UC-NRLF 
 
 pOUR YEARS 
 
 OF 
 
 ^JOVEL 
 
 READING. 
 
 $B 275 M3ft 
 
 |\/\OULTON. 
 
 D. a Heath & Co., Publishers. 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 University of California. 
 
 ^10 
 
 Class h^lZ'J 
 
FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL 
 READING: an account 
 
 OF AN EXPERIMENT IN POPU- 
 LARIZING THE STUDY OF 
 FICTION 
 
 EDITED, WITH AN Introduction, by 
 RICHARD G. MOULTON, M.A., 
 Ph.D. Professor of Literature in Eng- 
 lish IN THE University of Chicago 
 
 FOURTH THOUSAND 
 
 BOSTON, U.S.A. 
 D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS 
 1903 
 
^r^^ 
 
 Copyright, 1805, 
 By R. G. Moulton. 
 
 ELECTBOTYl'lNti BY C. J. PETEB8 & SON, BOSTON, U.S.A. 
 
 Pkesswosk by S. J. Pakkhlll Ss. Ca 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Intkoduction: The Study of Fiction 1 
 
 By Professor 11. G. Moulton. 
 
 The " Backworth Classical Novel-Readixg Union " . 17 
 By its Secretary, Mr. John U. Barrow. 
 
 Four Years' Work Done by the Union 29 
 
 Representative Essays : — 
 
 Why is Charles Dickens a More Famous Novelist 
 THAN Charles Reade ? 43 
 
 By Miss Ellen Cumpston. 
 
 The Character of Clara Middleton 59 
 
 By Mr. Joseph Fairney. 
 
 The Ideal of Asceticism 75 
 
 By the Rev. C. G. Hall. 
 
 Character Development in "Romola" .... 91 
 By Mr. Thomas Dawson. 
 
 154973 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fouryearsofnovelOOmoulrich 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE STUDY OP FICTION 
 
 Fiction may be described at the present time as just 
 succeeding in living down a prejudice. It is now looked 
 upon as a worldly and frivolous thing. But the time 
 has been when it would have been accounted by many 
 to be sinful. Most of us are old enough to recollect the 
 time when a schoolboy would have his stock of story- 
 books confiscated by his teacher, while a schoolgirl 
 might find heiself sent to bed for the offence of being- 
 caught with a novel. Now our graver moralists go no 
 farther than an affectionate warning : they will not con- 
 demn fiction, they will not judge others; but if their 
 young friend wishes to make the best use of his time he 
 will leave novel-reading to the idle, and restrict himself 
 to literature founded on fact. I am afraid that if I 
 were called upon for an affectionate warning, it would 
 run the other way. It is good to make our reading 
 catholic ; but if my young friend be straitened in leisure 
 and opportunity, I would counsel him to leave to more 
 fortunate persons the literature that limits itself by fact, 
 and make the best of his time by going straight to the 
 world's great fiction. 
 
 I 
 
2 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 If ever there might have been doubt about such coun- 
 sel, it has ceased to be doubtful in the present day. 
 Our great masters of the novel have been legion : from 
 Miss Edgeworth and Jane Austen to George Eliot, 
 Dickens, Thackeray, Reade, Kingsley, not to speak of 
 the crowd of living novelists, some of whose master- 
 pieces will not yield in rank even to the works of the 
 greatest masters. Of the trinity who make the Bii Ma- 
 jores of our modern epoch, Tennyson deals largely with 
 fiction ; Browning's way is to weave a fictitious atmos- 
 phere about a mere kernel of fact ; while William Morris 
 — our English Homer — throws his wliole literary mes- 
 sage into the form of story. A similar predominance 
 of fiction may be asserted of French and German litera- 
 tures, so far as those literatures are read outside their 
 native countiies. And Russia is being admitted into 
 the circle of great literary powers mainly on the 
 strength of its novels. In such an age of fiction a vow 
 of total abstinence is equivalent to a sentence of ex- 
 communication from contact with the best minds. 
 
 If we turn to the literature of the past, serious or 
 light, it will appear that universality is more readily ob- 
 tained by fictitious form than by any other device. The 
 wisdom of primitive life has nearly all perished ; that 
 which has been kept alive has for the most part the 
 form of fables and legends. In the great ages, what 
 name is more suggestive of literary dignity than the 
 name of Plato? Yet Plato has presented his whole 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 philosophy in a fictitious setting, ^ — imaginary dialogues 
 in which the characters, plot, and movement are as care- 
 fully elaborated as in an epic or drama. Higher au- 
 thority yet may be quoted. Of the world's greatest 
 Teacher, the one point of literary form which most 
 impressed his contemporaries was his preference for 
 fiction. "Without a parable spake he not unto 
 them." 
 
 Whence, then, has arisen the strong prejudice of our 
 fathers against novels, and the fainter echo of it by our 
 graver moralists of to-day ; while those who read fiction 
 half apologize for what they put forward only as a re- 
 laxation or venial indulgence? 
 
 There is a certain tell-tale phrase that usually comes 
 up in discussions of the subject, — fiction is contemptible 
 because it is all *' made up." Has not real life, we are 
 asked, difficulties enough and sorrows of its own, with- 
 out our needing to waste our tears on manufactured 
 misery, or give precious time to persons and incidents 
 which we know all the time never existed, but have 
 been "made up" by a writer all out of his own 
 head? 
 
 Fiction is objectionable, then, because it is " made up." 
 Now, those who object most strongly are profound ad- 
 mirers of physical science. But are not the experiments 
 of the man of science all "made up"? and does not 
 their whole value consist in the fact that they are ar- 
 tificial substitutes of the investigator or expositor for 
 
4 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 actualities of nature that could not serve his purpose ? 
 We are to be taught the behavior of two gases when 
 they meet. If our teacher is to be limited to tlie phe- 
 nomena as they actually are found in nature, lie must 
 convey his audience perhaps to tlie bottom of the sea, 
 or the interior of a floating cloud ; when he has got 
 them there the process in question is so intermingled 
 with other processes that none but the trained observer 
 could tell what was going on. Instead of this he 
 " makes up " an experiment. He fetches each of the 
 gases away from all that in actual nature would sur- 
 round them ; he locks them up, most unnaturally, in 
 separate retorts until he is ready ; instead of waiting 
 for a real change of weather, he most artificially brings 
 them together by a spark from a manufactured battery ; 
 and in an instant a truth is grasped by the simplest stu- 
 dent which the cumbrous and involved processes of 
 unassisted nature would have taken years to demon- 
 strate, and even in years demonstrated only to the 
 skilled observer. 
 
 Now, fiction is the experimental side of human science. 
 Literature, we know, is the criticism of life. But such 
 branches of litemture as history and biography are at a 
 disadvantage, because they must, like the mere observer 
 of physical nature, confine their critical survey to what 
 has actually happened. The poet and novelist can go 
 far beyond this. They can reach the very heart of 
 things by contriving human experiments ; setting up, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 however artificially, the exact conditions ana surround- 
 ings that will give a vital clearness to their truth. 
 Physical science stood still for ages while its method 
 was limited to actual observation of nature ; it com- 
 menced its rapid advance when modern times invented 
 the idea of experiment. It is similarly not surprising 
 that the literature of humanity should have failed to 
 make itself felt upon the modern mind while directors 
 of education granted dignity only to the records of fact. 
 When education begins to give proper prominence to 
 the experimental exposition of life which we call fiction, 
 the humanities may be expected to spring forward to 
 m equality with the best-equipped sciences and phi- 
 'losophies. 
 
 It may be said boldly that fiction is truer than fact. 
 Half the difference of opinion on the whole subject 
 rests upon a mental confusion between the two things, 
 fact and truth — fact, the mass of particular and indi- 
 vidual details ; truth, that is of general and universal 
 import — fact, the raw material; truth, the finished 
 article into which it is to be made up, with hundreds of 
 chances of flaws in the working. Place side by side a 
 biography of John Smith and a biographic novel like 
 Daniel Deronda or John Ingle sant : the novel will be 
 "truer" than the biography, in the sense that it will 
 contain more of " truth." However great and worthy 
 John Smith may be, his life must include a large pro- 
 portion of what is accidental, special to the individual. 
 
6 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 The biography must insert this because its fidelity is to 
 the facts. But a George Eliot has no motive for intro- 
 ducing anything that is not of general and univereal 
 significance. The biography will be the ore as it comes 
 from the mine, gold and alloy mixed ; the novel will 
 be pure gold. Even this is an undei-statement of the 
 ciise. Tlie liero of the novel is not an individual at all, 
 but the type of a whole class; not only will there be 
 nothing accidental in the portrait, but in this one figure 
 will be concentrated the essence of a hundred Daniel 
 Derondas. The biography is the single specimen, and 
 its gold is diluted with three times its weight of alloy ; 
 the truer novel is gold only, and gold from a hundred 
 mines. 
 
 This contention that fiction is truer than fact will be 
 called a paradox. But it is none the woi-se for tliat: a 
 paradox is sim[)ly a truth standing on tiptoe to make 
 itself seen ; once recognized, the truth may descend to 
 })lain statement. Stripped of paradoxical foim our 
 principle comes to this: fiction is truer — or falser — 
 than fact, but in any case more potent. Exposition by 
 experiment may move along false lines, and buttress 
 false theories. To handle facts is to look through 
 plain glass, a mere transparent medium. Fiction is a 
 lens that will concentrate, and tbe resultant picture 
 will be attractive or repellent according as the lens is 
 turned upon a landscape or a slum. Fiction will not 
 lose its power to emphasize when it addresses itself to 
 
INTRODUCTION. 7 
 
 undesirable matter. On the other hand, the literature 
 of fact is always limited in impressiveness, without any 
 compensating immunity from error. 
 
 It is just here that another school of objectors make 
 their stand. They recognize to the fullest degree the 
 force of fiction, but lament that in our actual social 
 life fiction is a force for evil. And they think the 
 case can be met by warning against bad fiction ; or at 
 least by seeking to form a list of the ten or the hun- 
 dred Best Novels, so that a natural appetite for fiction 
 may be harmlessly gratified. 
 
