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THE WRITINGS

OF

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

IN TEN VOLUMES
VOLUME VL

e

LITERARY AND POLITICAL
ADDRESSES

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON. MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

Oonnight, 1886, 1888, 1890,
Br JAMBS RUSSELL LOWBLL

AU righU ruerved.

» » •

to

l%t Rivenidt Press, Cafnbridge, Mats.f U. S. A,
KlMtro^Tped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton A Oompaaj.

' CONTENTS

/

^Democraot ».«*7

Garfibld 88

STAm^sr 47

FiEiiDiNa .••••••••• 51

COLERIDaS 68

Books and Ltbbartkb 78

wobdswobth 09

Don Quixote 115

Habvard Anniyebsaby 137

Tabiff Reform 181

Place of the Independent in Politics .... 190
"OuB Litebaturb'' 222

Index 229

Copyright, 1886, 1888, 1890,
Br JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

AU rights reserved.

• • • -
• • • ••

1%* Rivtnidt PresSf Cdmbridge, JUiiMt., U. S. A,
Klcctro^Tped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton A Oompanj.

' CONTENTS

^Demockaot e » . . • 7

Gabfield 88

STAm^sr 47

FiEiiDiNa 51

COLEBXDaS 68

Books and Libra rtkb 78

wobdswobth 09

Don QuixoTB 115

Habvard Anniversary 137

Tariff Reform 181

Place of the Independent in Politics .... 190
"Our Literature" 222

Index 229

LITERARY AND POLITICAL AD-
DRESSES

DEMOCRACY

INAUGURAL ADDRESS ON ASSUMING THB PRESIDENCT
OF THB BIRMINGHAM AND MIDLAND INSTITUTE,
BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND, 6 OCTOBER, 1884.

He must be a bom leader or misleader of men,
or must have been sent into the world unfurnished
with that modulating and restraining balance* wheel
which we caU a sense of humor, who, in old age,

the necessity of bringing the universe into conform-
ity with them as he had in youth. In a world
the very condition of whose being is that it should
be in perpetual flux, where all seems mirage, and
the one abiding thing is the effort to distinguish
realities from appearances, the elderly man must
be indeed of a singularly tough and valid fibre
who is certain that he has any clarified residuum of
experience, any assured verdict of reflection, that
deserves to be called an opinion, or who, even if
he had, feels that he is justified in holding man-
kind by the button while he is expounding it.
And in a world of daily — nay, almost hourly ^«

8 DEMOCRACY

journalism, where every clever man, every man
who thinks himself clever, or whom anybody else
thinks clever, is called upon to deliver his judg-
ment point-blank and at the word of command
on every conceivable subject of human thought,
or, on what sometimes seems to him very much
the same thing, on every inconceivable display
of human want of thought, there is such a spend-
thrift waste of all those commonplaces which fur-
nish the permitted staple of public discourse that
there is little chance of beguiling a new tune
out of the one-stringed instrument on which we
have been thrumming so long. In this desperate
necessity one is often tempted to think that, if all
the words of the dictionary were tumbled down in
a heap and then all those fortuitous juxtapositions
and combinations that made tolerable sense were
picked out and pieced together, we might find
among them some poignant suggestions towards
novelty of thought or expression. But, alas ! it
is only the great poets who seem to have this un-
solicited profusion of unexpected and incalculable
phra^, this infinite variety of topic. For every-
body else everything has been said before, and said
over again after. He who has read his Aristotle
will be apt to think that observation has on most
points of general applicability said its last word,
and he who has mounted the tower of Plato to look
abroad from it will never hope to climb another
with so lofty a vantage of speculation. Where it
is so simple if not so easy a thing to hold one's
peace, why add to the general confusion of tongues ?

DEMOCRACY 9

There Is sometliing disheartening, too, in being ex«
peeted to fill up not less than a certain measure of
time, as if the mind were an hour-glass, that need
only be shaken and set on one end or the other, as
the case may be, to run its allotted sixty minutes
with decorous exactitude. I recollect being once
told by the late eminent naturalist, Agassiz, that
when he was to deliver his first lecture as professor
(at Ziirich, I believe) he had grave doubts of his
ability to occupy the prescribed three quarters of
an hour. He was speaking without notes, and
glancing anxiously from time to time at the watch
that lay before him on the desk. '' When I had
spoken a half hour," he said, '^ I had told them
everything I knew in the world, everything I Then
I began to repeat myself," he added, roguishly,
^^ and I have done nothing else ever since." Be-
neath the humorous exaggeration of the story I
seemed to see the face of a very serious and im-
proving moral. And yet if one were to say only
what he had to say and then stopped, his audience
woidd feel defrauded of their honest measure. Let
us take courage by the example of the French,
whose exportation of Bordeaux wines increases as
the area of their land in vineyards is diminished.

To me, somewhat hopelessly revolving these
things, the undelayable year has rolled round, and
I find myself called upon to say something in this
place, where so many wiser men have spoken before
me. Precluded, in my quality of national guest,
by motives of taste and discretion, from dealing
with any question of immediate and domestic con-

10 DEMOCRACY

cem, it seemed to me wisest, of at any rate most
prudent, to choose a topic of comparatively abstract
interest, and to ask your indulgence for a few some-
what generalized remarks on a matter concerning
which I had some experimental knowledge, derived
from the use of such eyes and ears as Nature had
been pleased to endow me withal, and such re-
port as I had been able to win from them. The
subject which most readily suggested itself was
the spirit and the working of those conceptions of
life and polity which are lumped together, whether
for reproach or commendation, under the name of
Democracy. By temperament and education of a
conservative turn, I saw the last years of that
quaint Arcadia which French travellers saw with
delighted amazement a century ago, and have
watched the change (to me a sad one) from an
agricultural to a proletary population. The testi-
mony of Balaam should carry some conviction. I
have grown to manhood and am now growing old
with the growth of this system of government in
my native land, have watched its advances, or what
some woidd call its encroachments, gradual and
irresistible as those of a glacier, have been an ear-
witness to the forebodings of wise and good and
timid men, and have Uved to see those forebodings
belied by the course of events, which is apt to show
itself humorously careless of the reputation of
prophets. I recollect hearing a sagacious old gen-
tleman say in 1840 that the doing away with the
property qualification for suffrage twenty years
before had been the ruin of the State of Massa-

DEMOCRACY 11

chusetts ; that it had put public credit and private
estate alike at the mercy of demagogues. I lived
to see that Commonwealth twenty odd years later
paying the interest on her bonds in gold, though it
cost her sometimes nearly three for one to keep
her faith, and that while suffering an unparalleled
drain of men and treasure in helping to sustain the
unity and self-respect of the nation.

If universal suffrage has worked ill in our larger
cities, as it certainly has, this has been mainly be-
cause the hands that wielded it were untrained to
its use. There the election of a majority of the
trustees of the public money is controlled by the
most ignorant and vicious of a population which
has come to us from abroad, wholly unpractised in
self-government and incapable of assimilation by
American habits and methods. But the finances
of our towns, where the native tradition is still
dominant and whose affairs are discussed and set-
tled in a public assembly of the people, have been
in general honestly and prudently administered.
Even in manufaxjturing towns, where a majority of
the voters live by their daily wages, it is not so
often the recklessness as the moderation of public
expenditure that surprises an old-fashioned ob-
server. " The beggar is in the saddle at last," cries
Proverbial Wisdom. "Why, in the name of all
former experience, does n't he ride to the Devil ? "
Because in the very act of mounting he ceased to
be a beggar and became part owner of the piece of
property he bestrides. The last thing we need be
anldous about is property. It always has friends

12 DEMOCRA CY

or the means of making them. If riches have wings
to fly away from their owner, they have wings also
to escape danger.

I hear America sometimes playfully accused of
sending you all your storms, and am in the habit
of parrying the charge by alleging that we are en-
abled to do this because, in virtue of our protective
system, we can afford to make better bad weather
than anybody else. And what wiser use could we
make of it than to export it in return for the pau-
pers which some European countries are good
enough to send over to us who have not attained
to the same skill in the manufacture of them?
But bad weather is not the worst thing that is laid
at our door. A French gentleman, not long ago,
forgetting Burke's monition of how unwise it is to
draw an indictment against a whole people, has
charged us with the responsibility of whatever he
finds disagreeable in the morals or manners of his
countrymen. If M. Zola or some other competent
witness would only go into the box and tell us what
those morals and manners were before our example
corrupted them ! But I confess that I find little
to interest and less to edify me in these interna-
tional bandyings^ of " You 're another."

I shall address myself to a single point only in
the long list of offences of which we are more or
less gravely accused, because that really includes
all the rest. It is that we are infecting the Old
World with what seems to be thought the entirely
new disease of Democracy. It is generally people
who are in what are called easy circumstances who

^

DEMOCRACY 18

can afford the leisure to treat themselves to a hand-
some complaint, and these experience an immedi-
ate alleviation when once they have found a sono-
rous Greek name to abuse it by. There is some-
thing consolatory also, something flattering to their
sense of personal dignity, and to that conceit of
singularity which is the natural recoil from our un-
easy consciousness of being commonplace, in think-
ing ourselves victims of a malady by which no one
had ever suffered before. Accordingly they find it
simpler to class under one comprehensive heading
whatever they find offensive to their nerves, their
tastes, their interests, or what they suppose to be
their opinions, and christen it Democracy, much as
physicians label every obscure disease gout, or as
cross-grained fellows lay their ill-temper to the
weather. But is it really a new ailment, and, if it
be, is America answerable for it? Even if she
were, would it account for the phylloxera, and
hoof-and-mouth disease, and bad harvests, and bad
English, and the German bands, and the Boers,
and all the other discomforts with which these
later days have vexed the souls of them that go in
chariots? Yet I have seen the evil example of
Democracy in America cited as the source and ori-
gin of things quite as heterogeneous and quite as
little connected with it by any sequence of cause
and effect. Surely this ferment is nothing new. It
has been at work for centuries, and we are more
conscious of it only because in this age of publicity,
where the newspapers offer a rostrum to whoever
has a grievance, or fancies that he has, the bubbles

14 DEMOCRA CY

and scum thrown up by it are more noticeable on
the surface than in those dumb ages when there
was a cover of silence and suppression on the caul-
dron. Bernardo Navagero, speaking of the Prov-
inces of Lower Austria in 1546, tells us that " in
them there are five sorts of persons, Clergy, Bar-
ons, Nobles, Burghers, and Peasants. Of these last
no account is made, hecause they have no voice in
the Diet:' ^

Nor was it among the people that subversive or
mistaken doctrines had their rise. A Father of the
Church said that property was theft many centu-
ries before Proudhon was born. Bourdaloue re-
affirmed it. Montesquieu was the inventor of na-
tional workshops, and of the theory that the State
owed every man a living. Nay, was not the Church
herself the first organized Democracy? A few
centuries ago the chief end of man was to keep
his soul alive, and then the little kernel of leaven
that sets the gases at work was religious, and pro-
duced the Beformation. Even in that, far-sighted
persons like the Emperor Charles V. saw the germ
of political and social revolution. Now that the
chief end of man seems to have become the keep-
ing of the body alive, and as comfortably alive as

^ Below the Peasants, it shonld be remembered, was still an-
other even more helpless class, the servile farm-laborers. The
same witness informs us that of the extraordinary imposts the
Peasants paid nearly twice as mnch in proportion to their esti'
mated property as the Barons, Nobles, and Burghers together.
Moreover, the upper classes were assessed at their own valuation,
while they arbitrarily fixed that of the Peasants, who had no
voice. (Rdazioni degli Amhasciatori Veneti, Serie I., tomo i., pp.
378, 379, 389.)

DEMOCRACY 16

possible, the leaven also has become wholly politi-
cal and social. But there had also been social up-
heavals before the Keformation and contempora-
neously with it, especially among men of Teutonic
race. The Keformation gave outlet and direction
to an unrest already existing. Formerly the im-
mense majority of men — our brother? — knew
only their sufferings, their wants, and their desires.
They are beginning now to know their opportunity
and their power. All persons who see deeper than
their plates are rather inclined to thank God for it
than to bewail it, for the sores of Lazarus have a
poison in them against which Dives has no anti-
dote.

There can be no doubt that the spectacle of a
gi*eat and prosperous Democracy on the other side
of the Atlantic must react powerfully on the aspi-
rations and political theories of men in the Old
World who do not find things to their mind ; but,
whether for good or evil, it should not be over-
looked that the acorn from which it sprang was
ripened on the British oak. Every successive
swarm that has gone out from this officina gentium
has, when left to its own instincts — may I not
call them hereditary instincts ? — assiuned a more
or less thoroughly democratic form. This would
seem to show, what I believe to be the fact, that
the British Constitution, under whatever disguises
of prudence or decorum, is essentially democratic.
England, indeed, may be called a monarchy with
democratic tendencies, the United States a demo-
cracy with conservative instincts. People are con-

16 DEMOCRACY

tinually saying that America is in the air, and I
ain glad to think it is, since this means only that a
clearer conception of human claims and human du-
ties is beginning to be prevalent. The discontent
with the existing order of things, however, pervaded
the atmosphere wherever the conditions were favor-
able, long before Columbus, seeking the back door
of Asia, found himself knocking at the front door
of America. I say wherever the conditions were
favorable, for it is certain that the germs of disease
do not stick or find a prosperous field for their de-
velopment and noxious activity unless where the
simplest sanitary precautions have been neglected.
*' For this effect defective comes by cause," as
Polonius said long ago. It is only by instigation
of the wrongs of men that what are called the
Bights of Man become turbulent and dangerous.
It is then only that they syllogize unwelcome truths.
It is not the insurrections of ignorance that are
dangerous, but the revolts of intelligence : —

'' The wicked and the weak rebel in yain,
Slaves by their own compulsion."

Had the governing classes in France during the
last century paid as much heed to their proper
business as to their pleasures or manners, the guil-
lotine need never have severed that spinal marrow
of orderly and secular tradition through which in
a normally constituted state the brain sympathizes
with the extremities and sends will and impulsion
thither. It is only when the reasonable and prac-
ticable are denied that men demand the unreason-
able and impracticable ; only when the possible is

DEMOCRACY 17

inade difficult that they fancy the impossible to be
easy. Fairy tales are made out of the dreams of
the poor. No ; the sentiment which lies at the
root of democracy is nothing new. I am speaking
always of a sentiment, a spirit, and not of a form of
government ; for this was but the outgrowth of the
other and not its cause. This sentiment is merely
an expression of the natural wish of people to have
a hand, if need be a controUing hand, in the man-
agement of their own affairs. What is new is
that they are more and more gaining that control,
and learning more and more how to be worthy of
it. What we used to call the tendency or drift —
what we are being taught to call more wisely the
evolution of things — has for some time been set-
ting steadily in this direction. There is no good
in arguing with the inevitable. The only argu-
ment available with an east wind is to put on your
overcoat. And in this case, also, the prudent will
prepare themselves to encounter what they cannot
prevent. Some people advise us to put on the
brakes, as if the movement of which we are con-
scious were that of a railway train running down
an incline. But a metaphor is no argument, though
it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home
and imbed it in the memoiy. Our disquiet comes
of what nurses and other experienced persons call
growing-pains, and need not seriously alarm us.
They are what every generation before us — cer-
tainly every generation since the invention of print-
ing — has gone through with more or less good for-
tune. To the door of every generation there comes

•p^

18 DEMOCRACY

,^a knocking, and unless the household, like the
^i^'^ Thane of Cawdor and his wife, have been doing
some deed without a name, they need not shudder.
It turns out at worst to be a poor relation who
wishes to come in out of the cold. The porter
always grumbles and is slow to open. " Who 's
there, in the name of Beelzebub ? " he mutters.
Not a change for the better in our human house-
keeping has ever taken place that wise and good
men have not opposed it, — have not prophesied
with the alderman that the world would wake up
to find its throat cut in consequence of it. The
world, on the contrary, wakes up, rubs its eyes,
yawns, stretches itself, and goes about its business
as if nothing had happened. Suppression of the
slave trade, abolition of slavery, trade unions, — at
all of these excellent people shook their heads de-
spondingly, and murmured " Ichabod." But the
trade unions are now debating instead of conspir-
ing, and we all read their discussions with com-
fort and hope, sure that they are learning the
business of citizenship and the difficulties of prac-
tical legislation.

One of the most curious of these frenzies of ex-
clusion was that against the emancipation of the
Jews. All share in the government of the world
was denied for centuries to perhaps the ablest, cer-
tainly the most tenacious, race that had ever lived
in it — the race to whom we owed our religion and
the purest spiritual stimulus and consolation to be
found in all literature — a race in which ability
seems as natural and hereditary as the curve of

DEMOCRACY 19

their noses, and whose blood, furtively mingling
with the bluest bloods in Europe, has quickened
them with its own indomitable impulsion. We
drove them into a comer, but they had their re-
venge, as the wronged are always sure to have it
sooner or later. They made their corner the coun-
ter and banking-house of the world, and thence
they rule it and us with the ignobler sceptre of
finance. Your grandfathers mobbed Priestley only
that you might set up his statue and make Bir-
mingham the headquarters of English Unitarianism.
We hear it said sometimes that this is an age of
transition, as if that made matters clearer ; but^can
any one point us to an age that was not ? If he
could, he woidd show us an age of stagnation. The
question for us, as it has been for all before us, is
to make the transition gradual and easy, to see that
our points are right so that the train may not come
to grief. For we should remember that nothing is
more natural for people whose education has been
neglected than to spell evolution with an initial
" r." A great man struggling with the storms of
fate has been called a sublime spectacle ; but surely
a great man wrestling with these new forces that
have come into the world, mastering them and con-
trolling them to beneficent ends, would be a yet sub-
limer. Here is not a dauger, and if there were it
would be only a better school of manhood, a nobler
scope for ambition. I have hinted that what peo-
ple are afraid of in democracy is less the thing it-
self than what they conceive to be its necessary
adjuncts and consequences. It is supposed to re-

20 DEMOCRACY

duce all mankind to a dead level of mediocrity in
character and culture, to vulgarize men's concep-
tions of life, and therefore their code of morals,
manners, and conduct — to endanger the rights of
property and possession. But I believe that the
real gravamen of the charges lies in the habit it
has of making itself generally disagreeable by ask-
ing the Powers that Be at the most inconvenient
moment whether they are the powers that ought to
be. If the powers that be are in a condition to
give a satisfactory answer to this inevitable ques-
tion, they need feel in no way discomfited by it.

5ew people take the trouble of trying to find out
what democracy really is. Yet this would be a
great help, for it is our lawless and imcertain
thoughts, it is the indefiniteness of our impressions,
that fill darkness, whether mental or physical, with
spectres and hobgoblins. Democracy is nothing
more than an experiment in government, more
likely to succeed in a new soil, but likely to be tried
in all soils, which must stand or fall on its own
merits as others have done before it. For there is
no trick of perpetual motion in politics any more
than in mechanics. President Lincoln defined
democracy to be " the government of the people by
the people for the people." This is a sufficiently
compact statement of it as a political arrangement.
Theodore Parker said that " Democracy meant not
' I 'm as good as you are,' but ' You 're as good as I
am.' " And this is the ethical conception of it,
necessary as a complement of the other ; a concep-
tion which, could it be made actual and practical,

DEMOCRACY 21

would easily solve all the riddles that the old
sphinx of political and social economy who sits by
the roadside has been proposing to mankind from
the beginning, and which mankind have shown such
a singidar talent for answering wrongly. In this
sense Christ was the first true democrat that ever
breathed, as the old dramatist Dekker said he was
the first true gentleman. The characters may be
easily doubled, so strong is the likeness between
them. A beautiful and profound parable of the
Persian poet Jellaladeen tells us that ^^ One knocked
at the Beloved's door, and a voice asked from
within ' Who is there ? ' and he answered ' It is I.'
Then the voice said, ^ This house will not hold me
and thee ; ' and the door was not opened. Then
went the lover into the desert and fasted and prayed
in solitude, and after a year he returned and
knocked again at the door; and again the voice
asked ' Who is there ? ' and he said ' It is thyself ; '
and the door was opened to him." But that is
idealism, you will say, and this is an only too prac-
tical world. I grant it ; but I am one of those who
believe that the real will never find an irremova-
ble basis till it rests on the ideal. It used to be
thought that a democracy was possible only in a
small territory, and this is doubtless true of a de-
mocracy strictly defined, for in such all the citizens
decide directly upon every question of public con-
cern in a general assembly. An example still sur-
vives in the tiny Swiss canton of Appenzell. But
this immediate intervention of the people in their
own affairs is not of the essence of democracy ; it

22 DEMOCRACY

is not necessary, nor indeed, in most cases, practi-
cable. Democracies to which Mr. Lincoln's defini-
tion would fairly enough apply have existed, and
now exist, in which, though the supreme authority
reside in the people, yet they can act only indi-
rectly on the national policy. This generation has
seen a democracy with an imperial figurehead, and
in all that have ever existed the body politic has
never embraced all the inhabitants included within
its territory, the right to share in the direction of
affairs has been confined to citizens, and citizen-
ship has been further restricted by various limita-
tions, sometimes of property, sometimes of nativity,
( and always of age and sex.

The framers of the American Constitution were
far from wishing or intending to found a democracy
in the strict sense of the word, though, as was in-
evitable, every expansion of the scheme of govern-
ment they elaborated has been in a democratical
direction. But this has been generally the slow
result of growth, and not the sudden innovation of
theory ; in fact, they had a profound disbelief in
theory, and knew better than to commit the folly
of breaking with the past. They were not seduced
by the French fallacy that a new system of govern-
ment could be ordered like a new suit of clothes.
They would as soon have thought of ordering a
new suit of flesh and skin. It is only on the roar-
ing loom of time that the stuff is woven for such
a vesture of their thought and experience as they
were meditating. They recognized fully the value
of tradition and habit as the great allies of perma-

DEMOCRACY 23

nenoe and stability. They all had that distaste for
innovation which belonged to their race, and many
of them a distrust of human nature derived from
their creed. The day of sentiment was over, and
no dithyrambic affirmations or fine-drawn analyses
of the Rights of Man would serve their present
turn. This was a practical question, and they ad-
dressed themselves to it as men of knowledge and
judgment should. Their problem was how to adapt
English principles and precedents to the new con-
ditions of American life, and they solved it with
singular discretion. They put as many obstacles
as they could contrive, not in the way of the peo-
ple's will, but of their whim. With few exceptions
they probably admitted the logic of the then ac-
cepted syllogism, — democracy, anarchy, despotism.
But this formula was framed upon the experience
of small cities shut up to stew within their narrow
walls, where the number of citizens made but an
inconsiderable fraction of the inhabitants, where
every passion was reverberated from house to
house and from man to man with gathering rumor
till every impulse became gregarious and therefore
inconsiderate, and every popular assembly needed
but an infusion of eloquent sophistry to turn it
into a mob, all the more dangerous because sancti-
fied with the formality of law.^

Fortunately their case was wholly different.

^ The efiPect of the electric telegraph in reproducing this troop-
ing of emotion and perhaps of opinion is yet to be measured. The
efiPect of Darwinism as a disintegrator of hnmanitarianism is also
to be reckoned with.

24 DEMOCRACY

They were to legislate for a widely scattered popu-
lation and for States already practised in the dis-
cipline of a partial independence. They had an
unequalled opportunity and enormous advantages.
The material they had to work upon was already
democratical by instinct and habitude. It was
tempered to their hands by more than a century's
schooling in self-government. They had but to
give permanent and conservative form to a ductile
mass. In giving impulse and direction to their
new institutions, especially in supplying them with
checks and balances, they had a great help and
safeguard in their federal organization. The dif-
ferent, sometimes conflicting, interests and social
systems of the several States made existence as a
Union and coalescence into a nation conditional on
a constant practice of moderation and compromise.
The very elements of disintegration were the best
guides in political training. Their children learned
the lesson of compromise only too well, and it was
the application of it to a question of fundamental
morals that cost us our civil war. We learned
once for all that compromise makes a good um-
brella but a poor roof ; that it is a temporary ex-
pedient, often wise in party politics, almost sure to
be unwise in statesmanship.

Has not the trial of democracy in America
proved, on the whole, successful? If it had not,
would the Old World be vexed with any fears
of its proving contagious ? This trial would have
been less severe could it have been made with a
people homogeneous in race, language, and tradi-

DEMOCRACY 26

tions, whereas the United States have been called
on to absorb and assimilate enormous masses of
foreign population, heterogeneous in all these re-
spects, and drawn mainly from that class which
might fairly say that the world was not their
friend, nor the world's law. The previous condition
too often justified the traditional Irishman, who,
landing i;i New York and asked what his politics
were, inquired if there was a Government there,
and on being told that there was, retorted, " Thin
I 'm agin it I " We have taken from Europe the
poorest, the most ignorant, the most turbulent of
her people, and have made them over into good
citizens, who have added to our wealth, and who
are ready to die in defence of a country and of in-
stitutions which they know to be worth dying for.
The exceptions have been (and they are lamenta-
ble exceptions) where these hordes of ignorance
and poverty have coagulated in great cities. But
the social system is yet to seek which has not to
look the same terrible wolf in the eyes. On the
other hand, at this very moment Irish peasants are
buying up the worn-out farms of Massachusetts,
and making them productive again by the same
virtues of industry and thrift that once made them
profitable to the English ancestors of the men who
are deserting them. To have achieved even these
prosaic results (if you choose to call them so), and
that out of materials the most discordant, — I
might say the most recalcitrant, — argues a certain
beneficent virtue in the system that could do it,
and is not to be accounted for by mere luck. Caiw

26 DEMOCRACY

lyle said scornfully that America meant only roast
turkey every day for everybody. He forgot that
States, as Bacon said of wars, go on their bellies.
As for the security of property, it should be toler-
ably well secured in a country where every other
man hopes to be rich, even though the only prop-
erty qualification be the ownership of two hands
that add to the general wealth. Is it not the best
security for anything to interest the largest pos-
sible number of persons in its preservation and
the smallest in its division ? In point of fact, far-
seeing men count the increasing power of wealth
and its combinations as one of the chief dangers
with which the institutions of the United States
are threatened in the not distant future. The
right of individual property is no doubt the very
corner-stone of civilization as hitherto understood,
but I am a little impatient of being told that prop-
erty is entitled to exceptional consideration because
it bears all the burdens of the State. It bears
those, indeed, which can most easily be borne, but
poverty pays with its person the chief expenses of
war, pestilence, and famine. Wealth should not
forget this, for poverty is beginning to think of it
now and then. Let me not be misunderstood. I
see as clearly as any man possibly can, and rate
as highly, the value of wealth, and of hereditary
wealth, as the security of refinement, the feeder of
all those arts that ennoble and beautify life, and as
making a coimtry worth living in. Many an an-
cestral hall here in England has been a nursery of
that culture which has been of example and benefit

DEMOCRACY 27

to all. Old gold has a civilizing virtue whicli new
gold must grow old to be capable of secreting.

I should not think of coming before you to de-
fend or to criticise any form of government. All
have their virtues, all their defects, aiid all have
illustrated one period or another in the history of
the race, with signal services ta humanity and cul-
ture. There is not one that could stand a cynical
cross-examination by an experienced criminal law-
yer, except that of a perfectly wise and perfectly
good despot, such as the world has never seen, ex-
cept in that white-haired king of Browning's, who

** Lived long ago
In the morning of the world,
When Earth was nearer Heaven than now/'

The English race, if they did not invent govern-
ment by discussion, have at least carried it nearest
to perfection in practice. It seems a very safe and
reasonable contrivance for occupying the attention
of the country, and is certainly a better way of set-
tling questions than by push of pike. Yet, if one
should ask it why it should not rather be called
government by gabble, it would have to fumble in
its pocket a good while before it found the change
for a convincing reply. As matters stand, too, it
is beginning to be doubtful whether Parliament
and Congress sit at Westminster and Washington
or in the editors' rooms of the leading journals, so
thoroughly is everything debated before the author-
ized and responsible debaters get on their legs.
And what shall we say of government by a major-
ity of voices ? To a person who in the last century

28 DEMOCRACY

would have called himself an Tmpartial Observer,
a numerical preponderance seems, on the whole, as
clumsy a way of arriving at truth as could well be
devised, but experience has apparently shown it
to be a convenient arraiigement for determining
what may be expedient or advisable or practicable
at any given moment. Truth, after all, wears a
different face to everybody, and it would be too
tedious to wait till all were agreed. She is said to
lie at the bottom of a well, for the very reason,
perhaps, that whoever looks down in search of her
sees his own image at the bottom, and is persuaded
not only that he has seen the goddess, but that she
is far better-looking than he had imagined.

The arguments against universal suffrage are
equally unanswerable. "What," we exclaim,
" shall Tom, Dick, and Harry have as much weight
in the scale as I ? " Of course, nothing could be
more absurd. And yet universal suffrage has not
been the instrument of greater unwisdom than con-
trivances of a more select description. Assemblies
could be mentioned composed entirely of Masters
of Arts and Doctors in Divinity which have some-
times shown traces of human passion or prejudice
in their votes. Have the Serene Highnesses and
Enlightened Classes carried on the business of
Mankind so well, then, that there is no use in try-
ing a less costly method ? The democratic theory
is that those Constitutions are likely to prove stead-
iest which have the broadest base, that the right to
vote makes a safety-valve of every voter, and that
the best way of teaching a man how to vote is to

DEMOCRACY 29

give him the chance of practice. For the question
is no longer the academic one, " Is it wise to give
every man the ballot ? " but rather the practical
one, " Is it prudent to deprive whole classes of it
any longer ? " It may be conjectured that it is
cheaper in the long run to lift men up than to hold
them down, and that the ballot in their hands is
less dangerous to society than a sense of wrong in
their heads. At any rate this is the dilemma to
which the drift of opinion has been for some time
sweeping us, and in politics a dilemma is a more
unmanageable thing to hold by the horns than a
wolf by the ears. It is said that the right of suf-
frage is not valued when it is indiscriminately be-
stowed, and there may be some truth in this, for I
have observed that what men prize most is a privi-
lege, even if it be that of chief mourner at a funeral.
But is there not danger that it will be valued at
more than its worth if denied, and that some ille-
gitimate way will be sought to make up for the
want of it ? Men who have a voice in public affairs
are at once affiliated with one or other of the great
parties between which society is divided, merge
their individual hopes and opinions in its safer, be-
cause more generalized, hopes and opinions, are
disciplined by its tactics, and acquire, to a certain
degree, the orderly qualities of an army. They no
longer belong to a class, but to a body corporate.
Of one thing, at least, we may be certain, that, un-
der whatever method of helping things to go wrong
man's wit can contrive, those who have the divine
right to govern will be found to govern in the end,

80 DEMOCRACY

and that the highest privilege to which the major-
ity of mankind can aspire is that of being governed
by those wiser than they. Universal suffrage has
in the United States sometimes been made the in-
strument of inconsiderate changes, under the no-
tion of reform, and this from a misconception of
the true meaning of popular government. One of
these has been the substitution in many of the
States of popular election for official selection in
the choice of judges. The same system applied to
military officers was the source of much evil dur-
ing our civil war, and, I believe, had to be aban-
doned. But it has been also true that on all great
questions of national policy a reserve of prudence
and discretion has been brought out at the crit-
ical moment to turn the scale in favor of a wiser
decision. An appeal to the reason of the people
has never been known to fail in the long run. It
is, perhaps, true that, by effacing the principle of
passive obedience, democracy, ill understood, has
slackened the spring of that ductility to discipline
which is essential to " the unity and married calm
of States." But I feel assured that experience and
necessity will cure this evil, as they have shown
their power to cure others. And under what frame
of policy have evils ever been remedied till they
became intolerable, and shook men out of their
indolent indifference through their fears ?

We are told that the inevitable result of de-
mocracy is to sap the foundations of personal in-
dependence, to weaken the principle of authority,
to lessen the respect due to eminence, whether in

DEMOCRACY 81

station, virtue, or genius. If these things were so,
society could not hold together. Perhaps the best
forcing-house of robust individuality woidd be
where public opinion is inclined to be most over-
bearing, as he must be of heroic temper who should
walk along Piccadilly at the height of the season
in a soft hat. As for authority, it is one of the
symptoms of the time that the religious reverence
for it is declining everjnwrhere, but this is due partly
to the fact that state-craft is no longer looked upon
as a mystery, but as a business, and partly to the
decay of superstition, by which I mean the habit
of respecting what we ai*e told to respect rather
than what is respectable in itself. There is more
rough and tumble in the American democracy than
is altogether agreeable to people of sensitive nerves
and refined habits, and the people take their politi-
cal duties lightly and laughingly, as is, perhaps,
neither unnatural nor unbecoming in a young
giant. Democracies can no more jump away from
their own shadows than the rest of us can. They
no doubt sometimes make mistakes and pay honor
to men who do not deserve it. But they do this
because they believe them worthy of it, and though
it be true that the idol is the measure of the wor-
shipper, yet the worship has in it the germ of a no-
bler religion. But is it democracies alone that fall
into these errors ? I, who have seen it proposed
to erect a statue to Hudson, the railway king, and
have heard Louis Napoleon hailed as the saviour
of society by men who certainly had no democratic
associations or leanings, am not ready to think so.

32 DEMOCRACY

But democracies have likewise their finer instincts.
I have also seen the wisest statesman and most
pregnant speaker of our generation, a man of hum-
ble birth and ungainly manners, of little culture
beyond what his own genius supplied, become more
absolute in power than any monarch of modem
times through the reverence of his countrymen for
his honesty, his wisdom, his sincerity, his faith in
God and man, and the nobly humane simplicity of
his character. And I remember another whom
popular respect enveloped as with a halo, the least
vulgar of men, the most austerely genial, and the
most independent of opinion. Wherever he went
he never met a stranger, but everywhere neighbors
and friends proud of him as their ornament and
decoration. Institutions which could bear and
breed such men as Lincoln and Emerson had
surely some energy for good. No, amid all the
fruitless turmoil and miscarriage of the world, if
there be one thing steadfast and of favorable omen,
one thing to make optimism distrust its own ob-
scure distrust, it is the rooted instinct in men to
admire what is better and more beautiful than
themselves. The touchstone of political and social
institutions is their ability to supply them with
worthy objects of this sentiment, which is the very
tap-root of civilization and progress. There would
seem to be no readier way of feeding it with the
elements of growth and vigor than such an organ-
ization of society as will enable men to respect
themselves, and so to justify them in respecting
others.

DEMOCRA CY 88

Such a result is quite possible under other con-
ditions than those of an avowedly democratical
Constitution. For I take it that the real essence
of democracy was fairly enough defined by the
First Napoleon when he said that the French
Revolution meant ^^la carri^re ouverte aux ta-
lents " — a clear pathway for merit of whatever
kind. I should be inclined to paraphrase this by
calling democracy that form of society, no matter
what its political classification, in which every man
had a chance and knew that he had it. If a man
can climb, and feels hhnself encouraged to climb,
from a coalpit to the highest position for which he
is fitted, he can well afford to be indifferent what
name is given to the government under which he
lives. The Bailli of Mirabeau, imcle of the more
famous tribune of that name, wrote in 1771:
" The English are, in my opinion, a hundred times
more agitated and more unfortunate than the very
Algerines themselves, because they do not know
and will not know till the destruction of their over-
swollen power, which I believe very near, whether
they are monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy, and
wish to play the part of all three." England has
not been obliging enough to fulfil the Bailli's proph-
ecy, and perhaps it was this very carelessness about
the name, and concern about the substance of pop-
ular government, this skill in getting the best out
of things as they are, in utilizing all the motives
which influence men, and in giving one direction
to many impulses, that has been a principal factor
of her greatness and power. Perhaps it is fortU'

84 DEMOCRACY

nate to liaye an unwritten Constitution, for men
are prone to be tinkering the work of their own
hands, whereas they are more willing to let time
and circumstance mend or modify what time and
circumstance have made. All free governments,
whatever their name, are in reality governments
by public opinion, and it is on the quality of this
public opinion that their prosperity depends. It
is, therefore, their first duty to purify the element
from which they draw the breath of life. With
the growth of democracy grows also the fear, if
not the danger, that this atmosphere may be cor-
rupted with poisonous exhalations from lower and
more malarious levels, and the question of sanita-
tion becomes more instant and pressing. Demo-
cracy in its best sense is merely the letting in of
light and air. Lord Sherbrooke, with his usual
epigrammatic terseness, bids you educate your
future rulers. But would this alone be a sufficient
safeguard ? To educate the intelligence is to en-
large the horizon of its desires and wants. And
it is well that this should be so. But the enter-
prise must go deeper and prepare the way for sat-
isfying those desires and wants in so far as they
are legitimate. What is really ominous of danger
to the existing order of things is not democracy
(which, properly understood, is a conservative
force), but the Socialism, which may find a ful-
crum in it. If we cannot equalize conditions and
f ortimes any more than we can equalize the brains
of men — and a very sagacious person has said
that " where two men ride of a horse one must ride

DEMOCRA CY 86

behind " — we can yet, perhaps, do something to
correct those methods and influences that lead
to enormous inequalities, and to prevent their
growing more enormous. It is all very well to
pooh-pooh Mr. George and to prove him mistaken
in his political economy. I do not believe that
land should be divided because the .quantity of it
is limited by nature. Of what may this not be
said ? A fortiori^ we might on the same princi-
ple insist on a division of human wit, for I have
observed that the quantity of this haff been even
more inconveniently limited. Mr. George himself
has an inequitably large share of it. But ^ is
right in his impelling motive ; right, also, I am
convinced, in insisting that humanity makes a part,
by far the most important part, of political econ-
omy ; and in thinking man to be of more concern
and more convincing than the longest columns of
figures in the world. For imless you include hu-
man nature in your addition, your total is sure to
be wrong and your deductions from it fallacious.
Communism means barbarism, but Socialism means,
or wishes to mean, cooperation and community of
interests, sympathy, the giving to the hands not so
large a share as to the brains, but a larger share
than hitherto in the wealth they must combine to
produce — means, in short, the practical applica-
tion of Christianity to life, and has in it the secret
of an orderly and benign reconstruction. State
Socialism would cut off the very roots in personal
character — self-help, forethought, and frugality —
which nourish and sustain the trunk and branches
of every vigorous Commonwealth.

86 DEMOCRACY

I do not believe in violent changes, nor do I ex-
pect them. Things in possession have a very firm
grip. One of the strongest cements of society is
the conviction of mankind that the state of things
into which they are born is a part of the order of
the imi verse, as natural, let us say, as that the sun
should go round the earth. It is a conviction that
they will not surrender except on compulsion, and
a wise society should look to it that this compulsion
be not put upon them. For the individual man
there is no radical cure, outside of human nature
itself, for the evils to which human natvre is heir.
The rule will always hold good that you must

<t

Be your own palace or the world 's your gaol/*

But for artificial evils, for evils that spring from
want of thought, thought must find a remedy some-
where. There has been no period of time in which
wealth has been more sensible of its duties than
now. It builds hospitals, it establishes missions
among the poor, it endows schools. It is one of
the advantages of accumulated wealth, and of the
leisure it renders possible, that people have time to
think of the wants and sorrows of their fellows.
But all these remedies are partial and palliative
merely. It is as if we should apply plasters to a
single pustule of the small-pox with a view of driv-
ing out the disease. The true way is to discover
and to extirpate the germs. As society is now
constituted these are in the air it breathes, in the
water it drinks, in things that seem, and which it
has always believed, to be the most innocent and

k

DEMOCRACY 87

healthful. The evil elements it neglects corrupt
these in their springs and pollute them in their
courses. Let us be of good cheer, however, re-
membering that the misfortunes hardest to bear
are those which never come. The world has out-
lived much, and will outlive a great deal more, and
men have contrived to be happy in it. It has
shown the strength of its constitution in nothing
more than in surviving the quack medicines it has
tried. In the scales of the destinies brawn will
never weigh so much as brain. Our healing is not
in the storm or in the whirlwind, it is not in mon-
archies, or aristocracies, or democracies, but will
be revealed by the still small voice that speaks to
the conscience and the heart, prompting us to a
wider and wiser humanity.

GARFIELD

SPOKEN ON THE DEATH OP PRESIDENT GARFIELD AT THE
MEMORIAL MEETING IN EXETER HALL, LONDON, 24
SEPTEMBER, 1881.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.i

One thing and one only makes the record of the meet-
ing at Exeter Hall on the 24th September worthy of sep-
arate publication, and confers on it a certain distinction.
Not what was said, but where it was said, in unison with
what other voices, and in what atmosphere of sympathy,
as spontaneous as it was universal, gives to the words
spoken here their true point and emphasis. Never be-
fore have Americans, speaking in England, felt so clearly
that they were in the land, not only of their fathers, but
of their brethren,

" Their elder brothers, but one in blood."

For the first time their common English tongue found
its true office when Mother and Daughter spoke comfort-
ing words to each other over a sorrow, which, if nearer
to one, was shared by both. English blood, made up of
the best drops from the veins of many conquering, or-
ganizing, and colonizing races, is a blood to be proud of,
and most plainly vindicates its claim to dominion when
it recognizes kinship through sympathy with what is
simple, steadfast, and religious in character. When we

^ Printed first as a preface to the memorial volume, containing
a recovd of the proceedings at the Exeter Hall meeting.

^ .

GARFIELD 89

learn to respect each other for the good qualities in each,
we are helping to produce and foster them.

It is often said that sentimental motives never guide
or modify the policy of nations, and it is no doubt true
that state-craft more and more means business, and not
sentiment ; yet men as old as the late Lord Stratford de
Redcliffe could remember at least two occasions during
their lives when a sentiment, and that, too, a literary
sentiment, had much to do with the shaping of events
and the new birth of nations. We would not over-esti-
mate the permanent value of this outburst of feeling on
both sides the sea, of this grasp of the hand across a
recent grave, but we may safely affirm that they were
genuine, and had, therefore, something of the enduring
virtue that belongs to what is genuine, and to that only.
It is something that two great nations have looked at
each other kindly through their tears. It will at least be
more awkward to quarrel hereafter. The sight of the
British flag at half-mast on the day of an American
funeral was something to set men thinking, and that
fruitfully, of the great duty that is laid upon the English
race among mankind. Well may we be proud of the
Ancient Mother, and we will see to it that she have no
reason to be ashamed of her children. i^

It behoves us Americans who have experienced no-
thing but the kindness and hospitality and sympathy of
England, to express thus publicly our sense of them.
Especially would we thank the venerable prelate whose
address we are permitted to include in this little volume.
And emphatically would we express our conviction that
the wreath sent with such touching delicacy of feeling by
her Majesty the Queen to be laid upon the bier of Pres-
ident Garfield, will be hung upon a golden nail in the
Temple of Concord.

40 QARFIELD

Ladies and Gentlemen, Countrymen and
Countrywomen: The object of this meeting, as
you all know, is to testify our respect for the char-
acter and services of the late President Garfield,
and in so doing to offer such consolation as is possi-
ble to a noble mother and a noble wife, suffering
as few women have been called upon to suffer. It
may seem a paradox, but the only alleviation of
such grief is a sense of the greatness and costliness
of the sacrifice that gave birth to it, and this sense
is brought home to us by the measure in which
others appreciate our loss. It is no exaggeration to
say that the recent profoundly touching spectacle
of womanly devotedness in its simplicity, its con-
stancy, and its dignity has moved the heart of
mankind in a manner without any precedent in
living memory. But to Americans everywhere it
comes home with a pang of mingled sorrow, pride,
and unspeakable domestic tenderness that none
but ourselves can feel. This pang is made more
poignant by exile, and yet you will all agree with
me in feeling that the universal sympathy expressed
here by all classes and conditions of men has made
lis sensible as never before, that, if we are in a
strange, we are not in a foreign land, and that if
we are not at home we are at least in what Haw-
thorne so aptly called the Old Home. I should
gladly dwell more at length upon this fact, so con-
soling and so full of all good omen, but I must not
infringe on the resolutions which will be presented
to you by others. Yet I should do injustice to

GARFIELD 41

your feelings, no less than to my own, if I did not
offer here our grateful acknowledgments to the
august lady who, herself not unacquainted with
grief, has shown so repeatedly and so touchingly
how true a woman's heart may beat under the
royal purple.

On an occasion like this, when we are met to-
gether that we may give vent to a common Reeling
so deep and so earnest as to thrust aside every con-
sideration of self, the wish of us all must be that
what is said here should be simple, strong, and
manly as the character of the illustrious magistrate
so untimely snatched from us in the very seed-time
of noble purpose, that would have sprung up in
service as noble, — that we should be as tender and
true as she has shown herself to be in whose be-
reavement we reverently claim to share as children
of the blessed country that gave birth to him and
to her. We cannot find words that could reach
that lofty level. This is no place for the turnings
and windings of dexterous rhetoric. In the pre-
sence of that death-scene so homely, so human, so
august in its unostentatious heroism, the common-
places of ordinary eulogy stammer with the sudden
shame of their own ineptitude. Were we allowed
to follow the natural promptings of our hearts, we
would sum up all praise in the sacred old words,
" Well done, thou good and faithful servant."

That death-scene was more than singular ; it was
unexampled. The whole civilized world was gath-
ered about it in the breathless suspense of anx-
ious solicitude, listened to the difficult breathing,

42 GARFIELD

counted the fluttering pulse, was cheered by the
momentary rally and saddened by the inevitable
relapse. And let us thank God and take courage
when we reflect that it was through the manliness,
the patience, the religious fortitude of the splendid
victim that the tie of human brotherhood was
thrilled to a consciousness of its sacred function.
The one touch of nature that makes the whole
world kin is a touch of heroism, our sympathy
with which dignifies and ennobles. Science has
wrought no greater marvel in the service of human-
ity than when it gave the world a common nervous
system, and thus made mankind capable of a simul-
taneous emotion.

One remarkable feature of that death-scene was
the imperturbable good nature of the sufferer.
This has been sometimes called a peculiarly Amer-
ican quality, — a weakness if in excess or misap-
plied, but beautiful in its own genial place, as
there and then it was. General Garfield once said
to a friend, " They tell me it is a defect of my char-
acter, but I cannot hate anybody." Like Socrates,
he seemed good-humored even with death, though
there have been few men from whom death has
ever wrenched a fairer heritage of opportunity.
Physicians tell us that all men die well, but surely
he was no ordinary man who could die well daily
for eleven agonizing weeks, and of whom it could
be said at last, —

" He nothing common did, or mean,
Upon that memorahle scene."

A fibre capable of such strain and wear as that is

GARFIELD 43

used only in the making of heroic natures. Twenty
years ago General Garfield offered his life to his
country, and he has died for her as truly and
more fruitfully now than if fate had accepted the
offer then. Not only has his blood re-cemented
our Union, but the dignity, the patience, the self-
restraint, the thoughtfulness for others, the serene
valor which he showed under circumstances so dis-
heartening and amid the wreck of hopes so splen-
did, are a possession and a stimulus to his country-
men forever. The emulation of examples like his
makes nations great, and keeps them so. The soil
out of which such men as he are made is good to
be born on, good to live on, good to die for and to
be buried in.

I had not the honor of any intimacy of friend-
ship with this noble man. Others will speak of him
from more intimate knowledge. I saw him once or
twice only, but so deeply was I impressed with the
seriousness and solidity of his character, with his
eager interest in worthy objects, and with the
statesmanlike furniture of his mind, that when,
many years afterwards, he was nominated for the
Presidency I rejoiced in the wisdom of the selec-
tion, and found in my memory an image of him
clearer than that of any man I ever met of whom
I had seen so little. And I may add that I have
never known any man concerning whom a loving
and admiring testimony was so uniform from men
of every rank and character who had known him.

" None knew him but to love him,
None named him but to praise/'

44 GARFIELD

I shall not retrace the story of his life, but there
is nothing that occurs to me so perfect in its com-
pleteness since the Biblical story of Joseph. The
poor lad who at thirteen could not read dies at fifty
the tenant of an office second in dignity to none on
earth, and the world mourns his loss as that of a
personal relative. I find the word coming back to
my lips in spite of me, "He was so humane An
example of it was his kissing his venerable mother
on the day of his inauguration. It was criticised,
I remember hearing at the time, as a sin against
good taste. I thought then, and think now, that if
we had f oimd the story in Plutarch we should have
thought no worse of the hero of it.

It was this pliability of his to the impulse of un-
conventional feeling that endeared him so much to
his kind. Among the many stories that have been
sent me, illustrating the sorrow so universally felt
here, none have touched me so much as these two :
An old gardener said to his mistress, " Oh, ma'am,
we felt somehow as if he belonged to us ; " and in
a little village on the coast, where an evangelist
held nightly services on the beach, prayer was
offered regularly for the recovery of the President,
the weather-beaten fishermen who stood around the
preacher with bowed, uncovered heads fervently
responding, " Amen." You will also be interested
to know that the benevolent Sir Moses Montefiore,
now in his ninety-seventh year, telegraphed last
week to Palestine to request that prayers might be
offered for the President in the synagogues of the
four holy cities. It was no common man who coidd

GARFIELD 46

call forth, and justly call forth, an emotion so uni-
versal, an interest so sincere and so humane.

I said that this is no place for eulogy. They
who deserve eulogy do not need it, and they who
deserve it not are diminished by it. The dead at
least can bear the truth, and have a right to that
highest service of human speech. We are not
called upon here to define Garfield's place among
the memorable of mankind. A great man is made
up of qualities that meet or make great occasions.
We may surely say of him that the great qualities
were there, and were always adequate to the need,
although, less fortunate than Lincoln, his career
was snapped short just as they were about to be
tested by the supreme trial of creative statesman-
ship. We believe that he would have stood the
test, and we have good reason for our faith. For
this is certainly true of him, that a life more
strenuous, a life of more constantly heightening
tendency of fulfilment, of more salutary and invig-
orating example, has not been lived in a country
that is rich in instances of such. Well may we be
proud of him, this brother of ours, recognized also
as a brother wherever men honor what is praise-
worthy in man. Well may we thank God for him,
and love more the country that could produce and
appreciate him. Well may we sorrow for his loss,
but not as those without hope. Great as the loss
is — and the loss of faculties trained like his is the
hardest of all to replace — yet we should show a
want of faith in our country if we called it irrepara-
ble. Three times within living memory has the

46 GARFIELD

Vice-President succeeded to the presidential func-
tion without shock to our system, without detriment
to our national honor, and without check to our
prosperity. It would be an indignity to discuss
here the character of him who is now our chief
magistrate, and who, more than any one, it is safe
to say, has felt the pain of this blow. But there is
no indecorum in saying what is known to all, that
he is a gentleman of culture, of admittedly high in-
telligence, of unimpeachable character, of proved
administrative ability, and that he enters on his
high duties with a full sense of what such a succes-
sion implies. I am not one of those who believe
that democracy any more than any other form of
government will go of itself. I am not a believer
in perpetual motion in politics any more than in
mechanics, but, in common with all of you, I have
an imperturbable faith in the honesty, the intelli-
gence, and the good sense of the American people,
and in the destiny of the American Kepublic.

STANLEY

SPEECH AT THE MEETING IN THE CHAPTER HOUSE OF
WESTMINSTER ABBEY IN COMMEMORATION OF DEAN
STANLEY, 13 DECEMBER, 1881.

I AM very glad to have the privilege of uniting
in this tribute to the memory of the remarkable
man whose loss was felt as a personal bereavement
by so great and so various a multitude of mourn-
ers, and, as has been so well said by his successor,
a multitude of mourners which included many who
had never seen his face. I feel especially happy
because it seems to me that my presence here is
an augury of that day, which may be distant, but
which I believe will surely come, when the char-
acter and services of every eminent man of the
British race in every land, under whatever distant
skies he may have been born, shall be the common
possession and the common inheritance and the
common pride of every branch which is spnmg
from our ancestral stem. As I look round upon
this assembly, I feel that I may almost be pardoned
if I apply again the well-known line, —

** Si monuraentum requiris, circumspice/'

The quality and the character of this meeting are
In themselves a monument and a eulogy. It would

48 STANLEY

be out of place for me to attempt any characteriza-
tion of Dean Stanley in the presence of those so
much more fitted than myself for the task ; but I
may be allowed to say a few words from the point
of view of a stranger. I remember, on the day of
the Dean's funeral, what struck me as most re-
markable was seeing all ranks and conditions of
men equalized, all differences of creed obliterated,
all animosities of sect and party appeased by the
touch of that common sympathy in sorrow. The
newspapers, as was natural and proper, remarked
upon the number of distinguished persons who were
present. To me, it seemed vastly more touching
to look upon the number of humble and undistin-
guished persons, who felt that their daily lives had
lost a consolation and their hearts a neighbor and
a friend. If I were to put in one word what struck
me as perhaps the leading characteristic of Dean
Stanley, and what made him so dear to many, I
should say it was not his charity, though his char-
ity was large, — for charity has in it sometimes,
perhaps often, a savor of superiority; it was not
his toleration, — for toleration, I think, is apt to
make a concession of what should be simply rec-
ognized as a natural right, — but it was rather, as
it seems to me, the wonderful many-sidedness of his
sympathies. I remember my friend Dr. Holmes,
whose name I am sure is known, and if known is
dear to most of you, called my attention to an epi-
taph in the neighborhood of Boston, in New Eng-
land. It recorded the name and date of the death
of a wife and mother, and then added simply, " She

STANLEY 49

was so pleasant." That always struck me in Dean
Stanley. I think no man ever lived who was so
pleasant to so many people. We visited him as
we visit a clearer sky and a warmer climate. In
thinking of this meeting this morning, I was re-
minded of a proverbial phrase which we have in
America, and which, I believe, we carried from
England : we apologize for the shortcomings and
faults of our fellow-beings by saying, " There is
a great deal of human nature in man." I think
the one leading characteristic of Dean Stanley —
and I say it to his praise — was the amount of hu-
man nature there was in him. So sweet, so gra-
cious, so cheerful, so illuminating was it that there
could not have been too much of it. It brought
him nearer to all mankind, it recognized and called
out the humanity that was in other men. His sym-
pathies were so wide that they could not be con-
fined by the boundaries of the land in which he was
born: they crossed the channel and they crossed
the ocean. No man was a foreigner to him, far
less any American. And, in supporting the reso-
lution, I should be inclined to make only one
amendment : it would be to propose that the me-
morial, instead of being national, should be interna-
tional. Since I came into the room, I have heard
from Sir Kutherford Alcock that he has received
from Boston, through the hands of Rev. Phillips
Brooks, a friend of Dean Stanley, a contribution
of £206 toward the Stanley Hall. I am sure I
am not pledging my countrymen to too much when
I say that they will delight to share in this tribute

50 STANLEY

to the late Dean. And England has lately given
them, in so many ways, such touching and cordial
reasons for believing tliat they cannot enter as
strangers to any sorrow of hers, that I am sure you
will receive most substantial and most sympathetic
help from your kindred people on the other side of
the Atlantic, with whom the bonds of sympathy
have been lately drawn more close, and by nothing
more strikingly than by the sympathy expressed,
sir, by your Koyal Mother, in a way which touched
every heart on the other side of the Atlantic, and
has called forth repeated expressions of gratitude.
It will give me great pleasure to do all I can to aid
the enterprise which is started here tcniay.

FIELDING

)DRESS ON UNVEILING THE BUST OF FIELDING, DB-
[LIVERED AT SHIRE HALL, TAUNTON, SOMERSETSHIRE,
ENGLAND, 4 SEPTEMBER, 1883.

SHOULD have preferred that this office I am to
form to-day had fallen to another. Especially
is it seem fitting that an English author should
:e the first place in doing honor to the most
thoroughly English of writers; and yet there is
something very pleasant to me in thinking that
my presence here to-day bears witness to the imion
of our tongue and of our literary traditions. I
seem to be not inappropriately verifying the proph-
ecy of Samuel Daniel made nearly three centuries
ago: —

** And who in time knows whither we may vent
The treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores

The gain of our best glory may be sent
To enrich unknowing nations with our stores ?

What worlds in the yet unformed Occident
May come refined with accents that are ours ? "

I wish that I could hope to repay some part, how-
ever small, of this obligation by any accents of
mine. A whisper will ever and anon make itself
heard by the inward ear of literary men, asking
the importunate questions, "Pray, do you not
ascribe a rather disproportionate relative impor-

52 FIELDING

tance to the achievements of those of your own
craft?** and ^^Does not genius manifest itself in
many other ways, and those of far more practical
usefulness to mankind ? " No doubt an over-esti-
mate of ourselves aud of our own doings is a very
common human failing, as we are all ready to ad-
mit when we candidly consider our neighbors, and
yet the world is led by a true instinct to agree with
us in assigning to works of imagination a useful-
ness higher in kind than any other, and in allowing
to their authors a certain right of sanctuary in our
affections, within whose limit the ordinary writs of
human censure do not run ; for not only are the
most vivid sensations of which our moral and in-
tellectual nature is capable received through the
imagination, but that mysterious faculty, in its
loftiest and purest exercise, rescues us from our
narrow personality, and lifts us up to regions of
serener scope and more ideal satisfaction. It
cheats us with a semblance of creative power that
seems almost divine, and exhilarates us by a mo-
mentary enlargement of the boimdaries of our con-
scious being, as if we had been brought into some
nearer relationship with elemental forces. This
magic, it is true, is wrought to the full only by the
three or four great poets, and by them only in their
finest and most emancipated moments. Well may
we value this incomparable gift ; well may we de-
light to honor the men who were its depositaries
and instruments. Homer and ^schylus, and Dante
and Shakespeare, speak to us as to their contem-
poraries, with an authority accumulated by all the

^FIELDINQ 68

years between them and us, and with a voice whose
very remoteness makes it seem more divinely
clear. At the height which these men were some-
times capable of reaching, the processes of the
mind seem to be intuitive. But sometimes we find
our treasure in more earthen vessels; sometimes
this wonder-working faculty is bestowed upon men
whose natural and congenial element is the prose
of cities and the conventionalized emotion of that
artificial life which we are pleased to call real.
Here it is forced to combine itself as best it may
with the imderstanding, and it attains its ends —
such lower ends as only are possible — through
observation and slowly hoarded experience. Even
then, though it may We lost its hfghest, it has not
lost all its charm nor all the potency of its sway;
for I am inclined to think that it is some form
or other, some degree or other, of this vivida vis
of imagination which breaks the fetters of men's
self-consciousness for a while, and enables them to
play with their facidties instead of toiling with
them — gives them, in short, an indefinably de-
lightful something that we call originality, or,
when it addresses itself to artistic creation, genius.
A certain sacredness was once attributed to the
builders of bridges and makers of roads, and we
but follow a natural and praiseworthy impulse
when we cherish the memory and record the worth
of any man of original and especially of creative
mind, since it is the office of such also to open the
highway for our fancy and our thought, through
the chiaroscuro of tangled actualities in which we

54 FIELDING

dwell, to commerce with fresh forms of nature
and new varieties of man. It is the privilege of
genius that to it life never grows commonplace as
to the rest of us, and that it sees Falstaffs or Don
Quixotes or Squire Westerns where we have never
seen anything more than the ordinary Toms and
Dicks and Harries whom an inscrutable Providence
has seen fit to send into an already overpopu*
lated world. These genius takes by the hand and
leads through a maze of imaginary adventures ; ex-
poses to a cross-play of fictitious circumstances, to
the friction of other personages as unreal as them-
selves, and we exclaim " Why, they are alive ; this
is creation ! " Yes, genius has endowed them with
a fulness of life, a completeness of being, such as
even they themselves had never dreamed of, and
they become truly citizens of the world forever.
A great living poet, who has in his own work illu&-
trated every form of imagination, has told us ad-
mirably what the secret of this illusory creative-
ness is, as no one has a better right to know.

" I find first
Writ down fop very a b c of fact,
In the beginning God made heaven and earth,
From which, no matter in what lisp, I speU
And speak yon out a consequence — that man —
Man, as befits the made, the inferior thing,
Purposed since made to g^ow, not make in turn ;
Tet forced to try and make, else fail to grow,
Formed to rise, reach at, if not grasp and gain
The good beyond him ; which attempt is growth —
Repeats God's process in man's due deg^e,
A harmony man's proportionate result ;
Creates not, but resuscitates perhaps.
No less man, bounded, yearning to be free,

FIELDING 65

May so project his snrplnsagfe of soul,
In search of body ; so add self to self,
By owning what lay ownerless before,
So find, so fill fall, so appropriate forms.
. . . Though nothing which had never life.
Shall get life from him, be, not haying been,
Tet something dead may get to live again.''

Now the man whom we are met to commemorate
to-day felt this necessity and performed this feat,
and his works are become a substantial part of that
English literature which may be said not merely to
exist, but to live. They have become so, among
other reasons, because he had the courage to be ab-
solutely sincere, if he had not always the tact to
see where sincerity is out of place. We may dis-
cuss, we may estimate him, but we cannot push
him from his place. His imagmation was of tha*
secondary order of which I have spoken, subdued
to what it worked in ; and his creative power is
not less in degree than that of more purely ideal
artists, but was different in kind, or, if not, is
made to seem so by the more vulgar substance in
which it wrought. He was inferior also in hav-
mg no touch of tragic power or passion, though he
can be pathetic when he will. There is nowhere
a scene more pathetic than that of the supper
Amelia prepares for Booth, who never comes to
share it, and it is pathos made of materials as
homely as Wordsworth himself would have chosen.
Certainly Fielding's genius was incapable of that
ecstasy of conception through which the poetic im-
agination seems fused into a molten unity with its
material, and produces figures that are typical with-

66 FIELDING

out loss of characteristic individuality, as if they
were drawn, not from what we call real life, but
from the very source of life itself, and were cast
in that universal mould about which the subtlest
thinkers that have ever lived so long busied them-
selves. Fielding's characters are very real per-
sons ; but they are not types in the same sense as
Lear and Hamlet. They seem to be men whom we
have seen rather than men whom we might see if
we were lucky enough, men who have been rather
than who might have been. He was especially a
humorist ; and the weakness of the humorist is that
he can never be quite unconscious, for in him it
seems as if the two lobes of the brain were never
in perfect unison, so that if ever one of them be on
the point of surrendering itself to a fine frenzy of
unqualified enthusiasm, the other watches it, makes
fun of it, renders it uneasy with a vague sense of
absurd incongruity, till at last it is forced to
laugh when it had rather cry. Heine turned this
to his purpose, an^ this is what makes him so pro-
foundly, and yet sometimes so impleasantly, pa-
thetic. Shakespeare, as remarkable in this, per-
haps, as in anything else, is the only man in whom
the rarest poetic power has worked side by side at
the same bench with humor, and has not been more
or less disenchanted by it. I have lingered so long
on general questions, not because I feared to meet
more directly an objection which I am told has
been made to this tribute of respect and affection
for Fielding, but because I doubted whether it was
necessary or wise to notice it at all; and yet,

FIELDING 67

though it must be admitted that his books cannot
be recommended virginibus puerisque^ I will say
frankly that it is not because they would corrupt,
but because they would shock; and surely this
need not affect the fact that he was a great and
original genius who has done honor to his country,
which is what we chiefly have to consider here. A
gallery of Somersetshire worthies from which he
was absent would be as incomplete as a history of
English literature that should not mention him.

Fielding needs no recognition from us ; his fame
is established and admitted, and his character is
gradually clearing itself of the stains with which
malice or jealousy or careless hearsay had dark-
ened it. It has become an established principle of
criticism that in judging a man we must take into
account the age in which he lived, and which was
as truly a part of him as he of it. Fielding's gen-
ius has drawn forth the sympathetic commendation
of such widely different men as Gibbon, Scott,
Coleridge, Thackeray, and Leslie Stephen, and of
such a woman as George Eliot. I possess a copy
of " Tom Jones," the margins of which are crowded
with fche admiring comments of Leigh Hunt, as
pure-minded a man as ever lived, and a critic
whose subtlety of discrimination and whose sound-
ness of judgment, supported as it was on a broad
base of truly liberal scholarship, have hardly yet
won fitting appreciation. There can be no higher
testimonials to character than these; and lately
Mr. Austin Dobson has done, perhaps, as true a
service as one man of letters ever did to another

58 FIELDING

by reducing what little is known of the life of
Fielding from chaos to coherence by ridding it of
fable, by correcting and coordinating dates, by
cross-examining tradition till it stammeringly con-
fessed that it had no visible means of subsistence,
and has thus enabled us to get some authentic
glimpse of the man as he really was. He has res-
cued the body of Fielding from beneath the swinish
hoofs which were trampling it as once they tram«
pled the Knight of La Mancha, whom Fielding so
heartily admired. We reaUy know almost as little
of Fielding's life as of Shakespeare's, but what we
do know on any valid evidence is, I think, on the
whole, highly creditable to him. Thrown upon the
town at twenty with no training that would fit him
for a profession, with the principles and tastes of
the class to which he belonged by birth, and with
a nominal allowance from his father of £200 a
year, which, as he humorously said, " anybody
might pay that would," it is possible that when he
had money in his pocket he may have spent it in
ways that he might blush to remember, and when
his pocket was empty may have tried to replenish
it by expedients that were not to his taste. But
there is no proof of this except what is purely in-
ferential, and there is evidence of the same kind,
but stronger, that he had habits of study and in-
dustry that are not to be put on at will as one puts
on his overcoat, and that are altogether inconsis-
tent with the dissolute life he is supposed to have
led. The dramatic pieces that he wrote during his
early period were, it is true, shamefully gross,

FIELDING 59

though there are humorous hints in them that have
been profitably worked up by later writers ; but
what strikes me most in them is that there is so
little real knowledge of life, the result of personal
experience, and that the social scenery and concep-
tion of character are mainly borrowed from his im-
mediate predecessors, the dramatists of the Kestora-
tion. In grossness his plays could not outdo those
of Dryden, whose bust has stood so long without
protest in Westminster Abbey. As to any harm
they can do there is little to be apprehended, for
they are mostly as hard to read as a Shapira manu-
script. I do not deny that Fielding's temperament
was far from being over nice. I am willing to ad-
mit, if you will, that the woof of his nature was
coarse and anima]. I should not stop short of say-
ing that it was sensual. Yet he liked and admired
the highest and best things of his time — the art of
Hogaiiih, the acting of Garrick, the verse of Pope.
He is said indeed to have loved low company, but
his nature was so companionable and his hunger
for knowledge so keen, that I fancy he would like
any society that was not dull, and any conversa-
tion, however illiterate, from which he could learn
anything to his purpose. It may be suspected that
the polite conversation of the men of that day
would differ little, except in grammar, from the
talk of the pothouse.

As I have said, we must guard against falling
into the anachronism of forgetting the coarseness
of the age into which he was born, and whose at-
mosphere he breathed. It was a generation whose

60 FIELDING

sense of smell was undisturbed by odors that would
now evoke a sanitary eonmiission, and its moral
nostrils were of an equally masculine temper. A
coarse thread shows itself here and there, even
through the satiny surface of the fastidious Gray,
and a taint of the century that gave him birth may
be detected now and then in the " Doctor " of the
pure and altogether admirable Southey. But it
is objected that there is an immoral tendency in
" Joseph Andrews," " Tom Jones," and " Amelia."
Certainly none of them is calculated to serve the
cause of virtue, or at any rate of chastity, if mea-
sured by the standard of to-day. But as certainly
that standard looks a little awkward in the hands
of people who read George Sand and allow an ex-
purgated edition of the Decalogue for the use of
them that go in chariots. I confess that in my im-
patience of such criticism I feel myself tempted,
when Fielding's muse shows a too liberal ankle, to
cry out with Tam O'Shanter, " Weel dune, cutty
sark ! " His bluntness is more wholesome than the
refinement of such critics, for the second of the
Seven Deadly Sins is not less dangerous when she
talks mysticism and ogles us through the gaps of
a fan painted with the story of the Virgin Martyr.
He did not go in search of impurity as if he rel-
ished the reek of it, like some French so-called
realists for whose title-pages I should be inclined
to borrow an inscription from the old taveni-
signs, " Entertainment for Man — and Beast."
He painted vice when it came in his way (and it
was more obvious in his time) as a figure in the

FIELDING 61

social landscape, and in doing so he was perhaps a
better moralist than those who ignore it altogether,
or only when it lives in a genteel quarter of the
town. He at least does not paint the landscape as
a mere background for the naked nymph. He
never made the blunder of supposing that the
Devil always smelt of sulphur. He thought him-
self to be writing history, and called his novels
Histories, as if to warn us that he should tell the
whole truth without equivocation. He makes all
the sins of his heroes react disastrously on their
fortunes. He assuredly believed himself to be
writing with an earnest moral purpose in his two
greater and more deliberately composed works, and
indeed clearly asserts as much. I also fully believe
it, for the assertion is justified by all that we know
of the prevailing qualities of his character, what-
ever may have been its failings and lapses, if fail-
ings and lapses they were. It does not seem to
have occurred to the English clergyman who wrote
the epitaph over his grave at Lisbon that there
was any question about the matter, and he espe-
cially celebrates the moral purpose and effect of
Fielding's works in Latin that would, perhaps,
have made the subject of it a little uncomfortable.
How, then, are we to explain certain scenes in
these books, except by supposing that Fielding was
utterly unconscious that there was any harm in
them ? Perhaps we might also say that he was so
sincere a hater of cant and sham and hypocrisy
that in his wrath against them he was not careful
to consider the want of ceremonious decorum in his

r

62 FIELDING

protest, and forgot that frankness might stop short
of cynicism without losing any of its virtue. He
had so hearty an English contempt for sentimental-
ity that he did not always distinguish true senti-
ment from false, and setting perhaps an over-value
on manliness, looked upon refinement as the omap
ment and protection of womanly weakness rather
than as what it quite as truly is — the crown
and complement of manly strength. He admired
Richardson, and frankly expressed his admiration ;
yet I think that over a bowl of punch he might
have misnamed him the "Homer of Boarding-
school Misses," just as Sainte-Beuve called Octave
Feuillet the "Alfred de Musset of Boarding-
schools."

But besides all this. Fielding was a naturalist, in
the sense that he was an instinctive and careful
observer. He loved truth, and, for an artist, seems
to have too often missed the distinction between
truth and exactitude. He forgot the warning of
Sir Walter Raleigh, perhaps more important to the
artist than to the historian, that it is dangerous to
follow truth too near the heels. His aim was to
paint life as he saw it, not as he wished it was or
hoped it might be ; to show us what men really did,
not what they were pleased to believe they thought
it would be well for other men to do : and this
he did with a force, a directness, and a vividness
of coloring that make him in the truest sense a
painter of history. No one can fail to admit the
justice of the analogy between him and his friend
Hogarth in this respect, pointed out by Mr. Dob-

FIELDING

son. In both cases we may regret that their model
was too often no better than she should be. In the
ease both of Tom Jones and of Booth, it is to be
noted, so far as the moral purpose is concerned,
that their lapse from virtue always draws after
them a retribution which threatens ruin to their
dearest desires. I think it ^as Thackeray who said
that Fielding had dared to paint a man — an ex-
ploit for which no one would have the courage now.
This is not the place or occasion for a critical
estimate of Fielding, even could one add anything
of value to what has been already said by compe-
tent persons. If there were a recognized standard
in criticism, as in apothecaries' measure, so that by
adding a grain of praise to this scale, or taking
away a scruple of blame from that, we could make
the balance manifestly even in the eyes of all men,
it might be worth while to weigh Hannibal ; but
when each of us stamps his own weights, and war-
rants tluB impartiality of his own scales, perhaps
the experiment may be wisely foregone. Let it suf-
fice here to state generally the reasons for which we
set a high value on this man whose bust we unveil
to-day. Since we are come together, not to judge,
but only to commemorate, perhaps it would be
enough to say, in justification of to-day's ceremony,
that Fielding was a man of genius ; for it is hardly
once in a century, if so often, that a whole country
catches so rare and shy a specimen of the native
fauna, and proportionably more seldom that a
county is so lucky. But Fielding was something
more even than thi& It is not extravagant to say

64 FIELDING

that he marks an epoch, and that we date from
him the beginning of a consciously new form of
literature. It was not without reason that Byron,
expanding a hint given somewhere by Fielding
himself, called him ^' the prose Homer of human
nature." He had more than that superficial know-
ledge of literature which no gentleman's head
should be without. He knew it as a craftsman
knows the niceties and traditions of his craft. He
saw that since the epic in verse ceased to be recited
in the market-places, it had become an anachro-
nism ; that nothing but the charm of narrative had
saved Ariosto, as Tasso had been saved by his
diction, and Milton by his style ; but that since
Milton every epic had been bom as dead as the
Pharaohs — more dead, if possible, than the " Co-
lumbiad " of Joel Barlow and the " Charlemagne "
of Lucien Bonaparte are to us. He saw that the
novel of actual life was to replace it, and he set
himself deliberately (after having convinced him-
self experimentally in Parson Adams that he could
create character) to produce an epic on the lower
and more neighborly level of prose. However
opinions may differ as to the other merits of " Tom
Jones," they are unanimous as to its harmony of
design and masterliness of structure.

Fielding, then, was not merely, in my judgment
at least, an original writer, but an originator. He
has the merit, whatever it may be, of inventing the
realistic novel, as it is called. I do not mean to say
that there had been no stories professedly of real
life before. The story of " Francion " is such, and

FIELDING 65

even more notably ** Gil Bias," not to mention oth-
ers. But before Fielding it seems to me that real
life formed rather the scenic background than the
substance, and that the characters are, after all,
merely players who represent certain types rather
than the living types themselves. Fielding, as a
novelist, drew the motives that impel his characters
in all their actions from human nature, and not
from artificial life. When I read " Gil Bias," I
do not become part of the story — I listen to an
agreeable story-teller who narrates and describes,
and I wait to hear what is going to happen ; but in
Fielding I want to see what people are going to do
and say, and I can half guess what will happen,
because I know them and what they are and what
they are likely to do. They are no longer images,
but actual beings. Nothing can persuade me, for
example, that I do not know the sound of Squire
Western's voice.

Fielding did not and could not idealize, his ob-
ject being exact truth, but he realized the actual
truth around him as none had done before and few
have done since. As a creator of characters that
are actuated by a motive power within themselves,
and that are so livingly real as to become our famil-
iar acquaintances, he is among the greatest. Abra-
ham Adams is excellent, and has had a numerous
progeny, but I think that even he is inferior in
originality, in coherence, and in the entire keep-
ing of look, speech, motive, and action, to Squire
Western, who is, indeed, one of the most simple
and perfect creations of genius. If he has been

66 FIELDING

less often copied than Parson Adams, may it not
be because he is a more finished work of art, and,
therefore, more difficult to copy ? I need not ex-
patiate on the simple felicity and courteonsness of
his style, the unobtrusive clothing of a thought as
clear as it is often profound, or on the good-nature
of his satire, in which he reminds one of Chaucer,
or on the subtle gravity of his irony, more delicate
than that of Swift, and, therefore, perhaps even
more deadly. I will only say that I think it less
perfect, because more obviously intentional, in
" Jonathan Wild " than in such masterpieces as
the account of Captain Blifil's death, and the epi-
taph upon his tomb. When it seems most casual
and inadvertent, it often cuts deepest, as when
Squire Western, impatient of Parson Supple's in-
tervention, says to him, " Am't in pulpit now ;
when art a got up there then I never mind what
dost say." I must not forget to say a word of his
dialogue, which, except where he wishes to show
off his attainments in classical criticism, as in some
chapters of " Amelia," is altogether so admirably
spirited and characteristic that it makes us wonder
at his failure as a dramatist. We may read Field-
ing's character clearly in his books, for it was not
complex, but especially in his " Voyage to Lisbon,"
where he reveals it in artless inadvertence. He
was a lovingly thoughtful husband, a tender father,
a good brother, a useful and sagacious magistrate.
He was courageous, gentle, thoroughly conscious of
his own dignity as a gentleman, and able to make
that dignity respected. If we seek for a single

FIELDING 67

characteristic which more than any other would
sum him up, we should say that it was his absolute
manliness, a manliness in its tjrpe English from top
to toe. It is eminently fitting, therefore, that the
reproduction of his features, which I am about to
unveil, should be from the hand of a woman. Let
me close with a quotation which was a favorite
with Fielding : —

** Verum ubi plnra nitent, . . . non eg^o pauois
Offendar maoulis, quae aut inouria fudit,
Aut humana parum cavit natura."

COLERIDGE

ADDRESS ON UNVEILING THE BUST OF COI^EBIDGE, IN
WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 7 MAY, 1885.

I SHOULD have preferred for many reasons, on
which I need not dwell, for they must be present
to the minds of all who hear me, that the duty I
have undertaken to perform here to-day had fallen
to other hands. But the fact that this memorial
of one who, if not a great poet and a great teacher,
had in him the almost over-abundant materials
of both, is the gift of one of my countrymen, the
late Rev. Dr. Mercer, of Newport, Rhode Island,
through his executrix, Mrs. Pell, seems to supply
that argument of fitness that would otherwise have
been absent. It does more, and for this I prize
it the more ; it adds a fresh proof, if any were
needed, that not all the waters of that ocean which
divides but cannot divorce them can wash out of
the consciousness of either nation the feeling that
we hold our intellectual property in common, that
we own allegiance to the same moral and literary
traditions, and that the fame of those who have
shed lustre on our race, as it is an undivided in-
heritance, so it imposes an equal debt of gratitude,
an equal responsibility, on the two great branches
of it. Twice before I have had the honor of

COLERIDGE 69

speaking within the precincts of this structure, the
double sanctuary of religion and renown, surely
the most venerable of ecclesiastical buildings to
men of English blood. Once again I was a silent
spectator while his body was laid here to mingle
with consecrated earth who more deeply than any
other in modern times had penetrated with the
ferment of his thought the thinking of mankind,
an event of deep significance as the proclamation
of that truce between science and religion which
is, let us hope, the forerunner of their ultimate
reconciliation. When I spoke here it was in com-
memoration of personal friends, one of them the
late Dean Stanley, dear to all, who knew him ; the
other an American poet, dear to all who speak the
English tongue. It is to commemorate another
friend that I come here to-day, for who so worthy
of the name as one who was our companion and
teacher in the happiest hours of our youth, made
doubly happy by the charm of his genius, and who
to our old age brings back, if not the presence, at
least the radiant image of the youth we have lost ?
Surely there are no friends so constant as the
poets, and among them, I think, none more faith-
ful than Coleridge. I am glad to have a share in
this reparation of a long injustice, for as we looked
about us hitherto in Poet's Corner we were tempted
to ask, as Cavalcante dei Cavalcanti did of Dante,
If these are here through loftiness of genius, where
is he? It is just fifty-one years ago that I be-
came the possessor of an American reprint of Ga-
lignani's edition of Coleridge, Shelley, and Keats

70 COLERIDGE

in one volume. It was a pirated book, and I trust
I may be pardoned for the delight I had in it. I
take comfort from the thought that there must be
many a Scottish minister and laird now in Heaven
who liked their claret none the less that it had paid
no tribute to the House of Hanover. I have heard
this trinity of poets taxed with incongruity. As
for me, I was grateful for such infinite riches in a
little room, and never thought of looking a Pegasus
in the mouth whose triple burden proved a stronger
back than that even of the Templars' traditional
steed. Much later, but still long ago, I read the
"Friend," the "Biographia Literaria," and other
prose works of Coleridge. In what may be given
me to say I shall be obliged to trust chiefly to a
memory which at my time of life is gradually be-
coming one of her own reminiscences, and is forced
to compound as best she may with her inexorable
creditor. Oblivion. But perhaps she will serve me
all the better for the matter in hand, for what is
proper here is at most a rapid generalization rather
than a demonstration in detail of his claims to grate*
ful remembrance. I shall naturally trust myself to
judge him by his literary rather than by his meta-
physical achievement. In the latter region I cannot
help being reminded of the partiality he so often be-
trays for clouds, and see him, to use his own words,
" making the shifting clouds seem what you please,'*
or " a traveller go from mount to mount through
doudland, gorgeous land." Or sometimes I think
of him as an alchemist in search of the philosoi
pher's stone, and stripping the lead, not only from

COLERIDGE 71

his own roof, but from that of the parish church
itself, to quench the fiery thirst of his alembic.
He seems never to have given up the hope of
finding in the imagination some universal solvent,
some magisterium majus, by which the lead of
scepticism should be transmuted into the pure gold
of faith, or, at least, persuaded to believe itself so.
But we should not forget that many earnest and
superior minds found his cloud castles solid habi-
tations, nor that alchemy was the nursing mother
of chemistry. He certainly was a main influence
in showing the English mind how it could emanci-
pate itself from the vulgarizing tyranny of common
sense, and teaching it to recognize in the imagina-
tion an important • factor not only in the happiness
but in the destiny of man. In criticism he was,
indeed, a teacher and interpreter whose service
was incalculable. He owed much to Lessing,
something to Schiller, and more to the younger
Schlegel, but he owed most to his own sympathetic
and penetrative imagination. This was the lifted
torch (to borrow his own words again) that bade
the starry walls of passages, dark before to the
apprehension of even the most intelligent reader,
sparkle with a lustre, latent in them to be sure,
but not all their own. As Johnson said of Burke,
he wound into his subject like a serpent. His
analysis was elucidative mainly, if you will, but
could not have been so except in virtue of the
processes of constructive and philosophical criti-
cism that had gone on so long in his mind as to
make its subtle apprehension seem an instinct.

72 COLERIDGE

As he was the first to observe some of the sky's
appearances and some of the shyer revelations of
outward nature, so he was also first in noting some
of the more occult phenomena of thought and emo-
tion. It is a criticism of parts and passages, and
was scattered carelessly in obiter dicta, but it was
not a bringing of the brick as a specimen of the
whole house. It was comparative anatomy, far
rather, which from a single bone reconstructs the
entire living organism. Many of his hints and
suggestions are more pregnant than whole treatises,
as where he says that the wit of Hudibras is the
wit of thought.

But what I think constitutes his great power, as
it certainly is his greatest charm, is the perpetual
presence of imagination, as constant a quality with
him as fancy is with Calderon. She was his life-
long housemate, if not always hanging over his
shoulders and whispering in his ear, yet within easy
call, like the Abra of Prior —

'* Abra was with him ere he spoke her name,
And if he called another, Abra came/'

It was she who gave him that power of sympathy
which made his Wallenstein what I may call the
most original translation in our language, unless
some of the late Mr. Fitzgerald's be reckoned such.
He was not exact any more than Chapman. The
molten material of his mind, too abundant for the
capacity of the mould, overflowed it in gushes of
fiery excess. But the main object of translation
he accomplishes. Poetry is reproduced as poetry,
and genius shows itself as genius, patent even in

COLERIDGE 78

the march of the verse. As a poet, the impression
he made upon his greater contemporaries will, I
believe, be the ultimate verdict of criticism. They
all thought of him what Scott said of him, ^^ No
man has all the resources of poetry in such profu-
sion. . . . His fancy and diction would long ago
have placed him above all his contemporaries had
they been under the direction of a sound judgment
and a steady will." No doubt we have in Cole-
ridge the most striking example in literature of a
great genius given in trust to a nerveless will and
a fitful purpose. But I think the secret of his
doing no more in poetry is to be found in the fact
that the judgment, so far from being absent, grew
to be there in excess. His critical sense rose like
a forbidding apparition in the path of his poetic
production. I have heard of a military engineer
who knew so well how a bridge should be built that
he could never build one. It certainly was not
wholly indolence that was to blame in Coleridge's
case, for though he used to say early in life that he
had no " finger industry," yet he left behind him a
mass of correspondence, and his letters are gener-
ally long. But I do not care to discuss a question
the answer to which must be left mainly to conjec-
ture or to the instinct of individual temperament.
It is enough for us here that he has written some
of the most poetical poetry in the language, and
one poeni, the " Ancient Mariner," not only unpar-
alleled, but unapproached in its kind, and that
kind of the rarest. It is marvellous in its mastery
over that delightfully fortuitous inconsequence that

74 COLERIDGE

is the adamantine logic of dreamland. Coleridge
has taken the old ballad measure and given to it
by an indefinable charm wholly his own all the
sweetness, all the melody and compass of a sym-
phony. And how picturesque it is in the proper
sense of the word. I know nothing like it. There
is not a description in it. It is all picture. De-
scriptive poets generally confuse us with multipli-
city of detail; we cannot see their forest for the
trees ; but Coleridge never errs in this way. With
instinctive tact he touches the right chord of asso-
ciation, and is satisfied, as we also are. I should
find it hard to explain the singular charm of his
diction, there is so much nicety of art and purpose
in it, whether for music or meaning. Nor does it
need any explanation, for we all feel it. The words
seem common words enough, but in the order of
them, in the choice, variety, and position of the
vowel-sounds they become magical. The most de-
crepit vocable in the language throws away its
crutches to dance and sing at his piping. I can-
not think it a personal peculiarity, but a matter of
universal experience, that more bits of Coleridge
have imbedded themselves in my memory than of
any other poet who delighted my youth — unless I
should except the sonnets of Shakespeare. This
argues perfectness of expression. Let me cite an
example or two : —

*' The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out,
At one stride comes the dark ;
With far-heard whisper through the dark
Off shot the spectre barque/'

COLERIDGE 75

Or take this as a bit of landscape : —

** Beneath yon birch with silver bark
And boughs so pendulous and fair,
The brook falls scattered down the rock.
And all is mossy there."

It is a perfect little picture and seems so easily
done. But try to do something like it. Coleridge's
words have the unashamed nakedness of Scripture,
of the Eden of diction ere the voluble serpent had
entered it. This felicity of speech in Coleridge's
best verse is the more remarkable because it was
an acquisition. His earlier poems are apt to be
turgid, in his prose there is too often a languor of
profuseness, and there are pages where he seems
to be talking to himself and not to us, as I have
heard a guide do in the tortuous caverns of the
Catacombs when he was doubtful if he had not
lost his way. But when his genius runs freely and
full in his prose, the style, as he said of Pascal, " is
a garment of light." He knew all our best prose
and knew the secret of its composition. When he
is well inspired, as in his best poetry he commonly
is, he gives us the very quintessence of perception,
the clearly crystallized precipitation of all that is
most precious in the ferment of impression after
the impertinent and obtrusive particulars have
evaporated from the memory. It is the pure visual
ecstasy disengaged from the confused and confus-
ing material that gave it birth. It seems the very
beatitude of artless simplicity, and is the most fin-
ished product of art. I know nothing so perfect
in its kind since Dante. The tiny landscape I have
cited reminds me in its laconic adequacy of —

76 COLERIDGE

** Li msoelletti che de' verdi colli
Del Casentin discendon g^uso in Amo,
Faccendo i lor canali e freddi e mollL"

I confess that I prefer the " Ancient Mariner ** to
" Christabel," fine as that poem is in parts and
tantalizing as it is in the suggestion of deeper
meanings than were ever there. The " Ancient
Mariner " seems to have come of itself. In " Chris-
tabel " I fancy him saying, *' Go to, let us write an
imaginative poem." It never could be finished on
those terms.

This is not the time nor the place to pass judg-
ment on Coleridge the man. Doubtless it would
have been happier for him had he been endowed
with the business faculty that makes his friend
Wordsworth so almost irritatingly respectable.
But would it have been happier for us ? We are
here to-day not to consider what Coleridge owed
to himself, to his family, or to the world, but what
we owe to him. Let us at least not volunteer to
draw his frailties from their dread abode. Our
own are a far more profitable subject of contem-
plation. Let the man of imaginative temperament,
who has never procrastinated, who has made all
that was possible of his powers, cast the first stone.
The cairn, I think, will not be as tall as Hector's.
With Coleridge I believe the opium to have been
congenital, and if we may judge by many a pro-
foundly pathetic cry both in his poems and his let-
ters, he answered grievously for his frailties during
the last thirty years of his life. In an unpublished
letter of his he says, speaking of another, but

COLERIDGE

thinking certainly of himself, ''An unfortunate
man, enemy to himself only, and like all of that
character expiating his faults by suffering beyond
what the severest judge would have inflicted as
their due punishment." There let us leave it, for
nothing is more certain than that our personal
weaknesses exact the uttermost farthing of penalty
from us while we live. Even in the dilapidation
of his powers, due chiefly, if you will, to his own
unthrifty management of them, we might, making
proper deductions, apply to him what Mark An-
tony says of the dead Caesar —

'* He was the ruins of the noblest man
That ever lived in the tide of time.'*

Whatever may have been his faults and weak-
nesses, he was the man of all his generation to
whom we should most unhesitatingly allow the dis-
tinction /v^QTiiito tliQf, jq^f^rmo authentically pos-
sessed from time to time by some influence that
made mm better anH" neater than himS^f . If he
lost himself too much in what Mr. Pater has ad-
mirably called "impassioned contemplation," he
has at least left us such a legacy as only genius, and
genius not always, can leave. It is for this that
we pay him this homage of memory. He himself
has said that —

*' It seems like stories from the land of spirits
If any man obtain that which he merits,
Or any merit that which he attains."

Both conditions are fulfilled to-day.

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

ADDRESS AT THE OPENING OF THE FBEB PUBLIC LI-
BRARY IN CHELSEA, MASSACHUSE^, 22 DECEMBEB,

1885.

A FEW years ago my friend, Mr. Alexander Ire-
land, published a very interesting volume which he
called " The Book-Lover's Enchiridion," the hand-
book, that is to say, of those who love books. It
was made up of extracts from the writings of a
great variety of distinguished men, ancient and
modern, in praise of books. It was a chorus of
many voices in many tongues, a hymn of gratitude
and praise, full of such piety and fervor as can be
paralleled only in songs dedicated to the supreme
Power, the supreme Wisdom, and the supreme
Love. Nay, there is a glow of enthusiasm and sin-
cerity in it which is often painfully wanting in
those other too commonly mechanical compositions.
We feel at once that here it is out of the fulness
of the heart, yes, and of the head, too, that the
mouth speaketh. Here was none of that compul-
sory commonplace which is wont to characterize
those " testimonials of celebrated authors," by
means of which publishers sometimes strive to
linger out the passage of a hopeless book toward
its requiescat in oblivion. These utterances which
Mr. Ireland has gathered lovingly together are

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 79

stamped with that spontaneousness* which is the
mint-mark of all sterling speech. It is true that
they are mostly, as is only natural, the utterances of
literary men, and there is a well-founded proverbial
distrust of herring that bear only the brand of the
packer, and not that of the sworn inspector. But
to this objection a cynic might answer with the
question, " Are authors so prone, then, to praise
the works of other people that we are to doubt
them when they do it unasked?" Perhaps the
wisest thing I could have done to-night would have
been to put upon the stand some of the more
weighty of this cloud of witnesses. But since your
invitation implied that I should myself say some-
thing, I will endeavor to set before you a few of
the commonplaces of the occasion, as they may be
modified by passing through my own mind, or by
having made themselves felt in my own experience.
The greater part of Mr. Ireland's witnesses tes-
tify to the comfort and consolation they owe to
books, to the refuge they have found in them from
sorrow or misfortime, to their friendship, never es-
tranged and outliving all others. This testimony
they volunteered. Had they been asked, they
would have borne evidence as willingly to the
higher and more general uses of books in their ser-
vice to the commonwealth, as well as to the indi-
vidual man. Consider, for example, how a single
page of Burke may emancipate the young student
of politics from narrow views and merely contem-
poraneous judgments. Our English ancestors, with
that common-sense which is one of the most useful.

80 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

thougli not oAe of the most engaging, properties
of the race, made a rhyming proverb, which says
that —

" When land and goods are gfone and spent,
Then learning is most excellent ; "

and this is true so far as it goes, though it goes per-
haps hardly far enough. The law also calls only
the earth and what is immovably attached to it real
pi'operty, but I am of opinion that those only arc
real possessions which abide with a man after he
has been stripped of those others falsely so called,
and which alone save him from seeming and from
being the miserable forked radish to which the bit-
ter scorn of Lear degraded every child of Adam.
The riches of scholarship, the benignities of litera-
ture defy fortune and outlive calamity. They are
beyond the reach of thief or moth or rust. As they
cannot be inherited, so they cannot be alienated.
But they may be shared, they may be distributed,
and it is the object and office of a free public
library to perform these beneficent functions.

