines hastily scribbled on the 
 leaf of a small drawinir-book.
 
 XX. 
 
 "HOW AWFULLY TEDIOUS WOEK IS!" 
 
 T/'OU tell me that you find your work 
 -*- "wearisome and uninteresting-. I am not 
 at all surprised to hear it, for I would not 
 undertake to do the same kind of Avork on 
 the terms you set yom'self at any price : 
 indeed I do not think I could do it. I am 
 often surprised that, considering how much 
 dead Aveight you carry, you get at all as 
 neai* the wimiing-post as you do. I am 
 perfectly certain I could not. 
 
 Supposing I had, with no previous laio\\'- 
 ledge of the history, to get up a German 
 memoir (such as I have now before mo) 
 of the battle of Waterloo. I find here, in 
 the com'se of a few pages, mention made of 
 some eight or ton different personages, and 
 the names of as many ])laces. Noav, sup- 
 posing that I had " learned it to construe," 
 but had considted neither biographical die-
 
 236 HOW AWFULLY TEDIOUS WORK IS ! 
 
 tionaiy nor map of tlio coiintiy, of what 
 interest could the subject be to nie ? 
 
 Men and places unknown must be the 
 merest phantoms of their realities ; and the 
 blame of want of interest must surely lie with 
 myself, when I might have traced on a good 
 map or plan of the battle each step the brave 
 old Blncher made, and heard him, with a 
 very small cflFort of the imagination, repeat- 
 ing his everlasting " Forwards, my lads, 
 forwai'ds ! I say we must get forwards. I 
 have promised my brother Wellington ; and 
 you don't wish me, I suppose, to break my 
 word ;" when I might have studied ISTapo- 
 leon's plan (so nearly successful) for cutting 
 the allied armies in tw^o ; and the natural ad- 
 vantages of the British position, chosen with 
 such skill and defended with such doo-^ed 
 courage. And if I have not understood all 
 this, whom have I to thank but myself? 
 
 Now I do not say that Csesar's campaigns 
 are as enorossing; to a modern Eno;lishman 
 as Wellington's ; but the actions of a great 
 commander should always have their interest 
 for all, and especially for one who intends to 
 be a soldier himself; and as you are study- 
 ing the book, surely it is great folly not to 
 make the history as entertaining as possible ;
 
 HOW AWFUIiLY TEDIOUS AVOIIK: IS I 237 
 
 and yet what interest can you feel in places 
 you don't know where to find, and in por- 
 sonaii;es who are to you mere namos ? If 
 Cjesar and Ariovistus are " very like one 
 anotlier, esi)(>cially the latter," it must be 
 indeed a di'cary study. But when you have 
 once mastered the geography and physical 
 features of, for instance, Auvergnc, you will 
 then gain some idea of the nature of the last 
 great struggle for Gallic independence, of 
 the unwearied determination of the Roman, 
 his marches through days of snow and ice, 
 his siege-o])erations conducted on a scale to 
 enclose 80,000 men within the fatal walls of 
 circumvallation. But if you wall not use the 
 means you have before you to gain an intel- 
 ligent appreciation of what you are reading, 
 3'ou have no right to turn round upon }'our 
 subject and complain of its diyncss. 
 
 I have given this as an illustration : the 
 same ])rinciple holds good with whatever you 
 do. I have explained it more at length in 
 connection with the two studies of history 
 and geograph}'. There are two causes which 
 produce this habit of imperfect learning : one 
 — the less common of the two — a desire to 
 learn too much in too short a space of time, 
 eoririno- without di<xostin<x or assimilatinfr
 
 238 HO"W AWFULLY TEDIOUS WORK IS ! 
 
 your mental food; the second — much the 
 most frequent — natural or acquired slovenli- 
 ness of mind. 
 
 As regards the first, I woiild remind you 
 that no knowledge is so useless as half-know- 
 ledge. Would you trust a man to shoe your 
 horse who half knew his business? I dis- 
 tinguish carefully between accurate know- 
 ledge of a part of a subject and imperfect 
 acquaintance with the whole of it. If the 
 lad could forge a shoe well, though ho could 
 not fit it, you would let him forgo one while 
 his master was fitting on another ; but how 
 if he could only half-forge and half-fit the 
 shoe ? A guide who knew thoroughly half 
 an unexplored country might take you as far 
 as his knowledge would take him, where you 
 might find another guide for the rest of the 
 route ; but what confidence could you place 
 in a guide who knew only a little about the 
 whole route, if bad weather came on, and 
 you found yoiu'self in the midst of a dense 
 jungle, or near an extensive glacier ? A man 
 who half knows any branch of study is just 
 in this position. Better, if you arc to be a 
 soldier, to have studied five, two, or one cam- 
 paign thoroughly, than to have wandered 
 through acres of letterpress, and not to be
 
 HOW AWFULLY TEDIOUS WORK IS ! 239 
 
 able to give a true account of a single siege, 
 battle, or march, after all. The second cause 
 — mere slovenliness of mind — is really so con- 
 temptible a habit, that the sooner a man is 
 shamed out of it the bettel'. It is tlie same 
 habit exactly which makes your keeper half- 
 clean your gun, your groom half-dress your 
 horse ; they have simply translated into prac- 
 tical matters what many are daily guilty of 
 in the matter of learning; and you may 
 be encouraged by the thought that if it bo 
 true that virtue is its own reward, it is 
 doubl}^ true in this particular. You change 
 a dull insipid study into a pleasant and lively 
 one ; you txu'n, in fact, nonsense into sense, 
 and " build yourself a lordly pleasure house," 
 instead of sitting in a chaos of broken bricks 
 and splintered timbers. 
 