 With the basis of fact on which this position is 
 grounded it is impossible not to sympathize. The 
 vast proportion of the novel-reading that actually goes 
 on in our midst has no title to the present defence 
 of fiction. If we analyze it, it will seem to be, to a 
 great extent, the intrusion of the universal gambling 
 spirit into literature. Wliat betting or euchre are to 
 the men's club, that novels are to the ladies' boudoir. 
 The pleasure of gambling lies in an intoxicating pro- 
 longation of uncertainty in a matter where there is 
 interest without the power of control. So what gets 
 the typical novel read is the long-drawn-out uncertainty 
 whether Clarissa is to be married or buried in the last 
 chapter, with a delicious off-chance (if Mr. Hardy be 
 the novelist) that she may even come to be hanged. 
 The matter admits of an easy test — what percentage of 
 our novel-readers have ever read a novel twice ? We 
 
8 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-HEADING. 
 
 all want to see a good picture ten times and more ; 
 those to whom fiction is one of tlie tine arts will be able 
 to produce their list of stories read live, six, ten times. 
 The value of a novel increases with the square of tlie 
 number of times it has been read. 
 
 Or, again, a good deal of novel-reading is litei-ary 
 gossip and literary fashion. The elegant among us will 
 read, not only stories, but the reviews of them ; appar- 
 ently not for the purpose for whicli reviews exist, but 
 from the strange fascination that possesses many minds 
 for catching up something that somebody says about 
 some work, and quickly passing it on, not only without 
 thinking about the remark, but without tlie least idea 
 of reading the work to which it refers. Current fiction 
 stands second only to social scandal as material for 
 flying gossip. Others are impelled by an anxiety to be 
 up to date. Just as in dress or house arrangement they 
 buy things, not because they are good, nor for the excel- 
 lent reason that they like them, but mainly because 
 they are the fashion, so they will blush to confess that 
 they have not read Dodo^ while feeling no discomfort 
 at not having read Dante. 
 
 Readers who suspect in themselves infirmities of this 
 kind in their attitude to fiction should prescribe to 
 themselves a self-denying ordinance by which they 
 should read nothing that is not ten years old. In 
 such a piactice they would find a sifting machinery 
 stronger than a host of reviews. 
 
INTRODUCTION, 9 
 
 Our objectors are right, then, in their facts, but wrong, 
 surely, in the remedy they think to apply. Education 
 by Index Expurgatorius has never succeeded. The 
 institution of Novels Laureate, we may be sure, would 
 make little headway against the keen pleasure of free 
 choice. It is a case for reform ; but the change needs 
 to be made, not in the books, but in the readers. 
 
 The practical issue to Avhich these considerations 
 lead up is that taste in fiction needs training. The 
 literature of fact is easy; all creative art involves a 
 receptivity prepared by cultivation. Two men are 
 seated side by side on a promenade, listening to the 
 music of the band. To the one there is no difference 
 between the popular polka and the adagio from a 
 Beethoven symphony ; they are simply successive items 
 in an evening's entertainment. To the man seated by 
 him, the two pieces are wide as the poles asunder; the 
 one gives a moment's amusement, by the other his 
 whole soul is called out, and he feels himself in con- 
 verse with giants of the world of mind. Yet the 
 music was the same for both hearers ; the difference 
 was made by the training of the ear. Cultivation does 
 the same for fiction. The very novel that one man 
 reads to keep off ennui till dinner shall be ready, 
 when read by another, and a trained reader, fills his 
 soul with a sense of artistic beauty, and makes him 
 long -to be good. If novel-reading, taken as a whole, 
 has been a curse rather tlian a blessing, the fault lies. 
 
10 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 not in our authors, but in our distorted educational 
 system, which insists upon careful training in matlie- 
 matics, or language, or physical science, — subjects 
 comparatively easy and remote from life, — yet leaves 
 literature, most difficult and vital of all studies, to 
 take care of itself. In this matter, sureh', we may 
 take our moral censore with us. Fiction is going to 
 be read, whether they like it or not; but they may 
 attain the object at which they are really aiming, if 
 they turn their energy into the channel of demanding 
 that preliminary training which will determine whether 
 fiction shall be a dissipation or a mental and moral 
 food. 
 
 But how is this cultivation to be attained? Not, 
 surely, by the reading of reviews. Who could think 
 of getting an ear for music by reading reports of 
 concerts in the musical columns of the press ? We 
 know we can be trained in music only by hearing the 
 music itself. Taste in fiction can be cultivated only 
 by reading and re-reading the works of the great 
 masters, with docile attention always, and sometimes 
 with distinct effort and study. I am not speaking 
 of the professed student, with leisure and means to 
 use the machinery of university education to assist 
 him in developing his receptive powers. But the 
 busy men and women, to whom litemture can never 
 be anything else than recreation, may make their re- 
 creation productive, if tliey are willing to invest in it 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 a little of the mental capital we call study. The 
 practical problem is to find modes of studying fiction 
 such as will fit themselves into the routine of ordinary 
 busy life. 
 
 The object of the present book is to introduce a 
 little experiment that has been made in this matter 
 of popularizing the study of fiction. It has been 
 tried in a mining village of Northumberland (Eng- 
 land), and in spite of limitations of leisure and social 
 opportunity it has flourished long enough to present 
 "four years of novel-reading." The pages that follow 
 will speak for themselves ; here it is enough to say, 
 that the plan consists in the i*eading, by all the mem- 
 bers of this " Classical Novel-Reading Union," of the 
 same novel at the same period, while the announcement 
 of the novel to be read is accompanied with sugges- 
 tions, coming from some "literary authority," of some 
 one or two " points to be noted " in the book. The 
 scheme includes meetings for discussing the novel and 
 reading essays; but its essence lies in the two things 
 I have mentioned, — simultaneous reading, and read- 
 ing in the liglit of an expert's suggestions as to im- 
 portant points. The history of this novel-reading 
 union is sketched below by its secretary, and a record 
 follows of the work done. It cannot but be interest- 
 ing to note the works selected, the ideas they have 
 called out, and especially the suggestions made by 
 those who have been consulted as literary authorities. 
 
12 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 It is interesting, again, to note that this list of literary- 
 authorities includes, not only local friends, or those 
 whose work is education, but sometimes novelists of 
 sucli rank as Mr. Justin McCarthy, Miss Peard, and 
 the author of John Inglesant. A few representative 
 essays are added, selected from those read at meetings 
 of the Union. They reflect only the opinions of the 
 individual writers ; but they will add to the general 
 interest of the present volume. 
 
 The reader will undei-stand tliat what is here in- 
 troduced is not put forward as a model method of 
 studying fiction. It is too early to talk of models ; 
 fiction-study is in the tentative stage, and only^ experi- 
 ment is possible ; what is liere done is to record an 
 experiment. It is an experiment that can be tried on 
 a larger scale by the formation of similar unions, or 
 on a smaller scale by a few friends reading together ; 
 while isolated readers can join this or similar societies 
 at a distance, and gain the major part of the advan- 
 tages of the plan. Without going farther, the four 
 years' experience here presented will afford a not in- 
 considerable training in novel-reading to any who may 
 try to follow it. I will add, that if any readei*s 
 of these pages are induced to try for themselves 
 the plan here described, or any other plan suggested 
 by it, and would find some means of making pub- 
 lic their experience in the matter, they would be 
 doing good service in helping towards that compari- 
 
INTRODUCTION, 13 
 
 son of experiments which leads up to the survival 
 of the fittest method. Whether it be by the union of 
 several students in a society, or by the individual 
 efforts of isolated readers, in some way the regular 
 study of fiction must be set on foot. And this study 
 of fiction will be, in its highest form, the study of 
 life. 
 
 K. G. MOULTOK 
 
FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING 
 
 THE BACKWORTH 
 CLASSICAL NOVEL-READING UNION 
 
BACKWORTH 
 CLASSICAL NOVEL-READING UNION 
 
 A BRIEF HISTORY 
 
 Backworth forms part of a group of mining villages 
 lying near to a north-eastern headland of the German 
 Ocean, and is one of the many small industrial centres 
 spreading like net-work throughout the great mining 
 county of Northumberland. If any evidence were re- 
 quired of the immense improvement in industrial con- 
 ditions, and of the general progress of the mining class, 
 in this part of England, it would only be necessary to 
 contrast Backworth with some of the older mining vil- 
 lages, decaying remnants of which are to be found, 
 where active industry i^ no longer in progress. Its im- 
 proved dwellings, commodious board schools, flourish- 
 ing co-operative society, popular workmen's institute, 
 and a number of other. interests and advantages, are so 
 many proofs of its general prosperity and happiness as 
 compared with the life and conditions prevailing in 
 mining communities thirty years ago. 
 
 When the great movement of University Extension 
 
 17 
 
18 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 was conceived and began its benignant career, it was 
 almost natural that its earliest missionaries should find 
 their way to Northumberland. Backworth, with many 
 other places, associated itself with the scheme in these 
 early days ; but to Backworth alone belongs the dis- 
 tinction of having maintained an almost unbroken at- 
 tachment for many years. It was during a course of 
 University Extension lectures that the movement to 
 which this brief history relates first took definite shape, 
 and the '' Classical Novel-Reading Union " had its 
 birth. 
 
 The first coui-se of lectures of a purely literary nature 
 was delivered in the spring of 1890, and among other 
 lessons taught was the importance of fiction as a whole- 
 some and educational influence. It was soon discovered 
 that although Backworth read fiction, it was not fiction 
 of the best class ; and there was no systematic study of 
 the best works of the best authoi-s, and scanty knowl- 
 edge of the great classics of fiction which are among 
 life's best text-books. This course of lectures was one 
 of the most successful ever held in Backworth. It was 
 followed by deep and intelligent interest, and awoke 
 in many the first perceptions of the great educational 
 value of literature ; and when it was suggested that a 
 society should be formed, the object of which should be 
 the study of classical fiction, the project was received 
 with an appreciation closely allied to enthusiasm. 
 