" Books," says Wordsworth, " are a real world,"
and he was thinking, doubtless, of such books as are
not merely the triumphs of pure intellect, however
supreme, but of those in which intellect infused
with the sense of beauty aims rather to produce de-
light than conviction, or, if conviction, then through
intuition rather than formal logic, and, leaving
what Donne wisely calls —

*' Unconceming things matters of fact ''

to science and the understanding, seeks to give
ideal expression to those abiding realities of the

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 81

spiritual world for which the outward and visible
world serves at best but as the husk and symbol.
Am I wrong in using the word realities ? wrong in
insisting on the distinction between the real and
the actual ? in assuming for the ideal an existence
as absolute and self subsistent as that which ap-
peals to our senses, nay, so often cheats them, in
the matter of fact? How very small a part of
the world we truly live in is represented by what
speaks to us through the senses when compared
with that vast realm of the mind which is peopled
by memory and imagination, and with such shining
inhabitants! These walls, these faces, what are
they in comparison with the countless images, the
innumerable population which every one of us can
summon up to the tiny show-box of the brain, in
material breadth scarce a span, yet infinite as space
and time ? and in what, I pray, are those we gravely
call historical characters, of which each new histo-
rian strains his neck to get a new and different
view, in any sense more real than the personages of
fiction? Do not serious and earnest men discuss
Hamlet as they would Cromwell or Lincoln ? Does
Csesar, does Alaric, hold existence by any other or
stronger tenure than the Christian of Bunyan or
the Don Quixote of Cervantes or the Antigone of
Sophocles? Is not the history which is luminous
because of an indwelling and perennial truth to na-
ture, because of that light which never was on land
or sea, really more true, in the highest sense, than
many a weary chronicle with names and date and
place in which '^ an Amurath to Amurath sue-

82 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

ceeds " ? Do we know as much of any authentio
Danish prince as of Hamlet?

But to come back a little nearer to Chelsea and
the occasion that has called us together. The
founders of New England, if sometimes, when they
found it needful, an impracticable, were always a
practical people. Their first care, no doubt, was
for an adequate supply of powder, and they encour-
aged the manufacture of musket bullets by enact-
ing that they should pass as currency at a farthing
each — a coinage nearer to its nominal value and
not heavier than some with which we are familiar.
Their second care was that " good learning should
not perish from among us," and to this end they at
once established the Grammar (Latin) School in
Boston, and soon after the college at Cambridge.
The nucleus of this was, as you all know, the be-
quest in money by John Harvard. Hardly less
important, however, was the legacy of his library,
a collection of good books, inconsiderable measured
by the standard of to-day, but very considerable
then as the possession of a private person. From
that little acorn what an oak has sprung, and from
its acorns again what a vocal forest, as old Howell
would have called it, — old Howell whom 1 love to
cite, because his name gave their title to the " Es-
says of Elia," and is borne with slight variation
by one of the most delightful of modern authors.
It was, in my judgment, those two foundations',
more than anything else, which gave to New Eng-
land character its bent, and to Boston that literary
supremacy which, I am told, she is in danger of

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 88

losing, but which she will not lose till she and all
the world lose Holmes.

The opening of a free public library, then, is a
most important event in the history of any town.
A college training is an excellent thing ; but, after
all, the better part of every man's education is that
which he gives himself, and it is for this that a
good library should furnish the opportunity and
the means. I have sometimes thought that our
public schools undertook to teach too much, and
that the older system, which taught merely the
three K's, and taught them well, leaving natural
selection to decide who should go farther, was the
better. However this may be, all that is primarily
needful in order to use a library is the ability to
read. I say primarily, for there must also be the
inclination, and, after that, some guidance in read-
ing well. Formerly the duty of a Kbrarian was
considered too much that of a watch-dog, to keep
people as much as possible away from the books,
and to hand these over to his successor as little worn
by use as he could. Librarians now, it is pleasant
to see, have a different notion of their trust, and
are in the habit of preparing, for the direction of
the inexperienced, lists of such books as they think
best worth reading. Cataloguing has also, thanks
in great measure to American librarians, become a
science, and catalogues, ceasing to be labyrinths
without a clue, are furnished with finger-posts at
every turn. Subject catalogues again save the
beginner a vast deal of time and trouble by sup.
plying him for nothing with one at least of the

84 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

results of thorough scholarship, the knowing where
to look for what he wants. I do not mean by this
that there is or can be any short cut to learning,
but that there may be, and is, such a short cut to
information that will make learning more easily
accessible.

But have you ever rightly considered what the
mere ability to read means ? That it is the key
which admits us to the whole world of thought and
fancy and imagination? to the company of saint
and sage, of the wisest and the wittiest at their
wisest and wittiest moment ? That it enables us to
see Avith the keenest eyes, hear with the finest ears,
and listen to the sweetest voices of all time ? More
than that, it annihilates time and space for us ; it
revives for us without a miracle the Age of Won-
der, endowing us with the shoes of swiftness and
the cap of darkness, so that we walk invisible
like fern-seed, and witness unharmed the plague at
Athens or Florence or London ; accompany Caesar
on his marches, or look in on Catiline in coun-
cil with his fellow conspirators, or Guy Fawkes
in the cellar of St. Stephen's. We often hear of
people who will descend to any servility, submit to
any insult, for the sake of getting themselves or
their children into what is euphemistically called
good society. Did it ever occur to them that there
is a select society of all the centuries to which they
and theirs can be admitted for the asking, a so-
ciety, too, which wUl not involve them in ruinous
expense and still more ruinous waste of time and
health and faculties ?

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 85

Southey tells ns that, in bis walk one stormy
day, he met an old woman, to whom, by way of
greeting, he made the rather obvious remark that
it was dreadful weather. She answered, philosoph-
ically, that, in her opinion, " anf/ weather was bet-
ter than none ! " I should be half inclined to say
that any reading was better than none, allaying the
crudeness of the statement by the Yankee proverb,
which tells us that, though ^ all deacons are good,
there 's odds in deacons." Among books, certainly,
there is much variety of company, ranging from
the best to the worst, from Plato to Zola, and the
first lesson in reading well is that which teaches us
to distinguish between literature and merely printed
matter. The choice lies wholly with ourselves.
We have the key put into our hands ; shall we un-
lock the pantry or the oratory ? There is a Walla-
chiau legend which, like most of the figments of
popular fancy, has a moral in it. One Bakala, a
good-for-nothing kind of fellow in his way, having
had the luck to offer a sacrifice especially well
pleasing to God, is taken up into heaven. He finds
the Ahnighty sitting in something Uke the best
room of a Wallachian peasant's cottage — there is
always a profound pathos in the homeliness of the
popular imagination, forced, like the princess in
the fairy tale, to weave its semblance of gold tissue
out of straw. On being asked what reward he de-
sires for the good service he has done, Bakala, who
had always passionately longed to be the owner of
a bagpipe, seeing a half worn-out one lying among
some rubbish in a comer of the room, begs eagerly

86 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

that it may be bestowed on him. The Lord, with
a smile of pity at the meanness of his choice,
grants him his boon, and Bakala goes back to
earth delighted with his prize. With an infinite
possibility within his reach, with the choice of wis-
dom, of power, of beauty at his tongue's end, he
asked according to his kind, and his sordid wish is
answered with a gift as sordid. Yes, there is a
choice in books as in friends, and the mind sinks
or rises to the level of its habitual society, is sub-
dued, as Shakespeare says of the dyer's hand, to
what it works in. Cato's advice, ciim bonis amhvla^
consort with the good, is quite as true if we extend
it to books, for they, too, insensibly give away their
own nature to the mind that converses with them.
They either beckon upwards or drag down. Du
gleichst dem Geist den du hegreifst^ says the
World Spirit to Faust, and this is true of the as-
cending no less than of the descending scale.
Every book we read may be made a round in the
everJengthening ladder by which we cUmb to
knowledge and to that temperance and serenity of
mind which, as it is the ripest fruit of Wisdom, is
also the sweetest. But this can only be if we read
such books as make us think, and read them in
such a way as helps them to do so, that is, by en-
deavoring to judge them, and thus to make them
an exercise rather than a relaxation of the mind.
Desultory reading, except as conscious pastime,
hebetates the brain and slackens the bow-string of
Will. It communicates as little intelligence as the
messages that run along the telegraph wire to the

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 87

birds that perch on it. Few men learn the highest
use of books. After lifelong study many a man
discovers too late that to have had the philosopher's
stone availed nothing without the philosopher to
use it. Many a scholarly life, stretched like a talk-
ing wire to bring the wisdom of antiquity into
communion with the present, can at last yield us
no better news than the true accent of a Greek
verse, or the translation of some filthy nothing
scrawled on the walls of a brothel by some Pom-
peian idler. And it is certainly true that the ma-
terial of thought reacts upon the thought itself.
Shakespeare himself would have been commonplace
had he been paddocked in a thinly shaven vocabu-
lary, and Phidias, had he worked in wax, only a
more inspired Mrs. Jarley. A man is known, says
the proverb, by the company he keeps, and not
only so, but made by it. Milton makes his fallen
angels grow small to enter the infernal council
room, but the soul, which God meant to be the spa-
cious chamber where high thoughts and generous
aspirations might commime together, shrinks and
narrows itseK to the measure of the meaner com-
pany that is wont to gather there, hatching con-
spiracies against our better selves. We are apt to
wonder at the scholarship of the men of three cen-
turies ago and at a certain dignity of phrase that
characterizes them. They were scholars because
they did not read so many things as we. They had
fewer books, but these were of the best. Their
speech was noble, because they lunched with Plu-
tarch and supped with Plato. We spend as much

88 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

time over print as they did, but instead of com-
muning with the choice thoughts of choice spir-
its, and unconsciously acquiring the grand manner
of that supreme society, we diligently inform our-
selves, and cover the continent with a cobweb of
telegraphs to inform us, of such inspiring facts as
that a horse belonging to Mr. Smith ran away on
Wednesday, seriously damaging a valuable carry-
all ; that a son of Mr. Brown swallowed a hickory
nut on Thursday ; and that a gi*avel bank caved in
and buried Mr. Sobinson alive on Friday. Alas,
it is we ourselves that are getting buried alive un-
der this avalanche of earthy impertinences I It is
we who, while we might each in his humble way
be helping our fellows into the right path, or add-
ing one block to the climbing spire of a fine soul,
are willing to become mere sponges saturated from
the stagnant goosepond of village gossip. This is
the kind of news we compass the globe to catch,
fresh from Bungtown Centre, when we might have
it fresh from heaven by the electric lines of poet or
prophet 1 It is bad enough that we should be com-
peUed to know so many nothings, but it is down-
right intolerable that we must wash so many bar-
row-loads of gravel to find a grain of mica after
all. And then to be told that the ability to read
makes us all shareholders in the Bonanza Mine of
Universal Intelligence !

One is sometimes asked by young people to rec-
ommend a course of reading. My advice would
be that they should confine themselves to the su-
preme books in whatever literature, or still better

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 89

to choose some one great author, and make them-
selves tiioroughly familiar with him. For, as all
roads lead to Home, so do they likewise lead away
from it, and you will find that, in order to under-
stand perfectly and weigh exactly any vital piece
of literature, you wiU be gradually and pleasantly
persuaded to excursions and explorations of which
you little dreamed when you began, and will find
yourselves scholars before you are aware. For re-
member that there is nothing less profitable than
scholarship for the mere sake of scholarship, nor
anything more wearisome in the attainment. But
the moment you have a definite aim, attention is
quickened, the mother of memory, and all that you
acquire groups and arranges itself in an order that
is lucid, because everywhere and always it is in
intelligent relation to a central object of constant
and growing interest. This method also forces
upon us the necessity of thinking, which is, after
all, the highest result of all education. For what
we want is not learning, but knowledge ; that is,
the power to make learning answer its true end as
a quickener of intelligence and a widener of our in-
tellectual sympathies. I do not mean to say that
every one is fitted by nature or inclination for a
definite course of study, or indeed for serious study
in any sense. I am quite willing that these should
*' browse in a library," as Dr. Johnson called it, to
their hearts' content. It is, perhaps, the only way
in which time may be profitably wasted. But des-
ultory reading will not make a "full man," as
Bacon understood it, of one who has not Johnson's

90 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

memory, his power of assimilation, and, above all,
his comprehensive view of the relations of things.
^^Bead not," says Lord Bacon, in his Essay of
Studies, ^^ to contradict and confute ; nor to believe
and take for granted ; nor to find talk and dis-
course; but to weigh and consider. Some books
are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and
some few to be chewed and digested ; that is, some
books are to be read only in parts ; others to be
read, but not curiously [carefully], and some few
to be read wholly and with diligence and attention.
Some books also may be read by deputy J*^ This is
weighty and well said, and I would call your at-
tention especially to the wise words with which the
passage closes. The best books are not always
those which lend themselves to discussion and com-
ment, but those (like Montaigne's Essays) which
discuss and comment ourselves.

I have been speaking of such books as should be
chosen for profitable reading. A public library, of
course, must be far wider in its scope. It should
contain something for all tastes, as well as the ma-
terial for a thorough grounding in all branches of
knowledge. It should be rich in books of reference,
in encyclopaedias, where one may learn without cost
of research what things are generally known. For
it is far more useful to know these than to know
those that are not generally known. Not to know
them is the defect of those half-trained and there-
fore hasty men who find a mare's nest on every
branch of the tree of knowledge. A library should
contain ample stores of history, which, if it do not

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 91

always deserve the pompous title which Boling-
broke gave it, of philosophy teaching by example,
certainly teaches many things profitable for us to
know and lay to heart ; teaches, among other things,
how much of the present is still held in mortmain
by the past ; teaches that, if there be no control-
ling purpose, there is, at least, a sternly logical se-
quence in human affairs, and that chance has but
a trifling dominion over them ; teaches why things
are and must be so and not otherwise, and that,
of all hopeless contests, the most hopeless is that
which fools are most eager to challenge — with the
Nature of Things ; teaches, perhaps, more than
anything else, the value of personal character as a
chief factor in what used to be called destiny, for
that cause is strong which has not a multitude,
but one strong man behind it. History is, indeed,
mainly the biography of a few imperial men, and
forces home upon us the useful lesson how infini-
tesimally important our own private affairs are to
the universe in general. History is clarified expe-
rience, and yet how little do men profit by it ; nay,
how should we expect it of those who so seldom are
taught anything by their own I Delusions, espe-
cially economical delusions, seem the only things
that have any chance of an earthly immortality. I
would have plenty of biography. It is no insignifi-
cant fact that eminent men have always loved their
Plutarch, since example, whether for emulation or
avoidance, is never so poignant as when presented
to us in a striking personality. Autobiographies
are also instructive reading to the student of human

92 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

nature, though generally written by men who are
more interesting to themselves than to their fel-
low men. I have been told that Emerson and
George Eliot agreed in thinking Rousseau's " Con-
fessions " the most interesting book they had ever
read.

A public library, should also have many and full
shelves of political economy, for the dismal science,
as Carlyle called it, if it prove nothing else, will go
far towards proving that theory is the bird in the
bush, though she sing more sweetly than the night-
ingale, and that the millennium will not hasten its
coming in deference to the most convincing string
of resolutions that were ever unanimously adopted
in public meeting. It likewise induces in us a pro-
found and wholesome distrust of social panaceas.

I would have a public library abundant in trans-
lations of the best books in all languages, for,
though no work of genius can be adequately trans-
lated, because every word of it is permeated with
what Milton calls "the precious life-blood of a
master spirit " which cannot be transfused into the
veins of the best translation, yet some acquaintance
with foreign and ancient literatures has the liber-
alizing effect of foreign travel. He who travels by
translation travels more hastily and superficially,
but brings home something that is worth having,
nevertheless. Translations properly used, by short-
ening the labor of acquisition, add as many years
to our lives as they subtract from the processes of
our education. Looked at from any but the aBS-
thetic point of view, translations retain whatever

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 98

property was in their originals to enlarge, liberalize,
and refine the mind. At the same time I would
have also the originals of these translated books as
a temptation to the study of languages, which has
a special use and importance of its own in teaching
us to understand the niceties of our mother tongue.
The practice of translation, by making us deliber-
ate in the choice of the best equivalent of the for-
eign word in our own language, has likewise the
advantage of continually schooling us in one of the
main elements of a good style, — precision ; and
precision of thought is not only exemplified by pre-
cision of language, but is largely dependent on the
habit of it.

In such a library the sciences should be fully
represented, that men may at least learn to know
in what a marvellous museum they live, what a
wonder-worker is giving them an exhibition daily
for nothing. Nor let Art be forgotten in all its
many forms, not as the antithesis of Science, but
as her elder or fairer sister, whom we love all the
more that her usefulness cannot be demonstrated
in dollars and cents. I should be thankful if every
day-laborer among us could have his mind illu-
mined, as those of Athens and of Florence had,
with some image of what is best in architecture,
painting, and sculpture, to train his crude percep-
tions and perhaps call out latent faculties. I
should like to see the works of Ruskin within the
reach of every artisan among us. For I hope
some day that the delicacy of touch and accu-
racy of eye that have made our mechanics in some

94 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

departments the best in the world, may give ns the
same supremacy in works of wider range and more
purely ideal scope.

Voyages and travels I would also have, good
store, especially the earlier, when the world was
fresh and unhackneyed and men saw things invisi-
ble to the modem eye. They are fast sailing ships
to waft away from present trouble to the Fortunate
Isles.

To wash down the drier morsels that every
library must necessarily offer at its board, let there
be plenty of imaginative literature, and let its
range be not too narrow to stretch from Dante to
the elder Dumas. The world of the imagination is
not the world of abstraction and nonentity, as some
conceive, but a world formed out of chaos by a
sense of the beauty that is in man and the earth on
which he dwells. It is the realm of Might-be, our
haven of refuge from the shortcomings and disillu-
sions of life. It is, to quote Spenser, who knew it
well —

'* The world^g sweet inn from care and wearisome turmoiL"

Do we believe, then, that God gave us in mockery
this splendid faculty of sympathy with things that
are a joy forever? For my part, I believe that
the love and study of works of imagination is of
practical utility in a country so profoundly material
(or, as we like to call it, practical) in its leading
tendencies as ours. The hunger after purely intel-
lectual delights, the content with ideal possessions,
cannot but be good for us in maintaining a whole-

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 95

some balance of the character and of the facul-
ties. I for one shall never be persuaded that
Shakespeare left a less useful legacy to his coun-
trymen than Watt. We hold all the deepest, all
the highest satisfactions of life as tenants of imagi-
nation. Nature will keep up the supply of what
are called hard-headed people without our help,
and, if it come to that, there are other as good
uses for heads as at the end of battering rams.

I know that there are many excellent people
who object to the reading of novels as a waste of
time, if not as otherwise harmful. But I think
they are trying to outwit nature, who is sure to
prove cunninger than they. Look at children.
One boy shall want a chest of tools, and one a
book, and of those who want books one shall ask
for a botany, another for a romance. They will be
sure to get what they want, and we are doing a
grave wrong to their morals by driving them to do
things on the sly, to steal that food which their
constitution craves and which is wholesome for
them, instead of having it freely and frankly given
them as the wisest possible diet. If we cannot
make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, so neither
can we hope to succeed with the opposite experi-
ment. But we may spoil the silk for its legitimate
uses. I can conceive of no healthier reading for a
boy, or girl either, than Scott's novels, or Cooper's,
to speak only of the dead. I have found them
very good reading at least for one young man, for
one middle-aged man, and for one who is grow-
ing old. No, no — banish the Antiquary, banish

96 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

Leather Stocking, and banish all the world ! Let
us not go about to make life duller than it is.

But I must shut the doors of my imaginary
library or I shall never end. It is left for me to
say a few words of cordial acknowledgment to Mr.
Fitz for his judicious and generous gift. I have
great pleasure in believing that the custom of giv-
ing away money during their lifetime (and there is
nothing harder for most men to part with, except
prejudice) is more common with Americans than
with any other people. It is a still greater plea-
sure to see that the favorite direction of their be-
neficence is towards the founding of colleges and
libraries. My observation has led me to believe
that there is no country in which wealth is so
sensible of its obligations as our own. And, as
most of our rich men have risen from the ranks,
may we not fairly attribute this sympathy with
their kind to the benign influence of democracy
rightly understood ? My dear and honored friend,
George William Curtis, told me that he was sit-
ting in front of the late Mr. Ezra Cornell in a
convention, where one of the speakers made a
Latin quotation. Mr. Cornell leaned forward and
asked for a translation of it, which Mr. Curtis
gave him. Mr. Cornell thanked him, and added,
'' If I can help it, no young man shall grow up in
New York hereafter without the chance, at least,
of knowing what a Latin quotation means when he
hears it." This was the germ of Cornell University,
and it found food for its roots in that sympathy
and thoughtfulness for others of which 1 just

BOOKS AND LIBRARIES 97

spoke. This is the healthy side of that good na-
ture which democracy tends to foster, and which is
so often harmful when it has its root in indolence
or indifference ; especially harmful where our pub-
lie affairs are concerned, and where it is easiest,
because there we are giving away what belongs to
other people. It should be said, however, that in
this country it is as laudably easy to procure signa-
tures to a subscription paper as it is shamefully so
to obtain them for certificates of character and
recommendations to office. And is not this public
spirit a national evolution from that frame of mind
in which New England was colonized, aud which
found expression in these grave words of Robinson
and Brewster : " We are knit together as a body
in a most strict and sacred bond and covenant of
the Lord, of the violation of which we make great
conscience, and by virtue whereof we hold our-
selves strictly tied to all care of each other's good,
and of the whole." Let us never forget the deep
and solemn import of these words. The problem
before us is to make a whole of our many discor-
dant parts, our many foreign elements, and I know
of no way in which this can better be done than by
providing a common system of education and a
common door of access to the best books by which
that education may be continued, broadened, and
made fruitful. For it is certain that, whatever we
do or leave undone, those discordant parts and
foreign elements are to be, whether we will or no,
members of that body which Robinson and Brews-
ter had in mind, bone of our bone, and flesh of our

98 BOOKS AND LIBRARIES

flesh, for good or iU. I am happy in beKeving
that democracy has enough vigor of constitution to
assimilate these seemingly indigestible morsels and
transmute them into strencrth of muscle and sym-
metryoflimb.

There is no way in which a man o^an build so
secure and lasting a monument for himself as in
a public library. Upon that he may confidently
allow " Kesurgam " to be carved, for, through his
good deed, he will rise again in the grateful re-
membrance and in the lifted and broadened minds
and fortified characters of generation after genera-
tion. The pyramids may forget their builders,
but memorials such as this have longer memories.

Mr. Fitz has done his part in providing your
library with a dwelling. It will be for the citizens
of Chelsea to provide it with worthy habitants.
So shall they, too, have a share in the noble eulogy
of the ancient wise man: ^'The teachers shall
shine as the firmament, and they that turn many
to righteousness as the stars forever and ever."

WORDSWORTH

ADDRESS AS PRESIDENT OF THE WORDSWORTH SOCIETY,

10 MAY, 1884.

In an early volume of the " Philosophical Trans-
actions" there is a paper concerning "A certain
kind of Lead found in Germany proper for Essays."
That it may have been first found in Germany I
shall not question, but deposits of this depressing
mineral have been discovered since in other coun-
tries also, and we are all of us more or less familiar
with its presence in the essay, — nowhere more
than when this takes the shape of a critical dis-
sertation on some favorite poet. Is this, then,
what poets are good for, that we may darken them
with our elucidations, or bury them out of sight
imder the gathering silt of our comments ? Must
we, then, peep and botanize on the rose of dawn
or the passion-flower of sunset? I should rather
take the counsel of a great poet, the commentaries
on whom already make a library in themselves, and
say,—

'^ State content!, umana g^nte, al quia,"

be satisfied if poetry be delightful, or helpful, op
inspiring, or all these together, but do not con-
sider too nicely why it is so.

100 WORDSWORTH

I would not have you suppose that I am glan-
cing covertly at what others, from Coleridge down,
have written of Wordsworth. I have read them,
including a recent very suggestive contribution of
Mr. Swinburne, with no other sense of dissatisfac-
tion than that which springs from " desiring this
man's art and that man's scope." No, I am think-
ing only that whatever can b6 profitably or un-
profitably said of him has been already said, and
that what is said for the mere sake of saying it is
not worth saying at all. Moreover, I myself have
said of him what I thought good more than twenty
years ago.^ It is as wearisome to repeat one's self
as it is profitless to repeat others, and that we have
said something, however inadequate it may after-
^ards seem to us, is a great hindrance to saying
anything better.

The only function that a president of the Words-
worth Society is called on to perform is that of
bidding it farewell at the end of his year, and it is
perhaps fortunate that I have not had the leisure
to prepare a discourse so deliberate as to be more
worthy of the occasion. Without unbroken time
there can be no consecutive thought, and it is my
misfortune that in the midst of a reflection or of a
sentence I am liable to be called away by the bell
of private or public duty. Even had I been able
to prepare something that might have satisfied me
better, I should still be at the disadvantage of fol-
lowing next after a retiring president^ who always

1 Literary Essays, iv. 354.
^ Mr. Matthew Arnold.

WORDSWORTH 101

has the art of saying what all of us would be glad
to say if we could, and who in his address last year
gave us what seemed to me the finished model of
what such a performance should be.

During the year that has passed since our last
Annual Meeting, however idle the rest of us may
have been, our secretary has been fruitfully busy,
and has given us two more volumes of what it is safe
to say will be the standard and definitive edition
of the poet's works. In this, the chronological
arrangement of the several poems, and still more
the record in the margin of the author's corrections
or repentances (pentimenti^ as the Italians prettily
call them), furnish us with a kind of self-register-
ing instrument of the exactest kind by which to
note, if not always the growth of his mind, yet cer-
tainly the gradual clarification of his taste, and the
somewhat toilsome education of his ear. It is
plain that with Wordsworth, more than with most
poets, poetry was an art, — an art, too, rather pain-
\^ fully acquired by one who was endowed by nature

with more of the vision than of the faculty divine.
Some of the more important omissions, especially,
seem silently to indicate changes of opinion, though
oftener, it may be suspected, of mood, or merely a
shifting of the point of view, the natural conse-
quence of a change for the better in his own ma-
terial condition.

One result of this marshalling of the poems by
the natural sequence of date is the conviction that,
whatever modifications Wordsworth's ideas con-
cerning certain social and political questions may

-X

102 WORDSWORTH

have undergone, these modifications had not their
origin in inconsiderate choice, or in any seduction
of personal motive, but were the natural and un-
conscious outcome of enlarged experience, and of
more profound reflection upon it. I see no reason
to think that he ever swerved from his early faith
in the beneficence of freedom, but rather that he
learned the necessity of defining more exactly in
what freedom consisted, and the conditions, whether
of time or place, under which alone it can be bene-
ficent, of insisting that it must be an evolution and
not a manufacture, and that it should coordinate
itself with the prior claims of society and civiliza-
tion. The process in his mind was the ordinary
crystallization of sentiment hitherto swimming in
vague solution, and now precipitated in principles.
He had made the inevitable discovery that comes
with years, of how much harder it is to do than to
see what 't were good to do, and grew content to
build the poor man's cottage, since the means did
not exist of building the prince's palace he had
dreamed. It is noticeable how many of his earlier
poems turn upon the sufferings of the poor from
the injustice of man or the unnatural organization
of society. He himself had been the victim of an
abuse of the power that rank and wealth some-
times put into the hands of unworthy men, and
had believed in political methods, both for remedy
and prevention. He had believed also in the
possibility of a gregarious regeneration of man by
sudden and sharp, if need were by revolutionary
expedients, like those impromptu conversions of

WORDSWORTH 103

the inhabitants of a city from Christ to Mahomet,
or back again, according to the creed of their con-
queror, of which we read in mediseval romances.
He had fancied that the laws of the universe would
curtsy to the resolves of the National Convention.
He had seen this hope utterly baffled and confuted,
as it seemed, by events in France, by events that had
occurred, too, in the logical sequence foretold by
students of history. He had been convinced, per-
haps against his will, that a great part of human
suffering has its root in the nature of man, and not
in that of his institutions. Where was the remedy
to be found, if remedy indeed there were ? It was
to be sought at least only in an improvement
wrought by those moral influences that build up
and buttress the personal character. Goethe taught
the self-culture that results in seK-possession, in
breadth and impartiality of view, and in equipoise
of mind ; Wordsworth inculcated that self-develop-
ment through intercourse with man and nature
which leads to self-sufflcingness, self-sustainment,
and equilibrium of character. It was the individ-
ual that should and could be leavened, and through
the individual the lump. To reverse the process
was to break the continuity of history and to wres-
tle with the angel of destiny.

And for one of the most powerfully effective of
the influences for which he was seeking, where
should he look if not to Religion ? The sublimities
and amenities of outward nature might suffice for
WiDiam Wordsworth, might for him have almost
filled the place of a liberal education; but they

104 WORDSWORTH

elevate, teach, and above all console the imagina*
tive and solitary only, and suffice to him who al-
ready suffices to himself. The thought of a god
vaguely and vaporously dispersed throughout the
visible creation, the conjecture of an animating
principle that gives to the sunset its splendors, its
passion to the storm, to cloud and wind their sym-
pathy of form and movement, that sustains the
faith of the crag in its forlorn endurance, and of
the harebell in the slender security of its stem,
may inspire or soothe, console or fortify, the man
whose physical and mental fibre is so sensitive that,
like the spectroscope, it can both feel and record
these impalpable impulses and impressions, these
impersonal vibrations of identity between the frag-
mentary life that is in himself and the larger life
of the universe whereof he is a particle. Such
supersensual emotions might help to make a poem,
but they would not make a man, still more a social
being. Absorption in the whole would not tend to
that development of the individual which was the
comer-stone of Wordsworth's edifice.

That instinct in man which leads him to fashion
a god in his own image, why may it not be an in-
stinct as natural and wholesome as any other?
And it is not only God that this instinct embodies
and personifies, but every prof ounder abstract con-
ception, every less selfish devotion of which man is
capable. Was it, think you, of a tiny crooked out-
line on the map, of so many square miles of earth,
or of Hume and Smollett's History that Nelson
was thinking when he dictated what are perhaps

WORDSWORTH 105

the most inspiring words ever nttered by an Eng-
lishman to Englishmen ? Surely it was something
in woman's shape that rose before him with all the
potent charm of noble impulsion that is hers as
much through her weakness as her strength. And
the features of that divine apparition, had they not
been painted in every attitude of their changeful
beauty by Romney ?

Coarse and rudimentary as this instinct is in the
savage, it is sublimed and etherealized in the pro-
foundly spiritual imagination of Dante, which yet
is forced to admit the legitimacy of its operation.
Beatrice teUs him —

'* Thus to yonr minds it needful is to speak,
Because through sense alone they understand :
It is for this that Scripture condescends
Unto your faculties, and feet and hands
To God attributes, meaning something else."

And in what I think to be the sublimest reach to
which poetry has risen, the conclusion of the " Par-
adiso," Dante tells us that within the three whirl-
ing rings of vari-colored light that symbolize the
wisdom, the power, and the love of God, he seems
to see the image of man.

Wordsworth would appear to have been con-
vinced that this Something deeply interfused, this
pervading but illusive intimation, of which he was
dimly conscious, and that only by flashes, could
never serve the ordinary man, who was in no way
and at no time conscious of it, as motive, as judge,
and more than all as consoler, — could never fill
the place of the Good Shepherd. Observation con-

106 WORDSWORTH

vinced him tliat what are called the safeguards of
society are the staff also of the individual members
of it; that tradition, habitude, and heredity are
great forces, whether for impulse or restraint. He
had pondered a pregnant phrase of the poet Daniel,
where he calls religion ^^ mother of Form and
Fear." A growing conviction of its profound truth
turned his mind towards the Church as the embod-
iment of the most potent of all traditions, and to
her public offices as the expression of the most
socially humanizing of all habitudes. It was no
empty formalism that could have satisfied his con-
ception, but rather that ^^ Ideal Form, the universal
mould," iiiQ,tJbrma mentis cetema which has given
shape and expression to the fears and hopes and
aspirations of mankind. And what he understood
by Fear is perhaps shadowed forth in the " Ode to
Duty," in which he speaks to us out of an ampler
ether than in any other of his poems, and which
may safely ^' challenge insolent Greece and haughty
Rome " for a comparison either in kind or degree.

I ought not to detain you longer from the inter-
esting papers, the reading of which has been prom-
ised for this meeting. No member of this Society
would admit that its existence was needed to keep
alive an interest in the poet, or to promote the
study of his works. But I think we should all con-
sent that there could be no better reason for its
being than the fact that it elicits an utterance of
the impression made by his poetry on many differ-
ent minds looking at him from as many different
points of view. That he should have a special

WORDSWORTH 107

meaning for eveiy one in an audience so various in
temperament and character might well induce us
to credit him with a wider range of sympathies and
greater breadth of thought than each of us sepa-
rately would, perhaps, be ready to admit.

But though reluctant to occupy more than my
fair share of your time, the occasion tempts me
irresistibly to add a few more words of general
criticism. It has seemed to me that Wordsworl
has too commonly been estimated rather as philoso-
pher or teacher than as poet. The value of what
he said has had more influence*with the jury than
the way in which he said it. There are various
methods of criticism, but I think we should all
agree that literary work is to be judged from the
purely literary point of view.

If it be one of the baser consolations, it is also
one of the most disheartening concomitants of long
life, that we get used to everything. Two things,
perhaps, retain their freshness more perdurably
than the rest, — the return of spring, and the more
poignant utterances of the poets. And here, I
think, Wordsworth holds his own with the best.
But Mr. Arnold's volume of selections from him
suggests a question of some interest, for the Words-
worth Society of special interest, — How much of
his poetry is likely to be a permanent possession ?
The answer to this question is involved in the an-
swer to a question of wider bearing, — What are
the conditions of permanence ? Immediate or con-
temporaneous recognition is certainly not dominant
among them, or Cowley would still be popular, —

108 WORDSWORTH

Cowley, to whom the Muse gave every gift but one,
the gift of the unexpected and inevitable word.
Nor can mere originality assure the interest of pos-
terity, else why are Chaucer and Gray familiar,
while Donne, one of the subtlest and most self-
irradiating minds that ever sought an outlet in
verse, is known only to the few ? Since Virgil there
have been at most but four cosmopolitan authors,
— Dante, Cervantes, Shakespeare, and Goethe.
These have stood the supreme test of being trans-
lated into all tongues, because the large humanity
of their theme, and of their handling of it, needed
translation into none. Calderon is a greater poet
than Goethe, but' even in the most masterly trans-
lation he retains still a Spanish accent, and is ac-
cordingly interned (if I may Anglicize a French
word) in that provincialism which we call nation-
ality.

When one reads what has been written about
Wordsworth, one cannot fail to be struck by the
predominance of the personal equation in the esti-
mate of his value, and when we consider his claim
to universal recognition, it would not be wise to
overlook the rare quality of the minds that he has
most attracted and influenced. If the character of
the constituency may be taken as the measure of
the representative, there can be no doubt that, by
his privilege of interesting the highest and purest
order of intellect, Wordsworth must be set apart
from the other poets, his contemporaries, if not
above them. And yet we must qualify this praise
by the admission that he continues to be insular j

WORDSWORTH 109

that he makes no conquests beyond the boundaries
of his mother-tongue ; that, more than perhaps any
other poet of equal endowment, he is great and
surprising in passages and ejaculations. In these
he truly

'* Is happy as a lover, and attired
In sudden brightness, like a man inspired ; "

in these he loses himself, as Sir Thomas Browne
would say, in an O, altitudo^ where his muse is in-
deed a muse of fire, that can ascend, if not to the
highest heaven of invention, yet to the supremest
height of impersonal utterance. Then, like Elias
the prophet, ^^ he stands up as fire, and his word
bums like a lamp." But too often, when left to
his own resources, and to the conscientious per-
formance of the duty laid upon him to be a great
poet quand rneme^ he seems diligently intent on
producing fire by the primitive method of rubbing
the dry sticks of his blank verse one against the
other, while we stand in shivering expectation of
the flame that never comes. In his truly inspired
and inspiring passages it is remarkable also that
he is most unlike his ordinary self, least in accord-
ance with his own theories of the nature of poetic
expression. When at his best, he startles and
waylays as only genius can, but is furthest from
that equanimity of conscious and constantly in-
dwelling power that is the characteristic note of
the greatest work. If Wordsworth be judged by
the ex ungue leonem standard, by passages,. or by
a dozen single poems, no one capable of forming
an opinion would hesitate to pronounce him, not

110 WORDSWORTH

only a great poet, but among the greatest, con-
vinced in the one case by the style, and in both by
the force that radiates from him, by the stimulus
he sends kindling through every fibre of the intel-
lect and of the imagination. At the same time
there is no admittedly great poet in placing whom
we are forced to acknowledge so many limitations
and to make so many concessions.

Even as a teacher he is often too much of a ped-
agogue, and is apt to forget that poetry instructs
not by precept and inculcation, but by hints and

(indirections and suggestions, by inducing a mood
rather than by enforcing a principle or a moral.
He sometimes impresses our fancy with the image
of a schoolmaster whose class-room commands an
unrivalled prospect of cloud and mountain, of all
the pomp and prodigality of heaven and earth.
From time to time he calls his pupils to the win-
dow, and makes them see what, without the finer
intuition of his eyes, they had never seen ; makes
/ them feel what, without the sympathy of his more
penetrating sentiment, they had never felt. It
keems the revelation of a new heaven and a new
earth, and to contain in itself its own justification.
/Then suddenly recollecting his duty, he shuts the
window, calls them back to their tasks, and is
j equally well pleased and more discursive in en-
I forcing on them the truth that the moral of all this
J is that in order to be happy they must be virtuous.
I If the total absence of any sense of humor had the
*. advantage sometimes of making Wordsworth sub-
limely unconscious, it quite as often made him so
to his loss.

WORDSWORTH 111

' In his noblest utterances man is absent except
as the antithesis that gives a sharper emphasis to
nature. The greatest poets, I J^nk>^ha3Z£ JEound
man more interesting than nature,_have considered
na ture as no more than tte nece ssary sceneryTafr
Lst icallv harmful if too p ompous or obtrusive, be-
Fore which man acts his t ragi-comedv of life. This
peculiarity of Wordsworth results naturally from
the fact that he had no dramatic power, and of nar-
rative power next to none. If he tell us a story,
it is because it gives him the chance to tell us some-
thing else, and to him of more importance. In
Scott's narrative poems the scenery is accessary
and subordinate. It is a picturesque backgi'ound
to his figures, a landscape through which the action
rushes like a torrent, catching a hint of color per-
haps from rock or tree, but never any image so dis-
tinct that it tempts us aside to reverie or medita-
tion. With Wordsworth the personages are apt
to be lost in the landscape, or kept waiting idly
while the poet muses on its deeper suggestions.
A^d^^he^aaino^ensejrf propgr^ instinct j^f

yhnifift {^nd dispn'Tnination. All his thoughts and

.^emotions and sensations are of equal value in his
eyes because they are his, and he gives us methodi-
..<3ally and conscientiously all he can, and not that
^ only which he cannot help giving because it must
and will be said. One might apply to him what
Miss Skeggs said of Dr. Burdock, that " he seldom
leaves anything out, as he writes only for his own
amusement." There is no limit to his — let us call
it f acundity. He was dimly conscious of this, and

112 WORDSWORTH

turned by a kind of instinct, I suspect, to the son*
net, because its form forced boundaries upon him,
and put him under bonds to hold his peace at the
end of the fourteenth line. Yet even here nature
would out, and the oft-recurring aarne subject con-
tinued lures the nun from her cell to the convent
parlor, and tempts the student to make a pulpit of
his pensive citadel. The hour-glass is there, to be
sure, with its lapsing admonition, but it reminds
the preacher only that it can be turned.

I have said that Wordsworth was insular, but,
more than this, there is also something local, I
might say parochial, in his choice of subject and
tone of thought. I am not sure that what is called
philosophical poetry ever appeals to more than a
very limited circle of minds, though to them it ap-
peals with an intimate power that makes them fa-
natical in their preference. Perhaps none of those
whom I have called imiversal poets (unless it be
Dante) calls out this fanaticism, for they do not
need it, fanaticism being a sure token either of
,^weakness in numbers or of weakness in argument.
\ The greatest poets interest the passions of men no
less than their intelligence, and are more concerned
/with the secondary than the primal sympathies,
• with the concrete than with the abstract.

But I have played the advocatus diaboli long
enough. I come back to the main question from
which I set out. Will Wordsworth survive, as
Lucretius survives, through the splendor of certain
sunbursts of imagination refusing for a passionate
moment to be subdued by the unwilling material

WORDSWORTH 113

in which It is forced to work, while that material
takes fire in the working as it can and will only in
the hands of genius, as it cannot and will not, for
example, in the hands of Dr. Akenside ? Is he to
be known a century hence as the author of remark-
able passages ? Certainly a great part of him will
perish, not, as Ben Jonson said of Donne, for want
of understanding, but because too easily under-
stood. His teaching, whatever it was, is part of
the air we breathe, and has lost that charm of ex-
clusion and privilege that kindled and kept alive
the zeal of his acolytes while it was still sectarian,
or even heretical. But he has that surest safe-
guard against oblivion, that imperishable incentive
to curiosity and interest that belongs to all original
minds. His finest utterances do not merely nestle
in the ear by virtue of their music, but in the soul
and life, by virtue of their meaning. One woul(
be slow to say that his general outfit as poet was s(
complete as that of Dryden, but that he habitually
dwelt in a diviner air, and alone of modem poets]
renewed and justified the earlier faith that mad<
poet and prophet interchangeable terms. Surel;
he was not an artist in the strictest sense of th(
word ; neither was Isaiah ; but he had a rarer gifti
the capability of being greatly inspired. Popular,]
let us admit, he can never be ; but as in Catholic j'
countries men go for a time into retreat from the
importunate dissonances of life to collect their bel
ter selves again by communion with things that are!
heavenly, and therefore eternal, so this Chartreuse
of Wordsworth, dedicated to the Genius of Soli-

114 WORDSWORTH

tude, wiU aUure to its imperturbable calm the finer
natures and the more bighly tempered intellects of
every generation, so long as man has any intuition
of what is most sacred in his own emotions and
sympathies, or of whatever in outward nature is
most capable of awakening them and maldng them
operative, whether to console or strengthen. And
over the entrance-gate to that purifying seclusion
shall be inscribed, —

''Minds innocent and quiet take
This for an hermitage."

DON QUIXOTE

NOTES READ AT THE WORKINGMEN's COLLEGE, GREAT

ORMOND STREET, LONDON.

In every literature which can be in any sense
called national there is a flavor of the soil from
which it sprang, in which it grew, and from which
its roots drew nourishment. This flavor, at first,
perhaps, the cause of distaste, gives a peculiar relish
when we have once learned to like it. It is a limi-
tation, no doubt, and when artificially conmnmi-
cated, or in excess, incurs the reproach of provin-
cialism, just as there are certain national dishes
that are repugnant to every foreign palate. But
it has the advantage of giving even to second-class
writers in a foreign language that strangeness
which in our own tongue is possible only to origi-
nality either of thought or style. When this savor
of nationality is combined with original genius, as
in such a writer as Calderon, for example, the
charm is incalculably heightened.

Spanish literature, if it have nothing that for
height and depth can be compared with the " Di-
vina Commedia " of Dante (as indeed what other
modern literature has ?), is rich in works that will
repay study, and evolved itself by natural processes
out of the native genius, the history, and the min-

116 DON QUIXOTE

gled races of the country more evidently, perhaps,
than that of any other modem people. It was of
course more or less modified from time to time by
foreign, especially by French, influences in its ear-
lier period, by Italian in the sixteenth century, and
in later times again by French and German in-
fluences more or less plainly marked, but through
all and in spite of all, by virtue of the vigor of its
native impulse, it has given an essentially Spanish
character to all its productions. Its earliest mon-
ument, the " Song of the Cid," is in form a repro-
duction of the French '' Chanson de Geste," a song
of action or of what has been acted, but the spirit
which animates it is very different from that which
animates the " Song of Roland," its nearest French
parallel in subject and form. The Spanish Ro-
mances, very much misrepresented in the spirited
and facile reproductions of Lockhart, are beyond
question the most original and fascinating popular
poetry of which we know anything. Their influ-
ence upon the form of Heine's verse is unmistaka-
ble. In the Drama, also, Spain has been especially
abundant and inventive. She has supplied all
Europe with plots, and has produced at least one
dramatist who takes natural rank with the greatest
in any language by his depth of imagination and
fertility of resource. For fascination of style and
profound suggestion, it would be hard to name an-
other author superior to Calderon, if indeed equal
to him. His charm was equally felt by two minds
as unlike each other as those of Goethe and Shel-
ley. These in themselves are sufficient achieve-

DON QUIXOTE 117

ments, and the intellectual life of a nation could
maintain itself on the unearned increment of these
without further addition to its resources. But
Spain has also had the good fortune to produce
one book which by the happiness of its conception,
by the variety of its invention, and the charm of
its style, has been adopted into the literature of
mankind, and has occupied a place in their affec-
tion to which few other books have been admitted*

Wei have no word in English so comprehensive
as the Dichtwig of the Germans, which includes
every exercise of the creative faculty, whether in
the line of pathos or humor, whether in the higher
region of imagination or on the lower levels of
fancy where the average man draws easier breath.
It is about a work whose scene lies on this inferior
plane, but whose vividness of intuition and breadth
of treatment rank it among the highest achieve-
ments of imaginative literature, that I shall say a
few words this evening, and I trust that I shall see
nothing in it that in the author's intention, at least,
is not honestly to be found there ; certainly that I
shall not pretend to see anything which others have
professed to discover there, but to which nature
has made me color-blind.

I ask your attention not to an essay on " Don
Quixote," still less to an essay on Cervantes, but
rather to a few illustrative comments on his one
immortal book (drawn almost wholly from notes
written on its margin in repeated readings), which
may tend to throw a stronger light on what I shall
not scruple to call its incomparable originality both

118 DON QUIXOTE

as a conception and a study of character. It is
one of the few books that can lay nndisputed claim
to tiie distinction of being tmiveLl and cosmopoK-
tan, equally at home in all languages and welcome
to all kindreds and conditions of men; a human
book in the fullest sense of the word; a kindly
book, whether we take that adjective in its original
meaning of natural^ or in its present acceptation,
which would seem to imply that at some time or
other, not too precisely specified in history, to be
kindly and to be natural had been equivalent
terms. I can think of no book so thoroughly good-
natured and good-humored ; and this is the more
remarkable because it shows that the optimism of
its author had survived more misfortune and disen-
chantment than have fallen to the lot of many men,
even the least successful. I suspect that Cer-
vantes, with his varied experience, maimed at the
battle of Lepanto, a captive in Algiers, pinched
with poverty all his life, and writing his great
book in a debtor's prison, might have formed as
just an estimate of the vanity of vanities as the
author of the Book of Ecclesiastes. But the no-
tion of Weltschmerz^ or the misery of living and
acting in this beautiful world, seems never to have
occurred to him, or, if it did, never to have embit-
tered him. Had anybody suggested the thought
to him, he would probably have answered, " Well,
perhaps it is not the best of all possible worlds,
but it is the best we have, or are likely to get in
my time. Had I been present at its creation, I
might, perhaps, as Alfonso the Learned thought h€

DON QUIXOTE 119

might, have given some useful advice for its im-
provement, and, were I consulted even now, could
suggest some amendments in my own condition
therein. But after all, it is not a bad world, as
worlds go, and the wisest plan, if the luck go
against us, is to foUow the advice of Durandarte
in the Cave of Montesinos, ' Patience, and shuffle
the cards.' A new deal may give us better hands."
His sense of humor kept his nature sweet and
fresh, and made him capable of seeing that there
are two sides to every question, even to a question
in which his own personal interest was directly
involved. In his dedication of the Second Part of
" Don Quixote " to the Conde de Lemos, written
in old age and infirmity, he smiles cheerfully on
Poverty as on an old friend and lifelong compan-
ion. St. Francis could not have looked with more
benignity on her whom he chose, as Dante tells
us, for his bride.

I have called "Don Quixote" a cosmopolitan
book, and I know of none other that can compete
with it in this respect unless it be " Robinson Cru-
soe." But " Don Quixote," if less verisimilar as a
narrative, and I am not sure that it is, appeals to
far higher qualities of mind and demands a far
subtler sense of appreciation than the masterpiece
of Defoe. If the latter represent in simplest prose
what interests us because it might happen to any
man, the other, while seeming never to leave the
low level of fact and possibility, constantly suggests
the loftier region of symbol, and sets before us
that eternal contrast between the ideal and the

120 DON QUIXOTE

real, between the world as it might be and the
world as it is, between the fervid completeness of
conception and the chill inadequacy of fulfilment,
which life sooner or later, directly or indirectly,
forces upon the consciousness of every man who is
more than a patent digester. There is a moral in
" Don Quixote," and a very profound one, whether
Cervantes consciously put it there or not, and it is
this: that whoever quarrels with the Nature of
y- Things, wittingly or unwittingly, is certain to get
the worst of it. The great difficulty lies in finding
out what the Nature of Things really and perdura-
bly is, and the great wisdom, after we have made
this discovery, or persuaded ourselves that we have
made it, is in accommodating our lives and actions
to it as best we may or can. And yet, though all
this be true, there is another and deeper moral in
the book than this. The pathos which imderlies its
seemingly farcical turmoil,^ the tears which some-
times tremble under our lids after its most poign-
ant touches of humor, the sympathy with its hero
which survives all his most ludicrous defeats and
humiliations and is only deepened by them, the
feeling that he is after all the one noble and heroic
figure in a world incapable of comprehending him,

^ I can think of no better instance to show how thin is the
partition that divides humor from pathos than the lustration of the
two vulgar Laises (distraidas mozas) by the pure imagination of
Don Quixote (Part. Prim. cap. ii.). The sentiment is more natu-
ral and truer than that which Victor Hugo puts into the month of
Marion Delorme when she tells her lover that '^ his love has g^ven
her back her maidenhood/' To him it might, but it would xather
have reproached her with the loss of it.

DON QUIXOTE 121

and to whose inhabitauts he is distorted and cari-
catured by the crooked panes in those windows of
custom and convention through which they see
him, all this seems to hint that only he who has
the imagination to conceive and the courage to
attempt a trial of strength with what foists itself
on our senses as the Order of Nature for the time
being, can achieve great results or kindle the co-
operative and efficient enthusiasm of his fellowmen.
The Don Quixote of one generation may live to hear
himself called the savior of society by the next.
How exalted was Don Quixote's own conception of
his mission is clear from what is said of his first
sight of the inn,^ that ^^ it was as if he had seen a
star which guided him not to the portals, but to the
fortress of his redemption," where the allusion were
too daring were he not persuaded that he is going
forth to redeem the world. Cervantes, of course, is
not so much speaking in his own person, as telling
what passed in the mind of his hero. But he would
not have ventured such an allusion in jest.

Am I forcing upon Cervantes a meaning alien
to the purpose of his story and anachronistic to the
age in which he lived ? I do not think so, and if I
err I do so in good company. I admit that there
is a kind of what is called constructive criticism,
which is sometimes pushed so far beyond its proper
limits as to deserve rather the name of destructive,
as sometimes, in the so-called restoration of an an-
cient building, the materials of the original architect
are used in the erection of a new edifice of which he

^ Part. Prim. cap. iii.

V

V

122 DON QUIXOTE

had never dreamed, or, if he had dreamed of it,
would have fancied himself the victim of some hor-
rible nightmare. I would not willingly lay myself
open to the imputation of applying this method to
Cervantes, and attribute to him a depth of intention
which, could he be asked about it, would call up in
his eyes the meditative smile that must habitually
have flickered there. Spaniards have not been
wanting who protested against what they consider
to be the German fashion of interpreting their na-
tional author. Don Juan Valera, in particular, one
of the best of contemporary Spanish men of letters,
both as critic and novelist, has argued the negative
side of the question with force and acumen in a
discourse pronounced on his admission to the Span-
ish Academy. But I must confess that, while he
interested, he did not convince me. I could quite
understand his impatience at what he considered
the supersubtleties of interpretation to which our
Teutonic cousins, who have taught us so much, are
certainly somewhat prone. We have felt it our-
selves when the obvious meaning of Shakespeare
has been rewritten into Hegelese, by some Doctor
of Philosophy desperate with the task of saying
something when everything had been already said,
and eager to apply his new theory of fog as an
illuminating medium. But I do not think that
transcendental criticism can be charged with indis-
cretion in the case of " Don Quixote." After read-
ing all that can be said against the justice of its
deductions, or divinations if you choose to call
them so, I am inclined to say, as Turner did to the

DON QUIXOTE 123

lady who, after looking at one of his pictures, de-
clared that she could not see all this in nature,
" Madam, don't you wish to heaven you could ? "
I believe that in all really great imaginative work
we are aware, as in nature, of something far more
deeply interfused with our consciousness, under-
lying the obvious and familiar, as the living spirit
of them, and accessible only to a heightened sense
and a more passionate sympathy. He reads most
wisely who thinks everything into a book that
it is capable of holding, and it is the stamp and
token of a great book so to incorporate itself with
our own being, so to quicken our insight and stim-
ulate our thought, as to make us feel as if we
helped to create it while we read. Whatever we
can find in a book that aids us in the conduct of
life, or to a truer interpretation of it, or to a franker
reconcilement with it, we may with a good con-
science believe is not there by accident, but thai
the author meant that we should find it there*
Cervantes certainly intended something of fai
wider scope than a mere parody on the Romances
of Chivalry, which before his day had ceased to
have any vitality as motives of human conduct, or
even as pictures of a life that anybody believed to
have ever existed except in dreamland. That he
did intend his book as a good-humored criticism on
doctrinaire reformers who insist, in spite of all his-
tory and experience, on believing that society is
a device of human wit or an imposture of himian
cunning, and not a growth, an evolution from nat-
ural causes, is clear enough in more than one pas-

124 DON QUIXOTE

sage to the thoughtful reader. It is also a satire
on all attempts to remake the world by the means
and methods of the past, and on the humanity of
impulse which looks on each fact that rouses its
pity or its sense of wrong as if it was or could be
complete in itself, and were not indissolubly bound
up with myriads of other facts both in the past
and the present. When we say that we are all of
us the result of the entire past, we perhaps are not
paying the past a very high compliment ; but it is
no less true that whatever happens is in some
sense, more or less strict, the result of all that has
happened before. As with all men of heated im-
aginations, a near object of compassion occupies
the whole mind of Don Quixote ; the figure of the
present sufferer looms gigantic and shuts out all
perception of remoter and more general considera-
tions. Don Quixote's quarrel is with the structure
of society, and it is only by degrees, through much
mistake and consequent suffering, that he finds out
how strong that structure is ; nay, how strong it
must be in order that the world may go smoothly
and the course of events not be broken by a series
of cataclysms. The French Revolutionists with the
sincerest good intentions set about reforming in
Don Quixote's style, and France has been in com-
motion ever since. They carefully grubbed up
every root that drew its sustenance from the past,
and have been finding out ever since to theii* sor-
row that nothing with roots can be made to order.
" Do right though the heavens fall " is an admira-
ble precept so long as the heavens do not take you

DON QUIXOTE 126

at your word and come down about your ears —
still worse about those of your neighbors. It is a
rule rather of private than public obligation — for
indeed it is the doing of right that keeps the hea-
vens from falling. After Don Quixote's temporary
rescue of the boy Andres from his master's beating,
the manner in which he rides off and discharges his
mind of consequences is especially characteristic of
reform by theory without study of circumstances.
It is a profound stroke of humor that the reformer
Don Quixote should caution Sancho not to attempt
making the world over again, and to adapt himself
to things as he finds them.

In one of his adventures, it is in perfect keeping
that he should call on all the world to stop " till
he was satisfied." It is to be noted that in both
Dop Quixote's attempts at the redress of particular
wrong (Andres and the galley-slaves) the objects
(I might call them victims) of his benevolence
come back again to his discomfiture. In the case of
Andres, Don Quixote can only blush, but Sancho
(the practical man without theories) gives the poor
fellow a hunch of bread and a few pennies, which
are very much to the purpose. Cervantes gives us
a plain hint here that all our mistakes sooner or
later surely come home to roost. It is remarka-
ble how independent of time and circumstance the
satire of the great humorists always is. Aristoph-
anes, Rabelais, Shakespeare, Moliere, seem to fur-
nish side-lights to what we read in our morning
paper. As another instance of this in Cervantes,
who is continually illustrating it, read the whole

/

126 DON QUIXOTE

scene of the liberation of the galley-slaves. How
perfectly does it fit those humanitarians who can-
not see the crime because the person of the crimi-
nal comes between them and it ! That Cervantes
knew perfectly well what he was about in his satire
and saw beneath the surface of things is shown by
the apparition of the police and of the landlord
with the bill in his hand, for it was these that
brought the Good Old Times to their forlorn Hie
Jacet

Coleridge, who in reach and range of intelli-
gence, in penetration of insight, and in compre-
hensiveness of sympathy ranks among the first of
critics, says, ^^ Don Quixote is not a man out of his
senses, but a man in whom the imagination and
the pure reason are so powerful as to make him
disregard the evidence of sense when it opposed
their conclusions. Sancho is the common sense of
the social man-animal unenlightened and unsanc-
tified by the reason. You see how he reverences
his master at the very time he is cheating him."
W. S. Landor thought that Coleridge took the hint
for this enlargement of the scope of the book from
him, but if I remember rightly it was Bouterwek
who first pointed criticism in the right direction.
Down to his time "Don Quixote" had been re-
garded as a burlesque, a farcical satire on the Ro-
mances of Chivalry, just as Shylock was so long
considered a character of low comedv.

But " Don Quixote," whatever its deeper mean-
ings may be, has a literary importance almost
without parallel, and it is time that we should con-

DON QUIXOTE

aider it briefly. It would be hard to find a
more purely original and without precedent. Cer-
vantes himself says in the preface to the First
Part that he knows not what book he is following
in it. Indeed, he foUows none, though we find
traces of his having read the " Golden Ass " and
the Greek Romances. It was the first time that
characters had been drawn from real life with such
nicety and discrimination of touch, with such mi-
nuteness in particulars, and yet with such careful
elimination of whatever was unessential that the
personages are idealized to a proper artistic dis-
tance from mere actuality. With all this, how
perfectly life-like they are ! As Don Quixote tells
us that he was almost ready to say he had seen
Amadis, and proceeds to describe his personal
appearance minutely, so we could affirm of the
Knight of La Mancha and his Squire. They are
real not because they are portraits, not because
they are drawn from actual personages, but rather
because of their very abstraction and generalization.
They are not so much taken from life as informed
with it. They are conceptions, not copies from
any model; creations as no other characters but
those of Shakespeare are in so full and adequate a
manner ; developed out of a seminal idea like the
rrfiatlireff ^^ nflitur^i Tiot' the matfer-6l!-fkct workj of
Tfc A <)tnnti vr'g jTii trlrf 111 n rni jrnH n ^^T^fj) quick eye
and a faithful memory, but the true c Mldre n of
the imaginative faculty from which all the dregs of
observation and memory Eave ISeen distillfid 'aw av,^
leaving only what is elementary andHoniversal. I

128 DON QUIXOTE

confess that in the productions of what is called
the realistic school I too often find myself in com-
pany that is little to my taste, dragged back into
a commonplace world from which 1 was only too
glad to escape, and set to grind in the prison-
house of the Philistines. I walk about in a night-
mare, the supreme horror of which is that my coat
is all buttonholes for bores to thrust their fingers
through and bait me to their heart's content.
Give me the writers who take me for a while out
of myself and (with pardon be it spoken) away
from my neighbors I I do not ask that characters
should be real ; I need but go into the street to
find such in abundance. I ask only that they
should be possible, that they should be typical, be-
cause these I find in myself, and with these can
sympathize. Hector and Achilles, Clytemnestra
and Antigone, Koland and Oliver, Macbeth and
Lear, move about, if not in worlds not realized, at
least in worlds not realized to any eye but that of
imagination, a world far from the police reports, a
world into which it is a privilege, I might almost
call it an achievement, to enter. Don Quixote and
his Squire are inhabitants of this world, in spite of
the prosaic and often vulgar stage on which their
tragi-comedy is acted, because they are symbolical,
because they represent the two great factors of
human character and springs of human action —
the Imagination and the Understanding. If you
would convince yourself how true this is, compare
them with Sir Hudibras and Ealpho — or still
better with Roderick Eandom and Strap. There

DON QUIXOTE 129

can be no better proof that Cervantes meant to
contrast the ideal with the matter of fact in the
two characters than his setting side by side images
of the same woman as reflected in the eyes of
Sancho and of his master ; in other words, as seen
by common-sense and by passion.^

I shall not trouble you with any labored analysis
of humor. If you wish to know what humor is, I
should say read "Don Quixote." It is the element
in which the whole story lives and moves and has
its being, and it wakens and flashes round the
course of the narrative like a phosphorescent sea
in the track of a ship. It is nowhere absent ; it is
nowhere obtrusive ; it lightens and plays about the
surface for a moment and is gone. It is every-
where by suggestion, it is nowhere with emphasis
and insistence. There is infinite variety, yet always
in harmony with the characters and the purpose of
the fable. The impression it produces is cumula-
tive, not sudden or startling. It is unobtrusive as
the tone of good conversation. I am not speaking
of the fun of the book, of which there is plenty,
and sometimes boisterous enough, but of that
deeper and more delicate quality, suggestive of
remote analogies and essential incongruities, which
alone deserves the name of humor.

This quality is so diffused in " Don Quixote," so
thoroughly permeates every pore and fibre of the
book, that it is difficult to exemplify it by citatiouc
Take as examples the scene with the goatherds,
where Don Quixote, after having amply supped,

^ Part Prim. cap. z.,

130 DON QUIXOTE

discourses so eloquently of that Golden Age whioh
was happy in having nothing to eat but acorns or
to drink but water; where, while insisting that
Sancho should assume equality as a man, he denies
it to him as Sancho, by reminding him that it is
granted by one who is his natural lord and master,
— there is such a difference, alas, between univer-
sal and particular Brotherhood I Take the debate
i of Don Quixote (already mad) as to what form of
madness he should assume ; the quarrel of the two
madmen, Don Quixote and Cardenio, about the
good fame of Queen Madasima, a purely imagi-
nary being ; the resolution of Don Quixote, when
forced to renounce knight-errantry, that he will
become a shepherd of the kind known to poets,
thus exchanging one unreality for another. Nay,
take the whole book, if you would learn what
humor is, whether in its most obvious or its most
subtle manifestations. The highest and most com-
plete illustration is the principal character of the
story. I do not believe that a character so abso-
lutely perfect in conception and delineation, so
psychologically true, so full of whimsical inconsis-
tencies, all combining to produce an impression of
perfect coherence, is to be found in fiction. He
was a monomaniac,^ all of whose faculties, his very
senses themselves, are subjected by one overmas-
tering prepossession, and at last conspire with it,
almost against their will, in spite of daily disillu-
sion and of the uniform testimony of facts and

^ That Cervantes had made a study of madness is evident from
the Introduction to the Second Part.

DON QUIXOTE 131

events to the contrary. The key to Don Quixote's
character is given in the first chapter where he is
piecing out his imperfect helmet with a new visor.
He makes one of pasteboard, and then, testing it
with his sword, shatters it to pieces. He proceeds
to make another strengthened with strips of iron,
and " without caring to make a further trial of it,
commissioned and held it for the finest possible
visor." Don Quixote always sees what he wishes
to see, and yet always sees things as they are unless
the necessities of his hallucination compel him to
see them otherwise, and it is wonderful with what
ingenuity he makes everything bend to those ne-
cessities. Cervantes calls him the sanest madman
and the maddest reasonable man in the world.
Sancho says that he was fitter to be preacher than
knight-errant. He makes facts curtsy to his pre-
possessions. At the same time, with exact truth
to nature, he is never perfectly convinced himself
except in moments of exaltation, and when the bee
in his bonnet buzzes so loudly as to prevent his
hearing the voice of reason. Cervantes takes care
to tell us that he was never convinced that he was
really a knight-errant till his ceremonious recep-
tion at the castle of the Duke.

Sancho, on the other hand, sees everything in
the dry light of common sense, except when be-
guiled by cupidity or under the immediate spell of
his master's imagination. Grant the imagination
its premises, and its logic is irresistible. Don
Quixote always takes these premises for granted,
and Sancho, despite his nafural shrewdness, is more

182 DON QUIXOTE

than half tempted to admit them, or at any rate to
run the risk of their being sound, partly out of ha-
bitual respect for his master's superior rank and
knowledge, partly on the chance of the reward
which his master perpetually dangled before, him.
This reward was that island of which Don Quixote
confesses he cannot tell the name because it is not
down on any map. With delightful humor, it be-
gins as some island, then becomes the island, and
then one of those islands. And how much more
probable does this vagueness render the fulfilment
of the promise than if Don Quixote had locked
himself up in a specific one ! A line of retreat is
thus always kept open, while Sancho's eagerness is
held at bay by this seemingly chance suggestion
of a choice in these hypothetical lordships. This
vague potentiality of islands eludes the thrust of
any definite objection. And when Sancho is in-
clined to grumble, his master consoles him by say-
ing, " I have already told thee, Sancho, to give thy-
self no care about it ; for even should the island
fail us, there are the kingdoms of Dinamarca and
Sobradisa that would fit you as the ring fits the
finger, and since they are on terra firma^ you
should rejoice the more." As if these were more
easily to be come at, though all his terra firma was
in dreamland too. It should seem that Sancho was
too shrewd for such a bait, and that here at least
was an exception to that probability for which
I have praised the story. But I think it rather
a justification of it. We must remember how
near the epoch of the story was to that of the Con^

DON QUIXOTE 133

quistadores^ when men's fancies were still glowing
with the splendid potentialities of adventure. And
when Don Quixote suggests the possibility of cre-
ating Sancho a marquis, it is remarkable that he
mentions the title conferred upon Cortes. The con-
science of Don Quixote is in loyalty to his ideal ;
he prizes desert as an inalienable possession of the
soul. The conscience of Sancho is in the eyes of
his neighbors, and he values repute for its worldly
advantages. When Sancho tries to divert his mas-
ter from the adventure of the Fulling Mills by ar-
guing that it was night, and that none could see
them, so that they might well turn out of the way
to avoid the danger, and begs him rather to take
a little sleep, Don Quixote answers indignantly :
" Sleep thou, who wast born for sleep. As for me,
I shall do whatever I see to be most becoming to
my profession." With equal truth to nature in
both cases, Sancho is represented as inclined to be-
lieve the extravagant delusions of his master be-
cause he has seen and known him all his life, while
he obstinately refuses to believe that a barber's
basin is the helmet of Mambrino because he sees
and knows that it is a basin. Don Quixote says
of him to the Duke, " He doubts everything and
believes everything." Cervantes was too great an
artist to make him wholly vulgar and greedy and
selBsh, though he makes him all these. He is
witty, wise according to his lights, affectionate, and
faithful. When he takes leave of his imaginary
governorship he is not without a certain manly
dignity that is almost pathetic.

134 DON QUIXOTE

The ingenuity of the story, the probability of its
adventures, the unwearied fecundity of invention
shown in devising and interlacing them, in giving
variety to a single theme and to a plot so perfectly
simple in its conception, are all wonderful. The
narrative flows on as if unconsciously, and our fan-
cies are floated along upon it. It is noticeable, too,
in passing, what a hypaethral story it is, how much
of it passes in the open air, how the sun shines, the
birds sing, the brooks dance, and the leaves mur-
mur in it. This is peculiarly touching when we
recollect that it was written in prison. In the First
Part Cervantes made the mistake (as he himself
afterwards practically admits) of introducing un-
profitable digressions, and in respect to the propri-
ety and congruousness of the adventures which be-
fall Don Quixote I must also make one exception.
I mean the practical jokes played upon him at the
Duke's castle, in which his delusion is forced upon
him instead of adapting circumstances to itself or
itself to circumstances, according to the necessity
of the occasion. These tend to degrade him in the
eyes of the reader, who resents rather than enjoys
them, and feels the essential vulgarity of his tor-
mentors through all their fine clothes. It is quite
otherwise wdth the cheats put upon Sancho, for we
feel that either he will be shrewd enough to be
more than even with the framers of them, or that
he is of too coarse a fibre to feel them keenly. But
Don Quixote is a gentleman and a monomaniac, —
qualities, the one of which renders such rudeness
incongruous, and the other unfeeling. He is, more-

DON QUIXOTE 135

over, a guest. It is curious that Shakespeare
makes the same mistake with Falstaff in the
"Merry Wives of Windsor," and Fielding with
Parson Adams, and in both cases to our discomfort.
The late Mr. Edward Fitzgerald (iquis desiderio sit
pudor aut modus tarn cari cajntis .0 preferred the
Second Part to the First, and, but for these scenes,
which always pain and anger me, I should agree
with him. For it is plain that Cervantes became
slowly conscious as he went on how rich was the
vein he had hit upon, how full of various and pro-
found suggestion were the two characters he had
conceived and who together make a complete man.
No doubt he at first proposed to himself a parody
of the Romances of Chivalry, but his genius soon
broke away from the leading-strings of a plot that
denied free scope to his deeper conception of life
and men.

Cervantes is the father of the modern novel, in
so far as it has become a study and delineation of
character instead of being a narrative seeking to
interest by situation and incident. He has also
more or less directly given impulse and direction
to all humoristic literature since his time. We see
traces of him in Moliere, in Swift, and still more
clearly in Sterne and Richter. Fielding assimi-
lated and Smollett copied him. Scott was his dis-
ciple in the " Antiquary," that most delightful of
his delightful novels. Irving imitated him in his
" Knickerbocker," and Dickens in his " Pickwick
Papers." I do not mention this as detracting from
their originality, but only as showing the wonderful

136 DON QUIXOTE

virility of his. The pedigrees of books are as in*
teresting and instructive as those of men. It is
also good for us to remember that thi^ man whose
life was outwardly a failure restored to Spain the
universal empire she had lost.

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

ADDBESS DELIYEBED IN SANDERS THEATBE, GAM-
BRIDGE, NOVEMBER 8, 1886, ON THE TWO HUNDRED
AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OP THE FOUNDATION OF
HARVARD UNIVERSITY.

It seems an odd anomaly that, while respect for
age and deference to its opinions have diminished
and are still sensibly diminishing among us, the
relish of antiquity should be more pungent and
the value set upon things merely because they are
old should be greater in America than anywhere
else. It is merely a sentimental relish, for ours is
a new country in more senses than one, and, like
children when they are fancying themselves this or
that, we have to play very hard in order to believe
that we are old. But we like the game none the
worse, and midtiply our anniversaries with honest
zeal, as if we increased our centuries by the num-
ber of events we could congratulate on having hap-
pened a hundred years ago. There is something
of instinct in this, and it is a wholesome instinct if
it serve to quicken our consciousness of the forces
that are gathered by duration and continuity ; if
it teach us that, ride fast and far as we may, we
carry the Past on our crupper, as immovably seated
there as the black Care of the Roman poet. The

138 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

generations of men are braided inextricably to-
gether, and the very trick of our gait may be count-
less generations older than we.

I have sometimes wondered whether, as the faith
of men in a future existence grew less confident,
they might not be seeking some equivalent in the
feeling of a retrospective duration, if not their
own, at least that of their race. Yet even this con-
tinuance is trifling and ephemeral. If the tablets
unearthed and deciphered by Geology have forced
us to push back incalculably the birthday of man,
they have in like proportion impoverished his re-
corded annals, making even the Platonic year but
as a single grain of the sand in Time's hour-glass,
and the inscriptions of Egypt and Assyria modem
as yesterday's newspaper. Fancy flutters over
these vague wastes like a butterfly blown out to
sea, and finds no foothold. It is true that, if we
may put as much faith in heredity as seems reason-
able to many of us, we are all in some transcen-
dental sense the coevals of primitive man, and
Pythagoras may well have been present in Euphop-
bus at the siege of Troy. Had Shakespeare's
thought taken this turn when he said to Time —

" Thy pyramids built up with newer might
To me are nothing novel, nothing strange ;
They are but dressings of a former sight " ?

But this imputed and vicarious longevity, though
it may be obscurely operative in our lives and for-
tunes, is no valid offset for the shortness of oup
days, nor widens by a hair's breadth the horizon of
our memories. Man and his monuments are of

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 139

yesterday, and we, however we may play with our
fancies, must content ourselves with being young.
If youth be a defect, it is one that we outgrow only
too soon.

Mr. Ruskin said the other day that he could not
live in a country that had neither castles nor cathe-
drals, and doubtless men of imaginative temper
find not only charm but inspiration in structures
which Nature has adopted as her foster-children,
and on which Time has laid his hand only in bene-
diction. It is not their antiquity, but its associa-
tion with man, that endows them with such sen-
sitizing potency. Even the landscape sometimes
bewitches us by this glamour of a human past, and
the green pastures and golden slopes of England
are sweeter both to the outward and to the inward
eye that the hand of man has immemorially cared
for and caressed them. The nightingale sings with
more prevailing passion in Greece that we first
heard her from the thickets of a Euripidean chorus.
For myself, I never felt the working of this spell
so acutely as in those gray seclusions of the college
quadrangles and cloisters at Oxford and Cam-
bridge, conscious with venerable associations, and
whose very stones seemed happier for being there.
The chapel pavement still whispered with the
blessed feet of that long procession of saints and
sages and scholars and poets, who are all gone into
a world of light, but whose memories seem to con-
secrate the soul from all ignobler companionship.

Are we to suppose that these memories were less
dear and gracious to the Puritan scholars, at whose

140 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

instigation this college was founded, than to that
other Puritan who sang the dim religious light, the
long-drawn aisles and fretted vaults, which these
memories recalled? Doubtless all these things
were present to their minds, but they were ready to
forego them all for the sake of that truth whereof,
as Milton says of himself, they were members in-
corporate. The pitiful contrast which they must
have felt between the carven sanctuaries of learning
they had left behind and the wattled fold they were
rearing here on the edge of the wCderness is to me
more than tenderly — it is almost sublimely — pa-
thetic. When I think of their unpliable strength
of purpose, their fidelity to their ideal, their faith
in God and in themselves, I am inclined to say
with Donne that

'* We are scarce our fathers' sliadows cast at noon.^

Our past is well-nigh desolate of aesthetic stimu-
lus. We have none or next to none of these aids
to the imagination, of these coigns of vantage for
the tendrils of memory or affection. Not one of
our older buildings is venerable, or will ever be-
come so. Time refuses to console them. They all
look as if they meant business, and nothing more.
And it is precisely because this College meant busi-
ness, business of the gravest import, and did that
business as thoroughly as it might with no means
that were not niggardly except an abundant pur-
pose to do its best, — it is precisely for this that we
have gathered here to-day. We come back hither
from the experiences of a richer life, as the son who

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 141

has prospered returns to the household of his
youth, to find in its very homeliness a pidse, if not
of deeper, certainly of fonder, emotion than any
splendor coidd stir. " Dear old Mother," we say,
" how charming you are in your plain cap and the
drab silk that has been turned again since we saw
you I You were constantly forced to remind us
that" you could not afford to give us this and that
which some other boys had, but your discipline and
diet were wholesome, and you sent us forth into the
world with the sound constitutions and healthy ap-
petites that are bred of simple fare."

It is good for us to commemorate this homespun
past of ours ; good, in these days of a reckless and
swaggering prosperity, to remind ourselves how
poor our fathers were, and that we celebrate them
because for themselves and their children they
chose wisdom and understanding and the things that
are of God rather than any other riches. This is
our Founders' Day, and we are come together to
do honor to them all : first, to the Commonwealth
which laid our corner-stone ; next, to the gentle
and godly youth from whom we took our name, —
himself scarce more than a name, — and with them
to the countless throng of benefactors, rich and
poor, who have built us up to what we are. We
cannot do it better than in the familiar words :
" Let us now praise famous men and our fathers
that begat us. The Lord hath wrought great glory
by them through his great power from the begin-
ning. Leaders of the people by their counsels,
and, by their knowledge of learning, meet for the

142 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

people ; wise and eloquent in their instructions.
There be of them that have left a name behind
them that their praises might be reported. And
some there be which have no memorial, who are
perished as though they had never been. But these
were merciful men whose righteousness hath not
been forgotten. With their seed shall continually
remain a good inheritance. Their seed standeth
fast, and their children for their sakes."

This two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of our
College is not remarkable as commemorating any
memorable length of days. There is hardly a coun-
try in Europe but can show us universities that
were older than ours now is when ours was but a
grammar-school, with Eaton as master. Bologna,
Paris, Oxford, were already famous schools when
Dante visited them, as I love to think he did, six
hundred years ago. We are ancient, it is true, on
our own continent, ancient even as compared with
several German universities more renowned than
we. But it is not primarily the longevity of our
Alma Mater upon which we are gathered here
to congratulate her and each other. Kant says
somewhere that, as the records of human trans-
actions accumulate, the memory of man will have
room only for those of supreme cosmopolitical im-
portance. Can we claim for the birthday we are
keeping a significance of so wide a bearing and
so long a reach ? If we may not do that, we may
at least afiirm confidently that the event it records
and emphasizes is second in real import to none
that has happened in this western hemisphere.

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 143

The material growth of the colonies would have
brought about their political separation from the
Motlier Country in the fulness of tune, without that
stain of blood which unhappily keeps its own mem-
ory green so long. But the founding of the first
English college here was what saved New Eng^
land from becoming a mere geographical expres-
sion. It did more, for it insured, and I believe
was meant to insure, our intellectual independence
of the Old World. That independence has been
long in coming, but it will come at last ; and are
not the names of the chiefest of those who have
hastened its coming written on the roll of Harvard
College ?

I think this foundation of ours a quite unex-
ampled thing. Surely never were the bases of such
a structure as this has become, and was meant
to be, laid by a community of men so poor, in
circumstances so unprecedented, and under what
seemed such sullen and averted stars. The colony,
still insignificant, was in danger of an Indian war,
was in the throes of that Antinomian controversy
which threatened its very existence, yet the leaders
of opinion on both sides were united in the resolve
that sound learning and an educated clergy should
never cease from among them or their descendants
in the commonwealth they were building up. In
the midst of such fears and such tumults Harvard
College was born, and not Marina herself had a
more blusterous birth or a more chiding nativity.
The prevision of those men must have been as clear
as their faith was steadfast. Well they knew and

144 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

had laid to heart the wise man's precept, ^^ Take
fast hold of instruction ; let her not go ; for she is
thy Ufe."

There can be little question that the action of
the Greneral Coui*t received its impulse and direc-
tion from the clergy, men of eminent qualities and
of well-deserved authority. Among the Massachu-
setts Bay colonists the proportion of ministers,
trained at Oxford and Cambridge, was surprisingly
large, and, if we may trust the evidence of con-
temporary secular literature, such men as Higgin-
son. Cotton, Wilson, Norton, Shepard, Bulkley,
Davenport, to mention no more, were, in learning,
intelligence, and general accomplishment, far above
the average parson of the country and the church
from which their consciences had driven them out.
The presence and influence of such men were of in-
estimable consequence to the fortunes of the colony.
If they were narrow, it was as the Sword of Right-
eousness is narrow. If they had but one idea, it
was as the leader of a forlorn hope has but one, and
can have no other, namely, to do the duty that is laid
on him, and ask no questions. Our Puritan ances-
tors have been misrepresented and maligned by
persons without imagination enough to make them-
selves contemporary with, and therefore able to un-
derstand, the men whose memories they strive to
blacken. That happy breed of men who, both in
church and state, led our first emigration, were
children of the most splendid intellectual epoch
that England has ever known. They were the
coevals of a generation which passed on in scarcely

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 145

diminished radiance the torch of life kindled in
great Eliza's golden days. Out of the New Learn*
ing, the new ferment alike religious and national,
and the New Discoveries with their suggestion
of boundless possibility, the alembic of that age
had distilled a potent elixir either inspiring or
intoxicating, as the mind that imbibed it was
strong or weak. Are we to suppose that the lips
of the founders of New England alone were un-
wetted by a drop of that stimidating draught? —
that Milton was the only Puritan that had read
Shakespeare and Ben Jonson and Beaumont and
Fletcher ? I do not believe it, whoever may. Did
they flee from persecution to become themselves
persecutors in turn ? This means only that they
would not permit their holy enterprise to be hin-
dered or their property to be damaged even by men
with the most pious intentions and as sincere, if not
always so wise, as they. They would not stand any
nonsense, as the phrase is, a mood of mind from
which their descendants seem somewhat to have
degenerated. They were no more unreasonable
than the landlady of Taylor the Platonist in refus-
ing to let him sacrifice a bull to Jupiter in her
back-parlor. The New England Puritans of the
second generation became narrow enough, and pup-
pets of that formalism against which their fathers
had revolted. But this was the inevitable result
of that isolation which cut them off from the great
currents of cosmopolitan thought and action. Com-
munities as well as men have a right to be judged
by their best. We are justified in taking the elder

146 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

Winthrop as a type of the leading emigrants, and
the more we know him the more we learn to rever-
ence his great qualities, whether of mind or char-
acter. The posterity of those earnest and single-
minded men may have thrown the creed oi their
fathers into the waste-basket, but their fidelity to it
and to the duties they believed it to involve is the
most precious and potent drop in their transmitted
blood. It is especially noteworthy that they did not
make a strait-waistcoat of this creed for their new
college. The more I meditate upon them, the more
I am inclined to pardon the enthusiasm of our old
preacher when he said that God had sifted three
kingdoms to plant New England.^

The Massachusetts Bay Colony itseK also was
then and since without a parallel. It was estab-
lished by a commercial company, whose members
combined in themselves the two by no means incon-
gruous elements of religious enthusiasm and busi-
ness sagacity, the earthy ingredient, as in dyna-
mite, holding in check its explosive partner, which
yet coidd and did explode on sufficient concussion.
They meant that their venture shoidd be gainful,
but at the same time believed that nothing coidd
be long profitable for the body wherein the soul
found not also her advantage. They feared God,

1 Writing in the country, with almost no books about me, I
have been obliged to trust wholly to my memory in my references.
My friend Dr. Charles Deane, the most learned of our historical
antiquarians, kindly informs me that the passage alluded to in
the text should read, *' God sifted a whole Nation that he might
send choice Grain out into this Wilderness/' Stoughton's Elec-
tion Sermon, preached in 1668.

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 147

and kept their powder dry because they feared
Him and meant that others shoidd. I think their
most remarkable characteristic was their public
spirit, and in nothing did they show both that and
the wise forecast that gives it its best value more
clearly than when they resolved to keep the higher
education of youth in their own hands and under
their own eye. This they provided for in the Col-
lege. Eleven years later they established their sys-
tem of public schools, where reading and writing
should be taught. This they did partly, no doubt,
to provide feeders for the more advanced schools,
and so for the College, but even more, it may safely
be inferred, because they had found that the polity
to which their ends, rough-hew them as they might,
must be shaped, by the conditions under which they
were forced to act, could be safe only in tlie hands
of intelligent men, or, at worst, of men to whom
they had given a chance to become such.

In founding the College, they had three objects :
first, the teaching of the Humanities and of He-
brew, as the hieratic language ; second, the train-
ing of a learned as well as godly clergy ; and third,
the education of the Indians, that they might serve
as missionaries of a higher civilization and of a
purer religion, as the necessary preliminary thereto.
The third of these objects, after much effort and
much tribulation, they were forced to abandon.
John Winthrop, Jr., in a letter written to the Hon-
orable Robert Boyle in 1663, gives us an interest-
ing glimpse of a pair of these dusky catechumens.
" I make bold," he says, " to send heere inclosed

148 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

a kind of rarity ; ... It is two papers of Latin
composed by two Indians now seollars in the Col-
ledge in this country, and the writing is with their
own hands. . . . Possibly as a novelty of that kind
it may be acceptable, being a reall fruit of that
hopef ull worke y* is begu amongst them . . . tes-
tifying thus much that I received them of those
Indians out of their own hands, and had ready an-
swers fro them in Latin to many questions that I
propounded to them in y^ language, and heard them
both express severall sentences in Greke also. I
doubt not but those honorable /autores Scientia-
rum [the Royal Society] will gladly receive the
intelligence of such Vestigia Doctrince in this wil-
derness amongst such a barbarous people." Alas,
these Vestigia became only too soon retrorsumf
The Indians showed a far greater natural predis-
position for disf urnishing the outside of other peo-
ple's heads than for furnishing the insides of their-
own. Their own wild life must have been dear to
them; the forest beckoned just outside the Col-
lege door, and the first blue-bird of spring whistled
them back to the woods. They would have said
to the president, with the Gypsy steward in the
old play when he heard the new-come nightingale,
" Oh, Sir, you hear I am called." At any rate,
our College succeeded in keeping but one of these
wild creatures long enough to make a graduate of
him, and he thereupon vanishes into the merciful
shadow of the past. His name — but, as there
was only one Indian graduate, so there is only one
living man who can pronoimce his unconverted

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 149

name, and I leave the task to Dr. Hammond
Trumbull.

I shall not attempt, even in brief, a history of
the College. It has already been excellently done.
A compendium of it would be mainly a list of un-
familiar names, and Coleridge has said truly that
such names " are non-conductors ; they stop all
interest."

The fame and usefulness of all institutions of
learning depend on the greatness of those who
teach in them,

** Quels arte benig-na,
Et meliore luto finxit prsecordia Titan,''

and great teachers are almost rarer than great
poets. We can lay claim to none such (T must
not speak of the living), unless it be Agassiz, whom
we adopted, but we have had many devoted and
some eminent. It has not been their faidt if they
have not pushed farther forward the boundaries of
knowledge. Our professors have been compelled
by the necessities of the case (as we are apt to call
things which we ought to reform, but do not) to
do too much work not properly theirs, and that of
a kind so exacting as to consume the energy that
might have been ample for higher service. They
have been obliged to double the parts of professor
and tutor. They have been underpaid and the
balance made good to them by being overworked.
During the seventeenth century we have reason to
think that the College kept pretty well up to the
standard of its contemporary colleges in England,
so far as its po.verty would allow. It seems to

160 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

have enjoyed a certain fame abroad among men
who sympathized with the theology it taught, for
I possess a Hebrew Accidence, dedicated some two
hundred years ago to the ^^ illustrious academy at
Boston in New England," by a Dutch scholar
whom I cannot help thinking a very discerning
person. That the students of that day had access
to a fairly good library may be inferred from Cot-
ton Mather's " Magnalia," though he knew not
how to make the best use of it, and is a very night-
mare of pedantry. That the College had made
New England a good market for books is proved
by John Dunton's journey hither in the interests
of his trade. During the eighteenth and first
quarter of the nineteenth centuries, I fancy the
condition of things here to have been very much
what it was in the smaller English colleges of the
period, if we may trust the verses which Gray ad-
dressed to the goddess Ignorance. Young men
who were willing mainly to teach themselves might
get something to their advantage, while the rest
were put here by their parents as into a comforta-
ble quarantine, where they could wait till the gates
of life were opened to them, safe from any con-
tagion of learning, except such as might be devel-
oped from previous infection. I am speaking of
a great while ago. Men are apt, I know, in after
life to lay the blame of their scholastic shortcom-
ings at the door of their teachers. They are often
wrong in this, and I am quite aware that there
are some pupils who are knowledge-proof; but I
gather from tradition, which I believe to be trust-

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 151

worthy, that there have been periods in the history
of the College when the students might have sung
with Bishop Golias : —

'* Hi DOS docent, sed indocti ;
Hi DOS docent, et nox nocti
Indicat scientiam."

Despite all this, it is remarkable that the two
first American imaginative artists, Allston in paint-
ing and Greenough in sculpture, were graduates of
Harvard. A later generation is justly proud of
Story.

We have a means of testing the general culture
given here towards the middle of the last century
in the Gratulatio presented by Harvard College
on the accession of George III. It is not duller
than such things usually are on the other side of
the water, and it shows a pretty knack at tagging
verses. It is noteworthy that the Greek in it, if I
remember rightly, is wholly or chiefly Governor
Bernard's. A few years earlier, some of the tracts
in the Whitfield controversy prove that the writers
had got here a thorough training in English at
least. They had certainly not read their Swift in
vain.

But the chief service, as it was the chief office,
of the College during all those years was to main-
tain and hand down the traditions of how excellent
a thing Learning was, even if the teaching were
not always adequate by way of illustration. And
yet, so far as that teaching went, it was wise in
this, that it gave its pupils some tincture of letters
as distinguished from mere scholarship. It aimed

152 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

to teach them the authors, that is, the few great
ones, — the late Professor Popkin, whom the older
of us remember, would have allowed that title only
to the Greeks, — and to teach them in such a way
as to enable the pupil to assimilate somewhat of
their thought, sentiment, and style, rather than to
master the minuter niceties of the language in
which they wrote. It struck for their matter, as
Montaigne advised, who would have men taught to
love Virtue instead of learning to decline virttts.
It set more store by the marrow than by the bone
that encased it. It made language, as it should be,
a ladder to literature, and not literature a ladder
to language. Many a boy has hated, and rightly
hated. Homer and Horace the pedagogues and
grammarians, who would have loved Homer and
Horace the poets, had he been allowed to make
their acquaintance. The old method of instruction
had the prime merit of enabling its pupils to con-
ceive that there is neither ancient nor modem on
the narrow shelves of what is truly literature. We
owe a great debt to the Germans. No one is more
indebted to them than I, but is there not danger of
their misleading us in some directions into pedan-
try ? In his preface to an Old French poem of the
thirteenth century, lately published, the editor in-
forms us sorrowfully that he had the advantage of
listening only two years and a half to the lectures
of Professor Gaston Paris, in which time he got
no farther than through the first three vowels. At
this rate, to master the whole alphabet, consonants
and all, would be a task fitter for the centurial ado-

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 158

lescence of Methuselah than for our leds liberal ra-
tion of years. I was glad my editor had had this
advantage under so competent a master, and I am
quite willing that Old French should get the ben-
efit of such scrupulosity, but I think I see a ten-
dency to train young men in the languages as if
they were all to be editors, and not lovers of polite
literature. Education, we are often told, is a draw-
ing out of the faculties. May they not be ^rawn
out too thin ? I am not undervaluing philology or
accuracy of scholarship. Both are excellent and
admirable in their places. But philology is less
beautiful to me tiian philosophy, as Milton under-
stood the word, and mere accuracy is to Truth as a
plaster-cast to the marble statue ; it gives the facts,
but not their meaning. If I must choose, I had
rather a young man should be intimate with the
genius of the Greek dramatic poets than with the
metres of their choruses, though I should be glad
to have him on easy terms with both.