 There is a certain necessary association 
 in all studies, and, as in most associations 
 honestly carried out, you -svill find that mu- 
 tual sti'ength and aid is gained from them. 
 A map is not at first sight an interesting 
 object, and yet to Niebuhr or Arnold it 
 gave as great a pleasure as the study of a 
 masterpiece of painting gives to an artist ; 
 and for the same reasons both historinns and 
 artists see what to most of us is a sealed
 
 240 HOW AWFULLY TEDIOUS AVORK IS ! 
 
 book : a map was to tliem a picture on wliicli 
 they read the history of rising and falhng 
 emj^ires, the marches and sieges and battles 
 of great mihtary geniuses, the conquests of 
 diplomacy, the partition of kingdoms, the 
 uniting of small countries into large ones, the 
 struggles of rising liberty, the immigration 
 of warlike and the extermination .of eifemi- 
 nate tribes, the infusion of new blood into 
 degenerate states ; in fact, all the varied 
 changes of the great human family. And 
 such a pictm'c must a map become to all 
 of us, more or less, if studied alongside of 
 history. Take a mnp of one of your own 
 counties ; take Leicestershire. I open a 
 series of county maps at hazard ; the eye 
 falls at once upon Leicester, where Wolsey 
 came " to lay his weaiy bones amongst you," 
 in the convent there ; upon Market Bos worth, 
 the battle which gave us the dynasty wdiich 
 saw us safely through the Reformation and 
 the Armada ; upon Lutterworth, where " the 
 day-spring of the Reformation" rose, and we 
 recal the time when the Chin-ch of those days 
 cast Wickliffe's ashes out " into the Swift, 
 when the Swift conveyed them to the Avon, 
 and the Avon to the Severn, and Severn to 
 the broad sea, which has carried them, with
 
 HOW AWFULLY TEDIOUS WORK IS! 24 1 
 
 the truths for which ho contested, through 
 all Innds," Wo see the name of Market Ilar- 
 horough, where fled the tumultuous rout of 
 Royalists pell-mell from Nasebj, on the road 
 to Leicester, the avenginij; sword of the ruth- 
 less Puritan close behind, so that many fell 
 in the streets of the town itself ; and if you 
 have an ancient as well as a modern map of 
 tliis part, you cannot fail to mark the four 
 great roads converging upon the ancient 
 Ratse — the works of that nation of soldiers 
 who knew that the spade and the mattock 
 were as useful in war as the sword ; that if 
 the latter won battles, the former retained 
 their advantages — the modern Leicester ; 
 while to this day the Watling Street forms 
 its south-west boundary, as the silver Trent, 
 for a short distance, forms the north-west 
 boundary, and carries us back to the tri- 
 partite division of England in the insurrec- 
 tion against the " ingrate and cankered" 
 Bolingbroke, when the fiery Hots{)ur pro- 
 posed to dam II]) the " smug and silver" 
 Trent, and make it flow more equitably for 
 liis share of the expected spoil. ]\Iany county 
 maps — those especially of the larger ones — 
 would supply at a glance to a very moihn'atc 
 historian as much as this ; some indeed are 
 
 R
 
 242 HOW AWFULLY TEDIOUS WOEK IS ! 
 
 perfect mines of historical wealth. But to 
 understand this, then, you must read your 
 history intelligently, and "look out your 
 places in a map."
 
 XXI. 
 
 HOW TO GR^E MONEY AWAY. 
 
 "YTOU are quite rl^lit — it is no easy matter 
 -*- to give money away judiciously; and in- 
 judicious liberality has done mischief enough 
 in this country, as the existence of that sin- 
 gular and barbarous tribe of nomads, the 
 30,000 tramps in England, will bear wit- 
 ness. You ask me for my advice as to how 
 to perform best the duty of almsgiving. I 
 give it with some diffidence. No doubt the 
 experience of life will soon aid you to cori'ect 
 any erroneous impressions here conveyed. 
 
 One of the most tliouglitful and at the 
 same time most munificent of men, the late 
 Archbisho}) Whateley, is rejiorted to have 
 said on his deathbed, " I have many faults 
 and shortcomings to blame myself with, but 
 I thank God I cannot accuse myself of 
 having given away a penny in the streets." 
 The man who uttered these quaint and yet 
 solemn words gave to eases of real distress 
 sums that amounted to thousands of pounds
 
 244 HOW TO GIVE MONET AWAY. 
 
 annually. He knew too well, as is more 
 widely known now, that of the money given 
 in the streets — cast away to rid oneself of 
 importunity rather than to aid penury, the 
 gift of indolence rather than of liberality — • 
 probably less than one - thousandth part 
 assists the deserving. The rest pampers 
 ])rofligaey, supports drunkenness and glut- 
 tony, fosters laziness, deceit, and imposture, 
 the cankers of our civilisation ; for in pro- 
 jDortion as you maintain these you discourage 
 industry and honourable toil, you show the 
 industrious poor how well men can live 
 without industry, the truthful how well it 
 answers to be a liar. The thoughtlessness 
 that gives to every street beggar feeds in no 
 slight measure the deepest ulcer in our body 
 politic — the perennial pauperism extant in 
 England. 
 
 But lest you should feel, as every kind- 
 hearted man will, indisposed to let even the 
 odd thousandth case pass away unaided, let 
 me tell you how you may certainly assist 
 tliat one deserving case, while refusing aid 
 to the reprobate. 
 
 It is many years now since the Mendicity 
 Society was established in London to. meet 
 this very evil; but its work, so unpreten-
 
 nOAV TO GIVE MOXEY AVi'AY. 245 
 
 tlous and yet so effective, is not lialf r.s 
 widely known as it is for tlie advantage of 
 the country tliat it sliould be. Its action is 
 very sim])lo. On payment of a subscription 
 you receive a certain number of tickets ; 
 these you distribute instead of money to the 
 casual beggar. On presenting it at the so- 
 ciety's offices he will have his case carefully 
 investigated. The officers of the society are 
 in constant communication with the police ; 
 each application is correctly registered, each 
 new face curiously scanned. And so tho- 
 roughly does this simple machinery effect 
 its purpose, that you may learn there some 
 very curious statistics relative to the differ- 
 ence between the number of tickets given 
 away in the streets and those presented at 
 the society's offices — the vast majority never 
 presented at all. You may hear, too, some 
 very instructive histories of disguises disco- 
 vered by them, false histories detected, and 
 even the very ablest professors of the science 
 of imposition reduced to the narrowest straits 
 for support within the precincts of their jiro- 
 fession. " Do you know any thing of this 
 case?" was asked at the office by a liberal 
 friend of the needy, as he presented a beg- 
 ging letter to the secretary-, in which ty])hus
 
 246 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 
 
 fever and famine played a very prominent 
 part. The reply was something to this effect : 
 " Perfectly well, sir ; that case has Lm^-ied 
 three wives and seventeen children and many 
 fatliers and mothers within the last fifteen 
 months. He has within the same period 
 been five times bankrupt by the rascality of 
 a brother-in-law ; twice smashed in railway 
 accidents ; twice turned out of excellent situ- 
 ations rather than surrender his conscientious 
 scruples — once for being a Roman Catholic, 
 once for being a Protestant ; and during the 
 last equinoctial gales he saved nothing but a 
 straw hat and pair of canvas trousers from 
 three different shipwrecks all in the same 
 night." 
 
