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in his own hands. In the examples he himself gives, he refutes the self-laudatory Briton by extracts from newspapers; he attacks the Divorce Court on the . veiy practical grounds of its "crowded benches, its reports, its money compensations:" and when he turns to religion, his criticism only ceases to be practical by becoming totally useless, and not a little obscure.

To say the truth, it is not when dealing with these weighty matters that Mr. Arnold is at his best. He does not understand them; he does not, we suspect, greatly care to understand them; his in- i terest in them strikes us as being forced. When he passes from confuting Mr. Adderley and Mr. Roebuck to analyzing the beauties of Maurice de Guerin, he carries his readers into a new atmosphere of warmth and light. His principles of criticism will be found safe guides in the j region of the fine arts, though he does j not seem to possess the special knowl-; edge required in an art-critic; but literature is the theme he knows best, likes best—where he is, in all respects, most at home. His natural qualifications for the work of literary criticism have been enhanced by assiduous cultivation. No man can be a good critic who does not' possess a familiarity with at least one great literature besides his own. And this is especially the case with Englishmen, who, as we have said before, find Bo little in their own literature which can stimulate or foster the critical spirit

"By the very nature of things, as England is not all the world, much of the best that is known and thought in the world can not be of English growth, must be foreign ; by the nature of things, again, it is just this that wo are least likely to know, while English thought is streaming in upon us from all sides, and takes excellent care that we shall not be ignorant of its existence; the English critic, therefore, must dwell much on foreign thought, and with particular heed on any part of it, which, while significant and fruitful in itself, is for any reason, specially likely to escape him."

Mr. Arnold's mind is open to foreign thought from many sources. His scholarship shows itself in the only way in which scholarship can show itself becomingly, i. «., in its results, its influence on tin' judgment and the style. It

has given him what Pope considers the rarest quality of the critic, good taste:

"In poets, Ms true genius is but rare,
True taste ns seldom is the critic's share."

But he has much that is higher than mere scholarship, though unfortunately separable, and too. often separated from it; he has caught "the secret of antiquity"—has penetrated to the spirit of the ancient writers. The influence of Germany seems to have been but slight upon him; on the other hand, he has a perfect familiarity with French literature —the literature of criticism par excellence; some will say that he surrenders himself too unreservedly to its dominion. His Gallicism is perhaps extreme, and this, combined with his devotion to classical models, may give a certain narrowness to his judgments; but in these days of utter lawlessness, when there is truly no king in Israel, and every roan writes as seems good in his own eyes, we welcome any ruler even though his laws be rigid and his rule severe. Coming to his work of criticism with such powers and such resources, he magnifies his office, very naturally, and not, we think, unduly. We have quoted one passage in which he tells us what criticism should be, in another and yet more striking passage, he tell us what criticism can do:

"The criticn) power is of lower rank than the creative. True; but in assenting to this proposition, one or two things are to be kept in mind. It is undeniable that the exercise of a creative power, that a free creative.activity, is the true function of man; it is proved to be so by man's finding in it his true happiness. But it is undeniable, also, that men may have the sense of exercising this free creative activity in other ways than in producing great works of literature or" art; if It were not so, all but a very few men would be shnt out from the true happiness of all men; they may have it in well-doing, they may have it in learning, they may have it even in criticising. This is one thing to be kept in mind. Another is, that the exercise of the creative power in the production of great works of literature or art, however high this exercise of it may rank, is not at all epochs and under all conditions possible; and that therefore labor may be vainly spent in attempting it, which might with more frujt be used in preparing for it, in rendering it possible. This creative power works with ele-' ments, with materials; what il'it has not those materials, those elements ready for its use? In that case it must surely wait till they are