For more than two hundred years, in its disci-
pline and courses of study, the College followed
mainly the lines traced by its founders. The in-
fluence of its first half century did more than any
other, perhaps more than all others, to make New
England what it is. During the one hundred and
forty years preceding our War of Independence it
had supplied the schools of the greater part of New
England with teachers. What was even more im-
portant, it had sent to every parish in Massachu-
setts one man, the clergyman, with a certain amount
of scholarship, a belief in culture, and generally

154 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

pretty sure -to bring with hiin or to gather a con-
siderable collection of books, by no means wholly
theological. Simple and godly men were they, the
truest modem antitypes of Chaucer's Good Parson,
receiving much, sometimes all, of their scanty sal-
ary in kind, and eking it out by the drudgery of a
cross-grained farm where the soil seems all back-
bone. If there was no regular practitioner, they
practised without fee a grandmotherly sort of medi-
cine, probably not much more harmful ( O, dura
messorum ilia) than the heroic treatment of the
day. They contrived to save enough to send their
sons through college, to portion their daughters,
decently trained in English literature of the more
serious kind, and perfect in the duties of household
and dairy, and to make modest provision for the
widow, if they should leave one. With all this,
they gave their two sermons every Sunday of the
year, and of a measure that would seem ruinously
liberal to these less stalwart days, when scarce ten
parsons together could lift the stones of Diomed
which they hurled at Satan with the easy precision
of lifelong practice. And if they turned their bar-
rel of discourses at the end of the Horatian ninth
year, which of their parishioners was the wiser for
it? Their one great holiday was Commencement,
which they punctually attended. They shared the
many toils and the rare festivals, the joys and the
sorrows, of their townsmen as bone of their bone
and flesh of their flesh, for all were of one blood
and of one faith. They dwelt on the same bro-
therly level with them as men, yet set apart from

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 166

and above them by their sacred office. Preaching
the most terrible of doctrines, as most of them did,
they were humane and cheerful men, and when
they came down from the pulpit seemed to have
been merely twisting their " cast-iron logic '* of de-
spair, as Coleridge said of Donne, " into true-love-
knots." Men of authority, wise in council, inde-
pendent, for their settlement was a life-tenure, they
were living lessons of piety, industry, frugality,
temperance, and, with the magistrates, were a re-
cognized aristocracy. Surely never was an aristo-
cracy so simple, so harmless, so exemplary, and so
fit to rule. I remember a few lingering survivors
of them in my early boyhood, relics of a serious
but not sullen past, of a community for which in
civic virtue, intelligence, and general efficacy I
seek a parallel in vain : —

*' rusticorum mascula militum
Proles . . . docta . . .

Versare glebas et severffi
Matris ad arbitrium recisos

Portare fustes."

I know too well the deductions to be made. It
was a community without charm, or with a homely
charm at best, and the life it led was visited by no
muse even in dream. But it was the stufiE out of
which fortunate ancestors are made, and twenty-
five years ago* their sons showed in no diminished
measure the qualities of the breed. Id every house-
hold some brave boy was saying to his mother, as
Iphigenia to hers, —

166 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

Nor were Harvard's sons the last. This hall com-
memorates them, but their story is written in head-
stones all over the land they saved.

To the teaching and example of those reverend
men whom Harvard bred and then planted in every
hamlet as pioneers and outposts of her doctrine,
Massachusetts owes the better part of her moral
and intellectual inheritance. They, too, were the
progenitors of a numerous and valid race. My
friend Dr. Holmes was, I believe, the first to point
out how large a proportion of our men of light and
leading sprang from their loins. The illustrious
Chief Magistrate of the Republic, who honors us
with his presence here to-day, has ancestors itali-
cized in our printed registers, and has shown him-
self worthy of his pedigree.

During the present century, I believe that Har-
vard received and welcomed the new learning from
Germany at the hands of Everett, Bancroft, and
Ticknor, before it had been accepted by the more
conservative universities of the Old Home. Ever-
ett's translation of Buttmann's Greek Grammar
was reprinted in England, with the *' Massachu-
setts " omitted after " Cambridge," at the end of
the preface, to conceal its American origin. Emer-
son has told us how his intellectual life was quick-
ened by the eloquent enthusiasm of Everett's
teaching. Mr. Bancroft made strenuous eflForts to
introduce a more wholesome discipline and maturer
methods of study, with the result of a rebellion of
the Freshman Class, who issued a manifesto of
their wrongs, written by the late Robert Rantoul,

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 157

which ended thus: "Shall freemen bear this?
Freshmen are freemeD I " They, too, remembered
Revolutionary sires. Mr. Bancroft's translation of
Heeren was the first of its kind, and it is worth
mention that the earliest version from the prose of
Heinrich Heine into English was made here, though
not by a graduate of Harvard. Ticknor also strove
earnestly to enlarge the scope of the collegiate
courses of study. The force of the new impulse
did not last long, or produce, unless indirectly,
lasting results. It was premature, the students
were really school-boys, and the College was not yet
capable of the larger university life. The condi-
tions of American life, too, were such that young
men looked upon scholarship neither as an end nor
as a means, but simply as an accomplishment, like
music or dancing, of which they were to acquire a
little more or a little less, generally a little less,
according to individual taste or circumstances. It
has been mainly during the last twenty-five years
that the College, having already the name, but by
no means all the resources, of a university, has
been trying to perform some, at least, of the func-
tions which that title implies.

** Now half appears
The tawny lion, pawing to get free."

Let US, then, no longer look backwards, but for-
wards, as our fathers did when they laid our hum-
ble foundations in the wilderness. The motto first
proposed for the College arms was, as you know,
Veritas^ written across three open books. It was a
noble one, and, if the full bearing of it was under-

158 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

stood, as daring as it was noble. Perhaps it was
discarded because an open book seemed hardly the
fittest symbol for what is so hard to find, and, if
ever we fancy we have found it, so hard to decipher
and to translate into our own language and life.
Pilate's question still murmurs in the ear of every
thoughtful, and Montaigne's in that of every hon-
est man. The motto finally substituted for that,
Christo et Ecclesice^ is, when rightly interpreted,
substantially the same, for it means that we are to
devote ourselves to the highest conception we have
of Truth and to the preaching of it. Fortunately,
the Sphinx proposes her conundrums to us one at
a time and at intervals proportioned to our wits,

Joseph de Maistre says that " un homme d'esprit
est tenu de savoir deux choses : 1°, ce qu'il est ; 2®,
oil il est." The questions for us are. In what sense
and how far are we become a university? And
then, if we fully become so, What and to what end
should a university aim to teach now and here in
this America of ours whose meaning no man can
yet comprehend ? And, when we have settled what
it is best to teach, comes the further question, How
are we to teach it ? Whether with an eye to its
eflFect on developing character or personal availa-
bility, that is to say, to its eflFect in the conduct of
life, or on the chances of getting a livelihood?
Perhaps we shall find that we must have a care for
both, and I cannot see why the two need be incom-
patible ; but if they are, I should choose the for-
mer term of the alternative.

In a not remote past, society had still certain

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 169

recognized, authoritative guides, and the College
trained them as the fashion of the day required.
But

'* Damnosa qnid non imminuit dies ? ''

That ancient close corporation of official guides has
been compelled to surrender its charter. We are
pestered with as many volunteers as at Niagara,
and, as there, if we follow any of them, may count
on paying for it pretty dearly. The office of the
higher instruction, nevertheless, continues to be as
it always was, the training of such guides ; only it
must now try to fit them out with as much more
personal accomplishment and authority as may
compensate the loss of hierarchical prestige.

When President Walker, it must be now nearly
thirty years ago, asked me in common with my col-
leagues what my notion ^s^ university was, I an-
swered, " A imiversity is a place where nothing
useful is taught ; but a university is possible only
where a man .may get his livelihood by digging
Sanscrit roots." What I meant was that the high-
est office of the somewhat complex thing so named
was to distribute the true Bread, of Life, the pane
^degli angeli^ as Dante called it, and to breed an
appetite for it; but that it should also have the
means and appliances for teaching everything, aa
the mediaeval universities aimed to do in their ^n-
vium and quadrivium. I had in mind the ideal and
the practical sides of the institution, and was think-
ing also whether such an institution was practica-
ble, and, if so, whether it was desirable, in a coun-
try like this. I think it eminently desirable, and,

160 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

if it be, what should be its chief function? I
choose rather to hesitate my opinion than to assert
it roundly. But some opinion I am bound to have,
either my own or another man's, if I would be in
the fashion, though I may not be wholly satisfied
with the one or the other. Opinions are ^^as
handy," to borrow our Yankee proverb, "as a
pocket in a shirt," and, I may add, as liard to come
at. I hope, then, that the day will come when a
competent professor may lecture here also for three
years on the first three vowels of the Komance
alphabet, and find fit audience, though few. I hope
the day may never come when the weightier mat-
ters of a language, namely, such parts of its litera-
ture as have overcome death by reason of their
wisdom and of the beauty in which it is incarnated,
such parts as are universal by reason of their civil-
izing properties, their power to elevate and fortify
the mind, — I hope the day may never come when
these are not predominant in the teaching given
here. Let the Humanities be maintained undimin-
ished in their ancient right. Leave in their tra-
ditional preeminence those arts that were rightly
called liberal ; those studies that kindle the imagi-
nation, and through it irradiate the reason ; those
studies that manumitted the modern mind ; those in
which the brains of finest temper have found alike
their stimulus and their repose, taught by them that
the power of intellect is heightened in proportion
as it is made gracious by measure and symmetry.
Give us science, too, but give first of all, and last of
all, the science that ennobles life and makes it gen-

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 161

erous. I stand here as a man of letters, and as a
man of letters I must speak. But I am speaking
with no exclusive intention. No one believes more
firmly than I in the usefulness, I might well say
the necessity, of variety in study, and of opening
the freest scope possible to the prevailing bent of
every mind when that bent shows itseK to be so
predominating as to warrant it. Many-sidedness
of culture makes our vision clearer and keener in
particulars. For after all, the noblest definition
of Science is that breadth and impartiality of view
which liberates the mind from specialties, and ena-
bles it to organize whatever we learn, so that it
become real Knowledge by being brought into true
and helpful relation with the rest.

By far the most important change that has been
introduced into the theory and practice of our
teaching here by the new position in which we find
ourselves has been that of the elective or voluntary
system of studies. We have justified ourselves by
the familiar proverb that one man may lead a horse
to water, but ten can't make him drink. Proverbs
are excellent things, but we should not let even
proverbs bully us. They are the wisdom of the
understanding, not of the higher reason. There is
another animal, which even Simonides could com-
pliment only on the spindle-side of his pedigree,
and which ten men could not lead to water, much
less make him drink when they got him thither.
Are we not trying to force university forms into
college methods too narrow for them? There is
some danger that the elective system may be pushed

162 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

too far and too fast. There are not a few who
think that it has gone too far abeady. And they
think so because we are in process of transforma-
tion, still in the hobbledehoy period, not having
ceased to be a college, nor yet having reached the
full manhood of a university, so that we speak with
that ambiguous voice, half bass, half treble, or
mixed of both, which is proper to a certain stage
of adolescence. We are trying to do two things
with one tool, and that tool not specially adapted
to either. Are our students old enough thoroughly
to understand the import of the choice they are
called on to make, and, if old enough, are they
wise enough ? Shall their parents make the choice
for them ? I am not sure that even parents are so
wise as the unbroken experience and practice of
mankind. We are comforted by being told that
in this we are only complying with what is called
the Spirit of the Age, which may be, after all, only
a finer name for the mischievous goblin known to
our forefathers as Puck. I have seen several Spir^
its of the Age in my time, of very different voices
and summoning in very different directions, but
unanimous in their propensity to land us in the
mire at last. Would it not be safer to make sore
first whether the Spirit of the Age, who would be
a very insignificant fellow if we docked him of his
capitals, be not a lying spirit, since such there are ?
It is at least curious that, while the more advanced
teaching has a strong drift in the voluntary direc-
tion, the compulsory system, as respects primary
studies, is gaining ground. Is it indeed so self-

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 163

evident a proposition as it seems to many that
" You may " is as wholesome a lesson for youth as
" You must " ? Is it so good a fore-schooling for
Life, which will be a teacher of quite other mood,
making us learn, rod in hand, precisely those les-
sons we should not have chosen ? I have, to be
sure, heard the late President Quincy (clarum et
venerabile nomen) say that if a young man came
hither and did nothing more than rub his shoulders
against the college buildings for four years, he
would imbibe some tincture of sound learning by
an involuntary process of absorption. The found-
ers of the College also believed in some impul-
sions towards science communicated a tergo but of
sharper virtue, and accordingly armed their pre-
sident with that ductor duhitantium which was
wielded to such good purpose by the Reverend
James Bowyer at Christ's Hospital in the days of
Coleridge and Lamb. They believed with the old
poet that whipping was " a wild benefit of nature,"
and, could they have read Wordsworth's exquisite
stanza, —

*' One impulse from a vernal wood
Can teach us more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can,"

they would have struck out " vernal" and inserted
" birchen " on the margin.

I am not, of course, arguing in favor of a return
to those vapulatory methods, but the birch, like
many other things that have passed out of the re-
gion of the practical, may have another term of

164 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

usefulness as a symbol after it has ceased to be a
reality.

One is sometimes tempted to think that all learn-
ing is as repulsive to ingenuous youth as the mul-
tiplication table to Scott^s little friend Marjorie
Fleming, though this is due in great part to me-
chanical methods of teaching. " I am now going
to tell you," she writes, " the horrible and wretched
plaege that my multiplication table gives me ; you
can't conceive it; the most Devilish thing is 8
times 8 and 7 times 7 ; it is what nature itself
can't endure." I know that I am approaching
treacherous ashes which cover burning coals, but I
must on. Is not Greek, nay, even Latin, yet more
unendurable than poor Marjorie's task? How
many boys have not sympathized with Heine in
hating the Romans because they invented Latin
Grammar ? And they were quite right, for we be-
gin the study of languages at the wrong end, at
the end which nature does not offer us, and are
thoroughly tired of them before we arrive at them,
if you will pardon the bull. But is that any rea-
son for not studying them in the right way ? I am
familiar with the arguments for making the study
of Greek especially a matter of choice or chance.
I admit their plausibility and the honesty of those
who urge them. I should be willing also to admit
that the study of the ancient languages without the
hope or the prospect of going on to what they con-
tain would be useful only as a form of intellectual
gymnastics. Even so they would be as serviceable
as the higher mathematics to most of us. But I

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 166

think that a wise teacher should adapt his tasks to
the highest, and not the lowest, capacities of the
taught. For those lower also they would not be
wholly without profit. When there is a tedious
sermon, says George Herbert,

** God takes a text and teacheth patience/'

not the least pregnant of lessons. One of the ar-
guments against the compulsory study of Greek,
namely, that it is wiser to give our time to modem
languages and modern history than to dead lan-
guages and ancient history, involves, I think, a
verbal fallacy. Only those languages can properly
be called dead in which nothing living has been
written. If the classic languages are dead, they
yet speak to us, and with a clearer voice than that
of any living tongue.

'* Oralis ingenium, Graiis dedit ore rotundo
Musa loqui, praeter laudem nullius avaris."

If their language is dead, yet the literature it
enshrines is rammed with life as perhaps no other
writing, except Shakespeare's, ever was or will be.
It is as contemporary with to-day as with the ears
it first enraptured, for it appeals not to the man
of then or now, but to the entire round of human
nature itself. Men are ephemeral or evanescent,
but whatever page the authentic soul of man has
touched with her immortalizing finger, no matter
how long ago, is still young and fair as it was
to the world's gray fathers. Oblivion looks in
the face of the Grecian Muse only to forget her
errand. Plato and Aristotle are not names but

166 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

things. On a chaii that should represent the firm
earth and wavering oceans of the human mind,
they would be marked as mountain-ranges, forever
modifying the temperature, the currents, and the
atmosphere of thought, astronomical stations whence
the movements of the lamps of heaven might best
be observed and predicted. Even for the master-
ing of our own tongue, there is no expedient so
fruitful as translation out of another ; how much
more when that other is a language at once so pre-
cise and so flexible as the Greek I Greek litera-
ture is also the most fruitful comment on our own.
Coleridge has told us with what profit he was made
to study Shakespeare and Milton in conjunction
with the Greek dramatists. It is no sentimental
argument for this study that the most justly bal-
anced, the most serene, and the most fecundating
minds since the revival of learning have been
steeped in and saturated with Greek literature.
We know not whither other studies will lead us,
especially if dissociated from this ; we do know to
what summits, far above our lower region of tur-
moil, this has led, and what the many-sided out-
look thence. Will such studies make anachro-
nisms of us, unfit us for the duties and the busi-
ness of to-day ? I can recall no writer more truly
modern than Montaigne, who was almost more at
home in Athens and Rome than in Paris. Yet
he was a thrifty manager of his estate and a
most competent mayor of Bordeaux. I remember
passing once in London where demolition for a
new thoroughfare was going on. Many houses left

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 167

standing in the rear of those cleared away bore
signs with the inscription " Ancient Lights." This
was the protest of their owners against being built
out by the new improvements from such glimpse
of heaven as their fathers had, without adequate
equivalent. I laid the moral to heart.

I am speaking of the College as it has always
existed and still exists. In so far as it may be
driven to put on the forms of the university, — I
do not mean the four Faculties, merely, but in the
modern sense, — we shall naturally find ourselves
compelled to assume the method with the function.
Some day we shall offer here a chance, at least, to
acquire the omne sclbile. I shall be glad, as shall
we all, when the young American need no longer
go abroad for any part of his training, though that
may not be always a disadvantage, if Shakespeare
was right in thinking that

((

Home-keeping youths have ever homely wits."

I should be still gladder if Harvard should be the
place that offered the alternative. It seems more
than ever probable that this will happen, and hap-
pen in our day. And whenever it does happen, it
will be due, more than to any and all others, to
the able, energetic, single-minded, and yet fair-
minded man who has presided over the College
during the trying period of transition, and who
will by a rare combination of eminent qualities
carry that transition forward to its accomplishment
without haste and without jar, — ohne Sast^ ohne
Hast He more than any of his distinguished

It38 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

predecessors has brought the university into closer
and more telling relations with the national life in
whatever that life has which is most distinctive and
most hopeful.

But we still mainly occupy the position of a
German Gymnasium. Under existing circum-
stances, therefore, and with the methods of teach-
ing they enforce, I think that special and advanced
courses should be pushed on, so far as possible,
as the other professional courses are, into the
post-graduate period. The opportunity would be
greater because the number would be less, and the
teaching not only more thorough, but more vivify-
ing through the more inthnate relation of teacher
and pupil. Under those conditions the voluntary
system will not only be possible, but will come of
itself, for every student will know what he wants
and where he may get it, and learning will be
loved, as it should be, for its own sake as well as
for what it gives. The friends of university train-
ing can do nothing that would forward it more
than the founding of post-graduate fellowships
and the building and endowing of a hall where
the holders of them might be commensals, remem-
bering that when Cardinal Wolsey built Christ
Church at Oxford his first care was the kitchen.
Nothing is so great a quickener of the faculties, or
so likely to prevent their being narrowed to a sin-
gle groove, as the frequent social commingling of
men who are aiming at one goal by different paths.
If you would have really great scholars, and our
life offers no prizes for such, it would be well if the

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 169

university could offer them. I have often been
struck with the many-sided versatility of the Fel-
lows of English colleges who have kept their wits
in training by continual fence one with another.

During the first two centuries of her existence,
it may be affirmed that Harvard did sufficiently
well the only work she was called on to do, perhaps
the only work it was possible for her to do. She
gave to Boston her scholarly impress, to the Com-
monwealth her scholastic impulse. To the clergy
of her training was mainly intrusted the oversight
of the public schools ; these were, as I have said,
though indirectly, feeders of the College, for their
teaching was of the plainest. But if a boy in any
country village showed uncommon parts, the cler-
gyman was sure to hear of it. He and the Squire
and the Doctor, if there was one, talked it over,
and that boy was sure to be helped onward to col-
lege ; for next to the five points of Calvinism our
ancestors believed in a college education, that is,
in the best education that was to be had. The sys-
tem, if system it should be called, was a good one,
a practical application of the doctrine of Natural
Selection. Ah ! how the parents — nay, the whole
family — moiled and pinched that their boy might
have the chance denied to them! Mr. Matthew
Arnold has told us that in contemporary France,
which seems doomed to try every theory of enlight>
enment by which the fingers may be burned or the
house set on fire, the children of the public schools
are taught in answer to the question, " Who gives
you all these fine things ? " to say, " The State."

170 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

HI fares the State in which the parental image is
replaced by an abstraction. The answer of the
boy of whom I have been speaking would have
been in a spirit better for the State and for the
hope of his own future life : " I owe them, under
God, to my own industry, to the sacrifices of my
father and mother, and to the sympathy of good
men." Nor was the boy's self-respect lessened, for
the aid was given by loans, to be repaid when pos-
sible. The times hav6 changed, and it is no longer
the ambition of a promising boy to go to college.
They are taught to think that a common-school
education is good enough for all practical purposes.
And so perhaps it is, but not for all ideal purposes.
Our public schools teach too little or too much:
too little if education is to go no further, too many
things if what is taught is to be taught thoroughly ;
and the more they seem to teach, the less likely is
education to go further, for it is one of the prime
weaknesses of a democracy to be satisfied with the
second-best if it appear to answer the purpose tol-
erably well, and to be cheaper — as it never is in
the long run.

Our ancestors believed in education, but not in
making it wholly eleemosynary. And they were
wise in this, for men do not value what they get for
nothing any more than they value air and light till
deprived of them. It is quite proper that the cost
of our public schools should be paid by the rich,
for it is their interest, as Lord Sherbrooke said,
" to educate their rulers." But it is to make pau-
pers of the pupils to furnish them, as is now pro-

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 171

posed, with text-books, slates, and the like at pub-
lic cost. This is an advance towards that State
Socialism which, if it ever prevail, will be deadly
to certain homespun virtues far more precious than
most of the book-knowledge in the world. It is to
be hoped that our higher institutions of learning
may again be brought to bear, as once they did,
more directly on the lower, that they may again
come into such closer and gi^aduated relation with
them as may make the higher education the goal
to which all who show a clear aptitude shall aspire.
I know that we cannot have ideal teachers in our
public schools for the price we pay or in the num-
bers we require. But teaching, like water, can rise
no higher than its source, and, like water again, it
has a lazy aptitude for running down-hill unless a
constant impulse be applied in the other direction.
Would not this impulse be furnished by the ambi-
tion to send on as many pupils as possible to the
wider sphere of the university ? Would not this
organic relation to the Higher Education necessi-
tate a corresponding rise in the grade of intelli-
gence, capacity, and culture demanded in the teach-
ers?

Harvard has done much by raising its standard
to force upwards that also of the preparatory
schools. The leaven thus infused will, let us hope,
filter gradually downwards till it raise a ferment
in the lower grades as well. What we need more
than anything else is to increase the number of
our highly cultivated men and thoroughly trained
minds; for these, wherever they go, are sure to

172 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

carry with them, consciously or not, the seeds of
sounder thinking and of higher ideals. The only
way in which our civilization can be maintained
even at the level it has reached, the only wfiy in
which that level can be made more general and be
raised higher, is by bringing the influence of the
more cultivated to bear with greater energy and
directness on the less cultivated, and by opening
more inlets to tliose indirect influences which make
for refinement of mind and body. Democracy must
show its capacity for producing not a higher aver-
age man, but the highest possible types of manhood
in all its manifold varieties, or it is a failure. No
matter what it does for the body, if it do not in
some sort satisfy that inextinguishable passion of
the soul for something that lifts life away from
prose, from the common and the vulgar, it is a fail-
ure. Unless it know how to make itself gracious
and winning, it is a failure. Has it done this ? Is
it doing this ? Or trying to do it ? Not yet, I
think, if one may judge by that commonplace of
our newspapers that an American who stays long
enough in Europe is sure to find his own country
unendurable when he comes back. This is not
true, if I may judge from some little experience,
but it is interesting as implying a certain conscious-
ness, which is of the most hopeful augury. But we
must not be impatient ; it is a far cry from the
dwellers in caves to even such civilization as we
have achieved. I am conscious that life has been
trying to civilize me for now nearly seventy years
with what seem to me very inadequate results. We

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 178

cannot afford to wait, but the Race can. And when
I speak of civilization I mean those things that
tend to develop the moral forces of Man, and not
merely to quicken his aesthetic sensibility, though
there is often a nearer relation between the two
than is popularly believed.

The tendency of a prosperous Democracy — and
hitherto we have had little to do but .prosper — is
towards an overweening confidence in itself and
its home-made methods, an overestimate of mate-
rial success, and a corresponding indifference to
the things of the mind. The popular ideal of suc-
cess seems to be more than ever before the accu-
mulation of riches. I say " seems," for it may be
only because the opportunities are greater. I am
not ignorant that wealth is the great fertilizer of
civilization, and of the arts that beautify it. The
very names of civilization and politeness show that
the refinement of manners which made the arts
possible is the birth of cities, where wealth earliest
accumulated because it found itself secure. Wealth
may be an excellent thing, for it means power, it
means leisure, it means liberty.

But these, divorced from culture, that is, from
intelligent purpose, become the very mockery of
their own essence, not goods, but evils fatal to their
possessor, and bring with them, like the Niblung
hoard, a doom instead of a blessing. A man rich
only for himself has a life as barren and cheer-
less as that of the serpent set to guard a buried
treasure. I am saddened when I see our success
as a nation measured by the number of acres under

174 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

tillage or bushels of wheat exported ; for the real
value of a country must be weighed in scales more
delicate than the Balance of Trade. The garners
of Sicily are empty now, but the bees from all
climes still fetch honey from the tiny garden-plot
of Theocritus. On a map of the world you may
cover Judea with your thumb, Athens with a finger-
tip, and neither of them figures in the Prices Cur-
rent ; but they still lord it in the thought and action
of evgry civilized man. Did not Dante cover with
his hood all that was Italy six hundred years ago ?
And, if we go back a century, where was Germany
outside of Weimar ? Material success is good, but
only as the necessary preliminary of better things.
The measure of a nation's true success is the
amount it has contributed to the tliought, the moral
energy, the intellectual happiness, the spiritual hope
and consolation, of mankind. There is no other,
let our candidates flatter us as they may. We still
make a confusion between huge and great. I know
that I am repeating truisms, but they are truisms
that need to be repeated in season and out of sea-
son.

The most precious property of Culture and of a
college as its trustee is to maintain higher ideals of
life and its purpose, to keep trimmed and burning
the lamps of that pharos, built by wiser than we,
which warns from the reefs and shallows of pop-
ular doctrine. In proportion as there are more
thoroughly cultivated persons in a community will
the finer uses of prosperity be taught and the vul-
gar uses of it become disreputable. And it is such

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 175

persons that we are commissioned to send out with
such consciousness of their fortunate vocation and
such devotion to it as we may. We are confronted
with unexampled problems. First of all is demivi
cracy, and that under conditions in great part novel,
with its hitherto imperfectly tabulated results,
whether we consider its effect upon national char-
acter, on popular thought, or on the functions of
law and government ; we have to deal with a time
when the belief seems to be spreading that truth
not only can but should be settled by a show of
hands rather than by a count of heads, and that
one man is as good as another for all purposes, —
as, indeed, he is till a real man is needed ; with a
time when the press is more potent for good or for
evil than ever any human agency was before, and
yet is controlled more than ever before, by its in-
terests as a business rather than by its sense of
duty as a teacher, and must purvey news instead of
intelligence ; with a time when divers and strange
doctrines touching the greatest human interests are
allowed to run about unmuzzled in greater number
and variety than ever before since the Reformation
passed into its stage of putrefactive fermentation ;
with a time when the idols of the market-place are
more devoutly worshipped than ever Diana of the
Ephesians was ; when the guilds of the Middle
Ages are revived among us with the avowed pur-
pose of renewing by the misuse of universal suf-
frage the class-legislation to escape which we left
the Old World; when the electric telegraph, by
making public opinion simultaneous, is also mating

176 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

it liable to those delusions, panics, and gregarious
impulses which transform otherwise reasonable
men into a mob ; and when, above all, the better
mind of the country is said to be growing more and
more alienated from the highest of all sciences and
services, the government of it. I have drawn up
a dreary catalogue, and the moral it points is this :
That the College, in so far as it continues to be
still a college, as in great part it does and must, is
and should be limited by certain preexisting condi-
tions, and must consider first what the more gen-
eral objects of education are without neglecting
special aptitudes more than cannot be helped.
That more general purpose is, I take it, to set free,
to supple, and to train the faculties in such wise as
shall make them most effective for whatever task
life may afterwards set them, for the duties of life
rather than for its business, and to open windows
on every side of the mind where thickness of wall
does not prevent it.

Let our aim be, as hitherto, to give a good all-
round education fitted to cope with as many exi-
gencies of the day as possible. I had rather the
College should turn out one of Aristotle's four-
square men, capable of holding his own in what-
ever field he may be cast, than a score of lopsided
ones developed abnormally in one direction. Our
scheme should be adapted to the wants of the
majority of under-graduates, to the objects that
drew them hither, and to such training as will
make the most of them after they come. Special
aptitudes are sure to take care of themselves, but

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 177

the latent possibilities of the average mind can
only be discovered by experiment in many direc-
tions. When I speak of the average mind, I do not
mean that the courses of study should be adapted
to the average level of intelligence, but to the
highest, for in these matters it is wiser to grade
upwards than downwards, since the best is the
only thing that is good enough. To keep the
wing-footed down to the pace of the leaden-soled
disheartens the one without in the least encourag-
ing the other. " Brains," says Machiavelli, " are
of three generations, those that understand of
themselves, those that understand when another
shows them, and those that understand neither of
themselves nor by the showing of others." It is
the first class that should set the stint ; the second
will get on better than if they had set it them-
selves; and the third will at least have the plea-
sure of watching the others show their paces.

In the College proper, I repeat, for it is the
birthday of the College that we are celebrating, it
is the College that we love and of which we are
proud, let it continue to give such a training as
will fit the rich to be trusted with riches, and the
poor to withstand the temptations of poverty.
Give to History, give to Political Economy, that
ample verge the times demand, but with no detri-
ment to those liberal Arts which have formed open-
minded men and good citizens in the past, nor have
lost the skiU to form them. Let it be our hope to
make a gentleman of every youth who is put under
our charge ; not a conventional gentleman, but a

178 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

man of culture, a man of intellectual resource, a
man of public spirit, a man of refinement, with
that good taste which is the conscience of the mind,
and that conscience which is the good taste of the
sold. This we have tried to do in the past, this let
us try to do in the future. We cannot do this for
all, at best, — perhaps only for the few ; but the
influence for good of a highly trained intelligence
and a harmoniously developed character is incal-
culable ; for though it be subtle and gradual in its
operation, it is as pervasive as it is subtle. There
may be few of these, there must be few, but

'* That few is all the world which with a few
Doth ever live and move and work and stirre."

If these few can best be winnowed from the rest
by the elective system of studies, if the drift of our
colleges towards that system be general and invol-
untary, showing a demand for it in the conditions
of American life, then I should wish to see it un-
falteringly carried through. I am sure that the
matter will be handled wisely and with all fore-
thought by those most intimately concerned in the
government of the College.

They who, on a tiny clearing pared from the
edge of the woods, built here, most probably with
the timber hewed from the trees they felled, our
earliest hall, with the solitude of ocean behind
them, the mystery of forest before them, and all
about them a desolation, must surely (si quis ani"
mis celestibis locuii) share our gladness and our
gratitude at the splendid fulfilment of their vision.
If we could but have preserved the humble roof

HARVARD ANNIVERSARY 179

which housed so great a future, Mr. Ruskin him-
self would almost have admitted that no castle or
cathedral was ever richer in sacred associations,
in pathos of the past, and in moral significance.
They who reared it had the sublime prescience of
that courage which fears only God, and could say
confidently in the face of all discouragement and
doubt, " He hath led me forth into a large place ;
because he delighted in me, He hath delivered me."
We cannot honor them too much ; we can repay
them only by showing, as occasions rise, that we do
not undervalue the worth of their example.

Brethren of the Alumni, it now becomes my
duty to welcome in your name the guests who have
come, some of them so far, to share our congratu-
lations and hopes to-day. I cannot name them all
and give to each his fitting phrase. Thrice wel-
come to them all, and, as is fitting, first to those
from abroad, representatives of illustrious seats of
learning that were old in usefulness and fame when
ours was in its cradle ; and next to those of our
own land, from colleges and universities which, if
not daughters of Harvard, are young enough to be
so, and are one with her in heart and hope. I said
that I should single out none by name, but I should
not represent you fitly if I gave no special greeting
to the gentleman who brings the message of John
Harvard's College, Emmanuel. The welcome we
give him could not be warmer than that which
we offer to his colleagues, but we cannot help feel-
ing that in pressing his hand our own instinctively
closes a little more tightly, as with a sense of nearer

180 HARVARD ANNIVERSARY

kindred. There is also one other name of which
it would be indecorous not to make an exception.
You all know that I can mean only the President
of our Republic. His presence is a signal honor
to us all, and to us all I may say a personal grati-
fication. We have no politics here, but the sons of
Harvard all belong to the party which admires
courage, strength of purpose, and fidelity to duty,
and which respects, wherever he may be found, the

'* Justum ao tenaoem propositi yirom,"

who knows how to withstand the

'' Ciyinm ardor prava jabentiom."

He has left the helm of state to be with us here,
and so long as it is intrusted to his hands we are
sure that, should the storm c-ome, he will say with
Seneca's Pilot, " O Neptune, you may save me if
you will ; you may sink me if you will ; but what-
ever happen, I shall keep my rudder true."

TARIFF REFORM

ADDRESS AT A MEETTNO OF THE TARIFF REFORM
LEAGUE, BOSTON, DECEMBER 29, 1887.

Gentlemen : In what I have to say (and it will
not tax your patience long) I shall discreetly con-
fine myself to generalities. These are apt, I know,
to flatten into platitudes, unless handled with prac-
tical dexterity. But I had rather run the risk of
this than abuse the chairman's privilege of speak-
ing first, as I have sometimes seen it abused to my
own detriment. I shall be careful not to devas-
tate the speeches of those who are to come after
me by trying to show how many fine things I can
say about the subject which will be the chief topic
of discussion to-night. I shall prefer to let you
suppose that I could say them if I would. For I
consider the true office of a chairman on such
occasions to be that of the heralds who blow a few
conventional notes to announce that the lists are
open.

At this season, which custom has set apart for
mutual good wishes and felicitations, members of a
common kindred are wont to accentuate the feeling
that is in all hearts by gathering round a board
whose good cheer is at once the symbol and the
stimulant of the generous sympathies within. Our

182 TARIFF REFORM

festival seems to be prettily analogous with those
others more peculiar to the season. For there are
affinities of sentiment, there is a kinship of thought,
and of the opinions and conduct that come of think*
ing, which often bind men together more closely
than ties of blood. We are, it is true, of kin to
each other as the children of a common country,
but we are more nearly related, we are more vitally
stirred by a consent of judgment in what we be-
lieve to be for the honor and the welfare of the
Mother so dear to us all.

This is no doubt a political meeting ; but most
of you would not be here, I certainly should not be
here, had this been a conspiracy in the interest of
any party or of any faction within a party, had it
been, that is to say, political in that ill sense which
our practice, if not our theory, has given to what
should be the noblest exercise of man's intellect
and the best training of his character. I believe,
and am glad to believe, that all shades of party
allegiance are represented here. If, in a free com«
monwealth, government by party be a necessary
expedient, it also is a necessary evil, an evil chiefly
in this, that it enables men, nay, even forces them,
to postpone interests of prime import and conse-
quence to secondary and ephemeral, often to per-
sonal interests, and not only so, but to confound
one with the other. The success of the party be-
comes only too soon of more importance than that
of any principles it may be supposed to have or to
profess. Is not the main use of a party platform
that a screen may be built of its planks to hide its

TARIFF REFORM 188

principles from every profane eye ? Has not the
youngest of us seen parties repeatedly "change
sides " with the airy gravity of a country dance ?
Our party arrangements and contrivances are
grown so intricate, too frequently so base, that the
management of them has become a gainful profes-
sion, and the class of men who should .shape public
opinion and control the practical application of it,
are reduced to handing the highest duty the State
has entrusted them with to attorneys, not of their
own choice, whose hands are not too delicate to be
dipped into the nauseous mess with which they are
too fastidious to soil their own. I do not believe
that there is a man at this table who for the last
twenty years has been able to embody his honest
opinion, or even a fraction of it, in his vote. During
all those years no thoughtful man has been able
to see any other difference between the two great
parties which stood between him and the reforms
he deemed essential to the well being of his country
than that the one was in and wished to stay there,
and the other was out and did Hbt wish to stay
there. Each appeared to make use of the same
unworthy tricks for its own immediate advantage,
each had an abundance of aces in its sleeve, and
each was divided on the two great questions of
vital interest to the country, the tariff and finance.
If our politicians would devote to the study and
teaching of political economy half the time they
spend in trying to agree so as not to agree with the
latest attempt of the Knights of Labor to unhorse
the Nature of Things, they would be far less harm-

184 TARIFF REFORM

f ul to themselves and to the country. Party alle-
giance tends naturally to concentrate upon some
representative or available man, and from this to
degenerate into a policy of the strongest lungs, by
which voters are driven, as sheep are driven,
blinded by the dust themselves have raised, to over-
trample whatever obstacle of prudence or reflection
may stand in their way. Have we not more than
once seen men nominated for the highest o£fice of
the State because they had no " record," as it is
called, that is, men with no opinion that could be
found out, but who would serve as well as another
(under strict supervision) to divide the booty?
Nothing will ever persuade me that the American
people would select such men as the representa*
tives of their ideal, if they could help it. It is the
duty of all sedate and thoughtful people to help
them to help it by every honest means ; if party be
a miserable necessity, it is the business of all such
to mitigate, if they cannot nullify, its evils when-
ever they have the chance.

One, certainly, of the reasons which have brought
us hither, one, at least, of those that chiefly sug-
gested the opportuneness of our coming together
here, has been the President's message at the open-
ing of the present Congress. Personally, I confess
that I feel myself strongly attracted to Mr. Cleve-
land as the best representative of the higher type
of Americanism that we have seen since Lincoln
was snatched from us. And by Americanism I
mean that which we cannot help, not that which
\ve flaunt, that way of looking at things and of

TARIFF REFORM 185

treating men which we derive from the soil that
holds our fathers and waits for us. I think we
have all recognized in him a manly simplicity of
character and an honest endeavor to do all that he
could of duty, when all that he would was made
impossible by difficulties to the hourly trials and
temptations of which we have fortunately never been
exposed. But we are not here to thank him as the
head of a party. We are here to felicitate each
other that the presidential chair has a man in it,
and this means that every word he says is weighted
with what he is. We are here to felicitate each
other that this man understands politics to mean
business, not chicanery; plain speaking, not pal-
tering with us in a double sense ; that he has had
the courage to tell the truth to the country without
regard to personal or party consequences, and thus
to remind us that a coimtry not worth telling the
truth to is not worth living in, nay, deserves to
have lies told it, and to take the inevitable con-
sequences in calamity. If it be lamentable that
acts of official courage should have become so rare
among us as to be noteworthy, it is consoling to
believe that they are sometimes contagious. " So
shines a good deed in a naughty world I " As
courage is preeminently the virtue of men, so it is
the virtue which most powerfully ch^^enges the
respect and emulation of men. And it deserves
this preeminence, for it is also the virtue which
gives security to all the other virtues. We thank
the President for having taught a most pertinent
object lesson, and from a platform lofty enough to

18t) TARIFF REFORM

be seen of all the people. We should be glad to
think, though we hardly dare to hope, that some of
the waiters on popular providence whom we humor-
ously call statesmen would profit by it. As one of
the evil phenomena which are said to mark the ad-
vances of democracy is the decay of civic courage,
we should be grateful to the President for giving
us reason to think that this is rather one of. its
accidents than of its properties. Whatever be the
effect of Mr. Cleveland's action on his personal
fortunes, let us rejoice to think it will be a stimu-
lating thorn in that august chair for all that may
sit in it after him. Would that all our presidents
might see and lay to heart that vision which Dion
saw, that silent shape of woman sweeping and ever
sweeping without pause. Our politics call loudly
for a broom. There are rubbish-heaps of cant in
every comer of them that should be swept out for
the dustman Time to cart away and dump beyond
sight or smell of mortal man. Mr. Cleveland, I
think, has found the broom and begun to ply it.

But, gentlemen, the President has set us an ex-
ample not only of courage, but of good sense and
moderation. He has kept strictly to his text and
his purpose. He has stated the facts and mar-
shalled the figures without drawing further infer-
ences from them than were implicitly there. He has
confined himself to the economic question, to that
which directly concerns the national housekeeping.
He has not allowed himself to be lured from the
direct forthright by any temptation to discuss the
more general and at present mainly academic ques-

TARIFF REFORM 187

tions of free trade or protection. He has shown
us that there was such a thing as being protected
too much, and that we had protected our shipping
interests so effectually that they had ceased to need
-protection by ceasing to exist. In thus limiting
the field of his warning and his counsels he has
done wisely, and we shall do wisely in following
his example. His facts and his figures will work
all the more effectually. But we must be patient
with them and expect them to work slowly. Enor-
mous interests are involved and must be treated
tenderly. It was sixty years before the leaven of
Adam Smith impregnated the whole sluggish lump
of British opinion, and we are a batch of the same
dough. I can remember the time when boun-
ties were paid for the raising of wheat in Massa-
chusetts. Bounties have fallen into discredit now.
They have taken an alias and play their three-card
trick as subsidies or as protection to labor, but the
common sense of our people will find them out at
last. If we are not to expect any other' imme-
diate result from the message than that best, result
of all human speech, that it awaken thought, one
can at least already thank it for one signal and un-
questionable benefit. It is dividing, and will con-
tinue more and more to divide, our parties by the
lines of natural cleavage, and will close the arti-
ficial and often mischievous lines which followed
the boundaries of section or the tracings of bygone
prejudices. We have here a question which
equally concerns every man, woman, and child,
black or white, from the Atlantic to the Pacific,

188 TARIFF REFORM

from the Gulf of Mexico to the Bay of Fundy. We
have here a topic which renders nugatory all those
problems of ancient history which we debated and
settled more than twenty years ago by manly wager
of battle, and that so definitely that we welcome here
to-night with special pleasure some of the brave
men with whom we argued them, and whom we in-
sisted aU the more on keeping as countrymen, that
they had taught us how to value them.

Gentlemen, I think I have occupied as much of
your time as a chairman should. I will only ask
your patience while I detain you for a moment
longer from other speakers, whom I am as eager to
hear as you must be. The allusion to our civil
war, which I made a moment ago, suggests to me a
thought which I should be glad to share with you
before I close. That tremendous convulsion, as,
I believe, even those engaged on the losing side
now see as clearly as we, saved us a country that
was worth saving, so that properly there was no
losing side. Now what I wish to say is this, that a
country worth saving is worth saving all the time,
and that a country with such energies as ours, with
such opportunities and inducements to grow rich,
and such temptations to be content with growing
rich, needs saving all the time. Many of us re-
member, as they remember nothing else, the over-
whelming rush of that great national passion, ob-
literating all lines of party division and levelling
all the landmarks of habitual politics. Who that
saw it will ever forget that enthusiasm of loyalty
for the flag and for what the flag symbolized which

TARIFF REFORM 189

twenty-six years ago swept all the country's forces
of thought and sentiment, of memory and hope, into
the grasp of its overmastering torrent? Martial
patriotism touches the heart, kindles the imagina-
tion, and rouses the nobler energies of men as noth-
ing else ever does or can. Even love is a paler
emotion. That image of our Country with the
flame of battle in her eyes which every man then
saw, how beautiful it was, how potent to inspire
devotion ! But these ecstasies of emotion are by
their very nature as transient as they are ennobling.
There is a sedater kind of patriotism, less pictur-
esque, less inspiring, but quite as admirably ser-
viceable in the prosy days of peace. It is the
patient patriotism which strives to enlighten public
opinion and to redress the balance of party spirit,
which inculcates civic courage and independence of
mind, which refuses to accept clamor as argument,
or to believe that phrases become syllogisms by
repetition. It is this more modest and thought-
ful patriotism to the exemplifying and practice of
which we aspire, and the first lesson it teaches us
is that a moderated and controlled enthusiasm is,
like stored electricity, the most powerful of motive
forces, and that the reformer of practical abuses,
springing from economic ignorance or mistake, then
first begins to be wise when he allows for the
obstinate vitality of human error and human folly,
and is willing to believe that those who cannot see
as he does are not therefore necessarily bad men.

THE PLACE OF THE INDEPENDENT IN

POLITICS.

AN ADDRESS DELIVERED BEFORE THE REFORM CLUB OF
NEW YORK, AT STEINWAY HALL, APRIL 13, 1888.

I HAVE not been so much surprised as perhaps I
ought to have been to learn that, in the opinion of
some of our leading politicians and of many of
our newspapers, men of scholarly minds are ipso
facto debarred from forming any judgment on pub-
lic affairs ; or, if they should be so unscrupulous
as to do so, that they must at least refrain from
communicating it to. their fellow-citizens. One
eminent gentleman has even gone so far qs to sneer
at school-books as sources of information. If he
had a chance, he would perhaps take a hint from
what is fabled of the Caliph Omar, and bum our
libraries : because if they contained doctrine not to
be found in his speeches, they would be harmful,
while if the doctrine, judged by that test, were
orthodox, they would be useless. Books have
hitherto been supposed to be armories of human
experience, where we might equip ourselves for
the battles of opinion while we had yet vigor and
hopefulness enough left to make our weapons of
some avail.

Through books the youngest of us could con-

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 191

verse with more generations than Nestor ; could
attain that ripened judgment which is the privilege
of old age without old age's drawbacks and dimi-
nutions. This has been the opinion of many men,
not reckoned the least wise in their generation.
But they were mistaken, it seems. I looked round
with saddened wonder at the costly apparatus of
school-houses provided by our ancestors to the
avowed end that " good learning might not cease
from among us," at the libraries and universities
by the founding of which our rich men seek to
atone for their too rapidly agglomerated wealth,
and said to myself, " What a wasteful blunder we
have been making ! " Then it suddenly occurred
to me that this putting of culture under the ban
might be, after all, but a more subtle application
of the American system, as it is called, which
would exclude all foreign experience, as well as
the raw material of it, till we had built up an ex-
perience of our own at the same cost of mistake
and retribution which is its unvarying price. This
might indeed flatter my pride of country, though
it left me, as Grumio says, to "retiu'n unexperienced
to my grave."

But if we are forbidden to seek knowledge in
books, what is the alternative ? I could think of
none unless it were immediate inspiration. It is
true that I could not see that any authentic marks
of it were revealed by the advocates of this novel
theory. They keep their secret remarkably well.
No doubt inspiration, like money, is a very handy
thing to have, and if I should ever see an adver-

192 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

tisement of any shop where it could be bought, even
at second hand, I would lay in a stock of it forth-
with. It is more convenient than knowledge, for,
like certain articles of wearing apparel, it is adjust-
able to the prevailing taste of the moment in any
part of the country. It seems more studious of
the traditions and prejudices of the multitude than
the utterances of Isaiah were wont to be. I must
frankly confess at the outset that I come to you
wholly unprovided with this precious commodity. I
must also admit that I am a book-man, that I am
old-fashioned enough to have read many books,
and that I hope to read many more. I find them
easier reading than some other kinds of printed
matter. I appear before you, therefore, with some
diffidence, and shall make my excuses in the words
of an elder who in my youth was accounted wise.
Lord Bacon, a man versed both in affairs and in
books, says : '^ And for the matter of policy and
government, that learning should rather hurt than
enable thereunto is a thing very improbable. We
see it is accounted an error to commit a natural
body to empiric physicians who commonly have a
few pleasing receipts whereupon they are confident
and adventurous, but know neither the causes of
diseases, nor the constitutions of patients, nor peril
of accidents, nor the true method of cures ; we see
it is a like error to rely upon advocates or lawyers
who are only men of practice and not grounded in
their books, who are many times easily surprised
when matter faUeth out beyond their experience to
the prejudice of the causes they handle ; so by like

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 193

reason it cannot be but a matter of doubtful eon-
sequence if states be managed by empiric states-
men not well mingled with men grounded in learn-
ing. But, contrariwise, it is almost without an
instance to the contrary that ever any government
was disastrous that was in the hands of learned
governors." He goes on to say that " It hath been
ordinary with politique men to extenuate and dis-
able learned men by the name of pedants,^^ Prac-
tical politicians, as they call themselves, have the
same habit still, only that they have substituted
doctrinaire for pedant as the term of reproach.
Now the true and mischievous doctrinaire is he
who insists that facts shall accommodate themselves
to preconceived theory, and the truly practical man
he who would deduce theory from the amplest pos-
sible comparison and correlation of facts; in other
words, from recorded experience. I think it is
already beginning to be apparent on which side of
the questions which have been brought to the front
by the President's Message the doctrinaires are to
be found. We all know the empiric physicians
who are confident and adventurous with their few
pleasing receipts.

Your committee asked me to give a title to such
suggestions as I might find occasion to make this
evening, and I took " The Place of the Indepen-
dent in Politics" as the first that occurred to me.
But I confess that I partake of Mr. Walter Shan-
dy's superstition about names, and shall not allow
myself to be circumscribed and scanted of elbow-
room by the appellative I have chosen. I prefer

194 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

general to personal politics. I allude to this in
order that, in anything I shall say here, I may not
be suspected to have one party more than another
in my mind. I am not blind to the fact that Truth
always seems to have gone to school to the prophet
Nathan, and to intend a personal application. It is
perhaps her prime vii*tue as a stimulant of thought,
for thought is helpful in proportion as it more and
more becomes disengaged from self, and this can-
not happen till some sharp reminder makes us con-
scious of that plausible accomplice in our thinking
and in the doing which follows from it. Though I
shall not evade present questions when they come
naturally in my way, I shall choose rather to indi-
cate why there is a necessity that the Independent
should have a place in politics than to dictate where
that place should be. I think that something I
wrote forty years ago, if you will allow me to quote
it, will define my notion of what is meant by an
Independent with sufficient exactness. I then said,
and I have not changed my mind : —

I honor the man who is ready to sink
Half his present repute for the freedom to Uiink,
And when he has thought, be his cause strong or weak,
Will risk 't other half for the freedom to speak,
Caring naught for what vengeance the mob has in store,
Let that mob be the upper ten thousand or lower.

Four years ago I was called upon to deliver an
address in Birmingham, and chose for my theme
" Democracy." In that place I felt it incumbent
on me to dwell on the good points and favorable
aspects of democracy as I had seen them practi-
cally illustrated in my native land. I chose rather

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 195

that my discourse should suffer through inadequacy
than run the risk of seeming to forget what Burke
calls " that salutary prejudice called our country,"
and that obligation which forbids one to discuss
family affairs before strangers. But here among
ourselves it is clearly the duty of whoever loves
his country to be watchful of whatever weaknesses
and perils there may be in the practical working
of a system never before set in motion under such
favorable auspices, or on so large a scale. I have
called them weaknesses and perils in the system,
but it would be idle to discuss them if I did not
believe that they were not so properly results of
the system as of abuses in the operation of it, due
in part to changed conditions, in part to a thought-
less negligence which experience and thought will
in due time rectify. I believe that no other method
of conducting the public affairs of men is so capa-
ble of sloughing off its peccant parts as ours, be-
cause in no other are the forces of life at once so
intense and so universally distributed.

Before we turn to the consideration of politics
as we see them in practice, let us think for a mo-
ment what, when properly understood, they really
are. In their least comprehensive definition, politics
are an art which concerns itself about the national
housekeeping, about the immediate interests and
workaday wants, the income and the outgo of the
people. They have to deal with practical ques-
tions as they arise and grow pressing. Even on
this humbler plane they may well have an attrac-
tion for the finest intellects and the greatest abili-

196 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

ties in a country where public opinion is supreme,
for they can perform their function only by per-
suading, con\dncing, and thus governing the minds
of men. The most trivial question acquires dig-
nity when it touches the well-being or rouses the
passions of many millions. But there is a higher
and wider sense in which politics may fairly be
ranked as a science. When they rise to this level
we call them statesmanship. The statesman applies
himself to the observation and recording of certain
causes which lead constantly to certain effects, and
is thus able to formulate general laws for the guid-
ance of his own judgment and for the conduct of
affairs. He is not so much interested in the devices
by which men inay be influenced, as about how
they ought to be influenced ; not so much about how
men's passions and prejudices may be utilized for a
momentary advantage to himself or his party, as
about how they may be hindered from doing a per-
manent harm to the commonwealth. He trains
himself to discern evils in their .causes that he may
forewarn if he cannot prevent, and that he may
not be taken imawares by the long bill of damages
they are sure to bring in, and always at the least
convenient moment. He seeks and finds in the
moral world the weather-signs of the actual world.
He strives to see and know things as they really
are and as they are related to each other, as they
really are and therefore always must be ; his vision
undeflected by the cross-lights of transitory circum-
stance, his judgment undisturbed by the clamor of
passionate and changeful opinion.

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 197

That this conception of statesmanship is not fan-
ciful, the writings and speeches of Burke are ample
proof. Many great and many acute minds had
speculated upon politics from Aristotle's time down-
wards, but Burke was the first to illuminate the sub-
ject of his observation and thought with the electric
light of imagination. He turned its penetrating
ray upon what seemed the confused and wavering
cloud-chaos of man's nature and man's experience,
and found there the indication, at least, if not the
scheme, of a divine order. The result is that his
works are as full of prophecy, some of it already
fulfilled, some of it in course of fulfilment, as they
are of wisdom. And this is because for him human
nature was always the text and history the com-
ment. There are no more pregnant lessons in the
science of how to look at things so as to see them and
into them, of how to distinguish what is perennial
from what is deciduous in a political question, than
Burke's two speeches on " Taxation of the Ameri-
can Colonies " and on " Conciliation with America."
For if his imagination was fervid, it served but
to warm his understanding till that grew ductile
enough to take a perfect impression of fact. If
the one made generalization easy, the other, in
testing the generalization, compelled him always to
make account of the special diagnosis of the case
in hand. If one would know the difference be-
tween a statesman and a politician, let him compare
Burke's view of the American troubles with that
of Dr. Johnson, a man of that headstrong com-
mon sense which sees with absorbing, one might

198 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

almost say blinding, clearness whatever comes
within its immediate field of vision, but is con-
scious of nothing beyond it. The question for
Burke was not whether taxation were tyranny,
but whether the Americans would think it so.
Here was a case in which expediency was at one
with wisdom.

But I am happy in being able to find an illus-
tration nearer home. Never did three men show
more clearly the quality of true statesmanship or
render a more precious service to their country
than Senators Fessenden, Trumbull, and Grimes,
when they dared to act independently of party in
the impeachment case against President Johnson.
They saved us from the creeping paralysis which
is now gradually benumbing the political energies
of France. Nay, while we were yet in the gristle,
we produced statesmen, not, indeed, endowed with
Burke's genius, though fairly comparable with him
in breadth of view, and sometimes his superiors
in practical sagacity. But I think there is a grow-
ing doubt whether we are not ceasing to produce
them, whether perhaps we are not losing the power
to produce them. The tricks of management are
more and more superseding the science of govern-
ment. Our methods force the growth of two kinds
of politicians to the crowding out of all other vari-
eties, — him who is called practical^ and him of the
corner grocery. The one trades in that counterfeit
of public opinion which the other manufactures.
Both work in the dark, and there is need that
some one should turn the light of his policeman's

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 199

lantern on their doings. I believe that there is as
much of the raw material of statesmanship among
us as ever there was, but the duties levied by the
local rings of majority-manufacturers are so high
as to prohibit its entrance into competition with
the protected article. Could we only have a trav-
elling exhibition of our Bosses, and say to the
American people, " Behold the shapers of your
national destiny ! " A single despot would be
cheaper, and probably better looking. It is a nat-
ural impulse to turn away one's eyes from these
flesh-flies that fatten on the sores of our body pol-
itic, and plant there the eggs of their disgustful and
infectious progeny. But it is the lesson of the day
that a yielding to this repulsion by the intelligent
and refined is a mainly efficient cause of the evil,
and must be overcome, at whatever cost of selfish
ease and aesthetic comfort, ere the evil can be hope^
fully dealt with.

It is admitted on all hands that matters have
been growing worse for the last twenty years, as it
is the nature of evil to do. It is publicly asserted
that admission to the Senate of the United States
is a marketable thing. I know not whether this
be true or not, but is it not an ominous sign of the
times that this has been asserted and generally be-
lieved to be possible, if not probable ? It is noto-
rious that important elections are decided by votes
bought with money, or by the more mischievous
equivalent of money, places in the public service.
What is even more disheartening, the tone of a
large part of the press in regard to this state of

r

200 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

things 18 cynical, or even jocular. And how often
do we not read in our morning paper that such and
such a local politician is dictating the choice of
delegates to a nominating convention, or manipu-
lating them after they are chosen ? So often that
we at last take it as a matter of course, as some-
thing beyond our power to modify or control, like
the weather, at which we may grumble, if we like,
but cannot help. We should not tolerate a packed
jury which is to decide on the fate of a single man,
yet we are content to leave the life of the nation
at the mercy of a packed convention. We allow
ourselves to be bilked of our rights and thwarted
in our duties as citizens by men in whose hands
their very henchmen would be the last to trust any-
thing more valuable than their reputation. Pessi-
mists tell us that these things are the natural inci-
dents and necessary consequences of representative
government under democratic conditions ; that we
have drawn the wine, and must drink it. If I
believed this to be so, I should not be speaking
here to-night. Parties refuse to see, or, if they
see, to look into, vicious methods which help them
to a majority, and each is thus estopped from sin-
cere protest against the same methods when em-
ployed by the other. The people of the Northern
States thought four years' war not too dear a price
to prevent half their country being taken from
them. But the practices of which I have been
speaking are slowly and surely filching from us the
whole of our country, — all, at least, that made it
the best to live in and the easiest to die for. If

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 201

parties will not look after their own drainage and
ventilation, there must be peojile who will do it for
them, who will cry out without ceasing till their fel-
low-citizens are aroused to the danger of infection.
This duty can be done only by men dissociated
from the interests of party. The Independents
have undertaken it, and with God's help will carry
it through. A moral purpose multiplies us by ten,
as it multiplied the early Abolitionists. They
emancipated the negro; and we mean to emanci-
pate the respectable white man.

It is time for lovers of their country to consider
how much of the success of our experiment in de-
mocracy has been due to such favorable conditions
as never before concurred to make such an attempt
plausible ; whether those conditions have changed
and are still changing for the worse ; how far we
have been accessories in this degeneration, if such
there be, and how far it is in our power, with the
means furnished by the very instruments of de-
struction, to stay its advance and to repair its rav-
ages. Till within a few years of our civil war,
everything conduced to our measuring the suc-
cess of our institutions by the evidence of our out-
ward prosperity, and to our seeing the future in
rose-color. The hues of our dawn had scarcely
faded from the sky. Men were still living who
had seen the face and heard the voice of the most
august personage in our history, and of others
scarce less august than he. The traditions of our
founders were fresh. Our growth in wealth and
power was without precedent. We had been so.

r

202 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

fortunate that we had come to look upon our luck
as partly due to our own merits and partly to our
form of government. When we met together it
was to felicitate each other on our superiority to
tlie rest of mankind. Our ears caught from behind
tlie horizon the muffled thunders of war, only to be
lulled as with the murmurs of the surf on a far-off
shore. We heard of revolutions, but for us For-
tune forgot to turn her wheel. This was what may
be called the Fourth of July period of our history.
Among the peoples of the earth we were the little
Jack Homer. We had put in our thumb and
pulled out a plum, and the rest of mankind thought
that we were never tired of saying, " What a good
boy am I ! " Here is a picture of our growth,
drawn by a friendly yet impartial hand : " Nothing
in the history of mankind is like their progress.
For my part, I never cast an eye on their flourish-
ing commerce and their cultivated and commodious
life but they seem to me rather ancient nations
grown to perfection through a long series of fortu-
nate events and a train of successful industry ac-
cumulating wealth in many centuries than the colo-
nies of yesterday. . . . Your children do not grow
faster from infancy to manhood than they spread
from families to communities, and from villages to
nations." But for a certain splendor of style these
words seem to be of yesterday, so pertinent are
they still. They were uttered in the British Par-
liament more than a year before the battle of Lex-
ington, by Edmund Burke. There is no exaggera-
tion in them. They are a simple statement of fact

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 203

Burke, with his usual perspicacity, saw and stated
one and a chief cause of this unprecedented pheno-
menon. He tells us that the colonies had made
this marvellous growth because, "through a wise
and salutary neglect, a generous nature has been
suffered to take her own way to perfection." But
by that " wise and salutary neglect " he meant free-
dom from the petty and short-sighted meddlesome-
ness of a paternal government; he meant being
left to follow untrammelled the instincts of our
genius under the guidance of our energy. The
same causes have gone on ever since working the
same marvels. Those marvels have been due in
part to our political system. But there were other
circumstances tending to stimulate personal energy
and enterprise, especially land to be had for the
taking, and free trade over a larger share of the
earth's surface peopled by thriving and intelligent
communities than had ever been enjoyed elsewhere.
I think, however, that there was one factor more
potent than any other, or than all others together.
Before we brdke away from the mother country
politically, a century and a half of that " wise neg-
lect " of which Burke spoke had thoroughly made
over again and Americanized all the descendants
of the earlier settlers, and these formed the great
bulk of the population. The same process was rap-
idly going on in the more recent immigrants. So
thorough had this process been that many, perhaps
most, of the refugees who, during or after the Rev-
olutionary War, went to England, or home, as they
fondly called it, found themselves out of place and

204 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

unhappy there. The home they missed was that
humane equality, not of condition or station, but of
being and opportunity, which by some benign influ-
ence of the place had overcome them here, like a
summer cloud, without their special wonder. Yet
they felt the comfort of it as of an air wholesome
to breathe. I more than suspect that it was the
absence of this inestimable property of the moral
atmosphere that made them aliens in every other
land, and convinced them that an American can no
more find another country than a second mother.
This equality had not then been proclaimed as a
right ; it had been incorporated in no constitution,
but was there by the necessity of the case — a gift
of the sky and of the forest, as truly there as it
now is in that great West whose history was so ad-
mirably treated by Senator Hoar a few days ago,
and whose singular good-fortune it has been that
no disparities except those of nature's making have
ever been known there. Except in the cities of
the seaboard, where the habits of the Old World
had to some extent been kept alive* by intercourse
and importation, the defecation of the body politic
and the body social of all purely artificial and arbi-
trary distinctions had been going on silently and
surely among the masses of the people for gener-
ations. This was true (in a more limited sense)
even of communities where slavery existed, for as
that was based on complexion, every white, no
matter what his condition, belonged to the privi-
leged class, just as in Hungary every Magyar was
a noble. This was the American novelty, no bant-

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 205

ling of theory, no fruit of forethought, no trophy
of insurgent violence, but a pure evolution from
the nature of man in a perfectly free medium.
The essential triumph was achieved in this tacit
recognition of a certain privilege and adequacy
in mere manhood, and democracy may be said to
have succeeded before it was accepted as doctrine
or embodied as a political fact. Our ancestors
sought a new coimtry. What they found was a
new condition of mind. It is more than question-
able whether the same conditions in as favorable
combination of time and place will ever occur
again, whether equality, so wholesome when a so-
cial evolution, as I have described it, may not
become harmful as a. sudden gift in the form of
dogma, may not indeed prove dangerous when in-
terpreted and applied politically by millions of
newcomers alien to our traditions, unsteadied by
lifelong training and qualifying associations. We
have great and thus far well-warranted faith in the
digestive and assimilative powers of our system ;
but may not these be overtaxed ?

The theory of equality was as old, among men
of English blood, as Jack Cade's rebellion, but it
was not practically conceived even by the very men
who asserted it. Here, on the edge of the forest,
where civilized man was brought face to face again
with nature and taught to rely mainly on himself,
mere manhood became a fact of prime importance.
That century and a half of apprenticeship in de-
mocracy stimulated self-help, while it also necessi-
tated helpfulness for others and mutual dependence

206 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

upon them. Not without reason did " help " take
the place of " servant " in our vocabulary. But
the conditions of life led to other results that left
less salutary effects behind them. They bred a
habit of contentment with what would do^ as we
say, rather than an impatience of whatever was not
best ; a readiness to*put up with many evils or in-
conveniences, because they could not be helped ;
and this has, especially in our politics, conduced to
the growth of the greatest weakness in our Amer-
ican character — the acquiescence in makeshifts
and abuses which can and ought to be helped, and
which, with honest resolution, might be helped.

Certainly never were the auguries so favorable
as when our republic was founded, a republic sure
from inherent causes to broaden into a more popu-
lar form. But while the equality of which I have
been speaking existed in the instincts, the habits,
and obscurely in the consciousness of -all, it was la-
tent and inert. It found little occasion for self-as-
sertion, none for aggression, and was slow to invent
one. A century ago there was still a great respect
for authority in all its manifestations ; for the law
first of all, for age, for learning, and for experience.
The community recognized and followed its natural
leaders, and it was these who framed our Constitu-
tion, perhaps the most remarkable monument of
political wisdom known to history. The conven-
tion which framed it was composed of the choicest
material in the community, and was led astray by
no theories of what might be good, but clave closely
to what experience had demonstrated to he good«

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 207

The late M. Guizot once asked me " how long I
thought our republic would endure." I replied :
" So long as the ideas of the men who founded it
continue dominant," and he assented. I will not
say that we could not find among us now the con-
stituents of as able an assembly, but I doubt if
there be a single person in this audience who be-
lieves that with our present political methods we
should or could elect them. We have revived the
English system of rotten boroughs, under which
the electors indeed return the candidate, but it is
a handful of men, too often one man, that selects
the person to be so returned. If this be so, and
I think it is so, it should give us matter for very
serious reflection.

After our Constitution got fairly into working
order it really seemed as if we had invented a
machine that would go of itself, and this begot a
faith in our luck which even the civil war itself
but momentarily disturbed. Circumstances con-
tinued favorable, and our prosperity went on in-
creasing. I admire the splendid complacency of
my countrymen, and find something exhilarating
and inspiring in it. We are a nation which has
struck ile^ but we are also a nation that is sure the
well will never run dry. And this confidence in
our luck with the absorption in material interests,
generated by unparalleled opportimity, has in some
respects made us neglectful of our political duties.
I have long thought that the average men of our
revolutionary period were better grounded in the
elementary principles of government than their de-

208 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

scendants. The town-meeting was then a better
training-scliool than the caucus and the convention
are now, and the smaller the community the greater
the influence of the better mind in it. In looking
about me, I am struck with the fact that while we
produce great captains, financial and industrial
leaders in abundance, and political managers in
overabundance, there seems to be a pause in the
production of leaders in statesmanship. I am still
more struck with the fact that my newspaper often
gives me fuller reports of the speeches of Prince
Bismarck and of Mr. Gladstone than of anything
said in Congress. If M. Thiers or M. Gambetta
were still here, it would be the same with them ;
but France, like ourselves, has gone into the manu-
facture of small politicians. Why are we interested
in what these men say ? Because they are impor-
tant for what they are, as well as for what they
represent. They are Somebodies, and their every
word gathers force from the character and life
behind it. They stand for an idea as well as for
a constituency. An adequate amount of small
change will give us the equivalent of the largest
piece of money, but what aggregate of little men
will amount to a single great one, that most pre-
cious coinage of the mint of nature ? It is not that
we have lost the power of bringing forth great
men. They are not the product of institutions,
though these may help or hinder them. I am
thankful to have been the contemporary of one and
among the greatest, of whom I think it is safe
to say that no other country and no other form of

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 209

government could have fashioned him, and whom
posterity will recognize as the wisest and most
bravely human of modern times. It is a bene-
diction to have lived in the same age and in the
same country with Abraham Lincoln.

Had democracy borne only this consummate
flower and then perished like the century-plant, it
would have discharged its noblest function. It is
the crown of a nation, one might almost say the
chief duty of a nation, to produce great men, for
without them its history is but the annals of ants
and bees. Two conditions are essential : the man,
and the opportunity. We must wait on Mother
Nature for the one, but in America we ourselves
can do much to make or mar the other. We can-
not always afford to set our house on fire as we did
for Lincoln, but we are certainly responsible if the
door to distinction be made so narrow and so low
as to admit only petty and crouching men.

A democracy makes certain duties incumbent on
every citizen which under other forms of govern-
ment are limited to a man or to a class of men.
A prudent despot looks after his kingdom as a pru-
dent private man would look after his estate ; in an
aristocratic republic a delegated body of nobles
manages public affairs as a board of railroad direc-
tors would manage the property committed to their
charge ; in both cases, self-interest is strong enough
to call forth every latent energy of character and
intellect; in both cases the individual is so con-
sciously important a factor as to insure a sense of
personal responsibility. In the ancient democracies

210 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

a citizen could see and feel the effect of his own
vote. But in a democracy so vast as ours, though
the responsibility be as great (I remember an elec-
tion in which the governor of a State was chosen by
a majority of one vote), yet the infinitesimal divi-
sion of power wellnigh nullifies the sense of it, and
of the responsibility implied in it. It is certainly
a great privilege to have a direct share in the
government of one's country, but it is a privilege
which is of advantage to the commonwealth only
in proportion as it is intelligently exercised. Then,
indeed, its constant exercise should train the facul-
ties of forethought and judgment better, and should
give men a keener sense of their own value than
perhaps anything else can do. But under every
form of representative government, parties become
necessary for the marshalling and expression of
opinion, and, when parties are once formed, those
questions the discussion of which would discipline
and fortify men's minds tend more and more to
pass out of sight, and the topics that interest their
prejudices and passions to become more absorbing.
What will be of immediate advantage to the party
is the first thing considered, what of permanent
advantage to their country the last. I refer espe-
cially to neither of the great parties which divide
the country. I am treating a question of natural
history. Both parties have been equally guilty,
both have evaded, as successfully as they could, the
living questions of the day. As the parties have
become more evenly balanced, the difficulty of
arriving at their opinions has been greater in pro-

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 211

portion to the diflBculty of devising any profession
of faith meaningless enough not to alarm, if it
could not be so interpreted as to conciliate, the
varied and sometimes conflicting interests of the
different sections of the country. If you asked
them, as Captain Standard in Farquahar's comedy
asks Parley^ " Have you any principles ? " the an-
swer, like his, woidd have been, " Five hundred."
Between the two a conscientious voter feels as the
traveller of fifty years ago felt between the touters
of the two rival hotels in the village where the
stage-coach stopped for dinner. Each side deaf-
ened him with depreciation of the other establish-
ment till his only conclusion was that each was
worse than the other, and that it mattered little at
which of them he paid dearly for an indigestion.
When I say that T make no distinctions between the
two parties, I must be allowed to make one excep-
tion. I mean the attempt by a portion of the Repub-
licans to utilize passions which every true lover
of his country should do his best to allay, by pro-
voking into virulence again the happily quiescent
animosities of our civil war. In saying this I do
not forget that the Democratic party was quite as
efficient in bringing that war upon us as the seced-
ing States themselves. Nor do I forget that it was
by the same sacrifice of general and peimanent in-
terests to the demands of immediate partisan ad-
vantage which is the besetting temptation of all
parties. Let bygones be bygones. Yet I may say
in passing that there was something profoundly
comic in the spectacle of a great party, with an

212 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

heroic past behind it, stating that its policy would
be to prevent some unknown villains from doing
something very wicked more than twenty years
ago.

Parties being necessary things, it follows, of
course, that there must be politicians to manage
and leaders to represent and symbolize them. The
desire of man to see his wishes, his prejudices, his
aspirations, summed up and personified in a single
representative has the permanence of an instinct.
Few escape it, few are conscious of its controlling
influence. The danger always is that loyalty to the
man shall insensibly replace loyalty to the thing he
is supposed to represent, till at last the question
what he represents fades wholly out of mind. The
love of victory as a good in itself is also a power-
ful ingredient in the temperament of most men.
Forty odd years ago it would have been hard to
find a man, no matter how wicked he may have be-
lieved the Mexican War to be, who could suppress
a feeling of elation when the news of Buena Vista
arrived. Never mind the principle involved, it
was our side that won.

If the dangers and temptations of parties be such
as I have indicated, and I do not think that I have
overstated them, it is for the interest of the best
men in both parties that there should be a neutral
body, not large enough to form a party by itself,
nay, which would lose its power for good if it
attempted to form such a party, and yet large
enough to moderate between both, and to make
both more cautious in their choice of candidates

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 213

and in their connivance with evil practices. If the
politicians must look after the parties, there should
be somebody to look after the politicians, somebody
to ask disagreeable questions and to utter uncom-
fortable truths ; somebody to make sure, if possible,
before election, not only what^ but whom the candi-
date, if elected, is going to represent. What to me
is the saddest feature of our present methods is the
pitfalls which they dig in the path of ambitious
and able men who feel that they are fitted for a
political career, that by character and training they
could be of service to their country, yet who find
every avenue closed to them unless at the sacrifice
of the very independence which gives them a claim
to what they seek. As in semi-barbarous times the
sincerity of a converted Jew was tested by forcing
him to swallow pork, so these are required to gulp
without a wi*y face what is as nauseous to them. I
would do all in my power to render such loathsome
compliances unnecessary. The pity of it is that
with our political methods the hand is of necessity
subdued to what it works in. It has been proved,
I think, that the old parties are not to be reformed
from within. It is from without that the attempt
must be made, and it is the Independents who must
make it. If the attempt should fail, the failure
of the experiment of democracy would inevitably
follow.

But I do not believe that it will fail. The signs
are all favorable. Already there are journals in
every part of the country — journals, too, among
the first in ability, circulation, and influence —

214 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

which refuse to wear the colors of party. Alreailj
the people have a chance of hearing the truth, and
I think tliat they always gladly hear it. Our first
aim should be, as it has been, the reform of our
civil service, for that is the fruitful mother of all
our ills. It is the most aristocratic system in the
world, for it depends on personal favor and is the
reward of pcwonal service, and the power of the
political boss is built up and maintained, like that
of the niediiuval robber baron, by his freehanded-
ncss in distributing the property of other people.
From it is derived the notion that the public treas-
ure is a fund to a share of which every one is en-
titled who by fraud or favor can get it, and from
this again the absurd doctrine of rotation in office
so that each may secure his proportion, and that
the business of the ration may be carried on by
a succession of apprentices who are dismissed just
as they are getting an inkling of their trade to
make room for others who are in due time to be
turned loose on the world, passed masters in- noth-
ing but incompetence for any useful career. From
this, too, has sprung the theory of the geographical
allotment of patronage, as if ability were depend-
ent, like wheat, upon the soil, and the more mis-
chievous one that members of Congress must be
residents of the district that elects them, a custom
which has sometimes excluded men of proved abil-
ity, in the full vigor of their faculties and the ripe-
ness of their experience, from the councils of
the nation. All reforms seem slow and wearisome
to their advocates, for these are commonly of that

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 215

ardent and imaginative temper which inaccurately
foreshortens the distance and overlooks the difficul-
ties between means and end. If we have not got
all that we hoped from the present administration,
we have perhaps got more than we had reason to
expect, considering how widely spread are the roots
of this evil, and what an inconvenient habit thev
have of sending up suckers in the most unex-
pected places. To cut off these does not extirpate,
them. It is the parent tree that must go. It is
much that we have compelled a discussion of the
question from one end of the country to the other,
for it cannot bear discussion, and I for one have
so much faith in the good sense of the American
people as to feel sure that discussion means vic-
tory. That the Independents are so heartily de-
nounced by those who support and are supported
by the system that has been gradually perfected
during the last fifty years is an excellent symp-
tom. We must not be impatient. Some of us
can remember when those who are now the can-
onized saints of the party which restored the
Union and abolished slavery were a forlorn hope
of Mugwumps, the scorn of all practical politi-
cians. Sydney Smith was fond of saying that the
secret of happiness in life was to take short views,
and in this he was but repeating the rule of the
Greek and Roman poets, to live in every hour as
if we were never to have another. But he who
would be happy as a reformer must take long views,
and into distances sometimes that baffle the most
piercing vision.

216 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

Two great questions have been opened anew by
the President : reduction of revenue, and the best
means of effecting it, and these really resolve them-,
selves into one, that of the war tariff. I say of
the war tariff, because it is a mere electioneering
device to call it a question of protection or free
trade pure and simple. I shall barely allude to
them as briefly as possible, for they will be amply
discussed before the people by more competent men
than I. I cannot help thinking that both are illus^
trations of the truth that it is a duty of statesmen
to study tendencies and probable consequences
much rather than figures, which can as easily be
induced to fight impartially on both sides as the
condottieri of four centuries ago. All that rea-
sonable men contend for now is the reduction of
the tariff in such a way as shall be least hurtful to
existing interests, most helpful to the consumer,
and, above all, as shall practically test the question
whether we are better off when we get our raw
material at the lowest possible prices. I think the
advocates of protection have been unwise, and are
beginning to see that they were unwise in shifting
the ground of debate. They have set many peo-
ple to asking whether robbing Peter to pay Paul
be a method equally economical for both par-
ties, and whether the bad policy of it be not all
the more flagrant in proportion as the Peters are
many and the Pauls few ? Whether the Pauls of
every variety be not inevitably forced into an alli-
ance offensive and defensive against the Peters,
and sometimes with very questionable people?

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 217

Whether if we are taxed for the payment of a
bounty to the owner of a silver mine, we should
not be equally taxed to make a present to the
owner of wheat fields, cotton fields, tobacco fields,
hay fields, which are the most productive gold
mines of the country? Whether the case of pro-
tection be not like that of armored ships, requiring
ever thicker plating as the artillery of competition
is perfected ? But the tendency of excessive pro-
tection which thoughtful men dread most is that it
sj^imulates an unhealthy home competition, leading
to over-production and to the disasters which are
its tainted offspring ; that it fosters over-population,
and this of the most helpless class when thrown
out of employment ; that it engenders smuggling,
false invoices,, and other demoralizing practices ;
that the principle which is its root is the root also
of Kings, and Syndicates, and Trusts, and all other
such conspiracies for the artificial raising of profits
in the interest of classes and minorities. I con-
fess I cannot take a cheerful view of the future of
that New England I love so well when her leading
industries shall be gradually drawn to the South,
as they infallibly will be, by the greater cheapness of
labor there. It is not pleasant to hear that called the
American system which has succeeded in abolish-
ing our commercial marine. It is even less pleas-
ant to hear it advocated as being for the interest of
the laborer by men who imported cheaper labor till
it was forbidden by law. The true American sys-
tem is that which produces the best men by leaving
them as much as possible to their own resources.

218 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

That protection has been the cause of our material
prosperity is refuted by the passage I have already
quoted from Burke. Though written when our
farmers' wives and daughters did most of our spin-
ning and weaving, one would take it for a choice
flower of protection eloquence. We have pros-
pered in spite of artificial obstacles that would have
baffled a people 'less energetic and less pliant to
opportunity. The so-called American system, the
system, that is, of selfish exclusion and monopoly,
is no invention of ours, but has been borrowed of
the mediaeval guilds. It has had nothing to do
with the raising of wages, for these are always
higher in countries where the demand for labor is
greater than the supply. And if the measure of
wages be their purchasing power, what does the
workman gain, unless it be the pleasure of spend-
ing more money, under a system, which, if it pay
more money in the hire of hands, enhances the
prices of what that money will buy in more than
equal proportion ?

Of the surplus in the Treasury I will only say
that it has already shown itself to be an invitation to
every possible variety of wasteful expenditure and
therefore of demoralizing jobbery, and that it has
again revived those theories of grandmotherly gov-
ernment which led to our revolt from the mother
country, are most hostile to the genius of our in-
stitutions, and soonest sap the energy and corrode
the morals of a people.

It is through its politics, through its capacity
for government, the noblest of all sciences, that a

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 219

nation proves its right to a place among the other
beneficent forces of nature. For politics permeate
more widely than any other force, and reach every
one of us, soon or late, to teach or to debauch.
We are confronted with new problems and new
conditions. We and the population which is to
solve them are very unlike that of fifty years ago.
As I was walking not long ago in the Boston Pub-
lic Garden, I saw two Irishmen looking at Ball's
equestrian statue of Washington, and wondering
who was the personage thus commemorated. I
had been brought up among the still living tradi-
tions of Lexington, Concord, Bunker's Hill, and
the siege of Boston. To these men Ireland was
still their country, and America a place to get
their daily bread. This put me upon thinking.
What, then, is patriotism, and what its true value
to a man ? Was it merely an unreasoning and al-
most cat-like attachment to certain square miles of
the earth's surface, made up in almost equal parts
of lifelong association, hereditary tradition, and
parochial prejudice? This is the narrowest and
most provincial form, as it is also, perhaps, the
strongest, of that passion or virtue, whichever we
choose to call it. But did it not fulfil the essential
condition of giving men an ideal outside them-
selves, which would awaken in them capacities for
devotion and heroism that are deaf even to the
penetrating cry of self? All the moral good of
which patriotism is the fruitful mother, my two
Irishmen had in abundant measure, and it had
wrought in them marvels of fidelity and self-sacri-

220 THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS

fice which made me blush for the easier terms on
which my own duties of the like kind were habitu-
ally fulfilled. Were they not daily pinching them-
selves that they might pay their tribute to the old
hearthstone or the old cause three thousand miles
away ? If tears tingle our eyes when we read of
the like loyalty in the clansmen of the attainted
and exiled Lochiel, shall this leave us unmoved ?

I laid the lesson to heart. I would, in my own
way, be as faithful as they to what I believed to be
the best interests of my country. Our politicians
are so busy studying the local eddies of prejudice
or interest that they allow the main channel of our
national energies to be obstructed by dams for the
grinding of private grist. Our leaders no longer
lead, but are as skilful as Indians in following the
faintest trail of public opinion. I find it generally
admitted that our moral standard in politics has
been lowered, and is every day going lower. Some
attribute this to our want of a leisure class. It is
to a book of the Apocrypha that we are indebted
for the invention of the Man of Leisure.* But a
leisure class without a definite object in life, and
without generous aims, is a bane rather than a
blessing. It would end in the weariness and cyni-
cal pessimism in which its great exemplar Ecclesi-
astes ended, without leaving us the gift which his
genius left. What we want is an active class who
wlQ insist in season and out of season that we shall

1 " The wisdom of a learned man cometh by opportunity
of leisure, and he that hath little business shall become
wise." — Ecdesiasticus xxxviii. 24.

THE INDEPENDENT IN POLITICS 221

have a country whose greatness is measured, not
only by its square miles, its number of yards
woven, of hogs packed, of bushels of wheat raised,
not only by its skill to feed and clothe the body,
but also by its power to feed and clothe the soul ;
a country which shall be as great morally as it is
materially ; a country whose very name shall not
only, as now it does, stir us as with the sound ot a
trumpet, but shall call out all that is best within us
by offering us the radiant image of something bet-
ter and nobler and more enduring than we, of some-
thing that shall fulfil our own thwarted aspiration,
when we are but a handful of forgotten dust in the
soil trodden by a race whom we shall have helped
to make more worthy of their inheritance than we
ourselves had the power, I might almost say the
means, to be*

"OUK LITERATUEE"

RESPONSE TO A. TOAST AT THE BANQUET IN NEW YORK,
APRIL 30, 1889, GIVEN IN COMMEMORATION OP THE
HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF WASHINGTON'S INAUG-
URATION.

A NEEDFUL frugality, benignant alike to both
the participants in human utterance, has limited
the allowance of each speaker this evening to ten
minutes. Cut in thicker slices, our little loaf of
time would not suffice for all. This seems a mea-
gre ration, but if we give to our life the Psalmist's
measure of seventy years, and bear in mind the
population of the globe, a little ciphering will show
that no single man and brother is entitled even to
so large a share of our attention as this. More-
over, how few are the men in any generation who
could not deliver the message with which their
good or evil genius has charged them in less than
the sixth part of an hour.

On an occasion like this, a speaker lies more
than usually open to the temptation of seeking the
acceptable rather than the judicial word. And yet
it is inevitable that public anniversaries, like those
of private persons, should suggest self-criticism as
well as self-satisfaction. I shall not listen for such
suggestions, though I may not altogether conceal

OUR LITERATURE 223

that I am conscious of them. I am to speak for
literature, and of our own as forming now a recog-
nized part of it. This is not the place for critical
balancing of what we have done or left undone in
this field. An exaggerated estimate and, that indis-
criminateness of praise which implies a fear to speak
the truth, would be unworthy of myself or of you.
I might indeed read over a list of names now, alas,
carven on headstones, since it would be invidious
to speak of the living. But the list would be short,
and I could call few of the names great as the
impartial years measure greatness. I shall prefer
to assume that American literature was not worth
speaking for at all if it were not quite able to
speak for itself, as all others are expected to do.

I think this a commemoration in which it is
peculiarly fitting that literature should take part.
For we are celebrating to-day our true birthday as
a nation, the day when our consciousness of wider
interests and larger possibilities began. All that
went before was birth-throes. The day also recalls
us to a sense of something to which we are too in-
different. I mean that historic continuity, which,
as a factor in moulding national individuality, is
not only powerful in itself, but cumulative in its
operation. In one of these literature finds the soil,
and in the other the climate, it needs. Without
the stimulus of a national consciousness, no litera-
ture could have come into being ; under the condi-
tions in which we then were, none that was not
parasitic and dependent. Without the continuity
which slowly incorporates that consciousness in the

224 OUR LITERATURE

general life and thought, no literature could have
a^jquired strength to detach itself and begin a life
of its own. And here another thought suggested
by the day comes to my mind. Since that precious
and persuasive quality, style, may be exemplified
as truly in a life as in a work of art, may not the
character of the great man whose memory deco-
rates this and all our days, in its dignity, its
strength, its calm of passion restrained, its inviola-
ble reserves, furnish a lesson which our literature
may study to great advantage ? And not our liter-
ature alone.

Scarcely had we become a nation when the only
part of the Old World whose language we under-
stood began to ask in various tones of despondency
where was our literature. We coidd not impro-
vise Virgils or Miltons, though we made an oblig-
ing effort to do it. Failing in this, we thought the
question partly unfair and wholly disagreeable.
And indeed it had never been put to several na-
tions far older than we, and to which a vates sacer
had been longer wanting. But, perhaps it was not
altogether so ill-natured as it seemed, for, after all,
a nation without a literature is imperfectly repre-
sented in the parliament of mankind. It implied,
therefore, in our case the obligation of an illustri-
ous blood.

With a language in compass and variety inferior
to none that has ever been the instrument of hu-
man thought or passion or sentiment, we had in-
herited also the forms and precedents of a litera-
ture altogether worthy of it. But these forms and

OUR LITERATURE 225

precedents we were to adapt suddenly to ;iovel
conditions, themselves still in solution, tentative,
formless, atom groping after atom, rather through
blind instinct than with conscious purpose. Why
wonder if our task proved as long as it was diffi-
cult? And it was all the more difficult that we
were tempted to free ourselves from the form as
well as from the spirit. And we had other notable
hindrances. Our reading class was small, scattered
thinly along the seaboard, and its wants were fully
supplied from abroad, either by importation or
piracy. Communication was tedious and costly.
Our men of letters, or rather our men with a nat-
ural impulsion to a life of letters, were few and
isolated, and I cannot recollect that isolation has
produced anything in literature better than monk-
ish chronicles, except a Latin hymn or two, and
one precious book, the treasure of bruised spirits.
Criticism there was none, and what assumed its
function was half provincial self-conceit, half patri-
otic resolve to find swans in birds of quite another
species. Above all, we had no capital toward which
all the streams of moral and intellectual energy
might converge to fill a reservoir on which all
could draw. There were many careers open to
ambition, all of them more tempting and more
gainful than the making of books. Our people
were of necessity largely intent on material ends,
and our accessions from Europe tended to increase
this predisposition. Considering all these things, it
is a wonder that in these hundred years we should
Jtiave produced any literature at all ; a still greater

226 OUR LITERATURE

»

wonder that we have produced so much of which
we may be honestly proud. Its English descent is
and must always be manifest, but it is ever more
and more informed with a new spirit, more and
more trustful in the guidance of its own thought.
But if we would have it become all that we would
have it be, we must beware of judging it by a com-
parison with its own imripe self alone. We must
not cuddle it into weakness or wilfulness by over-
indulgence. It would be more profitable to think
that we have as yet no literature in the highest
sense than to insist that what we have should be
judged by other than admitted standards, merely
because it is ours. In these art matches we must
not only expect but rejoice to be pitted against the
doughtiest wrestlers, and the lightest-footed run-
ners of all countries and of all times.

Literature has been put somewhat low on the
list of toasts, doubtless in deference to necessity of
arrangement, but perhaps the place assigned to it
here may be taken as roughly indicating that which
it occupies in the general estimation. And yet I
venture to claim for it an influence^ whether for
good or evil, more durable and more widely opera-
tive than that exerted by any other form in which
human genius has found expression. As the spe-
cial distinction of man is speech, it should seem
that there can be no higher achievement of civil-
ized men, no proof more conclusive that they are
civilized men, than the power of moulding words
into such fair and noble forms as shall people the
human mind forever with images that refine, con-

OUR LITERATURE 227

sole, and inspire. It is no vain superstition that
has made the name of Homer sacred to all who
love a bewitchingly simple and yet ideal picture of
our humar ^ife in its doing and its suflFering. And
there arb Dooks which have kept alive and trans-
mitted the spark of soul that has resuscitated nsu-
tions. It is an old wives' tale that Virgil was a
great magician, yet in that tale survives a witness
of the influence which made him, through Dante,
a main factor in the revival of Italy after the one
had been eighteen and the other five centuries in
their graves.

I am not insensible to the wonder and exhilara-
tion of a material growth without example in ra-
pidity and expansion, but I am also not insensible
to the grave perils latent in any civilization which
allows its chief energies and interests to be wholly
absorbed in the pursuit of a mundane prosperity.
" Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth ; and let thy
heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth: but
know thou, that for all these things God will bring
thee into judgment."

I admire our energy, our enterprise, our inven-
tiveness, our multiplicity of resource, no man more ;
but it is by less visibly remunerative virtues, I per-
sist in thinking, that nations chiefly live and feel
the higher meaning of their lives. Prosperous we
may be in other ways, contented with more spe-
cious successes, but that nation is a mere horde
supplying figures to the census which does not ac-
knowledge a truer prosperity and a richer content-
ment in the things of the mind. Railways and

228 OUR LITERATURE

telegraphs reckoned by the thousand miles are ex-
cellent things in their way, but I doubt whether it
be of their poles and sleepers that the rounds are
made of that ladder by which men or nations scale
the cliffs whose inspiring obstacle interposes itself
between them and the fulfilment of their highest
purpose and function.

The literature of a people should be the record
of its joys and sorrows, its aspirations and its short-
comings, its wisdom and its folly, the confidant of
its soul. We cannot say that our own as yet suf-
fices us, but I believe that he who stands, a hundred
years hence, where I am standing now, conscious
that he speaks to the most powerful and prosper-
ous community ever devised or developed by man,
will speak of our literature with the assurance of
one who beholds what we hope for and aspire
after, become a reality and a possession forever.

GENERAL INDEX

A. H. 0. = A. H. Clough.

Abana and Pharpari 1, 364.

Abbott, Shakespearian grammar^ 4,
108 n.

Abderite chorus in the Andromeda,
1,92.

Abelard, Emerson before the <>. B. K.
compared to, 1, 367.

Abolition societies existed in Mary-
land and Virginia in 1790, 5, 141.

Abolitionists not the cause of the war,
6, 203 ; their cardinal principle dis-
imion, 204 ; also, 6, 201.

Abstract ideas, Hazlitt on, 4, 85.

Abundance of Chaucer and Xangland,
3,331.

Abuse unpleasant from inferiors, 1,
226.

Abuses to be protested against, 5, 14.

Academic town. See University
town.

Accent in Milton*s verse, 4, 109, 112.

Acddente, Italian imprecation, 1, 172.

Accuracy and Truth compared, 6,
153.

Acephali, 1, 111.

Achilles, chariot of, 1, 152 ; a boy with
an eel compared to, 217 ; also, 2, 5.

Acting, Italian, 1, 175. See also,
Stage.

Adam in Paradise, White's Selbome
the Journal of, 3, 193.

Adams, Charles Francis, on the atti-
tude of America toward England in
1869, 3, 253.