 The simple fact is this, that except in a 
 quiet country village it is impossible to learn 
 personally the exact truth about any applica- 
 tion for aid. Some indeed of the most skilful 
 begging-letter writers are prepared for you 
 if you attempt to unearth them, and will 
 take you to a room hired for the occasion, 
 where poverty and sickness are simulated 
 to the life. Only a society organised for the 
 purpose, and in close connection with the 
 ])olice, can attempt to find the grain of truth 
 in the frallon of falsehood.
 
 now TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 247 
 
 You are already beset with begging let- 
 ters. It is tbe fate of any man known to 
 have money, and to be influenced by a sense 
 of duty in the spending of it. Let us chissify 
 the letters. You will find them all to come 
 under one of these heads : 
 
 1. Private begging letters. 
 
 2. Begging letters from clergy fur their 
 parishes. 
 
 3. Begging letters from societies for moral 
 or religious purposes. 
 
 The first class I have already ad\ised you 
 to send en masse to the Mendicity Society, 
 replying to the Avriter Avith a ticket of intro- 
 duction to their ofiicials, which introduction 
 in the great majority of cases he will be un- 
 grateful enough to decline. Of course there 
 are exceptions to this rule ; applications from 
 persons with Avhom you or your rchitions are 
 personally acquainted, or such applications as 
 men in public office receive, such as you will 
 find mentioned in the lives of W. Wilber- 
 force. Sir llobert Peel, and other well-known 
 public characters ; a})i)lications reasonably 
 made and coui'teously investigated, to which 
 aid was often privately given with a delicacy 
 of feeling which one cannot sufiiciently ad- 
 mire.
 
 248 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 
 
 As regards class No. 2, you will do well 
 to examine each case separately, if you can. 
 It is argued, and no doubt with reason, that 
 as a general principle each parish should 
 build and support its own church and schools. 
 This principle, however, though' excellent in 
 theory, is impossible in practice, from the 
 extreme poverty of some whole parishes or 
 districts, not merely in London, but in all 
 our larger towns. To meet this want there 
 has arisen a system, far preferable to any 
 private begging -letter plan, of connecting 
 a wealthy parish at one end of a large toAvn 
 with a poverty-stricken parish at the other 
 end, and thus making the superfluities of the 
 one available for the sup^^ort of the other. 
 Here, 1 would say, give liberally, and give 
 more than money ; give your time, if pos- 
 sible, to organising such a system — a system 
 by which the unnatural disseverance of rich 
 and poor may be mitigated, if not abolished, 
 and the most useful lesson in life taught to 
 both, that we are all members one of another. 
 At the same time I must honestly express 
 my aversion to what seems the mere imper- 
 tinence of those begging letters des])atched 
 wholesale from a well-to-do country parish 
 to ask for aid for a carved font or a stained
 
 now TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 249 
 
 window, or sonic (no doubt) useful and oi*- 
 namental i>ioec of churcli funn'turc, where it 
 is manifest that if the })arishioners really 
 wanted those things, they would provide 
 them for themselves ; if they do not, the 
 erection of them by others is a queer me- 
 thod of expressing the parishioners' spirit of 
 self-sacrifice and delight in giving of their 
 best to God's worship. The beauty of our 
 old parish churches Avas not accomplished 
 thus by their munificent founders. 
 
 I need hardly speak of the claims which 
 your own parish has upon your support to 
 its various little clubs for the benefit of the 
 poor; their utility is universally admitted; 
 and they demand support on no ground more 
 than this, that they do what other charities 
 fail altogether in doing — help the poor to 
 help themselves; the most useful and needful 
 lesson that can be taught them. If ever the 
 chronic pauperism of the country is to be 
 fairly grapi)led with, it will be tlu'ough the 
 spread of this principle. Soup-kitchens, gifts 
 of bread, donations of all kinds, relieve im- 
 mediate poverty, but they foster rather than 
 remedy the disease of pauperism. On the 
 other hand, every penny that you can get 
 the poor to lay by, even temporarily, is a
 
 250 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 
 
 stone tlu'own upon the cairn that marks the 
 grave of pauperism. 
 
 The wanton extravagance and senseless 
 wastefulness of many amongst Englisli ar- 
 tisans, are, I believe, unparalleled in any 
 other European country. It is a common 
 occurrence in some places for men who are 
 earning as much as 25.s. to 35.?. a week to 
 apply to the clergyman, or hoard of guar- 
 dians, for relief after being a fortnight out 
 of work. And I have heard of far worse 
 cases than these : of families earning SI. and 
 4:1. a week spending exery farthing in eating 
 and drinking, and begging shamefully after 
 a week's want of work. The establishment 
 of the Government Savings' Bank is one of 
 the most powerful levers at work for the 
 raising and educating of the artisan and 
 labouring classes ; any aid that you can 
 give to the same principle in supporting 
 your parish clothing, coal, &c. clubs is 
 doubly well spent ; for it assists the needy 
 at the present, and encourages a sj^irit of 
 thrift and prudence for the future. 
 