 The idea having been adopted, the principle, purpose, 
 
BACKWORTH NOVEL-READING UNION. 19 
 
 and plan of operation of the proposed society, were 
 embodied in a circular as follows : — 
 
 Principle, 
 
 Literature is the science of life; and the great 
 classical novels are among the best text-books of life. 
 To study these is the true antidote to trashy and poi- 
 sonous fiction. 
 
 Purpose. 
 
 The purpose of the Union is to encourage a course 
 of systematic novel-reading, (1) at the rate of a 
 novel a month ; (2) to be taken up by ordinary read- 
 ers and students, the former reading and talking about 
 the novels, the latter meeting to discuss and do work. 
 
 Plan of Operation. 
 
 1. A post-card will be sent to every member at the 
 beginning of the month announcing, (a) the novel 
 chosen for the month 5 (h) a very brief suggestion from 
 some competent literary authority of some leading 
 points to be kept in view during the reading of the 
 work ; (c) the date and business of the first meeting. 
 
 2. All joining the Union undertake to read during 
 the month the novel selected, and from time to time 
 endeavor to turn conversation upon it. 
 
 3. All members are invited to attend, and (if they 
 like) take part in the meetings of the Union. At the 
 same time it is fully recognized that many more will 
 undertake the reading than those able to attend the 
 meetings or do work. 
 
 4. The business of the meetings will be, (1) the 
 reading and discussion of papers (especially upon 
 subjects connected with the suggestions made by the 
 
20 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 literary authority) ; (2) discussion of difficulties or 
 queries started by members; or (3) formal debates 
 upon questions arising out of the novel of the month. 
 
 5. There will be one meeting in the earlier half of 
 each month ; others during the month (if found desir- 
 able), by adjournment from the first, or by the appoint- 
 ment of the council. If practicable, meetings shall be 
 held in various places in the district. 
 
 Membership and Government. 
 
 1. The membership shall include local and distant 
 members, the only pledge required being that they 
 shall read the book selected for the month. 
 
 2. The Union to be governed by a president, vice- 
 presidents, secretary, and a council of six, to be elected 
 annually. 
 
 The chief duty of the latter shall be the selection 
 of novels, and general oversight in the work of the 
 Union. 
 
 These circulars were distributed throughout the dis- 
 trict prior to the last lecture of the coui-se, at which it 
 was announced that a supply of post-cards bad been 
 provided, by which intending members might notify 
 the secretary of their desire to become members of 
 the " Backworth and District Classical Novel-Reading 
 Union." Three weeks from the date of this meeting 
 the membership stood at forty-six ; and with this num- 
 ber a start was made with the fii-st novel for the month 
 of May. The chief agent of the colliery undertook the 
 presidency, a number of gentlemen — including the two 
 parliamentary representatives of the miners — accepted 
 
BACKWORTH NOVEL-READING UNION. 21 
 
 the vice-presidency, and a representative council was 
 elected to control the business of the society. Tlie 
 room of the local Students' Association was selected 
 as the place of meeting, and the printing of post-cards, 
 etc., was to be done with a small hand printing-press, 
 the property of the same body. A list of six novelists 
 was drawn up, — Dickens, Thackeray, Scott, Kingsley, 
 Lytton, and " George Eliot ; " and the secretary was 
 instructed to make application to competent literary au- 
 thorities for suggestions or " points to be noted " in any 
 work of these authors. Dickens's Martin Chuzzlewit 
 Avas tlie first book read by the Union, and fully bore 
 out the interest anticipated in the formation of the so- 
 ciety. 
 
 During the months which ensued, additions were 
 steadily made to the membership, until in six months it 
 had reached eighty-seven, nearly double the number at 
 the beginning. These were not entirely local members. 
 The local press had published accounts of the formation 
 of the Union, and induced many living at a distance to 
 make application for membership ; and about one-third 
 of the membership at this time was drawn from persons 
 living at a distance. It Avas urged that local unions 
 might be formed by these in their own districts; but 
 it was felt that the experience of the first year of the 
 Backworth enterprise might be useful before steps 
 were taken in this direction. 
 
 And now, with a few months' experience, weak places 
 
22 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 were discovered in the general plan of operation, and 
 these finally developed into considerable difficulties. 
 
 Three main points were brouglit up for the considera- 
 tion of a special meeting : — 
 
 1. It was felt that a month was too short a time to read 
 
 the novels thoroughly. 
 
 2. Literary authorities did not respond readily. 
 
 3. Members were unwilling to commit themselves to do 
 
 any work until they had read the book, and thus 
 essays and debates did not prosper. 
 
 At this specially convened meeting the following 
 amendments were made to the constitution: — 
 
 1. Two months was to be the time allotted for reading 
 
 the novel. 
 
 2. University Extension lecturers were to be added to 
 
 the list of literary authorities. 
 
 3. A meeting was to be held at the end of the first 
 
 month for the arrangement of essays, debates, 
 etc., when it was hoped that members having some 
 knowledge of the book would feel themselves more 
 competent to undertake the work. 
 
 These changes no doubt represent a very considerable 
 departure from the original plan of the Union, but it is 
 only necessary to point out that they in no way inter- 
 fered with the principle of the society. The earlier 
 plan was necessarily tentative ; and from the fact 
 that the scheme originated in a mining district, with 
 all its busy interests, and consequently limited lei- 
 
BACK WORTH NOVEL-READING UNION, 23 
 
 sure for the purposes of the Union, any adaptation to 
 meet local requirements does not presume want of suc- 
 cess. For a district with more leisure, a wider acquaint- 
 ance with books, and greater educational facilities, the 
 original plan is worthy of consideration, and would no 
 doubt be practicable, and for this reason has been in- 
 cluded in extenso in these notes. Backworth, however, 
 found the change beneficial, and the society exists on 
 these lines to-day. The longer time allotted gives 
 greater opportunity for thorough reading. Literary sug- 
 gestions are more easily obtained from those wlio know 
 or have heard of Backworth as a successful University 
 Extension centre. And the knowledge obtained in the 
 first month's reading enables members to undertake 
 definite work in the shape of an essay, or the negative 
 or affirmative in a debate. 
 
 From the date of tlie acceptance of these changes in 
 the constitution and administration of the Union pro- 
 gress has been slow, but certain. It was inevitable that 
 some should enter the society with mistaken views as 
 to its object and purpose, with nothing more than a 
 curious interest in its actual working, and with little or 
 no sympathy for the definite principles of the society. 
 Like the poor, these are always with us. But although 
 our increase has been largely discounted by a correspond- 
 ing decrease due to a variety of causes (personal and 
 local), and by the process of weeding out those indiffer- 
 ent to the pledge of membership, we have been able to 
 
24 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 maintain a sound body of members numbering eighty- 
 three, that are in full sympathy with the objects of the 
 institution, and faithful to its pledge and purpose. A 
 uniform subscription of one shilling per member, payable 
 on entrance, is sufficient to meet all the expenses of the 
 Union. Members provide their own books, either by 
 loan or purchase; or sometimes, in the case of a group 
 of students, by mutual purchase — each member ob- 
 taining the use of the book in turn, while it is finally 
 disposed of to the members in rotation. 
 
 At the end of the first month an informal discussion 
 takes place on the points to be noted, and subjects are 
 set for essay and debate. The latter are not always 
 accepted, membei-s selecting their subjects according to 
 their individual tastes, but always with due regard to 
 the particular book under discussion. Occasionally 
 papers are given at this meeting, which might be called 
 supplementary papers, as they often deal with subjects 
 previously discussed, and are brought forward when a 
 debate or essay has not covered the whole subject 
 from the writer's point of view. Distant members con- 
 tribute papei^ to the general meeting, and at their own 
 request have the papei*s of local members sent to them. 
 With a larger society, and special means at our com- 
 mand, every member would be provided with a copy, 
 or at least a prScis^ of the proceedings at the general 
 meetinor. 
 
 An annual report is issued by the secretary, in which 
 
BACKWORTH NOVEL-READING UNION. 25 
 
 membership, work done, finance, and future prospects 
 are discussed ; and each member is supplied with a 
 copy of this report, from which may be gathered the 
 general progi-ess of the society. 
 
 This is a brief outline of the '- Novel-Reading Union " 
 as it at present exists; and some idea of its work and 
 usefulness may be seen in the following table : — - 
 
 Books Read . . . ; 20 
 
 Papers Given 54 
 
 Meetings Held 34 
 
 The list of authors has been extended, taking in 
 Victor Hugo, Charles Reade, George Meredith, Mrs. 
 Gaskell, Eugdne Sue, Charlotte Bronte, etc. ; and the 
 great works of these great authors have been a con- 
 stant source of pleasure to those privileged to read 
 them under tlie guidance of skilled literary advisers. 
 Nor has the work been one of pleasure alone. The 
 avowed principle upon which the Union is based is 
 to make fiction, which contains some of the best 
 thinking of tlie age, not only a pleasant, but an educa- 
 tional pursuit; to neutralize the trashy and pernicious 
 literature which abounds in these days of cheap books, 
 and to train earnest students, not only in the best 
 thought, but in the literary ways and methods of the 
 best novelists. It is sometimes urged against our 
 scheme, that it deals only witli one department of 
 literature to the exclusion of others equally interest- 
 
26 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 ing, and possibly more profitable. The use of this 
 argument implies forgetfulness of the root idea of the 
 Union. Jt does not concern itself with the literary 
 tastes of members, except in so far as these tastes 
 incline to fiction. We assume that fiction has some 
 place in the reading of every one who reads at all. 
 We fix this occasional reading at th^ rate of a novel 
 in two months, and ask that the reading be syste- 
 matically done, and educational in purpose. It is no 
 part of our plan to provide pleasure without profit, 
 and it cannot be too clearly emphasized that the 
 Union is not merely a recreative organization. 
 
 One remark may be added. It has constantly been 
 urged upon us from outside, that our local effort 
 would be a service to literary study in general, be- 
 cause it would be pioneering with a view to discover 
 a practical method of systematically stud3nng fiction, 
 which, when once discovered and tested by experi- 
 ence, would probably be adopted elsewhere. This has 
 been done at such places as London and Exeter; and 
 a further result of this local effort may be seen in 
 the larger place given to fiction in the programmes 
 of the numerous debating societies, in both town and 
 country, and in the general consent which has been 
 accorded to the idea that the importance of the novel 
 as a vehicle of thought, and its influence in life^ are 
 such as to justify special study and organization. 
 