Adams, John, J. Quincy's reminis-
cences of, 2, 295.

Adams, Parson. See Fielding, Henry.

Addison, friendship with Dryden, 3,
104 ; Pope's attack on, 178 ; answers
an argument in favor of the Pre-
tender, 4, 26 ; Pope's lines on, 45 ;
Pope's relations to, 52 ; his charac-
ter, 53 ; also, 3, 357, 363.
on Italy, 1, 127 ; on English poetry
of the 18th century, 4, 3 ; on the
representation of common sense,
the office of modem writers, 46.
Cato, Voltaire on, 4, 17.

Adhesiveness, the author's, 1, 51.

Adrian V., Pope, in the Divine Com-
edy, 4, 240.

^schylus, his range narrow but deep,
1, 365 ; 4, 261 ; Atalanta in Cory-
don the theme of a lost drama, 2,
126 ; like Shakespeare in his choice
of epithets, 3, 51 ; his imaginative
power, 6, 52 ; also, 2, 138, 286 ; 3,
45,301.

Agamemnon, the nurse, 3, 54 ; Pro-
metheus, 39, 57 ; Seven against
Thebes, passage cited, 54.

Esthetic defects, connection with
moral defects, 2, 91.

Esthetics, Shakespeare's satire on
the dogmatic variety, 3, 55; its
problems recur in Wordsworth's po-
etry, 4, 357.

Affliction a cooler of pride, B(^r
Williams on, 2, 29.

Africa, a little mystery still hangs
over the interior of, 1, 109.

Agamemnon, 1, 263.

Agassiz, Louis, anecdote of his first
lecture ; 6» 9 ; also, 3, 240, 286 ; 6,
149.

Age, the respect for, diminishing, 6,
137. <See a^«o. Old age ; Antiquity.

Agrippa, Cornelius, on Dante, 4, 145 ;
his visionary gardens, 397.

Ague, Sir K. Digby's prescription for,
2,56.

Air, on a winter morning, 3, 283.

Ajax, 2, 172 ; 3, 85.

Akensiae on winter, 3, 266 ; his poo-
try characterized, 266 ; Spenser's in-
fluence upon, 4, 352 ; also, 6, 113.
his Pleasures of Imagination, 2.
143 ; 4, 3.

Alabama trouble, the relations be-
tween England and America caused
by, 3, 252.

Alban mountain, 1, 139; seen from
Palestrina, 159.

Albani, Villa, near Rome, 1, 214.

Alberti, Leandro, on Italy, 1, 126.

Alchemist visited by Edw. Howpw, 2,
46 ; Coleridge compared to, 6, 70.

230

GENERAL INDEX

Alchemy, John Winthrop, Jr., a 8tn>
deut of, a, 4G ; Edw. Howes* letters
on, 4ti ; Jonathan Brewster^s re-
searches and correspondence with
the younA[er Wiuthrop, 61 ; his rea-
sons for secrecy, 55.

Alciato ridiculed the evidence brought
against witches, 2, 383.

Alcott. Bronson, his favorite word dae-
moniCf 1, 87.

Aldennan, Iniighting of an, 1, 193.

Alderi^l^te St., London, Massou's de-
scription of, 4, 71.

Aleatico wine, 1, 174.

Alexander the Great, 2, 135 ; Pope on,
4,44.

Alexander, Kmperor of Russia, mem-
ber of the Med. Facs., 1, 88.

Alexandrines, 4, 304 ; Dryden on, 3,
]34>.

Alexu and Dora, 3, G4.

Alfieri, a copy bouglit by Keats, but
unread, 1, 'J3Q.

Alfonso the Learned, 6, 118.

Alischans, Bataille d% referred to by
Dante, 4p 227 u.

Allegory, defined, 3, 3G2 ; the Odyssey
the true tyiie of, 4, 321 ; as prac-
tised in Spenser's time, 324.
of Gower, 3, 330 ; of Dante, 3G2 ;
4, 185 n, 209 n, 210 ; of Spenser, 3,
3(^2 ; 4, 322, 32ti ; of Bunyan, 322.

AUibone, 1, 31(>.

Alliteration, Milton's use of, 4, 97 ; in
Spenser, 347.

/Lllston, Wasliington, described, 1, 72 ;
judged as a painter, 75 ; T. G. Ap-

?letoii on, 75; hin work original,
; anecdote of IiIh early pictures,
3, 108 ; his picture of Elijali in the
Wilderness, 4, 03; a/«o,6, 151.

Almanacs, one compiled by Emerson,
imagined, 1, 350 ; prophecies of, 6,
125.

Alph, the sacred river, 3, 285.

Alphonso of Castile, 3, 24.

Ambition, 2, 17 ; character of, in
Wasliington AUston, 1, 77.

America interesting only as a phenom-
enon, 1, 49 ; 2, 270 ; 3, 244, 250 ;
rapidity of its changes makes it in-
teresting to the philosophic stu-
dent, 1, 52 ; foreigners uncomfort-
able in, because they find no peas-
ants, 180 ; the country's heavy debt
to tlie English Puritans, 2, 13 ; its
slight encouragement of art and
high scholarship, 152; its history
lAcking in great associations and in
interest, 273, 274, 276 ; Eugliflh his-
tory belongs to it dejure but not
de facto, 274 ; fame palpably a pro-
vincial thing, 270; every day com-
ing nearer to Europe, 278 ; the tra-
ditions and significance of its past,
3, 222, 246 ; a German beggar's dia-

tribe on, 229 ; its democracy a men-
ace to the old order, 232, 24S ; ma-
terial pros]>erity a necessary foundi^
tion for ideal triumphs, 236; the
Englishman's air of superiority in,
238 ; patronized by all Europeans,
'JiV) ; Maurice Band's caricature of,
240 ; anecdotes of the bad manners
of foreigners in, 241; the earlier
English downright averston to, 243 ;
.the growth of the young giant made
Europe uneasy, 244; examined by
the soci(dogists, 246; Leigh Hunt
on, 247 ; tlie advantages of easier
communication with Europe, 249;
the silent preparatory work done
here not evident to foreigners, 250 ;
accused of infecting Europe with
democracy, 6, 12 ; accused of lend-
ing storms to Europe, 12 ; its past
without spsthetic stimulus, 140. See
also, New England ; United States.

America, Spanish. See Spanish Amer-
ica.

American ambassadors, 1, 198 ; 6, 240.

American architecture, 1, 6, 196 ; no
venerable buildings, 6, 140.

American biography necessarily pro>
vincial, 2, 272.

American bo^s, 1, 60.

American citizenship, its value depends
upon the national existence, 6, 4Q.

American Civil War, the debt of its
heroes to Emerson, 1, 368; Car-
lyle's failure to imderstand it, 8t
111 ; 3, 247 ; compared with Ired-
erick's wars, 2, 111, 115 ; its msto-
rial greatness boasted of, 282; tiis
problems it has left behind, 282;
the tender memories it has left, 89
221 ; English ill - mannered refer-
ences to, 241 ; its influence on for-
eign opinion of America, 246; 6.
210 ; its effect on the character of
tlie nation, 3, 249 ; 5, 160, 182, 21^
246, 254; hailed with enthnslasm
by the North, 75, 178 ; 6, 188 ; tbe
following reaction of despondeiKsy,
6, 178; tlie great issues at stake,
89, 167 ; its probable effect <m sla-
very (1861), 91 ; McClellan's Report
from July, 1861, to Nov., 1862, 82-
117 ; the campaign of the Peninsalft,
95, 104, 106; the importance of sav-
ing Washington, 110; popular di»>
satisfaction at McCleIlan*s delays,
110 ; Pollard's and Greeley's hirao-
ries of, 132 ; its real cause the habit of
concession on the part of the North,
146 ; the South fighting for what tbej
believe to be their rights, 149 ; abd^
tion of slavery its necessary result,
151 ; the nation to be the strtmger
and more united because of it, 162,
215, 234, 246 ; state of the war ip
1864, 158 ; the change in ito ofajeot

GENERAL INDEX

281

and character^ 167, 175 ; McClellan*s
views on its conduct, 168 ; a radical
policy forced upon the Government
by the rebels, 169 ; the just grounds
of apprehension at its beginning,
179 ; its vast difficulties and contin-
gencies, 180 ; the country's true war
of independence, 192; abolition of
slavery not the original object of
the war, 196 ; efforts to confuse the
public mind as to its origin, 201 ;
the lessons it has taught Europe and
ourselves, 210; loyalty and patriot-
ism the only incentive of officers and
soldiers, 211 ; the vices and mean-
nesses of the people also brought
to the surface, 212 ; great principles
felt to be at stake in the war, 215,
251 ; for the first time in history an
army knew for what it was fighting,
216; Moore's Rebellion Record^
246; slavery the original motive
of the war on the part of the South,
247, 250 ; the deep meaning of the
war as a moral phenomenon, 251 ;
the thoughtlessness with which both
sides entered upon it, 251 ; the
newspaper rumors, 254 ; the fruits of
victory, 256 ; watched with breath-
less interest by the world, 261 ; its
deep moral issues instinctively rec-
ognized by the North, 312 ; our true
enemy in the war, 316 ; essentially
a war between two different nations,
316 ; the readiness of the young men
to give themselves, 6, 155 ; saved
us a country worth saving, 188.

American civilization, the lack of per-
manence and stability, 1, 125, 199 ;
the possible political and social de-
velopment of, 3, 235 ; its shortcom-
ings and possible future dangers,
251 ; the need of an increased num-
ber of highly cultivated men, Q,
171 ; danger of becoming absorbed
in material prosperity, 227.

American Colonies, the lack of unity
and of great associations in their
history, 2, 272 ; Burke's picture of
their prosperous condition, 6, 202 ;
due to a wise neglect on the part of
the home government, 203 ; the si-
lent but ste^y growth of a spirit of
equality in, ^b^; their apprentice-
ship in democracy, 205.

American criticism, 6, 225.

American culture, Emerson made our
thought independent of England,
1, 366 ; necessarily European in its
■tandards, 2, 278 ; something more
than labor - saving contrivances
needed, 279 ; its provincialism, 279,
281 ; value of European criticism
to, 283 ; the cultivation of the im-
agination necessaryi 6, 94 ; alsOf B,
309.

American currency, musket balls cur-
rent in early New England, 6, 82.

American great men, their statues in
the Capitol, 2, 280.

American hotels, 1, 19 ; 2, 71.

American humor cannot appeal to the
whole nation, 2, 278.

American Indians. See Indians.

American land-companies, 1, 172.

American life, its hiurry, 1, 7 ; com-
pared to a railway train, 49 ; its
aimless luxury, 380 ; the novelist's
complaint of, 2, 274 ; its disadvan-
tages, 275; barren in the elements
of the social picturesque, 284.

American literature, likelihood of a
future strength and flavor, 1, 113;
the determination to produce one
in the first half of 19th century, 2,
148, 153 ; a grreat poet expected from
the West, 149 ; his possible character
discussed, 150 ; the characteristics
of a national poet, 151 ; Emerson, to
some extent, typical, 151 ; the con-
ditions for the development of a
g^at poet still wanting, 152 ; origi-
nality and individuality not to be
expected^ 152 ; the demand for a
literature proportioned to the size
of the country, 153 ; a national satire
or caricature still impossible, 278;
effect of the Revolutionary War
upon, 3, 307 ; Daniel's prophecy of,
4,282.

Ambrican litbraturb: reply to a
toast Apr. 30, 1889, 6, 222-228 ; ex-
aggerated praise to be avoided, 223 ;
may learn a lesson from the life
of Washington, 224; the early in-
quiries for, by the Old World, 224 ;
its problem to adapt inherited forms
to novel conditions, 225; the hin-
drances to its development, 225 ; to
be criticised fearlessly if it is to
become strong, 226 ; the promise of
its future, 228.

American mechanics, their supremacy,
6,93.

American military leaders compared
with English, 5, 215.

American newspapers. See Newspa-
pers.

American poet, the great, expected
from the West, 2, 149.

American political eloquence, 5, 49, 51.

American politics and political condi-
tions ; national feeling hampered by
our division into States, 2, 280 ; na-
tional feeling increased by the Civil
War, 282 ; the problems left by the
War, 282 ; the Federalists the only
proper tories of, 301 : every political
evil leaves its taint, 3, 236 ; person-
ality and narrowness of, 5, 19 ; con-
stantly in a state of transition, 20 ;
the Constitution to be bent back to

232

GENERAL INDEX

its original poBition, 36 ; the eane
of perpetual couceaaion, 36, 143, 146,
167 ; the absence of great questions
in the half century before ihe Rebel-
lion, 46 ; character and powers of the
government, 48, 62, 63, 72, 147;
value of our national existence, 49,
177 ; the advantages of the federal
system, 61 ; the relations of the
States to the central government
not sufBciently dwelt upon, 63 ; the
privileges dependent upon the
broad extent of the government, 66 ;
the administration made prominent
at the cost of the government, 138 ;
the preponderance of Southern in-
fluence, 142 ; the basis of represen-
tation in the South, 143 ; the prin-
ciple of coercive authority recog-
nized in framing the Constitution,
147 ; Jefferson's theory of strict
construction, 148; Freedom to be-
come the one absorbing interest of
the whole people, 152 ; the streng^th
of tlie government and people proved
by the strain of the war, 182, 210;
the general idea of party govern-
ment, and of the subserviency of the
executive, 184 ; the idea tliat states-
manship does not require training,
193 ; the administration represents
the minority as well as the major-
ity, 198 ; a profound common-sense
the best guide of statesmanship,
205, 270 ; the willingness to endure
taxation in order to carry on the
war, 210 ; loyalty and patriotism the
only incentive, 211 ; the life of the
state felt in every member, 212 ; the
people the true leaders in the con-
flict, 213; the United States the
real country of poor men, 227 ; the
advantages and disadvantf^i^es of
universtd suffrage, 232 ; 6, 30 ; the
absence of an idle class, 5, 235 ; effect
of the press and telegraph on the
national sympathies, 243; the peo-
ple slow to adopt measures of
doubtful legality, 255 ; confusion of
mind in regard to treason, 255 ; the
war measures of doubtful legfality
justified by their results, 259 ; the
worth of freedom discovered by the
people, 261 ; public opinion a re-
serve of power to the magistrate,
262 ; the President's prerogative
during the war and in ordinary
times, 268 ; every inhabitant a sub-
ject as well as a citizen of the
United States, 276; the attempt to
climb into the White House by a
back window, 293 ; the dignity of
the Secretary of State a matter of
national concern, 295 ; the will of the
majority always constitutional, 298 ;
general absence of the mob element,

901 ; the condition before the
compared to Germany, 816; demo-
cratic institutions inherited from
England, 6. 16 ; the Buoceaa of de-
mocracy, 24 ; the dangers of incree»-
ing wealth, 26 ; security of property,
26 ; succession of the Yice-Preeident
to the presidency, 46; the difBcntt
problems of the time, 97, 176 ; the
two great parties from 1867 to 1887,
183; the broom needed, 186; the
need of continued patriotic devotion,
188; the weaknesses and perils of
democracy, 196; abuses easily
sloughed off, 195 ; the duty of ex-
amining the abuses, 199 ; the growth
of bribery, 199 ; political cormption
and trickery, 200 ; the Indepmdent
needed to denounce these abuses,
201 ; the conditions of our success-
ful development, 201; the general
satisfaction with our good luck and
good government, 202, 207 ; the ab-
sence of shortsighted meddlesome-
ness of a paternal government, 203 ;
the effects of free land and free
trade, 203 ; the sUent growth of the
spirit of equality, 204 ; how long the
Republic can endure, 207 ; the Eng-
lish rotten borough system revived
among us, 207 ; the shortcomings
of both parties, 210; the difficulty
of arriving at their opinions, 211 ;
the old parties not to be reformed
from within, 213 ; the reform of the
civil service to be our first aim, 214 ;
the protective system, 216 ; the sur-
plus, 218 ; the moral standard of our
politics declining, 220 ; the need of
active men to insist on moral ques-
tions, 221.

the Peoj^le. — Foreigners easily assim-
ilated if Protestant, 1, 115 ; the i)eo-
ple not corrupt, 5, 138 ; their patriot-
ism,178; their activedevotion to their
institutions, 211 ; the dangers from
the population of the great cities,
214 ; the American people an amal-
gam of many nations, 310 ; distrust
of the judgment of the people, 314,
317 ; the change from an agricultu-
ral to a proletary population, 6, 10 ;
the difficulties and dangers of assim-
ilating a large foreign population,
11, 25, 97, 205; character of the

£)ople and of their political organ-
ation, 24 ; the people take their
political duties lightly. 31 ; the pop-
ulation homogeneous and American
at the close of the Revolution, 203 ;
the respect for authority stroi^ a
century ago, 206 ; lack of political
trsdning in the average man, 207 ;
the problem of our foreign popula-
tion, 219. See also. Abolitionists ;
Civil service ; Coercion ; Congress ;

GENERAL INDEX

2S8

Cuba', Democracy; Democratic
party ; Emancipation ; Embargo ;
Freedmen ; Fugitive slave law ; Im-
migration ; Negro suffrage ; Presi-
dent ; Reconstruction ; Republican
party ; Secession ; Slavery ; Squat-
ter sovereignty; State rights; Suf-
frage; Tariff; United States.

American public men, effect of fre-
quent elections upon the character
of our statesmen, 6, 19? 51, 137 ; the
mistake of sending inferior men to
Congress from the North, 135; the
popular fallacy of the superiority of
a man of low origin, 137 ; the alleged
inferiority of Congress, 233 ; the
character of Congressional oratory,
265 ; our highest offices filled by short-
sighted politicians, 318; character
of the framers of the Constitution,
6, 22 ; their solution of the practical
question before them, 23 ; the states-
man giving place to the politician,
198, 208 ; conditions of the produc-
tion of great men, 209 ; the advance^
ment of able men blocked by our
political methods, 213.

American railroads, 2, 71.

American Revolution still regarded as
an unhappy separation in Cambridge,
1, 66 ; French officers' opinions of
America, 3, 240 ; its effect on Amer-
ican literature, 307 ; also, 5, 244.

American scholarship formerly of the
theological sort, 2, 153.

American schools, their failure, 6, 170.

American shipphig, 6, 187.

American soldiers, 2, 286. See also,
American Civil War.

American towns usually in the hobble-
dehoy age, 1, 6.

American Tract Socixtt, 5, 1-16 ; the
apologue of the hermit who became
a king applied to it, 1 ', its present po-
sition on slavery in the eyes of its
founders, 2 ; it evades responsibility
by appealing to its constitution, 2 ;
character of its constitution exanv-
ined, 3; the discussion of slavery
not feared by its founders, 4; the
condition that its publications shall
** satisfy all Evangelical Christians *'
considered, 5 ; logical absurdities of
the Society's position, 5 ; its posi-
tion on moral questions in 1857, 6 ;
the Society afraid to remind the
owners of slaves of their moral ob-
ligations, 7, 9; the Resolutions of
1867 an attempt at compromise, 8 ;
the inconsistency of the Society's

{>osition an occasion for scoffers, 11 ;
ts public responsibilities, 12 ; tlie
division a healthy sign, 12 ; the anti-
slavery question a moral, not a po-
liticftl, issue, 14.
American village described, 1, 185.

American yeomen, 1, 186.

Americans, their enjoyment of anti-
quity, 1. 6 ; 6, 137 ; nomadic in re-
ligion, ideas, and morals, 1, 6 ; carry
no household gods with them, 76 ; in
what respect not Englishmen, 113 ;
the peculiar charm of Italy to, 124 ;
their attitude in England and France,
124; an accommodating and verses
tile people, 169 ; travel easily, 199 j
twitted with not distinguishing be-
tween big and great, 211 ; the influ-
ence of Puritan descent, 2, 14 ; their
self-complacent pride of ancestry,
20; their dismay at having no na-
tional literature, 149; the habit of
estimating greatness by material
measures, 281 ; a certain advan-
tage in their shiftiness, 286 ; sensi-
tiveness to criticism, 3, 231 ; neces-
sarily misunderstood by foreigners,
232, 250 ; deserve some of the sarcasm
poured on them, 234, 261 ; what they
have to learn in political matters,
235; accused of being vulgar, 236;
their use of English, 231 ; the imita-
tion of English manners, 238 ; as oa-
tentatious parventu i» Europe, 240 ;
supposed to abhor privacy, 241 ;
anecdotes of their disregard of the
rudeness of foreigners, 2i2 ; an Eng^
lishman on the cause of their hos-
pitality, 243; what their country
should be to them, 24fi, 251 ; con-
tinue to be treated as not grown up.
248, 262 ; the moat common-schooled
and the least cultivated people in
the worldj 250 ; not to be treated as
counterfeit Britons, 263; fond of
compromise, 5, 9 ; said to be less
apt than others to proflt by experi-
ence, 239 ; their alertness and viva-
city, 245 ; their character as devel-
oped by the Civil War, 246; their
small hands and feet, 310 ; bonds of
sympathy with England, 6, 40, 60,
68 ; good nature of, 42 ; faith in
their good qualities, 46 ; their habit
of giving away money during their
lifetime, 96; their zeal in cdebrat-
ing anniversaries, 137 ; said to find
their own eountry unendurable after
living in Europe, 172; find them-
selves at home in no other country
than their own, 204; the habit of
acquiescing in make-shifts, 206; of
necessity largely intent on material
ends, 226. See aUo^ American pub-
lic men.

Americanisms, 3, 237 ; 4. 347 n ; 6, 184.

Ames, Fisher, compared with Burke,
2, 275.

Aminonius, 2, 360.

Anabaptists in England In 1668, 2, 39.

Anachronisms in the drama, 3, 68 ; in
Iiesaing's dramas, 2, 226.

234

GENERAL INDEX

Aualofdes between tlie inward and out-
ward world, 4, iW*.

Analysis, evervthiuK subjected to, at
the present day, 1, lUU ; escape from
the evils of, 184.

Anarchy, the rif^rht of, iuvolved in the
issues of the Civil War, 5, W.

Ancestry in luattem of the iutellect,
1, 241 ; pride of, 2, ID ; the sif^niti-
cauce of, 3, 240 ; Duute's pride of,
4, 2U8 n ; fortimate aucebtora, 6,
155. See aUo^ Heredity.

Ancient and modem art, their due re-
lation, a, VoS.

Ancient lights, the lesson of the in-
scription, 6, 1U7.

Ancient Mariner, 3^ 217.

Ancients, more social tlian we, 3, 201 ;
their attitude toward life, 4, 412.

Anoients and moderns, 2, 127.

Anderson, Major, the first public offi-
cer to do his duty, 5, 50 ; a court-
martial sugf^ested for him by the
President, iX) ; his forbearance, 72 ;
also, 78, 80.

Anecdote, its value in history, 2, 284.

Angels, good and bad, Walburger on
their power, 2, 354 ; Dante on, 4,
242 n.

Angplico, Pra, 4, 120.

Anglicism, Dryden on, 3, 130.

Anglomania, 3, 238 ; 5, 181.

Anglo-Norman mind in matters of
business, 1, 140. See oho, English.

Anglo-Norman poetry, theory that final ;
and medial e w^as not sounded dis-
proved, 3, 344.

Anglo-Saxon. See also, Saxon.

Anglo-Saxon element in English liter-
ature, 3, 314.

Anglo-Saxon literature, 3, 320.

Anglo-Saxon poetry essentially Scan-
dinavian, 3, 320 ; its homeliness,
335.

Anglo-Saxons have deified work, 1, 7 ; i
time precious in the sight of, 131 ; ;
their character, 3, 310 ; their reli-
gious instinct, 318 ; their sound po-
litical instinct, 5, 218.

Animal creation, its imchanging con-
stitution, 3, 195.

Animals, their weather-wisdom, 3,
198.

Anio river, its waters once dammed at
Tivoli to overthrow the Romans, 1,
133 ; seen from Subiaco, 183.

Annals, 5, 121.

Anniversaries, American liking for, 6,
137; their suggestions of self-criti-
cism and self-satisfaction, 222.

Annual Register, 5, 241.

Anthropology, its problems to be
watched in America, 1, 52.

Antigone. See Sophocles.

Antinomian controversy in New Eng-
land, 6, 142.

Antiquariana compared to mminanta,
3,47.

Antiquity necessary to the growth of
character, 1, ; a matter of c<nn-
parison, 50; suapicions as to the
value of discovenes, 211 ; the brow-
sers among the vestiges of, 3, 47;
the American relish for, 6y 137 ; the
effect of geological discoveries on
appreciation of, 138. 8w aUo^ His-
tory; Past.

Antony, St., of Padna, 1, 110.

Antweri>t Carlyle's etymology of, 2,
110.

Apemantua, Tlioreau compared to, 1,
3(K>.

Apirius, 2, 248.

Apollo a witness in the case of the
Furies v. Orestes, 2, 308 n; his
power not in the girth of his biceps,

3, 350 ; also, 4, 403.

ApoBtleH, Milton on those who col-
lected personal traditions of them,

4. (a.

Apostles of the Newness, 1, 303.

See Transcendental movement.
Apostolical succession of English po>

etry, 4, 105.
Apostrophe, its use uncertain in early

printing, 4, 90.
Aiwtbecaries the victima of Satanio

pranks, 2, 303.
Apparitions, origin of the belief in, 2,

321 ; instances, 322 ; Lucian^a ophi-

iou of, 322 ; ghosts in chahia, 823 ;

Hamlet's lines on, 326. See aUo,

Haunted houses.
Appenzell, democracy in, 6, 21.
Applause, the pulse of self plainly felt

in, 1, 57 ; of Emerson's speech on

Bums described, 300.
Apples at the grocery in Cambridge,

1,04.
Apples of the tree of know]edg«,

nearly every one now plucked, 1,

109.
Apoplexy, 1, 91.
Appleton, Thomas G., on WasUngton

Allston, 1, 75.
Application necesfary to memory, 1, 20.
Appreciation, mututU, 2, 219.
Aqueduct near Tivoli, 1. 130 ; of the

Ponte Sant' Antonio, 140.
Archaisms, when permissible, 4, 347.
Archer, Judge, in a witchcraft trial, 2.

ail.

Architecture an element of patriotiam
and of culture, 1, 7. See ahOf
American architecture; Greek ar-
chitecture : Roman churches.

Architectural restoration, constroctiyo
criticism compared to, 6, 121. '

Arctic regions, their icy privacy fai-
vaded, 1, 112.

Aretino, Leonardo. See Leonardo
Aretiuo.

GENERAL INDEX

235

Ar^iment, Dryden's powers of, 3,
110.

Ariosto, and the Villa d* Este, 1, 132 ;
excelled by Spenser, 4, 320 ; charm
of his narrative, 6, 64.
Orlando inspired Spenser's Faery
Queerif 4, 299 ; quoted, 4, 328.

Aristocracy, the principle implanted in
human nature, 1, 2 ; in Boston in
earlier days, 2, 290 ; represented by
Josiah Quincy, 2, 310 ; incompatible
with democracy, 5, 323; of New
England in 18th century, 6, 155 ; the
management of public affairs in, 6,
209.

Aristophanes, 2, 90, 106 ; 3, 64 ; the
highest type of pure comedy, 2,
130 ; the Frogs, 3, 50 n.

Aristotle, Lessing's discussions of, 2,
222; Dryden's Unea on, 3, 118;
Dante on, 4, 203 n ; compared with
Plato, 4, 254; on moderation, 5,
321 ; also, 2, 174 ; 4, 153 n, 155 ; 6,
8,165.

Army personified in its leader. 6, 92 ;
a great leader its chief strength, 5,
103.

Array officers chosen by popular elec-
tion, 6, 30.

Amo, River, 4, 118.

Arnold, Matttiew, on Homeric metre,
1, 291 ; on Shakespeare, 3, 37 ; ad-
dress as President of the Words-
worth society, 6, 100 ; on education
in France, 6, 169.
Merope, its lack of vitality, 2, 134.

Aroux on cryptonyms in the Middle
Ages, 4y 136 n.

Arrivabene on the date of Dante's
birth, 4, 121.

Art, English race cares nothing for,
1, 76 ; absorbed unconsciously, 113 ;
George Sand on, 379 ; a principle of
life its first requirement, 2, 138;
the basis of Judgment in, 3, 55 ; in-
stinct for it absent in the Saxon char-
acter, 3, 317 ; the conception and
form united, 4, 166; value of the
study of, 6, 93. See also, Esthet-
ics; Greek art; Literature; Paint-
ing; Sculpture.

Art, ancient, difiBculties in judging
truly, 1, 212.

Art, literary, its value, 2, 80 ; secures
lowness of tone, 82.

Art, works of, their life, 2, 127 ; their
principles immutable, but to be ac-
commodated, 131 ; often contain
more than the artist put there, 3,
90.

Art galleries, torments of English-
men in, 4, 12.

Artephns quoted, 2, 53.

Arthur, King, legends of, 2, 5, 359 ; 3,
310, 320 ; 4, 231 ; the vacant seat at
the Round Table, 263.

Arthur, Chester A., President of the
United States, character of, 6, 46.

Artifice in literature, 2, 121 ; 4, 8 ;
Pope its chief founder, 57.

Artificiality of life, 4, 32 ; illustrated
by the etfect of disguises, 1, 78.

Artillery-election days, 1, 58.

Artist, his character expressed in his
eyes, 1, 73 ; conditions of his work in
America thirty years ago, 76 ; dis-
tinguished from the Moralist, 4, 165.

Artists, English, in Italy,* 1, 76; wel-
comed by Italian peasauts, 176, 178.

Artistic nature, Spenser's definition
of, 4, 313.

Artistic sense wanting in Carlyle, 2, 90.

Ascbam, Roger, on Italy, 1, 125; 4,
26 ; on care of language, 3, 6.

Aspiration the ideal of Christian life,
4,234.

Assimilation, rapid, value of the power,
3, 137 n.

Associations, 3, 223 ; their power felt
in buildings and landscapes, 6, 139.

Assonance in Homer, 1, 292 ; MUton's
use of, 4, 97.

Assurance of faith. Captain Underbill's
account of, 2, 58.

Assyrian inscriptions, 1, 40.

Astral spirits, 2, 322 n.

Atheuaeus, 2, 292.

Athenodorus and the haunted house,
Pliny's story, 2, 323.

Athens, 2, 278 ; its place in the world
of thought, 6, 174.

Athens, American, political appropri-
ateness of the name, 2, 289.

Atlanta, taking of, effect on Demo-
cratic politics, 6, 161.

Aubrey on the alleged transportation
of witches, 2, 354.

Auchinleck on Cromwell, 4, 73.

Audience, Emerson's, described, 1,
355.

Augustine, St., Bishop of Hippo, his
confessions, 2, 261 ; on Rome, 4,
241 ; Dante on, 181.

Augustine, St., Archbp. of Canter-
bury, on sorceresses in the Alps, 2,
300.

Aureole seen in both summer and win-
ter, 3, 288.

Ausonius, 3, 306.

Austria, the various classes in, in 1546,
6, 14 ; taxation in, in 1546, 14 n.

Austrian peasants, 6, 14.

Authority, 3, 248 ; decline of rever-
ence for it, 6, 31 ; the respect for it
a century ago, 206.

Authors, their first appearance after
publication of a book described, 1,
260 ; lucky authors, 302 ; the repa-
ration that time brings to obscure
authors, 314 ; the pathos of obscu-
rity, 316 ; their characteristics to be
traced in their earliest works, 2, 84 ,*

286

GENERAL INDEX

miraries of profenional authorship,

Autobioffnphy, sincerity and absence
of self-i'ouHciouBiieiis uecesaary to, 2,

. 2(»; value of, 6, i)l.

Autocracy, 6, 193.

Autumn, 3, 25U.

Autumn of the world*8 life, 1, 141.

Autumn colors, 3, 222.

Avalanches, 5, 31.

Averafi^, Buckle's doctrine of, applied
to the relief of beggars, 3, 22U.

Bacchus Sabaxiiis, the origin of the
witches' Sabbath, 2, 317.

Bach, Sebahtian, 1, 101.

Background, want of, in America, 1,
113.

Backwoodsmen. See Woodmen.

Bacon, Frau(!is, Lord, his definition
of poetry, 2, !')(> ; Iiis language, 3,
12 n ; di8tru8ted Phiglinh, 10 ; his
times, 10 ; on wars, 6, 20 ; on read- ,
iug, 90 ; on the ability of learned
men in p<tlitics, 192.
Bcu Jonsou on, 1, 300 ; 3, 16.

Baden Revolution, 3, 227.

Baggage. 1, 28 ; its safety in the Maine
woods, 39. I

Bak&la, Wallachinn legend of, 6, 85. !

Balbo, bis loose way of writing history,
4, 133 n ; on Dante, 134 ; on the
large number of MS. copies of the
iJir. Com. 143.

Ballad poetry, Addison's praise of, 4,
3 ; Scottish, 208 ; of the 16th cen-
tury, 275.

Ballot. See Suffrage.

Bancroft, George, as a teacher in Har-
vard College, 6, 150 ; his translation
of Heereu, 157.

Bandit hats, 1, 178.

Banks, General, 3, 226.

Bapson, Ebenezer, 2, 373.

Barataria, 1, 72.

Bnrber, his tripod an oracle of news,
1, 58.

Barber's shop in Cambridge, 1, 01.

Barberiui Palace, in Palestrina, 1,
158.

Barbour's Brus, 4, 269 ; quoted, 270.

Barclay on Englishmen, 4, 12.

Bargain-making in Italy, \. 147, 149.

Barlow, Joel, 2, 153 ; the Columbiad^
3, 300 ; 6, 04.

Barmecide feasts of the Imagination,
1,80.

Barn-door, the picture seen through,
1, 18(5.

Banium, P. T., 1, 48 ; 2, 282 ; 3, 241.

Barnwell^ George, a tragedy. 8e^
Lillo.

Barrel-organ style of English poetry,
1, 245.

Barrett, Mr., Mayor of Washington,
6,62.

Barter, the characteriatic of one's
dealings with strangers, 1, 20.

Bartolommeo, Fra, 4, 120.

Barton, Mrs., her confeaaion of witob-
craft, 2, 342.

Batteux, Abb^, criUciaed by Leadng,
2, 199.

Battles, Mrs., rules for whist, 3. 273b

Battles and conquests of Old World,
2t 1 : their real declsiveneas, 6, 131.

Battledoor and shuttlecock atyle of
dialogue, 2, 137.

Baxter believed in witchcraft, 2, 877 ;
on the confession of witchcraft by
a parson, 392.

Bayle, Voltaire on, 4, 122.

Beard not worn in old Cambridge
days, 1, 90.

Boards, English, 1, 199.

Beatrice. See Dante.

Beauclerk, Topham, 2, 236.

Beaumont, Sir George, (m Words-
worth's politics, 4, 367 : hia friend-
ship with Wordsworth, 387.

Beaumont and Fletcher, 2. ISO.
Maid^s Tragedy altered or "im-
proved " by Waller, 3, 167 n ; 4^ 14 ;
quoted, 22, 24.

Beaupuis, General, Wordsworth inti-
mate with, 4, 364.

Beauty diminished by ntiliiation, 1.
202 ; an Irisliman's remark <m wluw
constitutes, 204; the highest Uiul
of, 2, 300 ; beauty and use in liter»>
ture, 4, 165 ; Dante on, 188 n. See
aho, Esthetics ; Art.

Becker, W. A., 2, 135.

Beecher, H. W., 5, 320.

Beefsteak, fried, 1, 8.

Beer, spruce and ginger, 1, 00.

Beethoven, 1, 356 ; hu symphonies, |^

A\'*rfa

Beets, 1, 60.

Befana, 2, 358.

Beggars, anecdote of an exemplary
bow from one, 1, 99 ; the nmumoe
of their life, 3. 225 ; theh: imagin-
ary journeys, 225 ; their encounge-
ment a sin against sociebr, ffl6;
proposal to ^prison, 226; oooh-
pared to unaddressed letters, 2SB6;
story of a German met on the Old
Road, Cambridge, 227 ; hia opiniooe
on America, 228 ; the fatal effect of
administering relief to the first one,
228.

Italian, their howl, 1, 165 ; in Bone,
206 ; their assiduity in doing noth-
ing, 207 ; their demand for prolee-
tion, 208; their deformities, 900;
the regular fee, 209. See ala^
Mendicancy.

Bekker's Bezauberte Welt, 2, 11, 88S.

Belief in every age dependent on what
men see, 2, 372; changes of, not
sharply marked, 4, 194.

GENERAL INDEX

237

Bell and Everett candidates in the
Presidential election of 1860, 5, 23,
25 ; their prime object to defeat the
Republican ticket, 27, 35.

Bell-founding, 3, 15.

Bellay, 4, 316 n ; on the introduction
of new words, 346.

Belmont, Augustus, speech at the
Chicago convention in 1864, 5, 156.

Benedetto, San, Convent of, at Su-
biaco, 1, 183.

Benedictines, their hospitality, 1, 144.

Bennet, minister in Brightling, 2, 394.

Benvenuto da Imola on Dante, 4, 138 ;
appointed to lecture on Dante, 142 ;
on the "second death" of Dante,
'226.

Beowulf, on travel, 1, 44.

Beppo, a rich beggar, 1, 209.

B^ranger, 3, 304 ; 4, 266 ; 5, 138 ; sen-
timent of, 2, 252 ; compared to Hor-
ace, 3, 305.

Bergerac, Peire de, quotation, 3, 310.

Bernard, Governor, 6, 151.

Bernard de Yentadour, 3, 303.

Bernardin do St. Pierre ; Paul and
Virginia^ 3, 64.

Bernini's angels on the Ponte Sant'
Angelo, 1, 190.

Bertrand de Bom, 3, 303.

Betham, Sir W., pedigpree of Spenser,
4,2%n.

Biagioli, commentator on Dante, 4,
169 n.

Bible, pronunciation of -ed in the Old
Testament, 4, 92 ; Dante familiar
with, 212 n ; its influence on the
English language, 277 n ; Words-
worth's better utterances compared
to, 408 ; would be an incendiary book
among slaves, 5, 5.

Bill of fare at the inn in Palestrina, 1,
158.

Bills of exchange invented by the Flor-
entines, 4, 118 D.

Billingsgate, 4, 269.

Biography, its essential materials, 1,
218 ; treatment of adverse criticism,
2, 113 ; its main hiterest, 287 ; the
filling, 295 ; undue length protested
against, 4, 58 ; the place of contem-
porary history in, 61 ; necessity of
distinguisliing between substantial
personages and supernumeraries,
62; should give the sifted results,
not the processes, of investigation,
62 ; Milton's remark on those who
gathered up personal traditions of
the Apostles applied to, 63 ; Words-
worth on the proper limits of, 392 ;
value of, for reading, 6, 91. See
cUso, American biography ; Autobi-
ography.

Birch, its place in education, 2, 298.

Birchen bark as an educational tonic,
1,263.

Bird in the bush worth two in the
hand, 1, 111 ; 2, 14.

Bird of paradise, 1, 112.

Bird-nesting, 3, 217.

Birds (My Garden Acquaintance),
3, 192-219 ; GUbert White's obser-
vations on, 193; the author's mS-
moires pour servir^ 198 ; weather-
wisdom of birds, 198 ; their mi-
grations, 199 ; their geographical
partialities, 200; relations between
different species, 205; sentimental
in the pairing season, 208; most
common in the neighborhood oi
man, 212 ; various bird-songs, 213 ;
disappearance of certain birds from
the neighborhood, 215 ; the pleasure
in the company and friendship of
birds, 218 ; seen in winter, 287.

Special kinds, viz. —

blackbird, European, 3, 213.

bluebird, 3, 287.

blue-jays, 3f 288; driven away by
robms, 206 ; accident in a nest
of, 206 ; trapped in the snow-crust,
207.

bobolink, 3, 211 ; verses on, 1, 55.

catbirds, 3, 201, 204; destroy the
nest of some yellow-birds, 205.

cedar-bird, 3, 200.

chic'kadee, 3, 288.

chip-bird, 3, 214.

chimney swallow. See Swift.

cockatoo in the Cambridge barber*a
shop, 1, 62.

cross-bills, 3, 199.

crow as a lover, 3, 209.

crow-blackbird, 3, 208.

cuckoo, 3, 214, 218.

ducks, summer, 3, 216.

fish-hawk, 1, 30.

flicker, or yellow-hammer, 3, 214.

geese, wild, 3, 199.

golden robin. See Oriole.

goldfinch, 3, 213.

grosbeak, rose-breasted, 3, 200.

hawk. See Hen-hawk ; Night-hawk.

hen-hawk, 3, 215.

herons, 3, 216.

house-martins, 3, 193.

hummhig-birdis, 3, 199, 210.

indigo-bird, 3, 213.

king-bird, 3, 200.

kingfisher, 1, 30 ; 3, 216.

larks on the road to Cavi, 1, 163 ;
Dante*s lines on, 316; Dryden's
and Jeremy Taylor's description of
their flight, 3, 121 ; the Troubadours
compared to, 303 ; Pope's lines on,
4,30.

linnets, 3* 199.

loons, 1, 16.

mavis, 3, 201.

night-hawk, 3, 215.

nightingales, 3. 213; heard at Go-
louna, 1, 156; at Subiaco, 183;

238

GENERAL INDEX

Dunbar*8 lines on, 4, 2G8 ; heard in
Greece, 6, 139'
nuthatch, 3, 287.
oriole, 3, 2U9, 213.

owls, 3, 215 ; Gilbert White's inti-
macy with, 194 ; a Persian poet on,
4, 114; Wordsworth on, 372. See
(UMf Screech-owL
pewees, 3, 217.
pigeon, wild, 3, 215.
pigeon-woodpecker. See Flicker,
plover, stilted, Gilbert White's obser-
vations on, 3, 194.
quail, 3, 214.

raven, dedicated to Satan, 2, 348.
robin, 3, 287 ; seen iu whiter, 200 ;
his song, 200, 202 ; taste for fruit,
201 ; cunning and self-confidence,
203; presence in the garden, 203;
drives away blue-jays, 20G; and
crow-blackbirds, 208.
robin, golden. See Oriole,
rooks, Gilbert White's observations
on, 3, 193.
screech-owl, his cry, 3, 203 n.
snow-bird, 3, 288.
song-sparrow, 3, 199.
sparrows, 3, 213.
swallows, 1, 185 ; 3, 215.
swifts, or chiumey-swallows, 3, 199,
215.

thrush, brown, 3, 204.
thrush, Wilson's, 3, 217, 218.
woodcock, 3, 217.

woodpecker, golden-winged. See
Flicker,
yellow-birds annoyed by catbirds, 3,
205.

yellow-hammer. See Flicker.
Birkenhead, wreck of, 3, 238.
Birkett, Mrs. Anne Wordsworth's first

teacher, 4, 358.
Birmingham, 6, 19.
Birth, pride of. See Ancestry.
Birtliplace, its peculiar and inalienable

virtue, 1, 51.
Bishop, Anne, witch, 2, 340.
Bishops, dumb, 1, 110.
Bismarck, Prince, 6, 208.
Blackburn the painter, 1, 75.
Blacklock, Dr., Latinisms of, 3, 184.
Blake, William, on Chaucer's charac-
ters, 3, 358.
Blanc, Mont, 1, 48.

Blank verse, 4, 23, 112, 113; Dry-
den on, 3, 137 n, 155; its difficulty,
157.
Blocksberg, favorite place for witches'

orgies, 2, 352.
Blokula, the place of meeting of Swe-
dish witches, 2, 353 n.
Blondin, a suitable candidate for the

Democrats in 18G4, 6, 157.
Bloomer costume, 1, 40.
Bloomfield, 3, 200.
Bloomsbury, 3» 239.

Blue-jays. See under Birda.

Bobbui-Boy, 3, 226.

Boccaccio, smoothness of his verse, 3,
349; appointed lecturer on Dante,
4, 142 ; his life of Dante untrust-
worthy, 191 n ; on Dante, 121,
135 u, 138, 190 n, 222 n ; on Card-
inal Poggetto's desire to bum the
bones of Dante, 141 ; alsOt 3. 364 :
4,1(X).

Bodin on the witchcraft of Abel de la
Rue, 2, 338 : on the identity of the
Devil and Pan, 347 ; on the trans-
portation of witches through the air,
353; on the fable of Circe, 360;
on the torturing of witches, 379 ;
justifies falsehood to a witch, 379 ;
favors burning as the punishment
of witchcraft, 380; on Wierus's
work, 383 ; his unsciiipulousness,
389; on the doings of evil spirits,
393; a/50,361, 375.

Bodmer, 2, 218 ; publishes the Nibe-
lungen Lied, 4, 6.

Body, the, compared to a lamp of fin-
est clay, 1, 73.

Boethius, 4, 181.

Boetius, 2, 322.

Bottiger supplied Goethe with facts,
3,47.

Boileau, Keats on, 3, 98 ; Dryden on,
99 ; his school critical not creative,
4,7.

Bolingbroke, affected indifference to
the world in his correspondence, 4,
28 ; the St. John of Pope's gospel in
the Essay on Man, 38.

Bolivar, the '' liberator of the world of
Columbus," 2, 283.

Bologna, Dante's connection with, 4.
154.

Bolton, Edmund, on Daniel, 4, 280 n.

Bonaparte, Lucieu, his Charlemagne,
6,64.

Bonaparte, Napoleon. See Napo-
leon I.

Bonhomme Richard. See Jones, Paul.

Boniface VIII., Pope, in the Divine
Comedy, 4, 240, 245.

Book collectors, 1, 248.

Book making the last refuge of the
unhappy, 1, 72.

Book rarities, 1, 248.

Books, sacredness of, 1, 250; Ire-
land's Book-lover^s Enchiridion, 6,
78; the comfort and friendship of,
79 ; the real world created by the
imagination in them, 80; Words-
worth on, 80 ; the " good society "
to be found in, 84 ; the wide range
of character and subject, 85 ; the
armories of human experience, 190 ;
easier reading than some other
kinds of printed matter, 192. See
also, Literature; Reading; Old
books.

GENERAL INDEX

239

Books and ubbabivs; address at
Cholsea, 22 Dec., 1885, 6, 78-98.

Booths and shows at the Harvard
Gommencemeut, 1, 79.

Bordeaux wine, increased exportation
of, 6, 9.

Bores, the fate of, 2, 65 ; Nature's
field of honest labor for, 3, 256.

Bom, Bertrand de, 3, 303.

Bomeil, Girard de, Dante on, 4, 210 n.

Bossuet, 3, 185.

Boston, the Common, 1, 3 ; formerly
the front door of America, 98 ; in-
troduction of Cochituate water, 203 ;
its wrangle with New York, 2, 278 ;
the character of its life and influ-
ence, 289 ; the vicinity of the Col-
lege, 290 ; the changes in its life, 291 ;
Josiah Quincy as mayor of, 303 ; its
literary supremacy, 6, 82.

Boewell as unique hitherto as Shake-
speare, 1, 74; his desire to visit
Rome, 1!^; rescued from obloquy
by Carlyle, 2, 87 ; kept company
with Rousseau, 235; his letters to
Temple, 261.

Bosworth on the special virtues of
Saxon, 3, 15.

Bottom, the Weaver, 3, 319.

Bouhours, P^re, on German culture, 3,
231.

Bounties, 6, 187.

Bourdaloue, 6, 14.

** Bourgeois" applied to a want of
propriety in diction, 3, 125.

Bouterwek on Don Quixote, 6, 126.

Bowing, Francis Sales* exquisite bow
described, 1, 98 ; three exemplary
bows, 99.

Bowles, Rev. W. L., 4, 54.

Bowyer, James, of Christ's Hospital,
6,163.

Boyd, Henry, first translator of the
Divine Comedy in English, 4, 147.

Boys, American, 1, 50 ; public opin-
ion of, true and discerning, 222 ; at
play in the snow, 3, 281.

Bradshaw on Chaucer's doubtful pro-
ductions, 3, 296 n.

Brahma, 1, 350 ; 3, 19.

Brain, the supposed masculine and
feminine lobes, 2, 271.

Bran, its prophets, 1, 362.

Brandellius and Mogusius, 2, 201.

Brandy and lager-beer, the Dutch-
man's distinction, 1, 127.

Bravos, 1, 178.

Breakfast in a hay-maker's camp, in
northern Ifaine, 1, 38.

Breckinridge, John C., candidate for
President in 1860, views of the Con-
stitution, 4, 24 ; his honesty, 6, 35.

Breeches, Roger Williams refuses to
sell them to the Indians, 2, 69.

Bre'tinger, Oottsched on his Art of
Poetry, 2, 218.

Brentford sceptre, 1, 76.

Brewer, the, in Cambridge, 1, 60.

Brewster, Jonathan, his alchemistical
researches and correspondence with
the younger Winthrop, 2, 51 ; his
reasons for secrecy, 55; on the
character of the New England state,
6,97.

Bribery, its increase in American pol*
itics, 6, 199.

Brick blocks in Cambridgeport, 1, 7L

Bride of Corinth, 2, 363.

Bridge at Subiaco, 1, 181.

Brissotins, 4, 355, 384.

Britannia's trident, its advantages, 1,
120.

British. See English.

Bronte, Charlotte — Jane Eyre, 4, 377.

Brook, seen under snow-drifts, 3, 279 ;
frost-work on, 285.

Brook Farm, Emerson on, 1, 357.

Brook', Phillips, contributions to
Stanley Hall received through his
hands, 6, 49.

Broome, his part in Pope's Homer, 1,
267.

Broomstick, origin of the stories of its
use by witches, 2, 356.

Brossier, Martha, on trial for witch-
craft in 1598, 2, 393.

Brother, as a title, 1, 135.

Brown hands, 1, 186.

Brown, Tom, 3, 185 n.

Browne, Sir Thomas, believed in witch-
craft, 2, 387 ; his language, 3, 12 n ;
pronimciation of -ed, 4, 92 n ; also,
1, 249, 381 ; 3, 3 ; 4, 105.

Browne, Thomas, of Middlesex, ac-
cused of witchcraft, 2, 332 n.

Browne, William, 4, 300 ; verses sug-
gested by Spenser, 349 p.

Browning, verses on St. Peter's, 1,
200 ; his picture of an old king, 2,
109 ; 6, 27 ; his increasing manner-
ism, 2, 121 ; on creative genius, 6,
54; a/«o,4, 369.

BroMming, Mrs., Aurora Leigh be-
longs to the physically intense
school, 2, 122.

Browsing, Johnson and Lessing both
fond of, 2, 191.

Bruce, Latinisms of, 3, 184.

Brunelleschi. 4, 119.

Brunswick, Duke of, appoints Lessing
librarian, 2, 207.

Bryant, poem on the Embargo, 2, 301 ;
his rtyle compared with Milton's,
4,86.

Bryskett, Lodowick, on Spenser, 4^
292 n.

Buchan, Lord, 1, 133.

Buchanan, President, his administra-
tion, 5, 43 ; his theory of laissez-
faire, 47, 56 ; his fatal indecision,
56; his correspondence with the
South Carolina commiisioners, 69 ,-

240

GENERAL INDEX

hia cabins, 81; a/«o, 4,78; 6, 41,

62, 2yl, 2»7.
Biickingliam, Duke of. See Villiers,

George.
Buckle on Burke, 2, 233; doctrine

of averages, 3, 'J^ ; theory on the

advance of mankind, 4, 254 ; hiu

hiatorical method, 5, 124.
Buddhist ceremonies, traces of in the

Roman Church, 1, 200.
Biirger, P/arrer'A Tochter^ possibly

sufirgested Wordsworth's Thom^ 4L

3S0.
Buflfalo, Romish priests compared to,

1, 154.
Buil«lni(?-]ots, 1, 71.
Bull, Jereiiiiali, 2, 64.
Buncombe oratory, 5, 49.
Bunker Hill, 1, 3.

Bunyan compared with Spenser as to
all^i^ry, 4, 322 ; the secret of his
power, 322 ; a/«o, 2, 286 ; 3, 318 ;
4,117.

Burgoyue, General, his soldiers quar-
tered in Massachusetts Hall, 1, 56.

Burke, Edmund, his prose, 1, 246 ; his
generosity of ** communication,"
371 ; the imagination in his works,

2, 81 ; Lessing's debt to, 225 n ; a
sentimentalist, 233; tlie character
of his political wiftdom, 234; his
hatred of Rousseau, 234 ; an inspired
snob, 236 ; his style, 3, 130 ; influ-
ence of his writings, 6, 79 ; states-
manship shown in his writings and
speeches, 197 ; harmonious working
of his understanding and his imag-
ination, 197 ; aho, 4, 80 ; 6, 12.

compared with Fislier Ames, 2, 275 ;

with Dryden, 3, 100 ; with Milton

in political wisdom^ 4, 81 ; with Dr.

Johnson, 6, 197.

on Rousseau, 2, 232 ; on Sheridan,

3y 121 ; on the condition of the

American Colonies, 6, 202.

Buckle on, 2, 233 ; Wordsworth on,

3, 104 ; 4, 366 ; Johnson on, 6, 71.
Burleigh, Lord, hostile to Spenser, 4,

290 ; Spenser's allusions to, 291 ;

a/.w, 4, 317, 325.
Burlingrton, Lord, Pope's letter to^ 4,

53.
Burnet, Dryden's lines on, 3, 178.
Bums, Anthony, 5, 69.
Burns, Robert, Emerson's speech on,

at the Centenary dinner, 1, 359;

his sufferings from his biographers,

2, 162 ; on snow, 3, 279 ; influence

on Wordsworth, 4, 369; alw, 2,

206, 242 ; 3, 304 ; 4, 270.
Busby, Dr., 1, 264; 2, 106.
Business prevents crankiness, 2, 9.
Bussy-Rabutin, 4, 287 ; on winter in

the country, 3, 262.
Butcher without his coat, arrested for

contempt of court, 1, 66.

! Buti, on the date of Dante*B birth, 4^

, 198 n; on Dante, 206; on Dante's
'* second death," 225.

, Butler, Samuel, on poetical compoai-

tion, 4, 25; Dryden on, 3, 138 n;

Coleridge uu HudibraSf 6, 72.

Butterfly, Spenser's verses on, 4, 810.

Buttmau's Greek grammar translated

by Everett, 6, 166.

, Byron compared with Wordsworth
and Keats, 1, 242; his influenoe
traced on J. G. Percival, 2, 144;
Moore's connection with, 2m; his
admiration for Pope, 4^ 66; hia
replies to Bowles, 65 ; Bpenaer'a
influence upon, 352 ; alto, 2, 120,
155, 237 ; 3, 179, 262 ; 4, 64, 871»
378.
on the sea, 1, 100; on the faUs ot
Temi, 129; on Rome, 189; on ex-
ecution as a te«t of merit, 4, 42 ; on
Wordsworth, 388; on Fielding, 6,
64.

G = Andrew Craigie.

Cabalists, 3, 9.

Cactus, 4, 172.

Cspsar both a writer and a waRioTa
2,286.

Calderon, fondness for slmilea and
conceits, 1, 103; drama on The-
ophilus, 2, 331 ; Diyden's JEvenit^
Love taken from, 3, 148; retaina
always a provincial accoit, 6, 108 ;
his dramatic power, 116; passage
cited, 3, 53 n; ahOf 3, 66: 4 166:
6, 72, 115.

Calendar of Roman beggars, 1, 207*

California, 3, 24Q,

Calif omian, met in a tavern at FaMa*
wampscot, 1, 188.

Calling names, 5, 306.

Calm at sea, 1, 101.

Calvin, Rousseau trained in the scbool
of, 2, 245 ; on monarchy, 4f 161.

Calvinism, its effect on the charaoter,
2,270.

CAMBBIOOa THIBTT TSAB8 AGO, 1, 43-

99 ; its characteristics and «n)ear>
ance, 53 ; still a village, 63, 60 ; 8,
220 ; the New Road, 1, 64 ; the tieea
and churches, 54 ; the Charles, 64 ;
the Old Road and its horse-chestniitty
54 ; 3, 224 ; the Common, 1, 66; ita
special peculiarities not yw gonn,
58; institutions mora aataldiahed,
58 ; Newman, the white-waaher, BO ;
Lewis, the brewer, 60 ; the barber*a
shop, 61 ; the two groceries, 68 ; tba
town constables, 64 ; the two Sootoh
gardenera, 65 ; the old court-honae,
66; the twin Snows, the oyster
men, 66; the sloop Harvard, 68;.
the Port, 70 ; the Muster and the
Comwallifl, 77 ; Commenoement
day, 79; its street lamps, 3, 2M;

GENERAL INDEX

241

the best spot on the hat>itable globe,
262. See aUo^ Harvard College.

Cambridge Synod of 1679, 2. 12.

Cambridge University, England, Dry-
den on, 3, 106 ; the spell of its ven-
erable associations, 6, 139.

Cambridgeport, a great caravansary
rather than a suburb, 1, 70; the
marshes bought by Bufus Daven-
port, 71.

Camenz, Lessing at school in, 2t 182.

Gameronianism, 2, 73.

Campagna, view of, 1, 139; seen at
sunset, 146 ; railroaas out of har-
mony with, 151 ; seen from the road
to Cavi, 1G2 ; Gervinus on Shake-
speare, likened to its underground
caverns, 2, 1G8.

Campaldino, battle of, Dante present
at, 4, 127.

Campbell, 3, 144 n ; on Pope, 4,
64.

Campion, Thomas, 4, 277.

Canada, the journals recommend strict
neutrality in 1861, 6, 87.

Canker-worms, 1, 89 ; 3, 209.

Canoec called birches on the Maine
lakes, 1, 24; the felidae of water-
craft, 33 ; experiences in a leaky
canoe, 36.

Cant defined, 2, 97.

Cantii on Dante, 4, 166.

Capitals, American, not truly so, 2,
286.

Captain, Dutch, L.*s story of, 1, 119<

Caractacus. See Mason, William.

Carbery, Countess of, Jeremy Taylor's
description of, 4, 47.

Cardinal and his attendants, a bow re-
turned by them, 1, 99, 208.

Caricature, the truth in, 3, 231.

CarItlb, Thomas, 2, 77-119 ; gave
the immediate impulse to the tran-
scendental movement, 1, 361 ; his
true connection with it, 363 ; the
herald of the decease of Scotch
Presbyterianism, 364, and the em-
bodiment of its spirit, 366; com-
pared with Emerson in the charac-
ter and result of his teaching, 367 ;
possibility of arriving at a just esti-
mate of him, 2, 84 ; the bent of his
mind illustrated by his earl^ critical
essays, 86; his sympathetic appre-
ciation of character, 86 ; his critical
method, 87, 89 ; his humor ends in
cynicism, 88, 89; Bichter's influ-
ence upon, 88 ; tendency to con-
found the moral with the aesthetic
standard, 89: his lack of artistic
sense, 90; his faults of style and
thought traced to their root in char-
acter, 91 ; his position as a moral
and political philosopher, 91 ; his
sentimentalism and love of the pic-
turesque, 92; seeks his ideal in

Individuals rather than in the race,
92 ; his Hero-cure, 92 ; his treat-
ment by Cromwell or Friedrich
imagined, 94 ; the dominie spirit
continually more obtrusive in his
writings, 94 ; the increasing ex-
travagance of his hero-worship, 96 ;
his remedy for the World's failure
to call for Hercules, 96; has only
repeated himself since Sartor Re-
sartujt^ 96 ; his cynicism, 97, 103 ;
his limitations as an historian, 99 ;
his epical treatment of history, 99 ;
the vividness of his pictures, 99, 102,
118 ; his lack of comprehensiveness,
99 ; his want of impartiality, 100 ;
narrative wearisome to him, 101,
118; his accuracy of observation
and description, 102 ; his demand
of blind hero-worship, 105 ; the cud-
gel theory of divine government,
105; the intensity of his convic<
tions, 106 ; dechne of sincerity
caused by the struggle for novelty,
108; his teaching, the ** literature
of despair," 109; his choice of
Friedrich as a hero, 110 ; his lack of
historic insight. 111 ; the character
of his passion for truth, 113; his
skill in winning sympathy for a
character, 115; a great poet in all
but rhythm, 117 ; his belief in brute
force, 117; his loyalty to reality.
118; his value as an inspirer and
awakener, ll8 ; his influence second
only to Wordsworth's, 119; his
power of pictorial narration, 4, 65 ;
leads the reaction against modem
civilization, 6, 250 ; also, 4, 867 ; 6,
120, 123, 173.
on the dissolution of Parliament in
1656, 2, 34 ; on Boswell, 87 ; on
Dr. Francia, 95 ; on Edward Irving,
107 ; on America, 3, 234 ; 6, 26 ; on
the Hohenzollems, 3; 247 ; on the
Civil War, 247 ; on Dante, 4, 164,
183 n, 205 n.

Critical esmys^ 2, 85, 88; — Freder*
ick the Great, 99, 110-116, 187;
— French Revolution^ 89; — Mon*
taignet 85; — Sartor Resartus, 1,
361 ; 2, 88 ; — Schiller, 2, 116.

Carnival, 1, 78.

Carratella, a ride in, 1, 162.

Carter, Miss, Wordsworth's fondness
for her Poem on Spring, 4, 369.

Cary, Henry, translation of the Divine
Comedy, 4, 147.

Cary, Jonathan, of Salem, 2, 394.

Casella, 4, 125.

Cass, Lewis, 6, 291.

Caste in New England and Virginia,
2,15.

Castles in the air, 2, 93.

Castor and Pollux of the oyster trade,
1,67.

242

GENERAL INDEX

Cofitriot, Oeorfi^, king of Epinis, 1,

313.
Cat at the inn in Palentrinit, 1, Kil.
Catacombs, guides in, 6» T'''>
Cataloffuea, library, 6, K): tbe au-

tlior's first of liis librar>', 1, 'J49.
Catliarine-wtieeln, Soutli American

republics comi>ared to, 2, 283.
Catholicism, filee Ronuui Catliolicism.
Cato, 6, 1*27 ; ailvice in regard to

companions, 6, 8G.
Catullus, 3. 3()5.
Caudine yoke, 6, 9*
Cause and effect proportionate, 6,

20*.
Cavalcanti, Ouido, 2, 80 ; 4, 180.
Cavalier and Puritan compared, 2,

71.
Cavi, the ride to, from Palestrina, 1,

1(^2 ; tlio streets of, 1G3.
Cavi, Monte, its volmnic character,

1, 140 ; seen from Olevano, 174.
Cayenne, a place for red-peppery tem-

porameiits, 6, 01.
Cedars witli gray moss, in the moon-

liplit, 1, 35.
Celery, 1, 59.
Celibacy, 1, 91.
Cellini, Benvenuto, on ftutobiogra-

KliicR, 2, 2(X) ; anecdote of his buy-
oo<l, 3, 95 ; aho, 4, 124, 39S.

Ceremonial, 2, 290; PhUip II. 's am-
bassador on, 108.

Certopa, 1, 59.

Cervoiitcfl, his humor, 1, 278 ; 6, 119,
129 ; his training, 2, 90 ; his univcr-
saltty, 3, 26 ; analysis of complex
motives in, 57; on translntion, 4,
218 n ; his optimism, 6, 118 ; the fa-
ther of the modem novel, 135 ; a/«o,

2, 109 ; 3, IG.

Don Quixote^ 6, 115-136 ; its place in
the affections of mankind, 117 ; the
book thoroughly good-natured and
good-humored, 118; the dedication
to the Second Part, 119 ; compared
with Robinson Cruxoe^ 119 ; its
moral, 120, 123; its pathos, 120;
Don Quixote's conception of his
mission, 1'21 ; transcendental criti-
cism applied to, 122 ; Don Juan Ya-
lera's objections to subtle interpre-
tations, 122 ; Cervantes' purpose in
writing tlie book, 123, 135 ; a satire
on doctrinaire reformers, 123 ; the
rescue of the boy Andres, 125; the
objects of his benevolence come
back to his discomfiture, 125 ; San-
clio tlie practical man, 125, 126, 129,
131 ; (5, 191) ; the liberation of the
galley-slaves, 126; the characters,
not realistic, but entirely lifelike,
being idealized conceptions, 127 ; its
humor, 129 ; the psycliologicnl truth
of the hero's character, 130; tho
key of his character, 131 ; the island

which 8aricho Is to gorem, 182;
conscience of Don Quixote and that
of Sineho, K'S: the adventure of
the f^iUtufr Mills, 133 ; character d
Bancho, VX\ ; tho quality of the nar-
rative, 134 ; the practical Jokee
played on Don Quixote resented by
the reader, 134; Dulcinea, 4, 200;
Coleridge on, 6, 126 ; Fitzgerald on,
IS.*); flr/«o, 2, 5; 6, 104.

Chain, lengthening the, a favorite fig-
ure with several poets, 3y 136 n.

Cliairman. his privilege of speaking
first, 6, 181 ; his true office, 181.

Chamisso ; Pfter SchlemiAl, origin of
tlie story. 2, 368.

Chance, 4, 391 n.

Change, perpetual, in tbe world aroand
us, 6, 7.

Changelings, general belief in, 2, 363.

Chansons de Geste, 3, 310. See aho^
Romances of Chivalry.

Chapman, his long sentences, 1, 217 ;
effect of his translations on Bueats,
224, 296; his diction and poetic
depth, 277 ; his reverence for
Homer, 290; a master of verw,
292 ; his description of a virtuons
wife, 4, 47; use of nak't, Baf*t,
etc., 92 ; his spelling, 92 n ; also, 1.
279; 6,72.

on the moon, 1, 105 : on his tranda-
tion of Homer, 2o8; on pedantio
trnn^lators, 290.

Biron^s Conspiracy and Tragedy^ 3,
23 n ; — Hornet^ reprinted in tlie
"Library of old authora,»» 1, 256;
its merit, 290; the simfles, 291;
the character of the Terse, 292;
passages quoted and compared ^th
Lord Derby's, 293 ; Hooper's edition,
287 ; the shortcomings of the editor,
296; the sea passages fine, 296;
fine single phrases, 296; o/m, 3,
275 ; Odyssey quoted, 4, 90 n ; Cole-
ridge on, 1, 287; Dryden on, 3,
136 ; Keats on, 4, 294.

Character, it is cumulative, 1, 6 ;froia
what it results, 219; Smerson's
power a testimonial to the value of,
S53 ; as rare as genius, and nobler,
2| 171 ; Leasing on, 195 ; importaxire
of, in a teacher of morals, 243; not
concerned in a work of the high-
est genius, 257 ; valued above talnit,
257 ; influence of sorromidinga
upon, 277 ; influence of democracy
on, 287 ; Imowledge of it not gained
by a too minute subdiyidon of faip
gredients, 4, 62 ; its power in liter-
ature, 261 ; influenced by company
and by reading, 6, 86 ; a chief fac-
tor in the course of history, 91 ; its
importance in the regeneraticm of
society, 103 ; alsOj 3, 188.

Charing Cross, London, 3, 262.

GENERAL INDEX

243

Charity, 6, 48; required in judging
the doctrines of others, 2, 39i5.

Charlemagne, 2, 110, 112.

Charles I. of England, Marvell on, 4,
70 ; Masson's description of, 70.

Charles II. of England, 3, 118; 4,
70 ; on the English climate, 3, 283 ;
his French tastes, 4, 11.

Charles V., Emperor, 6, 14.

Charles XII. of Sweden, Pope on,
4,44.

Charles Edward, the Young Pretender,
the interest attaching to, 2, 275.

Charles River and its marshes, 1, 64.

Charleston, 2, 289.

Charlestown boys in Cambridge, 1,
58.

Charlton, Dr., Dryden'a verses ad-
dressed to, 3, 118.

Charon, 1, 156, 189.

Chateaubriand, his sentimentalism, 1,
100, 37G ; his attempts at suicide, 2,
160 ; also, 237, 266, 271 ; 3, 262.
on desiring misfortune, 2, 250; on
Rousseau and Voltaire, 265; on
Shakespeare, 3. 63 ; on the wilder-
ness, 212 ; on Dante, 4, 144.

Chatterton, Keats*s sympathy for, 1,
224 ; Wordsworth on, 4, 4 n.

Craucbb, 3, 291-366 ; the springtime
freshness of his writings, 291 ; the
absence of self-consciousness, 293 ;
Occleve's portrait of bim, 294 ; the
few facts of his life, 294 ; describes
himself m the Clerk of Oxford, 295 ;
the doubtful poems, 296 n ; the pub-
lications of the Chaucer Society and
of other authors, 297 ; his indebted-
ness to earlier poets, 300; his iu-
dght into life, 301 ; his debt slight
to the Proven^ poets, 304; Nor-
man influence seen in his work,
321 ; a scholar, thinker, and critic,
821 ; compared with Dante, 322 ;
the true forerunner of Shakespeare,
824 ; his structural faculty, 324 ; a
reformer without cynicism in liter-
ature and morals, 325 ; the English
narrative poetry of his time, 325 ;
his effect on the English language,
828, 335, 336; compared with Lang-
land, 330 ; his literary sense, 331 ;
the charm of his language, 335 ; his
Terse, 336; misapprehension of his
verse by modern editors, 338;
emendations necessary to restore
his verse, 341 ; the theory that he
did not sound final and medial « dis-

S roved, 343 ; follows the Roman
e la Rose in this respect, 345 ; lack
of uniformity in tliis, 347 ; his rule
to be deduced from hin musical
verses, not from the halting ones,
849 ; his power as a narrative poet,
351 ; his fathetio passages, 352 ; his
humor, 352, 364; hit o(nnbination

of energy with simplicity, 353;
compared with Shakespeare as to
the action of the imagination, 354 ;
his simple love of nature, 355 ; the
continuity and oven power of his
best tales, 355 ; his naturalness, 357,
361 ; his epithets, 357 ; his charac-
ters, 358, 364 ; his satire, 360, 174 ;
his origiuality, 360 ; allegory not at-
tractive to him, 363 ; the character
of his work reviewed, 363 ; his per-
sonal character, 365 ; Pres. Kirk-
land's resemblance to, 1, 84 ; a
sceptic in regard to witclicraft, 2,
381 ; his language, 3, 12 n ; his
knowledge of Dante, 4, 146 ; Spen-
ser's master, 301 ; also, 2, 105, 113 ;
3, 64 ; 4, 25, 155 ; 6, 108 ; quoted,
3, 261, 336, 366.

on truth, 3, 296 ; on inconstancy, 1,
281.

Dryden on, 3, 180, 293 ; Gower on,
321 ; Coleridge on his verse, 340 ;
William Bl^e on his characters,
358 ; Spenser on, 365.
Cantei'bury Tales, the device of con-
necting them an afterthought, 3,
297 ; the six-text edition, 297 ; Al-
dine edition and Wright's edition,
343 ; their happily chosen plan,
364 ; House of Fame, 365 ; Monk^a
Tale, 321 ; Romaunt of the Rose,
language of, 11 ; Sir Thopas, 321.

Chaucer Society, 3, 297, 343.

Cheeriness of Francis Sales, 1, 97.

Cheese with power to turn men into
beasts, 2, 360.

Cheever's Accidence, 2, 299.

Cheiron, his autobiography imagined,
2,261.

Chelsea public library, address at the
opening of, 6, 78-98.

Chesterfield, Lord, on Dante, 4, 146.

Chevy Chase, 1, 356.

Chicago Convention of 1864, 6, 155.

Chidley, Mrs. Katherine, Masson^s
description of, 4, 70.

Child, F. J., his Chaucer studies, 3,
298.

Childhood, recollections of, 2, 17.

Children, all geniuses at first, 2, 259
action of the imagination In, 819
effect of teaching by rote, 4, 368
their natural heathy desirBS to be
satisfied, 6, 95.

Chivalry of the South, 6, 80; made
real in the verses of the trouv^res,
242.

Choice of words, 1, 245. See also.
Diction.

Chonis, Greek, its commonplaces, 2,
137.

Christ, Edw. Howes on the true idea
of, 2, 60 ; Dante on his relation to
the Roman Empire, 4, 152 ; brought,
not peace, but a sword, 6, 10 ; his

244

GENERAL INDEX

true MC<»id comini; heralded by the
progreas of democracy, 310; the
first true democrat and the first
true gentleman, 6, 121.

ChrifltlMi idea in Ktemture, contrasted
with the Pagan idea, 4, 234 ; em*
bodied by Dante, LH^.

Christians, inconsistencies of, seized
np<ni by scoffers, 6, 11.

Christianity, intensifies self-conscious*
nesa, 2, 13C ; revolutionizes Art in
the Divina Commedia^ 4, ICl ; its
histoij not concession, but aggres-
rion, o, 10 ; its spirit characterized,
15; its power irresistible, 16; the
gains of eighteen centuries, 22.

Christmas, the customs and feelings
of the season, 6, 181.

Church, the, its discussions out of
touch with the World, 2, 217;
driven to maintain its power by
arousing fear, 397 ; Dante's view of,
4, 244; the first organized demo>
cracy, 6, 14 ; Wordsworth's attitude
toward, lOG.

Church and State, Dante's theory of,
4, 163, 173.

Church of England. See England,
Church of.

Church-going in Italy, 1, 143.

Church-wardens, 1, 177.

Churchyards, desecration of, Web-
ster's lines on, 1, 285.

Churcliill, an example of short-lived
poptdarity, 2, 80 ; Cowj^r on, 80.

Cibber, on the periwig, 3, 159 ; on
Dryden's Rhodomontades, 174 n.

Cicero, his twaddle about Greek liter*
ature and philosophy, 1, 100.

Ciceroni in Italy, 1, 134.

Cid, Song of the, 2, 152 ; 6, 116.

Cigars, Prof. F.'s practice with regard
to, 1, 93.

Cimabue, 4, 118 ; Dante said to have
been his pupil, 125.

Cinchona, its properties made known
by Sir K. Digby, 2, 56.

Cintra, Convention of, Wordsworth's
pamphlet on, 4, 389.

Circe, JBodin on, 2, 360.

City in winter, 3, 284.

City and country, Cowper on, 3, 269.

Cities, failure of universal suffrage in,
6. 11 ; democracy in small cities,
23 ; the dangers of, from ignorance
and poverty, 25.

Citizenship. See American citizen-
ship.

Civil service, the shortcomings of the
spoils system and the absurd de-
ductions from it, 6, 214 ; the abuses
to be rooted out at their origin,
215.

Civil war, an impartial history of, im-
jDoseible, 6| 131 ; American ideas of,

Civil War. American* Bee AmerlcM
Civil War.

Civilixation, the decay of, 6, 810 ; the
means of its progress. 6, 172: Ita
moral and its a«thetlc elements,
173; the need of cultivated men,
174 ; literature as a mark of, 228.
See also^ American civiUaatlon ; Cul«
ture ; Progress ; Bodety.

Civilized man confronted with the
forest solitudes and with bis real
self, 2, 6.

Civita Vecchia, proposed raflroad to,
1, 160 ; quarrtu between an Italian
landing and the custom-house offi-
cer, 168; the road from, to Rome,
189.

Clark, Sir James, Keata's phyrieian at
Rome, 1, 239.

Clarke, Charles Cowden, of Enfield,
John Keats at his school, 1, 221;
lent Keats Spenser, 228.

Class legislation, 6, 175.

Classic defined, 4, 266.

Classics, superstitions attaching to, 2,
129 ; the debt of modem literature
to, 3, 311 ; the studv of, 6, 164 ; not
properly **dead" languages, 165;
See also, Greek ; Latin.

Classical antiquity not rated at ita
true value, I, 212.

" Classical " English recommended as
a model by the older critics, 3, 96.

Classical quot-ations, relish for, 2^ iSO,

Claude, 3, 358.

Claudian, Dryden on, 3, 180.

Clearness necessary to good writing,
4, 55.

Clergy of New England. 1, 86; 2,
291 ; 6. 144 ; in 17th and 18th centa^
ries, 154.

Clerk of the Weather, 3, 199.

Cleveland, President, his ancestors, O.
156 : greeting to him at the Harvard
anniversary, 180; a repreaentative
of Americanism, 184 ; hts character,
185 ; his message on the tariff, 166,
186.

Clio, her gossip, 2, 284.

Clothes, 3, 244; ready-made, 1, 89:
interpenetrate with the nature of
their wearers, 95.

Clothes of the soul, lines on, 1, 46.

Clothes-line in the wind, Perdval's
blank verse compared to, 2, 142.

Clotho, 1, 155.

Clouds, 3, 314 ; at Subiaco, 1, 188 ; be-
fore a snow-storm, 3, 276.

Cloud-shadows, 1, 174.

Clough, A. H., on the atmoepbere of
Cambridge, 1, 53; at sea, 102; hie
true expression of the tendenciee of
his thne, 2, 121 ; 3, 243.

Clown in English and Bpanidi trag*
edy, 2, 131 ; his abeence in Amerioa,
6,246.

GENEHAL INDEX

ClrtanueBtnt,

Bcott on, e, 73,

Aacinn afarbitr, 4, STI; 6, T3;
Wocdiwortta an, 4, 4M p i — Calul-
lian Hemleoinii/abici, ■ill ; —
Chriilabcl. 6, T6 ; - The Fritnd, i
aeOl — WaUauletit, 8, m

246

GENERAL INDEX

tain ft oertiflcate, 1. 143 ; the DevQ
anks the privilege of, 2, 366.

Confessional, 1, 197.

Goufiscatiou of property, 6, 226.

Congress, compared to a boy's debat-
ing-club, 6, 19 ; the best men not
sent to, from the North, 135 ; resi-
dence as a qualiAcatiou for, 136 ; 6f
214 ; speeches in, really addressed
to the member's constituency, 6,
2G5 ; also, 6, 27.

Congressional Globe, 4, 300.

Congreve, 3, 150, 188 ; 4, 19 ; on Dry-
deu, 3, 178, 191.

Conscience, 6, 129 ; the flaming
sword of, 10 ; the good taste of the
soul, 6, 178.

Conservatism, of Dante, 4, 160 ; as
shown by members of the American
Tract Soo., 6, 12; the result of
holding office, 18 ; claimed by three
American parties in 18C0, 27 ; the
result of ownership, 27; of demo-
cracies, 70 ; also, 3(>, 3(5, 42.

Conservative temperaments, effect of
progress on, 1, 85.

Consistency, instinct of, 4, SC8 ; com-
monly considered of more impor-
tance than statesmanship, 6, 2GG.

Consolation, commonplace its twin
sister, 3, 50.

ConBpicuousness, 2, 59.

Constables, 2, CO, 01 ; of Cambridge,
1,64.

Constantine, donation of, Dante on, 4,
239.

Constitution, men in good health un-
conscious of having, 6, 5.

Constitution, American. See United
States — CouEtitution.

Contemplation, Dante on, 4, 210.

Contemplative life, tlie path of the
old Mystics to, 1, 374.

Contempt of court, not wearing one's
coat a ground of arrest, 1, CG.

Continuity of character exemplified
in Horatio, 3, 80.

Continuity, hibtoric, its effect on na-
tional individuality, 6, 223.

Convents, instances of demoniac pos-
session in, 2, 371.

Conventions of the *' transcenden-
tal " times, 1, 362.

Conventional life. Pope its peculiar
poet, 4, 25.

Conventional taste, 4, 8.

Conventionality, Protestants against
the religion of, 6, 250.

Conventionalities, 6, 192.

Conversation, compared to a saw-mill,
1, 3 ; the pendi^um species of, 17 ;
on the weather, 20; its proper
measure, 43 ; at night over the fire
on the hearth, 50; J. F.'s favorite
topic Eternity, 90; on old times,
145; of the monologue yariety, in

HaydoD*B pftiiiting)-rooiii, 228. Sw
also. Dialogue.

Conversion, the American Tract Soci-
ety's attitude toward, 6* 6, 7.

Conviction, 6, 178 ; emotion miataken
for, 2, 260.

Cookery and good writing, their oom>
mon principles, 3, 119.

Cooking, the salaeratua period found
on Moosehead Lake, 1, 25.

Cooper, J. F., 6f 96; his conception
of the poetic aide of early American
history, 2, 5.

Copley, Ajithony, a passage of Shake-
speare's traced to, 1, 816.

Copley, John Singleton, character of
his painting, 1. 76.

Copperheads, 6, o06.

Corey's Hill seen at twUight, 3, 221.

Comwallis, the, in Canibridge, 1, 77.

Corneille, 3, 65 ; Voltaire on, 141.
Cinna, 3, 158 ; Perthaiiie, 147.

Cornell, Eizra, anecdote of, 6, 96.

Correctness in literature, 2, 223.

Correspondence, 4, 50.

Cortona, 1, 185.

Cory ate, Tom, brought the fork from
Italy, 1, 126.

CosmopolitaniEln, 1, 375.

Costume in the drama, 3, 69, tO,

Cottle, Mr., publisher of Wordsworth
and Coleridge, 4, 377.

Cotton the single product of South
Carolina, 6, 58.

Cotton, Charles, his style, 3, 129 ; on
winter, 265.

Cough, Temple of, at Tivoli, 1, 132.

Count de Gahalis, Use sylphs in
Pope's Rape of the Lock taken from,
4,32.

Country, the idea of, 2, 111.

Country, love of, 2, 112 ; 6, 177. See
also, Patriotism.

Country charm of the literature of
old times, 1, 248.

Country choirs, 1, 11.

Country dwellers, their meteorologi-
cal ambitions, 3, 196.

Couplets, 3, 154, 156; Dryden on,
135, 137.

Courage, 6, 88 ; 6, 185.

Couriers, Englishmen the prey of, 1,
124 ; their percentage on their em-
ployer's money, 149.

Courts of law not infallible, 6, 38.

Courtesy, 2, 310 ; its essentials found
among Maine woodmen, 1, 38 ; of
the town-constable in Cambridge,
65.

Courtier whose thighs leaked bran, 2,
22.

Cowley on solitude, 1, 373 ; Dryden's
opinion of, 3, 119 n, 127 ; his faultp,
127 n ; a student of Spenser, 4, 351 ;
also;2, 79 ; 6, 107.

Cowper, his " taller thought," 1, 64 ;

GENERAL INDEX.

247

his likeness to Rousseau, 2, 266 ; his
borrowing from Thomson, 3, 269;
the best of our descriptive poets,
270; his style compared with Mil-
ton's, 4, 86; influence on Words-
worth, 369 ; compared with Words-
worth, 399; also, 2, 146; 3, 192,
262,335.

on Churchill, 2, 80 ; on Dryden, 3,
190; on winter, 268, 270; on the
country and the city, 269 ; on snow,
275 ; on Milton's prosody, 4, 106.
Homer, 1, 291 ; Coleridge on, 287 ;
The Winter Walk, 3, 268.

Cox, Julian, her confession of witch-
craft and trial, 2, 341.

Crabbe, 3, 335 ; his descriptions of
character, 359.

Craigie, Andrew, of Cambridge, and
hia wife, 1, 89.

Craik, Professor, English etymologies
of, 3, 14 n.

Crawford, the sculptor, his studio in
Rome, 1, 239 n.

Creation parodied by artifice, 3, 37.

Creative faculty of Shakespeare, 1,
278.

Creative genius, Browning on, 6, 54.

Creative mtellect, how distinguished,
3 332.

Cr^biUony?;*, 2, 94.

Credit, its invention by the Floren-
tines, 4, 118.

Credulity, its different manifestations,
2, 313 ; of the 17th century, 371.

Creeds, their tendency to become dead
formulas, 6, 36.

Crime, and sin, identical with Dante,
4, 232 n ; its punishment often de-
layed, 6, 128 ; humanitarian view,
6, 126.

Critic, his position compared to that of
an Italian guide, 1 141 ; compared
to an alchemist, 2, 55.

Criticism, cruelty of, 1 225 ; in the
eighteenth century, 246; its func-
tion to sweep away the false and
Impure, 2. 123; Lesstng on its
method, 174 ; the rights of friend-
ship in, 199 ; apt to reverse the mir-
acle of the archangel's spear, 200 ;
fixed principles not a help to produc-
tion, 222 ; produces correctness but
not taste, 223 ; modem criticism re-
gards parts rather than wholes, 82 ;
requires absence of prepossessions,
and also certain fixed principles, 3,
29 ; its standards still furnished by
Greek literature, 34; comparison
inappropriate in judging works of
art, 55 ; destructive and productive
criticism, 67 ; a wise scepticism
needed, 83 ; its duty to look at all
sides, and give judgment of the
whole, 114, ^2; its higher wisdom
the capacity to admire, 140 ; the

elements of a sound judgment, 4,
355 ; want of a recognized standard,
6, 63; the so-called constructive
criticism, 121.

Emerson's criticism, 1, 354; Tho-
reau's lack of critical power, 369;
Carlyle's method and aims, 2, 86;
Montaigne the first modern critic,
221 ; Leigh Hunt's method, 3, 332 ;
Coleridge's power, 6, 71. See also,
American criticism ; English criti-
cism ; French criticism ; German
criticism.

Crocodile, its generation described by
Lepidus, 2, 52.

Cromwell, Oliver, Hugh Peter at hia
funeral, 2, 30; Roger Williams's
references to, 32 ; William Hooke'a
reference to his desire to retire to
private life, 33 ; the dissolution of
Parliament in 1655, 34 ; dissolution
of the Rump Parliament in 1653,
Haynes's account, 35 ; Maidstone's
description of, 36 ; learned tolerance
by the possession of power, 39 ;
Hooke's account of his death, 40 ;
his opinion of Carlyle imagined, 94 ;
Dryden 's stanzas on the death of, 3*
109; verses addressed to. 116; hLi
gentler qualities in Marvell's Elegy ,
116 ; Auchinleck's sasring on, 4, 73 ;
his policy toward Independents and
Presbyterians, 6, 173.

on the Millennium, 2, 31 ; on the
disorders of the army in the West
Indies in 1655, 36.

Cromwell, Richard, his abilities de-
scribed by Hooke, 40.

Crowne, John, reminiscences of, in the
Gent. Magazine, 3, 133 n.

Cruelty caused by religious differ-
ences, 2, 374 ; caused by fear, 374.

Crustacean natures, 1, 85.

Cuba, the proposal to purchase, 5, 144.

Cultibts, 4, 8.

Culture, 2, 166; its most precious
property, 6, 174. See also, Ameri-
can culture ; Civilization.

Cumberland, people of, 4, 374.

Cumber-minds, 4, 89.

Curculio in a plum, the priest In a dil-
igence compared to, 1, 150.

Currency, American. See American
currency.

Currier's shop in Cambridgeport, 1, 70.

Curtis, George William, anecdote of,
6,96.

CuBhtng, Caleb, 6, 78, 91.

Cushing, General, Ids fears of seces-
sion, 6, 41.

Cusk, 1, 41.

Custom, 6, 107.

Custom-house at Civita Vecchia, quar-
rel over the duty on a parrot, 1,
168.

Cynicism, the corruption of exuberant

248

GENERAL INDEX

humor. 1, 97 ; further character-
ized, IM.

Daemonic, Alcott's favorite word, 1,
87.

Dainiea on Keata's Rrave, 1, 240.

DainiaiiUB, Poter, 2, 3(il.

IMttnn, as pronoauced by the pidnful
Hr. Perkins, 2, la

Dampier, Captain, on the natives of
Timor, 3, 30.

Dampness at sea, 1, 101.

Dana, Chief Justice Francis, arrested a
butcher for contempt of court, 1, GG.

Dana, Ridiard Henry, his first essays
at navifmtion, 1, GO.

Dance of Deatli, Carlyle's view of life,
2,98.

Daiicinf;, the American Tract Society's
attitude toward, 6, '2, 5.

Danf^er and opi>ortuiiity, 6, G3.

Daniel, Samuel, his poetic style, 3, 11 ;
accent, 4, 113; his lan^niage, 280;
character of his verRe, 281 ; quoted,
3, 15G; 4,281; 6,51.
Bulton on, 4, 280 n ; Wordsworth on,
280 n.

Civil Wars, 4, 2»i ; — Defevcf of
Jihymr, 282 ; — To the Countess of
Cumberland^ 282 ; — Musophilus,
181.

DaiiiAh sagos, 3, 313.