 As regards the third upon my list of 
 begging letters, they come no doubt many 
 of them from well-intentioned institutions; 
 but here too some care is demanded. Not
 
 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 25 1 
 
 a few of these societies are iiotliing niuro 
 than scliisms ft'om old foundations; and some 
 are even schisms dissevered from the first 
 schismatical de})osit. They remind one of 
 the case of a Scotch servant, who, applying 
 to a lady for a place, hoped that she woidd 
 be allowed to attend her own place of wor- 
 ship. "Certainly; you belong to the split, 
 then?" " Xo, ni'm ; I belong to the split 
 after the split had split." These successive 
 splits have really little claim upon our sym- 
 pathy. Born in disunion, they have been 
 nursed too often in the unwholesome at- 
 mosphere of faction, and slander, and quar- 
 relling ; from repidsive little brats they have 
 grown into an uglier and more mischievous 
 manhood, and so have in turn begotten a 
 second generation pmiier and more worth- 
 less, but still more clamorous and impor- 
 tunate than their parents. A\'e need not be 
 deceived by the vulgar argument that a great 
 many good men support them ; a great many 
 good men give their money to objects of 
 which they know nothing, simply to deaden 
 the incessant assaidt of a])])lications. Tlicse 
 societies are too often im[)ost(-)rs. Look out 
 the oldest societies for each specific (.)bject, 
 and support those ; and if assailed to assist
 
 252 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 
 
 tlie others on the score that you might give 
 more to that object, the reply is obvious : 
 if you have more, you give it to the first so- 
 ciety, and not to its illegitimate offspring. 
 Tliere is scarcely a charitable cause that has 
 not two or three societies supporting it, Avast- 
 ing the alms of their subscribers with duj)li- 
 cate offices, duplicate officers, and a double 
 organisation, and disgusting numbers of libe- 
 rally disposed persons with applications for 
 objects to which they have just subscribed. 
 
 A w^ord or two about another larg-e class 
 wdiich has sprung into great luxuriance in 
 the last twenty years. This class of society 
 — say for distressed washerwomen — selects 
 the recipients of its bounty by the votes of 
 its subscribers, every subscriber of 11., 10s., 
 or in some cases of 5.?., receiving a vote. If 
 you want to be hunted perpetually for votes 
 for distressed washerwomen, by all means 
 subscribe your name and money too ; if, 
 however, you value your time and peace, 
 subscribe, if you approve, to the charity, but 
 don't let your left hand know what your 
 right hand has subscribed. Indeed, the 
 nuisance of this system has become so in- 
 tolerable that steps are being taken by the 
 managers of some of these charities to alter
 
 HOW TO GIVE MOXEY AWAY. 253 
 
 the system of election to tliciu aito^oAhcr. 
 It 13 said (but such systematic meanness is 
 scarcely credible) that numbers of subscribers 
 would fall off at once if their names did not 
 appear duly registered, and so they may 
 enjoy at times a letter from a real peeress 
 canvassing for some poor dependent. What 
 would Thackeray have said to this sublimity 
 of British flunkeyism? One abuse of the 
 system will be patent from the fact that it 
 regularly costs about 251. in writing and 
 postage to secure votes in some of these so- 
 cieties for an annuity of perhaps 20/., which, 
 from the age of the candidate, is not worth 
 more than five years' purchase. 
 
 Of many of the charitable societies — of 
 the sisterhoods, for instance, the orphanages, 
 homes for the destitute, hospitals, houses of 
 refuge for the penitent, and many similar 
 institutions, — which have been established 
 within the last few years in many of om* 
 towns, it is impossible to speak except in 
 terms of admiration and delight, and hope- 
 fulness for the country that has given birth 
 to them. One I will mention particularly, 
 because of its extreme sim})licity. It is 
 worked by men, is apparently independent 
 of laws, exacts no particular dress, and piu'-
 
 2 54 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 
 
 jwses to give not money so mucli as per- 
 sonal service to the poor; to visit them in 
 their homes, assist them when needed, and 
 report their cases to the clergyman of the 
 parish. It is a cheering sign of the times to 
 see many young men of good birth and liigh 
 social position — officers of the Guards, not a 
 few (so-called) idle men about London, busi- 
 ness men who will make some spare odds 
 and ends of time for this work — join in an as- 
 sociation for becoming personally acquainted 
 with the needs of the poor. It is ignorance 
 rather than selfishness that is at the root of 
 our worst social evils. It is quite one thing 
 to read a thrilling account of misery and suf- 
 fering in a leading article, and another thing 
 to go and see the horrible details, and minister 
 to these shocking wants in person. There is 
 an appalling truth at the bottom of that silly 
 parody, 
 
 " Whene'er I take my walks abroad, 
 How many poor I see ; 
 And 'cause I never speak to them, 
 They never speak to me." 
 
 And it is this : that between the life — com- 
 fortable, luxurious, refined, and intellectual — 
 of the rich, and that of the poor — sordid and 
 laborious, and often gross and vicious — there
 
 now TO GIVE MOXEY AWAY. 255 
 
 is a great gulf fixed. Our intellectual pur- 
 suits, as well as our luxurious iudulgonces, 
 tend to widen that gulf daily. All honour 
 to any society that will try to bridge it ; for 
 it must be bridged otherAviso than ])y the 
 treacherous materials of self-interest. The 
 weekly payment and receipt of wages will 
 never do it. As in surgery, so here, sym- 
 pathy alone will unite a fractured liml). 
 
 You are aware, no doubt, that the old 
 charities, gifts left by will and distributed 
 generally at Christmas, are very great 
 throughout the country; but it may be a 
 novelty to you to hear that in many, per- 
 haps in a large majority of cases, they are 
 a curse rather than a blessing ; that the poor 
 forestall them, claim them as a right, quarrel 
 over them, lie and backbite for them, and 
 then waste them ; that these gifts demoralise 
 and even pauperise parishes where they exist 
 in large amounts ; and finally, that a con- 
 siderable fraction, perhaps as much as half, 
 goes straight into the hands of owners of cot- 
 tages in these (unhappily) endowed parishes. 
 Brilliantly as the abominations of these un- 
 charitable charities w^ere exposed by Mr. 
 Gladstone in a speech delivered a few 3'cars 
 ago, these abuses might have been recounted
 
 256 now TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 
 
 in fourfold abundance. I know a parish well 
 wdiere, of two contiguous and perfectly simi- 
 lar cottages, one will pay one-tliird more rent 
 than the other. The highly-rented one is 
 just within the boundary-line of the highly- 
 endowed parish. The neighbouring parish, 
 happily for its morality and industry, has no 
 charities of any kind. Now in this, as in all 
 abuses, there are hundreds, indeed thou- 
 sands, interested. To sweep even the worst 
 of them into a new channel, that should fer- 
 tilise instead of withering all in its course, 
 would be resisted to the death. The battle 
 will, however, have to be fought, perhaps 
 ere long. Don't be biased by any views of 
 mine, but think the question carefully over 
 by yom'self; and when the time comes, act; 
 you are sure to have an opportunity for ac- 
 tion in some line or other. 
 