 J. U. BARROW. 
 
FOUR YEARS' WORK 
 
 THE BACKWORTH CLASSICAL NOVEL- 
 READING UNION 
 
WORK DONE BY THE C. N. R. U. 
 
 FIRST NOVEL 
 
 Martin ChuzzleTArit, by Charles Dickens. 
 Points to he noted {swj (jested by Prof. R. G. Moulton). 
 
 1. Four different types of selfishness, — Old Martin, Young 
 
 Martin, Antony, and Pecksniff. 
 
 2. Four different types of unselfishness, — Mary, Mark Tapley, 
 
 Old Chuffey, and Tom Pinch. 
 
 Debate: — That the two swindles in the story (Scadder's Land 
 Office and the English Insurance Company) are incon- 
 ceivable. 
 
 Essays. 
 
 1. Is Mark Tapley's character overdrawn ? 
 
 2. Changes in the characters of the book from Selfishness to 
 
 Unselfishness. 
 Difficulty Raised. — How could Tom Pinch go so long undeceived 
 in Pecksniff ? 
 
 SECOND NOVEL 
 
 Anne of Geierstein, by Sir Walter Scott. 
 Point to be noted (suggested by Prof. R. G. Moulton). 
 
 The supernatural element in the story ; how much is 
 intended to be real ? how^ much self-deception ? how much 
 imposture ? 
 Debate. — Was the Yehme-Gericht, as described by Scott, a right- 
 eous institution ? 
 Essay. — The character of Burgundy as painted in another novel 
 
 of Scott's. 
 Difficulty Raised. — How could such daughters come of such 
 fathers — as Anne and Queen Margaret, of Count Albert and 
 King Rene ? 
 
30 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 THIRD NOVEL 
 
 A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens 
 Point to be noted {suggested by Justin McCarthy, Esq., M.P.). 
 
 The author's description of a French mob in this novel 
 contrasted with his description of an English mob in Bamaby 
 Rudcje. 
 
 Debate. — Was the noble self-sacrifice of the hero within the 
 range of human generosity ? 
 
 Essay. — The character of Carton as it develops under the influ- 
 ence of his pure, unselfish love. 
 
 FOURTH NOVEL 
 
 "Westrward-Ho ! by Charles Kingsley. 
 Point to be noted (suggested by Prof. R. G. Moulton). 
 
 Character contrasts in the same family (a study of the two 
 brothers Leigh and their cousin Eustace). 
 Debate. — The morality of the English expeditions against the 
 West. 
 
 FIFTH NOVEL 
 
 Ninety -Three, by Victor Hugo. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by A. J. Grant, Esq., M.A.), 
 
 1. That the book is without any important female character. 
 
 How is the interest sustained without it ? 
 
 2. Does the story strike you as characteristically French, and 
 
 in what respects ? 
 
 3. The character of the Marquis de Latenac as representing 
 
 the best side of the ancient regime. 
 Debate. — Was Cimourdain right in condemning Gauvain to 
 
 death ? 
 Essay. — Victor Hugo's view of the Revolution. 
 
 SIXTH NO VEL 
 
 Vanity Fair, by "Wm. M. Thackeray. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by Prof. O. Seaman). 
 
 1. Worldliness absorbs the art and charm of the novel. Becky 
 at the worst nearly always fascinates. Virtue is made 
 
WOBK DONE BY THE C. N. R. U. 31 
 
 either dull or absurd. Amelia is a poor hysterical thing, 
 and worships a snob. Lady Jane is a good-natured non- 
 entity, and loves a prig. Dobbin, the real hero, has large 
 feet, and is generally awkward. Religion is made synony- 
 mous with cant. 
 2. Note two kinds of vulgarity in the attitude of the middle 
 classes toward the aristocracy, — (a) a fawning admira- 
 tion, as shown by many of the characters; (6) an affec- 
 tation of contempt, as shown constantly by the author 
 himself. 
 "3. The delightful balance of interest is due to Thackeray's 
 power of reticence as well as of expression. Waterloo, for 
 instance, is not made an excuse for fine writing or pro- 
 tracted description. The single line that tells of George 
 Osborne's death is a stroke of art. 
 
 Character Sketch. — Captain Dobbin. 
 
 Debate. — Was Rawdon Crawley justified in condemning his 
 wife ? 
 
 Essay. — The redeeming qualities in Becky Sharp. 
 
 SEVENTH NOVEL 
 
 Put Yourself in His Place, by Charles Keade. 
 
 Points to he noted {suggested by Miss Spence). 
 
 1. Three main purposes of the author: (a) to show that in 
 
 the struggle of capital and labor due consideration has 
 not been given to the value of life; (6) the power of sym- 
 pathy as an interpreter of the actions of others; (c) the 
 cowardly and inhuman methods trade unions have re- 
 sorted to. 
 
 2. That the interest of character is quite subordinate to that 
 
 of incident. The dramatic and picturesque character of 
 some of the situations: viz., the turning of the portrait 
 in the hall at Raby; scene in the old church during a 
 snow-storm. 
 
 Debate. — Was Simmons right to keep silence on his death-bed ? 
 
 Essay. — The legitimate scope of trade unions. 
 
i^'2 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 EIGHTH NOVEL 
 
 Silas Marner, by Greorge Eliot. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by G. L. Dickinson^ Esq.y M.A.). 
 
 1. Note the gradual disappearance of village life such as that 
 
 described in the book before improved communications, 
 large factories, etc. 
 
 2. The change in Silas Marner's character under the influence 
 
 of the child he has adopted. This is the central motive 
 of the book. 
 
 3. The nemesis falling on Godfrey in his childlessness by his 
 
 wife, while all the time his illegitimate child is growing 
 up near him, but unknown to him. 
 
 Debate. — Is the effect of large industry an advantage or a disad- 
 vantage to human and social relations ? 
 
 Essay. — Nemesis. 
 
 XIXTH NOVEL 
 
 Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte. 
 Points to be noted {suggested by Dr. A. S. PercivaV). 
 
 1. The book is neither artistic nor realistic, yet it possesses an 
 
 engrossing interest. On what does the interest depend ? 
 
 2. The characters: — 
 
 Jane Eyre, a woman of little human sympathy, upright 
 by rule rather than from any impulsive lov^ of right. 
 Note the vulgarity of her distrust of Roehester 
 during her engagement. 
 
 Rochester, a woman's false type of manliness. He 
 has a certain nobility, though his roughness and 
 coarseness detract from the strength of his character. 
 
 St. John Rivers, a selfish prig ; his uprightness based 
 purely on hope of future reward. 
 
 Debate. — Can Rochester's conduct to Jane Eyre be justified ? 
 
 Essay, r- The character of the author as revealed in the book. 
 
WORK DONE BY THE C. JV. R. U, 33 
 
 TENTH NO VEL 
 
 Wives and Daughters, by Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 Points to be noted (suyyested by Miss Peard). 
 
 1. Note especially with what subtlety the laws of heredity are 
 
 shown to work in the characters of Mrs. Gibson and Molly, 
 Mrs. Gibson and Cynthia, the Squire and Mrs. Hamley, 
 and their two sons; the modification or accentuation of 
 certain traits in the children. 
 
 2. The charm of truthfulness and absence of exaggeration in 
 
 the book. 
 
 Debate. — Was cowardice the moral failing which worked most 
 mischief in the course of the story ? 
 
 Essmj. — The law of heredity as show^n in various characters in 
 the book. 
 
 ELEVENTH NOVEL 
 
 Komola, by George Eliot. 
 
 Points to be noted (suggested by W. E. Norris, Esq.). 
 
 It is to the study of Tito Melema in chief that Romola — 
 excellent as the work is throughout — owes its immor- 
 tality. Note especially how his selfishness and cowardice 
 have to be indicated so early in the book, that the read- 
 er's sympathies are necessarily alienated from him, and 
 it is therefore all the greater triumph on the writer's part 
 to have conveyed the impression that in real life his charm 
 would have been almost irresistible. To have discovered 
 something about the methods by which this character has 
 been made to stand upon his feet is, no doubt, to have 
 discovered something about the technical side of light lit- 
 erature. 
 
 Essays. 
 
 1. The character of Savonarola, and the secret of his influence. 
 
 2. Tito and Romola : a contrast. 
 
 3. Tito : as a political study, and a work of art. 
 
34 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 TWELFTH NO FUL 
 
 Persuasion, by Jane Aiisten. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by J. II. Sftorthouse, Esq.). 
 
 1. The extraordinary vitality of Miss Austen's characters, tho 
 I more surprising as they are all, or nearly all, common- 
 place and ordinary people. 
 
 2. The character of Anne Elliot (considered by some to be tho 
 
 most perfect piece of work in English fiction). 
 Debate. — Was Anne Elliot self-conscious ? and, if so, is self-con^ 
 sciousness a fault ? and why ? 
 
 THIIlTEENTn NOVEL 
 
 Alton Locke, by Charles Kingsley. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by Arthur lierry, Exq., M.A.). 
 
 1. This is essentially a novel with a purpose; namely, to raise 
 
 public opinion against the evils of sweating, to denounce 
 cheapness and competition, and to advocate the union of 
 the gentry and clergy with the working-classes against 
 the commercial classes. 
 
 2. Note the evil influence of Lillian on Alton. 
 
 3. The character of Sandy Mackaye. 
 
 Essdy. — Whether it is good art to teach political or other doc- 
 trines in a novel. 
 Debate. — Is the conversion of Alton natural ? 
 Essay. — Literary symbolism (Sandy Mackaye —Thomas Carlyle). 
 
 FOURTEENTH NOVEL 
 
 Kenilworth, by Sir "Walter Scott. 
 
 Points to be noted {suggested by Mr. Thomas Dawson). 
 
 1. Note how the general interest of the book is wonderfully 
 divided between the narrative and the graphic pictures of 
 English life in the Elizabethan period. Compare and 
 contrast these pictures with those drawn in Westward 
 Ho! 
 