ready. Now in literature—I will limit myself | to literature, for it is about literature that the question arises—the elements with which the creative power works are ideas; the best ideas, on every matter which literature touches, current at the time; at any rate, we may lay it down as certain that in modern literature no manifestation of the creative power not working with these can be very important or fruitful. And I say current at the time, not merely accessible at the time; for creative literary genius does not principally show itself in. discovering new ideas; that is ralbec the business of the philosopher; the grand work of literary genius is a work of synthesis aud exposition, not of analysis and' discovery; its gift lies in the faculty of being happily inspired by a certain intellectual and spiritual atmosphere, by a certain order of ideas, when it finds itself in them: of dealing divinely with these ideas, presenting them in the most effective and attractive combinations, making beautiful works with them, in short. But it must have the atmosphere, it must find itself amidst the order of ideas, in order to work freely ; and these It is not Ro easy to command. This is why grcnt creative epochs in literature are so rare; this is why there is so much that is unsatisfactory in the productions of many men of real genius; because for the creation of a master-work of literature two powers must concur, the power of the man and the power of the moment, aud the man is not enough without the moment; the creative power has, for its happy exercise, appointed elements, and those elements are not in its own control.

"Nay, they are more within the control of the critical power. It ia the business of the critical power, as I said in the words already quoted, 'in all branches of knowledge, theology, philosophy, history, art, science, to see the object as in itself it really is.' Thus it tends, at last, to make an intellectual situation of which the creative power can profitably avail itself. It tends to establish an order of ideas, if not absolutely true, yet true by comparison with that which it displaces; to make the .best ideas prevail. Presently these new ideas reach society, the touch of truth is the touch of life, and there is a stir and growth everywhere; out of this stir and growth come the creative epochs of literature.

"Or, to narrow our range, and quit these considerations of the general march of genius and of society, considerations which are apt to become too abstract and impalpable—every one can see that a poet, for instance, ought to know life and the world before dealing with thci^in poetry; and life aud the world modern times, very complex things, the creation of a modern poet, to be worth much, implies a great critical effort behind it; else it must be a comparatively poor, barren, and short-lived affair. Tliis ia why Byron's poetry

had Bo little endurance in it, and Goethe's so much; both Byron and Goethe had a great productive power, but Goethe's was nourished by a great critical effort providing the true materials for it, and Byron's was not; Goethe knew life and the world, the poet's necessary subjects, much more comprehensively and thoroughly than Byron. He knew a great deal more of them, and he knew them much more as they really are."

This book of Mr. Arnold's is not a large one, containing but nine short essays . in all. From the first, that on the Functions of Criticism, we have quoted so largely that our readers can judge for themselves of its import and merits. We have also indicated pretty fully the scope of the second paper, on the Literary Influence of Academies, which appeared last summer in the Cornhill Magazine. Two beautiful critical estimates of Maurice and Eugenie de Guerin follow, showing a rare power of sympathy and ap! preciation, and containing some very per! feet specimens of translation; and not I less beautiful and appreciative is a sketch of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius. Perhaps the best paper in the book, certain! ly the most characteristic, is that on Joubert, the "French Coleridge;" while that on Spinoza is plainly the most un! satisfactory and inadequate. Numerous I as our quotations have been, we give ! the following extract from the notice of Heinrich Heine, because it illustrates, far I better than any remarks of ours, Mr. Arnold's views on English literature, and thus throws light on his theory of criticism:

"We in England, in our great burst of literature during the first thirty years of the present century, had no manifestation of the modern spirit, as this spirit manifests itself in Goethe's works or Heine's. And the reason is not far to seek. We had neither the German wealth of ideas, nor the Freitch enthusiasm for applying ideas. There reigned in the mass of the nation that inveterate inaccessi! bility to ideas, that Philistinism,—to use the German nickname,—which reacts even on the individual genius that is exempt from it. In our greatest literary epoch, that of the Elizabethan age, English society at large was accessible to ideas, was permeated by them, was vivified by them, to a degree which has never been reached in England since. Hence the unique greatness in English literature of Shakspeare and his contemporaries; they were powerfully upheld by the intellectual life of their nation; they applied freely in literature the then modern ideas.—the ideas of the Re- j naissance ahd the Reformation. A few years afterwards the great English middle clas^ the kernel of the nation, the class whose intelligent sympathy had upheld a Shakspenre entered the prison of Puritanism, and had the key turned on its spirit there for two hundred years. He enlargeth a nation. says Job, and j itraiteneth it again. In the literary movement of the beginning of Uk- nineteenth century, the signal attempt to apply freely the modern spirit was made in England by two members of the aristocratic class, Byron and Shelley. Aristocracies are, as such, naturally Impenetrable by ideas; but their individual members have a high courage and a turn for breaking bounds; and a man of genius, who is the born child of the idea, happening to be born in the aristocratic ranks, chafes against the obstacles which prevent him from freely developing it. But Byron and Shelly did not succeed in their attempt freely to apply the modern spirit in English literature; they could not succeed in it; the resistance to baffle them, the want of intelligent sympathy to guide and uphold them, were too great. Their literary creation, compared with the literary creation of Shakspeare and Spenser, compared with ihe literary creation of Goethe and Heine, is a failure. The best literary creation of that time in England proceeded from men who did not make the same bold attempt as Byron and Shelley. What, in fact, was the career of the chief English men of letters, their contemporaries? The greatest of them, Wordsworth, retired (in Middle Age phrase) into a monastery. I mean, he plunged himself in the inward life, he voluntarily cut himself off from the modern spirit. Coleridge took to opium. Scott became the historiographer-royal of feudalism. Keats passionately gave himself up to a sensuous genius, to his faculty for interpreting nature; and he died of consumption at twenty-five. Wordsworth, Ssott, and Keats have left admirable works; far more solid and complete works than those which Byron and Shelly have left. But their works have this defect: they do not belong to that which is the mam current of the literature of modern epochs, they do not apply modern ideas to life; they constitute, therefore, minor currents, and all other literary work of our day, however popular,which has the same defect, also constitutes but a minor current. Byron and Shelley will be long remembered, long after the inadequacy of their actual work is clearly recognized, for their passionate, their Titanic effort to flow in the main stream of modern literature; their names will be greater than their writings; stat magni nominit umbra."

It would be too strong to call the critique on Heine disappointing, yet we may say that iis very excellence makes us wish

there were more of it. Some of his best poetry is translated by Mr. Arnold into prose—into pure and beautiful prose certainly; but still we thus lose the grace, the nameless charm, the divine light; and a writer who is himself a poet might, we think, have attempted a metrical rendering. Moreover, this paper, though, like all the rest, rich in subtle observation and suggestive thoughts, as an estimate of Heine is insufficient We are told distinctly enough what he was, but we get no idea of what he did. We have no full picture of his life, of the influences which made him the strange and wild writer he was; we have not even an adequate description of his writings themselves, still less an estimate of his merits, or an explanation of his influence. English literature has yet to be enriched with a true and sufficient representation of that most remarkable man, who combined "the wit and ardent modern spirit of France, with the culture, the sentiment, the thought of Germany." But to do this was no part of Mr. Arnold's purpose; so we rest with what he has given us well content.

Our readers will readily forgive us if we recall to their recollection Pope's picture of a model critic:

"But where's the man who counsel can bestow,
Still pleased to teach, and yet not proud to know?
I' i' 1 I'm - - M, or by favor, or by spite;
Not dully prepossessed, nor blindly right;
Though learn'd, well-bred; and, though well-
bred, sincere;

Modestly bold and humanly severe;
Who to a friend his faults can freely show,
And gladly praise the meiitof a foe;
Blest with a taste exact yet unconfined;
A knowledge both of books and human kind;
Generous converse; a soul exempt from pride;
And love to praise, with reason on his side?"

Not a few of these qualities meet in Mr. Arnold. Certainly he has the taste, and the knowledge, the freedom from dull prepossessions, the readiness to recognize merit, and is far above all bias from any personal motive whatever. But we are not quite so sure about the "soul exempt from pride," or the "humanly severe." Mr. Arnold, indeed, is very strong on the necessity for urbanity in criticism; and in his essay on the Influence of Academies, condemns more than one English critic for undue vehemence. . But those who love justice rather than mercy, will gladly learn that, -with Mr. Arnold as with Dr. Newman, urbanity does not by any means involve gentleness. It is not too much to say that the tone of his lectures on Homer was in some instances quite insulting; and how lasting is the pain inflicted by this polished venom, is shown by a letter addressed but the other day to the Dean of Canterbury by one of the least of the victims, the Rev. Ichabod Wright, in every line of which wrath against Mr. Arnold is seen struggling with imperfect powers of expression. To show how evil of this sort.begets evil, and how unbecoming and discreditable to literature are the results, we will quote a passage from Mr. Wright's letter, where, finding prose fail him, he gives vent to his emotions in strains of sarcastic verse:

"Condemned by himself—refuted by himself—alas for his late 'lo Triumphe,' when visions of glory flitted across his soul, and exalted liim in his rapt imagination to a throne inferirr only to that, of Homer himself! And yon, Mr. Dean, will I am sure, now that he lies, 'fieyaS itryaXaxSTi rarvtiOei!,' allow me once more to indulge my fancy in an imaginary soliloquy, reminding us of the reverses ineident to humanity, from which even a Professor is not exempt.

"Alas! hew my throne is tottering and shaking

beneath me! Mctliought I had slain all my foes,—Pope, Cow

per, nnd Newman; But ah! there they stand, like the ghosts of the

children of Bnnqno; And tip firm the ground, not the worse for my

dagger, npain ppiings To haunt me, that wretch Wright, who dares now

to heard and defy me,— Exulting tliat I, the guardian and friend of the


Have ] cnncd lines so vile, that even the Itmes

who befriends me,1 Is bcppmd to scan them, and bids me go back to

my Gradnt.

0 cursed Hexameters—ye, upon whom I once

counted To wnkc up immortal, unique Translator of Homer,

1 would ye had never been cherished and nursed

in my bosom! Ye vii ei>, ye sling me! Disgraced is the chair

li 011 Ht in; And Oxfoid Imncnts that her Muses have lost

their protector."

True, in his last words on Homer, Mr. Arnold expressed regret that his "vivacities of expression" should have offended' Mr. Newman; and in the preface to this volume he expresses a similar regret with regard to Mr. Wright. But no apolo- {

'gies can atone for these so-called "vivacities." A tardy and half-con{emprnona expression of regret can never do away with a rankling sense of insult. An injury may be forgiven; but an insult gives a feeling of degradation which, until it is revenged, makes forgiveness impossible. In truth, Mr. Arnold's love for "vivacity" is extreme. On this score he defends Mr. Disraeli's late speech at Oxford —that wonderful specimen of the tone of Pharisee and the spirit of the Sadducee, combined with the grossest clap-trap of modern Philistinism—and is almost indignant that any one should condemn the notorious outburst against "nebulous professors, who, if they could only succeed in obtaining a perpetual study of their writings, would go far to realize that eternity of punishment which they object to," or express surprise at the taste of the Bishop of Oxford and his clergy, who welcomed the clever and unworthy sneer with "continued laughter;" nay, on the assumption that Mr. Maurice was alluded to, he "can not doubt that Mr. Maurice himself, full of culture and urbanity as he is, would be the first to pronounce it a very smart saying, and to laugh at it good-humoredly." As if Mr. Maurice's good-nature was to be the measure of Mr. Disraeli's impertinence. As if such outrages upon the amenity of literature, to say nothing of the courtesies in use among gentlemen, were not the utterest Philistinism; as if urbanity consisted only in the avoidance of vehemence, but gave all allowance to cruel and contemptuous insolence. Foppery of jthis sort only makes the man who indulges in it ridiculous—a consideration which may have more weight with Mr. Arnold than graver remonstrances.

It is but fair, however, to add that, with the exception of the Preface, the tone of this book presents a pleasant contrast to the tone of the "Lectures "— though the manner in which Mr. Kinglake is disposed of shows how an aggravated case of Philistinism.must be treated; "on the breast of the huge Mississippi of falsehood called history, a foainbell tnore or less is of no consequence."