 I cannot better conclude than with the 
 words of one who is old now, but during a 
 long life has given largely, and now enjoys 
 the happy recollection of acts of generous 
 munificence : " Of all the money that I have 
 given away in charity, none gives me more 
 pleasure to remember than that which I have 
 given to hospitals and schools. However 
 greatly other charities may be, and are,
 
 HOW TO GIVE MONEY AWAY. 257 
 
 abused, these can liardly be junonost tlicir 
 number; for no one -will net into a hospital 
 wlio can keep out of it; and thouoh our old 
 grammar-schools are still mostly in a state 
 of decrepitude, no modern scIkjoI can arrive 
 at that condition for some time at least. A 
 child must learn something there ; and every 
 something there learnt is a guarantee against 
 the abuse of that or any other school long 
 after the time when I shall be dead and 
 gone."
 
 xxir. 
 
 A LITTLE LEARNING NOT A DANGEROUS 
 THING. 
 
 /^NE would be curious to discover tlie 
 ^^ origiuator of the proverb which affirms 
 that a little learning is dangerous. Was he 
 an unsuccessful inventor in Dean Swift's 
 inimitable Universitj of Laputa? Or was 
 it the fond parent who stoutly insisted that 
 her dear boy should never enter the water 
 until he could swim ? 
 
 And yet it is not so very astonishing that 
 so silly a saying, once published, shoiTld at- 
 tain a certain circulation and notoriety. It 
 has a degree of plausibility about it ; it strikes 
 one, at its first introduction, as being redolent 
 of profound study and the midnight oil, and 
 has therefore' served again and again the pur- 
 pose of a convenient mask for idleness to play 
 behind ; and yet, except on this score (which 
 indeed would argue a vast amount of idle- 
 ness in the world), a fallacy so transparent
 
 A LITTLE LEARNING NOT DANGEROUS. 259 
 
 as tliis ought not to liave ol)t!iIne<l as ir.ncli 
 crecleiico as tliis has. Per]iaj)s (like Avearing 
 spectacles) quoting such a proverb gives an 
 air of depth and solidity of attainments ; for 
 assuredly, except as a fantasy, a spectral and 
 not a real truth, it can hardly be believed in 
 by a nation who in a thousand actions of 
 their daily life disj)lay not so much a scep- 
 tical or hesitating belief in its truth as an 
 absolute disbelief in it altogether. 
 
 There is an amusing anecdote in a little 
 book called Golden Deeds, of an Irish girl 
 goiufii; with her mistress to get some gun- 
 powder out of a barrel in an attic. On de- 
 scending, the mistress hap])ily asked the maid 
 what she had done with the candle. " For- 
 got it, m'm ; left it stuck in flie barrel of black 
 salt.'''' Now, doubtless her mistress knew no 
 more about gunpowder than its terrible ex- 
 plosive qualities. Perhajjs not many of us 
 are prepared to pass much of an examination 
 even on its materials, still less on the relative 
 proportion of those materials or their manu- 
 facture; but at any rate the lady's little learn- 
 ing saved them (aided by considerable i>re- 
 sence of mind) from the total annihilation 
 which the maid's want of a little learning 
 had prepared for them. Of the two, there
 
 26o A LITTLE LEARNING NOT DANGEROUS. 
 
 can hardly be a doubt here as to which was 
 the "dangerous thing." 
 
 Now this anecdote may be taken as a fair 
 sample of the experience of every-day life ; 
 of the vexatioiis troubles brought about by 
 the unaccountable absence of a little learning. 
 I am not afraid of having quoted to me the 
 witty remark made by a clever lawyer on 
 reading the title of a law-book, Every Man 
 Ids oivn Laioyer — " Then he would have a 
 fool for his client." A little learning is just 
 what is wanted to warn a man not to meddle 
 with a profession he has not mastered. It 
 does not need the wisdom of a Solomon to 
 advise an untaught countryman not to ven- 
 ture on a battle with a practised pugilist. 
 Let us take a few occasions in daily life 
 where a little knowledge would be, as it has 
 often been, of the very highest value. 
 
 The knowledge of the fact that the two 
 main constituents of our food are carbon and 
 starch can hardly be called profound. Nor, 
 again, of this fact, that what nature demands 
 for its main support is carbon in colder, and 
 starch in warmer climates; that is to say, 
 more animal food the nearer you approach 
 the poles, and more vegetable the nearer you 
 approach the equator. Now there is no doubt
 
 A LITTLE LExVRNING NOT DANGEROUS. 26 1 
 
 tliat this little know]edo:e -would be not dan- 
 gerous, but most advantageous, to any young 
 officer, or civilian, or merchant, starting for 
 India, Burmah, China, and many other of 
 our foreign possessions. 
 
 There are literally scores of anecdotes of 
 the hunting- and the battle-field which tell 
 us how often a very little knowledge of sur- 
 gery or of meiUcine has assuaged ])ain, and 
 indeed stayed the a])proach of death itself. 
 The construction of an extem})ore tournicpiet 
 to close a severed artery is not a work of 
 either genius or elaborate skill ; it demands 
 nothing but a stick, a stone, and a pocket- 
 handkerchief or two ; and yet how many 
 valuablo lives has this fragment, this shred 
 of knowledge, preserved ! 
 