WORK DONE BY THE C. N. R. U. . 35 
 
 2. Note the character of Queen Elizabeth, especially when she 
 
 frequently betrays the weakness of her sex. 
 
 3. It is not until the honor of Amy Kobsart is imperilled that 
 
 the real strength and nobility of her character is discov- 
 ered. 
 
 4. Observe the mesmeric power possessed by Varney, espe- 
 
 cially in the scene when Amy drinks the liquid offered by 
 
 him. 
 Debate. — Which is the greater villain — Yarney or Foster ? 
 Essay. — The literary use of mesmeric fascination. 
 
 FIFTEENTH NOVEL 
 
 The Wandering Jew, by Eugene Sue. 
 Points to he noted {suggested by Prof. R. G. Moultoii). 
 
 1. Note how the legendary immortality of an individual is 
 
 brought into contact with immortality as seen (1) in a 
 family, (2) in property — compound interest, (3) in a cor- 
 poration — the Jesuits. 
 
 2. Contrast the first part of the book — intrigue by violent 
 
 opposition — with the second part, — the intrigue that 
 acts through the passions of its opponents. 
 Essays. 
 
 1. The difficulties and improbabilities of the story. 
 
 2. The legend of the Wandering Jew in literature. 
 
 SIXTEENTH NO VEL 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth, by Charles Reade. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by G. L. Dickinson, Esq., 31. A.). 
 
 1. The value of the historical novel as supplementing history, 
 
 giving with vividness the manners and customs and daily 
 life of the period. 
 
 2. The particular characteristics of the period with which the 
 
 novel deals, — the transition from the Middle Ages to the 
 Renaissance. 
 
 3. The main interest of the story proper is the way in which 
 
 the love of Gerard and Margaret is transformed without 
 
36 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 being lessened when they are iinable to live as husband 
 and wife. 
 4. The broad humanity of the author, as, for example, in his 
 sympathetic treatment of the soldier Denys, and of the 
 beggar with whom Gerard travels. 
 Eauay. — The ideal of asceticism. 
 
 SE VESTEENTIl \o / j:l 
 
 Esmond, by Wm. M. Thackeray. 
 Points to be noted (fntggeated by Miss Peard). 
 
 1. Note the absence of any great central situation in Es- 
 
 mond. There is scarcely one striking incident which 
 takes hold of the reader, whereas the characters remain 
 strong and distinct in the memory. 
 
 2. Note the excellence of the style. The story is told whh 
 
 extreme vigor and directness, and there is nothing which 
 can be called ornamental description. Yet no historical 
 novel carries one so completely into the spirit of the age. 
 
 Debate. — Is Thackeray a cynic, or a great moral satirist ? 
 
 Essay. — The characters of Thackeray. 
 
 EIGHTEENTH HOVEL 
 
 The Egoist, by George Meredith. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by E. Saltmarshe^ Esq.). 
 
 1. Note the descriptions of nature. 
 
 2. The intensely pathetic figure of the hero. 
 
 3. The restrained humor in " the aged and great wine scene." 
 Debate. — Eliminating the chance which broke off the engage- 
 ment, had Clara Middleton force of character enough to win 
 her freedom again, having made the resolution to do so, or 
 would Sir Willoughby, with the powerful conventional weapon 
 she had given him, viz., her plighted troth, backed by his end- 
 less resource of sophistry, and the subterfuges to which his 
 egoism was capable of sending him, have won the day ? 
 
 Essay. — The methods and teaching of George Meredith. 
 
WORK DONE BY THE C. N. R. U. 37 
 
 NINETEENTH NO VEL 
 
 David Copperfield, by Charles Dickens. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by Sir Courtenay Boyle, K.C.B.'). 
 
 1. How far was Mr. Micawber's improvidence personal to him- 
 
 self ? and how far due to his surroundings ? What is the 
 possibility that in real life a change of scene would have 
 led to the change of character hinted at in the novel ? 
 
 2. What is there to admire in (a) Steerforth, (6) Peggotty, 
 
 (c) Traddles? 
 Debate. — Does Dickens abuse literary art ? 
 Essay. — David Copperfield as a prig. 
 
 TWENTIETH NOVEL 
 
 Elsie Venner, by O. W. Holmes. 
 Points to be noted (suggested by T. L. Brunton, Esq.,M.D., F.R.S.). 
 
 1. Note the effect of inherited tendencies on the actions of 
 
 individuals. 
 
 2. The effect of accidental circumstances (e.g., disease affect- 
 
 ing a parent) on the character of the offspring. 
 
 Debate. — How far was Bernard Langdon justified in punishing 
 Abner Briggs and his dog, considering that they were both 
 acting according to their natures, which they had partly in- 
 herited from their ancestors, and which were partly developed 
 by the circumstances in which they were brought up ? 
 
 Essay. — How far is the character of Elsie Yenner to be regarded 
 as a description of fact ? and how far as a parable ? 
 
 TWENTY-FIRST NOVEL 
 
 "Woodstock, by Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Points to be noted (^suggested by Stanley Wayman, Esq.). 
 
 1. The strange types of character produced by the troubles 
 of the civil war: (1) Harrison, the religious fanatic. (2) 
 Bletson, the philosophic atheist. (3) Desborough, the 
 ignorant, ox-like man, wandering in the dark. 
 
38 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 2. Three types of the king's party: (1) The old-fashioned 
 punctilious royalist, Sir Henry Lee. (2) The gallant, 
 high-bred cavalier, Albert Lee. (3) The reckless, disso- 
 lute cavalier, Wildrake. 
 Debate. — Is the character of Trusty Tompkins, the forcible 
 preacher and the low spy and schemer, consistent or possible ? 
 Essay. — The character of Cromwell as portrayed in Woodstock. 
 Is it, so far as is now known, correct ? 
 
 TWENTY-SECOXD NOVEL 
 
 The Shadow of the Sword, by R. Buchanan. 
 
 Points to be noted {suggested by W. F. Moultonj Esq., M.A.). 
 
 Note especially the personality of Napoleon. *' He is not a 
 great man: he has no heart." Discuss this statement of Mr. 
 Arfoll's. 
 
 Debate. — Does Robert Buchanan clear Gwenfem entirely of the 
 imputation of cowardice ? 
 
 Essay. — The ethics of war. 
 
 TWENTY- THIRD NO VEL 
 
 Lorna Doone, by B. D. Blackmore. 
 Points to be noted {suggested by E. J. Mathew, Esq., B.A.). 
 
 1. The plot. Simple in itself, and somewhat complicated in 
 
 the manner of telling. This is done purposely, to throw 
 some light on the character of John Ridd himself. 
 
 2. The local coloring of the book is excellent. It conveys a 
 
 wonderfully accurate idea of Devonshire and Somerset. 
 Many tales dealing with special localities are capital for 
 those who already know those localities. Lorna Doone 
 goes farther than this. Note also the racial hatreds be- 
 tween Celt and Saxon, especially when a Cornish person 
 is introduced. 
 
 3. Note how carefully and consistently the characters are 
 
 drawn; how each keeps its individuality throughout the 
 book. Note especially the clever studies of woman. Mrs. 
 
WORK DONE BY THE C. N, R. CI. 39 
 
 Eidcl, the two sisters, Ruth Huckaback and Betty Mux- 
 worthy, being all really more complicated than Lorna 
 herself. 
 4. Note the style of the book. The prose often has a wonder- 
 ful rhythm and ordered movement about it, so that it 
 sometimes comes to be almost blank verse. Also note 
 the aivthor's keen eye for color and effect in describing 
 scenery. 
 
 Debate. — The nature of the book. Is it, or is it not, romantic ? 
 
 Essay. — The character of John Ridd. 
 
 TWENTY-FOURTH NOVEL 
 
 Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens. 
 
 Points to he noted {suggested by the Earl of Suffolk). 
 
 1. Note how greed will swamp and extinguish gratitude, as 
 
 shown by Silas Wegg and Mr. Boffin, and the reverse as 
 shown by the Boffins in their conduct to their late em- 
 ployer's son. 
 
 2. Note Dickens's view of the Poor Law, as illustrated in the 
 
 life of Betty Iligden. 
 
 Essay. — Dickens and Thackeray: a contrast. 
 
 Debate. — Was Harmon justified in concealing his identity after 
 he knew of his supposed murder ? 
 
 Difficulty Raised. — Is it possible for a man to be at the same 
 time so shrewd and so unsuspicious as Mr. Boffin (always re- 
 membering his position in life) is represented to be ? 
 
 TWENTY-FIFTH NOVEL 
 
 The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexander Dumas. 
 Points to be noted {suggested by Prof. R. G. Moulton). 
 
 1. Tlie Count of Monte Cristo is a masterpiece of the 
 French school, especially suitable for the study of fiction 
 from its many-sidedness. It is a terrible tragedy, an 
 elaborate study of human nature and society ; and in par- 
 ticular, it is a consummate piece of literary workmanship 
 from beginning to end. 
 
40 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 2. Note some of the details by which Dumas builds up a sense 
 
 of mysterious and irresistible power as attaching to his 
 hero. 
 
 3. Note the following personages considered as race-types: 
 
 Femand, Danglars, Mercedes, Haydee, Caderousse, Ber- 
 tuccio, Faria, Vampa. 
 
 4. Note the retribution upon Villefort, Danglars, Femand, 
 
 and Caderousse. 
 Essay». 
 
 1. Trace in complete outline one of the main schemes of retri- 
 
 bution in the story. 
 
 2. Show how Monte Cristo's sense of his mission as an 
 
 Earthly Providence begins to e'we way. 
 
ESSAYS 
 
 WHY IS CHARLES DICKENS A MORE 
 
 FAMOUS NOVELIST THAN 
 
 CHARLES READE? 
 
WHY IS CHARLES DICKENS A MORE 
 
 FAMOUS NOVELIST THAN 
 
 CHARLES READE? 
 