Dantb, 4, 118-2G4 ; the associations
of Florence, 118; the bust of Daute
in the Must^um, 121 ; date of his
birth, 121, 108 n; his ancestors, 122,
242 ; hin lioroscupe, 123 ; his father's
death, 123 ; his tutor Brunetto Lo-
tini, 123; his studies and wander-
ings, 124, 248 u ; diameter of the
time, 12G ; the few well-afl<*ertaiued
facts of Dante's life, 127 ; en-
rolled in a Florentine guild, 128,
107 n ; the political factions of Flor-
ence, 120 ; Dante prior in 1300, 130,
180 ; his exile in 1302, 131 ; his sub-
sequent wanderings, 132 ; liis death
at Ravenna, 130 ; his tomb, 13G n,
142 ; epitaph, 137 ; contemporary
accounts of liim, 138 ; the sorrow
and labor of his life, 140 ; the feel-
ing in Italy after his death, 141 ; lec-
turers on Dante appointed in several
Italian cities, 142 ; French opinions
of Dante, 144 ; German study of
him, 145 ; English study of him,
14G ; Ms writings autobiographic and
pnrts of a mutually related system,
148, 171 ; at once a clear-headed pol-
itician and 1 mystic, 140 ; his allu-
sion!* to his 3xile, 150, 180 ; his poli-
tics, 150, 170, 210 n ; his employment
of Latin and Italian, 154 (3, 328) ;
the theme of his writing righteous-
ness, 154, 210 ; his knowledge of
science, 156 ; his philosophy, 155,

108, 183; the first purely Christian
poet, 159, 230, 2G3; his power of
abeoriition and assimilation, IGO ; not
a mere partisan, IGO, 240 ; his con-
■ciousness of a divine missioa, IGO,
17G ; marks the transition between
two ages, 161 ; his moral isolation,
1G2 ; the wide range of his Influence,
103 ; his critics, 1G4 ; the imagina-
tion and tlie religious sentiment
united, IGG, 230; the poetic power
always present, 1G7 ; the continued
misunderstanding of his work, 1G8 ;
the unity of his various works, 171 ;
liis character as shown in bis works,
171 ; his logic, 172 ; his hatred of
sin, 171,170: believed in righteona
anger, 178 ; and in a divine order in
the universe, 178, 232 n ; his lofty
principle, 170; the chronolofnr of
his oi'ininns, 170 ; his breadth of
view, 182 ; his attitude toward phi-
losophy, 183, 210 ; the stages of his
uitelleetual and moral growth, 190,
214; the tales of his amours
groundless, 190, 200; after the
death of Beatrice he gives himself
up to an active life, but is recalled
by her to the contemplative, 192,
108 ; the Lady of the Convito and
the Lady of the Vita Nuova recon-
ciled, 103 ; another theory on tiie
Beatrice of the Purgatorlo and the
Vita Auora, 205 ; familiar with the
Wisdom of Solomon and with the
Scriptures, 212 n ; and vdth French
and Proven^nl poetry, 212 n ; Ua
prose 8tyle illustrated from the Cph-
rifo, 213 ; his love of fame, 215 n ;
possibly present in Rome in 1300,
210 ; his studies in Paris, 222 n ; the
intense realism of his imi^rination,
223; his power of generalizing hla
special experience, 227 ; his relation
to literature, 228 ; the creative fao-
nlty wanting in previous poetry,
228; character of previous sacrea
poetry, 230 ; the Christian idea oon-
trasted with the Greek, 232; the
freedom of the will the comer-atone
of his system, 238, 244 ; his theory
of society, 239 ; his orthodoxy, 244 ;
makes exceptions to the absolute
authority of the church, 246; hia
idea of God in relation to the
heathen, 240, 184 n; his teaching
compared with that of the Sufi'a,
252; is led to faith by the un-
satisf actoriness of knowledge, 264 ;
his vision of the Divine, ^tSB; Uie
originality of his genius, 267; bis
view of man and nature, 268; the
secret of his power, 258 ; his living
influence, 202; his message, 268;
a sunrise nt sea compared to his
style, 1, 106 ; his story easily be-

GENERAL INDEX

249

lieved in his own time, 111 ; his
human forest suggested by the olive-
trees near Tivoli, 139 ; the Sasso di
Dante, 213 ; his boast that no word
made him say what he did not wish,
2^ ; his lines on the lark traced to
Bernard de Ventadour, 316; his
range narrow but deep, 365; Ids
theories abstract, 2, 150; his fiery
rain, 3, 278 ; his idealization of
woman, 303; a passage translated
by Chaucer, 343; his verse not
uniform in elisions, etc., 347; 4,
107 n ; his allegory, 3, 362 ; individ-
ual rather than self-conscious, 4,
116; appropriateness of his family
arms, 167 n ; Spenser familiar with,
290 n; the instinct of jwrsonifi-
cation recognized by, 6f 105 ; alsOy
1, 376 ; 2, 104, 226 ; 3, 10, 25, 361 ;
4, 69, 78, 114 ; 6, 52, 142, 174, 227.
compared with Cliaucer, 3, 322;
with Milton in the circumstances of
his life, 4, 87 ; in character, 116 ;
as to his work, 162 ; to the Hebrew
prophets, 160, 176; with Spenser,
207 n ; with Shakespeare as to sub-
ject, 263 ; with Coleridge, 6, 75.
on the vulgar tongue, 3, 9 n ; on ex-
pression and conception, 17 ; on in-
decision of character, 76; on ro-
mances of chivalry, 309 n, 320 ; on
the love of wisdom, 4, 125, 211 ; on
his own wanderings, 133; on the
delights of virtue, 172 n ; on Boe-
thius and Augustine, 181 ; on old
age, 181 ; on the beautiful, 183 n ;
on his own g^reatness, 183 n ; on phi-
losophy, 184, 200 ; on the allegorical
exposition of his poems, 185 ; on the
allegory in the Gospel account of
the three Marys at the tomb of
Christ, 186; on the double use of
the mind, 186 ; on the soul's relation
to God, 188; on the nature of his
love for Beatrice, 190 ; on the active
and the contemplative life, 192, 200 ;
on allegorical composition, 194 ; on
Virgil, 197 n ; on theology and the
Bciences, 201; on the pursuit of truth,
202; on Aristotle and Plato, 203;
references to St. Paul, 203 n ; on ma-
terialism, 205 n ; on religion, 206 ; on
Brunetto Latini, 208 n ; on the out-
ward beauty of his verses, 209 ; on
contemplation, 210; on Girard de
Bomeil, 210 ; on the souPs desire
after good, 213 ; on Rome, 216 n ; on
translation, 218 ; on the double na-
ture of man, 220 ; on the truly dead,
224 : on the " second death," 226 ;
on Guide Guinicelli, 229 n ; on the
relation between Pope and Emperor,
239 ; on the course of Roman his-
tory, 241 ; on the blessing of peace,
242 ; on angels, 242 n ; on govern-

ment, 243 ; on liberty, 244 ; on the
one God worshipped by the heathen
under different names, 246 ; on pru-
dence, 246 ; on the miracles of Bo-
man history, 247 ; on the state of
the heathen after death, 248 ; on the
superiority of the wise to law, 252 ;
on transubstantiation, 257; on the
sword of Divine Justice, 6, 128.
y^ricour on, 4. 128 ; Balbo^s life of,
133 n, 134; Foscolo on, 134, 156;
Boccaccio on, 135 n, 190 n, 222 n ;
his description of him, 139 ; Ben-
venuto da Imola on, 138 ; Villani's
sketch of, 138 ; Ottimo Comento on,
139; Chateaubriand on, 144; Vol-
taire on, 144, 164 ; on the date of
his birtli, 122; Cornelius Agrippa
on, 145 ; Goethe on, 146 ; Lord
Chesterfield on, 146 ; Ruskin on,
147, 163 ; Cantii on, 155 ; Witte on,
157, 190 n ; Rivarol on, 272 ; on his
language, 162, 164 ; Lamennais on,
163; Schlosseron, 163; Carlyle OI^
164, 183 n, 205 n ; Coleridge on, 164 ;
Ozanam on, 164, 222 n ; Miss Ros-
setti on his style, 109 n ; her com-
ment, 173, 220, 222 ; Gabr. Rossetti
on his exile, 170 n ; Buti on his
birth, 198 n ; on his novitiate in a
Franciscan convent, 206 ; Pietro di
Dante on, 205, 227 ; V. LeClerc on,
212 n ; Wegele on, 222 n; Buth on,
228 n : Keats on, 312.

Beatrice, her marriage and death,
4, 127 ; in the Vila Nuova, 148 ; her
subtle transformation in Dante^s
memory, 194; the process of her
transformation, 197; her symbol-
ism, 204 ; in the Purgatorio and the
VUa Nuova, 205 ; the blending of
reality and allegory, 206 ; her trans-
figuration begun in the last sonnet of
the Vita Nuova, 217 ; also^ 3, 302,
303 ; 4, 159, 185 n, 190, 192, 196, 342.

ConvilOj the authors quoted in, 4,
125 ; its subject, 154 ; the prose part
later than the Canzoni, 193; his
opinions develop in the mean time,
194, 196 ; explains his seeming in-
consistency, 199 ; a/*o, 157 n ;
quoted, 125, 133, 171-222 D(M«'m, 262.

Vivina Comrtvedia^ the Inferno sug-
gested by the prison at Palestrina, I,
159 ; value of the ConvUo in illus-
tration, 4, 155 ; date of composition,
156; its subject stated by Dante,
157 ; its interpretation, 157, 169,
170; its title, 158; its symbolism,
158 ; its subject broadly stated, 159 ;
presents an image of the Middle
Ages, 1S9 ; its scene the human soul,
its fifth act the other world, 161,
237 ; its theme subjective, its treat-
ment objective, 161 ; in spite of criti-
clsms it remains one of the univer-

2r)0

GKNEHAL ISDEX

sal books, 166 ; its livinfrsoiil behind
iU nuuiy iiieaiiiugH, 171 ; its pluii
and aim, 174; the piotiire of liell,
17r>; tlie sufferers in tlie Inferno
equally divided between tlie two
parties, \^ u ; Gud always tlie sun,
184 n; the pathos of tiie closing
scenes of the Purgatorio, '2^)1 n : uo-
casioual touclies uf humor, '2(M n ;
the real Beatrice eiuieutial to its Im-
maii sympathies, 'AiO ; the punish-
ments of tlte Inferno perhaiw HUg-
gested by tlie Wisdom of Bulomon,
212 u ; tlie concei>tiou ilrt>t takej
detiiiite shape in his mind, *J1U; tlie
allegory planned out, 221 ; its prim-
ary value as an autobiography, 223 ;
the Other World not primarily a
place of lifpfiited spirits, 224 ; be-
gun in Latin, 235 ; itii impurtiality,
240 ; its central moral the truth of
the incarnation, 25(>; its moHiung,
2r>8; its style, 25U; immortality of
the poem, 2ir7 ; conclusion of the
ParadiMO, 6, K^')-
comiMireil by I>r. Drake to Darwin^s
JiotnuU: (iniitfu, 4, 147 ; compared
with Paradise I^ist, 1(12 ; compared
to a Gothic cathedral, 2.%.
itH many editions and translations,
4, 143 ; L:ui(Iiiio*8 comment, 150 ;
Longfellow'H truiiHlation, 1U3 n.
Bigier, 4, 172; Filippo Argent!,
177; the ** donna gentil,'* 184 n,
19ii ; Lucia, 184 n ; the Lady of the
Terrestrial Paradise, 1!)5 ; Leah,
195 ; the wood obscure, 222 ; Frate
Albcrigo and Branca d' Oria, 225 ;
Tristrem and Renoard of the Club,
•KG ; the " second death," 225 ; Ad-
rian V., 240; Boniface VIIL, 240,
245 ; Bishop of Marseilles, 244 ;
Mahomet, 244; Ephialtes, 247;
Limbo, 248 ; Ripheus, 250 ; the in-
scription over the gate of Hell, 251 ;
AntaeuH, 200 ; Master Adam, 200.
Special Passages: — Inf. i. 117,4, p.
225 ; ii. 94, p. 184 n ; ii. 103, p.
217 n; viii. 40, p. 177 ; xv. 119, p.
208 n ; xx. 30, p. 177 n ; xxiv. 46-
52 reproduced by Spenser, p. 332 ;
xxxi. 136-138, p. 260 n ; — Purg. i.,
22, 27, 4, p. 186 ; iii. »4-44, p. 203 ;
vi. 118, 119, p. 247 ; xvi. 1(M;-112, p.
239 ; xvi. 142, p. 259 n ; xviii. 40-48,
p. 221 n ; xix. 19-24, p. ,^9 n ; xx.
52, p. 180 n; xx. 100-117, p. 247;
xxiu. 121, 122, p. 224; xxvii. i>4-
105, p. 105 ; xxvii. 100-108, p. 192 n ;
xxvii. 139-142, p. 253 ; xxviii. 40-
44, p. 195; xxix., xxx. compared
with a passage in SfMtnser, p. 342 ;
xxx. 115-138, p. 192; xxxi. 59; p.
191 n ; xxxi. 103, 104, p. 190 ; xxxi.
123-126, p. 207 ; xxxii. 100-102, p.
196 ; — Parad. i. 70-75, 4, p. 257 n ;

ii. 7, p. 267 : Hi. 88, 89, p. 176 n; hr.
40-45, p. 175 ; iv. 124-132, p. 202 ;
V. 115-118, p. 189 n; xiL 93, 94, p.
240 II ; xiv. 90, p. 184 n ; zvii. 65-00,
p. 140 ; xvii. U9, p. IKO; xix. 82-«4,
p. 249: xxvi. 107, 108, p. 210 n ;
xxvi. 134, p. 248n.
Lflterji, 4, 150 ; letter to Henry VII.,
l.'U, li;7 n ; letter to the Florentines,
135; letter to the people of Italv,
152, li>7 11 ; letter to Caa Orande
<|iu>tetl, 108, 252.

Minor Poems^ 4. 166 ; perfection of
the Cniizoiii, 229.

De. Munarchiay its date, 4, 160, 181 ;
its argument, 150 ; Bchloaaer on,
152: condemned as heretical, 163;
compared with Aristotle and Spi-
noza, 153 n ; its language, IM ;
fjuoted, 220, 239-249, pasitim.
\ ita Xuara^ the aspiration at its close,
4, 140 ; its subject, 148 ; its impor-
tance to the understanding of
Dante, 148 ; its date, 149, 216 : tlie
last two sonnets as they treat of
Beatrice, 217; o/ao, ISO; quoted,
im. See aho above ^ Beatrice.
De Vulgari EloquiOj its text, 4, 163;
its subject, 154 ; a/«o, 3, 17 n ; 4,
148, 182 u ; quoted, 150, 181, 216 n.

Dante, Jacopo di, redeems a portion
of his father's property, 4, 136 n.

Dante, Pietro di, on Dante's study of
I theology. 4, 205; on the "second
I death," 226; on Dante, 227; his
comment one of the earliest, 227 n.
I Dauton, Carlyle's picture of, 2, 89.
j Dauyell, an Indian of royal blood,
his necessities described by Fiti-
John Winthrop, 2, 68.

Darkness, the fancy active in, 1, 105 ;
2,390.

Darwin, Erasmus, the Dirina Com-
media compared to Ids fotonie Qwr
den by Dr. Drake, 4, 147.

Darwinism, 6, 23 n.

Dates, as sold in the Cambridge gro-
ceries, 1, 04.

Davenant, Will, 3, 64 ; taught Dryden
to admire Shakespeare, 113; his
Goiidiheii characterized, 138.

Davenport, John, account of Hugh
Peter, 2, 30 ; on God's wrath against
the Quakers, 66.

Davenport, Ruf us, his investments in
the Cambridgeport marshes, 1, 71.

David on snow, 3, 275.

Davies, Sir John, 3, 139 n.

Davis, Jefferson, 6, 79, 306, 326L

Dayliglit gives the supremest sense of
solitude, 1, 105.

Deacons, 1, 80 ; 6, 85.

Dead langunges, the classics improp<
erly so called, 6, 105.

Deane, Cliarles, 6, 146 n.

Death, Keats on, 1, 287 ; Webst«r*s

GENERAL INDEX

251

lines on. 282 ; Petrar'^h's longincrs
after, 2, 254 ; Josiali Qiiiicy*B re. nark
on, 309 ; Dryden's lines on, 3, 168 ;
Winter compared to, 258 ; Dante on
the truly dead, 4, 224 ; his lines on
the "second death," 225. See also,
Dying.

Death by lightning, J. F.'s feeling
about, 1, 91.

Debate of the Body and the Soul cited,

1, 332.

Declaration of Independence, 2, 75;

Rousseau's influence in, 2G4; em-
bodies Christianity in human laws,

5,201.
Decorum, public, 3, 152.
Decorum in poetry, Milton on, 4, 2.
Defeated commander, sympathy for,

6,92.
De Foe, in Pope's Dtmeiad, 4, 48 ;

Robinson Crusoe compared with

Don Quixote, 6f 119; quoted, 2,

323.
Deformities, exhibited by beggars in

Roman streets, 1, 209.
Degeneracy in nature and man felt in

middle life, 3, 284.
Deipnosophists, 2, 135.
Dekker, Tliomas, his prosody, 4, 108 ;

on Christ, the first true gentleman,

6,21.
De la Rue, Abel, his confession of

witchcraft, 2, 334, 363.
Delaware, importation of slaves into,

forbidden in 1787, 6, 141.
Delirium, Sir K. Digby's cure for, 2,

5G.
Delusions, the immortality of, 6, 91.
Democracy, not the object of the

founders of New England, 2, 3 ; the

offspring of Puritanism, 13 ; 6, 15 ;

its steady growth in New England,

2, 74; of the future, the ideal of
manhood to be found in, 100 ; rela-
tion to poetry, 151 ; Rousseau its
foster-father, 204 ; its influence on
character, 287 ; its blunders, 311 ;
its heavy roller does not flatten
everything, 3, 222; one cause of
foreign misunderstanding of Amer-
ica, 232, 235 ; in Holland, 234 ; its
noblest development, 235 ; its sig-
nificance when it cau fight for an
abstraction, 248 ; its dangers and
responsibilities better appreciated,
249; public corruption the result
of private evil, 4, 172 ; the respon-
sibility of individual voters, 6, 18 ;
6, 209 ; hostile to Privilege, not to
Property, 6, 27 ; 6, H ; duty of the
people to form opinions on public
questions, 6, 38 ; allegiance to the
will of the majority its necessary
basis, 47, 134 ; the question of self-
protection, 64 ; conservatism of, 76 ;
Its power to suppress intestine di»>

order to be vindicated in the Civil
War, 90; importance of education
in, 135; its strength in allowing
every man to rise, 137: its failure
prophesied at the opening of the
American Civil War, 180; its
strength and steadiness proved l>y the
Civil War, 210 ; usurpation of power
impossible, 214 ; the principle of
extending the right of suffrage, 230 ;
bound to be just to all, 261 ; the old
fallacy of the tyranny of, 301 ; uni-
versal suffrage necessary, 3U3 ; itc
advance prepares the way for the
second coming of Christ, 310.
Democracy ; inaugural address, Oct.
6, 1884, 6, 7-37 ; the author's experi-
ence of, 10 ; not hostile to property,
11 ; the common charge of American
responsibility for, 12, 15 ; the fer-
ment nothing new, 13, 16; first or-
ganized in the Church, 14 ; men be-
ginning to know their opportunity
and their power, 15 ; democracy in
America inlierited from England, 15 ;
the development of democracy in-
evitable, 17 ; the customary charges
against democracy, 20 ; democracy
defined, 20, 33 ; a parable of Jellala-
deen applied to, 21 ; modifications of
a pure democrac/ required in a larg^
country, 22 ; democracy as embodied
in the American Constitution, 23 ;
the experience of small cities un-
favorable, 23 ; its success in Amer-
ica, 24; government by discussion and
by majorities, 27 ; universal suffrage,
28 ; ductility to discipline somewhat
lessened, 30 ; development of per-
sonal independence, 31 ; reverence
for authority declining everywliere,
31 ; true worth appreciated in, 32 ;
fosters respect for superior virtue,
32 ; importance of public opinion,
34 ; significance of Socialism in, 34 ;
the good nature fostered by, 97 ;
its weakness, to be satisfied with
the second-best, 170 ; a failure un-
less it can produce the highest types
as well as a high average, 172 ; its
tendency to overestimate material
success, 173 ; its unsettled problems,
175 ; the author'^ address at Bir-
mingham, 193 ; the weaknesses and
perils resulting from its abuse, 195 ;
successful in America before its
presence was observed, 205 ; the
duties of individual citizens in, 209 ;
See also, American politics ; Equal-
ity.
Democratic party, character in 1860,
6, 24 ; its position in the. North in
1861, 78 ; its alliance with the Slave
power, 144 ; its awkward position in
1864, 153 ; its candidates in|iended to
offset each other, 154 ; the elements

262

GENERAL INDEX

of the Chicago Convention, 155 ; the
difficulties of coustracting a plat-
form, 157 ; its only proposal is sur-
render, 158 ; its attitude toward
secession, 249; inl8(X),2G8; its con-
tempt for the reasoning powers of
the people, 284 ; in the Philadelphia
Convention of 18GC, 288 ; its respon-
sibility for the Civil War, 6, 211.

Demogorgon, 3, 290.

Demoniac possession, the natural ten-
dency toward, 2, 370.

Demosthenes, 2, 241.

Dennis, John, on Dryden, 3» 104, 190 ;
as a critic, 190 ; on artifice, 4, 8;
Pope's relation to, 50 ; cUso, % 17.

Dentition, 2, 251.

De Quincey, 3, 32 ; on Wordsworth, 1,
371, 394.

Derby, Lord, his Homer quoted and
compared with Chapman's, 1, 293 ;
on the United States government,
5, 214.

De Roos, Lord, convicted of cheating
at cards, 6, 83.

Description, Sliakespeare's power in,
3, 42 ; the introduction of unmean-
ing particulars, 4, 74; Milton's
power, 99.

Descriptive poetry, 3, 2G1 ; 6, 74 ;
Cowper's the best for every- day
wear, 3, 270 ; diatribe on, 4, 272 ;
Wordswortli's power, 372. See alsoj
narrative poetry.

Desmond, Countess of, 4, 59.

Despots, 6, 27.

Despotisu's, 6, 209.

Devil, Mather on, 1, 257 ; our rela-
tions with in modem times, 2, 2.
See also, Satan.

Devils, the infernal hierarchy, 2, 327.

Dexter, I.Iaine, 1, 11.

Dialogue, the battledoor and shuttle-
cock stylo, Zf 137. See alsoy Con-
versation.

Diana, 2, 358.

Diaries, importance of keeping, 2, 293.

Diction, 1, 245 ; of Emerson, 351 ; of
Coleridge, 0, 74 ; lack of propriety
in, 3, 125.

Diction and speech, 3, 14. See also^
Clioico of words ; Gtyle.

Dickeuo, Pickwick Papers^ imitates
Cervantes, 6, 135.

Diderot, Lescing's debt to, 2, 221,
224 n ; on French poetry, 3, 1G2 n.

Diet, its influence on the brain, 2, 389.

Difficulty, made the tenth Muse by
Voltaire, 4, 7.

Digamma in tlie Sirens' lay, 1, 92.

Digby, Sir Kenelm, his theory of asso-
ciation, 1, 1 ; sends curious prescrip-
tions to J. Winthrop, Jr., 2, 56;
seeks books for Harvard College, 57 ;
his politics, 57 ; both a writer and a
aoldief, 286 ; on witchcraft, 387.

Dignity of man, 1, 375.

Dilettante the moral, 2, 253.

Dilettantism, its beginning, 4* 160.

Diligence from Tivoli to Rome, 1, 14G
149. See also, Stage-coach.

Dilke quoted on KeiU»'8 betrothal, 1,
235.

Diuimesdale, Mr., in Hawtliome*a
Scarlet Letter, 2, 265.

Dinner at the inn in PalestrinA, 1.
159.

Dinners, 2, 295.

Diphilus the Labyrinth, 1, 363.

Diplomacy, the principle of paper
money in, 6, 293.

Discipline as exercised by Pres. Kirk-
land, 1, 85.

Discontent, wholesome, 1, 366; un-
derlying all great poetry, 2, 150.

Discussion, slavery has no claim to im-
munity from, 6, 13 ; the life of fre«
institutions, 31.

Disease, satisfaction of finding a long
name for, 6, 13.

Disputes of Italians, 1, 165.

Disraeli, Isaac, 4, 54 : his herbarium
of Billingsgate, 2, 213.

Distance estimated by one^s feelings,
1,28.

Divine judgments made to work both
ways. 2, 66.

Divorce, Milton's demand for easier,
4, 115.

Dixon, Hepworth, on the typical
America, 3, 212.

Dixoi), James, servant of Wordsworth,
4, 354 n.

Dobeon, Austin, his life of Fielding,
6,57.

Doctrinaires in politics, 6, K9 ; 6, 1^

Dodo, 1, 315.

Dogs of the Palestrina inn, 1, 161.

Domes generally look heavy, 1, 206.

Don Quixote ; notes read at the
Workingmeu's College, 6, 115-130.
For details, see under Cervantes.

Donati, Corso, Dante's connection
with, 4, 128; plunders Florence,
136 n.

Doner, Lawrence, the Devil asks to be
confessed by him, 2, 3G6.

Donkey, hio bray, 1, 156.

Donkey driving, 1, 170.

Dome, his Mistress Boulstred, 1, 229 ;
his profoimdness, 2, ICO; wanting
in the higher imagination. 3, 35;
his Pelic, 171 ; his verse, 348, 350 ;
4, 107 n ; also, 1, 281, 381 ; 4, 21 n,
230 ; quoted, 6, 80, 140.

Dryden on, 3, 171 n ; Ben Jonson on,
6, 113 ; Coleridge on, 155.

Doolittle, Mr., Cliairman of the Phila-
delphia Convention, 6, 286.

Doubt, 4, 204; Dante compares it
to a sucker, 202. See also. Scepti-
cism.

GENERAL INDEX

253

Douflrlas, Gawain, his translation of the
^neidy 4, 271.

Douglas, Janet, her confession of
witchcraft, 2, 341.

Douglas, Stephen A., candidate for
Pres. in 18u0, views of tlie Constitu-
tion, 6, 24 ; iiis oratory, 194 ; Pres.
Johnson's allusion to, 289 ; his char-
acter, 291 ; liis canonization a com-
mon misfortune, 292.

Downing, Emanuel, 2, 24, 44, 48 ;
letter to Winthrop on tlie necessity
of obtaining slaves, 42.

Downing, Sir George, 2, 24, 30.

Dragon, age of the, 1, 108.

D'ake, Dr., compares the Divina
Cominedin to Darwin's Botanic Oar-
den^ 4, 147.

Drake, Sir Francis, 2, 290.

Drama, a growth, iiot a mantifacture,
2, 131 ; cultivation of character es-
sential to a writer of, 195 ; tiie de-
mand that all its parts must be in
keeping, 3, G9 ; anaclironisms in, 70 ;
the introduction of low characters
and comic scenes in tragedy, 73 ; the
moral office of tragedy, 88 ; it
teaches by indirection, 88 ; difficulty
of making a moral theory the object,
4, 377. See also, Englisli drama;
Frencli drama ; Greek drama ; Span-
ish drama.

Dramatic poetry, the combination of
qualities needed for, l,-279; cietin-
guished from narrative, 3, 351

Dramatic unit^, Shakespeare's illa-
tion to, 3, G.5.

Dr.^matists, Elizabethan, 1, 277, 280 ;
4,309.

Drayton, 3, 11 ; shipwrecked by his
choice of subjects, 4, 279.
Battle of Agincourt, 3, 142; Moon-
cnlf cited, 2, 3(52 ; Nt/niphidia, 4,
49, 280 ; Polyolbion a versifle*! gazet-
teer, 279 ; To the Cavihrio-Briions,
280.

Dreams, visit to Prester John on a gi-
raffe, 1, 24.

Dresden, winter in, 3, 207.

Drive from Subiaco to Tivoli, 1,
184.

Drinking in the wine-shop of Rojate,
1, 178 ; Thomas Shepard's letter on,
to Wintlirop, 2, 42.

Drowning, effect on the memory, 1,
75.

Drummond, of Hawthomden, 4, 30G ;
reprinted in tlie " Library of Old
Authors," 1, 252 ; quoted, 4, 91.

Drunkeimess, Uncle Zeb's frequent
potations, and his difficulties, 1, 29 ;
the Washington Corps, 88 ; of Le-
pidus in Antony and Cleopatra ^ 2,
103.

Dryden, 3, 95-191 ; his position among
English poets, 99; posterity has

judged him by his best, 100; the
first of tiie modems, 101, 139; the
character of his age, 101 ; his own
cliaracter, 103 ; his acquaintance
with earlier and later writers, 104 ;
his father and family, 105; his
reading when a boy, 105; educa-
tion, lOG ; poet-laureate and histori-
ographer, lOG ; marriage, 107 ; the
style of his earliest verses, 107 ;
studied the early poems of Milton,
109; his power of argument, 110;
his best work in his old age, 112 ;
the gradual quickenhig of his imag-
ination, 113 ; the xermo pedesttnshia
natural element, 113 ; his poetry at
its best in translations, 1 14 ; com-
pared to an ostricli, 115 ; early per-
formances of the obligato sort, 110 ;
his attitude towards the Restora-
tion, 118; his first work of fine
quality in 10(i3, 118; unevenness of
his style, 120, 120 ; poetical beauty
of his prose, 120 ; failings of his
verse, 122, 144, 185 ; the develop-
ment of his taste traced in his pre-
faces, 123; his memory for things, not
words, 124 n ; instances of '* bour-
geois " diction, 125 ; his prose style
compared with that of others, 129 ;
formed on the usage of the Court,
132 ; his vein of coarseness, 133 ;
an old gentleman's memories of hira
in Norwich drugget, 133 ; his pre-
faces, 134 ; his pithy sentences, 135,
1G7 ; his eagerness in argument, 130 ;
his inaccuracy, 137 ; the Anmis
Mirabilis examined in detail, 138;
his happy comparisons, 139, 155 n,
105 ; his frequent borrowing from
other authors, 141 n, 143 ; in poe-
try, he is always emulating some
one else, 142 ; liability to mix prose
in his poetry, 144 ; his plays, 146 ;
the comic ones unsuccessful, 148 ;
their nastiness, 148 ; 6, 59 ; his
apology for it, 3, 152 ; defence of
heroic plays in the French style, 153 ;
his poor success in following it, 168,
102 ; had no aptitude for the stage,
10:3 ; his apology for his own faults,
103; the admirable single passages
in his plays, 104 ; his persistent ca-
pability of enthusiasm, 16G; his
blank verse, 168 ; instances of pathos,
1G9; his sterling sense, 109, 182;
fervent rather than imaginative, but
often picturesque, 170 ; his moral-
izing always good, 172; his ploto
poor, 173; forbearing in literary
quarrels, 174 ; devoid of jealousy,
175 ; his satire, 176 ; the judicious
criticism of his prefaces, 179 ; his
influence on English literature, 182 ;
allows himself to fall into verbi-
age, 182 ; his Latinisms, 183 ; his use

254

GENERAL INDEX

of English, 185; his conversion to
Romanism, 186 ; the mingled Bcep>
ticism and superstition of his mind,
187 ; his personal appearance, 1S7 ;
the secret of his emmence, 188;
his genius, 190 ; his funeral charac-
teristic of his life, 191 ; his debt to
French literature, 2, 221 ; assisted
the triumph of French taste in Eng-
land, 4, 16; prosody, 113; a pupil
of Spenser, 351.

compared with Burke, 3, 100 ; with
Pope, 114, 177, 184, 190 ; 4, 57 ; with
Rubens, 3, 115 ; witli Voltaire, 180 ;
with Wordsworth, 6, 113.

on the productions of a poet's later
years, 3, 112 ; on the improvement
in poets after forty, 112, 127 ; on his
own tastes, 119 n ; on hastiness in
writing, 120 n ; on his own powers,
122 ; on skill m English composition,
130, 131 ; on the influence of women
in refining language, 131 ; on qua-
trains and rhyme, 135, 138 ; on blank
verse, 137 n ; on comets, 139 ; on
suicide, 141 n ; on the failure of his
Wild Gallant^ 147 ; on the corrup-
tion of the Court, 150 ; on his lack
of comic power, 152 ; on contempo-
rary poetry, 154; on rhyme, 154,
155, 168 ; on French drama, 159,
160 ; on the character of the French
and English languages, 161 ; on for-
giveness of injuries, 175; on tlie
Rehearsal^ 175 ; on good-nature, 176 ;
on satire, 176 ; on translation, 181 ;
on the enrichment of English witli
foreign words, 183 ; on sublimity,
189 n ; on English literature of tlae
Restoration, 4, 15.

on Shakespeare, 3, 37, 113 ; on Boi-
leau, 99 ; on Milton's rhyme, 110 ;
on Polybius, 113 n; on Cowley,
119 n, 127 ; on Virgil, 120, 180; on
Homer, 120 n ; on Spenser, 123 ; 4,
351 ; on Sylvester's Du Bartas, 3,
123 ; on Swift, 132 n ; on Jonson,
143 ; on his English, 185 n ; on Wal-
ler, 154 ; on Racine's Bnjazet^ 160 ;
on Donne, 171 n ; on Oldham, 177 ;
on Burnet, 178 ; on Chaucer, 1^,
293 ; on Claudian, 180 ; on Ovid, 180 ;
on Tlieocritus, 180.

Bwift on, 3, 97, 132 n ; on his pre-
faces, 134 ; Gray on, 106 n, 173 ; Mil-
ton on, 114 : Johnson on, 140 ; Pope
on, 173, 188; Congreve on, 178;
Home Tooke on, 180 ; Cowper on,
190; Dennis on, 190.

Ahsnlom and Achitophel, character
of Zimri, 3, 177 ; Coleridge on, 179
n ; Alhumazar quoted, 143 ; Alexan-
der's Feast, 180; All for Lore, 37,
163, 173; quoted, 164, 168, 170, 172,
173; Amphitryon quoted, 145; An-
nus Mirabilis, 122, 133; Pepys's

comment on, 134; examuifd in de-
tail, 138; Astrsea Eedvx, 110, 118;
Aurengzebe quoted, 111, 139, 166,
169 ; Cleomenes quoted, 169 ; Com-
mendatory verses prefixed to the
Sacred Epigrams of John Hoddes-
don, 108; Conquest of Granada,
165; quoted, 126, 1G5, 166; On tH
Death of Lord Hastings, 107 ; Von
Sebastian, Home Tooke on, 173;
quoted, 129, 141 n, 169; Essay on
Dramatic Poesy, 153 ; Evening
Lore, 148; Horace, Ode Hi. 2.9,114;
Indian Emperor acted at Court,
175 n; quoted, 165; King Arthur
quoted, 129; Limberham, 152;
MacFlecknoe quoted, 1G3 ; Maiden
Queen, 135 n, 136 n, 148 ; quoted,
1()5; Marriage a. la Mode quoted,
171; (Edipus quoted, 128, 172;
Poem to Lord Clarendon quoted,
111 ; Rival Ladies quoted, 166,
168 ; Royal Martyr quoted, 125,
163 ; Sir Martin Marall, Pepys on,
148; Spanish Friar, 146, 148;
quoted, 146, 171 ; Stanzas on the
death of Cromwell, 109, 116, 118 ;
Wild Gallant, 147.

Dual nature of life, 2, 267.

Du Bartas, founder of the cultist
school, 4, 8.

Ducks. See under Birds.

Dudley, Gov. Joseph, 2, 73.

Duel declined by Josiah Quincy, 2,
302.

Duke, Alice, her confession of witch-
craft, 2, 340.

Dunbar, William, 4, 271 ; Dance of
the Seren Deadly Sins, 269 ; Merle
and Nightingale quoted, 268.

Dunbar, battle of, 2, 7.

Dunciad. See Pope.

Duns Scotus, 1, 253.

Dunton, John, his journey to New
England, 6, 150.

Dutch, European ridicule of, 3, 233 ;
their true quality, 233; their de-
mocracy the cause of European dis-
like, 234.

Dutch captain, X's story of, 1, 119.

Duty, neglected, 6, 312.

Duvergier de Hauranne, 3, 241.

Dwiolit, Timothy, -2, 153 ; his Con^
quest of Canaan, 3, 306.

Dyce, Rev. Alex., 1, 283, 316; his
excellent editorial work, 318 ; citod,
342.

Dyer, John, 4, 5.

Dying, 6, 42 ; the calmness and re-
pose of, 1, 236. See also, Death.

E. K. See Kirke, Edmund.
E Pluribus Unum, 5, 45-74.
Early rising, inconveniences of, 1, &
Earnestness, 3, 82.

GENERAL INDEX

265

East winds, 1, 77 ; 6. 17.

EABter at St. Peter^t, Borne, 1, 151,
200.

Eating one*8 words a wholesome diet
in some cases, 6i 266.

Eaton, his account of the dissolution
. of Parliament in 1655 quoted by
Mason, 2, 34.

Ecclesiastes, 4, 323; cimicism of, 2,
104.

Ecclesiasticus, the Man of Leisure due
to, e, 220.

Edda, Elder, 1, 106 ; 2, 359.

Edda age, the sea-serpent a last relic
of, 1, 108.

Editing, Mr. Hazlitt*s theory of, 1,
336, 347. See also^ Emendation.

Editors, Matzner on, 1, 319.

Editors of early English literature,
necessary qualifications of, 1, 259,
267.

Edmondson, William, % 65.

Education, undervalued in America,
1, 6; too often cramps and stunts
nature, 32; M., a famous river-
driver an example of an educated
man, 31 ; In early New England, 2,
15, 18 ; 6, 147 ; effect of teaching by
rote, 4y 358 ; the library a means of
self-education, 6, 83 ; the three R's
system, 83 ; the power of thought
its highest result, 89 ; its importance
to the state, 97 ; the tendency to
lay the blame for the pupil's short-
comings on the teacher, 150 ; liter-
ature not to be sacrificed to language
in teaching, 152 ; literature and phi-
lology both to be cultivated, 153 ;
the office of the higher instruction
the training of guides for society,
159 ; liberal studies always to take
the lead, 160 ; usefulness of variety
in study, 161 ; dangers of the volun-
tary system, 162 ; the value of com-
pulsion, 163 ; is learning naturally
repulsive to youth? 164; due to
faulty methods of teaching, 164 ;
the study of the classics, 165; ad-
vantages of study abroad, 167 ; a
college education no longer prized,
170; free public schools desirable,
but not free text-books, 170 ; neces-
sity of an organic relation between
higher and lower schools, 171 ; the
general purpose of colleges to train
the faculties for the duties rather
than the bujsiness of life, 176 ;
courses of study to be adapted to
the highest level of intelligence, 177 ;
sneer^ at by practical politicians,
191. See alsOf American schools;
French schools ; Public schools ;
Scholarship ; Teaching ; Universi-
ties.

Eels, boys scrambling for at the Foun-
tain of Trevi, Rome, 1, 216.

Egeft 5tr, and Sir Grille^ ra3sage
quoted, 3, 327.

Egg-laying creatures, certain genera-
tions compared to, 2, 12.

Egotism, 1, 42 ; 5, 207 ; of travellers
and reporters, 1, 121 ; intolerant
and intolerable, 4, 84.

Egyptian head-dresses in Italy, 1, 171.

Egyptian magicians, 2, 357.

Election in November, 1860, 6, 17-44.

Election-days in Boston, 1, 61.

Elective system in collef^e, 6, 161, 178.

Elegancy in poetry, Phillips on, 4, 2.

Elegy on the Snow brothers, 1, 67.

Elegies, 3, 117.

Elfrida. See Mason, William.

Eliot, G. W., President, his administra-
tion, 6, 167.

Elisions in Milton's verse, 4, 106.

Ellsworth, Oliver, on the necessity of
coercive power in the government,
6, 148.

Elocution, Emerson's manner, 1, 359.

Eloquence, 2, 25.

Eloquent writing, its secret, 2, 233.

Emancipation forced upon the gov-
ernment by the rebels, 6, 169 ; the
only merciful way of punishinGf the
real authors of the rebellion, 176 ; a
powerful minority opposed to, 198 ;
announced as the one essential for
readmission to the Union, 237 ; grad-
ualism an unsuccessful policy, 238.

Embargo, 2, 301.

Emendation of texts, 3, 23 n.

Ehebson, the Lecturer, 1, 349-360 ;
his attractiveness does not diminish,
349 ; Roydon's lines on Sidney ap-
plied to, 349, 360 ; the secret of hia
popularity his wide range, 350 ; his
system need not be analyzed, 350 ;
essentially a poet, 351 ; proof of his
genius, 351 ; his diction, 351 ; his
power of stimulation and inspira-
tion, 352 ; his power the result of
character, 352 ; his perennial youth,
853 ; his lectures in 18G8 character-
ized, 353 ; the delight of listening to
his first lectures, 3o4 ; his audiences
described, 355 ; his awakening power,
356, 366; liis reminiscences of the
intellectual influences of his own
life, 357 ; the country's debt to him,
358; his masculine fibre, 351, 358,
366; his manner of speaking, 359;
his speech at the Bums dinner, 359 ;
his sphinx, 50; the herald of the
decease of Puritanism, 364 ; and the
embodiment of its spirit, 365 ; his
artistic range narrow, 365; the
sleeping partner in many reform
movements, 365 ; his oration before
the Phi Beta Kappa Society, 366;
the tendency of his teaching com-
pared with that of Carlyle, 367 ;
Thoreau one of hia disciples, 368;

256

GENERAL INDEX

tjrpicalf to tome extent, of Ameri-
can character, 2, 151 ; on winter, 3,

266, 272 ; popular respect for, 6, 32 ;

on Everett's teaching, 156 ; alsOf 3,

132 n.
Emmanuel College, the delegate from,

at the Harvard anniversary, 6, 179.
Emotion mistaken for conviction, %,

250.
Empedocles, 1, 1.
Empire, Daute on its relations to the

Papacy, 4, 239.
Empyrean, Dante on, 4, 168 ; Dante

compares theology to, 201.
Encyclopaedias, 6, 90.
End of the world, Dryden's references

to, 3, 145.
Endicott, John, 2, 25 ; on Hugh Peter

and Mrs. SbefHeld, 27.
Enduring greutness inconsistent with

great contemporary influence, 2,

246.
England, effect of the Reformation on

the life of, 4, 293 ; the development

of the " English people," 293, 295 ;

the Civil Wars of the Roses a barren

Eeriod, 295 ; Shakespeare on, 295 ;
penser's love of, 350 ; iterance of
America, 6, 214 ; the *' Old Home "
to Americans, 6, 40. See also^ Eng-
lish constitution ; English politics,
under Elizabeth, 3, 2, 4 ; — under the
Commonwealth, references to in
Roger Williams's letters, 2, 31 ; —
in 1653, dissolution of the Rump
Parliament described by Haynes,
84 ; — in 1655, Mason's account of
the dissolution of Parliament, 33 ;
~ in 1658, Hooke's letter on, 38 ; —
in 1659, Hooke's account of the Pro-
tector's death and the affairs of the
country, 40;— under Charles II.,
coarseness of the age, 3, 132 ; con-
dition of society, 151 ; its debauched
morals and urbane manners, 4, 13 ;
a period of materialism and in-
sincerity, 18; contrasted with the
previous generation, 18; — in 18th
century, its coarseness, 6, 60 ; —
in 1861, attitude toward America,
6, 78 ; recognizes the Southern
States as belligerents, 249 ; — in
1860, relations with America, 3,
252.

English Academy, Dryden hints at, 3,
130.

English artists in Italv, 1. 76.

English blood, a blood to be proud of,
6,38.

English Church, its relation to the
Roman Church, 2, 274 ; Lecky on
its attitude toward witchcraft,
877 n ; Wordsworth a defender of
the Establishment, 4, 367.

English Civil War, Maidstone's sum-
mary of, 2, 36.

English climate, Charles 11. on, 3, 283L

English constitution, 6, 246 ; 6, 84;
essentially democratic, 6, 15.

En«:lish court. Swift on the poor Eng^
lish spoken at, 3, 131 ; in 16th cen*
tury, Spenser's warnings against,
4,288.

English criticism, 2, 85.

EngUsh drama. Lamb's criticism of,
3, 29, 150 : Voltaire on, 4, 17 ; Mil-
ton on, 115; Elizabethan, 1, 277,
280; 4,369.

English dukes, 1, 186.

English glees, 4, 97.

English history belongs to Americans
de^ure^ but not de facto ^ 2, 274.

English humor appeals to the whole
nation, 2, 278.

English humorists, 2, 169.

English landscapes, their associations,
6, 139.

EnG:li8h language, the Teutonic and
Romanic elements in, 1, 261 ; 3, 12 ;
still a mother-tongue in Elizabethan
times, 1, 290 ; as a vehicle of poetic
thought, 3, 1 ; its character before
and after the time of Shakespeare,
2 ; in Shakespeare's time, 5-7, 45 ;
its gain from the infusion of Latin,
12; the Latin radicals the more
familiar, 14 n ; its two periods of
poetic beauty, 18 ; Shakespeare's
use of, 18; Dryden's and Swift's
plans for reforming, 131 ; introduce
tion of various polysyllables, 131 n ;
danger of Latinisms in, 184; in
America, 237 ; Chaucer's effect on,
328, 335, 336 ; French words trans-
planted into from 1660 to 1700, 4,
16; in its purity never obsolete,
277 ; Samuel Daniel's influence on,
280 ; Tankeeisms in Spenser, 347 n ;
its debt to Wordsworth, 415 ; also,
6,224.

Diyden on the knowledge of, 3, 130 ;
on the character of, 161 ; on the use
of Latinisms in English, 183 ; Orrery
on mistakes in conversation, 130 n ;
Swift on its corruption by the Court
of Charles II., 131.
English literature, its debt to French
literature, 2, 2!^ ; Jonson on its de-
cline after Shakespeare, 3, 16 ; the
*' classical " of the older critics,
96 ; Anglo-Saxon element in, 314 ;
Norman influence upon, 820 ; Chau-
cer its founder, 363; Spenser's in-
fluence upon, 4, 276, 288; its tra-
ditions belong to America also, 6,
61, 68.

of 16th century, not fostered by pat-
ronage, 4, 292; the outgrowth of
national conditions, 293, 295 ; effect
of the Renaissance on, 294 ; its view
of life, 412; quality of its scbolaT-
ship, 6, 87 ; — of fch^ B««to!iition,

GENERAL INDEX

257

French influence npon, 4, 11* 16t
20 ; ashamed of its foimer provin-
cialisnif 14; Dryden on, 15; — of
18th century, Keats's opinion off 3,
08 ; moral greatness impossible but
intellectual greatness achieved, 4,
19; — of the early 19th century,
296.

English poetry, its three reformers,
Wordsworth, Keats, and Byron, 1,
242 ; Keats's poems a reaction
against the barrel-ors^an style, 245 ;
its debt to Latin, 261 ; the present
conditions of, 2, 120; the best is
understanding aerated by imagina-
tion, 3, 119 ; provinces of the five
great poets, ^ 25; its apostolical
succession, 105.

of Chaucer's time, 3, 324, 361 ; its
narrative qualities, 325 ; — of tlie
15th and 16th centuries, % 265 ; —
of 16th century, influence of Italian
love poetry upon, 275; tlie period
of the saurians, 278 ; compared to a
shuttlecock, 299 ; — of the 17th cen-
tury, Dryden on its improvement
in his own time, 3, 154 ; — of the
18th century, 4, 2 ; contemporary
criticism of, 3 ; Oray's influence on,
4 ; general discontent at the time of
Pope's death, 6 ; extent of Pope's re-
sponsibility for, 24. See also^ Pope.

English politics, the system of limited
suffrage, 6, 232; low condition of,
251 ; political development, 6, 33.

English prisoners among the Grecian
bandits, 3, 238.

English prose, its debt to Dryden, 3,
129.

En^flish prosody, in Shakespeare's
time, 3, 8; Chaucer's verse, 336;
common misunderstanding of, 338 ;
its treatment of flnal or medial 0,
343, 346 ; irregularities of the early
versifiers, 348; Milton's versifica-
tion, 4, 97 ; the sliift of the accent
in pentameter verse, 106; eliRions
in Milton, 106, 111 n ; participles
in -ing normally of one syllable,
108 ; verses ending in unaccented
syllables, 108 ; the old metrists care-
ful of elasticity, 109; the question
of imperfect verses in the old dra-
matists, 110 ; Sidney's and Spenser's
experiments, 277 ; Spenser's mas-
tery of, 302 ; Alexandrines, 304 ; the
Spenserian stanza, 305 n, 328.
Coleridge on, 3, 339 ; Masson on, 4,
105 ; Spenser on hexameter verse,
277. See also. Alexandrines ; Blank
verse ; Couplets.

English race, really cares notliing for
art, 1, 76 ; complexity of character,
3, 316; Norman infiuence upon,
820 ; its S]rmpathy with the spiritual
provincialism of the Jew, 4, 83 ; its

nnity, 6, 46, 51, 68. See alsOf Anglo-
Saxons.
English Revolution, reaction of the

Srinciples of New England seen in,
, 4 ; carried by means of a reli-
gious revival, 7.

English spelling, early vagaries of, 1,
321.

English tourists on Lincoln's personal
appearance, 6, 192.

Enghsh tragedy, 2, 131.

English war with Spain, Williams's
references to in 1656, 2, 32.

Englishmen, maintain their own stand-
ards in spite of their surroundings,
1, 24 ; their reasons for visiting
Italy, 124 ; lack of sentiment and im-
agination, 196 ; with palm-branches
in St. Peter's, 196; prefer St.
Paul's to St. Peter's, 19i9 ; seldom
good travellers, but pleasant travel-
ling-companions, 199 ; their practical
quality, 2, 6 ; tiieir failure to under-
stand Americans, 135 ; their conser-
vatism, 236; hard for them to un-
derstand the impulse of southern
races to pose, 269 ; their national
feeling, 282 ; sensitive to criticism,
3, 231 ; shocked at American Eng-
lish, 232 ; the fine qualities of the
first-rate variety, 238, 239; the old
Tory aversion of former times for
America, 243; they discover after
the Civil War that Americans have
a country, 246 ; must learn to judge
Americans on their own merits, 253 ;
their air of superiority in America
caused by flnding so many poor imi-
tations of themselves, 238 ; instances
of rudeness in America, 241 ; in
foreign galleries, 4, 12 ; their sensi-
tiveness to ridicule, 12; their re-
serve described by Barclay, 12 ; their
fondness for foreign fashions, 13 ;
distrust of democratic institutions
at the opening of the American
Civil War, 6, 181 ; their solidity of
character, 245 ; have developed gov-
ernment by discussion, 6, 27. See
also, Anglo-Saxons.

Entertaining, the power of, the first
element of contemporary popularity,
2,79.

Enthusiasm aroused by Emerson's
early lectures, 1, 356 ; of the Purl-
tans, 2, 72 ; of the poet, 3, 102 ; mate-
rial for the orator not for the states-
man, 6, 178 ; not to be warmed over
into anything better than cant, 186.

Epic in prose created by Fielding, 6.
64.

Epic poetry, its unreality, 4, 340 n ;
Wordsworth's determination to com-
pose, 398.

Epigram, French fondness for, 4, ?•

Epimethetu. See Longfellow.

258

GENERAL INDEX

Epittofae Obtrtiromm Virorvm^ 1, XA.

KpitapliH, 3, 177 ii ; of KuaU, 1, *J^ ;
iienr BoattU), 6, 4S.

EpithotM, of iMwtantoni, 1, 14 ; of
Hhakospcarc, 3, Xt^ ; of Cliauo(>r,
357 : ill the ii«-li«X)l of Poi>e, 4, 10 :
iu Dautc, Uivarol ou, Ki'J, 1G4 ; uIjmi^

3, ih;.

Equal rii^lits in the opinion of the
founders uf New Knf^laud, 2, 3.

Equality, in Aiiierira, 1, W* ; Dr-nte
on, 4, -M3 ; iniiKMiuble, 6, 34 ; the
popular l)elief iu refjiirtl to, 175 ; itii
unolwerved but steady growtli iu
tlie American Colonies, 2()4 ; itN
dan^erH when 8ud<lenly acquired by
aliens, iSC). See nho^ I>enio<'Tacy.

Erasinuit, 1, 3(rl ; his Latin style, 2,
llM ; i^'aliKer ou, 3, 114 n.

E-sprit lacking iu Genuau literature, 2,
1G5.

E'«sayH on favorite poets, 6, 09.

" Kssnys and ReviewH," 2, 12.

EMte, Villa d', hi Tivoli, 1, 132.

Ehthwaite, his irresolution, 1, 2.

Estliwaite, England, the simple life of,
in Worilsworth's boyhood, 4, 359.

Eternity, J. F. 's favorite topic of con-
versation, 1, 90.

Eulogv, 6, 45 ; France its native land,
2, 2i'.9.

EuripidoR, 2, 138 ; 3, 301 : gives hints
of seiitiinentalism, 2, 253 ; instances
of quibbling cited, 3, 53 n ; Ilippa-
lytus, 4, 232.

Europe, of value for its antiquity, 1,
49 ; its problems all solved, and a
deatl precipitate left, 53; the first
sight of, 113.

European history rich in association,
2, 273.

European literature of the 15th cen-
tury, 4, 2(K>.

Europeans, their attitude of patronage
toward America, 3, 239.

Eurydice confounded with Herodias,
2, 358n.

Eustace on Italy, 1, 127.

Eustathius of Thessalouica on snow,
3,275.

Eutychianus, the legend of Theophilus,
2,329.

Evening, approach of, on the road to Su-
biaco, 1, 179 ; its magic touch, 3, 222.

Everett, Edward, 6, 29C ; his transla-
tion of Buttman's Oreek grammar,
6, 15G; Emerson on the enthusiasm
of his teaching, 15G. See also, Bell
and Everett.

Everydayness of phrase in Dryden, 3,
111.

Evidence, circumstantial and personal,
6, 118.

Evil, a cunning propagandist, 4, 252 ;
in itself but a cheat, 6, 130 ; by na-
ture aggressive, 176. See aUo, Sin.

Evil institutions, effect oo

clinnf ter, 6. 253.
Kwer, Dr., alcheuiiat, 2,48.
Exolusiveness of Tliorean, 1, 871.
Ex flutes for failures easily found, 1,

Execution in literature, Byron's judg-
ment regarding, 4. 42.

Exoilu)', Dante <hi its luterpretatioii,
4, 15K.

Exorcixm stopped by Card. Maiarin,
2, 371.

Exi>edients, Justice not to be saeriflced
to, 6, 238.

Experience, its results of little value
to others, 1, 21 ; 6, 91 ; individual,
in moralfi, 4, 255 ; aUo, 258 ; 6, 191.

Expression, Dante on, 3 17.

Exuberaniw in writiiw, 1, 2M,

Eyes, 3, 267.

F. = Pres. Felton.

Fables, 2, 2G0, 319.

Fabliaus, 3, 314.

Face, changes of expression on, I,

To.

Fact and truth in poetry distinguished,
4,3W.

Facts, uncomfortable to tiie sentimen-
talist, 2, 250 ; their sigidfioance, 6.
131.

Failure, 2, 92.

Fairs, English, Harvard Commenoe-
ment likened to, 1, 79.

Fairy tales, 6 ,17.

Fairies, 2, 315.

Faith, the stage of astrdofiy and
alchemy still persists, 2, 878;
Dante's teaching on, 4k, 1^4.

Faith and Work, the bases of the Pu-
ritan commonwealth, 2, 7S.

Faith in Ood, 6, 130.

Falstaff, 3, 19 ; his regiment, 6, 5&

Fame, as worn by Washington All-
ston, 1, 77 ; as embalmed in bibli-
ographies, 317; distinguished fhna
notoriety, 2, 272; in Europe wul
America, 276 ; posthumous, 3, 100 ;
immortality of, 278; alto^ 4, 120.
See aUo, American fame.

Fame, literary, frequently of brief
duration, 2, 77 ; what is required to
make it living, 79, 246 ; importance
of imagination, 79, and of art, 80 ;
depends on the sum of an autlior'a
powers, 81.

Fanaticism, 6, 112; becomes conser-
vatism wlien established in power,
2, G; not truly characteristic Q<tii0
New England Puritans, 6, 9.

Fancy, the rude treatment reoe i vBd
by, on entering Rome, 1, 189 ; tfei
activity in darkness, 2, 386.

Fancy and judgment compared tea
rocket and its stick, 2, 81. jSmoIm^
Imagination.

GENERAL IN VEX

269

Fancy balls, English, 1, 199.

Farmer on Shakespeare, 3, 46.

Farr, editor of Wither's poems, absur-
dity of some of his assertions, 1,
*j^ ; inaccuracy of his quotations,
260; his misstatements, 261.

Fashion, its power, 4, 11.

Fastidiousness, 2, 234.

Fate, the Greek conception of, 2, 124 ;
3, 57 ; 6, 320 ; the modem recogni-
tion of, 2, 125.

Faults, men judged by little faults, 1,
85 ; expiated by suffering, 6, 77.

Fauriel, on prosaic poetry, 3, 162 n ;
on mediaeval romances in Proven-
gal, 309.

Faust, the spirit of discontent, 2, 128 ;
cited by Walburger as an instance
of bodily* deportation, 354; Wierus
doubts the story, 354 ; cUso. 1, 107 :
2, 333; 4, 254.

Faustrecht, 2, 94.

Fear makes men cruel, 2, 374.

Federalists, 2, 301.

Felicity, lines on, 2, 312.

Fellowships, university, 6, 168.

Felltham, Owen, 1, 308, 3, 185, n.

Felton, President C. C, hia laugh, 1,
67.

Fenians, 6, 318; attitude of Congreas
toward, 322.

Fenianism, 2, 375.

Ferabrcu cited, 1, 325.

Ferrex and Porrex. See Bickvllle.

Fessenden, Senator, 6, 198.

Feudalism, effect on commerce, 3, 247.

Feuillet, Octave, Sainte-Beuve's nick-
name for, 6, 62.

Fickleness not fairly to be charged to
democracy, 2, 311.

Fiction, the realistic novel invented
by Fielding, 6, 64 ; the novel before
Fielding, 65 ; the reading of, profit-
able, 95; Cervantes the father of
the modern novel, 135; historical
fiction, 6, 123. See cUsOy French fic-
tion.

Fidelity, characteristic of Prof. Pop-
kin, 1, 93.

FuLDiKO, Hbmrt, Address on unveil-
ing his bust, Sept. 4, 1883, 6, 51-
67; hia absolute sincerity, 55; his
imagination of secondary order, 55 ;
has no tragic power but much
pathos, 55 ; liis characters real, but
not typical, 56, 65 ; a humorist, 56 ;
quality of liis coarseness, 57 ; opin-
ions of English literary men on him,
67 ; Dobsou's life of, 57 ; the few
facts of his life, 58 ; habits of study
and industry, 58 ; his early drama-
tic pieces show little real knowledge
of life, 59 ; his nature coarse and
sensual, but with admiration for the
best things of his time, 59: the
coaneneas of hia age, 60 ; hia bluut-

nesfl of speech more wholesome than
the refinement of some modem crit-
ics, 60 ; painted vice as a figure in
the social landscape, 61 ; his pur-
pose moral, 61 ; acknowledged in
his epitaph in Lisbon, 61 ; his con-
tempt for sentimentality, 62 ; mis-
taken estimate of refinement, 62;
opinion of Richardson, 62 ; his love
of truth, 62 ; h?s force and direct-
ness, 62; compared with Hogarth,
63 ; invented the realistic novel, 64 ;
his work marks an epoch, 64 ; his
Squire Western and Parson Adams,
65, 135; 1, 317; the beauty of his
style, 6, 66 ; compared with Swift,
66 ; his character, 66 ; Cervantes*
influence upon, 135 ; his remarks on
travellers, 1, 120 ; his humor, 278 ;
his humor reappears in Carlyle, 2,
82 ; a/«o, 1, 364 ; 2, 217 ; 3, 58, 321,
364.
Thackeray on, 6, 63 ; Byron on, 64.

Fiesole, 4, 118.

Fifth Monarchy men, 1, 362 ; 2, 9, 31.

Fighting period of life, 1, 361.

Figures can be made to fight on both
sides, 6f 216. See alsoy Statistics.

Figures of speech and figures of sta-
tistics, 6, 58.

Filelf o, 4, 142.

Fillmore, Millard, Pres., 6. 291, 296.

Finance, value of an M. Cf.'s observa-
tions on, 3, 198 ; generally prudent
management of, in towns, 6, 11*

Fine Arts. See Art.

Fiusbury Circus, 1, 220.

Firdusi, 4, 270 ; poetry of the Trou-
v^res compared to, 3, 311.

Fire, in a wongen after moose-hunting,
1, 37 ; at the Sibilla in Tivoli, 145 ;
pleasure of playing with, 202 ; Vir-
gil's and Ovid's lines on kindling, 3.
287.

Fire on the hearth described, 1, 60 ;
its pleasures in winter, 3, 272.

Fireside voyages, 1, 52.

Fireworks, damp, X's laughter com-
pared to, 1, 117.

Fishes' nests in trees, incongruities of
life compared to, 1, 86.

Fisher, Cardinal, 2, 22.

Fishing in the Maine woods, 1, 41.

Fisk, James, 4, 178.

Fitzgerald, Edward, 1, 289 ; 6, 72 ; on
Don Quixote, 135.

Flail-beat, 1, 186.

Flame, Washington Allston's face com-
pared to pale flame, 1, 73.

Flaxman, 2, 124.

Fleas, humorous confidences on the
subject, 1, 127.

Fleming, Marjorie, her diflBculties with
the multiplication table, 6, 164.

Fletcher, Giles, 1, 278; 2,223; 3, 3»
801 ; his Purple Island, 4, 297 n.

260

GENERAL INDEX

Fletcher, Phinefau, PUeatory Ee-
logues, 4, 300.

Flip. Port«TV 1, 8C.

Flodden t^rhl cited, 1, Ml.

FlogfriiiK, 1, '2M ; as a ineaus of edu*
catiou, 2, ''SfK ; 6, 103 ; iimemoiiic
Tirtue of, 3, tO.

Floreuce, 1, TJl ; better liked than
Rome, 213 ; the Bt:itue8 of the UOIkj,
a, *I»\ ; it« early hirttory, 4, 118 : itu
great men. 111) ; the Campanile, 119 :
its political fai'tioiu iu Daute's tune,
rJG, l'.xJ: hiHtory of, from 12113,
128 ; tlte Neri uud Biaiichi in 13(KI,
130 ; ita tanly a])preciation of DuiiU*,
141 ; a cenutaph uf Duiite erected
in 1829, 142.

Florida, her proposal to secede absurd,
5,48.

Flowers, Keath's enjoyment of, 1, 240.

Floyd, J. B., 5, »1, 80.

Flunlceyi»m, ideal, uf Carlyle, 2, 105.

Fl>'inK fish, 1, 1<)2.

Flying horses, children's pleasure on,
1, 79.

Foibles, human, as treated by Shake-
speare, 1, 279.

Folklore, 2, 314.

Force, brute, Carlyle's belief in, 2,
117.

Force in writing, the pecret of, 3, 14.

FOBEIONEBB, ON A CERTAIK CONDE-
SCENSION IN, 3, 220-254; consider
that they confer a favor on the
country the^ visit, 224 ; a German
beggar's o]>niions of America, 229 ;
consider Americans too sensitive to
criticism, 232.

Forest of Arden, 1, 4t.

Forest primeval, as seen from a
mountain top, 1, 40.

Forgiveness, Drydeu's lines on, 3, 1G7,
175.

Forks brought from Italy by Tom
Coryate, 1, 12G, 200.

Form, its pr()i)er fimction, 2, 136, 138.
See afso, Style.

Formalism of the later Puritanism,
2,74.

Forster, Oeorg, on Rnmler, 2, 200 n.

Forsyth on Italy, 1, 120.

Fortescue, General, letter to, from
Cromwell (1055), 2, 30.

Fortune, herself the sport of Fate,
verses on, 1, 157 ; lines on, 2, 312.

Fortune, Temple of, at Palestrina, 1,
157.

Fortune-hunters, a way of getting
rid ox, suggested, 2, 307.

Forum, Roman. See Rome — Porum.

Foscolo, Ugo, on Dante, 4, 134 ; on
the condemnation of part of the Div,
Com. by the Inquisition, 143 ; on the
date of the Divina ComviediOy 150 ;
on Dante's critics, 1('4 ; on likeness
of Milton to Dante, 171 ; aUo^ 109 n.

Fossil footprints, 3, 278.

Foster, John, the liennit of Cam-
bridge, 1, 89.

Fountains Abbey, 1, 84 ; the dnuy
white statues, 21S.

Fouqu^, his Undine^ 4, 82.

Fourth of July celebratio|ia, 1, 203.

Fowls, 1, 186; at the inn iu Fale*-
triiia, 1(K).

Fox, Charles J., compared with Daniel
Webster, 2, 275; opinioxi of Dry-
den's translation of Horace, 3. 114 n;
letter to Wordsworth, 4, 881.

Fox, George, 1, 302 ; one of his books
sent to J. Winthrop, Jr., 2, 64, 66.

France, the sufirage iu, b, 804 ; the
causes of the Revolution, 6* 16 ; a
manufat'turer of small politiduui
to-day, 208.

in 17'.L', 4, 3C5 ; — hi 1815, wise re-
constructive measures, 6, 321 ; — in
1801, recognizes the Southern States
as belligerents, 249.

Francesca, Dante's tendemeaa to-
wards, 4, 171.

Fran(;ia, Dr., Carlyle on, 2, 95.

Fi'ancioiiy 6, 64.

Francis, St., 6, 119.

Franconia Notch, talk with e man at
a saw-mill, 1, 2.

Frangipani, ancestors of Dante, ^ 128.

Franklin, Benjamhi, 2, 154 ; 3, 863.

Frascati, the ndlroad to, 1, 160.

Fraser, the Scotch gudener in Cam-
bridge, 1, 66.

Fraunce, Abraham, a passage of Mil-
ton traced to, 1, 316.

Fre<Ierick the Great, his portrait hi
the Cambridge barber's shop, 1,
02 ; his treatment of Carlyle imag-
ined, 2, 94 ; his kingdom, hla pri-
vate patrimony, 110 ; his contempt
for Grerman literature, 111 ; the nar-
row limits of his nature, 112; hia
popularity, 112 ; few people at-
tached to him, 113 ; KnebePs Jndg-
ment of him. 113; his inherited
traits, 114; had no genhis but a
masterly talent for organicatiou,
114; his contempt f or all dvil die*
tiuction, 115; refuses to appoint
Lessing librarian, 206; his prafer-
euce for French literature, 220.

Free lectures and entertainments, 3.
255.

Free schools. 6, 170.

Free trade, its slow growth in Eng-
land, 6, 187 ; in America, 203.

Freedmeu, will require spedal pn^
tection, 6, 223 ; must be made land-
holders, 228, and voters, 228 ; their
inherent right to suffrage in a de*
mocracy, 230 ; the proposition to set-
tle them by themselves in a separate
district, 231 : the nation's du^ to-
ward, 311, 324 ; the effect of John*

GENERAL INDEX

261

•on^s policy upon, 320 ; compared to
the new holders of land in France,
321.

Freedom, Barbour's lines on, 4, 2G9 ;
Wordsworth's consistent devotion
to, 6, 10*2. See also^ Liberty.

Freedom of thought, its debt to Vol-
taire, 2, 2G3.

Freedom of the will, the comer-stone
of Dante's system, 4, 238, 244.

French, Jonathan, minister at An-
dover, 2, 208.

Frencli Academy encourages the
eulogistic stylo, 2, 2(J9.

French army in Rome, 1, 60.

French cooks, the secret of their art
applicable to good writing, 3, 119.

French criticism, 2, IGG ; its defect,
4, 9; confounds the common with
the vulgar, 20.

French drama, effect of the demands
of rhyme upon its style, 3, 158 ;
Dryden on, 159, IGO; Goethe's
study of, 102.

French Action, of the corps-de-ballet
variety, 3, 153.

French humor, appeals to the whole
nation, 2, 278.

French language, spoken by Engl^Bh
touritittt and Italian guides, 1. 198 ;
Dryden on its character, 3, 101 ; un-
suited for translating D.iiite, 4, 145.

French literature, its quality of style,
2, 105 ; its influence on German,
and on all modern literature, 220 ;
the school of the cuUists, 4, 8 ; its
quality, 20 ; at one time both grave
and profound, 310 n ; in the IGth
and 17th centuries, 293 n.

French officers in the Revolution-
ary War, 3, 240.

French poetry, Gray on, 3, 102 ; Fau-
riol on, 102 n ; Norman influence
upon, 314 ; rules of pronunciation,
ai4 : Dante familiar with, 4, 212 n.
See also, TrouvArea.
of 18th century, its style overran
Europe, 4, 7 ; Voltaire's difficulties
with, 7.

French politics benumbed by a
creeping paralysis, 6, 198.

French prosody, the treatment of
flual and medial e, 3| 344, 34G.

French realists, delight in impurity,
6,00.

French Revolution, Burke's fury
ngninst, 2,234; its symptoms seen
in Rousseau's writings, 203 ; failure
of its attempt to make over human
nature, 2(>4 ; prefigured by the giant
of Spenser, 4, 350 ; its political les-
sons, 6, 180; Napoleon on, 6, 33;
Wordsworth's view of, 103 ; tried
to reform society after tlie fasliion
of Don Quixote, 124 ; also, 4, 3G7 ;
6, 218.

French Revolutionists aped the Ro-
man republic, 2, 288.

French romance, its long-winded*
ness, 3, 325.

French schools, the teaching in, 6,
109.

French soldiers in Rome, 1, 189.

French standards, English judgment
of, 2, 208.

French tragedy, 2, 131 ; 3, 66.

Frenchmen, their reasons for visiting
Italy, 1, 123 ; American feeling to-
ward, 124 ; sensitive to criticism, 3,
231 ; their contempt for Americans,
239; on America, 241; delight in
elegantly turned phrases, 4, 7;
quality of their intellect, 20 ; morals
said to have been corrupted by
America, 6, 12.

Fresh Pond meadows, 3, 222.

Friendship, 2, 255.

Frittata for supper at Bubiaco, 1,
182.

Frobisher, Sir Martin, 2, 290.

Froissart, 3, 295; description of a
book, 338 n; treatment of final «,
347 ; his Chronicles, B, 121.

Frost, his exquisite handiwork, 3, 286.

Froude on Henry VIII., 5, 124.

Fugitive Slave Law, 6, 290 ; for run-
away states, 54.

Fuller. Thomas, 1, 281 ; on self-exam-
ination, 44 ; gives an example of re-
tributive justice, 6, 128.

Fulton, 2, 154.

Funerals, 3, 256 ; the fiend's sugges-
tion at, 2, 370.

Furies v. Orestes, before the Areopa-
gus, 2, 308 n.

Furnivall, F. J., founder of the Chau-
cer Society, 3, 297.

Fuseli, 1, 173 ; 4, 317 n.

Future life, its necessity i*eoognLeed by
the gentile world, 6, 127.

Gaelic not understood by the spirits,
2,300.

Gaetani, 1, 130.

Galileo, 3, 10 ; 6, 13.

Gallo-BLoman culture, 3, SOS.

Gambetta, 6, 208.

Oammer Gurton^s Needle, 4, 800.

Gano, 3, 227.

Garden acquaintanob, Mt, 3, 192-
219.

Gardens, Italian, 1, 216.

Gardner, Capt. Joseph, 2, 57.

Gabfibld, J. A., President, addreso
on the death of, London, Sept. 24,
1881, 6, 38 ; the English expressions
of sympathy on occasion of his
death, 38, 40 ; the death-scene unex-
ampled, 41 ; his good nature, 42 ; his
death truly for his country, 43 ; his
character, 43; completeness of his
Uf e, 44 ; endeared to all men, 44 ;

262

GESERAL INDEX

frayera for his recoTery offered in
^li*«tiue, 44; hi« grtrat qualitiei,

4.'i.
Gartield, Mrs., ber devoteducss, 6i

40.
GaribaMi, his career in Sicily watched

with intereHt, 6, 17. ■

Garinet quoted, 2, W7. !

Garrick, anecdote of hin counterfeit- !

ing druiikenneitB, 2, U>3 ; in H.imlet, |

3, l>9; omitted the grave-Uiggera'
scene, 73.

Garrow, translation of the Mia yuora^

4, 14U.

Garth, Dr., suggests the addition of '
the Sylphs to the Utipe of the JMCk^
4,32.

Gaitooigne, 3, 31o ; 4, 274 ; quoted, 1,

Gatehurst, house of Sir K. Digby, 2,

5i.

Giiwayne cite<l, 1, 328.
Geew. See umier Binls.
Gellert, 2, 'JliJ ; Mozart on, 139.
6eneaI(>Ki<'A made to order, 1, 318.
Gfiierul, Kyiupathy with, in defeat, 6,

9*2 ; i<lealized by his country, 93.
GeneralitieR, 6, -81.
Generosity of American rich men, 6, ;

9t>.
Genezzano, viHit to, 1, 1G3-170.
Geniality, 1, 87.
Genius coinjiared with talent, 1, 84 : 2,

240; the moaning of th'e word, 1, |

87 ; allowed to repeat itself, 332 ;

neglect by the World not a proof of,

2, 147 ; does not discover itself, 1(X).
genius and character, 171 ; never an

impostor, 240, 244 ; its mantery, 241 ;
the world not ungr.itoful to, 242 ;
alone exempt from examination of
character, 257 ; Johnson's theory of,

3, 14C; the test of, 293; the two
kinds of, 4, 28 ; Browning on, 6,
54; its creative office in literature,
54 ; never finds life commonplace,
54; nho,2, UK); 3, G5, 357.

of Washington AUston, 1, 77 ; of
President Kirkland, 83 ; recognized
in Koat?, 242 ; absent in Frederick
the Great, 2, 114 ; of Wonlswortli,
148 ; of Lessing, 224 ; of Shake-
speare, 244; of Coleridge, 6, 77.

Gentility, Pope's notion of, 3, 188 n.

Gentlemen, the men speoinlly created
to be Kuch, 1, 72 ; proof in Emerson
that Democracy <'an develop them,
3(58 ; drawn by Shakespeare, 3, 92 ;
the end of education to produce true
gentlemen, 6, 177.

Geographies formerly works of fancy
and imagination, 1, 110.

Geology, influence of its discoveries on
human annals, 6, 138.

George III. and his violin teacher, an-
ecdote of, 1, 219; the Gratulatio

presented to, by Hanrud Collete, 6^
151.
G«»orge, Henry, 6 35.

iifurtfe HarnwtU, a tragedy. S09

Lillo. '
German criticism, 2, 1G6 ; iU borrow-
ing pro{ieuMities, 1(3; itwlii^^ to
over-subtlety, 6, 122.
German humor, 2, 105, 1G9.
German language, its reacUonoaatyle,

2, li'4.
German learning, suppliea lantemabot
not the light, 2, 101 ; like the ele-
phants of Pyrrhus, ICG ; the world**
debt to, KMi ; its dangers, 6, 152.

German literature, Carlyle's relation to
the ** storm and thrust ** period, 2f
93 : Fnnierirk the Great^s contempt
for, 112; its want of etprit, 165;
cuuhe of its lack of style, 1C7 ; ita
seeking after some foreign mould,
107 ; its sentiment, 1G8 ; Leasing the
first to have a conception of style,
172; value of Losbing^s influence
upon, 229.

of the 18th century, a pretenttoas
sham, 2, 218; its pedantry and
provinclaliMu, 220; ita relation to
French, 220.

German Muse, 2, 183.

German poetry, the romantio more-
ment, 2, 139.

Germans, their reasons for Tlsltlng
Italy, 1, 123 ; their idea of humor»
2, 90 ; their fondness for mareV
nests, 1C3 ; supply raw materials for
other minds to work upon, 1G5;
their want of tact, 1G7 ; their na-
tional stoicism, 227; aenaitiTe to
criticism, 3, 231 ; their contempt
for America, 239.

Germany, the political ccmdition of the
U. B. before the war compared to,
6, 310 ; love of country impoealble
in, in the 18th cent., 2, 203.

Gervinus, on Shakespeare, 2,168; 8,
(>8 ; on Wolfram von Eadienbaoh**
Parzival, 4, 231.

Get^ler's hat, 2, 218.

Gcsta Eomanorum^ 2, 2^

GcKticulating students, 1, 66.

Gettysburg, 3, 223.

Gevaudan, the wild beast of, 2, 362.

Ghiberti, 4, 119.

Ghosts. See Apparitions; Haunted
houses.

Giant, Canadian, at Commenoemeiife»
1,80.

Gibbon, 2, 237.

GifFord, William, 1, 229; abuae of
Keats in the Quarterly, 226; tlM
best editor of early literature, S(18.

Gift of tongues, its spread among tks
transcendentalists, 1, 362.

Gilbert, Sir Humphrey, 2, 290.

Gil Blot. See LeSage.

GENERAL INDEX

26S

Gflchrist, his oontroverav with Bowles,
4 54.

Oill', Alexander, 4, 123.

Giotto, 4, 119 ; Daute his friend, 125.

Oiraldi, 3, 364.

Glacier, encroachments of slayeiy com-
pared to, 6, 43.

Gladiators, 6, 126.

Gladstone, W. £., 6, 208.

Glan vil, Joseph, accounts of witchcraft,
2, 338 ; on the allej^ed transporta-
tion of witches, 354 ; believed in
witchcraft, 377 ; his Sadducismus
Triumphatu*^ 11.

Glass model of a ship in the Cam-
bridge barber's shop, 1, 63.

Glaucus, 2, 79.

Glees 4 97.

Gleun, Job. Wilh. Lud., 2, 197, 200 ;
Leasing'a advice to, 203.

Gliddon, 6, 220.

Glory, departed, its ghost lingers, 1,
191. See also. Fame.

God, the Emperor of Heaven in Dante*s
idea, 4, 242 n ; Dante's vision of,
256 ; the methods of the divine jus-
tice, 6, 128. See also, Providence.

Godeau, on snow, 3, 275.

Goethe, Carlyle and Emerson both dis-
ciples of, 1, 307; attracted to al-
chemy, 2, 47 ; the imaginative qual-
ity in his works uniform, 85; his
influence on Carlyle, 85; a Euro-
pean poet, 121 ; Schiller's verses to,
quoted, 124 ; his comedies dull, 146 ;
his struggle to emancipate himself
from Germany, 150 ; lack of coher-
ence in his longer works, 167 ; early
notes to Frau von Stein, 168; in
Werthermontirting, 169; grandness
of his figure, 172 ; sacrificed moral-
ity to poetic sense, 195; his visit
to Gottsched, 218; takes pleasure
in his hypothetical despair, 251;
essentially an observer, and inca-
pable of partisanship, 3, 2 ; got his
knowledge of classics second hand,
46 ; uncontemporaneous nature, 101 ;
paid slight attention to Dante, 4,
145 ; early love of Gothic, 235 ; pos-
sibly uifluenced Wordsworth, 380 ;
compared with Wordsworth, 413 ;
his teaching of self-culture, 6, 103 ;
also, 1, 357 304 ; 2, 174, 187, 207 n,
308 ; 3, 25, 301, 355 ; 4, 61, IGl.

on the failure to escape one's own
shadow, 1, 121 ; on Italy, 126 ; on
the German idea of humor, 2, 90 ;
on the office of the Muse, 108; on
Milton's iSa/zifon Agonistes, 133; on
Leasing as a genius, 231 ; on the dis-
tinction between the ancient and
modern drama, 3, 57 ; on Shake-
speare, 63, 66 ; on Hamlet, 87 ; com-
pares a poem to a painted window,
67 ; on destructiTe and productive

criticism, 67 ; on thinking pen in
hand, 123; on the French drama,
162 : on snow in sunshine, 267.
AchUleU, 2, 129; 3, 47; Faust,
written without thought of its
deeper meaning, 90 ; the second part,
a, 139, 168 ; 4, 145 ; Gotz van Ber-
lichingen, 3, 63; — Harz-reise im
Winter, 267 ; — Hermann und Dor'
othea, 2, 129 ; 3, 46 ; — Iphigenie, 2,
133 ; — Roman Idylls, 129 ; — Ueber
alien Gip/eln, 4, 370 ; — Werther^
2, 251 ; — WUhelm Meister, 167 5
Wordsworth on, 4, 380.
Gotz of the Iron Hand, Carlyle's tyjie

of the highest, 2, 94.
Goffe, Col., of Deerfield, 2, 292 ; Prof.

P. compared to, 1, 93.
Gold of the poet, 2, 78.
Golden age, behind every generation,

2,98.
Gold-fish in a vase compared to self-
absorbed travellers, 1, 49.
Goldsmith, his description of a mutual
admiration society, 2, 201 ; his fig-
ure of the lengthening chain,' 3,
136 n ; Wordsworth familiar with,
4, 360 n, 361 : his influence on
Wordsworth, 369, 370; also, 3, 357,
364.
Deserted Village, 2, 135 ; 4, 370 ; —
Traveller, 370;— Vicaf of IVake-
field, 2, 104, 168.
Golias, Bishop, 1, 84 ; 6, 151 ; his
motto appropriate for Americans,
1,199.
Gougora, poet of the cultist school, 4,

8.
Gonzales, Manuel, on servants in Lon-
don, 2, 45.
Good, in itself infinitely and eternally
lovely, 6, 130; its conquests silei^
and beneficent, 176.
Good luck, 4, 391.

Good nature, 6, 42; Dryden on, 3,
176; fostered by a democracy, 6,
97.
Good society, 3, 232 ; Dante's notions
of, 4, 176 ; to be found more easily
in books than in the world, 6, 84.
Good taste the conscience of the mind,

6, 178.
Goodliness of the world, 3, 222.
Goose, Mother. See Mother Goose, 3,

a38.
Gorboduc. See Sackrille.
Gosling, Lady, lier obituary, 2, 219.
Gothic, lack of agreement with the

Roman, 1, 103.
Gothic cathedral, impressiveness and
nobleness of, 1, 206 ; unmntched in
ancient art, 212 ; the vinible symbol
of an inward faith, 4, 234 ; compared
to the Divine Comedy, 236.
Gottsched, Lessing on, 2, 175; his
Art of poetry, 2\%; Goethe's visit to^

264

GENERAL INDEX

218; hit anrvioe to German litera-
ture, 219.
Gout, 8, 13.

Goveruuieut, Dante on, 4, 243 ; Machi-
avelli on the duration of, 6, 36 ; the
ahsurdity of the lauses-faire system
■hown by Buchanan, 47, 56 ; stabil-
ity the first requisite of, CO ; extent
of dominion an advantage, 66;
bound to enforce its laws, 74 ; an
oligarchy built on men and a com-
monwealth built of them, 89; the
resources of prestige and sentiment
greater for an hereditary ruler, 184 ;
self-defence its first duty, 186 ; that
which makes a nation great in every
fibre to be preferred to tliat which
produces great men, 216 ; the Anglo-
Saxon mind prefers a practical sys-
tem, the French a theoretical, 218 ;
in the Old World and in the New.
251 ; resides fai the rights of all, 304 ;
the duties distinguished from the
rights of self-government, 305 ; the
fauings of all forms of , 8, 27 ; gov-
ernment by discussion and by a ma-
jority of voices, 27 ; men of ability
smre to govern in the end, 29 ; tlie
name of the system unimportant, 33 ;
unwrittmi constitutions, 34. See
aUo, Politics ; Statesmanship.
Ctovemor of Massachusetts, his ap-
pearance <m artillery-election days,
■, 68.

irer, Ohaocer on, 3, 321 ; his dul-

~^, 329; his use of rhyme, 329,
i a<«o, 346.

.- at the Harvard Commencement

lnnerB,l,83.

idaate, oldest survivii^, his advan-

iges, 1, 82.

afty, Mrs., of Graven St., Fhisbury,
her recollections of Keats, 1, 223.
Jrahame, on winter, 3, 272.
Orandier, Urbain, witnesses at his trial,
2, 366 ; the object of a conspiracy,

Chnrndfloqueat style, by whom used, 2,
6a.

Cbangier, first French translation of
Dant&4,143.

Grant, General, Lincoln^s remark in
relation to, 3, 149 n.

Qranuflo in Marston^s Faton^ 1, 266,
273.

Gratis-instinct in human nature, 3,
267.

Gray, Thomas, his art, 2, 80 ; fond-
ness for Latin poems, 1'20 ; iuRpired
by Collins, 4^ 4 ; Wordsworth^sdebt
to, 4 n, 361 ; hiH taute, 6 u ; Spenser ^s
influence upon, 352 ; occiRional
touch of coarseness, 6, GO ; also, 2,
146 ; 3, 269, 363 ; 6, 108.
on Qxr*- '-houglits, 3, 10 n ; on Dry-
den, n, 173 ; on French poetry,

162 n ; on Dyer, 4, 5 n ; on ^»
condition of the Engiish colleges, 6.
160.
Progress of Poesy ^ 4, 4 ; — Sonnet on
the Death of West^ a verse traced to
Lucretius, 5 u.

Orazziui, 3, 364.

Great deeds, the ghosts of, haunt their
graves, 1, 191.

Great men, seldom discovered in their
own lifetime, 1, 74 ; 2, 32 ; the re-
sult of combining every one's remi-
niscences of, considered, 1, 74 ; Bos-
well's predilection for, 123 ; stories
of tlieir childhood, 223 ; the valet de
chambre estimate of, 2, 267; in
America, 280 ; cliaracteristics of, 3,
104 ; their parentage and early sur>
roundings, 4, 362 ; their production
tlie glory but not the duty of a coun-
try, 6, 216 ; 6, 209 ; their effect on
history, 91 ; the importance of, 208 ;
also^ 2, 281 ; 6, 46.

Gbbat Public Characteb, A [Josiah
Quincy], 2, 272-312.

Greatness, seems a simple thing to it-
self, 2, 160.

Greek architecture, sameness of effect
in public buildings, 1, 213 ; its com-
pleteness, 4, 233.

Greek art, 3, 366.

Greek drama, its conventional forms
not applicable to modem drama, 2,
130 ; the modem opera and oratorio
compared to, 132 ; Samson Ago-
nisteSf its best modem reproduc-
tion, 133 ; objections to servile copy-
ing of its form and style, 136 ; diffi-
culty of regaining tlie Greek point
of view, 137 ; tlie three stages of
Greek tragedy, 138; its simplicity
in form, not in expression, 3, 39;
parallel passages noted in Shake-
speare, 49 ; contrasted with the mod-
em in its motive, 66 ; its personages
types, not individuals, 58 ; keeps its
hold on men's minds, 65 ; its sim-
plicity, 4, 232; its relation to tiie
higlier powers, 233; its complete-

ness, 233.

Greek gods in Greek literature, 4, 233.

Greek idetd, the striving after, 2, 124.

Greek language, tlie study of, 6, 164 ;
its flexibility and precision, 166.

Greek literature, Cicero's twaddle
about, 1, 100 ; tlie best attitude
toward it, 2, 127 ; its relation to
modem literature, 127-139; prob-
able truth of modem imitations,
136; in what renpects it should be
followed, 13S; its quality, 3, 32;
misfortune of applying it to drill in
grammar, 33; still furnishes the
standards for modern work, 34;
Prof. Popkiu's appreciation of, 6f
152 ; its living quality, 165 ; value ol

GENERAL INDEX

265

the study of, 166. See cUso, Clas-
sics.

Oreek sculpture, 4, 1 19.

Greek thought contrasted with mod-
ern thought, 2, 136.

Greeks, their artistic nature, how to
gain a true conception of, 1, 48.

Greeley, Horace, his intimate know-
ledge of our politics, 6| 138; his
The American Conflict contrasted
with Pollard's Southern History y\2fi ;
its style, 138 ; its fairness, 139.

Green, Christian, witch, 2, 340.

Greenough, the sculptor, 6, 151.

Greenville, Maine, reached late at
night, 1, 12.

Greenwood's museum in Boston, 1,
Gl.

Gregariousness of men, 2, 386.

Gridiron, its use unknown in northern
Maine, 1, 8.

Grief desiring other company than its
own, 2, 248 ; idealized, 297 ; ex-
pressed in elegies, 3, 117.

Grimes, Senator, 6, 198.

Grimm, Baron, anecdote of Garrick and
Pr^ville counterfeiting drunkenness,
2, 103 ; his style in French, 167 ; on
Lessing's Fables, 197 ; story of the
Parisian showman, 6, 24.

Grimm, Jacob, on the mandrake's
groan, 1, 275 ; on the survival of
heathen divinities, 2, 327; on the
raven, 348 ; on the use of broom-
sticks by witches, 356.

Groceries in Cambridge, 1, 63.

Grouse cooked before the fire, 1, 26.

Growing-pains, 6, 17.

Groyne, Tlie, or CoruSa, 1, 66.

Guarini, Jonson on, 4, 301 n.

Guelfs and Gliibellines in Italy in 13th
century, 4, 129.

Guest, Edwin, verse-deaf, 3, 346.

Guides in Italy, 1, 134 ; their office
deadly to sentiment, 141; demands
for more payment, 175 ; delightful
absence of, in an American town,
185.

Guide's Hours, Spenser's verses com-
pared to, 4, 310.

Guide Novello da Polenta, 4, 135, 136.

Guinicelli, Guido, 4, 229 n.

Guizot, on the measure of endurance
of the United States, 6, 207.

Gunpowder, 2, 325.

Gurowski, Count, on absence of sing-
ing-birds in America, 3, 212.

Guy-Fawkes procession succeeded by
the Comwallis, 1, 77.

Guyot, 3, 240.

Gymnasium, 1, 186.

Habbakuk cited as an instance of cor-
poreal deportation, 2, 353.
Haddock, James, apparition of, 2,322.
Hadrian, hU villa in TivoU, 1, 186;

why he took three days to reach it
from Rome, 153.

Hagedom, 2, 146; Leasing^s regard
for, 219,

Hailes, Lord, on Dunbar's Dance of
the Seven Deadly Sins^ 4, 269.

Hair, Washington Allston's, 1, 73.

Hair-cutting in the Cambridge bar-
ber's shop, 1, 61.

Hakluyt's Voyages, the language off
3, 6; 4,92.

Hale, E. B., on orioles' nests, 3, 210.

Hales, Mr., on the date of Spenser's
birth, ^ 284 n.

Hall, Bishop, Milton's quotation of
lines from, 4, 94 ; his Satires., 94 n.

Hallam on Oldham, 3, 177.

Halliwell, J. O., editor of Marston's
works, his poor English, 1, 262 ;
his vague notions of Latin, 2(k ; his
bad editing, 264; his emendations
and explanations, 272.

Halpine, Major 0. G., on Spenser's
Rosallnde and on his wife, 4, 285 ti.

Halpine, Rev. N. J., his Oberon^ 4.
285 n.

Hamlet, dallies with suicide, 2, 161 ;
on ghosts, 326. See alsOy Shake-
speare.

Hammond, Mr., proclaims the acces-
sion of King Cotton, 6, 22.

Hamon's picture of wise men before a
Punch's theatre, 2. 104.

Hancock, Gov., 1, 65 ; J. Quincy's ac-
count of a dinner by, 2, 294.

Hard-headed people, 6, 95.

Hares, Dr. Kitchener's dictum on, 2,
260.

Harney, Gen., 6, 62.

Harrington, Sir John, on poetry, 4,
409.

Harris, Sir Nicholas, his life of Chau-
cer, 3, 294.

Harrison, General G., 2, 31.

Hartington, Marquis of, at a publio
ball in New Tork, 3, 242 ; presented
to President Lincoln, 242 u.

Harvard, John, 6, 82, 141.

Harvard, the sloop, 1, 68.

Harvard College, uniform of the schol-
ars, 1, 56 ; Massachusetts Hall oo-
cupied by Burgoyne's soldiers, 56 ;
the Latin oration, 57 ; ** parts " for
Exhibition or Commencement re-
hearsed in the Gravel-pit, 57 ; the
impressiveness of the President and
Governor. 58; the wood fires of
former days, 69; the Trienniid
Catalogue, 82 ; President Kirkland,
83; functions of the President in
old times, 84; the college fire-en-
gine, 88 ; the Med. Faon., 88 ; fight
between the students and the sol-
diers on training-day, 92; books
{>resented by Sir K. Digby, 2, 67 ;
ts influence on Boston, ISK); the

266

GENERAL INDEX

education given in the last centnry,
299 ; President Quiucy, 305 1, Quin-
cy's History of, 307.
Habyard College: address on the
260th anniversary, Nov. 8, 1886, 6,
137-180 ; the character and purpose
of its founders, 140, 143, 147, 178 ;
the feelings of her sons iu returning
to their Alma Mater, 141 ; the strait-
ness of its early means, 141 ; the
founders commemorated in the
words of tlie Preaclier, 141 ; the sig-
nificance of the anniversary, 142;
the founding of the College secured
the intellectual independence of
New England, 143; the circum-
stances of its foundation, 143 ; the
influence and character of the
clergy, 144; the training of Indian
youth one object, 147; the profes-
sors underpaid and overworked,
149 ; condition of the college in
17th and 18th centuries, 149 ; the
students safe from any contagion of
learning at some former periods,
150 ; the Gratulatio and the Whit-
field controversy as indications of
the state of learning, 151 ; the chief
service of the College to hand down
the tradition of Learning, 151 ; let-
ters not neglected for mere scholar-
ship, 152 ; influence of the College
on the character of New England,
153, 169 ; the new learning from
Germany early welcomed here, 156 ;
the conditions of American life not
then favorable for the larger uni-
versity life, 157 ; the recent expan-
sion of the College toward filling
University functions, 157, 107 ; the
mottoes of the College, 157 ; the
functions of a university and the
aims of teaching. 158, 174, 176 ; the
teaching of the Humanities to re-
main predominant, 160, 177 ; the
elective or voluntary system, 161,
178 ; danger of pushing it too far in
the present transitional condition of
the College, 162; the administra-
tion of President Eliot, 167 ; ad-
vanced courses to be pushed on into
the post-graduate period, 168; fel-
lowships desirable foundations, 168 ;
influence of the College on prepara-
tory schools, 171 ; its dnty to pro-
duce cultivated men, 171, 174, 177 ;
its general purpose to train the fac-
ulties for the duties rather than the
business of life, 170; welcome to
the guests present, 179.
Commencement^ the dinner, 1, 2 ;
the great Puritan holiday, 66 ; 6,
154 ; Lewis, the brewer's handcart,
1, 61 ; the two town constables at
the meeting-house door, 64 ; respect
paid the governor, 65 ; its sights and

pleasures described, 79 ; old gradu*
ates at, 82.

Harvard Washington Corps, Pres.
Kirkland's remark to, 1, 87 ; its
vagaries, 88.

Harvey, Gabriel, 4, 129, 155; intro-
duced hexameters, 277 ; Nash on his
hexameters, 278 n ; his self-absorp-
tion, 285 n ; the finer passages in
his prose, 285 n.

Harvillier, Jeanne, her trial for witch-
craft, 2, 380.

Hastiness in writing, 3, 120 n.

Hastings, Lord, Drydeu's verses on
the death of, 3, 107.

Hatem Tai's tent, 3, 225.

Hathaway tried for witchcraft, 2.
11.

Hats, Prof. P.'s collection, 1, 93 ; ban-
dit h»ts, 178.

Haunted houses, Pliny's story of, 2,
323. See of. so, Apparitions.