 History tells us that the Marquis of Wel- 
 lesley, while Governor-general of India, used 
 to send despatches to those of his subordinates 
 who were scholars enough to understand 
 tliem written in pure Attic Greek. Tijipoo 
 Sahib was well known to have interpreters 
 at his court of every modern European lan- 
 guage, but ancient Attic was too nuich tor 
 them. Other despatches in various tongues 
 had been intercepted and easily deciphered ; 
 these might be intercepted — that is the fate
 
 262 A LITTLE LEARNING NOT DANGEROUS. 
 
 of war — but not one ever gave up its 
 secret. 
 
 But it may be objected, this surely is an 
 instance of the utihty of not a httle, but a 
 great deal of knowledge. The Governor- 
 general still lives fresh in the memory of 
 Eton as a most accomplished scholar ; almost 
 dearer to his old school on that account than 
 as a distinguished statesman. 
 
 Hear, then, the following : I remember 
 being shown, a short time after the Indian 
 mutiny, a facsimile of a despatch which had 
 been sent in a quill — the usual method in 
 India — by Inglis to Havelock (undying 
 names) respecting the best plan of entry into 
 the walls of besieged Lucknow. Every pro- 
 per name, both of place and person, was 
 written in ancient Greek characters — the 
 characters merely, there was not an attempt 
 at expressing an idea in the Greek language ; 
 but by this simple expedient the message 
 was made perfectly unintelligible to the army 
 of the mutineers, had it fallen into their 
 hands, while conveying the same information 
 that Eno;lish would have done to the areneral 
 to whom it was addressed. 
 
 Of the blunders that are almost daily 
 made from want of tlie most rudimentary
 
 A LITTLE LEAKNING NOT DANGEROUS. 263 
 
 knowledge of art tlic newspapers all furnish 
 frequent instances. A year or two ago an 
 amusing instance came into court, when it 
 appeared that some wealthy simpleton had 
 purchased what he believed to be genuine j)ie- 
 tures by Michael Angelo and liaphael, which 
 were really copies of copies of their great 
 originals, manufactured at so much the 
 square foot in Manchester. Kow even if he 
 could not tell a picture from a daub, it would 
 have required but a very little literary know- 
 ledge of art to be aware that the originals 
 were in one or other of the great galleries or 
 churches on the Continent — some, perhaps, 
 that he had hurried past while accomplish- 
 ing, as Englishmen will in their travels, the 
 greatest amount of space in the smallest 
 amount of time. 
 
 What anecdotes of ruinous blundering 
 cannot builders tell, all arising from their 
 employers' ignorance, not of details — that is 
 the builder's business — but of the first idea 
 or conception of the thing house ! Despite 
 the truth that medical science reiterates 
 about light and sunshine being the first 
 necessaries of health, how many new houses 
 are thoughtlessly built to fjice the north and 
 north-east ; thouirh, if medical science had
 
 764 A LITTLE LEARNING NOT DANGEROUS. 
 
 been silent, the experience and example of 
 the great builders of the Middle Ages might 
 have made us wiser in our generation. You 
 Avill find that, with hardly an exception, in 
 our climate at least, the cathedral or huge 
 monastery-chiu'ch stood at the north side of 
 the whole range of buildings, protecting the 
 cloisters, refectory, and dormitory from the 
 cold winds, and leaving them open to the 
 warmth of the south. That this did not arise 
 from an accidental or a conventional style of 
 arrangement is clear from the fact that in 
 Spain the cloister court is found on the 
 north side of the church, for coolness. 
 
 I will add but one more illustration from 
 building. The very simple law of capillary 
 attraction is well known, by which bricks or 
 any porous material will sop up water to any 
 height ; so that the floor and even the roof- 
 timbers will be kept constantly damp if laid 
 on bricks, which, again, are placed upon a 
 damp soil ; yet, despite this very simple and 
 self-evident fact, how many houses are built 
 by men regardless of the easy expedient of 
 inserting a layer of slates in cement just 
 below the lowest floor-timbers, so as to cut 
 off the risino; moisture once and for all ! 
 
 Now as all wide -spread fallacies have
 
 A LITTLE LEARNING NOT DANGEROUS, 265 
 
 always been based upon a perverted or con- 
 cealed truth, let us see what the grain of 
 hidden truth is in this case. Is it not tin's ? 
 that a little knowledge, if you think it big 
 when it really is little, is a dangerous thing ? 
 which in other words means this, that it is 
 not the little knowledge that is dangerous at 
 all, but your taking a false estimate of it. 
 Now this truth is undeniable ; but it is 
 equally true that a proverb which demands 
 so much explanation, so many addenda et 
 corrigenda^ is a very clumsy piece of work- 
 manship indeed ; and when to this you add 
 the undeniable fact that it has been made 
 the excuse for a multitude of sins of idleness, 
 it does deserve the treatment that the jack- 
 daw in the fable received, who decked him- 
 self out in the borrowed peacock plumes. 
 In fact there are two distinct truths involved 
 in this clumsy and pretentious apothegm, 
 neither of which is, however, at all fully 
 conveyed in it : the fii'st of which is, '^ be 
 modest about what you know ;" and the 
 second, " do not despise any knowledge, 
 however slight or even fragmentary;" cor- 
 rect it if possible, and reclaim it from its 
 fragmentary state into order and system if 
 you can ; but whether you can systematise it
 
 266 A LITTLE LEARNING NOT DANGEEOUS. 
 
 or not, still be ever collecting knowledge from 
 all quarters, acquire it through every avenue 
 of information — through conversation no less 
 than throuo-h books, throuo-h the eve no lest 
 than the ear. Much of Shakespeare's ripe- 
 ness and extraordinary accuracy of know- 
 ledge must have come — as we know from 
 his biography that Goethe's did — from ob- 
 servation of mechanics at their work, from 
 noticing the conduct and language of work- 
 men in their fields, in their ships, at their 
 markets, in their churches, or in their shops. 
 It is a part of an old, old truth, but capable of 
 wider interpretation than it generally receives 
 — despise not small tilings.
 
 xxiir. 
 