Nor do we quite recognize as a leading characteristic in Mr. Arnold that he is "modeatlii bold," though herein also he improves with age and experience. Formerly his arrogance astonished even the Saturday Review; now, however, while far from observing the precept to "speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence," he offends less than he did. We wish we could add that a similar improvement is observable in another of Mr. Arnold's faults—the fault of affectation. This is a fault very prevalent among us now; and it is one peculiarly unbecoming in a critic who aims at recalling our literature to some perception of classic purity and dignity. Can anything bo worse than the affectation of the following passage from the Preface—combined, too, with a straining after humor which is very dismal:

"But there is the coming east wind! there is the tone of the future !—I hope it is grave enough for even the Guardian—the earnest, prosaic, practical, austerely literal future! Yes, the world will soon be the Philistines'! and then, with every voice, not of thunder, silenced, and the whole earth filled and ennobled every morning by the magnificent roariug of the young lions of the Daily Telegraph, we shall all yawn in one another's faces with the dismallest, the most unim- j peachable gravity. No more vivacity then! j my hexameters, and dogmatism, and scoti's at the Divorce Court, will all have been put down; I shall be quite crest-fallen. But does Mr. Wright imagine. that there will be any j more place, in, for his heroic blank verse Homer than for my paradoxes? If he i does, he deceives himself, and knows little of \ the Palatine Library of the future. A plain edifice, like the British College of Health enlarged: inside, a light, bleak room, with a few statues; Dagon in the centre, with our English Caabah, or Palladium of enlightenment, the hare's stomach; around, a few leading friends of humanity or fathers of British philosophy—Goliath, the great Bentham, Presbyter Anglieanus, our intellectual deliverer Mr. James Clay, and . . . yes! with the embarrassed air of a late convert, the Editor of the Saturday Review. Many a shrewd nip has he in old days given to the Philistines, this editor; many a bad half-hour has he made them pass; but in his old age he has mended his courses, and declares that his heart has always been in the right place, and that he is at bottom, however appearances may have been against him, staunch for Goliath and ' the most logical nation in the world.' Then, for the book-shelves. There will be found on them a monograph by Mr. Lowe on the literature of dae ancient Scythians, to revenge them for the iniquitous neglect with which the Greeks treated them; there will be Demosthenes, because he was like Mr. Spur

goon: but, else, from all the lumber of antiquity they will be free. Everything they contain will be modem, intelligible, improving; Joyce's Scientific Dialogues. Old Humphrey, Bentham's Deontology, Little Dorrit, Mangnall's Questions, The Wide Wide World, D'Iffanger's Speeches, Beecher's Sermons—a library, in short, the fruit of a happy marriage between the profound philosophic reflection of Mr. Clay, and the healthy and natural taste of Inspector Tanner."

One form of affectation, frequent with Mr. Arnold is specially objectionable, we mean the inappropriate use of scriptural phraseology. Thus he took as the motto for his "Last words," multi, qui persequuntur me, et tribulant me; a testimonies nun tleclinavi; to those who laugh at the grand style, he "repeats, with cornpassiouate sorrow, the Gospel words, 'Ye shall die in your sins ;' " and he illustrates the uncertainty of literary success by quoting, "many are called, but few are chosen." We assure Mr. Arnold that this sort of thing can not fail to offend; and, perhaps, he will be not less moved by the consideration that people will probably accuse him of having caught the trick of it from Mr. Carlyle, though certainly Mr. Carlyle is never so distasteful in his allusions.

We confess that even Mr. Arnold's egotism and arrogance has for our minds we know not what curious charm; but we can not feel assured that other readers will feel the same; and we therefore regret these and such-like blemislies, exactly in proportion as we estimate highly the services which a writer like Mr. Arnold is capable of reudering to English literature. As we ventured to tell him when commenting on his Lectures, a censor so outspoken, and who judges by so high a .standard, is sure to provoke bitter opposition. Many will be impatient of his cultivated criticism. ^Many will be abashed by his usual good sense and moderation. He, more than most men, should be careful to afford no vantage-ground of attack to his enemies, to show no weakness which his friends will find it hard to defend. He owes this not only to his own reputation, he owes it also to the hopes of doing good to literature, which he is justly entitled to entertain. Why should he give occasion for triumph to the sons of the Philistines t

What, then, are these hopes? or, in other words, what benefits can be expect

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