Havelok, 3, 313.

Hawkes, Henry, on the cities of Mex-
ico, 1, 110.

Hawkins, Sir John, account of the
Canaries, 1, 110.

Hawkins, Sir Richard, 2, 290.

Hawkwood, Sir John, 3, 248.

Hawthorne, the unwilling poet of the
Puritanism of the past, 1, 365; a
descendant of one of the Witch-
craft judges, 2, 21 ; his intuitive ap-
preciation of New England life, 51 ;
his treatment of hereditary vices,
125; the Marble Faun, 125; the
character of Mr. Dimmesdale in
the Scarlet Letter, 265 ; on England,

3, 231 ; also, 223.

Haydon, on the lofty purpose of Word**
worth and Keats, 1, 225 ; on Keats's
depression, 228 ; on his eyes, 241 ;
quoted, 2, 196.

Haying, in northern Maine, 1, 11 ; in
the Seboomok meadows, 30.

Haynes, John, on the dissolution of
the Rump Parliament in 1G53, 2,
34; on a catechism denying the di-
vinity of Christ, 39.

Hazlitt, W. C, his Early English
Poetnj in the *' Library of Old Au-
thors," 1, 254 ; edition of Webster,
282 ; examples of blunders, 283 ; his
edition of Lovelace, 304 ; his absurd
emendations, 304; his notes, 309;
his rash conceit, 319; his lack of
taste and discrimination, 320 ; fur-
ther instances of his incapacity,
321 ; his insinuations against Wright
and Warton, 329; his editorial
method characterized, 347 ; his edi-
tion of Herrick, 320 ; on Ritson*s
editing, 331 ; on Spenser's allegory,

4, 321 ; also, 85.

Head-dress of Italian peasant womePt
1, 171.

GENERAL INDEX

267

Heathen, Dante on their state after
death, 4, 248.

Heathen divmities. See Pagan divm-
ities.

Heather, its American substitute,
1,13.

Hebrew literature, 4, 234.

Hector, 2, 104, 296.

Hecuba, 2, 21.

Heeren, Bancroft's translation of, 6,
157.

Heidegger, Dr., 2, 300.

Heine, his airy humor, 2, 90; his
style, 167 ; his want of inward pro-
priety, 170 ; his cynicism, 229 ;
turned the Gods of Greece to good
account, 327 ; on the nature of wo-
man, 3^; his profound pathos, 6,
56 ; influenced by Spanish romances,
116 ; the first English translation of,
157; hated the Romans for invent-
ing Latin grammar, 164; alsOj 1,
364 ; 3, 259, 301.

Helen of Kirconnel^ Wordsworth's
version compared with the original,
4, 403n.

Helen of Troy, 1, 32.

Helias, St., 2, 368 n.

Hell, imi^ined as the reverse of
Heaven, 2, 349 ; Dante's picture of,
4, 175; Marlowe on, 175.

Heminge and Condell, 3, 20.

Henchmen, 1, 176.

Henry IV. of France at Ivry, a Ro-
man policeman compared to, 1, 216 ;
compared with Lincoln in character
and circumstances, 6, 190.

Henry VII., Emperor, his expedition
to Italy, 4, 133 ; his death, 134.

Henry IX. of England, so-called, 2,
274.

Hens. See Fowls.

Heraclitus, 1, 165.

Herakles and Samson, 2, 134.

Herbert, George, character of his
poems, 1, 254 ; a/«o, 4« 21 n ; quoted,
6.165.

Herbert of Cherbury, Lord, on riding,
4y ool.

Herder, 2, 169, 219; his love-letters,
208.

Heredity, 3, 315 ; influence of, in great
men, 4« 362 ; makes all men in a
sense coeval, 6, 138. See dlso, An-
cestry.

Heresy, Selden on, 2, 216 ; Dante had
no sympathy with, 4, 244.

Heretics, Lessing on, 2, 199 ; the per-
secution of, 374.

Hermit, who became a king, a mediae-
val apologue, 6, 1.

Hermit instinct strong in New Eng-
land, 1, 89.

Hero, Carlyle's picture of, 2, 93 ; a
makeshift of the past, 106 ; eagerly
accepted by a nation, 6, ^.

Herodias in legend, 2, 358.

Herodotus, Plutarch on, 3, 231.

Heroic treatment demanded for tri-
fling occasions, 6, 198.

Heroism the touch of nature that
makes the whole world kin, 6, 42.

Herrick, Hazlitt's edition of, 1, 320 ;
also, 2, 223 ; 4, 369 ; — On Julia's
Petticoat, 3, 124.

Hertzberg, Wilh., Geoffrey Chaucer's
Canterbury-Geschichten, 3, 291, 298.

Hesperides, apples of, true poems
compared to, 4, 266.

Heylin, Dr., on French cooks, 3, 119.

Hey wood's Foiir P. P. quoted, 1,
337 ; his Woman killed with kind-
ness quoted on the condition of pris-
ons in old England, 159.

Hibbins, Mr., 2, 27.

Higginson, T. W., preacher and sol-
dier, 2, 286.

Highlanders. See Scotch Highlanders.

Hildesheim, Bishop of, his demon-
cook, 2, 366.

Hill, Aaron, Pope's correspondence
with, 4, 52.

Hippocrene, 4, 89.

Hippolytus. See Euripides.

Hirschel lawsuit, Lessing employed as
a translator in, 2, 187.

Historians, Raleigh's warning to, 3,
54; 4, 319n.

Historic continuity, its effect on na-
tional individuality, 6, 223.

Historical composition, the value of
anecdote and scandal in, 2, 284 ; the
modern fashion of picturesque writ-
ing, 4, 64 ; the value of contempo-
rary memoirs, 65 ; 6, 241, 242 ; the
so-called dignity of, often mere dul-
ness, 4, 66; the Johnsonian swell
of the last century, 67 ; importance
of good taste in, 67 ; value of per-
sonal testimony, 6, 118 ; distorted
by bad logic and by the style of the
writer, 120 ; truth of circumstance
combined with error in character,
121 ; the annalist's method, 121 ; the
'^standard" histories, 121; the
poet's view of, 123 ; the historical ro-
mance, 123 ; the epic style, 123 ; the
partisan method, 124 ; the forlorn-
hope method, 124 ; the a priori fash-
ion, 124 ; the ancient method, 277.

Historical insight, 2, 111.

Historical romance, 6, 123.

History, its key to be found in Amer-
ica, 1, 53 ; without the soil it grew
in, its shortcomings, 113 ; cycles in
the movement of, 191 ; 6, 126 ; its
humors, 2, 22 ; the hero in, 74 ; Car-
lyle's scheme of, 99 ; the place of
popular opinion in, 99 ; events gain
in greatness from the stage on which
they occur, 275; its field generally
limited, 278 ; made largely by igno-

268

GENERAL INDEX

ble men, 4, 288 ; manipulation of,
6, 97 ; contemporary evidence to be
taken with caution, 119 ; no absolute
dependence to be placed upon, 125 ;
difficulty of forecasting events, 125 ;
coincidences and parallelisms of his-
tory, 126 ; the hand of Providence
in, 127 ; man's part in the operations
of the loom of time, 130; the
changes in the moral and social con-
ditions of nations, 131 ; historical
characters compared with imagi-
nary, 6, 81 ; the teaching of, 91 ; its
periods short in comparison with ge-
ological antiquity, 138 ; the study of,
177 ; Burke's view of, 197 ; also, 4,
258. See also, Antiquity ; Biogra-
phy; Past.

Hoar, Senator, 6, 204.

Hobbes, 4, 80 ; Pope's Essay on Man
distilled from his Leviathan, 36.

Hodgson, Capt., 2, 7.

Hogan Moganships, 1, 145.

Hogarth, 3, 06 ; compared to Chaucer,
354 ; compared with Fielding, 6, 62.

Hogs, Gilbert White's observations on,
3, 193.

HohenzoUems, Carlyle's admiration
for, 3, 247.

Holbein, 3, 233.

Holda, 2, 358.

Holding up the hand, Mr. Hazlitt on,
1 345.

Holmes, Dr. O. W., 4, 61 ; 6, 48, 83;
on physiological changes, 3, 224.

Holt, Chief-Justice, belief in witch-
craft, 2t 11*

Holy Grail, legends of, 4, 231.

Homekeeping youths, 1, 49 ; 6, 167.

Homeliness of Anglo-Saxon poetry, 3,
335.

Homer, Keats should have translated
him, 1, 289; Chapman's reverence
for, 290 ; the different conceptions
of his metre, 291 ; fond of asso-
nances, 292 ; his verse compared to
the long ridges of the sea, 292 ; his
simplicity, 1^3; passage of Spenser
suggested by, 4, 331 ; inferences as
to contemporaiy manners unsafe,
340 n ; his homieliness, 6, 242 ; his
imaginative power, 6, 52; also, 2,
150 ; 3, 25, 365 ; 6, 227.
Dryden on, 3, 120 n.
Chapman's translation. See Chap-
man's Homer.

Odyssey, 3, 310; 4, 414; the true
type of the allegory, 321,

Homeric translation. See Translation
of Homer.

Honesty, intellectual, 2, 198.

Honor, sense of, Daveuant's line on, 3,
139 n.

Hood quoted, 6, 172.

Hooke, William, 2, 44; letters on
English affairs, 38, 48.

Hooker, 4, 80.

Hooks and eyes, the milleimiuni de-
pendent on, 1, 362.

Hope, Pope's lines on, 4, 41 .

Hopkins, the witch-finder, 2, 364.

Hopkins, Bishop, 6, 2^.

Horace, sentiment of, 2, 252 ; a poet
and a soldier, 286 ; Pres. Quincy^s
fondness for, 299 ; Dryden's tran^a-
tion of Ode iii. 2i9, 3, 114; the one
original Roman poet, 305 ; Duiiel's
amplification of Integer Yitae, 4^
282 ; also, 266.

on hastiness in writing, 3, 120 n ; on
winter, 265 ; on the punishment of
crime, 6, 128.

Horizon at sea, 1, 105.

Horrible and Terrible, Aristotle's dl»-
tinction between, 1, 280.

Horse and Hattock, witch formula, 2,
358.

Horse in green spectacles, the public
compared to, 4, 7.

Horses, indication of senility in, 1,
137 ; those who have to do with
them the same everywhere, 146 ; in
pagan mythology, 2, 348.

Horseback riding at Tivoli, 1, 136.

Horse-chestnuts in blossom, 1, 54.

Hortop, Job, account of the Ber-
mudas, 1, 110.

Hospitality, of woodmen, 1,38; recip-
rocal, 160 ; in earlier days, 2, 295.

Hot weather, satisfaction of seeing
the thermometer higher than ever
before, 3, 196.

Hotels, lack of comfort in American,

1, 19 ; 2, 71 ; the touters of rival
hotels, 6, 211.

Houghton, Lord, on the parentage of
Keats, 1, 219, 221 ; on the effect of
the Quarterly article on KeatA, 228.

House-moving in America, 1, 125.

Howell, James, 6, 82 ; cured by Sir K.
Digby, 2, 56.

Howells, William D., 6, 82.

Howes, Edward, his letters to J. Win-
throp, Jr., on tdchemy and other
mysteries, 2, 46; urges tolerance,
49 ; on the true shape of Christ, 50 ;
a true adept of the hermetic philos-
ophy, 50.

Howgall, Francis, 2, 64.

Hroswitha, treated the legend of The-
ophilus, 2, 329.

Hubb, Herr, his so-called comic poem,

2, IGl).

Hue, Father, 3, 9.

Hudson, the railway king, 6, 31.

Huet, 1, 61.

Hughes, Mr., on Spenser's measure, 4,
329 n.

Hughes, Thomas, 3. 243.

Hugo, Victor, his idea of the poet*s
function, 2, 157 ; the representative
of sentimentalism, 268; on Shake-

GENERAL INDEX

269

Bpearei 3. 63 ; his Marion Ddormcj
6, 120 n.

Human imperfection^ 2, 109.

Human life, Dante on the course of,
4, 213.

Human mind, Dante on its double use,
4,186.

Human nature, the most entertaining
a8x>ect of nature, 1, 114, and the
most ironderful, 376; hard to find,
but good company, 118 ; its ideal, 2,
92; Carl^le's disdain of, 109; its
modification by habit, 136 ; the at-
tempts to make it over, 264 ; its
sameness, 3, 231 ; the gratis-instinct,
255; Dante on its double end, 4«
220 ; as an elem^tnt in the making of
history, 6, 126 ; the instinct that
embodies and personifies abstract
conceptions, 6, 104. See aUOt Life ;
Man; Soul.

Human reason, CarIyle*B contempt for,
2,95.

Human wit limited in qtiantity, 6, 35.

Humanitarianism, 6, 23 n.

Humbug, the English vocabulary in-
complete without, 1, 196.

Hume, David, 2, 225 n.

Hume, the spiritualist, 2, 391 n.

Humor, Yankee humor displayed in
the Gomwallis, 1, 77 ; the German
idea of its essence, 2, 90 ; without
artistic sense degenerates into the
grotesque, 90 ; its essential, 98 ; of
a heavy man, 4, 66 ; essential to the
composition of a sceptic, 160 ; sense
of, 6, 7.

of Shakespeare and other writers, 1,
278 ; 6, 56 ; of Emerson, 1, 355 ; of
Carlyle, 2, 88, 89, 98 ; of Cervantss,
90 ; 6, 119, 129 ; of Heine, 2, 90 ; of
Rabelais, 90 ; of Richter, 165 ; in-
stances of, in Dante, 4, 208 n ;
wanting in Spenser, 319; absence
of the sense of, in Wordsworth, 6,
110. See alsOy American, Englisli,
French, (German humor.

Humors, more common in old times, 1,
95.

Humors of character, preserved by an
academic town, 1, 89.

Humors of history, 2, 22.

Humorist, the, never quite uncon-
scious, 6, 56.

Hunt, Gov., on the main object of the
Constitutional party of 1860, 6, 27.

Hunt, Leigh, 3, 354; his critical
method, 332.

on Keats's sensitiveness with regard
to his family, 1, 220; on America,
3, 247 ; on Spenser, 4, 329 n ; on
Wordsworth's eyes, 394; on Field-
ing, 6, 57.

Huon of Bordeaux, 2, 295.

Hurd, 2, 225.

Hurry, of American life, 1, 7 ; of the

present day, 58; characteristic of

the Anglo-Saxon, 131.
Hu;^ng-bee, 1, 186.
Hutchinson, Mrs., reference to, in Edw.

Howes's letter, 2* 50.
Hypochondria, 2, 321.

lago. See Shakespeare — Othello.

Ice on the trees, 3, 279; Ambrose
Philips's description of, 280.

Iceland, Northmen in, 3, 320.

Ideas, the world's stock limited, 2, 97.

Ideal, the, in Emerson's lectures, 1,
355 ; in Thoreau's writings, 379 ; in
literature, difficulty of attaining, 4,
281 ; needed as a basis for the real,
6, 21 ; as real as the sensual, 81 ;
the ideal and the real, 3, 66.

Ideal life constantly put forward by
Emerson, 1, 358.

Ideal truth, art a seeking after, 1, 379.

Identity, 3, 224.

Ignorance, a certain satisfaction in, 1,
118.

Ilexes at Subiaco, 1, 183.

Illumination, Chaucer's pictures of life
compared to, 3, 325.

Images, Dryden's use of, 3, 129; of
Langland, 333.

Imagination, the ftne eye of, needed by
a traveller, 1, 46 ; driven out by the
public school, 107 : wanting in mod-
ern travellers, 110 ; faith in, pre-
served by the Roman Churcli, 195 ;
essential to enduring fame, 2, 79 ;
not to be increased by study and
reflection, 84 ; in a Scotchman, 107^
its action as a mythologizer, 318;
its higher creative form, 3, 30 ; dis-
tinguished from fantasy, 32 ; its laws
to be most clearly deduced from
Greek literature, 32; its secondary
office as the interpreter of the poet's
conceptions, 40 ; coramon-senne sub-
limed, 270 ; Collins on, 4, 3 ; ig-
nored by French criticism, 9 ;
Wordsworth the apostle of, 27 ; at-
tempts at, by an unimaginative man,
66; must not be furnished with a
yard-stick, 101 ; the life-giving power
in poetry, 267 ; its office in litera-
ture, 284; its full force found only
in three cr four great poets, 6, 52 ;
works of, have a usefulness higher
in kind than others, 52 ; its uplift-
ing and exhilarating effect on the
moral and intellectual nature, 52;
the bestower of originality and gen-
ius, 53 ; in lower natures, com-
bines with the understanding and
works through observation, 5S ; its
importance taught by Coleridge, 71 ;
the world of, 81, 94 ; homeliness of,
in popular tales, 85 ; applied to the
domain of politics by Burke, 197.
See cUsOt Fancy.

270

GENERAL INDEX

itsqufility in Kn.itR, 1, 243; in Tho-
reuu, 3(>l>; WunlMWortirs lack of, 2*
78 : of B(irkt\ 81 ; of Hluikeiipeaiv,
81 ; 3, ^A ; 4« W; ot (im-tlie, 2, 8r>;
of Carlvlt>. IK). KH : of Drvilfn, 3,
113; of Chaucer. :W1 ; of Mil tun. 4,
in) ; of ])antt>, 'J-J-.i ; of 8i>eiuwT. 'A^\ :
of Fieldiuf^, 6, TiT* ; of Coleridge, 72 ;
mIiowu in CervauUM* cliaractera,
l.r7.

Inuigiiiative oivationn, 6f l'<28.

Iniii^inutive liter.itiire, iU place in a
piihlic library. 6, IH.

luiiiginative work, itH inner quality ac-
cetwihle only to a heightened sense,
6, 123.

luuigiucs of the Romans, a substitute
pruiKMed, 1, 317.

Imitation, 1, 28U; pnxluces the arti-
ficial, not the artJKtic, 2, 127 ; the
faocinution of, 128 ; the ^re.it poets
not Huweptiblu of, 3, 37. See also,
Originality.

IiiuiiiKratitMi, its dnngeni, 6i 205.

Iniin(>rtality of fame, 3, 278.

Iniola, Beuveuuto da. See Benye-
nuto.

Iniiwirtiulity impossible in time of civil
war, 6, 131.

Imperfection of human nature, 2, 109.

Impracticable, the, always politically
unwise, 6, 10(>.

Imprecations of an Italian guide, 1,
173.

Impressions, their value, 3, 29.

Impressment, 2, 301.

Incarnation, Tlie, 4, 2.'>.'>.

Incongruities of life, 1, Sfi.

Inconsistency, Petrarch the perfection
of, 2, 2ri3 ; of Dr>clen, 3, 123 ; a
necepsary incident of political life,
6, lOf..

Inconstancy, Webster*s lines on, 1,
2S1.

Indecision of character exemplified in
Hnmlet, 3, 7(>.

Independence, of Lessing, 2, 186 ; de-
veloped in a democracy, 6, 31.

Indkpexdent in Politics, Thr place
OF the: addroHR Apr. 13, 1888, 6,
190-221 ; defined, 194 ; bin office to
denounce abuneg in political meth-
o<lfl, 201 : needed to mo<lerate be-
tween ])artief», 212 ; the reform of
parties to be wroupht by, 213 ; de-
nounced for advocating civil service
refonn, 21. 'i.

Indian Mutiny, 3, 238.

Indian nomen<rlature, 1, 14.

Indians, American, anecdote of one
who preferred hanging to preach-
ing, 1, 78 ; their capture advocated
in order to exchange them for ne-
groes, 2| 42 ; as servants in early
New England, 43 ; royal and noble
titles applied to, by the early set-

tlers, C8; wniiaiiu*a oplnloo of
them, (i9 ; he decliues to sell them
coats and breeches, 00 ; become ro-
mantic as they cease to be iangep>
ous, 70 ; the legend of the werwolf
found among, 3lK!; supiNMed to
worsliip the Devil, 37G ; tlie Pnritaa
couver»ion of, 3, 218 ; Pi^'s lines
on^ 4, 40 ; iu Harrard GoUege, 6,
147.

Indignation, 3, 230.

ludividualikiu of modem Utentare.
2, IM. ^

Individualixation makea qrmfMithy
more lively, 6, 2M2.

Indirectness, its office in deecriptlTO
writing, 3, 42.

Inevitable, arguments with, 6. 17.

Infallibility, 2, 22.

Infernal hierarchy, 2, 327.

Intiueni'e abiding after death, 2, 230.

Ingenuous, our youth no longer so, 1,

X X m^m

Inhabitiveness, tlie author's, 1, 61.

Injustice, 6, 2r>3.

Inns, in Palestrina, 1, l.'iS ; in Olerano,
173 ; cleanliness of Itslian inns duo
to Englihh travellers, 199 ; of Cam-
bridgeport, 70. See a/jro, T^vema.

Inquisition of the 13th cent the begin-
ning of systematic perae<»tioa for
M itt'hcraf t, 2, 374.

Inscriptions, Assyrian and otlien, 1,
40 ; the mad desire to dedpher
them, 318.

Insiglit, 3, 301.

Inspiration, 3, 62 ; 4, 386 ; bandy f<«
a political speaker to have, 6. 191 ;
more convenient than knowMdio.
192.

Instinct, Pope's lines (», 4, 37.

Institutions too changeable to |iro>
serve the memory of atateamen, 1,

Intellectual ancestry, 1, 241.

Intellectual dyspepsia of the tnoi*
scendental movement, JL 362.

Intellectual natures, 1, 229.

Intensity in Wordsworth's highor
moo<ls. 4, 405.

Intensity of phrase affected by mod-
em poets, 2, 82.

Intolerance itself to be tolented, 8,
07.

Invention, 3, 300.

Irelaml, AVx., Book-lorerU EtuMrU
(lion, 6, 78.

Ireland, in Kith century, 4, 286 ; In-
dependen<>e of Eufifland not desired,
6, 08; its economic condition in
Artlnir Young's time, 228.

Irislnnen, prejudice against, in tbo
North, 6, 231 ; anecdote of an Iriah-
man newly arrived in New York, 6^
25 ; on tlie worn-out farms of Miaeg
chusetts,25; in America, 219 ; thofar

GENERAL INDEX

271

fidelity and self-sacrifice toward Ire-
land, 219. See also, Feniaus.

Irish pride of ancestry, 2, 19.

Iron, man's sympatliy for, 1, 115.

Irony of Hamlet, 3, 83.

Irrepressible conflict, the, 6, 32.

Irresolution, the consequences of, dis-
played in Hamlet, 3, 91.

Irving, Edward, Carlyle on his singu-
larities, 2, 107.

Irving, Washington, divined and illus-
trated the humorous side of early
New England history, 2, 5 ; his
Knickerbocker imitates CervanteSi
6,135.

Isaiali, 4, ICO ; 6, 113, 192.

Islands In Moosehead Lake, 1, 26.

Israelites and the Pilgrims compared
as to infiuence on the future, 2, 1.

Italian acting, 1, 175.

Italian beggars. See Beggars, Italian.

Italian dialects. Dante's work on, 4,
154.

Italian exiles drawn to Dante, 4, 1C9.

Italian gardens, 1, 215.

Italian liistory in relation to Dante,
4,237.

Italian inns, their cleanliness due to
English travellers, 1, 199.

Itnlian language, Dante's use of, 4,
154.

Italian literature, the Convito the first
Italian prose, 4^ 155.

Italian peasants, 1, 1 14, 163 ; reading
of, 15G : in out of the way towns,
176.

Italian politics illustrated by the
feeling at Tivoli against Rome, 1,
133.

Italian prima donna, her careless pity
for her American audience, 3, 239.

Italian prosody, elisions, 4, 107.

Italian towns, individuality of, 1,
213 ; rivalry of, 2, 278.

Italian vetturini, 1, 14G.

Italian women, 1, 144, 170 ; their un-
sophisticated consciousness, 188.

Italians, their lavishness of time, 1,
131 ; their disputes, 1G5 ; on the
mail-packet from Leghorn to Civita
Yecchia, 108 ; pleasure in escaping
a payment, 1G9 ; their feeling toward
the Pope, 205 ; their way of doing
nothing, 207 ; a vociferous people,
213. See also, Romans.

Italy, Leaves from mt Journal in,
1, 100 - 217 ; reasons for visiting,
123; its peculiar magnetic virtue,
123 ; its special charm to Ameri-
cans, 124 ; pleasures of living in,
124 ; the sense of permanence, 125 ;
compared to a beautiful woman,
125; ancient and modem writers
on, 125 ; guides, 134, 141 ; the ruins
adopted by nature, 139 ; church-go-
ing, 143 ; railroada, 150 ; reading,

166; picturesquenesB of the inac-
cessible mountain towns, 172 ; Roger
Ascham's opinion of, 4. 26.
Ivy, on the Villa of Hadrian, 1, 136 ;
at Bubiaco, 183.

J. P. = John Foster.

J. H. = John Holmes.

Jacie, Henry, letter on the destruction
of Bores by tiie King of Sweden, 2,
65.

Jack, Col., 3, 203.

Jackson, General, 1, 72 ; 6, 70.

Jocobitibm compared to modem su-
perstition, 2, 317.

Jacob's ladders, climbers on, easily
get a fall, 1, 142.

Jamaica, 6, 319; the imagined negro
plots in 1SC5, 2, 375; lessons of
emancipation in, 6, 303.

James I. of England convinced of the
reality of witchcraft, 2, 352.

James II. of England, 6, 321.

Janus Bifrons, 1, 99.

Jarley, Mrs., 4, 74.

Jean Paul. See Richter.

Jefferson, Thomas, 2, 75, 236; J.
Quincy's reminiscences of, 294 ; de-
vised the theory of strict construc-
tion, 6, 148.

Jehan d'Arras. MeluMne, 3, 361.

Jehoiada-boxes, 1, 79, 167.

Jellaladeen, a parable of, 6, 1^1.

Jerome, St., believed in a limitation
of God's providence, 1, 41.

Jesuits, popular opinion of, in Italy,
1, 144.

Jews, their national egotism found
sympathy in Puritan England, 4, 83 ;
the prejudice against, 6, 18 ; sin-
cerity of converted Jews tested, 213.

Job, Book of, 3, 261.

Jolm XXII., Pope, 4, 141.

John, King of Saxony, on Dante's
politics, 4, 150 ; on Dante's Cathol-
icism, 153.

John of Leyden, 3, 62.

Johnson, Andrew, President, on the
STUMP, 6, 264-282; his allusion to
his own humble origin, 264 ; his
speech on Feb. 22, 1866, 267 ; his
loyalty, 267 ; his mistaken concep-
tion of the President's ofBce, 267 ;
his right to his own opinions, 272 ;
should not appeal to the people
against their representatives, 272 ;
the meetings to "sustain" him,
273 ; he assumes sectional ground,
274 ; fictitious address to a South-
em delegation, 277 ; the clown of
the Philadelphia convention cir-
cus, 285 ; relation to the principles
of the Convention, 288 ; incidents
of his speech-making tour, 289;
Pontifex Maximus at the canoni-
sation of 8. A. Douglaa, 292; hia

272

GENERAL INDEX

appearance aa a mountebankf 286,
290, '294, 296 ; the anaavory memory
of his career, 297 ; his arf^ments
on the questious of reconstruction,
297 ; threatens the forcible suppres-
sion of the Congress, 301 ; his pol-
icy, 30G ; his agrarian proclamation,
30G; hailed by the South as a
scourge of Ood, 308; his foolisli
policy awakens the people to the
gravity of the situation, 313; his
misconceptions and delusions, 313 ;
his policy compared to that of
James II., 321 ; his earlier attitude :
toward the South, 323; impeach-
ment deprecated, 320.

Johnson, Reverdy, 6, 289 ; on the re-
lations of England and America in
18C9, 3, 252.

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, his verse, 1,
24C ; dined heartily for threepence, :

2, 184 ; poverty of, 187 ; compared
with Lessing in learning and critical
powpr, 191, 229 ; his critical power,
3, 140 n ; his Lf/e of Dryden^ 140 n ;
theory of genius, 140 ; epigram from
Spenser, 4, 290 n ; his views of
America compared with Burke's,
6, 197 ; also, 3, 101, 125, 201, 316,
3G3 ; 4, 303 ; 6, 90.

on love, 2, 208 ; on Rousseau, 235 ; on
Shakespeare, 3* 19 ; on Milton's Ly-
cidaSylXQ ; on Dryden, 140 ; on Pope, '
4, 54 ; on his Essay ov Man, 38 ; on
his sincerity, 49 ; on Burke, 6, 71.

JoinviUe, 2, 274.

Juke, Francis Sales' way of taking
everything, 1, 97 ; tlie Chief Mate's
appreciation of, 110, 117.

Jones, Paul, picture of his fight in the
Bouhomme Richard in the Cam-
bridge barber's shop, 1, 62.

Jongleurs, 3, 361.

Jousou, Ben, characterized, 1, 277 ;
heavy without grandeur, 279; his
critical power no help to liim as a
dramatist, 2, 222 ; his lyrics, 223 ;
his dramas compared with Shake-
speare's, 3, 58 ; Dryden on, 143, 185
n ; his verse, 340 ; his debt to Spen-
ser, 4, 30C n ; also, 2, 286 ; 3, 101 ;
4, 300, 343.

on Bacon, 1, 300 ; 3, 10 ; onMarston's
neologisms, 8 ; on Shakespeare, 10 n,
10 ; on tlie declhie of eloquence, 10 ;
on rhymesterp, 150 ; on Spenser's
cliildren, 4, 290 n ; on his allegory in
the Faery Queen, 314 ; on Guarini's
language, 301 n ; on Donne, 6, 113.

Jourdain de Blaivies, passage quoted,

3, 311.

JouBNAL IK Italy and elsewhere.

Leaves from, 1, 100-217.
Journalism, 4, 375 ; 6, 8. See also.

Newspapers,
r^ian, Don, 1, 107.

Jubinal, AchQle, 3, 264.

Judaea, its place in the world of
thought, 6, 174.

Judas, the apostle, 6, 120.

Judd, Sylvester, his margaret, Z, 274.

Judges chosen by election in some
states, 6, 30.

Judgments, divine, made to work both
ways, 2, 66.

Judgments, human, Shakespeare on,
3, 152 ; a man judged by hia little
faults, 1, 85.

Junius, Dr. Waterhou8e*8obflervationa
upon, 1, 96.

Justice, in the soul and in action, dis-
tinguished by Rousseau, 2, 249;
sense of, 117 ; more merciful than
pity In the long run, 4, 251.

K. ■=. Pres. Kirkland.

Kalewala, 2, 152, 319.

Kannegiesser, translation of Dante, 4i
145.

Kansas, 6, 39.

Kant, on the accumulating records of
history, 6, 142.

Katahdin, Mt., seen from Hooaehead,
1,13.

Kay, Sir, 2, 154.

Keane, Counsellor, his pig, 2, 275.

Kearney, Commodore, 6, 62.

Keats, John, 1, 218-246 ; his parents,
219 ; his love for his mother, 221 ;
education, 221 ; his school-fellows*
opinion of him, 222 ; Mrs. Orafty's
reminiscences of, 223 n ; apprenticed
to a surgeon, 223; reads Spenser,
223; his sympathy for Chatterton,
224 ; his other reading and first pub-
lication, 224 ; Endymion (1818) and
the abuse it received, 225 ; his case
compared with Milton's, 226; hia
ambition to be a great poet, 225,
227 ; his siiffering from the vulgar-
ities of the reviews, 226 ; his name
unfortunate, 227 ; the effect of the
fortunes of his book on him, 228 ;
in Haydon's painting room, 228;
the moral and physical man per-
fectly interfused, 229 ; his own opin-
ion of Endymion, 230 ; on his own
method of work, 231 ; his character
and manner of working compared
with Wordsworth's, 231 ; first symp-
toms of his hereditary disease, 232 ;
his passion for a woman, 233; hia
own description of his passion, 233 ;
his betrothal, 235; his work from
1818 to 1820, 235 ; the first hemor-
rhage and the journey to Italy, 236 ;
letters quoted expressing his de-
spair at the separation from Miss

, 230, 238 ; at Rome, 238 ; the

end, 239; his grave, 240; his per-
sonal appearance, 240 ; criticism of
his poetry, 241 ; auperabondant iu

GENERAL INDEX

273

language, 241 ; originality, 241 ; com-
pared with Wordsworth and By-
ron, 242 ; his poetic imagination,
243 ; an example of the Renais-
sance, 244 ; power of assimilation,

244 ; self-denial in use of language,
244 ; power of poetic expression,
245; his poems a reaction against
the barrel-organ style of poetry,

245 ; the greatness and purity of his
poetic gift, 24C ; should have trans-
lated Homer, 289 ; learned to ver-
sify from Chapman, 29C ; denunci-
ation of 18tli century style, 3, 98 ;
studied Dryden's versification, 99 n ;
his style compared with Milton's,
4:, 8G ; Spenser's influence upon, 352 ;
alsoj 3, 32G.

on the imagination, 1, 243 ; on Chap-
man's Homer, 4, 294 ; on continu-
ations of an ancient story by great
poets, 312 ; on a line of Shake-
speare's, 409 n.
Endymim, 1, 225, 230, 244 ; 3, 354 ;
— Hyperion, 1, 235, 1M4 ; — Lamia,
235, 244 ; — Lyi ical Ballads, 22G ; —
Odes, 244 ; — Ode to a Grecian Urn,
4, 371 n ; — Sonnets, 1, 244.

Kemble, John, in Macbeth, 3, 70.

Kent, men of, their tails, 1, 112.

Kepler, 3, IG.

Ketch, Jack, 3, 17G.

Kidd, Capt., 6, 119.

Kineo, Mauie, 1, 18.

Kineo, Mount, 1, 13 ; ascent of, 39.

Kings, Browning's picture of a king,
2, 109 ; 6, 27 ; their Sacred Majesty
ridiculed by the Dutch, 3, 234.

Kirke, Edmund, probably the same as
Spenser, 4, 301 n.

Kirkland, President, his character, 1,
83 ; his appearance, 84 ; unsuited to
his time, 85 ; anecdotes of him, 8G ;
his manner of praying, 88.

Kleist, Lessing on, 2, 173; Lessing's
friendship with, 197.

Klopstock, 2, 219 ; Lessing on, 176 ;
Wordsworth's interview with, 4,
379.
on the German Muse, 2, 183.

Klotz, Leading's criticism of, 2, 200.

Knebel, his judgment of Frederick
the Great, 2, 113.

Knight of Courtesy, Hazlitt's and Rit-
son's editions of, 1, 331.

Knights of Labor, 6, 183.

Knives, the Chief Mate's appreciation
of, 1, 114.

Knowleiige, elements of, 1, 48 ; that
which comes of sjnnpathy, 3, 49.

Knowledge and learning, 2, 18G.

Know-Nothings, B, 318.

Knox, John, 2, 2G5.

Kobes I., Emperor, his speeches com-
pared to Pres. Johnson's, 6, 289.

Kouig, Eva, Lessing's wife, 2, 207.

L. S. = Leslie Stephen.

Labor, cheap, importation of, 6^ 217.

Labor-saving contrivances, 2, 279.

La Bruy^re on witchcraft, 2, 387.

La Chevrette, Hermitage of, 1, 375.

La Fontaine, 2, 200.

Lager-beer and brandy, the Dutch-
man's distinction, 1, 127.

Laing, editor of Dunbar's works, 4,
271.

Lake, its uncanny noises on a freezing
niglit, 3, 290.

Lamartine, 2, 236^GG. 271 ; 3, 262 ;
resents the subsidy granted him by
the Senate, 2, 258; autumn com-
pared to, 3, 259.

Lamb, Charles, his criticism of the
English dramatists, 3, 29; his de-
fence of the comedy of the Restora-
tion, 150 ; Wordswortli's friendsliip
with, 4, 38G ; also, 1, 249, 261 ; 3,
280 ; B, 133.

on Webster, 1, 280 ; on Spenser, 4,
32G ; on Wordsworth, 390.
his Essays of Elia, 6, 82.

Lamb, Charles and Mary. 4, 363 n.

Lamennais on Dante, 4, 1G3.

La Motte Fouqu6. , See Fouqu^.

Lamps, alchemists'. Pope's teaching in
tlie Essay on Man compared to,
4,37.

Lance-rests, 1, 328.

Land, Henry George's theories of, 6,
35.

Land companies. See American land
companies.

Land speculations, Rufus Davenport's,
in Cambridgeport, 1, 71.

Landino, comment on Dante, 4, 156.

Laudor, Walter Savage, 2, 123; his
Gehirus Rex, 129 ; his pseudo-clas-
sicism, 135 ; his style compared with
Milton's, 4, 86 ; his blank-verse, 399.
on great men, 3, 104 ; on mingling
prose with poetry, 144 ; on Spenser,
4, 352 ; on Wordsworth, 401 ; on
Napoleon III., 6, 125 ; on Coleridge's
criticism of Don Quixote, 6, 126.

Landscape, described by Chaucer, 3,
261, 357 ; value of human associations
in, 6, 139. See also, Nature ; Scen-
ery ; Views.

Landscape-gardeners of literature, 3.
189.

Langland, .3, 324; compared with
Chaucer, 330 ; his verse, 332 ; charm
of his language, 335.
Piers Ploughman, reprinted in the
" Library of Old Authors," 1, 252;
its language, 3, 11 ; as an example
of popular poetry, 334; cited, 1,
326 ; 2, 328.

Language, growth of, 1, 373 ; 3. 328 ;
power of, 1, 245 ; must catch its fire
from the thought behind it, 2, 122 ;
its purity dependent on veracity of

274

GENERAL INDEX

thoufrhtf 270; value of its liTinff
quality, 3, : meaning of a ** living "
laiiffuafie, 0; intiuiato relntiuus of
laiiguafir ami thought, G ; itM subtle
rclatiuim witli vprne, 13 ; made claa-
sio by great ]NH'try, IT ; its office iu
poetry highi-r than iu prose, 40;
pluyiuguiMin wonls characteristic of
some |HiMiii)iiis 5*2 ; Reium on tlie
deveIo|nuent of, 184 u ; life maybe
breatlied into, by a great poet, 307 ;
comiMred to tlie soil, 312; what a
man of geniiu%iay do for it, 328 ;
of rusticis 341 ; reformed by precept
rather tlian by example, 4, 21 ; Bel-
lay on innovations in, 347 : when ar-
chaisms are permissible, 347 ; value
of the study of, 6, *•X^\ literature
not to be sacrificed to, in teaching,
152 ; the teaching of, 104. See also.
Accent ; Apostrophe ; Apsonance ;
Spelling ; WunlM and expressions.

Languages, foreign, power of acqidr-
ing, 2, 101.

Langue d'oil. its advantages over the
Proven^'al, 3, 312.

Lnpliiud night, tlie genius of Wasliing-
ton AlUton roni|»nro<l to, 1, 77.

LtirkH. JS*'f utit/rr Birds.

LaBM>1 cited on the meaning of fltUes^
1, 310.

Lassels, Richard, on Italy, 1, 126.

Last looks, 1, 1 49.

Latiu, its uhc by Chaucer's cock, 2, 1^2.

Latin elements in Knglish, 1, 2(tl ;
3f 12 ; more familiar than the Teu-
tonic, 14 n.

Latin literature, 3, 305; the later
poets, 3(H). See also^ ClasAics.

Latin quotations sure to be ap-
plauded, 1, 57.

Latin verpe-compof-ition, 2, 120.

Latini, Brunetto, 1, 315 ; 3, 309 n; 4,
208 ; Dante's tutor, 123.

Laud, ArchbiHhop, 2, 29.

Laughter, of President Felton, 1, C7 ;
of the Snow brothers, G8 ; of Francis
BaloB. 97 ; that of X, the Chief Mate
de8oril)ed, 117.

Laura, 3, 302.

Laurels of the Villa d' Este, 1, 1^2.

Law as a training for politics, 5, 193.

Lnws, Spinoza on the strengtli of, 6,
37.

Laws of nature personified and wor-
shipped of old, 1, 137.

Lead, proper for " Essoys," 6, 99.

Leaders not provided for every petty
occasion, 2, 110.

Leaders who do not lead, 6, 220.

Lear, 1, 281.

Learning, Leasing on its uses, 2, 190 ; of
Johnson and Lessing compared, 191 ;
suspected of sorcery in the Middle
Ages, 332 ; made more accessible by
short cuts to information, 6, 84 ;

I fffM, 4, IflO. See alto^ Kdnoittaa ;
I Knowledge ; Pedantry ; BcboknUpw
. Learning and wiadonijJDanto diati^
guislies between, 4, 200.

Leaven, 4, 72.

Lea VIS raoM mr Jouutal or Italy

AMD ELSCWmCHB, 1, 100-217.

Leiky, W. E. H., on witchcraft, S, 377
! n ; on Peter of Abaoo, 8B1 n ; on
i Wierus, 382.

Leclerc, Victor, 3, 296; on I>ute,4b

Lecturers, 3, 256.
I Lecturing, 1, 349.

Lee, Joint-author with DrTdoii of
(Etiiput, 3. 128.
! Legends, their growth and their flite,
2, 359 ; of saints and martyrs, 4^ 290.

LegisUtion -must be based on the im-
I derstanding and not on the centi-
meut, 6, IW.

Leisure, needed in travelling, 1,122;
of the beggar aristocracnr, 3, V^K.

Leisure class, a bane if it have not a
definite object, 6, 220.

Lenz, 2, 207 n.

Leo. VII., Pope, believes the atory of
the actor changed into an aaa, 2.
3C1.

Leonardo, Aretino, on the date of
I)ante's birth, 4, ?.22 ; on the death
of Dant"'s father, 123.

Leoiwldo, guide in HvoU, 1, 130 ; Ua
early education, 142.

Lepidus, his account of the erooodlle.
2, 52.

Le Sage, 3,68; GilBlat^B,e^

Leskiko, G. E., 2, 1G2*SS1 ; Ids fame
survives the aRsault of four Ghttman
biographers, 163; his great qnaU-
ties, 171 ; the defence of Truth at
ways his object in wxitiiig, 174 ; hla
intellectual ancestry, 176 ; ohano*
terized by force rather than cleTev>
nesF, 176 ; the sources of his inapt*
ration, 177 ; hia ancestry, 180 ; ma
relation to his father, Iffl ; his eeriy
education, 182 ; at Leipilg, 183; m
Wittenberg and Ber^i, 184; his
Anacreontics and sermons at honia»
184 ; his letters home, 186 ; his Mrfcr
scepticism, 185; his cheeifal aeut
confidence, 185 ; his independenoei
186; arranges Rttdiger*8 libnury»
186 ; his early range at scholanih^
186 ; his life pure, 187 ; his poverty,
187 ; his relations with Voltaire fai
the Hirschel lawsuit, 187 ; at Wit-
tenberg in 1752, 189; his father's
efforts to put him into a profwion,
189 ; his mind always grovdng and
forming, 189 ; compared with J(An-
snn in lenming and critical power,
191 ; in Berlin at literary work from
1752 to 1760, 191; Us eheeitlil,
manly nature, 192 ; diown hgr «■>

GENERAL INDEX

275

tracts from his letters, 192; com-
pelled to literary drudgery at times,
193 ; his attitude toward it, 194 ; his
opinion of dramatic writing, 195 ;
defends his neglecting poetry for
philosophy, 196 ; the training of his
critical powers, 19G; the firmness
and justice of his criticisms, 197 ;
his friends in Berlin, 197 ; his rest-
lessness there, 198 ; his passion for
truth, 198 ; his friends' lack of ap-
preciation of his position, 199 ; re-
moves to Breslau in 17G0, 202; a
member of the Acad, of Sciences of
Berlin, 202 ; his feeling toward the
Seven Years' war, 203 ; liis patriotism
shown in the warfare against French
taste, 204 ; his life in Breslau, 204 ;
refuses to bind himself to an official
career, 205 ; returns to Berlin, 205 ;
becomes theatrical manager at
Hamburg, 20G; appointed librarian
of the Duke of Brunswick, 207,
210 ; his betrothal, 207 ; letter from
Boie relating to, ^7 ; his wife and
their love-letters, 208; her death
and Lessing's sorrow, 208 ; his life
at Wolfenbuttel, 211 ; troubled with
hypochondria, his cure for it, 212 ;
his controversial writings, 212 ; his
craving for sympathy in his later
years, 213 ; his last letter to Men-
delssohn, 213 ; his attitude toward
theology, 214 ; alike indifferent to
clerisy and heresy, 217; condition
of contemporary German litera-
ture, 217 ; his debt to French liter-
ature, 221 ; his influence on Euro-
Eean literature, 222 ; the source of
is critical power, 224 ; the quality
of his genius, 224 ; his power of
dramatic construction, 225 ; a great

grose writer, but not a poet, 220 ;
is minor poems, 227 ; his contin-
uous growth, 227; the life-giving
quality of his thought, 228 ; his su-
preme value as a nobly original
man, 229 ; his value to German lit-
erature, 229 ; a seeker after Truth,
230; Coleridge's debt to, 6, 71;
also, 1, 304 ; 3, 179.
on Kleist, 2, 173 ; on the critic, 174 ; on
his own failures, 174; onGottsched,
175 ; on Klopstock, 176 ; on Voltaire,
188; on his own education, 190; on
the use of learning, 190 ; on differ-
ent ways of earning one's living,
194 ; on his hack-work, 194 ; on the
value of character, 195 ; on the cul-
tivation of poetry, 196 ; on Thom-
son, 196 ; on Smollett's Roderick
Random, 197 ; on heretics, 199 ; on
the "whole truth," 199; on his
criticism of Klotz, 200 ; on his
wife's death, 209 ; on bearing grief,
210; ou orthodoxy and sectarian-

ism, 215 ; on his debt to Diderot,
224 n ; on his Dramaturgies 228 ; on
seeking after truth, 230 ; on Shake-
speare, 3| 67; on French drama,
162 ; on Pope, 4, 56.
Macaulay on, 2, 173 ; Goethe on, 225
n, 231.
Anti-G'dtze pamphlets^ 2, 173, 213; —
Contributions to the History and
Reform of the r/ica<r«, 176, 194; —
Dramaturgie, 206, 221, 228; —
BmiUa Galotti, 213, 224, 226; —
Fables, Grimm on, 197 ; Laocoon^
195,204, 2^2.%', — Ije.tters on Litera^
ture, 172, 196, 197, 221 : — Li/lo^
177 ; — Minna von Barnhelm, 204,
224, 225 n ; — Miss Sara Sampson^
m-, — Nathan the Wise, 213, 225
n, 226, 227 ; — Young Scholar, 183.

Lessing, Stahr's Life of, a panegyric
rather than a biography, 2, 172 ;
furnishes little material for a com-
parative estimate, 173 ; its faults and
shortcomings, 176; its excellences,
178 ; Evans's translation, 178, exam-
ples of mistranslation, etc., 179;
further references to Stahr's work
or opinions, 175, 188, 189, 202, 203,
204, 206, 210, 211, 214, 217, 221, 222,
227.

Letcher, Gov., 6, 83.

Letters, 4, 50 ; misdirected, men com-
pared to, 3, 226.

Le Verrier, discovery of Neptune, 6,
120.

Levity, 4, 317 n.

Lewis, the brewer in Cambridge, 1,
60 ; on Commencement days, 80.

Lexington, 1, 191 ; 3, 223.

Lexington, battle of, reminiscences of
survivors of, 5, 119.

Leyden, John of, 2, 10.

Liberal education, why so called, 3, 32.

Liberal studies, 6, 160, 177.

Liberty, Puritan ideas of, 2, 10, 75 ;
Dante on, 4, 244 ; its principles can-
not be sectional, 6, 37. See also,
Freedom.

Librarians, modem, contrasted with
earlier, 6. 83.

Library of old authors. Review of,
1, 247-348 ; the authors reprinted,
251 ; the editing, 255,; general lack
of accuracy, 260.

Libraries, 3, 248.

Libraribs, Books and; address at
Chelsea, Dec. 22, 1885, 6, 78-98.

Libraries, public, their office to
spread tlie pleasures of scholarship
and literature, 6, 80 ; an instrument
of the higher education, 83 ; modem
improvements in the administration
of, 83 ; the books which should be
found in, 90; their contribution to
the welfare of the state, 97; at
monuments of their donors, 98.

276

GESERAL ISDEX

Lichen, yenow, on atone waUs, 1,

Liohtenberv. on ancient literature, 3,
36 : on Garrick in ILuulet, i&.

Licton, educational, 1, '^.

Lieberkuhn, liis theory ox traaalation,
2,179.

life, it* eaaential underljinir facts
alone nuike character, 1, *21S; de-
manded by the tranacendeutU re-
f onners, 3^ : as the subject of po-
etry, 2, 1 "lU : its dual nature, 'XI : the
sentimentalist's Tiew of, 'XI : Dry-
den's line on, 3, 167 : continually
weighing us, '230 ; Chaucer's and
Dante's views of. 3:23 ; the voyage
of, 4, '237. Set aUOf Human nature ;
Societv.

Liffert. k, '207 n.

Lights in the windows, 3, 221, 288.

Lighthouse compared to Carlyle's
teaching. 2, U>9.

Lillo's Gforge Bnmvtllf Leaaing in-
fluenced by. 2, 1 • < .

Lilly, his dramatic works reprinted in
the " Library of Old Authors," 1,
2M ; also, 4, &

Limbo of Daute. 4, *24€t.

Limiters, Chaucer's satire on. 3, 334.

LncoLS, ABSAHAn, 6, 1»*-'2C>9: his
Americanism. 2, 260: 6, 192: his
reply when Gen. Grant was accused
of drinking too much, 3, H9 n ; his
reception of the Marquis of Harting-
ton, 242 n ; his adminiBtTation sure
to be conservative, 6, 42 ; his char-
acter and experience, 43: his in-
augural in 18(>1, 81 : his reply to
McClellan'a charge of lack of sup-

C»rt, 112 ; his policy compared with
cCleUan's, 164: his moderation
and considerate wisdom. 172: com-
pared with Cromwell. 173 : his wary
scrupulousness followed by decided
action, 173, 1S8 ; the qualities which
make him a great statesman and
ruler, 1S3: the peculiar difficulties
of his task. 1S4. 1S7: his policy
tentative to begin with, 1S8 ; knows
how to eeize the occauon when it
comes, 188: has kept his rather
shaky raft in the main current. 1^9 :
in character and circumstances con^
pared with Henry IV. of France.
190 : no apostasy or motives of per-
aonal interest to be charged ^rsinst
him. llU : contemptuously compared
to Sancho Panza, 191 ; his personal
appearance. 19*2 ; his previous tr.kiu-
ing and experience. 193 : hi« debate
with Douglas, 19i: Lis policy to
aim at the best, and take the next
best. 194 : his want of self-conii-
dence and slow but steady advance,
195 : his tenderness of nature with-
oat sentimentaliam, 1S6 ; his role to

be guided by events eten at fhe
cost of delay, 19&, 2li5: his attitode
toward slavery. 197 : his policy Id
emancipation dictated br prudeace,
198 ; his original pc^cy m rMard to
the war, 202 : the tone of familiar di«*
nity in his public ntterancce, 206 ; hfa
confidence in the richt-mindedneas
of his fellow-men, 206 ; hischaractw
appeals even to the most degraded,
2U7 : his policy that of pnblie opin-
ion based oo adequate dirn iri nn ,
207 : absence of egotism, 207 ; the
representative American. 208; the
most absolute ruler in Christendom
on the day of his death, 206; the
feeling called out by his death, 300,
214: his power rested on honest
manliness, 209; reluctant to OTe»>
step the limits of precedent, 260;
always waited for his supines to be
on hand, 271 : his definition ot de-
mocracy. 6, 20 ; popular homage of,
32 : a trufy great man, 209 ; alio, 5,
116.

Linguisters, 3, 337.

Lintot, the bookseller, 4, 53.

Literary fame. See Fame, literary.

Literary history, the mere naates of,
2,78.

Literary popularity. See Popolaiity,
literary.

Literary'aense of Chancer, 3, 331.

Literary simplicity, 2, 82.

Literary vanity, 1, 315.

Literature, absorbed uncooackmaly^ 1,
113 : its staminate flowers, 306 ; mi-
mediate popularity and lasting fame
contrasted and discussed, 2, 78;
importance of naturalness, 83; its
higher kinds dependent oo the char-
acter of the people and age, 132 ; the
favorable conditimis for, 148, 153;
its present tendency to kiee ni^ooal
characteristics. 152 : its drudgery aa
a profession, 193; the periwig and
the tie-wig style, 218 ; the vitality
of true literature, 3, 33 ; its idols
become compani<Has as one grows
^der. 56: distinguished from rhet-
oric, 301 : Bynm's opinion in regard
to execution, 4, 4Sl ; the hen^ age
of the folio past, 61 ; the distinction
of Form and Tendency, 1G5 ; the
Christian idea contrasted with the
Pdgan, 234; value of character in,
2i>l : the quality of natiouOity in,
*270: 6, 115; difllculty of att:iiiiii«
the ideal. 4, 281 ; the everiastfay
realities in, 2S4 ; source of ita vigor,
293 : of the 15ch centurr, 2G6 ; is ita
importance overvalued? 6, K; the
office of creative genius in, 54 ; the
difference between realistic and typi-
cal character^ 56 ; its beidgnitiea,
80: the conditiooa of

GENERAL INDEX

277

fa, 107 ; the four oosmopolitan au-
thors since Virgil, 108 ; the German
word dichtung, 117; the deeper

?ualities of books not accidental,
23 ; characters drawn by observa-
tion and those created by the imag-
ination, 127 ; the pedigrees of books,
136; not to be sacrificed in the
teaching of language, 152 ; the place
of Plato and Aristotle in, 166 ; de-
pendent on a national consciousness
and a sense of historic continuity,
223 ; necessary to a nation's equip-
ment, 224 ; the products of isolation
in, 225 ; its place in the general esti-
mation, 226 ; an index of civiliza-
tion, 226 ; its influence on the course
of history, 227 ; the record of a na-
tion's life, 228. See also, American,
English, European, French, Ger-
man, Greek, Italian, Latin, Modern,
and Spanish literature ; — also. Alle-
gory ; Classics ; Drama ; Fables ;
Fabliaus ; Fairy tales ; Fiction ; His-
torical composition ; Imagination ;
Poetry ; Provincialism ; Satire ;
Style.

Littleton, case of pretended possession
in, in 1720, 2, 391.

Lobster, Doctor, and the perch : fable
in verse, 1, 22.

Lochinvar, 2, 152.

Loggers of Maine, 1, 15.

Logging on a frosty morning, 1, 18.

Lombard churches, 1, 205.

London, 1, 191.

London smoke, 3, 287.

Loneliness of the Ponte Sant' Antonio
near Tivoli, 1, 140. See also^ Soli-
tude.

Longevity, 2, 309; competition in,
among college graduates, 1, 82 ; its
usual character, 2, 291.

Longfellow, his Hiawatha, 2, 132 ; —
Epimetheux, 3, 125 n ; his lectures
on Dante, 4, 147 ; translation of the
Divine Comedy, 147, 193 n; —
Wreck of the Hespenu^ 272.

lionging, 1, 189.

Longinus 1, 173 ; references to, in me-
diffivid literature. 325.

Loom of time, man's share in its oper-
ations, 6. 130.

Lord of Misrule, procession of, Oar-
lyle's view of life, 2, 98.

Lord's prayer, test whether % witch
could repeat it, 2, 341.

Lorens, Mdlle., tiessing's passion for,
2, 184, 187.

Loudon, Masson's reference to, 4, 73.

Loud tin, the witchcraft troubles at,
2, 371.

Louis, St., of France, 2, 274.

liouis XIV. of France, his influenee on
French literature, 4, 293 n ; Thack-
eray's picture of, 6, 121.

Louis XYI. of France, mourning for,
1,98.

Louis Napoleon, 6, 31.

Louis Philippe, 6, 127.

Louisiana, her proposal to secede ab-
surd, 6y 48.

Louisiana purchase, J. Quincy's oppo-
sition to, 2, 302.

Loupgarou, 2, 359, 362.

Lovat, Simon, Lord, 3. 71.

Love, Keats's description of his own
state, 1, 233 ; Webster's and But-
ler's lines on, 282; Dryden's lines
on, 3, 167 ; Dante's conception of,
4, 210 ; Spenser's lines on, 291 ; his
idea of, 316.

Love v^f country, 2, 112 ; 6, 177. See
also, Patriotism.

Love at first sight, 2, 299.

Lovelace, reprinted in the "Library
of Old Authors," 1, 255, 303 ; his
three short poems wl^ich deserve to
live, 302 ; the rest of his work worth-
less, 303; compared with Prynne,
2,71.

Love-letters of Lessing and Eva
Konig, 2, 208.

Lowell, Charles Russell, moose-bunt-
ing, 1, 37.

Loyalty, to natural leaders, 2, 110 ;
the sentiment developed into a con-
viction by the War, 6, 213. See alsOf
Patriotism.

Lucian, on apparitions, 2, 322 n ; story
of the stick turned water-carrier,
357.

Luck, its share in ephemeral success,
2,79.

Lucky authors, 1, 302.

Lucretius, 6, 112 ; on the sea, 1, 100;
his invocation of Venus, 3, 306;
quoted, 4, 257 n.

Ludicrous, the, Germans less sensible
of, 2, 168.

Ludlow, 2, 8.

Lumberers' camp, life in, 1, 16.

Lumbermen, require ready • made
clothes, 1, 89. See alsOf Wood-
men,

Lure, Guillaume de, burned at Poitiers
in 1453, 2, 381.

Luther, on the children of witches, 2,
363 ; story that he was the son of a
demon refuted by Wierus, 363 n ;
story of a demon who ynM/amultis
in a monastery, 367 ; alsOt 2, 125,
171 ; 3, 318 ; 4, 82.

Luxembourg, Marshal de, the Deyil
flies away with him, 2, 333.

Lycanthropy, common belief in, 2,
361.

Lycaon, King, 2, 360.

Lyceum, as a substitute for the old
popular amusements, 1, 78.

Lydgate, 3, 329, 345; his Craft cj
Lover* quoted, 348.

278

GENERAL INDEX

Lyliif; to a wltoh on hor trial Juitlfi-
able, 2, 379.

Lytnan, Theodore, his aeat at Wal-
tham, 2, 2»1.

Ljmrh-law not to be tolerated in af-
fairs of government, 6, 72.

Ljmdhure^ Lord, 2, '276.

Lyon, Dr., alchemitit, 2, 48.

Lyrical cry, 3, 144 n.

Lytton, Baron. Pelham^ 2, 106.

Macaulay, his estimate of Lessing, 2.
173 ; his sources, 284 ; his historical
method, 6, 124.

McClkllan, Gkm., his Rbfobt, 6, 92-
117.

McClkllan or Lincoln ? 18G4, 6, 152-
176; popular enthusiasm for and
confidence in, 94; failure of tlie
Peninsular campaign, 94, 107 ; pub-
lishes his Report as a political de-
fence, 95, 111, 113; his reputation
compared to a rocket, 95 ; his delay
and indeciHion, 96, 104 ; his military
duties interfered with by political
aspirations, 98, 101 ; the flattery
heaped ui>on him, 99 ; his judgment
affected thereby, 99; hampered by
his great reputation, 100; under-
takes to advise the Presiilent on po-
litical matters, 100; growth of his
egotism, 101 ; the personal sacrifices
and patriotism of which he boasts,
102 ; repeated demands for reinforce-
ments, 103, 108 ; his exaggerated es-
timate of the opposing forces, 104,
107 ; his plan of campaign impracti-
cable, 105 ; his conceptions vi^cue,
106 ; his expectations of the Penin-
sular campaign di8aiq[>ointed, 106;
his adhesiveness of temper, 107, 109 ;
his retreat well conducted, 108 ; the
effect on the spirit of t^e army,
109, 113 ; no lack of support from
the Administration, 111 ; his unbe-
coming charges on it. Ill ; his defi-
ciencies as a leader, 112 ; his quali-
fications as a Presidential candidate,
113, 154; the platform of 1864 dan-

Serous ground for him, 157 ; his
isingenuouR treatment of the plat-
form, 100, 174 ; his policy compared
with Lincoln's, 164 ; his theories in
regard to coercion confused, 165;
has not been called upon to put his
political theories into practice, 165 ;
his attitude toward slavery, 166;
fails to realize the changes wrought
by the war, 166, 171 ; views on the
conduct of the war, 168 ; his policy
Of conciliation futile, 170, 176 ; oflQce
not to be given him as a poultice for
bruised sensibilities, 171; relation
to the Democratic party, 174; his
election would be an acknowledg-
ment of the right of secession, 175.

McDonald of Olenaladale, B, S2IL

McDowell, Gten., hia dlenoe imd«r
slanderous reproach, 6, 97 ; hia part
in the Peninsular campaign, 107,
108.

Macer, 6, 126.

MacHeath, 6, 1^7.

Hachiavelll, 1, 92; 2, 220, 260; %
85 ; on the recalling of the ezHea to
Florence in 1311, 194 n ; on the nat-
ural term of governments, 6. 86;
on three kinds of brains, S, 177.

Madden, Sir Frederick, 1, 880.

Madison on the right of ooendoo, 6.
148.

Maecenas, villa of, at Hvoli, 1, 182.

Maelstrom in Worcester's Gooffrapby,
1,112.

Miitzner on editors, 1, 319.

Maggot in the brain, 1, 862; S, 64,
166.

Magic, its power to give life to Inanl-
mate things, 2, 357; the Devil**
school of, hi Toledo, S68.

Magnanimity, 6, 307.

Mahomet in the Divine Comedy^ 4w
244.

Maidstone, John, 2, 86.

Ifail-bag, lost from a rtage-eottch,
1,9.

Mail-carrier in Italy, 1, 163.

Maine dew, 1, 19.

Maistre, Joseph de, 3, 116 ; on Prot-
estantism, 2, 6; on what a man
should know, 6, 168.

Majorities, government by, PoUard'a
objections to, 6, 134.

Makeshifts, the American habit of ao*
quiesciug in, 6, 206.

Majahoodus River, moose-huntine on,
1,34.

Malediction, Italian, the udvenal, 1.
172.

Malone, 1, 251 ; 3, 19; 6, 120; Tene-
deaf, 3, 346.

Malory, Sir Thomas, 2, 126 ; his lan-
guage, 3, 12 n.

Malta, secured by Britannia from tbs
caldron of war, 1, 120.

Malvern Hill, battle of, 6, 108.

Man, reflected in Natiure, 1, 877;
Dante's conception of his mghMt
end, 4, 166; the shortoiees m hia
days, 6, 139. See alsoy Human b»>
ture ; Society ; Soul.

Mandrake's groan, snpentitioiw ooo-
ceming, 1, 276.

Manetti on the date of Dante** Uffh,
4,122.

Manias, Sir K. Digbj*8 eure for, 2.
66.

liankind wiser than the single man, 8l
315.

Manliness exemplified in JBleldiog, 6^
67.

Mannerism and style, 3t 88.

GENERAL INDEX

279

Manners, their decline bewailed by
R. M. the Cambridge constable,
1. G5 ; in Boston in earlier times, 2,
290.

Manners and morals under the Resto-
ration, 3, 151.

Marathon, 1, 191.

Mare's nests the delight of the Ger-
man scholar, 2, 1C3.

Marie de France, 3, 313, 325; her
treatment of final and medial e,
344.

Marini, 4, 8.

Marlay, Chief Justice, congratulates
Dryden, 3, 18G n.

xMarlborougli, 1, 302 ; 2, 114.

Marlowe, characterized, 1, 277 ; his
unrhyined i>entameter, 3, 8 ; his
language, 18 ; 4, 104 n ; his verse,

3, 34G ; 4, 108, 110 ; on liell, 175.
Fnnsttis quoted, 4, 93 n ; Tnmhnr-

laine, 105 ; passage taken from Spen-
ser, 332 n ; quoted, 327.

Maroons, of Surinam, 6, 231.

Marriage ceremony, the " with all my
worldly goods," etc., 6, 9.

Marseillaise, 4, 355.

Marshall, Chief Justice, anecdote of,

4, 409.

Marston, his dramatic works reprinted

in the " Library of Old Authors," 1,

254 ; the editor's poor English, 202 ;

his general incompetency, 205-270 ;

sometimes deviates into poetry,

207; his Sopfionisba, 207; on sla-
very, 208 ; a middling poet, 271 ; his

neologisms, 3, 8.
Martial on snow, 3, 275.
Martin, Martin, his Description of the

Western Islands, 1, 109.
Martin's thermometer, 3, 196.
Martineau, Miss, on Wordsworth's

conversation, 4, 400 n.
Martyrs, 6, 320; their stakes the

mile-stones of Christianity, 10.
Marvell, 3, 150 ; 4, 159 ; Horatian ode,

and Elegy, 3, 110; on the Dutch,

233; on Charles I., 4, 70.
M irvellous,the, its fascination, 2, 390.
Mary, Queen of Scots, in the Faery

Qiieen^ 4, 319 n.
Maryland, Pinckuey's denunciation of

slavery in the Assembly in 1789, 6,

141.
Masculine quality of Emerson, 1, 351,

358, 3(56.
Mason, George, of Virginia denounced

slavery, 6, 144.
Mason, Capt. John, 2, 57 ; his account

of the dissolution of Parliament in

1055, 33 ; on disorders of CromwuU's

soldiers, 30.
Mason, William, his Caraclacus and

Elfrida, 2, 134.
Mason and Dixon's lines not to be

drawn in the world of ethics, B, tf.

Masquerades, English, 1, 199.

Massachusetts, compared with Vir-
ginia in its early institutions, 2. 16 ;
the village school-house described,
16 ; her loyaltv to the general gov-
ernment, 6, 09 ; at the Philadelphia
convention of 1806, 285 ; abolition of
property qualification for suffrage,
6, 10 ; financial probity of the state,
11 ; Irish peasants on the worn-out
farms of, 25; its condition at the
time of the founding of Harvard
College, 143 ; the religious enthusi-
asm and business sagacity of its
founders, 140 ; their public spirit
shown in their care for education,
147 ; her debt to the graduates of
Harvard, 156. See also. New Eng-
land.

Massachusetts Hall. See Harvard
College.

Masshiger, Coleridge on his versifioa*
tion, 3, 340.

Masson, his edition of Milton. See
Milton — Poetical Works.
his Life of Milton, its length and
slow accomplishment, 4, 58; the
large space occupied by contempo-
rary history, 00 ; unessential mat-
ters treated witii too great detail,
02 ; compared to Allston'u picture of
Elijah hi the Wilderness, 63; his
impertinent details of a pseudo-dra>
matic kind, 65 ; his unsuitable fa-
miliarity, 07 ; instances of vulgarity
of treatment, 08 ; of attempted hu-
mor, 09 ; his style stilted in speaking
of every-day matters, 71 ; his inap-

f>ropriate figures, 71 ; his unhappy
nfection with the vivid style, 72 ;
his minuteness of detail and diffuse-
ness, 74 ; discusses the possibility of
Milton's military training, 76 ; his
fondness for hypothetical incidents,
78 ; the valuable matter in his vol<-
umes, 79; lacks skill as a story-
teller, 80 ; his analyses of Milton's
prose writings and of the pamphlets
written against him, 85; failure to
draw a living portrait of Milton, 87 ;
on Milton's versification, 105.

Mate, Chief, anecdotes of X, 1, 114.

Material prosperity, danger of an ab-
sorption in, 6, 227.

Materialism, 4, 18; the occasion of
both superstition and unbelief, 2,
390; Dante on, 4, 205 n.

Mather, Cotton, bewailed the attrac-
tions of the tavern, 1, 78 ; his part
in the witchcraft delusion, 2, 11;
the Moffnalin^ its vices of style
and of thought, 3, 139 n ; his ped-
antry, 6, 150 ; aho, 1, 252, 351 ; 2,
73.

Mather, Increase, on the Devil, 1,
257.

280

GENERAL IXDEX

Jiemarkatitf PrortdenreM^ reprintH
iu thR "Library of Old Aiithont/'
1, 252 : the poor Enf{liHli of tli« ml-
itor, '2M ; his inaccaracies, 257. 2UU.

MauiideviUe, Sir John, cited, 1, 335.

Maury, Alfrt^l, on the origin of the
witcheR' Sabbath, 2, 347 ; on witch-
craft, 387.

Mayflower, Ship, 6, 110.

Maxarin, Cardinal, put a stop to exor-
ciain, 2, 371 ; his motto, 6, 188.

Mazeppa, 1, 13G.

Meaning of words, intensity supposed
to be gained by mere aggregation,

1, «).

MtH'hanics, American, 6, ^.

Mo<l. Fac8. of Harvard College, 1,
88.

M(*dal, the world compared to, 1, 98.

Meiiiifval art demands revolting tyi>es,
4 175.

Mediii'val literature, Ovid's influence
on, 3, 301.

Meilii'iue, B.iron on the quack in med-
icine compared to the practical man
in politicK, 6, 192.

Medio<>rity, the true Valhalla of, 1,
317.

MEDrrKRRANEAir, In the, 1, 113-120 ;
phosphoreHccnce in, 104 ; the hot
niKhtB, IIG ; the Cliief Mate's opui-
ion of, 110.

Melanctlion on a poHscpsed girl's know-
ledge of Virgil, 2, 3W5.

Memoirs, contemporary, their value,
2,284.

M(>mory, 6, 70 ; quickened in process
of druwniufr, 1, 75 ; whipping a ben-
eflt to, 3, 95.

M(?uage, hiH warning against catching
Are, 3, 203.

Mendelssohn, Lessfng's friendship
with, 2, 197; Lessiug's last letter
to, 213.

Mendez Pinto, Ferdinand, his exagger-
ations, 1, 40.

Mendicancy, a liberal profession in
Rome, 1, 208. See also, Beggars.

MophistophcleR, his oT)portunity, 1,
78 ; coimection with Vulcan, 2, 348.

Mercer, Rev. Dr., of Newport, R. I.,
gives a bust of Coleridge to West-
minster, 6, 08.

Mercy, Lnuglnnd on, 3, 333.

Merlin, 1, 32, 328 ; 2, 302.

Mermaid, autobiography of, imagined,

2, 202.

Merman, Webster's story of a mer-
man bitsliop, 1, 110.

Merope. See Arnold, Matthew.

Mctiiplior and simile, 4, 21.

Metaphors not arguments, 6, 17 ; ex-
travagant metaphors in French dra-
matic poetry, 3, 159. See also,
Similes.

Metaphysicians, 3, 194.

Meteoric showers, 1, 201.

Meteorologii'-al ambitions of ooontxy
dwellers, 3, 19G.

Meteorological obaervatkms, 3, 197.

MetliuseUh, the poflsibilitiee of bis
biography ronsinered, 4, 69.

Metre. See Knglish prosody; Yens.

Mexican War, 6, 212.

Mexiciins, ronvcraion of, bj the Spui-
i:\rdr, 3. 301.

Mexico, 2, 273.

Michael Angelo, the character of hin
work, 1, 197. 205 ; his sonnets com'
pared witli Petrarch's, 2, 25G; his
bawn, 4, 105 ; his chnmber in Flor-
ence, 120 ; aUOj 1, 61 ; 3, 123 ; 4,
114, 119, 141.

Micholet, 6, 120.

Michigan, the case of her secession
Rup])Osed, 6, 54.

Middle Apes, sympathy with, 1, 212 ;
imaped iu the Divlna Commedia^
4, 159.

Mi'ldliuK poets, 1, 271.

Military genius, its two varieties, 6,
a'i.

Military leader, sympathy for a de-
feated, 6, 92 ; idealized by his coun-
try, 93.

MilliuKtfin, Miss, on the Prince of
Wales's motto, 3, 14 n.

Millstonep, the sympathy of kindred
pursuits compared to, 1, 118.

Milo, 3, 350.

MUor in partihus, 1, 124.

Milton. 4, 58-117 : his figure in-
vested with a halo of sacredness,
07 ; his personal dignity, 67, 101 ;
his sense of his own greatness, 68 ;
his manner little affected by other
English poets, 75 ; believed himself
set apart for a divine mission, 78,
82; his work as a controversiid-
ist desultory and ephemera], 80;
essentially a doctrinaire, 81 ; his
training poetical and artistic, 81 ;
identified liimself with his contro-
versies, 82, 84, 115; the finer pas-
sages in his prose, 82; his prose
valuable for its style and inspira-
tion, 83; his egotism in sympathy
with tlie national egotism of the
Jews, 83 ; literature with him an
end not a means, 85 ; the formation
of his style, 85; the circumstances
of his life, 87 ; peculiarities of Ids
vocabulary, 88 ; his spelling, 89 ; his
avoidance of harsh combinations of
sounds, 94 ; his use of the sh and eh
soinid, 95 ; a harmonitit rather tlian'
a luelodiHt. 90 ; his greatness in the
larger movements of metre, 97 ; his
use of alliteration, assonance, and
rhyme, 97; not always careful of
the details of his verse, 99 ; his im-
agination diifuses itself, not con-

GENERAL INDEX

281

denses, 99 ; his fondness for indefi-
nite epithets, 100; he generalizes
instead of specifying, 100 ; his ocr,<\-
sional use of abrupt pauses, 101 ;
his respect for his own work, 101 ;
the sustained strength of his begin-
nings, 102 ; parallel passages in ear-
lier authors, 104; his versification,
105, 309 n; 3, 346 ; his elisions, 4, lOG,
111 n ; his few unmanageable verses,
110; his love of tall words, 113;
the most scientific of our poets, 1 14 ;
his haughty self-assertion, 114 ; his
self-consciousness, 116; his grand
loneliness and independence of hu-
man sympathy, 117 ; Marlowe his
teacher in versification, 1, 277 ; the
abuse bestowed upon, compared
with the treatment of Keats, 225;
Boger Williams^s notices of, as sec-
retary of the Council, 2, 31 ; his
evMlbnt sympathy with Satan, 3, 3 ;
quality of his imagination, 40 ; his
manner, 41 ; instance of reduplica-
tion of sense, 50; studied by Dry-
den, 109, 136 ; he dies in obscurity,
4, 1 ; his literary opinions reflected
in Phillips' Theatnim Poelarnm^
2 ; translated, 6 ; regarded theology
above poetry, 18 ; in Florence, 120 ;
had read Dante closely, 146 ; a stu-
dent of Spenser, 302, 305 n, 333 ;
gradual change of his opinions, 315 n ;
the movement of his mind compared
to the trade-wind, 402 ; his work
saved by its style, 6, 64 ; also, 2, 30,
221,-226 ; 3, 12 n, 100, 150, 185, 337 ;
4, 25, 150 ; 6, 140, 145.
compared with Shakespeare, 3, 40;
with Burke in political wisdom, 4,
81; with Dante, 162, 171; with
Dante in the circumstances of his
life, 87 ; in character, 116.
on fugitive and cloistered virtue, 2,
249 ; on Dryden, 3, 114 ; on winter,
267 ; on decorum in poetry, ^ 2 ; on
the collectors of personal traditions
of the Apostles, 63 ; on his morning
exercise, 76; on his political writ-
ings, 85 ; on Spenser, 207 n, 314 ; on
union with truth, 255 n.
Dryden on his rhymes, 3, 110 ; Pope
on, 4, 116 ; liasson's Life of. See
Masson.

Areopagitiea, 4, 83; a plea rather
than an argument, 84 ; Comus^ the
Lady (Conntess of Carbery) de-
scribed by Taylor, 47 ; source of the
** airy tongues," 105 ; Lycidng, 29,
97 ; Dr. Johnson on, 3, 110 ; Masson
on the " two-handed engine," 4, 71 ;
verse suggested by Spenser, 307 n ;
Nativity Ode, 97 ; Paradise Lost,
Keats's comments on, 1, 224 ; its
feeling of vastness, 4, 99, 101 ; its
didactic parts, 102 ; compared with

the Divine Comedy, 162 ; Paradise
Regained quoted, 84 n ; Poetical
Works, Masson's edition, 87 ; his
discussions of Milton's langui^e and
spelling, 88, 102 ; the notes very
good, 104 ; the treatment of versifi-
cation, 105 ; Samson Agonistes, 92
n, 114; its success as a reproduc-
tion, not imitation of Oreek tragedy,
2, 133 ; Solemn Music, 4, 97 ; —
Sonnet to Cromwell, 3, 116 ; — tSlon-
net, When the Assault was intended
on the City, 4, 69.
Mimetic power, 2, 240.
Minerva, in a Paris bonnet, 1, 190.
Miuiato, San, the annual procession of

monks to, 1, 106.
Minnesingers, 3, 304 ; sunrise on land

compared to, 1, 106.
Mirabeau, Carlyle's picture of, 2, 89.
Mirabeau, Bailli of, on the English

political constitution, 6, 33.
Mirror for magistrates^ 4, 278.
Mishaps, like knives, to be taken prop-
erly, 1, 43.
Misprints, 1, 263; examples of, in

Marston's works, 265, 273.
Mississippi steamboats, 2, 130.
Missouri compromise, 6, 142, 145.
Mobs, 6, 134 ; the only many-headed
tyrant, 301 ; Napoleon's rules for
dealing with, 84 ; in democratic cit-
ies, 6, 23.
Mock-heroic, the, 4, 32.
Models, artists', 1, 178.
Moderation, 5, 321.
Modem civilization, the reaction

against its softening effect, 6, 250.
Modem life more prosaic, 2, 285.
Modem literature, individualism of,
2, 158 ; its extravagance, 3, 37 ; its
self-consciousness, 292 ; its true or-
igins among the Trouv^res, 309 ; the
representation of common sense its
office, 4, 46.
Mohra, Sweden, witches of, in 1670, 2,

342.
Moliere, his comic power, 1, 278; ac-
cused of plagiarism, 3, 300 ; influ-
enced by Cervantes, 6, 135 ; also, 3,
58,64.
Mommsen gives us the beef-tea of

history, 2, 284.
Monarchy, Dante on universal, 4, 151 ;
the force of prestige and sentiment
in, 6, 184.
Money, its use abjured by some zeal-
ous transcendentalists, 1, 362 ; of a
sincere man, 2, 243 ; effect of the
credit system upon, 4, 118 n.
Monomania of Don Quixote, 6, 130.
Monopodes, 1, 111.
Monotony of the sea, 1, 101
Monroe, Fortress, 6, 326.
Monroe doctrine to be put in prac-
tice bj the South, 6, 323.

i^

282

GENERAL INDEX

HonitroftltiM heralded as wonders, 3,

Hoiitafifa, Lndy Mary Wnrtley, 1,
3t>1 ; Popc^a relatioiiM to, 4, r>l.

Moutaiitne, in liin tower, 1, UiT ; liis
objects in trarel, l'.'*2; in Ri)uu>,
213 ; his range narrow but deep,
3(i5 ; hU originality, 373 ; the K(>-
clesiastes of the 16th cent., 2, U7 ;
thi> flrtct modem writer and oritir,
21!! : his ronft>Minn*, '2C1 ; dit>bt>-
IIi'VihI ill witclirraft. 3S7 ; his credii-
litv, «ttN'i; hiH A'Mr/f/x, 6,00; aUo, 1,
241). 3:i(l, VTiW ; 2, '2U0, '2»\ ; 3, 1(5,
W. 71!. 78 ; 6. H'^'..

on Italv. 1, ViW: on suicide, 3, 141
n ; on Ifrauce, 'J31 ; on education, 8,
152.
Carlyle on, 2, 85.

Montofiore. Sir Moses, requests that
pniyors be otfered in PoleHtine for
P^•^ilIent Garfield's recovery, 8, 44.

Moi)t«>rt4|uieu, 8f 14.

Monticclli, 1, 145.

Moun, Clupniou's line on, 1, 105 ; its
"scoffing away "the clouds, 111);
in winter, 3, 289; responsible in
some degree for the weather, 315.

Moonlight on th(^ sails at sea, 1, 104.

Moonrise, on the Penobscot, 1, 33 ; in
winter, 3, 289.

Moore, Edw., Gamefter^ the posnible
source of Lessing's Miss Sara
Sampson^ 2, 177.

Moore, Frank, Jiebellion Record, its
defects, 6, 240 ; its value, 247.

Moore, Ttiomas, fondness for siiuileR.
1, 103 ; his influence traced on J
G. Percival, 2, 145 ; his friendship
with Byron, 238 ; his pilgrimage to
Les Charniett«^s, 238; his life a
sham, 240 ; ahOy 4, 391 u ;
on Rousseau, 2, 238; on French
heroic verse, 3, 1^1 n.

MoosEHEAD Journal, 1853, 1, 1-42.

Moosehead Lake, trip up the lake on
a steamer, 1, 13 ; paddling to the
Northwest Carry, 24 ; across the
Carry, 28; passage into the west
branch of the Penobscot, 33.

Moose-himting by night, incidents of,
1,34.

Moral and ieRthetic defects, their con-
nection, 2, 91.

Moral dilettante, 2, 253.

Moral forces in war, 2, 100.

Moral laws, 5, 223.

Moral poetry, French success in, 4,
20.

Moral supremacy, 4, 120.

Morals and science, the advance in,
compared, 4, 254.

MornliHt (lintiuguished from the Art-
ist. 4, l(yj.

Moralitv and fPHthetics, 2, 242.

More, Henry, on witchcraft, 2^ 11, 338,

I 377: on the stench left by the
l>i>vil, 347 : on Biteniter, 4, 314.

Moretum. See Virgil.

MoruioniHui, itH chdin to antiquity of
no Intlueuee, 6, 13.

Morning, at uea and on shore oom-'
|)ared, ], lUG; in the Roman
stre<*ts, 152.

Morra^ the game, 1, 152.

Morris, Gen., passage cited, S* M.

Morris, Richard, on Chaucer's verae,
3,338.

Morse, Royall, the Cambridge consta-
ble, 1, (Ui.

Morton, Eliza Susaui wife of Prea.
Quincy, 2, 299.

MoHQuitoes in the woods, 1, 27.

Mother Goofo, versification of, 3, S38.

Mothers of great men, 4, 3C2.

Motley. J. L., on the Dutch, 3, 233.

Mountiiui names, 1, 13. »

Mouiitnin towns of Italy, 1, 172.

Muuntahifl, are geologiod noses, 1, 13 ;
apprcriation of their sublimity. 41 ;
the sun as seen from the top o/, 106 ;
the bloom on, 114, 130; between
Genezzano and Olevano, 171 ; the
fondness for, 3, 257 ; a/«o, 4f 117.

Mriuskes, Philippe, his verse, 3, 347.

Mozart, 2, 187 ; on Gellert, 139.

Mud-wagon, ride in, 1, 10.

Mugcleton, 3, 02.

Muggletouians, 1, 81.

Muuroe, Mayor, of New Orleaiu, S,
01.

Murfreesboro, battle of, 5, 108.

Muso, the, a companion, n(^ a guide,
2, 108.

MuKes have no fancy for statisticfl, 2.
27(;.

Music, a knowledge of, important to a
I)oet, 4, 4.

Musquash, 3, 199.

Musset, Alfred de, a passage oompared
with Dryden, 3, 167 n.

Muster, in Old Cambridge, 1, 77.

Mutual admiration, 2, 219.

Mutual admiration society described
by Goldsmith, 2, 201.

Mylius, Lessing's tutor, 2, 182.

Mvluer of Abmgton, Haslltt on, 1,
'320.

Mysterious, the, it& disappearance
from the world, 1, 112.

M^-thf), origin and transformationa of,
2, 359.

M3rthology, tendency of the mind to
assign improbable causes to unac-
countable gifts, 1, 32 ; the imagina-
tion the chief agent in the growth
of, 2, 318.

Nakedness of mind frequently un-
heeded, 1, 45.

Nameo, mountain names, 1, 13; llnm
on names of places, 14 ; value of, 227 ;

GENERAL INDEX

283

the a8BOctatIoi>9 connected with, 2,
273; MUton'8 use of, 4, 105; the
limitations of, 6, 193.

Nannucci, Intomo allevooi uaate da
Dante, 4, 169 n.

Napier, 1, 31.

Naples. See also^ Neapolitans.

Napoleon I., his portrait in the Cam-
bridge barber's shop, 1, G2 ; com-
pared with Frederick the Great, 2,
114 ; fails to recognize Bolivar, 283 ;
recipe for saving life in dealing with
a mob, 6, 84 ; at St. Helena, 97 ; the
moralist's view of, 129; on the
French Revolution, 6, 33 ; also. 2,
237 ; 6, 23.

Napoleon III., 6, 23, 129 ; unappreci-
ated before the coup d^etat of 1851,
125.

Narrative, who can write it well, 1,
121 ; wearisome to Carlyle, 2, 102.

Narrative poetry, 3, 351 ; faults of, 4,
321. See also. Descriptive poetry.

Narrow range of many great men, 1,
365.

Nash on Harvey's hexameters, 4, 278 n.

Nations, their manhood tried by dan-
gers and opportunities, 6, 63 ; their
readiness to accept a hero, 93 ; sym*
bolized as women, 94 ; the sins of,
128.

National character, the effect on, of
postponing moral to material inter-
ests, 6, 88.

National instinct in the Prussian peo-
ple, 2, 100.

National pride of the Old World and
the New 2, 1.

National success, the true measure of,
8, 174.

Nationality, in poetry, 2, 150 ; in liter-
ature, tending to disappear, 152 ; its
germ in provincialisra, 279; ham-
pered in America, 280 ; as a quality
in literature, 4, 270 ; 6, 115 ; the
feeling lacking in America before
the Civil War, 6, 211 ; its effect on
the life of man, 216.

Natural, the meaning of the word va-
ries from one generation to another,
2,373.

Naturalness, 1, 375 ; in literature, 2,
83 ; 3, 357. See aUo^ Unconvention-
ality.

Nature, Moore's view of, 1, 103;
modem sentimental ism about, 375 ;
man's connection with, its most in-
teresting aspect, 376 ; in Thoreau's
writings, 381 ; her indifference to
man, 2, 131 ; as viewed by Rous-
seau and the sentimentalists, 266 ;
the early view of, 319 ; the free
shows provided by, 3, 257 ; Chau-
cer's love of, 355 ; the love of. a
modem thing, 260; ignored by
French criticism, 4, 9 ; its double

meanings, 258 ; Wordsworth on the
infinite variety of, 368 ; its effect on
the imaginative and the solitary, %,
104; descriptions of, as employed
by the great poets. 111. See cUsOf
landscape ; Scenery ; Views.

Nature of things, the difficulty of dis-
covering and of accommodating
our lives to, 6, 120.

Nature-cure of Wordsworth and
others, ^411.

Navagero, Bernardo, on the classes in
Austria in 1546, 6, 14.

Neapolitans, their laziness, 1, 131.

Neatness, a characteristic of Wash-
ington AH ton, 1, 72 ; the faculty of,
bestowed by destiny on some men,
73.

Nebuchadnezzar cited as an instance
of men turned into beasts, 2, 360. ,

Neglect not an evidence of genius, 2,
147.

Negro plots in New York in 1741, 2,
375.

Negro suffrage, advocated, 6, 228 ; in-
sisted upon as essential, 261 ; de-
manded by the Radical party, 303 ;
not to be expected from the South
itself, 311. See aUo, Reconstruc-
tion.

Negroes, effect of slavery upon, 6,
^4 ; prejudice against, less strong
at the South, 231. iSee also, Colored
soldiers; Freedmen; Slavery.

Nelson, his conception of his country,
6, 104.

Neptune in a tite-d-tiUf rather mo-
notonous, 1, 101.

Neptune, Planet, discovery of, 6, 120.

Nero, Leopoldo's historical scapegoat,
1, 142.

Netherlands, Dante's system com-
pared to the Constitution of, 4, 152.

New England two cbntubies ago, 2,
1-76 ; the record of its history in
the life of to-day, 1 ; faith in God, in
man, and in work, the spirit of its
founders, 2 ; its history dry and
unpicturesque seen from without,
2; the central idea and intention
of its founders, 3 ; reaction of their
principles upon England, 4 ; the hu-
morous side of its history brought
out by Irving, and the poetic by
Cooper, 5 ; the charge of fanaticism
unfounded, 6, 9 ; the founders build-
ers from the beginning, not destroy-
ers, 8 ; enthusiasts but not fanatics,
9 ; the settlement of New England a
business venture, 9 ; dealings with
sectaries, 10 ; the witchcraft delu-
sion, 10 ; decline of Puritanism, 12 ;
New England the outgrowth of Eng-
lish Puritanism, 13 ; the early estab-
lishment of common school", 15;
its far-reaching importance, 17 ; the

t284

GENERAL INDEX

"Winthrop Paperm" 21; Croni-
welPd opiiiioii of, 33 ; the teiii]ier-
aiice qiu'rttion, 41 ; difllriiltieit of
doiiieKtic iwrvic.', 4'2 ; iiitcrpxt in al-
chemy, 4ri. .*>1 ; Kiwanl HoweM, 4(i ;
Jonathan lirawrter. Til ; 8ir Keiielm
Dif^by, 54i ; Ciptaiii Uinlerhill, 57 ;
Coddiiifirtoii, Va ; the Quakers, (Mi ;
the Iiidiaut, (W ; Juhn Tinker, TO ;
the decline of Puritan vigor, T'J ; in-
crease of provincialiitin after 1(U'^),
73: the IntereKt of Nvw England
hiMtory gregariuiis rather than i>or-
soual, 74 ; the growth of demo-
cracy, 74 ; Its small place iu the
worlir^ hiHt4>ry, 'J7- ; the ore-
iiiit ii' inHtinc't in, 1, K) ; of fifty vears
u)(0, 4, 374 ; till' h(>-im1I(><1 nuiical
inni of, 6, '27r> ; tlm ttn^t hottlers a
pnu-tiiMl tliouKli HonietimoH an im-
practiriible jN'ople, 6| K*J ; early
nniHket-ball currency, 8L* ; Kohin^on
and BrewHt«'r on the mutual oltli-
eatiouH of tlie early colonist?!, 97 ;
Btoughton on the choice material of
iti plinliucr, 144> ; made a good mar-
ket for iMMiks by tiie presenile of tlie
CoHi'ire, l."i<»; hifluence of Harvard
College upon, 153 ; a college educa-
tion priziMl in old times, l(i9; its
leiuling induKtries being drawn to
tlie Kfiuth, 'J 17. See nhn, America ;
American; M^uicachusetts; Puritium;
Yiiikee.

New England church-architecturo, 1,
M.

New Enu;lan<1 clergy, formerly an es-
tUilihhment and an ariHtotrracy, 1,
85; their charac*ter and influence,
6, 144 : the clergy of the 17th and
18th centuries, 151; their descend-
ant'*, 15<>.

New EngUnd life, some sentiment of
ttie Hca essential to it, 1, G9; fos-
tered the l)elief in witchcraft, 2,
37() ; its intellectual independence
secured by tlie founding of Harvard
Co]l;>ge, 6, 143 ; its character in
18th eejit.. 155.

N«w England pronunciation, 2, 70.

New England school-house described,
2, IC.

Newfoundland, a British parson's
prophecy for, 3, 243.

Newman, the white-and -yellow- washer
in Cambridge, 1, 59.

Newuinn. Cardinal, on Homeric me-
tre, 1, 291.

Newness, unsati'^'vi ip, 1, 5.

New Orleans, 5, ^'l.•.

Newspaper boy, his morcnntile inter-
est in horrors, i, 5.

Newspaper correKponrlentf, Noah the
patron saint of, 1, 102.

Newspaper speculations on politics,
3,197.

Newspapers, American, 2, 154; tha
pnbli:; demand for fresh goaaip, 6t
1240; value of their contemponury
picture of life, 241 ; make tlie whoto
nation a great town meeting, 244 ;
give publicity to grievances, 6, 13 ;
their unimportant and belittling gos-
sip, 88 : tlieir |tower, 175; their ref-
erences to bribery and political nub-
chiiury, *J0O. See alsOf Jourual-
inm.