 HINTS ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 'V'OU tell me that, much as you wish it 
 -^ were otherwise, you find Shakespeare 
 very heavy reading, and you heartily wish 
 you could feel some of the intense admira- 
 tion with which all Shakespeare readers 
 speak of his works. You are convinced 
 that the man whom Goethe and Coleridge 
 illustrated and Schiller translated, whom all 
 the greatest authors united in honouring, 
 must indeed be great : and you tell me }ou 
 have lately seen it noticed that the number 
 of copies of Shakespeare taken out of the 
 Manchester free library is greater than that 
 of almost any other book ; proving that not 
 only the literati, the men Avho read Homer 
 and Dante and Goethe, but that many of 
 the artisan class delight in the Avorks of him 
 whom the Germans characteristicall}' entitle 
 "the myriad-minded." 
 
 I will, then, in this letter, give you a
 
 268 ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 few hints — set up, so to say, a few finger- 
 posts in the route for you to travel over ; the 
 route, or one very similar to it, that all must 
 have travelled over to their goal; which is 
 the delight inspired by the beavity and apt- 
 ness of the language, the depth of thought, 
 the delineation of feelings of awe and mirth, 
 of love and phrensy, combined in one vast 
 j)icture. 
 
 And first you should clearly understand 
 that your difficulty is not unique in this par- 
 ticular. You could as little, without artistic 
 and architectural study, comprehend a cathe- 
 dral in all the grandeur of its design and the 
 loveliness of its details, or a great picture in 
 its variety of excellences, as you can compre- 
 hend one of Shakespeare's vast life-pictures : 
 indeed the latter is the most difficult achieve- 
 ment of any; higher mental powers are taxed 
 to comprehend such a play as Hamlet or Lear 
 than are called into play to appreciate any 
 art. And yet you would, I daresay, feel as 
 helpless before, for instance, that grand pic- 
 ture of the Supper in Cana of Paul Veronese 
 in the Louvre, where at the first glance we 
 feel a dim sense of beauty, of lovely colour, 
 of graceful form, of animated expression ; 
 but without some explanation, without some
 
 ox THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 269 
 
 acquired knowledge of art, we can liardly 
 advance much further. But when we analyse 
 the painting in detail, and know that the 
 musicians (I take the foreground first) are 
 portraits of the great painters of the day, 
 including such names as Tintorct and Titian ; 
 the guests on tlie left of the picture are all 
 portraits of the great monarchs of a period 
 of great monarchs, — Charles the Fifth and 
 Francis the First, and Solyman ''the Mag- 
 nificent," — we begin to feel that there is an 
 historical greatness in the Avork, independent 
 of artistic worth. Add to this the skill with 
 which the painter has represented the prepa- 
 ration for a feast on the gallery in tile back- 
 ground, thus combining (in dramatic lan- 
 iTuaire) subordinate scenes with the main 
 plot of the play. Add to this the skilful in- 
 troduction of severe lines of architectm-e on 
 either side, to act as foils to the gracefid 
 shapes and flowing robes of the feasters; 
 then consider the masterly drawing, the rich 
 and yet subdued colouring. Add to this again 
 the life thrown into every detail, down to the 
 cat sharpening its claws upon the embossed 
 sides of a silver vase, and the leash of hounds, 
 one of which pulls away from his sleepy 
 fellow as it eagerly watches the cat. Add to
 
 270 ox THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 all tills the solemn central figures ; — and we 
 then begin to appreciate the work by de- 
 grees in its fulness. Last of all, perhaps, you 
 feel that, however many anachronisms there 
 may be — Italian architectm-e, kingly guests, 
 modern musical instruments in a sacred sub- 
 ject — yet it is a thoroughly perfect and com- 
 plete picture, conveying the impression that 
 thus He would have appeared amongst men 
 at rich men's tables, had He come in later 
 times : and as we remember this, the ana- 
 chronism is but one of time ; there is no 
 unreality about it, even as a sacred pictm^e ; 
 while the introduction of the peculiarities of 
 the artist's own time vastly enhances the 
 value of the pictiu'e in an historical and 
 artistic point of view. 
 
 Apply this principle of study, of gradual 
 comprehension, to a play of Shakespeare, 
 and you will find, if I mistake not, that fully 
 three readings of a play are required if you 
 would really appreciate not " the beauties 
 of Shakespeare," but Shakespeare himself 
 The first reading, to master the difficulties 
 of the language ; the second, to comjH'e- 
 hend each leading character singly ; the 
 third, to grasp the meaning and complete- 
 ness of the play as a whole.
 
 ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 27 1 
 
 There is no need of entering now into the 
 reasons why the mere text of Shakespeare 
 is full of difficulties ; but they arise mainly 
 from two sources : 1st, language ; 2dly, gram- 
 mar. 
 
 It is confessedly impossible to understand 
 an author unless you are perfectly accpiainted 
 with his language. Now if you really think 
 that Shakespeare presents but few difficulties 
 of language, pray undeceive yom'self by run- 
 ning 3'our eye down a good glossary of his 
 words and phrases : the obsolete expressions 
 alone are very numerous ; and be sm'e that 
 until you comprehend these as readily as you 
 enter into the language of daily life, you can't 
 really comprehend Shakespeare. The gram- 
 mar is another difficidty; but this arises from 
 a totally different cause, Avhich is the close- 
 ness of the thought on the part of the speaker. 
 If you have any doubts on this head, let mo 
 refer you to that famous speech of Macbeth's 
 beginning, "To be thus is nothing;" and 
 you will quickly change your opinion on tliis 
 head also. I believe that these two difficul- 
 ties alone are the greatest impediments to 
 the interest that Shakespeare would other- 
 wise create in the mind of every educated 
 Englishman, They are really more serious
 
 2/2 ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 impediments, because they are often over- 
 looked from being undervalued : scenes are 
 consequently but half understood, all strength 
 and life have evaporated, the portrait is like 
 that in a blurred photograph, where you 
 would hardly recognise even a well-known 
 friend after the unskilftd treatment he has 
 undergone. 
 