 The fact of Dickens's popularity is established beyond 
 all question. Any one who doubts this has only to make 
 investigation at any reference library to find, that, be- 
 sides the various editions of Dickens's novels which meet 
 the demands and resources of every class of people, 
 there is a constantly increasing literature which has 
 taken root and flourishes on every item of Dickens's 
 life, habits, haunts, works, and philosophy. 
 
 Ask, on the other hand, for information about Reade, 
 and you will meet with doubtful answers. A few in- 
 complete notices of his life in biographical dictionaries 
 will be shown you, the fact that he is dead will be in- 
 sisted on, and you will be told that a sixpenny edition 
 of his books is being published. 
 
 Yet Walter Besant, no mean novelist, places Reade 
 at the head of his profession, and Algernon Charles 
 Swinburne indorses and strengthens Besant's verdict. 
 What that verdict is the subjoined quotations will 
 show. 
 
 43 
 
44 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 " If all English-speaking readers were to vote for the 
 best of living novelists, there can be little doubt that they 
 would name Charles Reade. I am one of those who would 
 so vote. I entirely agree with the popular verdict. I, for 
 one, consider that Reade takes rank with Fielding, Smollet, 
 Scott, Dickens, and Thackeray ; that is to say, in the great 
 and delightful art of fiction, wherein the English — who 
 are always, in every age, doing something better than their 
 neighbors — have surpassed the world, Charley Reade 
 stands among the foremost and best. . . . Let those who 
 appreciate the best, the most faithful, the highest work in 
 the Royal Art of Fiction, salute the Master." — Walter 
 Besant in The Gentleman. 
 
 " He has left not a few pages which, if they do not live 
 as long as the English language, will fail to do so through 
 no fault of their own, but solely through the malice of ac- 
 cident, by which so many reputations worthy of a longer 
 life have been casually submerged or eclipsed. . . . Tliat 
 he was at his very best, and that not very rarely, a truly 
 great writer of a truly noble genius, I do not understand 
 how any competent judge of letters could possibly hesitate 
 to affirm." — Algernon Charles Swinburne. 
 
 These are valuable testimonials to the fame of any 
 writer ; but we have undertaken to prove that Reade's 
 novels will never become classics, and to find out why 
 in this respect they differ from those of Dickens. 
 Classics may be roughly defined as being works which 
 will live. The Iliad is a classic, so is the Bible, so is 
 La Divina Commedia., so are u^aop's Fables. All these 
 diverse books agree in three great essentials : they are 
 written from the heart of man (not a man) to the 
 
IS DICKENS MORE FAMOUS THAN READE? 45 
 
 heart of man; tliey are not in any prevailing fashion, 
 which might become out of date, but in the chameleon 
 garb of an ever-changing universe ; and they were not 
 written to make a book, or for any other reason than 
 that the writers were thrilled by a touch on the cord 
 that binds us to the highest and lowest in creation, and 
 being so thrilled, had to pass on the mighty influence, 
 whether it suited their momentary convenience or not. 
 The live coal from off the altar of inspiration which has 
 touched the lips of all our great classical writers has 
 been as different as the lips it has touched. But it has 
 always been burning with scorn of some fundamental 
 sin of our race, not sputtering fitfully with party 
 spites and parish cabals. 
 
 The knowledge of a worthy aim, and the conscious- 
 ness of being a mouthpiece of what the Germans call 
 the " Zeitgeist," gives a leisureliness, a grand even-paced 
 march to the style of great writers, which is as different 
 as possible from the forceless fretting of the small an- 
 tagonist of local abuses. Let us fix firmly in our minds 
 that, thongli vogue seems greater than fame at times, it 
 is no more so in reality than a firework is brighter than 
 the stars, or a fashionable song more enduring than a 
 melody of Beethoven's. 
 
 Now, the above remarks apply, of course, only indi- 
 rectly to novels, which are, as it were, merely the blos- 
 soms of literature. But, seeing that only one reader 
 out of twenty makes any pretence of reading anything 
 
46 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 but fiction, it is necessary for connoisseurs of novel-read- 
 ing to be able to distinguish a good novel from a bad 
 one. Reduced to its elements, the judgment of a novel 
 must go on the same lines as that of any other literary 
 work ; but, lest the definition we have supplied should 
 seem inapproi)riate to such books as tliose we are con- 
 sidering, we will go into detail, and deal more with 
 concrete examples. 
 
 All good things are in trinities ; therefore again we 
 demand three qualities in the novel we like to read. 
 We demand firstly, that it shall not bore us ; secondly, 
 that it shall not bear the stamp of untruth on its face ; 
 and thirdly, that it shall leave us better men and women 
 than it found us. 
 
 Now, api)lying our fii-st standard of excellence to 
 Reade's three best-known novels, we are compelled to 
 confess that his company wearies us extremely. His 
 chamcters are not alive, the}^ never were, and we are too 
 thankful to know that tliey never will be. In creating 
 them he seems to have said to himself, " I want an 
 innocent, pure-minded girl in this chapter," — or "I 
 want a villain,"— or " a comic doctor," as the case may 
 be, and forthwith he turns his eye inward to see what 
 his own idea of such an article is ; then, without com- 
 paring his conception of it with the specimens around 
 him, he drags out his material, and sticks it together, 
 labels it " high-souled maiden," " honest, eccentric doc- 
 tor," "fastidious matron," or "noble-minded man of 
 
IS DICKENS MORE FAMOUS THAN READE ? 47 
 
 God," and hangs the incidents of his certainly clever 
 plots upon the pegs so mechanically provided. 
 
 He is not content with this cataloguing of his people: 
 he allows them each only one spring of action, and one 
 method of expressing themselves. And 3'et with all 
 this we have no mental picture of his personages be- 
 fore our eyes. His character sketches are not graphic, 
 tljough his narrative is. If he had used half the knowl- 
 edge and energy in telling about his humans tliat he 
 has done in describing his storms, dangers, and acci- 
 dents, he might have taken a much higher place than 
 he has done amongst his brother writers. 
 
 After all, it is human nature most of us care to read 
 about, human nature as acted on by this and that 
 event; not events disconnected from their human sur- 
 roundings, and forced into undue prominence by three 
 black pencil marks, and a host of exclamation notes 
 and changes of type, to attract our attention to them. 
 
 We might draw up a list of Reade's characters with- 
 out difficulty, and it would stand thus : — 
 
 Prigs : Alfred Hardie, George Fielding, William 
 Fielding, Frank Eden, the clergyman in Foul Play 
 (whose name has escaped us), Mr. Saunders, etc. 
 
 Bashful maidens inclined to piety : Julia Dodd, Jane 
 Hardie, Susan Merton, Clu'istie Johnstone, and the 
 heroine of Foul Play^ etc. 
 
 Comic doctors (N.B. All Reade's medical men are 
 comic, and most of them empirics) : Drs. Sampson, 
 
48 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 Wycheiiy, Aberford, the leech in The Cloister and the 
 Hearth^ etc. 
 
 Villains (in whom it is impossible to be interested) : 
 Mr. Hardie, Noah Skinner, Mr. Meadowes, Peter Craw- 
 ley, Hawes, Ghysbrecht, etc., and so ad infinitum. 
 
 We may be certain that whenever a member of our 
 first list comes on the scene, particularly if he is set to 
 anything in the nature of love-making, he will deliver 
 himself in rounded periods — preferably in Latin. Tlie 
 trail of the serpent of prudery and pedantry is over 
 them all. 
 
 Take an example : — 
 
 Alfred Hardie has been separated from his Julia for 
 a long and agonizing period. It is night; stars twinkle, 
 zephyrs whisper; the bereaved heroine, gazing from her 
 lattice, heai*s a sigh. Enter the enamoured Alfred with 
 the following amazing speech : — 
 
 " Cicero says, ^quitas ipsa lucet per se. And yet I 
 hesitate and doubt in a matter of right and wrong like an 
 academic philosopher, weighing and balancing mere aca- 
 demic straws." 
 
 Perhaps it is unconsciously done, but certainly Reade 
 is a genius in the particular of placing his good young 
 men in the undignified position of being wooed by 
 women whom they do not love. It requires a St. 
 Antony to retain his equilibrium and avoid looking 
 ridiculous under such circumstances. This fact Reade 
 
IS DICKENS MORE FAMOUS THAN READEf 49 
 
 evidently overlooks, for in every case (those of Alfred 
 and Mrs. Archbold, and Gerard and the Princess 
 Clalia, for instance) he enlarges on the subject with 
 repulsive circumstantiality and detail. In fact, through- 
 out the three books we are more particularly consid- 
 ering, — Hard Oash^ It is Never Too Late to Mend^ and 
 Foul Play^ — our author shows an overwhelming de- 
 sire to revel in unpleasing particulars. It would have 
 been an immense help to him, as a genre writer, if any- 
 body could have brought home to him the truth, that 
 in books, as in civilized life, the operations of the scul- 
 lery and dressing-room are not considered suitable for 
 exhibition in cultured society. 
 
 It is strange that he should have suffered from this 
 tendency, for he lived and wrote before the days when 
 nastiness and physiological monstrosities were consid- 
 ered to give realism to fiction. 
 
 It is not so much coarseness in him, as a certain con- 
 stant tendency to vulgarity in small details ; the male 
 side of the quality whose female counterpart produces 
 Keynotes^ The Heavenly Twins^ Salome, and Trilby. 
 
 Now, to take the other side of the question, Dickens's 
 characters, although many of them seem to be copies of 
 one another, are specialized, living, breathing entities ; 
 complex souls in recognizable, individual bodies. His 
 young men are alive with all the virtues and vices, 
 hopes and little ambitions, tricks of costume and man- 
 ner, eccentricities and follies, of all the young men any 
 
50 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 of us know. They act in the vacillating, provisional 
 way in which young men have a habit of acting ; and 
 they make their history, instead of merely illustrating 
 a ready-made one. Whether we like or dislike them, 
 we have an interest in them, and are sorry when no 
 more is to be heard of them. 
 
 Compare Nicholas Nickleby, David Copperfield, Pip, 
 Herbert Pocket, Martin Chuzzlewit, or Arthur Clen- 
 nam, with any of lleade's monstrosities, and the rea- 
 son of the latter's failui-e to enlist our sympathies will 
 be at once apparent. 
 