Newton, Sir Isaac, 4, 155; 6, 13.

New World epic, its protagonist, 2, S.

New York, its wrangle with Boston,
2, 278 ; the imagined negro plots in
1741, 375.

Niagara Fslls, the first sight of, com-
pared to the first sight of St. Peter's,
1. 19-J.

NiMiitif/en Liedy 2, 152, 359 ; Preder-
ick the Creates contempt for, 112;
publinhed by Bodmer in 1767, 4, 6;
its character, 228, 229.

NicallKon, JoHCph, 2, G4.

Nicknumes, 1, 58.

Nicola! , Chr. Fr., 2, 197.

Nightingale. See under Birds.

Nightmare, 2, 321.

Niniroud, palaces of, 1, 70.

Noah, remarks on his life at sml 1,
102.

Noble, Mark, Hifttyry of the Houae nf
CromvtelU % 388 n.

Noon in St. Peter's, Rome, 1, 200.

Norman crusaders, 3, 248.

Norman tronveres. See TrooT^res.

>] onnaii-French literature, contempt
for emancipated serfs expressed in,
6,304.

Normans, their influence on the devel-
opment of epic poetry in France and
England, 3, 313 ; influence on Rng-
lish character and literature, 320.

North, The. See United States—
North.

North Carolina, life of the older fam^
ilies of, 6, 309.

Northcote, his story of the violin^
player and George III., 1, 210.

Northmen, 3, 320.

Northwest Carry on Moosehead Lake,
1 28.

Nose, t>ilking through, 3, 237, 242.

Nostradamus, 6, 125.

Notoriety, 4, 120 ; hi America, S, 277-

Notoriety and fame, 272.

Nott, 6, 220.

Novalis, 1, 381 ; 2, 326.

Novels. See Fiction.

Novelty, danger of substituting it f<w
truth, 2, 108.

Nursing children, 2, 244.

Symphidia. See Drayton.

Oak, Wordsworth's life ooiiipM»4 to,

4,394.

GENERAL INDEX

285

Oath, manner of takin^ir, 1, 34G.

Oaths. See Imprecatious ; S^^rear-
ing.

Obituary of Lady Gosling, 2, 219.

Oblivion, the next best thing to fame
or infamy, 1, 315.

Obscure authors, the reparation time
brings tliem, 1, 314 ; the patlios of,
31G.

Observation, honest, difficulty of se-
curing, 1, 121.

Obtuseness of men to their own fol-
lies, verses on, 1, 81.

Occasion. See Opportunity.

Occleve, 3, 329 ; his portrait of Chau-
cer, 294.

Ocean . See Sea.

Odium eestheticum, 4, 354.

(Edipus, the feeling of Laius toward,
3,233.

Offer, George, editor of Mather's
Provuiences, his poor EiiglUh, 1,
25G ; his inaccuracies, 257, 2G0.

Ogior le D mois, 3, 314.

Ogletliorpe, 2, 291.

Okey, Colonel, 2, 24.

01(1 age, 3, 258 ; of Josiah Quincy, 2,
308; Laiigl»n<rs lines on, 3, 333;
Dante on, 4, 181 ; absence of decid-
ed opinions in, 6, 7.

Old Authors, Library of, 1, 247-348.

Old books, 1, 247 ; the associations
clustering about tlieni, 250.

Old ways, love of, 3, 220.

Oldest surviving graduate, his advan-
tages, li 82.

Oldham, Dryden and Hallam on, 3,
177.

Olevano, visit to, 1, 173; the view,
174.

Olive-trees near Tivoli, 1, 139.

Oliver and Fierabras, 3, 310.

Olympic games of the nations, 2, 279.

Omar, Calipli, his example in burning
libraries to be followed by politi-
cians, 6, 190.

Oaoida, 3, 212.

Onions, 1, GO.

Opera, as an approach to ancient
drama, 2, 132.

Opinion, tlie kinship of, 6, 182.

Opinion, public. See Public opinion.

Opinion and affection, Selden on, 2,
199.

Opinions, 6, IGO; other people's, 3,
230.

Opium, Coleridge's use of, 6, 76.

Opportunity, 1, 374 ; 2, 277 ; 4, 391 n ;
the imperturbable old clock of, 1,
71 ; in the lives of men and of na-
tions, 6, 270.

Opportunity and danger, G3.

Oppression, 6, 205 ; its moral effect on
ttie oppressor, 222.

Optimism of Cervantes, 6, 118.

Orange, Prince of, his camp, 2, 57.

Oratorio as the representative of an-
cient drama, 2, 132.
Oratory, Emersun's power, 1, 359 ;

gopular oratory in the United States,
,2G5.

Orestes, his case brought before the
Areopagus, 2, 3G8 n.

Orford, Earl of, listened to Statiua
when drunk, 2, 129.

Organ-music, 1, 101.

Origin of man, its diversity proved by
the Roman beggars, 1, 207.

Original sin and the Emperor, 2, 22.

Originality, 1, 20G ; 2, 135 ; 3, 90, 142 ;
stirred by Emerson's lectures, 1,
355 ; absolute originality impossible,
372 ; its essential quality, 241, 373 ;

2, 175 ; 3, 209, 301 ; gets rid of self-
hood, 2, 259 ; healtliiness necessary
to, 3, 292 ; tlie measure of, 4, 299 ;
diatingnislied from eccentricity, 35G ;
must not be sought, 395 ; the result
of imagination, 6, 53 ; by itself does
not anstire permanence, 108. Set
also, Imitation.

of Wasliington AUston, 1, 7G; Tho-
reau's attempts at, 371 ; of Rousseau,
2, 246 ; of Cliaucer, 3, 3G0 ; of Dante,
4, 257.

Orleans, Bishop of, exposes a pretend-
ed case of possession, 2, 393.

Orlt^ans, Ch. d', on winter, 3, 265 n.

Orr, Governor, 5, 280.

Orrery on mistakes in speaking and
writing English, 3, 130 n.

Ortlioioxy, Lessing on, 2, 215.

Oisian, Tlioreau on, 1, 3G9.

O^tend Manifesto, 6, 145.

O-itricli, Dryden's style compared to,
3,115.

Ottiino Comento, on Dante's horo*
scope, 4, 123 : on Dante's separation
from the otlier Ghibellines, 132; on
Dante's use of words, 139 ; quoted,
24G.

Out-of-the-way, loved by Thoreau, 1,
372.

Overbury, Sir Tliomas, his Characters
reprinted in the "Library of Old
Authors," 1, 252 ; on his milkmaid,

3, 292.

Ovid, his failure to compose a treatise
on the language of the Getm, 1,
121 ; gives hints of sentimentalism,
2, 253; Dryden on, 3, 180; influ-
ence on mediiBval literature, 301:
Spenser in Ireland compared to Ovid
in Pontus, 4, 286 ; aho 3, 218, 2G3.

Owls. See under Birds.

Oxford, Dante's possible visit to, 4,
124 ; elections at, B, 232.

Oxford University, Dryden on, 3, 106;
ttie spell of its venerable associa-
tions, 6, 139.

Oyster, tiie traveller beset by ciceroni
compared to, 1, 134.

286

GENERAL INDEX

Oyrtor-mMi in C-mbrWffp, the twin-

liriithiTii 8110W, 1, (Mi.
Ozaiiuu, mi D.inte, 4, ItH, '2'J'J n.

P. — Prof. Popkin.

PatlillhiK on MiH>M'liead Lake, 1, 24.

pHKaii tlivinitieis their survival in the
BU]ierHtition8 of Clirititiauity, 2t i^-^T.

pAKuninn ilivitles from onf>*H syiupa-
tliicM more than time, 1, 213.

P:iin«s ThomaM, 2, 237.

PuintuiK. AllKton the greatest English
puiiiter of liiHtorical subjectH, 1, 75 ;
pyniiiiMal tlieury of conipoisitiuu, 3,
VK*. See iiho. Picture friillericH.

PaloHtriim, vihit to, 1, 157 : the lor.in-
iiier!i*8 praises of her dnuuhter. 1^H.

PiUirev, estimate of Huph Prtt-r. 2, 2U.

Piilm Sunday in St. Peter's, 1, I'JG.

PjilmerKtoii, 2, 27r».

Pan, 4, 40:} ; identified with the Devil
by Bod in, 2, 'AM.

Paim<:eaH, MK-iul, 2, 01.

Panio, cruelty the result of, 2, 375.

PanthoiMui, 6, 1(>4; in Pope's Euay
on Man^ 4| 37, 41.

Pannrije, 2, *>.

P;)pn<y, lies dead in the Vatican, 1,
l.Vi: D.uite on its relations to the
Empire, 4, 239. See also^ Roman
Catholicism.

Pancelrtus, 2, 120.

Purnt'isf of Ihiiuty Devices, 3, 337.

Pamlk'lisms in liistory, 6, 12().

Paralojjifttic roasoninir, 5, 127.

Paris, Dante's jiossible visit to, 4* 124.

Paris ond Helen, 1, G8.

Paris, Gaston, 6, 152.

Parivo la Ducliosse, 3, 310.

Parker, Tlieodore, on the conception
of democracy, 6, 20.

Parkman, Francis, opinion of the In-
dims, 2y 70.

Parliament, 6, 27.

ParnoHKus, its two peaks, 4, 378.

Pannly, what is susceptible of, 3, 41.

Parris, minister at Salem, his charac-
ter, 2, .'i-S9.

Parrot, <iuty demande<l for, and con-
sequent qirirrel, 1, K'lH.

Parsons, T. W., translation of the In-
ferno, 4, 147.

Particii)les in -ed, 4, 92.

Particularization, 3| 357; Words-
worth's power of, 4| 401.

Party allegiance, 6, 1H4.

Party govenmient, in America, 6,
184; its evils, 6, 182: the necessity
and the dnnp[er of, 210 ; the neces-
sity for pi'liticians and leaders, 212 ;
the ne<>d of a neutral body of inde-
pendents, 212. See also^ Political
parties.

Party manap^ers, 6, 285.

Party platforms^ 6, 182 ; the strength
of, 6, 37.

Pnrzirnl. See Wolfram too
bach, 4, 2:11.

Pas<-al, Coleridge on, 6f 75.

Pat'feagCK, 2| b2.

PansawompM'Ot, visit at, 1, 166w

Passion, as portrayed by the smt
masters, 2, 123; in French litera-
ture, 4, 20; poaaion and exaggexm-
tion, 16.

Passions, their f reshneaa and force in
Europeans, 1, 1C9; more important
to greatness than intellect, 170 ; the
expression of, in literature, 3. S8,
52.

Past, the, 1, 356 ; ita conaecration, 2f
273 ; its lite and customs, 293 ; mem-
ories of. 305; regret for the Good
Old Times, 395; ita power, 4, 80;
its cumulative influence, 120 ; look-
ing back upon, compared to looking
over the waves, 12(i; reverence for,
6, 12 : its result t^en in the present,
6, 124; still carried on our crrp-
per, 137. See aUOf Antiquity ; UlU
tory.

Paf-toral poetry, 3, C4; 4, 284; in
Spenser's time, 300; the language
apfropriate for, 301 n.

Pastourelles, 3, 3C1.

Patchwork coveilet, the work of the
Chicago Convention of 1864 com-
pared to, 6, 156.

P.itcridge, Sir Miles, 6, 128.

Pathos in dramatic and narratlTe po-
etry, 3, 351.

of Lesshig's grief, 2, 210; of Field-
ing, 6, 55: of Heine, 66; in Jkm
Quixote, 120.

Patience, 2, 81.

Patri(;ianifrm, 2, 4.

Patrick, Capt. Daniel. 2, 67.

Patriotism, Roger WUltama on the
quality of, 2, 73 ; in Oermany dux^
ing the 17th cent., 203; increaaed
and extended by means of the tele-
graph, 6, 243; needed «qnaUj in
peace as m war, 6, 189; ita true
meaning and value, 210; altOf 6,
177. See also^ Love of country.

Patronage, the geographical allotment
of, 6, 214.

Paul, St., Dante*a referencea to, 4b
203 n.

Paul and Virginia, See Bemaidia
de St. Pierre.

Peace, felt at twilight, 3, 220 ; Dante
on, 4, 242 ; not to be purchased by
tlie wicriflce of principle and plwk^
6, ; not the housemate of coward
ice, 74.

Pearson, Eliphalet, Prhiclpal of Phil-
lips Acad., 2, 298.

Peasants. See Austrian peaaanta;
Italian peasants.

Pebbles on the l>each,the leaaondnwB
from them, 1, 21.

GENERAL INDEX

287

Peonliaritiea of character leas hidden
in old times, 1, 95.

Pedagogue, St., 1, 79.

Pedantry, of German 18th cent, litera-
ture, 2, 220 ; Montaigne began the
crusade against, 221 ; liolds sacred
the dead shells, 359 ; the dangers of,
6, 152.

Peel, Sir Robert, gives Wordsworth a
pension, 4* 393.

Pegasus, 1, 220 ; supposed advertise-
ment for, 196.

Pelli as a critic of Dante, 4, 164.

Pendleton, democratic candidate for
Vice-President in 18C4, 6, 154.

Penitence, Dryden*8 lines on, 3, 167.

Penn, William, 3, 218.

Penobscot River, the west branch, 1,
33.

Pentameters, rhymed, compared to
thin ice, 3, 136 n.

Pepperell, Sir William, 2, 274.

Pepys, the only sincere diarist in Eng-
lish, 1, 121 ; his perfect frankness
and unconsciousness, 2, 201 ; the
value of his memoirs, 285 ; his
Diary, 3, 134 n ; also, 1, 260 ; 2,
79.

on Dryden's Annus Mirabilis, 3, 134 ;
on the Maiden Queen, 135 n ; on
the Wild Gallant, 147 ; on Evening
Love, 148 ; on the Indian Emperor,
acted at Court, 175 n.

Pebcival, Jambs Gatbs, Lira and
Letters of, 2, 14U-161 ; character
of his poetry, 141 ; comparisons,
141, 142; his failure to learn that
the world did not want his poetry,
142 ; compared with Akenside, 143 ;
a professor of poetry rather than a

{>oet, 143 ; his faculty artitlcial, not
nnate, 144 ; the literary intluences
to which he was subjected, 144 ; his
unappeasable dulness, 140 ; his lack
of systematic training, 146 ; his com-
plauits of neglected genius, 147, 159 ;
the times propitious to mediocrity,
148; hailed by the critics as the
great American poet, 154; found
tedious by the public, 155; an ex-
ample of the too numerous class of
feeble poets, 158 ; his miscellaneous
equipment for work, 159 ; his oppor-
tunities and failures, 160; his at-
tempt at suicide, 100 ; as a geologist
and linguist, 161. ,
his Imprecation, 2, 144 ; Mind, 143 ;
Prometheus, 141.

Perham, 2, 282.

Periodical publication, the fashion en-
courages sensationalism, 2, 82.

Periphrases, 1, 295 ; 4, 10.

Perkins, Mr., the painful, 2. 13.

Persecution, Puritan attitude toward,
6, 145.

Persiguy, 2» 276.

Personality becoming of leaa account,
5, 131.

Personification, 3, 354 ; 4. 324 ; alpha-
betic, 3,96; the natural instinct for,
6, 104.

Peru, 2, 273.

Peter, St., his miraoles in Rome, Ip
154 ; Southwell*s version of ids
" Complaint," 253.

Peter of Abauo, one of the earliest un-
believers in witchcraft, 2, 381.

Peter, Hugh, life and execution, %,
24 ; his character, 25 : his relationn
to Mrs. Sheffield, 25; Endicott's
comment on, 27; his coquetting
with Mrs. Ruth, 27 ; later notices
of, 28 ; letter desiring an Lidian ser-
vant, 43.

Petrarch, a sentimentalist, 1, 100,
376 ; 2, 253 ; his understanding with
Death, 254 ; his moral inconsistency,
255 ; his sonnets compared with
Michel Angelo's, 256 ; his influence
on modern literature, 256 ; his gen-
uine qualities, 256 ; probability of
Chaucer's meeting with, 3, 294 ; his
exquisite artifice, 303 ; Byron on hia
excellence in execution, 4, 42 ; a/«o,
2. 105, 155; 3, 260; 4, 160.
Africa, 2, 129 ; Laura, 4, 349.

Pettigrew, Colonel, 6, 59.

Peucerus, Gaspar, on lycanthropy, 2,
362.

Pheidias, 3, 38 n.

Phi Beta Kappa Society, Emerson's
oration before, 1, 366.

Philadelphia convention of 1866, com-
pared to tlie Irishman's kettle of
soup, 6, 283 ; compared to a circus,
285 ; its problem to make a patent
reconciliation cement from fire and
gunpowder, 286 ; compared to a ship
stuck in a mud-bank, 287 ; the Res-
olutions and Address, 287 ; its real
principle the power of the Presi-
dent, 288 ; its constituents, 288 ; at-
titude toward reconstruction, 301 ;
the measures advocated, 318.

Philip, St., cited as a case of corporeal
deportation, 2, 353.

Philip IL, the ambassador's answer to,
2, 108.

Philip.H, Ambrose, description of ice-
coated trees, 3, 280 ; his love for na-
ture, 280.

Philisterei, the revolt against, 1, 363.

Philistines, 3, 189.

Phillips, Edward, his Theatrum Pot-
tarum reflects Milton's judgments,
4. 1 ; on true poetry, 2 ; on the use
of rhyme, 22.

Phillips, Wendell, of kin to Josiah
Quincy, 2. 297.

Phillips Andover Academy, J. Quinoy
at, 2, 297.

Philosophical poetry, 6, 112.

288

GENERAL INDEX

Fhfloflophj, Dftnte on, 4, 183, 200 ;

symbolized by Beatrice in tlie VUa

S'uovaj 'JU4.
PliiueuB, 4, 115.
PlKfnix, 2, 47.
Phoiboo, a, 137.
PluwphuKHcence, at sea, 1, 103 ; 4,

83 ; veraes ou, 1. 103 ; a dirty scum

in the daytime, 104.
PhyaioiU geography aa tlie tenth Mnae,

a, loS.
Pickeiitf, OoT., 6, 74.
Pickemb-amd-Stsaun's Rxbbllion, 6,

7a-iH.
Pickering, Sir Gilbert, 3. lOG.
Picture galleries, difiicultiea of unin-

atructed viHitors, 1, 212.
PicturetMiue, the, its money value in

a town, 1, 55; often due to the

Suarrels of the Middle Ages, 172 ;
arlyle's love of, 2, 02 ; the search
for, 3, 2('i(); in hlbtorioal composi-
tion, 4, Oi : 6, 122 ; St. Simon a mas-
ter of , 4, 05 ; the hints given to the
imagination, 73 ; in the civiliaation
of a people, 6, 309.

Pie-pUmts (rhubarb) of Newman the
wliitc-washer in Cfambridge, 1, 59.

Pierce, Franklin, letter on free elec-
tions, 6, 15r>.

Piers rloughman. See Langland.

Piety confounded with duluess, 1,
254.

Pigsgusset, 1, 14.

Pike's Peak, 1, 14.

Pilgrim Fathers compared with the
Israelites of the Exodus, 2, 1 ; their
conception of a commonwealth, 75.

Pilgrim Society diimers, 2, 3.

Pincio, illumination of St. Peter^s seen
from, 1, 202.

Pinckney, William, on slavery, 6,
141.

Pinckney, Fort, 5, 59.

Pine-tree on the old New England
money and flag, 1, G9.

Pine-trees seen against the twilight
sky, 1, 34.

Pinto. See Mendez Pinto.

Pirates, their cruelty not to be won-
dered at, 1, 101.

Pisa, 1, 191.

Pisani, 4, 119.

Pitt, 2, 302.

Plagiarism, 3, 143 ; in literature, 299 ;
of the poets, 2(>9.

Plainness of diction, 1, 241 ; in the
transcendental movement, 3G2.

Plancus, Consul, 2, 305.

Plato, Dante's acquaintance with, 4,
155 ; Dante on, 203 n ; compared
with Aristotle, 254 ; also, 6, 8, 105.

Pleasantness, 6, 49.

Pliny, story of a haunted house, 2,
3^ ; letter on the eruption of Vesu-
vius, 6, 241.

Flotinua, his commomredfh of pUk»'
ophem, 1, 850.

Pluck, Carlyle'a idoUtrrof, %, 110.

Plurals, 4, 01.

Plutarch, 2.284; 3, 281 ; e, 91 1 on
allegory, 3, 3G2.

Poem, compued to a painted window,
3, 07 ; compared to theappleaof tbo
Hesperides, 4, 206.

Poet, makes people see what everybody
can look at, 1, 4; fills langa»ffo
again with the bfe which it lias loi^
IM ; the power of his hitellect over
his feeling, 231 ; represents the yoath
of each new generation, 244; not
exempt from the logic of life and
circumstance, a, 157 ; Victor Hiwo*o
idea of his function, 157 ; his lan-
guage, 3, 7 ; his re-discoveries of the
world, 04 ; Dryden on the produofe
of his later years, 112 ; compared to
a silkworm, 900; his function to
make the familiar novel, 885 ; Us
creations contain more than be puts
into them, 90 ; the structural faculty
necessary to, 324 ; must keep alivo
traditions of the pure, the ho^,
and the beautiful, 4, 48; question
whether Pope be a great poet, 67 {
two standaj^s for the judgment of,
298 ; his office to be a Voice, 867 ;
his function, 413 ; his view M hls-
torj', B, 123.

Poets, modem poets, 2, 82; their
characteristics to be recognised In
their earliest works, 84 ; new portw,
120, 121; improve after forty, ao-
cording to Dryden, 3, 127 ; charao-
ter of their debt to their predeceo-
sors, 299 ; those who are good <mlT
for spurts, 350 ; collections of, 4»
273 ; futility of critical essays upon,
6,99.

Poets, great, Schiller on, 2, 111 ; ex-
tremely rare, 3, 1 ; all in a seme
provincial, 4| 235 ; the happiness of,
297 ; their office, 356 : Wordsworth
on the province of, 379 ; the escqul-
site sensibility of, 413 ; their faiflnite
variety of topic, 6, 8.

Poetic expression, 1, 246 ; 8, 9.

Poetic form, a, 136.

Poetic language, 3, 9 ; its balance of
proportions, 15.

Poetical justice, 6, 127.

Poetry, the " fi|>asmodlo '* aohool, 1,
280; good poetry more fLerctij re*
sented than bad morals, 226 ; Gar-
lyle's contempt for, 2, 90 ; itsfroper
object ideal, 99 ; conditions necee*
sary for, 120 ; the physically intenae
school, 122 ; maidenly reserve of its
higher forms, 123; what is de-
manded in, in a verse-writing gen-
eration, 140; life ito only snbjeot,
160; a rooted discosttent ondwfUis

GENERAL INDEX

289

it, 150; influence of democracy
upon, 151 ; introspection and feeble-
ness of modem poetry, 158 ; not to
be pursued as a profession, 193;
character of profound poetry, 252 ;
the action of the imagination in,
318 ; the quality of vividness of ex-
pression in, 3, 31 ; great poets and
secondary intellects distinguished,
37 ; schools of poetry, 38 ; the office
of language in, 46 ; the supreme func-
tion of, 171 n ; the question of pla-
giarism in, 299 ; Romanic tendency
to the scientific treatment of, 308 ;
does not spring from the Anglo-
Saxon nature, 318 ; not made from
the imderstanding, 319; the good
fortune of early poets, 335 ; artifice
unsatisfactory, 4, 8 ; its decline un-
der French iufiuence, 21 ; imcon-
ventionality essential, 22 ; influence
of character in, 2G1 ; its true vital-
ity, 267 ; the quality of nationality
in, 270 ; description in, 272 ; its first
duty to be delightful, 273 ; the con-
ception of, in England, in 16th cen-
tury, 299 ; impoitance of diction in,
308 ; the sensuous and the sensual
in, 317 ; value of abundance in, 328 ;
the question of matter and form,
357; the difference between Fact
and Truth, 384 ; instructs not by
precept, but by suggestion, 6, 110 ;
alsOf 3, 128. See also^ American,
Anglo-Norman, Anglo-Saxon, Eng-
lish, French, German, Provengsd,
Romance, Scotch, Teutonic poetry ;
— cUsOy Ballad poetry; Descriptive
poetry ; Dramatic poetry ; Epic poe-
try ; Moral poetry ; Narrative poe-
try ; Pastoral poetry ; Philosophical
poetry; Religious poetry; Roman-
tic poetry ; Sacred poetry ; Sonnet ;
Troubadours; Trouv6res.
Emerson's criticism of, 1, 354 ; Ba-
con's definition of, 2, 156; Lessing
on the cultivation of, 196 ; Dryden
on the end and character of, 3. 155 ;
Fauriel on prosaic passages in, 162 n ;
Edw. Phillips on, 4, 2 ; Voltaire
makes Difficulty a tenth Muse, 8;
Waller on care in writing, 14 ; Spen-
ser's conception of, 306; Words-
worth's theories of, 382, 398, 406 ;
Sir John Harrington on, 409.

Poetry and prose, 18th century ideas
of their relation, 1, 246 ; the dis-
tinction between them, 2, 196, 226 ;
4* 330 ; danger of mixing them, 3,
144 ; Coleridge's distinction, 4.
384.

Poggetto, Cardinal, 4, 141.

Police in Rome, 1, 216.

Polish, Waller on, 4, 14.

Political dogmas, their tendency to
become dead formulas, 6, 36.

Political economy, humuiity its most
important element, 6, 35 ; value of
the study, 92 ; study of, 177.

Political eloquence, American, 6, 49,
61.

Political evils, the cure of, 3, 236.

Political machinery, 6, 1^.

Political meetings, 6, 182.

Political office, the qualifications for,
3,235.

Political parties, 6, 29 ; blind to vicious
methods employed for their advan-
tage, 200. See alsOy Party govern-
ment.

Political speculations, possible value
of, 3, 198.

Political thinker, Burke and Milton,
4, 81 ; effect of abstract ideas on,
85.

Political wisdom of Burke, 2, 234.

Politicians, Steele on, 3, 284. Politi-
cians and statesmen, 4, 179; not
leaders but followers of public sen-
timent, 6, 75 ; the study of political
economy recommended to, 6, 183;
object to the scholar in politics,
190; call learned men pedants and
doctrinaires, 193; required by the
system of party government, 212;
engaged with the local eddies of
prejudice, 220. See cUso, States-
men.

Politics, subordinate to poetry, 4,
373 ; its deepest lesson taught by a
common danger, 6, 46 ; difficulty of
forecasting events, 125 ; men taking
the place of principles, 132; the
qualities necessary for success in
state-craft, 183 ; a rigid doctrinaire
an unsafe politician, 189 ; success
obtained by skill in taking advan-
tage of circumstances, 189 ; a sci-
ence demanding serious application,
193; trifling considerations to be
taken into account, 196 ; loyalty to
great ends, not obstinacy in preju-
dice demanded, 196 ; importance of
public opinion, 199; 6, 34; cause
and effect proportionate, 6, 204 ; the
sense of personal wrong as an in-
terpreter of abstract principles, 205 ;
equality not conferred by man, 237 ;
the danger of accepting an easy ex-
pedient at the sacrifice of a diffi-
cult justice, 238 ; a disproportionate
value set upon consistency, 266 ; na-
tional opinions move slowly, 271 ;
the secret of permanent lesidership
to know how to be moderate, 271 ;
homogeneousness of laws and insti-
tutions necessary to strength, 281 ;
the idea of government precedes
that of liberty, 282 ; party managers,
286; parties as the ladders of am-
bitious men, 293 ; politicians and
ftatesmen, 294 ; advantages ol a bold

290

GENERAL INDEX

policy, SIR; thr in^at rHrr«»nt of a
natidu'H lite, :ns; the imbleiieiui of
tlif m-ieii(*e, 'MS ; no trick of iK>r|>et-
uol motion in, 6, V!i) ; Fn*noli fulliu'y
in reftonl to now fi^ovpnunents, 'JtJ ;
the effect of purty orguniziitlon, *il) ;
the power of nent intent in, 39 ; the
hariuful aide of ((ood nature in, U7 ;
the growing aversion to, 17G ; the
practice of nominating men without
a ** record," 1H4; acts of official
courage rare, but sometimes conta-
gious, 185 ; a moderated and con-
trolIe<1 enthusiasm the most potent
of motive forces, ISO.
Politics, The place of the Ikdepem-
DBNT IS : address. April V,i, 188S, 6,
1*J0-'J*J1 ; tlio sclioliir in politics
sneered at, UK) ; Bac'on on the prac-
tical ]H>liticiaii and the eui])iric phy-
sician, VJ2; defined as the art of
natiunul housekeeping, VXt ; l)ecome
statesmanship when thoy reach a
liigher level, llHi ; the tricks of man-
agiMiient su))er8eding the science of
government, VJ8 ; the importance of
mere manhood develoi>ed in the
American Coloniiw, 205 : the prmluc-
tiun of great men the chief duty of
a nation, 'J(H.) ; tlie place of politics
in a nutioii^H life, 1!1U. ISee also^ Au-
tocracy ; Cities ; Civil s(>rvic<' ; Cliuis
legislation ; Communism ; Compro-
mise ; Cunservatixm ; ])(>mocrncy ;
Diplomacy ; Discussion ; Kquality ;
Freedom ; Government ; Indepen-
dent; Statesmanship.

Polk, James K., 3, '^Tu.

Pollard, Kdw. A., Souihtm History
of the War contrasted with Gree-
ley's A merican Conflict, 5, 132 ; its
style, 13.'} ; its picture of the Yan-
kees, 133 ; on the causes of the war,
134 ; his democratic principles, 134 ;
quote<l, 2.52.

Pollen, 1, aw;.

Polo, Marco, 1, 111 ; 4, 105.

Polybius, 3, 105 ; Drydeu*s judgment
of, 113 n.

Pomegranate-seeds of the Arabian
story compared to the points of an
opponent's argument, 1, 51.

Pomeroy, General, 6, 70.

Pompeii, the Greek artistic nature dis-
playeil at, 1, 48.

Pope, Roman, his relations to the peo-
ple, 1, 200; the mockery of his
Eastei benediction, 2(H ; the feeling
of the Italians toward him, 205;
Dante on his supremacy, 4, 153;
his election not free from {Mission
and intrigue, 6, 232.

Pope, Alexander, 4, 1-57 ; his wide-
spread fame at the time of his death,
5; the general discontent with his
•ohool, 6 ; its analogy with the cult-

M school of the 10th oent, 9; It
degenerates Into a mob of manner-
ists, 27 ; his poetry gives a faithful
picture of the society of his day, 10 ;
circumstances which prepured the
w^ for its popularity, 11 ; French
influence on English literature, 11,
1(>, 20; Pope tlie poet of conven-
tional life, 25; the author's early
dislike for him, 20 ; what he repre-
iients in literature, 20; Words-
worth's relation to him, 27 ; Pope's
one perfect work marks his gemos,
27 ; Ids earliest productions marked
by sense and discretion and facility
of expression, 28 ; their affectation
of sentiment, 28 ; his terseness and
discretion, 31 ; Pope the true poet
of society, 31 ; the Rope of the Lock
analyzed, 31 ; the Essay on Man^ 30 ;
his accuracy, of exprrssion rather
than of thou|i[ht, 37, 50 ; his confused
logic, 39 ; his precision of Uiought
no match for the fluency of nla
verse, 42 ; his execution over-praised,
42 ; instances of confused or unsult
able imagery, 43 ; tempted by epi-
gram or rhyme to false statement,
44 ; his Moral Essays and Satires, 44 ;
liis accuracy in personal description,
40 ; his ideals of women, 40 ; had a
sense of the neat rather than <A the
beautiful, 48 ; the Dunciady 48 ; his
f an< y that of a wit rather than of a
poet, 49 ; his personal character, 40 ;
the discomforting consciousness of
the public shown by his letters, 60 ;
his relations to Lady Mary Wortley
Montagu, 51 ; his meanness displayed
in his correspondence with Aaron
Hill, 52 ; his relations to Addison,
52 ; his letter to Lord Burlington
excellent, 53 ; the contravene over
his poetry, 53 ; his more ambitious
works defined as careless thinking
carefully versified, 60; his verse
lacking in song, 60 ; to be rankekl
with Voltaire, 57 ; reasons for con-
sidering him a great poet, 67 ; com-
pared with Dryden, 3, 114, 177, 184,
190 ; 4, 57 ; a parvenu^ 3, 179 ; his
notion of gentUity, 188 n ; his verse
not uniform in elisions, S47; aUo,
181,300; 4,414.

on Dryden, 3, 173, 188 ; on Addison,
4, 45 ; on Milton, 110 ; on Spenser,
3.51.

Voltaire on, 4, 0; Johnson on, 49,
5i ; Warton on, 53 ; Bowles om Mj
Campbell on, 64 ; Lessing cm, o(B.

Correspondence f its affected indiffer-
ence to the world, 4, 28 ; Dunciadt
; filthy and undiscriminating, 48 ;
Essay on Criticism y 30; Euay im
Man acceptable to men of all shades
of opinion, 30; its absu r dl t iea, 87 ;

GENERAL INDEX

291

its doctrines from Hobbes and Spi-
noza, 37; Bolingbrokeitsinspiratiou,
88 ; Pope aware of its dangerous

Srinciples, 38 ; its confusion of logic,
9 ; lacks etVAer clearness of thought
or sincerity, 42 ; — Horner^ %, 297 ; 3,
275 ; Broome's part in, 1, 207 ; Cole-
ridge on, 287; — Moral Essays, 4,
44 ; — On the Death of Mrs. Tern pest,
29 ; — Pastorals^ 3, 3G1 ; 4, 28 ; —
Jtape of the Lock^ 5G ; unmatched for
pure entertainment, 27 ; analyzed,
31 ; the machinery of the Sylphs,
32, 33 ; the mock-heroic treatment,
32 ; its satiric wit, 34 ; its pleasing
harmony, 34 ; its perfect form, 3G ;
compared with Drayton's Nymphi-
dia, 49 ; — Satires, 3, 177 ; full of wit
and epigram, 4, 44; the inevitable
antitheses, 46 ; — Timon, Coleridge
on, 3, 179 n ; — Windsor Forest, 4, 29.
Pope, Gen., 5, 95.
Popkin, Professor, reminiscences of,

1, 91 ; 6, 152.
Populacity, 5| 294.

Popular imagination, homeliness of, 6,

85.
Popular prejtidice, the element of

truth in, 3 315.
Popularity, 4, 378 ; Carlyle on the

curse of, 2, 107 ; of Frederick the

Great, 112.
Popularity, literary, what it implies,

2, 78 ; the power of entertaining its
first element, 79.

Pork, salt, eaten with a relish in the

woods, 1, 26 ; Uncle Zeb's theory of,

27.
Porter's flip, 1, 88; Pres. Eirkland

tries it, 8C.
Portici, 1, 151.
Portinari, Beatrice. See Dante —

Beatrice.
Porto Ferrajo, 1, 167.
Portuguese men-of-war, 1, 102.
Posing, the instinct of southern races

for, 2, 269.
Possession, demoniac, the natural

tendency toward, 2, 370 ; contagious

in convents and elsewhere, 371.
Posterity forgets those who think

most of it, 1, 122.
Poussin, Gaspar, 3, 261.
Poverty a crime in Pope's Dunciad, 4,

48.
Powell, Mary, Masson on her probable

appearance, 4, 68.
Power, character of those who have

held it, 1, 170.
Powers, Hiram, 3, 282.
Practical men, 4, 313 ; 6, 193.
Practicality of Emerson, 1, 350.
Praise when over-hasty apt to become

satire, 6, 174.
Prayer, Prea. Kirkland's manner, 1,

Prayer-miU, image of, applied to Car-r
lyle's later writings, 2, 96.

Precedent, its value, 6, 194.

Precision of thought and language, 6,
93.

Preeminence, the satisfaction in, 3,
255.

Prefaces, Swift on, 3, 134.

Prejudices, 6, 119 ; 6, 96.

Pre-Raphaelite, abuse of the term, 1,
363.

Pre-Raphaelite art, Anglo - Saxon's
lack of appreciation of, 1, 185.

Prerogative, 2, 4.

Presbyterian Church recommended
the abolition of slavery in 1787, 6.
141.

Presbyterians in England in 1658, 2,
38.

Presbyterianism, Scotch, Carlyle the
herald of its decease, 1, 364 ; and
the embodiment of its spirit, 365.

Prescriptions, curious ones sent by Sir
K. Digby to J. Winthrop, Jr., 2,
56.

Presence of mind and presence of
speech, 2, 311.

President, his humble origin of no Im-
portance, but his present character,
6y 264 ; should be the highest type
of American, 265 ; his position in or-
dinary times different from what it
was during the war, 268, 274 ; must
not take soitional ground, 274.

Pkbsident, Thk, on thb stump, 6, 264-
282. See Johnson, Andrew.

Press, unmuzzled in Holland, 3, 234.
See also, J )urnalism ; Newspapers.

Preville, anecdote of his counterfeit-
ing drunkenness, 2, 103.

Priapus, 4, 207 n.

Pride of birth, 6, 264. See also^ An-
cestry.

Priests, popular opinion of, in Italy,
1, 143 ; always to be found in a dil-
igence, 150 ; bitter feeling of % Ro-
man driver against, 154.

Priestcraft, 2, 4.

Priestley, Dr., 2, 295 ; 6, 19.

Primrose, Mr., 1, 317.

Printers' blimders. See Misprints.

Printing, invention of, its effect, 3, 4.

Prison at Palestrina, like English jails
of Queen Elizabeth's time, 1, 159.

Private judgment, 6, 10 ; in the opin-
ion of the Puritans, 2, 10.

Privileges, 6, 29.

Probables, the casuists* doctrine of, 4,
72.

Professions, the divisions between,
stricter in modern times, 2, 285.

Progress, its effect on temperaments
which love what is permanent. 1,
85 ; depends on things of the mind,
not on railways and telegraphs, 6»
228.

292

GENERAL INDEX

Proof-reftding In Bhaketpeare'i time,

Proper names, M ilton*8 une of, 4, 1(V>.

Property, the rights of, not threatened
by Democracy, 6, '-T ; 6, 11 ; a Fa-
tlier of the Church called it theft,
14 ; Its security in America, 26 ; its
part in bearing the burdens of the
state, 2G.

Property in slaves, 6, 28.

Prophecy, Maraon^s treatment of; 4,
72 ; difficult iett of, in history and pol-
itics, 6, 125.

Prophets, events careless of the repu-
tations of, 6, 10.

Prophets, Hebrew, character of their
prone, 1, '2ii^ ; Dante compared to,
4, H5«, 17C.

Prophet's breeches, Prof. P.'s toga
conipare<1 to, 1, 93.

Propriety in diction, 3, 125.

ProHaic type of mind, its danger, 3,
310.

Pruse and poetry. See Poetry and
prose.

ProiKMly. See Alexandrines; Blank
verso ; Couplets ; EliHions ; Rhyme ;
Vemifioation ; alsOf English, French,
Italian proHo^Iy.

ProHpero, 3, 2tl.

Protection, 6, 31 ; applied to the
weather, 6, 12 ; applied to foreign
experience, 1!>1 ; a policy of roboing
Peter to pay Paul, 21 G ; the logical
extension of the system, 217 ; ity
effectA, 217 ; not the cause of our
material prosperity, 218 ; the policy
borrowed from the mediaeval guilds,
218.

Protestantism, lacking in materials
for the imagination, 1, 195 ; has
blundered in trusting to the intel-
lect alone, 190 ; no longer protests,
301 ; De Maistre's charge against, 2,
G; Drydeu's opinion of, 3, 179 n,
187.

Protestantism in politics, 3, 245.

Proudhon, 6, 14.

Provence, compared to a morning sky
of early summer, 3, 803 ; absence of
national life in, 307.

Provencal lang^uage, became purely
Uterary, and so dead, 3, 307 ; effect
of its Roman derivation on litera-
ture, 308.

Provengal poetry, its interest as a fore-
runner, 3, 302 ; ito artificiality, 303,
306, 308 ; remained a provincial lit-
erature, 304; its refined formality
the legacy of Gallo-Roman culture,
305; its influence, :{08; Dante fa-
miliar with, 4, 212 n. See cUso^
Troubadours.

Proverbs, 6, IGl.

Providence, Jerome's belief In its lim-
itation, 1, 41 ; Carlyle's impatience

with the ways of, 2, 03 ; Cnrlyle's
cudgel theory of, 106 ; Dryden on,
135 ; its operation in history, 6, 127.
' Provincialibm , contains the germ of na-
' tionality, 2, 279 ; agreeame when it
has a flavor of its own, 288 ; In liter-
ature, 3, 304 ; 6, 115; alto, 3, 240 ;
4, 12.

ProvinciallBm of Belf, 1, 376.

Prudence, Dante on, 4* 240.

Prussian army, the national Instinot
in, 2, 100.

Prjnme, William, his inscrlptioos on
the ^-alls of the Tower, 2, 71.

Pseudo-classicism, its two forms. %,
134 ; the growing distaste for, 4, 8.

Public, the, a dear old domestic bird,
6, M.

Public debt, the only one abaolntely
sure of payment, 3, 245.

Public landH, a fair price to be paid
for, B, 227.

Public libraries. See Libraries, pub>
lie.

Public men, 2, 311.

Public opinion, effect on the Yankee,
1, 77 ; escape from its tyranny in
It.ily, 124 ; its power, 2, 09 ; its effi-
ciency in a democracv, 6, 182 ; its
importance, 6, 34 ; influence of the
telegraph upon, 175 ; also, 2, 886 ;
6, 129.

Public school has done for imagina-
tion, 1, 107.

Public speaking, difficulties of, at the
j present day, 6. 8.
I Public spirit of the founders of Maaaa-
ohusettH, 6, 147.

Piirkler-Muskau on England, 3, 231.

Puff, Mr.. 4, 22.

Puns, 3, 53.

Puncii, attempts at Yankeeismfl, 2,
135.

Punch's theatre, Hamon*s picture of,
Carlyle's histories comiwred to, 2,
104.

Punishments in Dante and inthe Wi^
dom of Solomon, 4, 212 n.

Puppet-show, the world a, in Carlyle*e
hit^tories, 2, 104.

Puritan, cares nothing for art, 1,
7G ; compared with the Cavalier, %,
71.

Puritan preachers, 2, 13.

Puritan temper Judaued by the Bkig-
lish Bible, 4, 83.

Puritans, English, their change npon
coming into power, 2, 6 ; the bnild-
ers of America, 13 ; Lecky on their
attitude toward witchcraft, 877 n.

Puritans, of New England, the modem
charge that they were fanatics, 2,
G ; different in their conditions from
the Puritans in England, 8 ; enthu-
siasts but not fanatics, 9; men of
business, 9, 72 ; tlieir conoqittan of

GENERAL INDEX

29S

the state, 10, 75 ; their dealings with
sectaries, 10 ; their narrowness and
gloominess, 13 ; the reality of their
political ideas, 13 ; their view of
education, 18 ; in what respect they
were intolerant, 18 ; not men '* be-
fore their time," 19 ; as seen in the
♦* Winthrop Papers," 21 ; their de-
clme prophesied by Williams, 72 ;
cause of their narrowness, 73 ; their
purpose to clear away abuses, 75;
their conversion of the Indians, 3,
219; their object and their spirit,
246 ; their feeling in founding Har-
vard College, 6, 140; justly com-
memorated by their descendants,
141 ; the noble character and quality
of the first settlers, 144 ; narrow-
ness and formalism of the second
f[eneration, 145. See also, New Eug-
and.

Puritanism, tried to drive out nature
with a pitchfork, 1, 78 ; compared
to a ship inwardly on fire, 78 ; Em-
erson the herald of its decease,
3C4, and the embodiment of its
spirit, 365 ; Hawthorne the unwill-
ing poet of the Puritanism of the
past, 365; its spirit seeking a new
outlet in Transcendentalism, 3()7 ;
the embodiment of Christian truth,
2, 2 ; not responsible for the witch-
craft delusion in New England, 10 ;
the decline of, 12 ; laid the egg of
Democracy, 13 ; traced in American
characteristics, 14 ; its earnestness,
67 ; a religion of Fear rather than
Love, 67 ; became an empty formal-
ism, 74 ; its attitude toward witch-
craft, 377 ; anxious for evidence of
the supernatural, 377 ; its character
shown in the victims of the Salem
witchcraft, 394 ; its strength and
weakness, 4, 116 ; the prose of Bun-
yan and the verse of Milton its great
monuments, 117 ; Spenser's sympa-
thy with its more generous side,
314 ; its different shades, 314 n ;
also, 3, 4.

Puseyism, a hint that Protestantism
has blundered, 1, 196.

Putnam, Anne, Jr., one of the pos-
sessed girls in Salem, 2, 391.

Puttenham on correct English, 3, 8.

Pyrrhus, elephants of, German learn-
ing compared to, 2, 166.

Pythagoras, 1, 379.

Quaker grammar, 2, 64.

Quakers, care nothing for art, 1, 76 ;
Coddington sends a defence of, to J.
Winthrop, Jr., 2, 64; on the mani-
festation of God's wrath at the exe-
cution of Robinson and Stevenson,
66 ; Puritan dealings with, not to be
lightly judged, 67.

Quarles, his Enchiridion reprinted in
the " Library of Old Authors," 1,
254 ; examples of his style, 4, 21.

Quarrels, Italian, anecdotes of, 1, 166f
167.

Quatrains, Dryden on, 3, 135.

Quibbles in words, 3, 53.

Quincy, Edmund, his life of his father,
2,293.

QviNCY, JosiAH, a great public char-
acter, 2, 272-312; his character
trained under democracy, 287 ; his

Sublic activity, 288, 292 ; an antique
Ionian, 288 ; the Boston of his early
life, 289 ; the many changes during
his lifetime, 291 ; his family, 291 ;
his life beautiful and fortunate, 292 ;
Edmund Quincy's Life of, 293 ; his
account of his motlier, 296 ; his ear-
ly education, 297; at college, 299;
his marriage, 299; his public life,
300 ; his thoroughness and earnest-
ness, 301 ; declines a duel, 302 ; op-
poses the Louisiana purchase, 302 ;
his boldness in speech, 302 ; Mayor
of Boston, 303; arrested for fast
driving, 305 ; President of Harvard
College, 305; his endearing pecu-
liarities, 306 ; his dry humor, 306 ;
his kindness and considerateness,
306 ; his esorit de corps, 307 ; his
literaiy productions, SCrT ; his indus-
try, 308 ; his old age, 308 ; his re-
marks on death, 3C^ ; the value of
his life, 309, 311 ; anecdote of his
courtesy, 310; a man of quality,
310 ; never forfeited public respect,
311 ; lines of Dryden's applied to^ 3^
172 ; on college life, 6, 163.

Quincy, Mrs. Josiah, 2, 299.

Quincy, Josiah, Jr., 2, 291, 296.

Quinquina. See CLachona.

Quintilian on Seneca, 3, 164.

Quixote, Don, See Cervantes.

Quotations, from the classics, the
charm of, 2, 129 ; Dryden's inaccu-
racy in using, 3, 124.

R. = Reemie, the barber.

R. — , Mr., of W. = Mr. Ripley, of

Waltham.
R. M. = Royall Morse.
Rabelais, his humor, 1, 278; 2, 90;

also, 3, 362.
Rachel and Leah, 1, 374.
Racine, 3, 65; Andromaque, 147 n;

Bajazet, Dryden on, 160 ; Berenice,

Voltaire on, 160.
Rail-riding, riding at Tivoli compared

to, 1, las.

Railroad journey, effects of, 1, 6.
Railroads, American, 2, 71.
Railroads, Italian, how planned and

built, 1, 150.
Rain, signs of, 1, 16, 20 ; ride to 8o-

biaco in, 179.

294

GENERAL INDEX

Rainbow, Mcrom the watcrfmll at ^ro-
li, 1, 128 ; VauRlimn on. 3. 222.

R.iiuy day iudoorii at Kinco, Blaine,
1.10.

RoleiRh, Sir Walter, 2, 22 : 3, 10 ; on
writing modern biiitory, 4, 31Un;
6, CK2.

Ranibuldl, Benvenuto. See Benre-
nuto.

Rainier, Karl Wilhelm, 2, 107; on
Leaaing'n dangeroiiH way of speak-
ing Ills opiuiuu, 100; Forater on,
200 n.

R:inuuiy, Allan, 2, 220.

Ran<luli>h, Robert. 1, 308.

Rantoul, Kobert, 6, l^

Raphael, 3, ii('>.

Rjit^pberrieH the solace of the pedes-
trian, 3, 201.

Riiv(>uita, I>ante at, 4, IS.*), 136.

Raymond, Mr., at the Philadelphia
convi'ntion, 6, 2S().

Raynouard*8 Jjexique roman cited, 1,

Reaction, B, 12G, 178.

Read in);, the habit tyrannical, 1, 21 ;
lack of, in Koine, 15G; browsing, 2,
101 ; the world of thought opi*no(l
to us by, 6, 84; the choice of, 85:
illustrated by the Wallachian legend
of Bukhla, S5 ; its influence on char-
acter, 8C> ; the way to read, 86 ; des-
ultory reading unprofitable, SO;
harmfulness of reading newspaper
gossip, 88 ; attention to the supreme
books or to one great author recom-
mended, 80 ; deuultory reading the
only way in which time may be
profitably wasted, 80 ; Bacon on the
method and puriwse of, 90 ; value
of translations of foreign literature,
92. See aho^ Books.

Ready-made Ago, the, 1, 39.

Roady-made clothes, reason of the
demand for, 1, 30.

Real, the, distinguished from the act-
ual, 6, 81.

Real Presence typifies the secret of
the power of the Roman Church, 1,
ia5.

Real property, 6, 80.

Realism in Dante, 4, 161.

Realistic novel invented by Fielding,
6,04.

Realistic school, imaginative creations
preferred to, 6, 128.

Reality, Carlvie's loyalty to, 2, 118.

Reason, its development tlie highest
use of our experience, 2, 110 ; a fin-
ger-post which points where we
choose to turn it, 3, 105 ; Dante on,
4, 220 ; typified by Virgil in the
DiHna Commedia^ 221.

Rebellion, 6, 81, 203; to be crushed
promptly, 85 ; the right of, 8.'>.

RkBKT.T.TOW, ThB, its CAU&E8 AUD CON-

■BQimcn, 6, 118-162. For detafla,
tee American Civil War.

RebelUwi Hreord. See Moore, Frank.
I Rbcohstruction, 6. 210-:^ ; our firat
! duty iu resitect to, that democracT
I receive no detriment, 217; a nni-
fonu rule not likely to be suitable
for all cases, 217 ; the problem of
the negro, 223 ; conflBcation of prop-
erty unwhie, 226 ; the Southern pop-
ulation to be encouraged to become
landholders, 227 ; the freedmen to
be ma<1e voters, 228, 237, 260, 280,
303, 311 ; their inherent right to the
suffrage in a democracy, 230; the
proposition to settle the uegroea in
a separate district unwise, 231 ; <m
certain confused ideas in regard to
the position of the Southern States,
236, 258 ; our right to exact indem-
nity for the past and security for
the future, 236, 256, 280, 308, 316;
the terms of readmissiou to be defi-
nitely settled beforehand, 237 ; tem-
porary expedients to be discarded
in favor of an enduring policy, 238 ;
the demands of New England with
regard to, 242 ; the States to be ad-
mitted for the first time to a real
union, 258 ; no hasty compromise
to be adopted, 263; its baaia
changed by the issue of the war,
300 ; the terms imposed not harsh,
3*22; the conditions of the franchise
not interfered with, 323. See alto.
United States in 1865 and 1866.

Reduplication of sense, instances from
the Greek, Shakespeare, and Milton,
3,50.

Reed, Professor, editor of Worde-
worth's Meinoirt^ 4, 388 n.

Reed, of Apollo, and of Pan, 4, 408.

Roeniie, the Cambridge barber, 1, CI.

Reeves, 3, 62.

Refinement, its true character, 6, 62.

Refiections in the water, 1, SO; aft
sunset, 34.

Reformation, its different staffea, 3^
4 ; its effect on England, % 293 ;
the germ of political and social rer-
olution, 6, 14.

Reformers, of the transcendental
movement, 1, 363; Don Qvixole a
satire upon doctrinaire reformers,
6, 123; the movement of reforms
seems slow to, 215 ; need to taJce
long views, 215 ; aho^4e, 238 ; 6, 1H9.

Rehearsnly The. See Villiers.

Reimanis, Elise, Lessing's letters to,
2, 209, 213.

Religion, Dante on, 4, 206; Word»>
worth's attitude toward. 6, 108 ;
the insthict to fashion Cfod in the
image of man, 104.

Religious instinct of the Anglo-Saxosu
3,318.

GENERAL INDEX

295

Religious poetry, wretched quality of

much that is so called, 1, 253.
Religious sentiment, 2, 265.
Rembrandt, 3, 233.
Rembrandt groups in the Cambridge-
port imi-yards, 1, 70.
Reminiscences of great men, scantiness
of, 1, 74.

Renaissance, 4, 266 ; Keats a modem
example of, 1, 244.

Renan ou tlie development of lan-
guage, 3, 184 n.

Repeating verses, a little girPs, 1,
188.

Repetition, in public speaking, 6, 9 ;
wearisome and profitless, ICMO.

Repose of Keats's poetry, 1, 246.

Reprinting worthless books, 1, 303.

Reprints, of old books, 1, 251, 318;
value of literalness in, 263, 272.

Republican party, its purpose and po-
sition in 1860, 6, 35 ; its strengtii in
a moral aversion to slavery, 36 ; its
object to hem slavery in, not to
abolish it, 42; the only truly con-
servative party, 43 ; forbearance and
moderation required on the estab-
lishment of peace, 233 ; Seward's re-
lations to, 294 ; its policy inspired
by the people themselves, not by
leaders, 317 ; the attempt to stir up
and utilize the passions of the War,
6, 211.

Repudiation, 3, 242.

Reputation, insecurity and importance
of, 1, 227.

Resinous perfume of the forest, 1, 31 .

Responsibility, freedom from, felt in
Italy, 1, 124 ; personal, 6, 129.

Restoration of buildings, constructive
criticism compared to, 6, 121.

Restraint, the hotbed of license, 3,
151.

Resurrection-men of literature, 1, 303.

Retribution, Dante's ideas of, 4, 177 ;
examples of, eagerly recognized, 6,
127.

Retrospective Review^ 1, 248.

Reuclilin, 1, 364 ; his Latin style, 2,
167.

Revelation, Dante on, 4, 220.

Revery, awakening from, 3, 222 ; com-
pared to fish in a stream, 4, 334.

Revival of letters, 4, 266.

Revivals, 4, 256.

Revolution, American. See American
Revolution.

Revolutions, the Saxon success in
effecting, 3, 319 ; said never to go
backward, 6, 84; moderation in
times of, 172.

Revolutionists, foreign, connected
with tlie transcendental movement,
1, 363.

Revue des Deux Mondes^ its accounts
of American society, 3, 241.

Rhetoric, its laws, 3, 31. See cUeo,

Style.
Rhetoric and literature distinguished,

3,301.
Rhett, Robert, 6, 66.
Rliodes, Hugh, on domestic serrants,

2, 46.
Rliyme, in the French drama, 3, 158 ;
in Guwer, 329, 336 ; Milton's use of,
4 97.

Dryden on, 3, 109, 135, 138, 154, 155,
168 ; PhiUips on, 4, 22 ; Waller on
its necessity in tragedy, 22 ; Milton
ou, 115.
Rhyme-wraiths, 4, 97.
Riiymsters, Jonson on, 3, 156.
Ricii, Mrs., her appearance, 1, 136.
Rich men, tlie possibilities of, imag.
ined, 1, 84: in America, 6, 96;
libraries and universities foimded
by, 191.
Ricliard, Duke of Normandy, arbitra-
tor in a case between the Devil and
an Angel, 2, 368.
Richardson, Fielding's opinion of, 6,

62.
Richelieu, 1, 25.

Riches, tlie popular measure of sue*
cess, 6, 173 ; their use and their
danger, 173. See also^ Wealth.
Richier, Voltaire's secretary, 2, 187.
Ricliter, his humor, 1, 278; 2, 165,
170 ; his influence on Carlyle, 88 ;
his sentiment, 165; influenced by
Cervantes, 6, 135 ; a/«o, 2, 187.
Ridicule, especially unpleasant in Eng-
land, 1, 226; sensitiveness to, fos-
tered by provincialism, 4, 12.
Riding, Spenser on, 4, 351.
Right, the, essential antiquity of, 6,

13.
Riglits of Man and the wrongs of men,

6,16.
Righteousness, the theme of Dante,

4,154.
Rigoux, Maitre, name of the Devil in

De la Rue's confession, 2, 335.
Rilievo, the bridge between sculpture

and painting, 4, 119 n.
Rimbault, Dr., editor of Overbury's

works, 1, 255.
Ripheus in the Divine Comedy, 4.
250. ^

Ripley, Mr., of Waltham, at Emer-
son's lectures, 1, 355.
Ritson, his character, 1, 331 ; com-
pared with Hazlitt as an editor,
331 ; his Bibliographica Poeiica. 4.
265.
Rivalry, a powerful motive with

Michael Angelo, 1, 206.
Rivarol, his translation of the Divina
Commedia^ 4, 143 ; on Dante, 162,
164, 272.
River-driver, description of M., a fa
mous one, 1, 31.

!96

GENERAL INDEX

Blven, idth low banks, 1, 33 ; radden
riw) of, in Italy, IM); Ciiaui'er'ii best
talea comiNured to, 3, 3o5; tbeir
course coiuiured to that of a gnutt
■t.ftt«>8iiiaii, 6, liM>.

Bffiicl-iuiikiiig ill Cambridge, 1, C5.

Road«, Winter a mender of, iu old
time*, 3, *AA.

Robettpierre, 2, 88.

Robin, a name for Satan, 2, 339, 3G6.

Kobiua. Sf€ under BirdH.

Robins, John, tlie last great Antichrist
of the MuggletoniaiML, 1, 81.

Robinson, Crobb, visits to Words-
worth, 3, '/71 ; on Wordsworth, 4,
38.') n, 400 n.

Robinson, John, on the character of
the Niiw England state, 6, i)7.

Robins4)n, William, the Quaker, 2, GG.

Jinf/iiison Crugot, See Defoe.

Roc, 1, IIJ.

Rochester, Karl of, 3, ITA.

Rocket, fancy comi>ared to, 2. 81 ;
M<*(Mellan*s reputation compared to,
6. a").

Ro<I, Oarlvle's increasing employment
of the, £, m.

Rojate, Itnly, 1, 177.

Rohind, Song of, 2, 152; 3, 310; 6,
110.

Koman dn lienart cited, 1, 327.

Konuin de la Jioxe, the treatment of
final and medial «, 3, 310 ; nlnOi 302.

Roman army, slaves in, 6, 127.

Roman Catliulic church, has net for-
gotten the cren.itio instinct, 1, iU) ;
dead in Itiily, IfiG ; what it dues for
worship, im ; has kci:t her faith in
the imagination, 1%; provides for
both boul and body in her worship,
195; the underbtanding her grettt
foe, 190; provides for the childi&h
in men, 100 ; has adapted herself to
the wants and weaknesses of human
nature, 107 ; tlie heir of many Bud-
dhii&t fonnH of worship, 2(K) ; its cer-
emonies not valued by the people,
204; Bumencss of its ceremouieo,
204 ; its vast estate of tradition, 2,
274; Dryden^s leaning toward, 3,
187 ; attitude of the Amer. Tract
Soc. towaid, 6, 5.

Reman churches, tlieir clumpy mag-
nificence and want of proportion, 1,
205.

Roman columns, 1, 205.

Roman £m]>eror, Dante on his su-
l)romacy, 4, 153.

Roman Knii)ire, its shadow felt in
Rome, 1, 102 ; Dante's arguments
for its universal sovereignty, 4,
152.

Roman imagines, a substitute sug-
gested, 1, 317.

Roman literature. See Latin litera-
ture.

ROMAW MOCAIO, A WWW IRB OV, 1,

169-217.

Roman nows, 3* 271.

Rmmui Revolution of '48, the beo-
gars with invested f unda the atancu-
ebt reactionaries, 6, 28.

Rinnan villas, ruins of, 1, 139.

Romans, time of no value to, 1. 131 ;
a grave people aince M9, 160 ; do
not value the ceremoniea of the
church, 204. See alsOy Italians.

Romans, ancient, despised Greek lit-
erature, 1, 100 ; their national feel-
ing, 2, 282 ; fond of oonntry life, 3,
201 ; their genius for politics rather
tlian art, 305.

Romance poetry before Dante. 4b
228.

R(miancee of chivalry, question of the
Provengid origin of, 3, 309 ; Norman
influence upon, 314; their lone-
whidedness, 325 ; the attempt to u-
legorize them, 301 ; Don Quixote
more than a mere parody on, 6, 123 ;
a/«o, 3, 301. See aUOj Chansoua de
geste.

R(>nuuitic movement, feeblenees and
introt-pection of, 2, 158.

Rcmantic poetry, German, 2, 139.

Rruiantic school f oresbadowM by QfHf
lins, 4, 3.

Romanticism, Lessing the oneonsciotBl
founder of, 2, 222.

R( me, its early history intexroreted
by the territory around it, 1, 48;
the mother-country of every boy,
124 ; unchanged in most respcM^
125; well called the Eternal City,
131 ; the approach to, in a diligen<'e,
151 ; scenes of a spring day in, 162 ;
the road to, from Civita VecohiA,
IbO ; the rude shock to Fan<7 on aiw
rivnl, ISO ; the French soldiers, 18^
190 ; auachronitnis and inconiiatexi-
cies, 100 ; the presence of the imp»>
rial ghofct, 191 ; its flolitudea, 192;
the laboratory of a mystenooa en-
chantresB, 107 ; the modomchurcheay
205 ; the beggars, 20C ; deformitiee
exhibited iu the street, 209 ; aifouiF
tion of the city and its relation to
others in early days, 211 ; the VHIft
Albani, 214; the garden of tibM
French Academy, 216; amusing
scene at the fountain of Trevi, 216 ;
the police, 216 ; Keats's lodgings In
the Piazza di Spagna, 239 n ; Dante
on, 4, 21(> n ; on the course of its
hibtory, 241 ; on the miracles of it*
hifctory, 247 ,' St. Augustine on, 241.
Capitol^ its foimdations, 1, 192 ; Coi^
os^/eum^ 205; Forum ^ the deliber-
ate manner of the excavators de-
scribed, 210; Piazza Barherina^
152; Ponte Sant Angelo, 190;
crowds on, 201; St. Peter** m

GENERAL INDEX

to VeiuiluB, 151 : dmppoiutnHiit
cointnOD in the lint right of, 192 ;
Proteatnnt prejudices to be put
aelde, 193 ; th« tiirone of a miffbty
dynnety, 194; tbe mi«ic circle of a

ticii, 197 1 iU temperature different
men, 198: the Eaater pompa, aoo.

le illui

liution, 201 { tbe ScaHaa-
in>, 3, 14, 362.

Hoscoe, 4, &t.

Roaecratu, Oon., at Uurfreeaboro, 6.

109.
Roaei and c■t>b•ge^ 1, 3MI.
EoBse(«r, Brjui, nleade For rnniBiIon

of t»e>. i, eo.

RoaeeUi, Oabr

firs.'

RoDeuAD AVD 1

BuTke'e, 234 ; tlw

Ood, 245 ; s good IokIcIui
oriRinal power, 24C : bts iv

Haturs, 260 ; dlfflcnltlu Id JndgfaiE
talm, 2I»; nUowanct* to be madt
for bianatJonaiitjHndtnibiiug,2TO)
inteiLSltf aud perauariveueBS of lilt

212 ; compared iJilh Voaaire ai to
aaceticiim, 245; blB MntunentBlitjr,
1, 37Ci mida tha 1a>e at nature
f aehlonsble, 3, 2C0 ; k[> tallai:ha ei-
posad by Spenaer, 4, 350 ; aUo, 3,

on hi> father'a conduct, S, 248 ; od

Volture OD, l| 318; Burke on, a,

JfouMMU jage Si
It! remoral. 3, m

Enieriou, 1, 349,
unparad witb Dr^

RoT^ty, Ite da

Rlidlger. Hcrr, Leaal:
tare, 1°W.

Rutfcin, 01

drain, 6,
8,93.

lanla, 4, H:
t ; alto, a, •£

■nd SarriMn, 346.

hlintelf peculiar. ^A Zl>0; hie coii-
faaiiona, 201; S, 92; bla InconXfr.
t«iiciAa and paradoxee, 3, ?02; bia

S™ eeen'ii his workaVas ; Iha foB-
9G4 ; Clia veik mint In bla politicii

r, the. hli unataid; roll In phyil-
of a afaip [n tbo moonlight, 1,

finm, 1, IIS.
-an o(, 1,90.
BoUngbroke.
ivif IBt. FleTTS,l,3iei 3,202.

!ak,2«G; St. HlUire.

298

GENERAL INDEX

Bt. Preuz, 3, 200 ; his lore-Ietten, 2,

St. Ren^ TailUndier on the JHvina

Commfilia in S}iain, 4, 143.
St. Biuioii, true, tliuugh not accurate,

2, *i86 ; the secret of his art iu pic-

tureaque writing, 4, CO.
Bt. Vitim dance, 1, 'JOU.
Bainte-Beuve, on connection with the

world, 1, sltlA ; his criticiBUi makes

its 8ulije<*t hiininous, 2| 100 ; on Oc-

Uve FeuUlet, 6, Gl.
Saints, legends of, relation to Ovid*8

Fasti, 3, 3(il>.
Saints and martyrs, the legends of, 4,

230.
Sais, the figure at, 1, 47.
Salodin iu the miraclc-phiy of The-

ophilvs, 2, 330.
Salem, Uudurliill complains of a lack

of military discipluie at, 2, CX).
Salem witclicraft, Upham*s history of,

2, 388 ; tlie character of the min-
ister, Parris, 389; the demoniacal
girls iu his fumily, 300 ; in the light
of the Litth>ton catses in 1720, 301 ;
the trials, 392 ; tlie victims all pro-
teHted innocence, 304 ; the reaction
against it from the people, not the
authorities, 395.

Sales, Francis, reminiscences of, 1,

97.
Salt Lake City, 3, 212.
Saltonstall, Richard, letter to J. Win-

throp, Jr., on Pryime, 2, 71.
Samplers, 1, 187.

Samson compared to Hernkles, 2, 134.
fiawsoH Affonigtes. See Milton.
Samson, Abbot, in Italy in 11C9, 1,

12G.
Sancho Panza. See Cervantes — Don

Quixote.
Sand, George, 2, 23G ; 3, 2C2 ; on art,

1, 379 ; on autobiography, 2, 258 ;

her coarseness, 6, GO.
Sand, Maurice, his caricature of Amer-
ica in the Jienie, 3, 240.
Sandras, E. G., J^iude sur CChaucer^

3, 291, 298.

Sandys, George, 1, 313; 4, 358 n.

Sannazzaro, 4, 301.

Sansovino on the date of Dante^s
birth, 4, 121.

Sant* Antonio, Ponte, expedition to,
with Storg, 1, 133 ; loneliness of tiie
place, 140.

Santo Btefano, 1, 1G7.

Satan, belief in his power, 2, 327 ;
compared to James II. at St. Ger-
mains, 328 ; the idea of a compact
with him developed under Chris-
tian'ty, 320 ; the contract itself sel-
dom produced, 332; gonerally the
loser by the bargain, 332; confes-
sions by witches of dealings with,
334-346 ; appearance as a black dog,

334, 338 ; his namet, 398, 880, M7,
348, 3ti4, 3ti5 ; his appearand de-
scribed, 335, 340, 313, 340; hia np.
pearauce as a goat, 337* 847, 300;
degraded by popular supentition to
a vulgar scarecrow, 34C ; Dr. Itoe
on the stench left at hit dlsappeu^
ance, 347 ; his cloven foot. 347, 348 ;
the raven his peculiar Urd, 9^ ; hit
touch cold or burning, 3G4 ; atorlM
of his doings on various occaaiong,
3(iG ; his school of magic in Toledo,
3(»8; worslilpped by the Indiana,
37G ; makes no expresa compact with
minors, 380 ; of Dante ana Milton,
4, 1(>2 ; the 8}iubol of materialkm
in Dunte, 204 n ; the first great ■••
ressionist, 6, 53. See altOy DeviL '

Satire, 4, 20; Dryden on, 3, 170; of
Drydeu and Pope compared, 177 ; of
Dante and Chaucer compared, 828 %
of Chaucer and Lauglaiid, 331, 883 ;
of Chaucer, SCO; of Fielding, 6f
06.

Saturday Ferfeto on Amerioan polltioa
hi 1801, 6, 75.

Saul seeking his father*a aneea, Oar-
lyle contrasted with, 2, 08.

Saunders, George, 6, 158.

Sausages, Italian, 1, 123.

Savage, Richard, 2, 236; his Latfat*
isnip, 3, 184.

Savagius, Jscobus, wrote a tnatiao
against witchcrsit, 2, 383.

Savonarola, 4, 120.

Saxon. See aho^ Anglo-Samn.

Saxon language, its character, 1, 261 ;
never, to any extent, a litenunr lau-
guage, 3, 11; foreign worda Intro>
duced into, with difficulty, 12; Bo^
worth on, 15.

S<'aliger, J. C, on Eraamna, 3, 114 o.

Scaliuata, iu Rome, 1, 178.

Scenery, its value often estimated bgr
the cost of the ticket, 1, 1. SeeaUo,
Landscape; Nature.

Scepticid age reads Ood In a proaa
translation, 3, 102.

Scepticism, of modem traTeltoTB, 1,
100 ; Lessiug's early scepticism. 8.
185 ; of Rousseau, 246 ; in the l7th
cent., 371, 375 ; the first oonain of
credulity, 396; caused by material*
ism, 397 ; of Hamlet, 3, 82 ; charao-
teristic of Dryden^s age, 102 ; dilet-
tantism its twin sister, 4t, 100 ; aUo,
3, 187.

Scheffer, Ary, his Chrigtu* Conteidior
hi a Prayer-Book without tlie atovo,
5,7.

Schelling, Emerson before the 4. B.
K. compare<1 to, 1, 867.

Schiller, his Pegasus in yoke, 1, SOS ;
his verses to Goethe quoted, %, 124 ;
some of his lyrical poems too long,
168; hU Gotz and Bobbwrt, 222;

GENERAL INDEX

299

Ooleridge*8 debt to, 6, 71 ; a/jo, 2,
187.
on the great poet, 2, 111 ; on the
gods of Greece, 327.

Bchlegel, on Shakespeare, 3, 68 ; Cole-
ridge's debt to, 6, 71.

Schlosser on Dante, 4, 162, 163.

Schmidt, Julian, as a critic, 2, 166.

Scholars, their meddling in politics
objected to by politicians, 6, 190.

Scholarship, its riclies an enduring
possession, 6, 80 ; its results, 87 ;
necessity of having a definite aim,
89. ^^0 olso^ American scholar*
ship ; Learning.

Sc^hool-children in old times, 2, 17.

School-girls* letter style of composi-
tion, 3, STie.

School-house, village, described, 2,
IG ; recollections stirred by, 10.

School-house of Women cited, 1, 333,

Schoolmaster, C^rlyle'a attitude to-
ward the world compared to, 2,
W.

Schools. See American schools ;
French schools ; Public school ; ed-
ucation.

Schoolcraft on the legend of the wer-
wolf among the Indians, 2, 362.

Schroder, 3, CO.

Science, its condition In the days of
witchcraft, 2, 373 ; the teaching of,
6, 160; the noblest definition of,
161.

Science and morals, the advance in,
compared, 4, 254.

Sciences, Dante on, 4, 201 ; their
place in a library, 6, 93.

Scientific spirit of the present day, 1,
109.

Scot, Reginald, his Discovery of witch-
craft, 2, 384.

Scotch ballad-poetry, 4, 268.

Scotch barnacle, 1, 276.

Scotch gardeners in Cambridge, 1, 65.

Scotch HighlanderH, contume changed
by law, 2, 69 ; the clansmen rutli-
lessly dispossessed by the Chiefs, 6,
320.

Scotch mist, its penetrativeness, 3,
236.

Scotch poetry of the 15th cent., 4*
267.

Scotchmen, effect of imagination on,
2, 107.

Scotland, witches burned for the last
time in 1722, 2, 387 ; its loyalty in
spite of rebellions, 6, 67.

Scott, Dr., apparition seen by, 2, 323.

Scott, Sir Walter, hia toryism, 2, 109 ;
on Dryden's jealousy, 3 175;
Wordsworth meets him, % 387 ;
Wordsworth on, 399 n ; on Cole-
ridge, 6, 73 ; his use of descriptions
of nature, 111; the Antiquary in-

fluenoed by Cervantet, 136 ; olM, t*
120, 155 ; 6, 95.

Scott, Uen. Winfleld 0., 6, 63.

Scudtiry, Mile, de, 4, 318.

Sculptors, 3, 282. See a/M, Oreak
sculpture.

Scurrility, 4, 269.

Sea in the imagination of village boyt^
1, 69.

Ska, At, 1, 100-112 ; best seen from
the shore, 1(X); steam fatal to ita
romance, 101 ; a calm described,
101 ; monotony of the life, 101 : the
fiying-fifth, U>!2; the phoephoree-
cence, 103 ; moonlight on the sails,
104 ; the sun, 105 ; the ooean-hori-
ion, 105 ; the sunrise, 106 ; the sea-
serpent, 107 ; anecdotes of the Chief
Mate, 1 14 ; the social proprieties at
meal times, 1 16.

Sea-captains of the old school, 2r
289.

Sea-moss, the sensibility of great po-
ets compared to, 4, 413; certain
thoughts and emotions comi>ared tOt
414.

Sea-serpent, not to be lightly given
up, 1, 107 ; an old fisherman on the
horse-mackerel theory, 108.

Sea-shore compared to the boundary
line between ideal and matter-of-
fact, 4, 20>5.

Sea-waves, Homer's verse compared
to, 1, 292.

Sea-weed at sunrise, 1, 106.

8eba«ticook River, 1, 9.

Sebonmok Pond, afternoon on its
shore, 1, 30.

SeceNsion, the danger of, diminishing
in 1860, 6, 41 ; Buchanan's attitude
toward, 47 ; the right of, untenable
under the Constitution, 48, 72;
threats of, unheeded at the North,
51 ; means chaos and rebellion, 63 j
the principle applied to other rela-
tions, 53 ; the absurdity of the right
developed, 54, 201 ; must not be

Permitted, 68 ; the one question in
and at the beginning of Lincoln's
administration, 84 ; the doctrine ob-
literates every notion of law and
precedent, 87 ; Pollard's attempt to
state the grounds of. 133, 184 ; prob-
ably not originally intended bjf tho
Southern states, 135, 169 ; the way
prepared for, by political tenden-
cies, 138; traced bv OMriejr to
slavery and the dooMae of eteU
rights, 130 ; the Sontbera people ed'
ucated in the belief in, l4»; ite as-
sured retribution, 177 ; the inm^m
involved in, 265 ; the fffrtisstrfw of«
■ useless after the war, 27«i dktioe-
tion between the f%ht tosMmdenni
theabaitytodoao«2Sr7.
Beoesdon kite, bote «<, i|, «L

300

GENERAL INDEX

Bereulonistii. 8e9 United Statoa —

SoitthriH Sttiies.

Sectanaii. »iUf LA-uinff on, 2, 215; of
thu W unlaw ur til iauii, 4« 3i>4.

Seeing, the Chief 3L*t«*« nlutrpneM of
siKht, 1, 115.

Bi'*f7iiier, Preii., on witohcrmft, 2, 38G.

SeMeii, on opinion and afftH'tiun, 2,
VM ; on here»v, 210 ; aunotationa on
Dniyton, 4, •^».

Belf-abaAeiiient, 2, 'lO.

Self-con(>eit, 2, ^'**. '^47.

Self-oonfldi'uoe of Leai«infr, 2; 185.

Bt>If-<'iiniMrioiisiieiii>, 1, 374, 3f5 ; 3, 81 ;
intennifled by Christianity, 2. 13(> ;
of niodeni iiin^iriuative literature,
3,'^Jr2; of Milton, 4, HO.

Bch'-<l<H*(>ptioii an eh'iiieiit in the
witchcraft troiibleis 2, 370.

Self-cxaiiiiuutiun dcstruyd originality,
2, '2r>\K

SeU-ttattery, 2, 25!».

8elf-frovenuneiit, 6, 3^.

Sclf-iuiiK>rtano<s foreign travel a rem-
etiy for, 1, 4'!.

B-Mf-iuten'rtt, B, 319.

Self-knowledge, 3, 1230 ; importance of ,
1,44.

8<*lf-made men, 2, 292 ; 3, 250.

Bclf-reliani-e, tlie argument for, as
drawn from the example of great
men, 4, 382.

8t>If-i-ospect of American yeomen, 1,
ISO.

Sell-tniRt, 4, 379.

Bcmnies, 6, 310.

Beneca, Quiutillan on, 3, 1C4.

Sensationalism, of modom literature,
2, 82 ; illustrated by the farmer at
the burning of the meeting-house,
83 ; of Carlyle, 106.

Senses, necessity of educating and
refilling them, 1, 175.

Sensitiveness to criticism a common
failing, 3, 231.

BenRuous and sensual in poetry, 4,
317.

Sentiment, 1, 100 ; quickly brought
dovi-n by Humbug, 190; distin-
guished from sentimentalism, 2,
252 ; its effect on state policy, 6,
39.

Sentiments and actions, 2, 243.

BentimontaliRm, 2, 150, 229 ; with re-
spect to Nature, 1, 370 ; of Car-
lyle, 2, 92 ; of Burke, 233 ; as a sub-
stitute for performing one's duty,
248 ; disjoins practice from theory,
249 ; sentiment distinguished from,
252 ; little trace of, among the an-
cients, 253 ; Petrarcli the first mod-
em example of, 253 ; its sickly
taint, 20() ; courts publicity while
shunning the contact of men, 208.
Burke on, 2, 232; Fielding's con-
tempt for, 6, 62.

Sentimentaliat, hia cburaeter to be in-
vestigated when bu teachea monla,
a,'2«3: dwells in unroaUtiea, 247;
aelflbhnetia of, 250 ; the spiritual hjw
pochondriac, 260 ; inaiato on taking
hia emotion neat, 202 ; alwaya hit
own ideal, 258; hia aelf-conadooa-
neaa finally producea aelf-deception,
25^}; Rouaf>eau the moat perfect
tj-pe, 202 ; hia view of life, 2ffl ; ex-
aggerates the importance of hia own
personality, 268 ; anppoaed oheno-
ter of his brain, 271.

Sentimentalists, 2, 239.
' Sermons of tlie New England denrr.
6,15*.

Serravalle, Oiov. da, Latin tranaUtkn
of Dante, 4, 146.

ServantM, diflSculty of obtaining, in
early New England, 2, 42, 70 ; in-
conveniences of employing Indiana,
43; decline in their quality wit-
nessed by ShakoFpeare, and by Oon-
zales in 1730, 45; Southey on, in
1824, and Hugh Rhodes on, in
l.'>77, 46 ; in Boaton, in earlier aayn,
290.

Seven Yeara War, the Pruasian natikm"
al instinct an important factor in,
2, 100; Leaahig'a feelings toward,
203.

Severn, Mr., friend of Keats, went to
Italy with him, 1, 237 ; his atudio
in Rome, 239 n.

Beward, W. H., represents tlie most
advanced doctrines of liis party, 5«
34 ; his power as an orator, 34; his
oflBce of bear-leader in tlie Presi-
dent's tour, 290 ; fears f ot the aafe-
ty of the platform at Niagara, 280 ;
his motives, career, and character
discussed, 292 ; hia course sn ezlii-
bition of tumbluig, 206; his wgn-
ments on the status of the seceding
states, 302 ; his dealings with tlie
Fenians, 322.

Seward-Johmson RxAcnoir, 1866, 5«
2tt3-327.

Sewing-machine, its inventor inferior
to the great men of old, 2, 281.

Shadows of leaves and boughs, 3, 22t.

Shadwell, as poet-lanr^^te, 8, 107;
Dryden's quarrel with, 178, 179 n.

Shakespeare, his house, 1, 48; tlid
country-gentleman who travelled
up to London with him, 74 ; never
in Italy, 127 ; quotations from, 140 ;
unmatched in sncient art, 212 ;
Marlowe his teacher in versiflo*-
tion, 277 ; his humor, 278 ; his ore-
ative faculty, 278; his sux>eriority
to his contemporaries, 270; power
of condensation, 281 ; his common
sense impregnated with imagina-
tion, 2, 81 : wieland's translstJon,
222 ; reality of, 225 ; genius of, 2M*,

mcthn of hli Inuglnatlod. 319; 6,
BbAUBFUU OHCI MORI, 3, 1-94 i
ble, i : suenllally ui obtervar iind

GENERAL INDEX 801

itb AtcJi^lua In uw of lan^fua^i

Che actJUD of tlia tiaulnUtan,
4 ; with Duile lu to ^uElect, 4,

Rood quall^H unappnclftt^, 1,
9; on the decline III tlie qnnllty

Mrvaiit*. a. 46 i on men', Mg-
eiile, 3, IB2 ; on Eiiglund, 4, 295.
rvinut oil, a. 1<>3 ; 3, CS ; Leulug'e

lllelsm of, a, 2^2 ; 3, 07 ; jQn»t
1, 10 n, 10; Wden mi, 57; hli:

ity o[ Tmltntlng It, 37 i lU elmpli-
CltJTi 39; quHlLty of hie Inrngiiution,
40; 111* cliHia even In tmiinliitioa,
4S ; Ble pOntr ul dncriptlan. 42 ; hie
•:iiiiliiitb)r with hia cbatMtete, 43;

HMn^hand, MTl./i444 proHted

40 1 OTltlcl«ed Bfl plnylf

ill tngedleft eoiEipufld

tlir piirpoflf , 80 ; hie JudKmeht and
poetic luiUiicE, 92 i hit nuterlal.

ii Hilton, 3,40 1

4«: Chai«eit

Kii4,
jtelon.eS.

.tHa; Bchls-

tfnlriiii'anit arspnrrn.Lepldui tl]M]',
3,1031 Jfamlel compared with tbs

iw unpreJuUlced mind Imagined, 28 ;
Hippolytuft, and Horculei Fureni,

7G; the cliaractsr ol i , ..,

eo ; HaihlM'i madneei, U : ths
teaching of tha play, 89, 91 : typical
or a modeni quality of mind, 90 1 th«

Str alio, Hamlet. Hnru VI.. pm^
allel pamite In the CEdlpue Colo-
□eus, 3, CO; Imtam^ of quibbling

»Bm, B4; Bdirkr'e protended mad-
ieBa.M: Isuhlnfi of the play, 88;
K: (he touchee of

sacripClcn dependent

. . Lady Macbeth,
Gl ; 4, T4 ; KeinUe'i coitume In, 3,
70 ; Its teaching, 69 ; glvee the met-
aphysloa of appaiitlonB, 93 ; Meat-
vrcfor Meaittte, defective in parti,
22; Cltudio to he compared witb

Phen ...

ri.m( ^ IWn-,

edy. B, 120 ; jWm
lar. 1 JS ; Mid
/XranMhevareGB
etc., t, :<n5 n; <.
Irony of I'ibo, 83
(he play, S) ; Itom

cneriy

802

GENERAL INDEX

niiin^, M; Sonnfh^ qiiotntion, 302 ;
TeM}>r»t, its iiyiulK)lUiii trattnl, r>U;
it!« rt'tereiweH tohiiiiM'lf, <'■! ; Timon^
t\w inuiy of Tiiiioii, Kt; Tioilut atui
OfMi(/(i, BiMHM-h of UI,\tuM'8 t(> be
coiiiinnMl with Juou»ta*H in the Phce-
niswi', no ; quote«l, 4, >i38 n, 1M4.

Bhunis, 2, 1(K<; Anglu-Soxou repug-
nance for, 3, 317.

Bliauie atteudiug ain, Webster^a linee
oil, 1, 'Jfti.

Shandy, Walter, 6, 193.

Bhaw, Col., Ilia negro regiment, 2,

• Mil
*>«'! •

Shnyb*8 rebellion, 2, 274 ; Gen. Pome-
roy's atiitiule toward, 6, 70.

Bheep and the goatH, the only line
drawn by Christ, 5, 7.

Shet'i)-Hheariiig in Pjwaawampflcot, 1,

iw;.

Shcfllcld, Mra. Deliverance, Hugh Pe-
t<'r'H (MTph-xiticrt (■oncoming, 2, 25.

Bhcllcy, hib iiiftii<>ii<*e traced on J. O.
Porriva], 2, 14''; coiniwred with
WonlHWdrth, 145; his f;euiu8 a St.
Elmo's fir*-, 2-J«.»; on fire, 3, 255;
S)H'iit<(>r*d iiifiueuce upon, 4, 352 ;

aho. :un>, 41:j.

Shenstonc, his verso on taverns, 1, 9.

Shopard, TlioniaM, letter to Winthrop
on drhikiiKf, 2, 42.

Shephcrdf*, Italian, 1, 144.

Slierbrooke, Lord, on educating your
future riUors, 6, 34 ; on free schools,
170.

Sheridan, the Ilivals, 2, 130; Burke
on, 3, 121.

Shonuuii*8 lozenges, 6, ICl.

Sliiftiiioss, American, its advantages,
2, 28(>.

Ship, IVrcivars verse compared to a
cranky ship, 2, 141.

Ship on fire within, Puritanism com-
pared to, 1, 7fi.

Ship's poor relation, X, the CIdef Mate
an instance, 1, 117.

Shipping, American, 6, 187 ; e£Fect of
protection on, 217.

Shoddy, 3, 222.

Shooting-stars, 1, 305 ; and planets, 6,
272.

Shower-baths, 1, 180.

Shows at the Harvard Commence-
ment, 1, 79.

Shrtigs, Italian, 1, 143, 165.

Shylock, 3, 240.

Siamese twin?, 1, 79.

Sibbald, his Chronicle of Scottish Po-
rfn/, 4, 209.

Sibilants, Taylor's use of, 3, 122 ; Mil-
ton's use of, 4, 91, 94.

Sibyl, Temple of, at Tivoli, 1, 134.

8i<lney, Algernon, 4, 19.

Sidney, Sir Philip, Matliew Roydon's
lines on, applied to Emerson, 1, 349,
SCO ; Wotton on, 3, 189 n ; com-

pared with Bpenaer, ^ 276 : his l»-

DjMUMr I

guage, 301 u ; a/jo, 1, 366.
Siegfried, 2, 110.
Sierra Morena of Don Quixote, 1,

Biger, Doctor, Donte'i alliuion to, ^

124, 172.
Bipiboard on Lewia the laewer*i

luuidcart, 1, GO.
Silkworm, a poet compared to, 3, 800.
Simile and metaphor, 4, 21.
Similes, to be drawn from the flyings

flhh, 1, 103 ; in Chaiimau'B Homer,

291 ; in early English narrative po-

etry, 3, 327 ; of Daute, 4, 2G0. iSM

alsot Metaphors.
Simonides, 2, 135.
Simony of vrithhofding the glffai at

Qod for a price, 6, 11.
Simplicity, literary, 2, 82 ; of Homer,

1, 293 ; distiugnifkhed from viilgar-
ity, 4L 27G ; the crowning resutt of
the highest culture, 900.

Simpson, Agnes, her confession of
witchcraft, 2, 352; the evidenoe
against her, 3i8.

Simulacra of Lucian, 2, 822 n.

Sin, tlie hatef ulnesB of, ^ 17G ; Dents
on the punishment of, 177; its na-
ture, 251. See aho, EviL

Sin and crime identical with Dante,
4,232n.

Sincerity, required in a tonrlst, 1,
122; the evidence of, 2, 243; de-
manded of a sentimentalist, 267;
nccessory for an autobiograiihj,
200 ; also, 4, 18.

Singularity, the conceit of, 9, 13.

Singularity in virtue easily DeUeved,

2, 259.

Sirens, 1, 123; Prof. P. imagined paas-

iiig their island, 02.
Sixteenth century rich in fiunons man,

3, IG.

Skeat, W. W., editor of Clianoer,^.
338.

Skelton, John, Dyce*s edition of, 1,
318 ; character of his verse, ^ 278.

Sketching near TivoU, 1, 180.

Slander, the truth in, 3, 231.

Slave Power, its danger to tlie Unioii
foreseen by Quincy, 2, 808.

Slave trade, extension of, procured bj
Soutli Carolina and Georgia, 6, 140.

Slaves, Em. Downing advocates the
introduction of, into New En^and,
2, 42 ; excluded from the operatton
of Providence by the Amer. Tract
Soc, 6, 7 ; the sympatiiy with fugi-
tive slaves at the North, 28 ; to M
regarded as men under the Oomatl-
tution and on Sonthem eridniee,
29 ; in the Roman army, 127.

GENERAL INDEX

808

Slavery, IfantonV lines on, 1, 268 ; in
New England : John Wintlirop^a ne-
sro, 2. 70 ; the attitude of tlie Auier-
icau Tract Society toward, 6, 2 ; its
discussion not feared in the South
before 1831, 4; moral duties con-
nected witli, proper subjects of dis-
cussion, 6 ; compromise a fatal word
witti respect to, 8 ; the inconsistency
of Christians in condoninf^f, 11 ; an-
tiquity no valid plea for, 13 ; has no
claim to immunity from discussion,
13, 31, 140; its abuses to be rooted
out even if the institution were
ri((hteou8, 14; essentially a moral,
and not a political question, 14 ; the
question forced upon us by the spirit
of Christianity, 15 ; its influence
upon American politics, 20, 42, 142 ;
its degrading elTect on the non-
slaveholding states, 21, 144; addi-
tional privileges demanded for an
already privileged property, 28 ; its
discussion dangerous to the slave-
holders, not to the Union, 31 ; its
bligliting efTect on the South, 32,
222, 224, 252 ; position of the Repub-
lican party with regard to, 35, 42 ;
its presence in the Territories keeps
out free white settlers, 39 ; laws to
protect it in the Territories de-
manded, 40 ; its encroacliments com-
pared to the advance of a glacier,
43 ; will gradually melt away before
the influence of Truth, 44 ; no longer
the question before the country in
18G1, 71 ; its violent abolition sure to
follow secession, 71 ; moderation im-
possible in combination with, 8G; a
radical change in, to be expected
from the Civil War, 91 ; ite history
in America traced in Greeley's
American Conflict, 139 ; the ebb of
anti - slavery sentiment for sixty
years, 140 ; its rise after the annex-
ation of Texas, 140 ; early opinions
of, in the South, 141 ; the theory
of its divine origin an invention of
recent date, 141 ; proflt the motive
of all its encroachments, 142 ; the
claim that it was conservative, 144 ;
its abolition seen to be the neces-
sary consequence of the War in 18G4,
151 ; to be attacked as a crime
against the nation, 152 ; McCIellan*s
attitude toward, 1('>G; to be rooted
out in order to insure a lasting
peace, 175; Lhicoln'a attitude to-
ward, 197 ; its abolition forced upon
us by circumstances, 197 ; admitted
as a reserved right under the Con-
stitution, 201 ; proclaimed bv the
South as the corner-stone of free
institutions, 202 ; the slaveholders
the best propagandists of anti-slav-
•ry, 204; the South's proposal to

arm the slaves in 18C5, 219; the
main arguments for slavery thereby
swept away, 220; its influence on
the character of the blacks, 224 ; its
security and extension the original
motive of the War, 248, 250; the
alleged attachment between master
and servant, 319. See alsvy Fugi-
tive Slave Law ; Property in slaves ;
£mancip!ition.