 Now, next to understanding the phrase- 
 ology and grammar of a play, which is in 
 itself no light work, you should try and gain 
 a distinct conception of the drift and mean- 
 ing of each individual character. Therefore, 
 as a second matter of study, I should say, 
 take in turn each great character — say four 
 or five in the play — and read their parts 
 straight through, with only as much of the 
 context as will tlu"ow light upon the single 
 character you are studying. To make my 
 meaning clearer : take, for instance, the first 
 part of King Henry IV. — Knight's, or any 
 good edition, will tell you at the beginning 
 of the play in what acts and scenes each 
 character appears : — take Hotspur ; he first 
 appears in act i. scene 3, where his character 
 soon displays itself as bold, impetuous, irrit- 
 able, inconsiderate, reckless of consequences, 
 ready to beard the king to his face, and then
 
 ox THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 273 
 
 joining any intemperate sclicnie for revenge; 
 in act ii. scene 3, he is all ardour and excite- 
 ment for the campaign, parrying his "svife's 
 attempts to discover the secret of his warlike 
 ^^reparations, scoffing at the faint-heartedness 
 of those who are less impetuous than him- 
 self; in actiii. scene 1, his reckless overbear- 
 ing spirit leads him to insult the calm and 
 dignified, but vain and superstitious Glen- 
 dower, then quarrel with him about a few 
 pounds' -worth of land, mock at his accom- 
 plishments, irritate to the last degree the 
 man whose aid would be a mainstay in their 
 treasonable enterprise ; and at the close of 
 the scene his manners and lano;uao;e, rough 
 and somewhat coarse, show the want of all 
 real refinement beneath the brilliant display 
 of courage, hardihood, and resolution ; and 
 thus he continues on to the last. The con- 
 sistency of his character will force itself upon 
 your notice when you read tliese scenes con- 
 secutively. And when you have thus studied 
 a few of the leading characters carefully and 
 at length, you will be prepared for the last 
 reading, which will then present the play 
 before you as a whole. 
 
 There are two points of view from which 
 a play of Shakespeare's may be regarded : 
 
 T
 
 2 74 ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 either as a work of art, or (which is the 
 higher view still) as a practical lesson in the 
 conduct of affairs in life ; and perhaps, in 
 studying a play as a whole, you will do well 
 to examine it from these two different points 
 of view separately, at least in those plays 
 that you make a systematic study of. And 
 in studying a play as a work of art, you will 
 notice the skill with which the author strikes 
 the key-note of the coming plot in the first 
 scene, however short that scene may be. In 
 the play we have just been considering, the 
 main plot is a most dangerous, though un- 
 successful rebellion ; and in the first lines we 
 see the coming tempest, the little cloud, no 
 bisffer than a man's hand, on the horizon. 
 Then you will notice the skill with which the 
 comic and the serious scenes are interwoven : 
 the truthful pictm'e of life there given, not 
 all laughter, not all tears ; U Allegro and II 
 Penseroso ever side by side, as Milton has 
 embodied them for all time. And thus by 
 these and similar observations you will soon 
 be led to appreciate the greatness of the 
 work as merely a work of art. But how 
 much higher greatness do these plays dis- 
 close in gauging the jiowers and sounding 
 the passions of mankind ! This, the highest
 
 ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEARE. 275 
 
 walk of criticism, you must not expect to 
 tread early in your studies : it is only by 
 slow degrees and enlarged knowledge of 
 character that you will learn to appreciate 
 the truths underlying often the lightest as 
 well as the most serious scenes ; the deep 
 insight into human nature in not one but a 
 thousand varieties ; the strange apparent in- 
 consistencies of the same character, — noble 
 in one direction, commonplace and even 
 sordid in another; the noble Maebetli a mur- 
 derer, while maxims of wisdom fall from the 
 lips of the old dotard Polonius ; the natural 
 consistency of a character with itself at dif- 
 ferent periods of life, though brought on the 
 stage at only one of those periods : take, for 
 instance. Justice Shallow, who ajipears only 
 in age, a liar, drunkard, boaster, and fool ; 
 the natural conclusion to a youth Avhich he 
 describes himself as frivolous, idle, and de- 
 bauched. 
 
 And lastly, consider the many and great 
 lessons that each play conveys as a Avliole. 
 The deadly poison of temptation once tam- 
 pered Avith, its poAvcr to ruin a nol)lo soul 
 like Macbeth's ; the unbalanced judgment, 
 and impotency of decision, the slavery to the 
 impulse of the moment, in Eichard II. ; the
 
 276 ON THE STUDY OF SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 ruin of '' ill-weaved ambition" in Hotspur 
 and Wolsey ; the loss of all peace coincident 
 with the loss of faith in goodness in Othello ; 
 the total paralysis inflicted upon the highest 
 intellectual powers by indecision and pro- 
 crastination in Hamlet ; the brutal ignorance 
 and senseless inconsistency of mobs, the 
 need that every one who thinks he stands 
 should take heed to his falling, in Angelo ; 
 the close alliance between a life of sensuality 
 on the one hand, and lying, boasting, slander, 
 and all the meaner vices on the other, in 
 Lucio, in the same play ; — all these there are, 
 and a thousand more lessons, expressed too 
 in a spirit of the truest morality; no glozing 
 over vice with specious words and sugared 
 phrases ; the old profligate Falstaff, with all 
 his wit, is not only detected and exposed, 
 but (what vice hates tenfold worse) baffled 
 and ridiculed by the Merry Wives of Wind- 
 sor. All this will become an open book to 
 you, very easy to decipher at a glance, when 
 you have once honestly toiled your way up the 
 ascent; but here, as elsewhere, there is no 
 royal road to learning. You must be perfectly 
 acquainted with the language the poet em- 
 ploys, and be able to unravel his closest 
 grammatical constructions ; you must have
 
 ox THE STUDY OF SlIAKESPEAllE. 277 
 
 steadily studied individual elmraetcrs, and 
 mastered some of the earlier and easier plays, 
 before you can unseal the riddle of the mys- 
 tic book at a glance, and ever draw fresh 
 streams from the ever-s})ringing fountain, 
 and learn the words of wisdom, and gain all 
 the pleasure and enjo^'ment of reading, which 
 is the lot of those to whom his characters 
 are " familiar in their mouths as household 
 words." 
 
 grijt C-nb. 
 
 Robsou and Son, Printers, P^ncras Road, N."W.
 
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