 Dickens's world is evidently studied from this one 
 in which we suffer and enjoy, only its general trend is 
 visibly upward. His atmosphere is a little purer than 
 this of ours, but we feel we are at home; his very 
 streets and rooms are well known to us, and the faces 
 of his motley company are those of familiar friends. 
 He plays gently and harmoniously on those cords 
 which are common to the fastidious aesthete and the 
 half-civilized squatter. Can any one forget the quiet 
 beauty of Bret Harte's " Dickens in Camp " ? The evi- 
 dent truth of this slight poem is a triumphant answer 
 to the accusation sometimes heard that Dickens is too 
 local and too limited in range to attain immortality. 
 Association with his charactei-s is like living with a 
 chatty, good-humored, high-principled companion, in 
 whose society we grow unconsciously better and wiser, 
 whilst forgetting our sins and sorrows, our unpaid 
 
IS DICKENS MORE FAMOUS THAN READE ? 51 
 
 bills, and our depression when a pessimistic mood 
 assails us. 
 
 We have said that the second requisite of a really 
 good novel should be trutli. It seems a paradox, and 
 yet it is not so. 
 
 We know perfectly well that theatre scenes are 
 painted canvas, and that the hero's wounds and the 
 heroine's tears are merely shams ; but as soon as some 
 hitch in the machinery or ill-directed light forces the 
 fact upon our notice, we lose interest. Our minds 
 never were deceived ; but we allowed our senses to be 
 hoodwinked, and have a right to be indignant when 
 our complacency is abused. Reade lets the unreality 
 of his scenes and stories peep through continually; 
 now it is the unearthly virtues of his good people, 
 now the unrelieved badness of his sinners, now one 
 inaccurate technicality, and now another. His design 
 in most of his novels is to expose and correct some 
 crying social abuse, and he does his fighting with a 
 great Teutonic sledge-hammer. 
 
 The thuds of a sledge-hammer are not true fiction. 
 We become irritated by the chorus of " Bump ! Bump ! 
 Bump ! " all through tlie story. We feel like men 
 lost in a maze, in which every path leads up to the 
 same unpleasant bugbear. And if ever we do lose 
 ourselves for a moment in the narrative, out steps the 
 author to nudge us, or supply copious explanations 
 anent the galvanic gambollings of his marionettes. 
 
52 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 It is not in human nature to bear these nudgings 
 patiently. Why are we supposed to require the ser- 
 vices of the "Flapper" described in Gullivers Traveh? 
 Other authors can trust us to digest their good tilings 
 without having them peptonized for us; and if they 
 suspect their work is above our capacity, they know 
 better than to destroy the verisimilitude of their stories 
 by coming out before the footlights to puff their per- 
 formances. This unfortunate predilection Incomes 
 more marked wlien Reade undertakes to be funny. 
 
 The account of Mrs. Dodd's suitors in chapter thirty- 
 nine of Hard Cash^ and the overloaded description of 
 how Mr. Hardie cooked his accounts in chapter six- 
 teen, are good examples of this. 
 
 In passing we may remark that Reade's humor is 
 not of a high order, being for the most part of a very 
 commonplace burlesque type. 
 
 He has comic passages, it is true, such as the death- 
 bed scene of Jane Hardie; but these flashes of fun 
 are not produced intentionally, and owe their piquancy 
 principally to their delightful incongruity. 
 
 Judging from this author's singular choice of epi- 
 thets, one would say that — to adapt Lowell's criticism 
 of Shakespeare — ''The hot conception of the author 
 had no time to cool while he was debating the com- 
 parative respectfibility of this word or that; but he 
 snatched what word his instinct prompted ; " and in 
 Reade's case his instincts, not being perfectly true, 
 have prompted him wrongly. 
 
IS DICKENS MORE FAMOUS THAN READE? 53 
 
 Gentlemen and ladies " purr " to each other in his 
 pages ; the heroine " gurgles " her love ; an " iron 
 young woman" is engaged to nurse an invalid; the 
 second walking-gentlemen's " lion eyes " are contin- 
 u,ally staring the " dove-like " ones of the second 
 heroine " out of countenance and into love ; " and so 
 on and so on, through a whole host of twisted meta- 
 phors, grammatical errors, and errors in taste. 
 
 He has missed the intimate connection there is be- 
 tween the word and the thing, and has written pages 
 of slipshod English, of which a schoolboy might well 
 be ashamed. 
 
 Now Dickens, although verbose and garrulous as be- 
 fits a writer of his peculiar calibre, is always picturesque 
 and felicitous. He is quite as heated in the warfare of 
 riglit against wrong as Reade ; but he knows that the 
 novel which is only a series of furious diatribes fails of 
 its legitimate aim, and also misses its ostensible one by 
 over-strenuousness. 
 
 He knows also that the keen shaft of satire will open 
 joints in armor which will not yield to hammering, 
 and he makes good use of his knowledge. He never 
 calls your attention to tlie unreality of his puppet-show, 
 not he ; he believes in it all himself, and is sure his read- 
 ers will believe too. His account of things compared 
 to Reade's is as Carlyle's History of the French Revolu- 
 tion compared to tliat of Tliiers. 
 
 Reade's club, bristling with facts and statistics, is 
 powerless when pitted against Dickens's stiletto, 
 
54 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 As regards the third demand we make of a novel, 
 we will not go so far as to say that Reade does not 
 write in an improving manner. 
 
 He does elevate the banners of purity, truth, and love 
 — and then blinds us by flapping them in our faces. 
 He advocates district>visiting ; but in two of his books 
 he tells us what a thankless office it is, and liow little 
 sympathy the objects of our charity have for any woes 
 but their own. (This, by-the-by, proves how little he 
 knows about it. The poor are not unsympathetic, and 
 not more ungrateful than the rich.) Perhaps the fact 
 that the fair districtrvisitors used their charities un- 
 blushingly as a patent balm for heartbreak may explain 
 the unsatisfactory results of their pliilanthropy. 
 
 He makes goodness generally, save in the case of 
 Gerard and Christie Johnstone, a spiritless, colorless 
 thing. We feel, with Mark Twain, that moral excel- 
 lence is petrifaction, and religious sensibility a disease ; 
 and " we don't want to be like any of his good people, 
 we prefer a little healthy wickedness." 
 
 Dickens, on the other hand, without arousing our 
 combativeness by preaching, shows us the folly and ri- 
 diculousness of being wicked, and leaves color and mo- 
 tion in his good people, so that we can follow in their 
 steps without fear of unwholesome consequences. A 
 comparison of Agnes Wickfield with Jane Hardie or 
 Margaret Brandt will best illustrate our meaning. 
 
 It only remains for us to say that, in the matter of 
 
IS DICKENS MORE FAMOUS THAN READE f 55 
 
 plot and descriptions of stirring incidents by flood and 
 field, Reade as far transcends Dickens as the latter does 
 Reade in other essentials. The works of both authors 
 have acquired through lapse of years tliat aloofness 
 which allows their relative values to be correctly esti- 
 mated. 
 
 They have gained what in pictures is termed atmos- 
 phere. New men, new books, new schemes, are often 
 beautified by a strange charm which disappears with 
 their novelty, and which yet, whilst it prevails, forbids 
 all real criticism of their work. The books of Reade 
 and Dickens have outlived their youthful charm. The 
 special abuses against which they appealed are for the 
 most part abolished. 
 
 It remains to be seen how long the man of plot and 
 action will hold his ground against the man of domestic 
 detail and microscopic analysis. The one is essentially 
 the mouthpiece of his place and time, the other the 
 voice of all time and all places. 
 
 One of Reade's books. The Cloister and the Hearth, 
 has the vital spark in it and will live ; the others will 
 not. As for Dickens's works, it may be said of them, 
 as was said of a much greater book, that if his novels 
 were all burnt to-morrow, they could be collected and 
 reconstructed from the hearts of readers, in courts and 
 cottages at home and abroad. 
 
 ELLEN CUMPSTON. 
 
ESSAYS 
 
 CLARA MIDDLETON 
 
CLARA MIDDLETON 
 
 Meredith is the Browning of the novel, and whatever 
 may be the popular estimate of his work, to the student 
 it is unique in that it requires something of the concen- 
 trative energy tliat we give to science, if not also a 
 special mental fitness, before it can be thoroughly en- 
 joyed. Hence, those for whom the novel is merely a 
 pastime for an idle hour must leave him to find their 
 recreation in more commonplace fiction. And this pref- 
 erence will not be an indication of the incompre- 
 hensibility of Meredith solely, but an evidence of the 
 wrong impression which exists as to the function of 
 classical fiction, and, in regard to Meredith, the quality 
 and nature of his work. The Egoist^ for example, is 
 comedy — with the Greek flavor ; and this qualifying 
 phrase is distinctive, without depreciating either the 
 humor or satire of other novelists. 
 
 Hence, in The Egoist we may find fresh stimulus for 
 our literary studies, and Clara Middleton may fitly be 
 selected from the mass to show in some pomts the 
 special method of Meredith in characterization. 
 
 It may, indeed, be held that some responsibility is 
 
 59 
 
60 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 incurred in making our choice, and that the delicate 
 tints of light and shade in this character, so pleasing 
 to the individual sense in the seclusion of the study, 
 will be destroyed by the inrush of the garish light of 
 publicity. The difficulty of attempting to reconstruct 
 the character by means of criticism (always a clu^msy 
 method, but unfortunately the best we know) is fully 
 appreciated ; and the attempt to materialize her by pro- 
 jecting her into the world, as seen througli tlie medium 
 , of any sense save that of the author's, may seem the 
 grossest sacrilege. Yet the character is so fine a study 
 in the feminine, and affords so many splendid oppor- 
 tunities for contrast and comparison with the feminino 
 creations of other authors, and at the same time gives 
 the further opportunity of saying something about the 
 influences which have gone to mould the character- 
 ization of women in English fiction in the past, that 
 scruples may be laid to one side for the nonce, and — 
 though at the risk of the charge of egotism — we may 
 proceed to analyze the character. 
 