Sleep, 3, 258 ; in a wongen, after moose-
hunthig, 1, 37.

Sleeping in church, the Amer. Tract
Society's tract on, 6, C

Sleepy hostler described, 1, 12.

Small men in Europe and America,
the point of view different, 2, 277.

Small-pox, Dryden's lines descriptive
of, 3, 108.

Smibert, the painter, 1, 75.

Smith and his Dame cited, 1, 341.

Smith, Adam, 6, 187.

Smith, Goldwin, 3, 240.

Smith, Capt. John, 2, G8.

Smith, Gen. Kirby, on the possibility
of destroying the Southern army the
first winter, 6, 1 10.

Smith, Sydney, his question, Who
reads an American l>ook? 2. 149;
on taking short views of life, 6, 215.

Smoke, seen in winter, 3, 28G; Tho-
reau's lines on, 28G.

Smoking at sea, 1, 101.

Smollett, copied Cervantes, 6, 136;
Lessing on his Roderick Random^
2,197.

Snow brothers, oyster men in Cam-
bridge, 1, 66 ; anticipatory elegy on,
67 ; on Commencement days, 80.

Snow, the silence of, 3, 222 ; Goethe
on, 267; poets' references to, 275;
the wind's action on, 277 ; the foot-

{>rints of animals on, 277 ; the quiet-
y falling, 278 ; its beautiful curves,
279 ; building and moulding in, 281 ;
its colors, 283 ; in city streets, 284.

Snow-crusts, 3, 284.

Snow fights, 3, 282.

Snow forU, 3, 282.

Snow-storm, Homer*s picture of, j|.
274; walk in, 274; the silence ana
purity of the next morning, 276.

Snuff-box, Dr. Waterhouse's advertise-
ment for, 1, 96.

Socialism, confuted by Spenser, 4,
350 ; dangerous to the existing order
of things, 6, 34 ; its beneficent pos-
sibilities, 35 ; fatal to certain home-
spun virtues, 171.

Society, value of, 1, 15 ; 6, 168 ; its
code of manners, 4, 11. See altOf
Good society.

Society, its constitution, etc., Dante^s
views of, 4, 151 ; its periodic ebbs
and floods, 265; the chief end ef
Boan formerly and now, 6| 14 ; men

804

GENERAL INDEX

beginning to know their opportunity
and their power, 15 ; sociaJ upheaval
the result of neglected duties, IG;
the disquiet caused by ** growing-
pains," 17 ; changes never wel-
comed, 18; ases of transition, 19;
the mastery of new social forces, 19 ;
instinct to admire what is b^ter
than one's self the tap-root of civili-
sation, 32; state socialism disastrous,
86 ; the germs of its evils to be dis-
covered and extirpated, 36 ; violent
changes not to be expected, 3G ; its
strong constitution shown by the
quack medicines it has survived, 37;
Wordsworth's early belief in the
gregarious regeneration of man,102 ;
the necessity of individual improve-
ment of personal character, 103 ;
the Don Quixotes of, 121 ; the doc-
trinaire reformers of, 123 ; the facts
of life bound up with other facts of
the present and the past, 124 ; Don
Quixote's struggles against, without
result, 124; the motto '*Do right
though the heavens fall," 124; its
recognized authoritative guides, 159 ;
the intlucnce of tlie few, 178 ; neces-
sity of cultivating the tilings of the
mind, 227. See also, Civilization;
Life ; Progress ; Culture ; Politics ;
Crime.

Socrates, 2, 104; his grave irony, 3,
83.

Bohrab and Rustem, 3, 311.

Boil, its formation, 3, 300; language
compared to, 312.

BoMiorw, litorarv men who have been,

2, 28(>. See ahoj American soldiers.
Solidity and liglitness as elements of

character, 6, 245.

Solitudo, tlie suprcMnent sense of, given
l)y full davliglit, 1, 105 ; Cowley on,
3t3 ; folt in Rome, 102 ; needed for
tho iinngination, 3, 132; verses on,
in 1)o<lH]ov'n Collection, 223; alsOj
2,37(5; 4,*»»0.

Sonnet, 4, 402 ; Wordsworth's use of,
6. 112.

Boi)l)o<'los, 2, 138 ; Aiar, his quibbles,

3, 54; Antigone, 4, 232; the first
example of character-painting, 3,
57 ; JClerfra, parallel passage in
Hamlet, 49 ; (Edipua Colonerm, par-
allel piAwige in King Henry VI., 50.

Soraott*, iMland of, 1, 145.

Soul, ooncoivcd of as a piece of prop-
erty, 2, :)29 ; Dante on its relation
to G(Hi, 4, 188. See also, Human
nature ; Man.

Soup, thn Iris^«*^ian's kettle of, 6, 283.

South, the. ^Srf United States.

Southampton, L. I., Declaration in
1073, 2, 01.

South Carolina, the long-windedness
and fthort-meaningoess of her pol-

iticians, 6» 60; the aeoeMloii pra-
oeedings, 66; her pcditictaiis uokA^
managers, but not business men, 58 ;
her prosperity dependent on cotton
alone, 68 ; the difficulty of meeting
her financial obliga'.ions in case m.
war, 69 ; opens the War by the at-
tack on Fort Sumter, 72 ; underval-
ues the people of the IVee States,
73; slavery abhorred by the best
men of, in 1786, 141 ; at the Phila-
delphia convention of 1866, 286.

Bouthey, view of religion, 3, 187 ; hio
correspondence, 4^60 ; his commii-
nistic dreams, 373 n ; occasional
coarseness of his ^ Doctor," 6, 60 ;
anecdote of an old woman's remark
on the weather, 85.
on domestic servants, 2, 46 ; on pore
Englishi 4, 277 n ; on Wordsworth,
390 n.

Southwell, reprinted in the ** library
of Old Authors,'* 1, 253 ; his bad
verse, 253 ; poor style of the editor,
255; ultramontanism and credulity
of the editor, 257.

Spain, first glimpse of, ixom the sea,
1, 114.

Spalding, Capt., his sight of the sea-
serpent, 1, 108.

Spanish American republics, their
great man ignored by us, 2, 283.

Spanish drama, 2, 131 ; 6, 116 ; tlie
Fate element in, 3, 57.

Spanish literature, its national charao-
ter, 6, 116.

Spanish romances, 6, 116.

Sparrow on the house-top, his life, 2.
192, 198, 205.

Spartacus, 6, 126.

Spasmodic school of poets, 1, 280.

Specialization in education, 6, 176.

Specimen ruin wanted by a Michigaa
man, 1, 212.

Spectacles of the heroic period, 1, 91,
96.

Speculation, Dante on, 4, 167, 186,
204.

Speddhig cited, 3, 22.

Spelling, vagaries of, 2, 61, 63; Mil.
ton's, Masson's discusbion of, 4, 89.

Spendthrift heirs, 1, 250.

SrsMsxR, 4, 2C5-353 ; the condition of
English poetry between Chaucer and
Spenser, 2C5 ; his contemporaries,
276 ; his influence on the transfor-
mation of English literatiure, 2^;
birtli and family, 284 ; education and
early life, 285 ; residence in Ireland,
280; visit to London in 1589, 287;
is shocked by tlie life of the Court,
288 ; familiar with Dante, 146, 290 n,
332 n ; his own success at Court, 290 ;
his allusions to Burleigh, 291 ; visit
to England in 1595 and advance-
ment by tlie Queen, 296; his chil-

GENERAL INDEX

805

dren, 296 n ; his death, 297 ; his pov-
erty and iniiifortunes exaggerated,
207 n ; his personal cliaracter, 298,
337 ; his originality, 299 ; turned to
Chaucer as his master, 301 ; his skill
in versification, 302, 305 n, 310, 328 ;
his sense of harmony, 303 ; his con-
ception of poetry and tlie poet's
office, 306 ; his diction, 308, 334 ; 3,
8 ; his learning, 4, 309 ; his function
" to reign in the air," 313 ; probably
a Puritan, 314 ; tended to a Platonic
mysticism, 315 ; his purity without
coldness, 31G, 352 ; his study of
French sotirces, 316 n ; all his senses
keenly alive, 317, 326, 330, 343;
lacking in sense of liumor, 319 ; his
style Venetian, 326 ; his splendid
superfluity, 328 ; shown in his meas-
urement of time, 330 ; his dilatation
the expansion of natural growth,
831 ; his verne produces a condition
of revery, 334, 349, 353 ; his world
purely imaginary and unreal, 335,
348 ; delight in the beauty of na-
ture, 338 ; his innovations in lan-
guage, 347 ; his alliterations, 347 ; a
solid basis of good sense, 350 ; an
Englishman to his inmost fibre, 350 ;
his disciples, 351 ; Keats's poetic
faculty developed by reading, 1,
223, 243 ; language, 3, 12 n ; rein-
vented the art of writing well, 36 ;
his*verse, 345, 350 ; 4, 108 ; his view
of nature, 3, 855 ; his allegory, 362 ;
lines on the Rosalind who had re-
jected him, 4, 51 ; Milton's obliga-
tions to, 302, 305 n, 333 ; alsOj 3, 16,
189, 336, 337 ; 4, 25, 97, 114.
compared with Sidney, 4, 276 ; with
Ovid in Pontus, 286 ; with Bunyan
as to allegory, 322.

on -Chaucer, 3, 365 ; on hexameter
verse, 4, 277 ; on use of language,
346 ; on riding, 351 ; on the world of
the imagination, 6, 94.
Drydeu's opinion of, 3, 123 ; 4, 351 ;
Milton on, 207 n, 314 ; Lod. Brys-
kett's account of, 292 n ; Sidney on
his language, 301 n ; Henry More
on, 314 ; Hazlitt on, 321 ; Lamb on,
326 ; Hughes on his measure, 329 ;
Warton on his stanza and his cir-
cumlocutions, 329 ; Pope on, 351 ;
Wordsworth on, 351 ; Landor on,
352.

Coiin Chut, 4, 286, 288; — Daph-
tMuIa^ 33ld;—EpUholamion, 337;
— Faery Qiteen imitates the closing
allegory of the Purgatorio, 207 n ;
its success, 287 ; inspired by Ari-
osto, 299, 319 n ; the sense of taste
In, 317 n ; its two objects, 318, 324 ;
its characters the leading person-
ages of the day, 318 ; Mary Queen
of Scots as Duessa, 319 n ; the alle-

gory, 319, 321, 326 ; Its merits, 320 ;
its faults as narrative, 321, 323 ;
compared to an illuminated MS.,
325 ; quotations to illustrate the
style, 329-335, 340, 344; the son-
nets prefixed, 337 u ; the charac-
ter of Una, 339 ; confutation of so-
cialism, 350 ; its influence on tlie
world, 351 ; — Hymns to Lore and
Beauty, 31G; — Mother HubbenVs
Tale, 289, 313, 315 n, 320 n; its
date, 290 n ; — Mutability^ 297 n ; —
Muiopotmog, 310, 326 n; — ProihO'
lainion, 337 ; — liuins of TVwte, 291 ;
— ShepheriVs Calendar ^ its publica-
tion marks an epoch in English lit-
erature, 299; its spirit fresh and
original, 300 ; its style, 302 ; quoted,
303, 301, 305, 2m \— Tears of the
Muses, 292.

Spenserian stanza. See English pros-
ody.

Sphinx-riddle, the childish simplicity
of its solution, 6, 199.

Spinoza, 3, 355 ; 4, 153 n ; Coleridge's
and Wurdswortli's study of, 380 ; on
the strength of laws, 6i 37.

Spire, characteristic of New England
religious arcliitecture, 1, 54.

Spirit of the Age, 6, 162; Dryden's
recognition of, 3, 102.

Spiritual eye, th« imagination, 2, 84.

Spiritualism, 2, 396, 397 ; 6, 120.

Spontaneousness, 6, 79.

Spread-eagle style, 1, 349.

Spring, 3, 258 ; 6, 107.

Squatter sovereignty, 6, 25, 39.

Squire of Latv Degree, Hnzlitt's and
Ritson's editions of, 1, 331 ; cited,
341.

Squirrels, 4, 267 ; depredations of the
red squirrel, 3, 219.

Stage, its morality early defended by
I^ssing, 2, 185. See also, Acting.

Stage-coach ride from Waterville to
Newport, Maine, 1, 9 ; incident of
the hot axle, 10. See also^ Dili-
gence.

Stahr's Life of Lessing. See Lessing,
Stahr's Life of.

Staminate flowers of literature, 1,
366.

Standard histories, 6, 121.

Standards, those of our companions
easily adopted, 1, 24.

Stanley, Dean, speech in the chapter-
house of Westminster Abbey, Dec.
13, 1881, 6, 47-50; the character of
the mourners at his funernl, 48 ; the
many-sidedness of his sympatliies,
48 ; Americans ready to contribute to
his memorial, 49 ; his pleasantness,
49 ; the human nature in him, 49.

Stanton, Secretary, McClellau's un-
founded charges on, 6, 1 12.

Stars, 1, 356 ; Thoreau's writing con.

806

GENERAL INDEX

Mred to, 370; Men in winter, 3,

BUra in the TrieniUal Catalogue, 1,

Bturllt night, 1, 350.

Bute rights, 6, (33 ; In the light of the

fnuners of the Constitution, 147 ;

Jefferaon^s theory of, 148 ; confuaion

of wind with regard to the doctrine,

201.
Btate aoclalimn diaafttroua to the com- '

munwealth, 6, 35.
Btat^aniausliip, a complicated art, 3,

2^W> ; its uecesaary qualities. 6, 115,

183 : iU highest function, 195 ; the

f»roblems and duties of, 6, 19G ; il-
ustrated in the writmgs and
speeches of Burlce, 197 ; shown by
Benators Fessenden, Trumbull, and
Grhnes, 198 ; the duty to study ten-
dencies and consequences, 21G. See
also, Government ; Politics.

Btatesmen, 2, 302 ; course of a states-
man compared to that of a river, 6,
19<) ; the waiters on popular provi-
dence humorously so called, 6, 186.

Btatesmen and politicians, 4, 179.

Statintirs do not appeni to the Muses,
2, 27(5. See also, Figures.

Statins read to the Earl of Orford when
drunk, 2, 129.

Statues, naked, not inappropriate out
of doors in Rome, 1, 215.

Steam, 1, 2fi ; its influence on educa-
tion, 7 ; fatal to the romance of the
sen, 101.

St(>dman, champion of the county, 1,
G5.

Steele, Sir Richord, on politicians, 3,
284 ; his compliment to his wife, 4,
49 ; his loyalty to Addison, 53.

Steevens, GeorRe, cited, 3, 22.

Stephen, Leslie, 3, 243.

Stephens, Alex. H., arguments for
slavery, 6. 220 ; on the cause of se-
cession, 248 n.

Sterne, 1, 3G4 ; 2, 88, 260, 325 ; THs-
tram Shandy, 88 ; his hnmor, 1, 278 ;
2, 170 ; influenced by Cervantes, 6,

Btemhold, 3, 175.

Btemhold and Hopkins quoted, 4, 274.

Stevens, Thaddeus, of Pennsylvania,
6, 265, 305.

Stevenson, Marmaduke, the Quaker,
2,66.

Steward, the Chief Mate's jokes in re-
gard to, 1, 118.

Stilts, Shelley and Wordsworth on, 2,
145 ; Percival's appearance on, 146.

Stimulants, use of, Carlyle's increas-
ing extravagance compared to, 2,
95.

Stoicism, genial, advantages of, 1, 46.

Btolberg, Auguste, Goethe's letters to,
2,251.

Stomach, the, its country-ooatluBlilp
to the brain, 3, 119 n.

Storg, Edelmann (W. W. Stoty),
Mooeehead Journal addressed to,
1, 1 ; memoir on Cambridge thir^
years ago addressed to, 43 ; the au-
thor's early life in company with,
52 : journey in Italy in company
with, 128 ; not fond of walkinff, 13a

Storms clinrged to America, 6, 12.

Story, W. W., 6, 151. See a/«o, Storg.

Stoughton, on tlie planting of New
England, 6, 146 n.

Stoves, 3, 286.

Strafford, Masson's description of the
death of, 4, 73.

Stratford de Hedcliffe, Lord, 6, 39.

Strauss, some Italians familiar with,
1, 156.

Strawberries, Thoreau's worka com-
red to the various kinds of, 1,

Street-cries in Rome, 1^ 152.

Stuart, character of his paintmg, 1,
76.

Stubbs, John, 2, 65.

Study, without application, mere gym-
nastics, 1. 20.

Style, 3, 31, 35, 37, 353 ; 4, 21 ; of
small importance to the young, 26 ;
clearness and terseness essentials
of, 54 ; the importance of knowing
what to leave in the inkstand, 79 ;
its power in historical composition,
5, 120 ; the practice of translation a
help toward, 6, 93. See also, Abun-
dance; Alliteration; Artifice; As-
sonance; Bourgeois; Choice of
words ; CompoBition ; Conceits ; Cor-
rectness; Decorum; Description;
Diction ; Elegancy ; Eloquence ; Ep-
ithets ; Execution ; Expression ;
Force ; Form ; Images ; Individual-
ism ; Indirectness ; Metaphors ■'Nat-
uralness; Personification; Similes*
Simplicity ; Suggestion ; Superlal
tives ; Unconventionality ; Uuex^.
pectedness; Vividness,
of Emerson, 1, 367 ; of Thoreau, 370 ;
of Shakespeare, 3, 36; of DauieL
4,282.

Styles, Elizabeth, her confession of
dealings with the Devil, 2, 338.

Stylites, the oldest surviving graduate
compared to, 1, 83.

Subiaco, the road to, 1, 130, 152 ; seen
from a distance at night, 181 ; ar-
rival at the inn, and supper, 182 ;
the scenery about, 182 ; convent of
San Benedetto, 183.

Sublimity, in mountains, how felt, 1,
41 ; Dryden on, 3, 189 n ; audacity
of self-reliance an important port
of, 4, 116.

Subscription for repairing a cmivent
demanded by a fruur, 1, 209.

GESERAL ISDEX

307

or on a

1,102.

8aceeM,l,17: te
popuUr ideal of, •, 173;
meMureof Awrtiou^

Boffering, eaj>j«l bj
talift, t, 2jtf; iU
222.

Buffrafe, pmpertj qi
iahed in MMMchuetU. •, 10.

Buffrage, nefcio. ^« Nefro

Buffngp, nniveTMl, iU
and objectlom, 5, 232; iU faalura
in large ciUaa, 6, 11 ; iU pneticad
working, 28 ; danger of d e ajing it,
29 ; develops the prvdeaoe and dia-
cretion of the people, 30.

Bufla, their teaching OQ the tkrae itepa
to perfection, 4, 253u

8 jggestioa, more important tksa co-
mulation, 3, 42 ; Tidne <rf, in litera>
ture, 171.

Buicide, Chtteanbriand'a attempU at,
a, IGO ; PerciTal'a attempt at. 100 ;
LeMiag*8 tbooghU of, 209; Drjr-
den^B lines on, 3, 141 n ; Waller's
lines on, 4, 23.

Suicide by proxy, 2, 251.

Slimmer, 3, 258.

Sumter, Fort, rumors of ita intended
bombardment, 5, €2.

Bim, alone with him at
mountain top, 1, 106.

Snnfish harpooned at sea

SuuHowers, 1, 59.

Sunrise, at sea, 1, 106;
lOG.

S'-inset, on the Penobscot, 1, 33 ; ne^r
Tivoli, 144, 1S4 ; at Palestrina, 159 ;
original every evening, 212.

Sunset of life, 2, 3(M>.

Sunshine in It'ilv, 1, 215.

Super Auoos, Volt lire on, 1, 204.

Superlatives in Milton, 4, 96.

Supernatural, origin of the belief in,
a, 320.

Supernatural and natural, a vast bor-
der-land between them, a, 373.

Superstition, Roman Catholicism in
Italy only a, 1, 156 ; the SMthetio
variety of, %, 317 ; its etvmological
meaning, 326 ; its growth nora myth,
359; regarded aa of one substance
with faith, 385 ; caused by material-
ism, 397 ; modem superstition the
Jaoobitism of sentiment, 317 ; decay
of, 6y 31.

Superstitions often the relics of reli-
gious beliefs, a, 326.

Supper at the inn, in Subiaco, 1, 182.

Surrey, 4, 274, 302 ; hia JEneid^ 3,
137 n.

Swearing, of the Italian guide, 1, 173 ;
ito evangelista, 362.

Swedenborg, 4» 252 ; some Italians fa^
miliar with, 1, 156.

Sweetheart, appreciation of, by oUier
people, 3, 232. .

vei

oo.

hi Caffljplf,

LJC;!
ef tiM mptel, 3, 97 ; mm of
cntacissd, 1-^4; hu stitr. 13U;
Utfay cywnMM, 1:^3: hia vi^w of i^
ligiao, 4, l>«;all«-ted iwtiflervwv
to tJie world in hia cirrmnondenrg,
2tf ; c o TtVi sp ofleiKf »lth ropr, SO;
hu inHurm-* on P<ipr, .*»7 ; f oiuparad
with Fwlding . 3, %*\ ; mflusncsd by
Cf rranina, 13i^ ; <f/«e, 2, I'll,
on the iaflaeoc^ of women in rsiniaf
langaage,3, 131 ; on I>ryden, 13*^ n ;
on hia preiaoea, 131; oa RoMan
Boseis2fl.
Dryd«« on. 3, 132 n.

SwnracBsra's TsaoBons, 3, 120-139;
bis power of aiimilsting style, I'jii ;
his Chngtelnrd^ ita rhararter, I'J-J;
briongs to the physically intenaa
arhool, 122; his Atalnntn in f'o/y.
<f(m, its verse, VS\ ; iU lark of real-
ity, 124; \\A profusion of imagery,
126; its Greek theme and man-
ner, 126; essay on Wordaworth, 6,
100.

Switzerland, democracy in, 6, 21.

Sword, the gift of Christ, 5. \».

Sylvester II., Pope, chargMl with hav-
ing made a compact with Satan, 3.
331.

Sylveater^s Du Bartn*^ Dryden's opin-
ing of, 3, 123 ; Wordsworth on, 4,
351.

Symlmlism of the XXrina Commedia^
4,158.

Symmachus, 3, 322.

Symonds* HUl, Cambridge. 1, 54.

Sympathetic powder, Sir K. I>igby*s,
3,56.

Sympathy, of kindred pursuits, 1,
118; fostered by simple village life,
4, 360 ; increased by individualiia*
tion, 6, 242 ; between England and
America, 6, 50.

Syntax, Dr., 3, 109.

T. O. A. = Thomas Gold Appleton.

T. H. = Thomas Hughes.

Tacitus, tlie Agricola compared with

Maidstone's account of Cromwell.

2, 37 ; a phrase of Milton 'm borrowmi

from, 4, 85 ; aho^ 150, 301 ; 6. 120.
Taine, his History of English litera-
ture, 6, 124.
Talent, compared with genius, 1, 84 ;

character valued more highly tlian,

2. 257. See aUo^ Genius.
Talleyrand, want of respect for, 2.

312.
TanntiKuser, 1, 107; its allegory, 2,

138.
Tariff, Pres. Cleveland's message on,

6, 186, 216 : reduction of the tarilT

demanded, 216.

S08

GEXERAL INDEX

TAiirr Rrmui : addretB Dec. 29, 18S7,

TasBU, 3, H>; bia definite compari-
■uiia, 4, i*'0 i bu work Mv«d by it«
dictiuii, 6» (4.

TaiiU*, 3, 1^ ; tbe Anglo-Saxon want
of coutUleu<*e iu nutttcrb ut, 4, 13 ;
miiBt uoc exceed iU ri^IitluJ pruT-
ince, '21 ; contruvernie^ ut, '.!0 ; beuae
off iu tlie J'urry i/uftti^ 317 n.

Taurua, coiMtelLititin prettidw over
bulla aud bluuderis 1, \if>'l.

Tarerus, in Maine, 1, il ; Sheustone^s
vene uii, 'J; at tiri^nville, 12; in
Kineu, kept by Siiuire Barrows. 18 ;
tlieir carnal attr.u-tiuns bewailed by
Cotton Mather, 78; in Pawiawanii)-
M'ot, 1^7 ; kept by i>erfiiU8 who have
nut tbe geuiiu, 2, 71. Hee also^
Inns.

Ta venter, the ftbost of James Haddock
apjiearn to, 2, 3'J2.

Taxation in Aubtria in ir>4€, 6» 14 n.

Taylor, B.iyunl, ({uoted, 6, '^»7.

Taylor, Jeremy, his loiif^ Henteitoes, 1,
217 ; one of Keats^H laitt pleai>ure>s
2:fi) ; bia style, 3, 121 ; aUo, 3 ; 4,
325 n.

Taylor, John, the water poet, bis lan-
guage, 3, 12 n,

Taylor, ThoinaH, the Platonist, 6, 145.

Teachers, rarity of great teacliers, 6,
149.

Teaching, the aims of, 6, 158 ; its ten-
dency to decline, 171.

Teaching language, Roger Williams^s
method, 2, 32.

TearH, genuine and assumed, 2, 251.

TediouiinesK, 2, 15G.

Telimine, lament of, 3, 311.

TeiretdaH, 4, 115.

Telegrapli, its insidious treachery in
multiplying rumorp, 6, IH); its im-
partial brevity and cynicifcju, 230 ;
Its elTect on tlie national thought
and character, 243 ; 6, 175 ; makes
the wliole nation one great town
meeting, 6, 244 ; its effect in a de-
mocracy, 6, 23 11 ; the common ner-
vouH HyHtcm of the world, 42.

Temperance qne.stioii, in early New
England, Thomas Shepard on, 2,
41 ; attitude of the Amer. liract
Soc. toward, 6, 5.

Temptation, Kousseau on the avoid-
ance of, 2, 24!).

Toniers, passage in Spenser compared
to, 4, »»9.

Ten-niiuute speeches, 6, 222.

Tennyfion, character of his verse, 2,
121 ; his Lhjlh of the King, 132 ;
quoted by a Missisbippi boatman, 3,
2()0 ; his knights unreal persons, 6,
242 ; also, 4, 3(i9.

Tenure of oflBce, in Cambridge, in old
times, 1, 51); the four-year term

rnnpared to a naQ-^nttfag macTiine,

Terni, falls of, B\-ron on, 1, 129l
I'erry. abuse of Keata in Blackwood,

1, j-ji;.

Teittauieut, DaTeoport*s **riglit«im,**
1,72.

Teutonic poetnr before Dante, ^228b

Texais bettlers from Free Sb^eadriTen
out Irum, 6f 39.

annexation of, cooaeqnent rite of the
auti-K>laveiy spirit, 6, 140 ; encroach-
ments of Slavery after, 1^

Thackeray, W. M., at aea, 1, 102;
sentiment of, 2, Wl ; aa an histo-
rian, 6, 121 ; ou the hands and feet
of tlie Americans, 310; on field-
ing, 6, (^ ; »l*o, 2, 117 ; 3, 357.

Tiiolefs 2, 1('8.

Theatre. See Acting ; Drama ; Stage.

Theatrical scenery compared to ehort-
lived literary fame, 2* 77.

Theleme, Abbey of, 1, 88.

Theobald, Pofie on, 4, 52.

Theocritus, 2, l28, 136; 6, 174; D17-
den on, 3, 1^.

Tlieodoric troubled by the death of
Symmachus, 2, 322.

Theological diitcubsion, lack of inter-
est in, on the part of the laity, 8,
217; at Geneva, 245.

Theology, Lessing^s attitude toward,
2, 214 ; Dante on, 4, 201.

Theopbilus of Adaua, 2, 329.

Theory and practice civorced biy the
seutimentalifet, 2, 249, 250.

Theories and facts, 2, 76.

Thermometers, 3, 196.

Thiers, 6, 208.

Thinking, an occupation geneiallr
dreaded, 1, 21 ; the highMt remit
of education, 6, 89.

Thomson, the first descriptive poet, 3,
202 ; his poetical creed, 4, 8 ; hia
Winter a protest aoainst the litera-
ture of Good Socwty, 8 ; hit style
compared with Milton^a, 86 ; a fol-
lower of Spenser, 362 ; oIm, 8, 98 ;
4,0.

on winter, 3* 266.
Lessing on, 2, 196.

Thor, traditions of, transferred to the
Devil, 2, 348.

Thoreau, 1, 361-381 ; his poethiunoaa
works, edited by Emerson, com-
pared to strawbeiries, 968 ; his high
conceit of himself, 969 ; his lack of
the faculty of ^neralixation and of
active imagination, 369 ; Us critical
power limited, 3G9; his Ktjde, 870;
less poet than naturalist, 370 ; hit
discoveries, 370; liis freshness of
treatment, 371 ; his Isolation and exp
clusiveness, 371 ; his itch of original-
ity, 371, 373; his paradozn oon-
pared to Dr. Winship's dumb-beUt,

I

GENERAL INDEX

809

372 ; his extravagance of state-
ment, 372 ; the limitations imposed
by his withdrawal from the world,
373; his lack of humor, 374; his
egotism, 374 ; his character not
sweetened by communion with Na-
ture, 377 ; the quality of his mind,
378 ; monotony of his writings, 378 ;
his writing incomparable at its best,
379 ; the ideal element, 379 ; his in-
dependency of mankind practically
impossible, 380; his aim, 380; his
style, 380 ; lines on smoke from a
wood-cutter's cabin, 3, 28G ; on the
" whoop " of the freezing lake, 290.

Thought, influenced by the material
it works in, 6, 87. See a/so, Think-
ing-
Thunder, Milton's more elaborate pas-
sages compared to, 4, 101.

Thimder-storms, J. F.'s enjoyment of,
1,91.

Ticknor, George, his kindness to
young scholars, 2, 160 ; his lectures
on Dante, 4, 147.

Tide in the affairs of men, 2, 8.

Tieok, 2, 130 ; on Kemble in Macbeth,
3,70.

Tiedge, 2, 146.

Tillotsou, Lessing's father the trans-
lator of, 2, 181 ; Dryden's style
formed after, 3, 185.

Time, the Roman and the Anglo-Saxon
treatment of, 1, 131 ; measured by
the great clock of the firmament, ^
330 ; lines of Spenser referring to,
331 ; God alone has enough, 6, 188 ;
also^ 4, 408.

Timon of Athens. See Shakespeare.

Tinker, John, steward of Winthrop,
his use of the word help quoted, 2,
44 ; extracts from his letters, 70 ;
desired to keep an ordinary or tav-
ern, 71.

Tithonus, 2, 79.

Titian's Assumption, the cherubs of,
1,355.

Titles, the republican ear soon recon-
ciled to, 1, 135.

Titmouse, Emerson's, 3, 200.

Tito, at Tivoli, 1, 136.

Tivoli, visit to, 1, 128 ; source of the
Roman lime supply, 150 ; drive to,
from Subiaco, 184.

Tobacco, 2, 58.

Tobacco chewing, 1, 69.

Toby, Uncle, 5, 107.

Toepffer, his poet, Alberto, who tried
to look like his portrait, 4, 409 ; 6,
98.

Toledo, the Devil's school of magic in,
2,3G8.

Toleration, 2, 18; 6, 48; difficulty of
obtaining a perfect conception of,
2, 67 ; Colerid(re on, 216.

ToU, paying, 1, 84.

Tombola, or lottery, 1, 156.

Tombs, John, Anabaptist writer, 2|
39.

Tooke, Home, on Dryden, 3, 180 ; on
his Don SebastUm^ 173 ; etymology
of highth, 4, 93.

Toombs, Robert, 6, 66.

Tories of Cambridge, 1, 54, 94.

Torneo, 1, 145.

Tortoise, Gilbert White's observations
on, 3, 194.

Torture of witches described by Bo-
din, 2, 379.

Toryism of Scott and Carlyle distin-
guished, 2, 109.

Torzelo, Cambridgeport marshes com-
pared to, 1, 72.

Toucy, 6, 78.

Town meetings, 6, 244 ; as a means of
trainmg in citizenship, 6, 208.

Tracts confused with actions of trover
by the Amer. Tract Soc, 6, 8.

Trade distinguished from commerce,
2, 290.

Trade unions, 6, 18.

Trade wind, tlie movement of Milton's
verse compared to, 4, 402.

Tradition, the one thing better than,
1, 3G4 ; its value in politics, 6, 22.

Traditions, their power, 2, 112; the
preciousness of, 3, 223.

Tragedy, English, French, and Span-
ish, 2, 131. See alsOf Drama.

Training, 3, 250.

Training-days, Harvard Washington
Corps on, 1, 88 ; fight with the col-
lege students, 92.

Transcendental, the abuse of the term,
1,303.

Transcendental movement, 1, 354 ; its
humors, 3G1 ; its solid and serious
kernel, 303 ; simply a struggle for
fresh air and /t/e, 364; its radical
difference from the doctrine of Car-
lyle, 367.

Transformation of men into animals,
instances of the belief in, 2, 360.

Translation, the aroma of the original
necessarily lost, 1, 289 ; an adequate
hnpression of force and originality
demanded, 289; recent discussions
on translating Homer, 291 ; liber-
ties allowed a translator, 294 ; Cole-
ridge's excellence in, 6, 72; the
practice of, favorable to a good Eng-
lish style, 93 ; its value as a means
of discipline, 166; alsoy 3, 42; 6.
108.

Chapman on, 1, 288, 290 ; Lieber-
klihn's theory of, 2, 179; Dryden
on, 3, 181 ; Dante and Cervantes on,
4, 218.

Translations, Dryden's, 3, 114 ; value
of, 6, 92.

Transubstantiation, 4, 256; a slave-
dealer's view of, 6, 2.

810

GENERAL IS'DKX

TnTel, how one la thrown upon ono^s
own reM>nrct'», 1, VJ ; Ix^Ht time of
life for, 43 : u cure for M'lf-iiuiH)r-
10111*6, 45 : taiuiliurity ^ itl> oiic'm own
village, at lenut, a iirenxpiiMte, 4i> ;
the luvntiil and (>iiiritunl outi't for,
commonly uiilipediil, 45 ; delicate
■enoea and thtf flne eye of imagina-
tion necesmry, 4(> ; itu object to
know thingx^ not m^n, 47 ; verses
on travel at home, 47 ; mere sights
need not be visited, 48; its object
to discover one's self, 4U; folly of
Tisitiiig Eiiroiie if 8elf-abt»or1)c<l, 49;
the wise man t<t:iys at homo, Trf);
necessary for the study of lesthctics,
but not of history, Tiii ; opinion of
Jonathan Wild's father on, I'JO ;
Moittaigiie's and Ulysw^s's objects,
122 ; books of travel, 6, 04.

Travellers, their storiei* no hmger pro-
verbial, 1, 109 ; inoilern trnvollers
too sceptical and scientific, IdU ; no
longer eiMlowcd with imagination,
IIU; miiituken aims of mot-t, 120;
their want of sincerity, 122; on
what the value of their journals de-
pends, 127 ; beset by guides, as oys-
ters are by crubx, \'M.

Traason, Aineri<>an notions of, 6, 255.

Tree of knowleilgc, its apples now
nearly all plucktMl, 1, 109.

Trees, of Cambridge, 1, r4 ; their
anatomy seen in winter, 3, 2KG ; tlie
associations of, called up by the
imagination, 4, 397.

Trent, CouiM'il of, 2, 22.

Trial, the sources of strength in, 6,
130.

Triennial Catalogue of Harvard Col-
lege, 1, 82.

Trixtnn of Godfrey of Strasburg cited,
1,341.

Trithemius on the demon-cook of the
BiHliop of Hildcsheim, 2^ 300.

Triumph, Roman, 1, 144.

Troubadours, 3, 302 ; compared with
the Trouv^res, 312 ; love of n.iture,
355. See alsoy Provencal poetry.

Trouv^res, 3, 04; 4, 2(36; 6, 242;
freshness and vigor of their poetry,
3, 309 ; its disproportion and want
of art, 310 ; compared with tlie
Troubadours, 312 ; acquired an ease
and grace in narrative, 313.

Tnimhnll, Jolni, the painter, 1, 76.

Trumbull, Dr. Hammond, 6, 149.

Trumbull, Senator Lyman, 6, 198.

Truth, sacredneRs of, 2, 108 ; Carlyle's
passion for, 113; Lessing-s passion
for, 198 ; one for tlie world, anotJier
for the conscience, 209; purity in
language dependent on veracity of
thought, 270 ; its form and position
variable in different generations,
371 ; in works of art, 3, 71 ; of sci-

ence and of mormla compared, 4,
255 ; not to be followed too near the
heeU, 310 n ; 6, 02 ; conrts diaciuH
simi, 6, 13 ; its benignant influence,
44 ; loyalty to, 327 ; why she Is sidd
to lie at the bottom of a well, 6, 28 ;
the difficulty in finding and iuter-
pri'ting, 158: its personal appUoi^
ticHi, 194. See altto. Fact.
Lcssing on searching for, 2, 230 ;
Ch.iucer on, 3, 296; Tiangland on,
3:'^*); Dante on the puiauit of, ^
2(K>.

Truth to Nature, 3, 56 ,* how reached,
2 128.

Tun'ibling, political, 6, 295.

Tup«do tree, 1, 70.

Tupper, M. F. , 1, 254 : 3, 267, 330 ; 6,
118.

Turell, Mr., of Medford, exposed a

case of pretended witchcraft, 2, 11 ;

account of a case of pretended poa>

setsion in Littleton in 1720, 391.

I Turenno comi>ared with Frederick the

I Great, 2, 114.

Turgot on simplicity, 1, 376.

Tiirubull, W. B., editor of Boothwell'a
poems, his poor English, 1, 265 ; hia
ultnunontanism and credulity, 267.

Turner, Colonel, 2, 24.

Turner, J. M. W., Wordaworth-a de-
scriptive poetry likened to, 4, 872 ;
his remark to a lady who did not
appreciate hia pictures, 6, 123.

Turnips, 1, CO.

Turtle-dove, 3, 214.

Tusser, his lines on his aarty ediuMu
tion, 2, 298.

Twaddle in ancient timea, 1, 100.

Tweed 4 178

Twiiight,'in St. Peter'a, Borne, 1, 201 ;
its charm described, 3, 220.

Twin-brothers Snow, elegy upoo, 1,
07.

Tyler, John, Prea., 6, 291 ; Us lack
of popularity, 290.

Tylor on the origin oS. the ■cpentato-
ral, 2, 320.

Types, 3, 314.

Typographical errora. See lOspriota.

Tyranny of a democracy, the Md fal-
lacy of, 5, :wi.

Tyrwhitt, editor of Chanoer, 3, M8b

Ulloa on the converaifm of the
cans by the Spaniards, 3. 301.

Ulrici on Shakespeare, 3. 64 n.

Ulysses, wreck of, 1, 107 ; hla oUeoU
in travel, 122; the tjpe of longi-
heodedness, 2, 128 ; of Bhakeapeanu
Dante, and Tennyson, 3, 71} of
Shakespeare, 92.

Unaccountable gifts aacrlbed to fan*
probable causes, 1, 32.

Unattained, the, ita beauty inaatmML
1,26.

GENERAL INDEX

811

Unbelief. See Scepticism.

Uncle Zeb. 1, 16 ; his conversational
powers, 17 ; his opinions on water,
25, 27 ; his theory concerning salt
pork, 27 ; his frequent potations,
and difficulties with his load, 29.

Unconventionality essential to poetry,
4. 22. See also^ Naturalness.

Unaerhill, Captain, his character, 2,
57 ; his theological heresies, C8 ; his
public confession in Boston, 59 ; ex-
tracts from bis correspondence, 59 ;
beseeches Dudlev and Winthrop to
use him with Cfhristian plainness,
61 ; defends himself from aspersion,
62 ; example of his grandiloquent
style, G3.

Understanding strong in the Saxon
character, 3, 318.

Undine. See Fouqud.

Unexpectedness a source of pleasure
in reading, 2, 83.

Unicom, 1, 112.

Uniformity, of the present age, 1, 39 ;
of ordinary minds, 4, 379.

Unitarianism in England, 6, 19.

United States, the preoiousness of the
nation seen in the light of the he-
roes of the War, 3, 221 ; its materi-
al greatness, 234 ; the bhange from
the conditions of the Revolutionary
period, 240 ; the changes brought
about by the war, 249; relations
with Enffland in 1869, 252; immi-
gration into, 6, 25 ; the material
prosperity of our early history, 201 ;
the Fourth of July period, 202 ; the
true birthday of the nation, 223.
See alao^ America ; American Civil
War ; American Colonies ; American
politics ; Congress ; Declaration of
Independence,
in 1805-13, 2, 301.

in 1860, 6, 17^14 ; the election await-
ed with composure, 17 ; its political
significance, 21, 22, 34, 39 ; Cotton
proclaimed King by Mr. Hammond,
22 ; the interpretation of certain
points of the Constitution the ques-
tion at issue, 23 ; all four tickets
profess equal loyalty to it, 23 ; the

Srinciples of the Democratic can-
idates, Breckinridge and Douglas,
24; the aliases of the pro-slavery
party, 24 ; the Bell and Everett
ticket, 25 ; its prime object defined
by Gov. Hunt, 27 ; two parties, a
liestructive and a Conservative, in
the field, 27 ; the latter as little
likely to abolish human nature as
Lincoln to abolish slavery, 30 ; the
rights and institutions of the North
also sacred, 30 ; the multiplication
of slave communities the question
at issue, 34 ; the position of the Re-
publican party, 36 ; the ezoitement

of the time a healthy sign, 36; a
question involving the primal prin-
ciples of government to be decided,
37 ; the domestic relations of the
states not to be interfered with, 37 ;
decided opinions on the subject of
slavery discouraged, 38 ; the fate of
the Territories to be determined, 39 ;
the threat of secession not likelv to
be carried out, 41 ; the demana of
the Free States, 42.
in 1861 : the inadequacy of the last
months of Buchanan's administra-
tion, 6. 45, 179, 248 ; the credit of
the nation shaken, 45 ; the signifl-
oance of the crisis, 46 ; the question
oftsecession, 48 ; threats of, nad not
been generally believed, 51 ; rapid
growth of a united public senti-
ment, 52 ; the extent of coercion
called for, 55, 68, 73 ; necessity for
prompt action, 56, 67, 86 ; the time
for concession past, 57, 64, 86 ; the
demands of the South for special
protection of its slave property, 57 ;
the absurd rumors of the day, 62 ;
the army and navy loyal, 62; the
prevalent confusion of ideas in re-
gard to state rights, 63; the dutv
of the hour, 64 ; interference with
the South in its domestic concerns
not intended, 65 ; the Union to be
preserved at any cost, 65 ; civil war
to be avoided by prompt action, 67 ;
the antipathy between the North
and the south exaggerated, 67 ; the
loyal minority in the Slave States
to be supported, 68 ; the hesitating
policv of the government, 69, 75;
the President's correspondence with
rebel commissioners, 69; the Bor-
der States being infiuenoed by South-
em emissaries, 70 ; not slavery, but
the re<istablishment of order, the
question in hand, 71, 84 ; South Car-
olina begins the war, 72 ; the duty
of exerting the power of the gov-
ernment, 73.

disunion for a time supposed to be
inevitable, 6, 75; the North stag-
•gered for a moment by the claim to
a right of secession, 76, 85 ; a Con-
vention of Notables called, 76 ; com-
promises freely proposed, 76, 166;
time thus gained by the Seoession-
ists, 77, 85, 86 ; the position of the
Border States, 77, 82 ; the need of a
leader, 78 ; the inauguration of Lin-
coln, 79; the despondency in the
North, 79, 178 ; the secret and dis-
honest proceedings of the South, 80,
91 ; Lincoln's inaugural, 81 ; the ad-
ministration's lack of confidence, 82.
88; the proposed abandonment of
Fort Pickens, 82 : conciliatory meaa-
urea for the Border States, 82 ; the

GENERAL INDEX

Opportima fo

SOilhflthmi,

tba war wuenl«r«d iJpoti,'JM.
In 1B6!: Wpulu uueuLnsM U
GltUao'i delay*. S, UO I the Pi
d«nt^B poll^'y with regmnl to emBa-
olpKtion, 197 ; tJie demand for ji
deddfld policyt 199 : Ihe unHtCled
■bite of Iha public jrAiA iritb refmrd

^tery men of tlie North demaDdvd,
in 1804 1 McClallin u ■ UDd<dat«fo[

hhlp dftmuwd. tlSt
IIT; ths d«ep poipow of the r-
tlDo^lie : what^oes the ■■ Coiuer

ecntlsii at the vu loecitable, 1
nOl IhB difficult pDaition of 1
Domocratlc wtty. 103 ; Its cm
dUee, 1M, m ; the nomliuitlDi
political Wlinl'(i-ilt IBCiChe De

propDBal, 158, ISi; 1

dU^fu B

■mt

GENERAL INDEX

313

Southern delegation, 277 ; sectional-
ism to be put aside, 277, 280 ; the
attitude of the American people
toward the South, 278; the South
not to be admitted to a share in the
government till they have given evi-
dence of loyalty, 281 ; the Philadel-
phia convention, 283; its central
principle the power of the President,
288 ; its constituents, 288 ; the Pres-
ident's tour and speeches, 289, 296 ;
its ostensible object discreditable,
290; Mr. Seward's part hi it, 292;
the President's tour a national scan-
dal and a wrong done to democracy,
295 ; the crowds that have followed
him no index of popularity, 296 ; the
present status of the seceding states,
297 ; the question of reconstruction,
300 ; a Union in fact, not merely in
form, to be secured, 300 ; the Presi-
dent's threat to use force against the
Congress, 301 ; Seward's arguments
on the status of the Southern States,
302 ; negro suffrage demanded by
the Radical party, 303 ; immediate
suffrage not necessary, 304; the
freedom of the parts must not en-
danger the safety of the whole, 305 ;
absence of revengeful feeling to-
ward the South, 306 ; the South to be
treated kindly, but with firmness,
307 ; the possibility of future war to
be averted, 308, 316, 325 ; our duty
toward the negro, 311, 321, 324;
the Americanization of America
the stake at issue, 312 ; the finan-
cial outlook, 314 ; the hesitation of
Congress, 314, 322; a bold policy
founded on principle advocated,
315 ; the position of the Republican
party, 317 ; the Rebel States not to
be tskkan back on trust, 319 ; the
terms imposed not harsh, 322 ; suf-
frage to be within the reach of all
alike, but its conditions not inter-
fered with, 323 ; the attitude of
Congress toward the Executive, 326 ;
faithfulness to the American ideal
demanded, 326.

in 1887 : the President's message on
the tariff, 6, 184 ; its effect on po-
litical parties, 187; the questions
of the War superseded by others of
present importance, 188.

in 1888 : the Republican appeal to
the passions of the Civil War, 6,
211 ; the condition of civil service
reform, 215 ; the effects of the pro-
tective system, 216 ; the Treasury
surplus, 218.

Border States: Southern emissaries
early at work in, 6, 70; undertake
to maintain a neutrality, 77 ; the
conspirators encouraged by Lin-
coln's inaugural, 81 ; their ciecision

more important to themselves than
to the North, 82; the mistake in
trying to conciliate them, 83, 88;
confusion of ideas in, as to rights
and duties, 87.

Constitution : loyalty to, asserted by
all parties, 6, 23; slaves not rec-
ognized as property by, 28 ; to be
bent back to its original rectitude,
35 ; to be construed in favor of free-
dom, 37 ; acknowledges no unquali-
fied right of property, 40 ; the doc-
trine of secession in the light of, 54,
68 ; discussions of, at the outbreak
of the Rebellion, 100 ; no perpetual
balance of power between free and
slave states contemplated, 143 ; not
an anti-slavery document, 145 ; the

auestion of state rights, 146; idle
iscussions with regard to, 276 ; the
doctrine of a strict or pettifogging
interpretation, 298 ; the Virginia
school of interpretation, 299; the
men of the constitutional conven-
tion, 6, 206 ; the idea that the ma-
chine will work of itself, 207;
Dante's system compared to, 4»
152.

Oovemment. See American politics.

Northern States : degrading effect of
slavery upon, 6, 21 ; their rights and
institutions to be defended as well
as those of the South, 30 ; increase
of population, wealth, and intelli-
gence in, 42; their courage and
Sersistence underestimated by the
outh, 73 ; the dirt-eaters of the first
months of the war, 79 ; Pollard's
picture of the conditions of life in,
133 ; their uniform concessions to
the Slave power, 143, 145 ; the habit
of concession the true cause of the
war, 146 ; their growing determina-
tion to resist aggressions, 204 ; the
war entered upon with thoughtless
good humor, 251 ; the theory of the
" erring brother " persisted in, 2^ ;
the strengthening of purpose and
character during the war, 254 ; ab-
sence of revengeful feeling towurd
the South, 306.

Southern States attd Southerners:
their concessions in slavery mat-
ters, 6, 9 ; rights in slave property
not infringed, 28 ; ill effect of dav-
ery upon their prosperity, 32 ; un-
equal distribution of wealth in, 33 ;
the danger of their condition, 33;
boastfulness and loquacity of, 50 ;
their consequent hallucinations, 51 ;
their quarrel not with a party, but
with the principles of democracy,
67; the financial difficulties of se-
cession, 69 ; their misconceptions
with regard to the North, 61, 136 ;
the instability of a confederacy

S14

GENERAL INDEX

which ■hotUd allow ■ ec ea d on, 61 ;
the abolition of atate liinra propoaed,
61 ; gain time by diaciiwiioua of com-
prouiiiie, 77 ; ilenounGe aa coercion
the exerriae of authority by tlie
govemnient, 77; counted on the
aelf-intereat of England and the
aupineneai of the North, 78 ; their
aham goremment and secret pro-
osedinga, 80; their open stealing
from the general gOTemment, 80 ;
conscious of the weakness of their
cause, 91 ; their constitutions in-
tensely democratic, 134 ; probably
only intended a coup iTitaiy and not
secession, 13C, 151), '203 ; tlieir social
and intellectual superiority in Wash-
ington, 13C ; Greelevon their virtues,
139 ; expected by the framers of the
Constitution to decline in power,
142 ; their gradually increasing en-
croachment, 142, 145 ; their confi-
dence in Northern pusillanimity the
cause of the war, 14C; the people
educated in the belief that secession
is their right, 149 ; the high quali-
ties shown by them in the war, 149 ;
their ideas of tlie North fundamen-
tally modified, 149; not hopelessly
alienated from the Nortli, 151 ; their
condition desperate in 18C4, 158 ; the
leaders not afraid of abolitionism,
203 ; the public spirit called out by
the war, 211 ; the question of their
status on returning to the Union,
217; the change in public opinion
produced by the war, 219 ; the pro-
posal to arm the slaves, 219; the
South thereby restored to the old
position taken by her greatest men,
220 ; the plan futile as a war meas-
ure, 220; shows that the mass of
the people are opposed to contin-
uance of war, 221 ; the spread of
Northern ideas, 221 ; allowances to
be made for the evil influence of slav-
ery, 222 ; the main elements of re-
generation to be souglit in the South,
222 ; the effect of slavery on tlie
character of the ruling class, 224,
252; their advantages in war pro-
portionate to their disadvantages in
peace, 225 ; any genend confiscation
of rebel property unwise, 226 ; the
people must be made landholders,
227 ; retribution to come upon the
rebel leaders from their own sense of
folly and sin, 227 ; the security and
extension of slavery the motive for se-
cession, 247, 250 ; secession expected
to be peaceful, 218 ; enter upon the
war in ignorant self-confidence, 251 ;
lose control of their temper, 252 ;
their ferocity in the prosecution of
the war, 253; their standards and
opinions unchanged by the war,

257 ; cling to the fragments of thalr
oki system, 258 ; their conatitatioiua
position during the war, 276 ; tha i^
titude of the American people to-
ward, in 18C6, 278 ; their pr^odieos
to be overcome, 282 ; poalaoii in the
rhiUdelphia convenUoo of 1866,
287 ; status of the aeceding atatao
after the war, 297; to be treated
with firmness and dedaion, 807;
have learned nothing ftom the war,
307 ; to be made tonnderataad ioma-
thing of American ideas, 808 ; ehar-
acter of their prosperi|hr and dvill-
zation before the war, 800 ; the Booth
to be made to govern itself, 812;
necessarily prejudiced in dealing
with the freedmen, 819 ; the tenna
of admission not harsh, 822; the
system of privileged classes to ba
discontinued, 323; what the term
**the South" should mean to ns,
324; the memory of thdr dead
justly cherished, 325 ; the protection
and education of both black and
white to be provided for, 325 ; growth
of equality in spite of alaVery, 6,
204. iS'eea/«o, ReiconstruotioD;DlaT-
ery.

Territories : their fate to be decided
by the election of 1860, 6, 89 ; the
presence of slavery incomptffciUe
with the settlement of free whites.
39, 146 ; laws demanded to protect
Southern property in, 40 ; the North
demands freedom for, 42.
The West, political equality In, 6, 204.

Universal suffrage. See Bnninige, nni*
versal.

University defined, 6, 168 ; its highest
ofBce to distribute Uie Bread of Uf e.
159.

Universities of Europe, their antiqai-
ty, 6, 142.

University towns, 1, 68 ; preaerre cer-
tain humors of character, 89.

Unnaturalness, 1, 376.

Uphom, C. W., his Salem WitekeraJU
2, 388, 395.

Use detracts from beaoty, 1, 202.

Utah, the case of her secession sup-
posed, 6, 64.

Vaccination introdnoed 1^ Dr. Watar-

house, 1, 96.
Vagrancy, the temptation to, 3, 22S.
Valera, Juan, on Don QuixoUt v, 122.
Valet de chambre, view of great men,

2,257.
Vallandigham, Mr., 6. 806; at the

Philadelphia convention, 28^
Vampires, 4, 273.
Vanity, 2, 233.
Variety of men, to be found alwajs at

home, 1, 47.
Vassalls, of Cambridge, 1, 66.

GENERAL INDEX

815

Vaughau, Henry, 4, 21 n ; on the rain-
bow, 3, 222.

Velino, falls of the, 1, 129.

Venetian art, its spirit in Washington
AUston's work, 1, 77.

Venetian painting, Spenser's style
compared to, 4, 327.

Venice, 1, 33 ; the domes of St.
Mark's, 206 ; her mercantile achieve-
mento, 3, 233.

Ventadour, Bernard de, 3, 303 ; a pas-
sage of Dante traced to, 1, 316.

Ventoux, Mont, 3, 260.

Venus of Melos, 3, 41.

Vere de Vere, 3, 236.

V^ricour, on Dante a member of the
apothecaries' g^ild, 4, 128.

Vernon, Lord, 4^ 227 n.

Verona, Dante at, 4, 135, 136.

Veronese, Paul, a stanza of Spenser's
compared to, 4, 326 n.

VersaUles, 1, 191.

Verse. See Blank verse ; Couplets ;
English prouody ; Poetry.

Versification, the hop-skip-and-Jump
theory, 3, 350. See also^ English
prosody.

Vespers heard in St Peter's, Rome, 1,
201.

Vesuvius, 1, 49 ; to Naples what St. Pe-
ter's is to Rome, 151.

Vetturiui, Italian, bargaining with, 1,
147.

Vice, personal element in the hatred
of, 2, 236.

Victoria, Queen, her sympathy on oc-
casion of President Garfield's death,
6, 39, 41, 50.

Victory, the love of, 6, 212.

View, enjoyed while eating, 1, 174 ;
from Ol'evano, 174; from Subiaco,
182.

Vighiere, Blaise, Des Chiffres^ 2, 57.

Vigneul-Marvilliana on literary bor-
rowing, 3, 143 u.

Viking fibre in boys' hearts, 1, 69.

Vikings, their later representatives, 2,
' 290.

Village life, Cambridge on example of,

Village'wit, 1, 58.

Villages, in Northern Maine, 1, 9 ;
American, described, 185i

Villaui, Filippo, 4, 142.

Villani, Giov., on Brunetto Latini, 4,
124 ; sketch of Dante, 138.

Villiers, George, Rehearsal^ Dryden
on, 3, 175.

Virgil, 2, 80; 3, 305; 6, 227; in the
Middle Ages, 3, 302 ; 4, 221 ; Dry-
den on, 3, 120, 180; Dante on, 4,
197 n.
JEneid^ translation by Gawain Doug-
las, 271 ; —Moretum^ 2, 135 ; a peas-
ant kindling his fire, 3 287.

Virginia, compared with Massachusetts

in its early InstitutiODS, 2, 15 ; her
position cowardly and selfish in
1861, 6, 77 ; honored the peculation
of a cabinet officer, 81; joins the
Confederacy, 87; on the necessity
of coercion in 1787, 147 ; life of the
older families of, 309 ; devotion and
endurance of the people, 325.

Virginia Convention of 1831, the dis-
cussion of slavery not feared by its
members, 6, 4.

Virtue, in the deed and in the will,
not to be separated, 2, 249; the
fugitive and cloistered kind, 249;
Dante on the delights of, 4, 172 n ;
power of the examples of, in History,
6,130.

Virtue sowing, Webster's lines on, 1,
281.

Vischer's JEsthetik, 2, 164.

Vividness of expression, 3, 31 ; 4, 73 ;
Carlyle unexcelled in, 2, 101.

Voice, powerful, its use, 6, 286.

Volcanic disturbances in early times,
1, 141.

Volcanoes, sweeping outline of, 1,
139; the clouds over, eompared to
Rousseau's writings, 2, 263.

Volition, obscure action of, 2, 390.

Voltaire, the Lucian of the 18th cen-
tury, 2, 97 ; Carlyle's account of, in
his Friedrich^ 102; Lessing's rela-
tions with, 187; the debt of free
thought to, 263; his fame, 4, 6;
makes Difficulty a tenth Muse, 8;
jtidged by power of execution, 42 ;
a/jO, 2, 236; 4, 161.
compared with Dryden, 3, 180 ; with
Pope, 4, 57.

on the superfluous, 1, 204 ; on Rous-
seau, 878 ; on his Disconrs sur VIn-
SgalitS, 2, 176 ; on Shakespeare, 3,
63, 68 ; 4, 17 ; on Hamlet^ 3, 86 ; on
Comeille, 141 ; on rhyme in French
poetry, 157 ; on Racine's BirhiiCB^
160; on Dryden's All Jor Lov9f
163 n; on his Alexander^ 9 Feast^
186 n: on Pope, 4, 6; on French

birth, 122; on political parties in
Florence, 126 ; on Can Grande della
Scala, 134 ; on Dante, 144, 164 ; on
petty considerations, 6, 196.

Voss, Goethe learned to write hexam-
eters from, 3, 46 ; bis LuUe^ 46.

Voting, Prof. P.'s method, 1, 94.

Voyage, Percival's poetry compared to
an aimless voyage, 2, 141 ; the spec-
ulations of men likened to, 872.

Voyage of life, our vessel often nn*
suited for its dangers, 1, 32.

Voyages, books of, 6, 94.

Vulcan, truKtinns of, transferred to
the DevU, 2, 348.

S16

GENERAL INDEX

Vulgar, its original meaning, 3, &
Vulgar tast« in literature, 3, SJKl.
Vulgarity, the Anierioaiui charged

with, 3, '^i*i i au eighth deadly uu,

237.
Vulgarity and dniplicity diatiuguialied,

4, '2715.
Vulgarity of phrase in Drydeu, 3, HI.

W. = Dr. Waterhouse.

W. M. T. = W. M. Thackeray.

W., Judge = Judge Warren.

Wace, hU treatment of final and me-
dial r, 3, 345.

Wailp, General, 1, 2G4.

Wages, protection has no effect on, d,
•218.

Wagons, white-topped, bringing coim-
try wares to BoHton, 1, 70.

Walburger, his Iff LnmiU quoted at
length, 2, :UU-3.VJ; on the bodily
transportation ot witches, 3r>4, 355 ;
discusses the propriety of lying to a
witch, 371).

Wales, Prince of, his motto, 3, 14 n.

Walker, JanteH, Pres. of Harv. Unir.,
on President Quincy, 2, 307 ; also^
6, 151).

Walker, W. S.,on Sliakespearian yersi-
ficatiou, 4, 10^ ".

Walking, the Kilelniann Storg not
fond of, 1, l.'X); on a winter morn-
ing, 3, '2S3 ; in a winter night, 288 ;
in the morning air, 201.

Wallacliian legend of KuluUa, 6, 85.

Walled town, its sense of complete-
ness, 1, 5.

Waller, his servility to Charles, 3,
llt>; verses to Cromwell and to
Charles II., IIG; Dryden on, 154;
his iitferiority, 15G; his Improve-
ment of the Maid's Tragedy^ 4, 14,
22; on care in writing, 14; on
rhyme necessary in tragedy, 22 ;
o/<o, 3, D, 143 n.

Walpole, Horace, foresaw the French
Revolution, 2, 2G3 ; his letters, 4,
51 ; aluo, 3, 171).

Walrave, Gen., 2, 115.

Waltham, Mr. Lyman's place at, 2,
2^5.

Walton, 3, 192 ; his style, 129.

War, source of good fortune in, 2,
114 ; general sympathy with failure
in, 6, 92 ; national pride of success
in, 93; success the only argument
for tlie soldier, 9G ; exacts the en-
tire devotion of its servants, 101 ;
the power of improvising a cam-
paign, 107 ; the place of caution,
112 1 the qiiality of a great general,
115.

Wurburton, his defence of Pope, 4, 38,
•II.

Wrtnl, J. II., Life and Letters of J. O.
i'rrnvid, 2, 140-161.

Warner, Wnilam, S, B3; 4, 89; his
Alhion^s England, 278.

Warren, Judge, anecdote of, 1, 87.

Warton, Joseph, his claasificatkm of
poets, 4y 2 ; on Pope, 63 ; on Spen-
ser's stanxa, 329 ; also, 2, 225 n.

Warton, Thomas, Haxlitt's remarks
on, 1, 329; his Hutory of EngiUk
Poetry, 320 ; also, 2, 225 n.

Warwicksliire, 1, 48.

Wasliington, George, in Cambrldfl|e,
1. Dti; Josiah Quincy's descriptum
of, 2, 2m ; the lesson of his life ap-
plied to literature, 6, 224.

Washington corps. ;ife« Harvard Wssb-
ington corps, 1, 88.

Washington's life-Guard, its sarriT'
ors, 1, 83.

Washington City, its lack of infliMnoo
in the country, 2, 277 ; importsnoe
of protecting it from capture by the
rebels, 6, 110.

Wasting time, 3, 25G.

Water, Uncle Zeb's opinions on, 1, 2S,
27 ; seen between snow-drifts, 3.
279.

Water-coolers, wet 1m« compsied to.
1, 181.

Water-fall, at Tivoli, attempt st a de-
scription of, 1, 128.

Waterhouse, Dr. Benjamin, of Osm-
bridge, reminiscences of, 1, 94 ; his
claim to having introduced vscdna-
tion, 96.

Water-ice, sentiment compsied to, 2«
252.

Watering-place, modem art compsied

Water - power, genius of President
Kirkland compared to, 1, 88.

Waterton's alligator, 1, 138.

Waterville, Maine, described, 1, 6; its
college, 6.

Watts, Dr., 4, 355 ; on the sgveemflnc
of birds, 3, 205.

Wax figures, 4, 74.

Wayland the Smith, trsditioos of,
transferred to the DevU, 2, 848.

Wealth, its value in the develmamsnt
of ci«rilization, 6, 26 ; its offloe in
society, 36. See also. Riches.

Weather, as a topic of conversstton,

1, 20 ; the Chief Mate's indifference
to, 115 ; advantages to be obtained
by the regulated obsenrstioii of, 9,
197; iU-temper laid to, 6, 13; the
old woman's remark on, toSonthsy,
85.

Weather prophecies by sntmsls, 9,

198.
Weathercocks, the pleasures of wstoh-

ing, 3, 197.
Webster, Daniel, compared with Fox,

2, 275 ; seen in company with ftes.
Tyler, 5, 296.

Webster, John, writer on witchonft,

GENERAL INDEX

ctorj of 1 mermiui blthop, 1,

VebsUr, jQho dramatln, bit g
characterlEcd, 1, 277 ; COIDI

aeepti™ of nab
( poQtlo phru

smsH, ChSIMUbriud'i dsKTlp*
i,,,.u.. I ..uQ of, 3, 212.

rrad ViDi&]tiilnn,aharBct«-otf herHlTflctlim
hii I lor \va brother Frlfdrloh.'S, 113.

ick al Wllkini, BL>liop, 1, IT7.

1, 290 ; Will, oonfounded by Culylc with wit.
281 ; fuliiHi, 2, D3 ; ttB piiKs Id lila

In, 3,

Eia /fr.'iV'i /-nin-Cmt bfirbeat pliy,

280; alio, 273; 3, 22i.
Wfigele on Duit* tu Part., *, 222 n.
Wslmtr, B, 174.
Walniar, Qraod Duke oT, 3, Iti^.

Wordsworth,' 4, 373 n,
WeUIi prlds of uioeUri. 3, 19.
Werner, 3, CC .
Wcrwolvei, ocliHa of the bellBf In, i

3G0 ithe avideuce ol the eilaleuc

WeiJei^ hia rerorm ot (he church >

WeU IiidiM. Cromwell'a pluia

rag^rU to, 3. 33,
WsBtmlnltsr Abbey, 6, G9-
Whalea, 1, 101, 102.
Whig., Wordiworth on, 4, 367.
Whipping. See Flogging.
WhlppoorwUI, 3, 21 g.

3, 196, IS

I. Nalm

or BliaWpeare. 223.

Wlerua, on wltchorsft, 2, II

Fauit legsnd, 3M ; ref uUa

WlK,,clbheroii
Wild, Jonathan,

uoa.tor,'3,'227.'

n, 3, 1G».
Impuilalilyof hi

• character, 3, 23 )
hli lelten to Eng-

thadscUaeot Puritan aiute^ty.Tz'
nlK, 44.

" er, 1, 13.

WUliDn, rorEcytbe, The (XdSergeanl,

B, 24T n.
WIlKjn, BiUy, H, 126.
Wluckeliiuum onltaly, 1, ISO.

healthful emplaym'ent, 3, lOTj Ita

Wine, Aleatlco, 1, 174; effect on an
Italian guide at Olevuto, I7fi,

Wlaslilp^Ur., hie d"m"beul, l/sTa.

pinion, of the poati, 261 ; Iti gloom
1 cloudy iiorttiern cUnial«L 287 i
'-oyroet the flrat to reeogolH Ita

amlbMlt]

•, 27S;theIi».ooat«d

wa1katnlgbtfaU,2SB;
. 'JK^". inNewXnglaod,

dian, a, 68.
ITIntbrop, Got. John, the elder, ei

Bcter. 23 ; ataady coungf' of rhtu
■«r, 2B; nfu, SdSi 3,148.

S18

GENERAL IHDEX

\, Jr., Pilars idTloc
■o, a, 30; Edward Hara'i «»>
■pondcDoe vHli, od ftJcbemj imd
BVltlctaii,46 ) Jomtl^ui BmitaT'ii
fiORVipoDdflDn with, cm alchaDj,
SI ; Wr KcMbn IKgbr
'itioiu,M

11,4, MO.

"ni quoted, 21] n,£lGD,

wi'M.Oop.,6,41.
WifflK-, Dr., 1, IS!.
Wit, of Dryden ud PopB computid,
S, 114 ; !hi»'i line on, critldHd,

m

WITCHCKATT, 3, 313-398 1 niodcra n-
peritLtloD coiDpontd wftb uiclvnt,
317 ; liPBKliimti«i the giwX mylholo-
giur, 31Sj origin of ft beliBf.in the
aupnutunJ, 3S0; luirlval of the
heathen Rodi In Chriatlui lupiTEti-
tjom, 3Zl ; belief In tba po»eT ot
fiitu, SZT I the Idei of ■ compKt
with him deTeloped undBr Chris-
tlsoity, 329: the urlleit leiend of

ttut, 33Z; Inauence et feudal bUb-

uyualita In, S'.., — .

dom the rerene of the DItIhb,
Engltah kGt igihut wltohuntt,
witches' gutheringB md •■--'-'
ner* thm^h tha air ■

pqda, 357 ; deRoneratlo
Into legead and Buper«t

I'lHng-
io,349i
ft, 352;

i^i»d,

jblnaoe of wltchoe with the

famlUuB, 362, 374 ; utorlei ot tl
Devire appearing on varioUH occ
■ii>nB,3m; irroilDdlDl the belief
witchcraft, 369)

paHeBalDn,SIOi
inlt,3TI;fhar-
ibilOBOphy and science

pg* not alMohita tnith.

ST2; oaoHot the cmeltTdliplned,
374; thft belief Id witcbcnft flour-
lihee In eaily New England, 10.
376; ijiteniallo hooting out of
wltcheain Bngtand, 378 ; character

378 ; the danser of

the flirt doahtera, ,

effect of Wleiu'i work, 382 ; IUw|.
nald Seot'a wo^ 384; the hidliif
cmtlnaea in aptto of nptlGian. 385 ;
the Bamn wftcbcraft, 388-3S6 (bh
partlculaTa under Salem); caaea of
deeepUoD eipoeed, 391, 393, 3M;
the leaaon to be drawn, ^C; ■
higbei mode of belief the but eior-
clger of inpfiietltliiii, 39fi ; oIk, S,

ivedal caaea deecribsd, Tbeophlhia
(6th nDt.1, 3, 329 : Bylieiter IL,
331 ; Qnndler at Loudon (1634),
332, 36t;, 3n; Tbouiaa Browne
(1644), 332 n ; Kar«chal de LueD-
bourg (1e9<i), 333; Abrl de la Bue
(ISSi), 334, 363 ; Elli, Btylea (1664).

Blihop^340 : Ch^etian' Oreeo, 340^
Janet Douplaa (1677), Ml ; Jnllsa
Coi, 34] ; Hra. Campbell, 34S ; Mra.
Barton, 342; wltehM of Mohia,
Sweden (1670), 342; Arawa ffimp-
Bon, 332, 378 ; Chria. Ikwig. 36S ;
cuea nnder HiHiUui, 364 ; a girl In
It.17, 366 n ; nuniot Loudim fl6»l),
371 ; Jeanne HarriDier, 3S0; Gull-
laume de Lore (1453), 381 ; caa« In
TouicUb and Beaunli (iGlO-lE),
386; caaH In Borduui (1718) and
Scotland (1722), 387; a rfrl near
Amlena(]S16),3S7ittieB^on«ae«
(1692), 388^ ; Anne Putnam, 8M ;
glilB in LltttBtoD (1720), 391 ; araad-
mg parwn, 39S; Miurtha BiMder
{iMi, 393; caaa fn BtlghUbH, Sna-
■ei (1659), 394.

autbon cited on the nl^scti Aid-
ato,3, 383; Aubrey, 354; St. Ana-
tlD, 360; Baiter, 377,383; Bektor,
m-. Bodin. 314, 335, 338, 347, 353,
360, 361, 375, 379,380, 381, 3(8,380,
393 ; BIr Thoniaa Browne, 397 \ Cha«*
Mr.aei; Defoe, 323; »rK.IHgbT,
387;QaiiDet,387;aiaata U4^%«,
354, 377 ; Orlmm, ^7, 348, 3E6, 368 n ;
Homer, 360 ; Ia Brnytra, 381 : !«•
clan. 322, 357, 360 : Loiratiua, 322 n i
Luther, 363, 367; Matbra, 316)
Kaurr. 316. 347, 387 ; Helanothon,
366; Hontidgne,387; BennHon,
338, 317, 364, 377 ; Perrand, 316 ; Pe-
ter of Abano. 381 ; Ghigp. Fencsraa,
362; Pliny the lonnger, 323; Ja-
cobui BaTaglua. 383; BcboDlcraH,
362; Sent, 313, 383; Sinclair, 816)
Trltbemloi, 366 ; Tiirell, 391 ; Tylor,
320 ; UphaiD, 313, 388 ; Walburger,

GENERAL INDEX

319

S15, 352, 354, 355, 379 ; John Web-
ster, 314 ; Wierus, 313, 349, 354 d,
381, 382.

Witches, use of salves and powders,
2, 336, 338, 339, 350, 352 ; their jour-
neys through th? air, 336, 339, 341,
343, 350, 356 ; their gatherings, 337,
338, 340t 312, 345, 347, 349, 352 ;
their contracts described, 338, 341,
344, 381 ; their familiars, 339, aiO,
ai6, 348, 364; their prayers, 341,
342; their carrying off children,
343 ; their baptism, 344, 318, 352 ;
their manner of milking, 345 ; their
opening graves, 352 ; their night
journeys, opinions of various au-
thors on, 353, 357 ; use of broom-
sticks, and the like, 356 ; their pow-
ers according to popular belief, 369 ;
the charge oof sexual uncleanness
with devils, 374 ; the wholesale de-
struction of, 374; tested by bein^
thrown into tlie water, 379 ; Scot's
charitable judgment of, 384.

Witches' Sabbath compared to the ex-
cavations in the Roman Forum, 1,
210.

Withdrawal from society, how far it
should be carried, 1, 373.

Wither, George, his works reprinted
in the " Library of Old Authors," 1,
252 ; faults of the editor, 258 ; in-
accuracy of the editor's quotations,
260 ; Farr on the character of his
language, 261 ; in Pope's Dunciady
4, 49 ; his influence seen in Milton's
early poems, 75.

Witte, Karl, on the date of the Vita
Nuova^ 4, 149 ; on Dante's De Mo-
nmrchin^ 150, 181 n ; on the date of
the Div. Com.f 157; on Dante's
amours, 190 n.

Wittenberg, 3, 72.

Woden, 2, 358, 365 ; horse sacred to,
348.

Woe, Rousseau's father's fondness for,
2, 248.

Wolfenbiittel, Lessing librarian at, 2,
207.

Wolfram von Eschenbach, 4, 159 ; his
Parzival, 231.

Wolsey, Cardinal, founder of Christ
Church, 6, 168.

Woman, her friendship a safeguard,
her homage fatal, 2, 247 ; Dryden
and Swift on her influence in reflning
language, 3, 131 ; in the ProvenQtl
poetry and in Dante, 303 ; Pope's low
ideal of, 4, 46 ; Chapman's descrip-
tion of a virtuous wife, 47 ; Jeremy
Taylor's description of an ideal, 47 ;
Steele's compliment to his wife, 49 ;
Spenser's lines to the Rosalind who
had rejected him, 52; the Divina
Commedia an apotheosis of woman,
150. See also^ Italian women.

Woman taken in adultery, Petrarch

imagined at, 2, 255.
Woman's last love, Webster's lines on,

1, 282.
Wonder, the faculty of, not extinct,

2,396.
Wonders, told by the eldor navigators,
1, 110; diminish with every recent
traveller. 111.
Wongen, night spent in one, 1, 36.
Wood, Fernando, 5, 156.
Woodmen, absence of extravagance of
expression, 1, 32 ; fineness of char-
acter attained by, 38 ; hospitality of,
38 ; their satisfactions, 3, 681. See
alsOy Loggers ; Lumbermen.
Woods in winter, Shakespeare on. 4^

315.
Worcester's Geography, 1, 112.
Words and phrases : —

again-bite, 3, 13.

again-rising, 3, 12.

ambassadors, 3, 131 n.

ancient, 1, 286.

arra, 1, 177.

astire, 1, 327.

ave, 1, 285.

battalions, 3, 131 n.

bays, 1, 308.

bead = offer, 1, 342.

bearth, 4, 93.

bid, 1, 297.

birch = canoe, 1, 24.

blasphemous, 4, 110.

bonny, 3, 344 n.

borrow = pledge, 1, 342.

bravo, 3, 239.

buxom, 3, 13.

can, in oil English, 1, 330.

canny, 2, 114.

chaise debased into shay, 2, 274b

chapelain, 3, 344 n.

circumvallation, ?, 131 n.

citizen, as a title, 1, 135.

columbine, 3, 329 ii.

coniepleasants, or St. Elmo*B fires, 1.
118.

commandement, 3, 344 n.

communication, 3, 131 n.

corps, 4, 91.

creatures, 2, 70.

death a sense, exclamation, 1, 274.

descant, 1, 285.

dense, 2, 347.

dichtnng, its comprehensive meaningj,
6, 117.

driving the river, 1, 34.

elves, 4, 129.

'em for thewt 3, 132 n.

evicke = chamois, 1, 298.

excellency, 1, 135.

fearful, New England pronunciatian
of, 2, 70.

feuter rr lance-rest, 1, 327.

flunkies, 7 , 177.

flute = tail glass, 1, 310.

S20

GENERAL INDEX

tot to, 3, 1»» n.

fry =: burn, 1, 312.

fuliiiine<l, 3, I*')*

gaUowra*i«, 1, 13).

geiitiH*!, 4, 13.

gobliiiB, 4, I'JU.

graiuary =- enrhantmenti 2, 331.

griiuoire. 3, 332.

linir, 1. 3r.».

lii'ad, etyninlngy of, 3, 14 n.

hean«f>, 4, 1(>4 u.

lM«!e, 1, 3:i-.'.

hpl]> — wrvaiitflf 2, 43 ; 6, 206.

hcrrii's. 4, $•<>.

hiKlit)i,4, Vrl.

home, 4, 1^1 u.

hoiiinout - liorhmuth, 3, 14 n.

iiiroiiip, 1, IHNt

iiiltabitaiit. 1, 1:97.

iiiwit, 3, I'J.

lt«, 4, HrJ.

jiiiiil>iiig-4iffr place. 3, 146.

kindly, 6, UK.

knave, 3, 1-1 n.

laid out, 2, r>7.

l«lo = i>eopl«*, 1, 341.

lengthy, 3, :^30.

lorilhhip, 1, \'M.

hu'eni, Iroui leitrrne^ 1, 800.

inagni-tif-ni, 3, iS'n

make it nice z— pl.iy thp fool, 1, 344.

mariner and Miilur, 3, 13.

mob, 3, l<n n.

iuiuina<>bia, 1, 13G.

navvio, 3, 14 u.

neat, 1, .')()5.

nirp, connected with Fr. niaU^ 1,

.'M4.

coif-e, 4, 91.
old Harry, 2, 347.
old Nick, 2, 348.
old Scrat<>]i, 2, 347.
operationH, 3, 131 n.
08yll = blackbird, 1, 32C.
out of judginentH, 1, 297.
out-ray, from ovltn'er^ 1, 299.
pallisadocs, 3, 131 u.
parlo, 4. 104 u.
poncb, 1, 285.

point-device, Hozlitt on, 1, 339.
preliminarioH, 3, 131 n.
prime, 1, 337.
profT = i)roof, 1, 344.
pult, 4, 91.
qunrrelR, 1. 309.
quick, 3, 14 n.
rave, 1, 310.
rerrcnnt, 4, 104 n.
reliable, 1, 351.
Bcoif away, X.'s Btory of the Dutch

ca])taiu, 1, 119.
Bentre, 1, 327.
Serape'o i, 1, 136.
serenate, 4, 104 n.
servant, ufte of the word in early New

England, 2, 44.

■hay, 4, 91 n.

Bicker = sure, 1, 343.

■ofew, 3f 130n.

•O-BO, 1,311.

Bpeculationn, 3, 131 n ; ^ 20L

Bpirit, 4, 109.

Bplitff, 1, 37.

Bterve, 1, 301. .

atrnok, 4, 93 n.

surety, 3, 344 n.

thing, defined, 1, 48b

*t U, 3. 132 n.

treen orocbea = wooden tlrfta, X,

301.

troop-meal. 1, 300.
ure, from en ariirre, 1, 300.
vote-kllliog mandrake, 1, 274.
Touteafe, 4, 93.
way^ooBe, Hazlitt^s blunder in re>

gard to, 1, 347.
weltachmerz, 6, 118.
M i<-kc«I, 3, 14 n.
wild, 1, 322.

wilfully = wlBhfuUy, 1, 800.
wi^ 1, 285.

without ^ imleBB, 1. 340.
wrotherlieyle, 1, 332.
wynke =: sliut, 1, 343.
words hi 'Mke and -tide^ 4, 90.
words in «A, in Milton, 4, 96.
Wordsworth, Dorothy, inflaenoe on

her brother, 4, 3('4 ; her brother**

regard for her, 374 n ; her Joumaif

3<i7 n.
Wordsworth, John, death at aea, ^

W0ED8WOETH, WiLLUW, 4^ 864-415 ; tlw
war of tlie critics over his claima as
a ]>oet, 354 ; the Wordsworthiana a
sect, 3^4 ; tbe elements of a aoond
judgment, 366; the IJmitationa of
his experience, 356,413; considered
himftelf a "dedicated spirit.** 366 ;
his birth and family, 367 ; chUdbood
and early education, 368 ; effect of
the sin-.ple life of Hawkahead on
his ohanu-ter, 369, 366 ; bis earUeat
poems, SCO; 3, 96; bia fatber'a
death, 4, 361 ; life at college, 861,
3r3; his readhig, 361, 363 ; hda char-
acter as a child, 362 ; relations with
his sister, 3C4, 374 n ; bis Tidt to
France, 3CA ; its effect on bis devel-
opment, 3(T> ; his politics, 8G6, 867,
373 ; hirt faith hi man and bis de^
tiny, 366 ; a defender of the Church
eRtablicbment, 367 ; his first con-
sciousnepR cf the variety of nature,
34:8 ; early influenced by Ooldsmlth,
Cow]>er, and Bumv, 3<%> ; his sen^
of melody dull, 369, 409 n ; a certain
blunt realism, 370; his ienatttre
purity, 371 n : his power in descrip-
tive poetry, 372 ; bis pover^, 374;
hiR doubts on choosing a profef ■I'm,
375 n; life in Donetahire, 876}

GENERAL INDEX

321

fiiendshlp with Coleridge, 376, 380,

408 u ; removes to Allfoxden, 377 ;
his confidence in himself, 379, 382,
385, 388, 403 ; his stay in Qermany,
379 ; influenced bnt slightly by Ger-
man literature, 380; life at Gras-
mere, 381, 38G, 389 ; his theory of
poetry as announced in the preface
to Lyrical Ballodx, 381 ; modified
in later editions, 383 ; his choice of
subjects, 384 ; his over-minute de-
tail, 385, 400, 401; his common-
places, 386, 400; friendship with
Lamb, 386 ; marriage, 386 ; journey
in Scotland, 386; friendship with
Sir Geo. Beaumonf , 387 ; grief at his
brother^s death, 387 ; pillaged and
scoffed at by the reviewers, 388 ; his
children, 390 ; appointed Distributor
of Stamps, 391 ; later life and publi-
cations, 392 ; the honors of his old
age, 393 ; his life compared to that
of an oak, 394 ; personal character-
istics, 394 ; a partisan in his theo-
ries of poetry, 395 ; his theories in-
terfere with the appreciation of his
later poetry, 396 ; instances of arti-
ficiality in the later poems, 396 n ;
his determination to produce an
epic, 397 ; his quality as a oritie of
poetry, 398 ; the splendors to be
found in the midst of prosiness, 400 ;
his deficienci(^s, 401 ; his particular
excellence, 401 ; fond of the sonnet,
402 ; his appropriate instrument ttie
pastoral reed, 402 ; a certain dul-
ness of perception, 403; incapable
of sustamed inspiration, 404, 408;
the high quality of his best verses,
405, 407 ; lack of form and propor-
tion, 406, 410 ; slight conception of
other character than his own, 406,
413 ; the double personality in his
poems, 408 ; his long-windedness,

409 ; defects of his narrative poetry,
410; his value to the world, 41 i ;
the grounds of his immortality, 414.

WoRDSwouTH : address 10 May, 1884,
6, 90-114 ; earlier essays upon, 100 ;
the Wordsworth Society's edition of
his works, 101 ; the light shed upon
the development and character of
his mind, 101 ; upon his political
opinions, 102; his views of socioty
and the means of its regeneration
change, 103 ; his attitude toward re-
ligion, 103, and the church, 106;
his poems retain their freshness,
107 ; the variety and rare quality
of the minds that he appeals to,
108 ; yet he remains insular, 108 ;
his greatness lies in single passages,
not in suKtained power, 109 ; his
quality and method as a teacher,
110; treatment of nature in his
poems, 111 ; his lack of discrimixia-

t!on, 111 ; his use of the sonnet,
112; local in choice of subject and
tone of thought, 112; the perma-
nent qualities in his work, 112 ; his
abiding charm for innocent and
quiet minds, 114; his calm treat-
ment of criticis'ji, 1, 232 ; his dic-
tion, 245 ; 3, 7 ; his impatience when
any one spoke of mountains, 1, 371 ;

3, 257 ; his estimate of the value of
public favor, 2, 78 ; his work com-
pared to a heap of gold-bearing
quartz, 78 ; Carlyle a continuator of
his moral teaching. 119; his influ-
ence traced on J. G. Percival, 145 ;
his genius, 148 ; his wholesome fel-
lowship with Nature, 266 ; 3, 261 ;
his lines on old age applied to Quln-
cy, 2, 308 ; wanting in constructive
imagination, 3, 35 ; his reform of
poetry compared with Wesley's re-
form of the church, 97 ; the modi-
fication of his early opinions, 98 ;
translation of Virgil, 98; Landor's
remark to, on mingling prose with
poetry, 144 ; view of religion, 187 n ;
his descriptions of nature, 271 ; his
debt to Gray, 4, 4 n ; ready to find
merit in obscurity, 5 n ; his relation
to Pope, 27 ; his prefaces, 54 n ; the
beginnings of his poems, 102 ; Spen-
ser's influence upon, 352 ; also^ 1,
364,377; 2, 105, 120, 155; 3,262,
269, 287, 335, 337 ; 4, 276; 6, 163.

compared with Keats in character
and • manner of working, 1, 231 ;
with Keats and Byron, 242; with
Slielley, 2, 145 ; with Milton as to
style, 4, 86 ; with Wellington, 375 n ;
with Cowper, 399; with Goethe,
413; with Dryden, 6, 113.

on winter. 3, 271 ; on midnight
storms, 273; on the sounds of the
freezing lake, 289; on Whigs and
Chartists. 4, 367 ; on the infinite
variety of nature, 368 ; on the owl,
372; on the province of a great
poet, 379 ; on the destiny of his
poems, 388 n ; on biography of lit-
erary men, 392 ; on his own defi-
ciencies as a critic, 399 ; on poetry
as nn art, 406 ; on books, 6, 80.

on Burke, 3, 104 ; 4, 366 ; on Chat-
terton, 4 n ; on Daniel, 280 n ; on
Spenser's Foeiy Queen, 351 ; on
Sylvester's Du Bnrfns, 351 ; on
Goethe's Wilhehn Meiitter, 380 ; on
Sf^ott, 399 n ; on Coleridge's An.'
n'evt Mariner, 404 n ; on a line of
Shakespeare's. 409 n.

Haydon on his lofty purpose, 1, 225 ;
Sir Geo. Beaumont on his politics,

4, 3(i7 ; Coleridge on, 373 n ; Fox
on, 381 ; Byron on. 388 ; Lamb on,
390 ; Southey on, 390 n ; De Quincey
on, 394 ; Leigh Hunt on his eyes.

822

GENERAL INDEX

3M ; MIm Martinnin on hiH cmm'
Mition, 4W II ; CruM' Kt.>lliIl^ull mi,
4(N) 11 : Laiulor ou, 4(il ; Ellis Yar-
nall on, AH'.
Jilintl 1/iii/ilnmf Itnjf qiioteil, 4, 384 ;
Thf Jionirirrf, 3T*'i ; r«*j«*«'teU k>rtlie
•tage, 377 ; ( 'huntctrr a/ a Utijijiy
Warrior^ 3, 1*8 n: iJerciijitiie
Sketches, publ. in 1793, 4, »8;
rluiracter, 370 ; < lifli^gpv in ri'vibiini,
871 ; Evclesiattieal Sonvrtt^ the
ocenn swell ccnipared to, 1, 101 ;
Ecltjtfe of the Stin quoted. 4, SMi ;
Fpit^tle to Sir <i. L'eavmotit, 3,
9» n : Jueuimj Walk. publ. in 1713,
4, 3(!8 ; clioniVter, o70 ; chaiiKcn in
Tpviaion, 371 ; Kreunion, VA>2, 4(:0,
402, 4('C, 411, 414; quoted, 31Xi n;
its lieavinohii, 31W ; Helen o/ Kir-
conuel r< iii]'areil with the original
ballad, 4t3 n; Jiliot Hoy quoted,
StX) n : Jtiiliiin Itinrrtmt quoted,
SOtJ n ; l.tniUntiia^ 4(»(»; Jitter to a
Friniil of Hitrtm, 3lKi ; Liiieg vrit-
trn at 1 lutein Allry, 3, 378 n, 3^0;
I.yiiiol JiaUads^ the plan piiggef>ted,
37(i : publitihed in 171)8, 377 ; nottrea
in the roviewa, 378 n ; its imiwpii-
Inrity, 378; the lid vol. publinhed,
881 : tho prefnre to the 2d ed., 381 ;
reprinted in Philndelpliin, 381 n ;
N*'moirs hy Her. Dr. Wora^uorfh^
3fi!8 n ; (hfe to JJuty, 6, IOC ; Otle
on IrtimorlolHv, 1, 128 ; 4, 4 n ;
Pftfr Jirll, 31)2, 410, 411 ; The J'hi-
h hthriipht j)ropo8e<l, but not et-tab-
lithetl, 374 ; Prelvde, 171, 4C0 ;
qnrted. 3CG n, 3(:0, 399, 40G n ; Si-
vir.n I.ee quoted. 385; Thanlsgir-
inq Ode quoted, 390 n ; The Thom^
3ni; The Wagoner, 410; The White
Doe, 411.

Wordeworth Sooiety, the president's
duty, 6, 100 ; the society's edition of
the poet's works, 101 ; usefulness of
the society, 10(>.

Work, apotlieosis of, in New England
history, 2, 3.

World compared to a niednl stamped
with Joy and Care, 1, 9&

Worship, roirplftmcM of , io all Iti

elt ntcuta in the Roman Churcb. 1.

194.
Wortiey Montagu, Lady Kaiy. 8m

MoutMgu.
Wottou, BIr Henry, on Sidney, 3.

1^9 iL
Wren, Sir Chriitcpher, and HIchMl

Angelo, 1, 199.
Wright, Tliouias, Haxlitt*8 oeiMuea

of, 1, 328 ; editor of Chaucer, 8.

3ia
Wrong, antiquity givea it no datm, 5y

Wyatt, 3,139 n; 4,274.
Wyeherley, Pope'a correapondenee
with, 4,31.

Yancey, W. L., hia thieata of

t^ion, 6, 41, 42.
Yankee. See alto, American; New

England.
Yankee Humor, displayed in the Com-

wallls, 1, 77 ; nsuallv checked by the

presence ot Public Opinion, 77.
Yniikees, popularity of Kmuaon, 1,

ai9.

Yaniall, EUia, on Wordaworth, 4.

407.
Yeast, 4, 72.

Yj^drasil, tlie tree, 1, 361.
1 orkshire Irngedy, 2, 177.
Young, Dr. Alexai^er, hia aeilea of

old Englisli proee-writera, 1, 247.
Young. Edward, a grandioae image in

his Last Day auggeated by Bxyden,

3, 126 n.
Young ladies* lettera, 3, 8SI.
Youth, conductors for the naftoral

electricity of, 1,88; Tranda Balea

always young, 98; Hr. Emeraon*a

perennial youth, S6c ; aito^ 3, 210 ;

6,139.

Zeb, Uncle. See Uncle Zeb,

Zisea 2 7.

Zodiac, \>ot. P.*8 raeeeaalon ot hats

compared to, 1, 94.
Zurich, its eight hundred antlMn la

18th cent, 2, 21S.