 I say " in the past," because Clara Middleton is a 
 point of departure from the conventional characteriza- 
 tion of women in English fiction. The moral forces 
 which have dominated and restrained the artist's hand 
 hitherto are here wholly set aside ; but a master-hand 
 has effected the changes, and they are wrought so 
 strongly and withal so delicately, that the character has 
 passed the usual criticism without attracting the notice 
 
CLARA MIDDLETON. 61 
 
 that it would have attracted had they been wrought 
 by one less skilful at his craft. 
 
 There are two points in the character to which we 
 may give special attention, as their combination has 
 hitherto been considered impracticable, if we look at 
 them from the point of view of the traditional character 
 with which the older novelists of the nineteenth century 
 have invested Avomen in English fiction. 
 
 In the first place, Clara Middleton is essentially Eng- 
 lish. Tliis, it may be presumed, the majority of readers 
 feel instinctively, and believe because of the affirma- 
 tion of instinct, rather than because it may be shown 
 by a critical estimate of the character. It is necessary, 
 however, to make this estimate; for the other charac- 
 teristic wliich Meredith has developed in Clara Middle- 
 ton would not have been such a singular innovation 
 had it not been combined with one that is peculiarly 
 English. 
 
 Let us, then, begin by saying that she has that sobri- 
 ety of mind and temperament which is a truly national 
 chai'acteristic, and which is the product of our insu- 
 larity and our social morality. Some insistence might 
 be given to this point ; because we can no more mould 
 or approximate to the English character upon any Con- 
 tinental model than we can fly, and this even in de- 
 spite of our modern cosmopolitan culture. Our national 
 character has a peculiar flavor — if I may so phrase it 
 — in this respect, and it is impossible to define it with 
 
62 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 any great exactitude ; but it is so truly the outgrowth 
 of our institutions and training that none but the wil- 
 fully blind can mistake the phlegm or stoicism of some 
 of our Continental neighbors for this English sobriety, 
 which combines at once serene self-possession with en- 
 terprise and effort for precedence. 
 
 Then we have, in addition to this, that love of liberty 
 and nature which is our common heritage, — the love of 
 liberty common to all the English, and of nature accord- 
 ing to the opportunities which are held out by the 
 circumstances and conditions of our lives. " For it may 
 be said with perfect truth that the instinctive love of 
 nature is as truly a characteristic of the English as the 
 love of liberty; but it is suppressed in many instances 
 by the more serious business of life. 
 
 In the character of Clara Middleton, Meredith has 
 blended each with admii-able precision. The limitations 
 of Sir Willoughby Patterne's domains are in her mind 
 always associated with the narrow, prescribed area of 
 his mind ; and she is painfully aware that the scope for 
 her activities in the future when she has become his 
 wife are too circumsciibed for her nature. The great 
 point insisted upon here by the novelist is the perfect 
 poise which her love of nature and liberty gives to her 
 deportment; and this adjustment to which her life con- 
 forms, and by which it is governed, is the ideal charac- 
 teristic of the English. 
 
 Then add to this her variety — her whims and fan- 
 
CLARA MIDDLETON. 63 
 
 cies, if you choose, or, as her father calls them, '-'• the 
 prerogative of the feminine." Is there not here a re- 
 flex of the climate, with its alternations of cloud and 
 shine, of tempest and peace ? All this appears to me so 
 essentially English, that I must apologize for treating 
 of it here. I am afraid, after all, that the instinctive 
 feeling that she is English will outweigh any calm 
 analysis that pretended to separate the different ele- 
 ments, and show that the ultimate result of the combi- 
 nation is to make the Englishwoman. But, as I said 
 before, it is to make the comparison between this 
 characteristic and another that is essentially un-Eng- 
 lish that I do it. 
 
 Then, what is this un-English and antagonistic ele- 
 ment in Clara Middleton which makes her so essen- 
 tially unlike the traditional heroine of the English 
 novel ? I would define it simply as sensuousness. She 
 is not only beautiful, but sensuously beautiful ; and in 
 order to emphasize the definition, let me call to my aid 
 an illustration, symbolical and subtle, because natural, 
 — the Greek myth of Venus — the goddess rising from 
 the bath in all her sensuous beauty, and striking the 
 luckless hunter blind. This, it appears to me, if we 
 eliminate the anger of the goddess as a conventional 
 interpolation of a later age, is the universal symbol of 
 love which strikes with blindness all who are unfortu- 
 nately affected. And it applies to Clara Middleton, — 
 though on the surface there does not seem to be any 
 
64 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 singularity in this, for it may be said that all the nov- 
 elists have unconsciously echoed the symbolism of the 
 Greek. Its application to tlie character under discussion 
 lies in this, that while slie dazzles all beholders with 
 her charms, she also exercises to the full that mys- 
 terious sexual power which is and has ever been the 
 prerogative of the woman. 
 
 But here let me remark, lest I should misinterpret 
 Meredith, and unduly shock those wlio uphold the tra- 
 ditional method of the English novelists, that the ssn- 
 suousness of Clara Middleton, though analogous to that 
 element which we meet with in everyday life, is not 
 of the common quality. There is visible in Meredith's 
 creation neither moral laxity nor the mental aberration 
 which constitutes the danger of the characteristic. It 
 is ideal, subordinated, and subservient to the highest 
 art. There is nothing that the prurient may revel in or 
 the moralists cavil at; but it is impossible to help our- 
 selves from gliding into the atmosphere of sensuous- 
 ness wherein Meredith has enveloped his creation. Sir 
 Willoughby Patterne feels the charm acutely, after she 
 has wounded his egoism : — 
 
 " He placed an exceedingly handsome and flattering 
 young widow of his acquaintance . . . beside Clara for a 
 comparison; involuntarily, and at once ... in despite of 
 Lady Mary's high birth and connections as well, the silver 
 lustre of the maid sicklied the poor widow." 
 
 And Vernon Whitford's experience is also telling : — 
 
CLARA MIDDLE TON. 65 
 
 " Take your chin off your hand, your elbow off your 
 book, and fix yourself," said Vernon, wrestling with the 
 seduction of Crossjoy's idolatry; for Miss Middleton's ap- 
 pearance had been preternaturally sweet on her departure, 
 and the next pleasure to seeing her was hearing of her 
 from the lips of this passionate young poet." 
 
 The Doctor's babblincr in '' the HQ-ad and c^reat wine " 
 scene is also effective : — 
 
 "1 hoped once . . . but she is a girl. The nymph of 
 the woods is in her. Still she will bring you her flcwer-cup 
 of Hippocrene. She has that aristocracy — the noblest. 
 She is fair. . . . She has no history. You are the first 
 heading of the chapter. With you she will have one tale, 
 as it should be. You know — most fragrant she that 
 smells of nought — she goes to you from me, from me 
 alone, from her father to her husband." 
 
 And then follows the experience of Sir Willoughby as 
 lie had seen her : — 
 
 " Distressingly sweet ; . . . sweet with sharpness of 
 young sap. Her eyes, her lips, her fluttering dress that 
 played happy mother across her bosom ; and her laughter, 
 her slim figure, peerless carriage, all her terrible sweetness 
 touched his wound to the smarting quick." 
 
 And her sensuous influence even affects the boy 
 Crossjoy. 
 
 " Miss Middleton lay back on the grass, and said, ^ Are 
 you going to be fond of me, Crossjoy ? ' 
 
 " The boy sat blinking. His desire was to prove that he 
 was immoderately fond of her already, and he might have 
 
60 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 flown at her neck had she been sitting up, but her recum- 
 bancy and eyelids half-closed excited wonder in him and 
 awe. His young heart beat fast." 
 
 These examples are sufficient for the purpose of show- 
 ing Meredith's sensuous envelopment of the character. 
 And it is simply a confirmation of our experience, 
 that he, by combining these characteristics, has been 
 truer in his delineations than those which have been 
 before liirfi in English fiction. For we all know, and it 
 is tacitly acknowledged, that the sensuous charm of the 
 feminine is at all times operative. But it is a fact that 
 the older novelists have omitted or disguised with 
 one consent ; as if it were possible, in analyzing the 
 motives of marriage, or the physiology of love, to leave 
 the sexual passion out of consideration. 
 
 Take Thackeray as an example. His good women 
 are nearly always insipid, — 
 
 " Too good 
 For human nature's daily food." 
 
 In Pendennis^ Laura Bell is the representative of the 
 coming woman ; she is quite English, too, and hence, 
 I think, may be fitly chosen for comparison with Clara 
 Middleton. In what, then, does she differ from Mere- 
 dith's heroine? Simply in this, — that Thackeray has 
 hidden from view the most womanly side of the fem- 
 inine miture ; she is full of incomparable excellences, 
 but, as woman, she is wof ully incomplete as a study in 
 
CLARA MIDDLETON. 67 
 
 human nature, and beside tlie creation of Meredith, she 
 pales with ineffectual fires. Thackeray gives us the 
 unfinislied sketch; Meredith has filled in the shading. 
 
 And Thackeray is not alone in his incompleteness of 
 the study of the feminine ; generally speaking, our nov- 
 elists have not dared to deal with the hidden emotions 
 of life, or, if they have, they have dealt with them 
 impalpably, and glozed them over with a cloud of ver- 
 biage, and left their meanings to the imagination. 
 
 Dickens's studies in this respect are inconceivably 
 ridiculous. He can paint the superficial emotions, and 
 exaggerate pathos ; but he makes you weep for joy 
 when he attempts to reconcile his art in the delineation 
 of the female character with the conventional moral 
 prejudice of the English people. Take an example 
 from Dombey and Son: he makes Dombey's Avife leave 
 her husband and go off to the Continent with Carker. 
 At the conclusion of the journey, poor Carker gets, 
 instead of loving caresses, the promise of a knife, and 
 the reader gets a melodrama. It is an elopement badly 
 conceived and worse executed. One is tempted to ask 
 what good reasons had Dickens for covering this woman 
 with shame, — for he arouses the worst of our social 
 prejudices when he makes her elope with Carker, — and 
 then refrain from giving us the inevitable result of the 
 elopement. It is hardly possible to imagine anything 
 more foreign to human nature than Dickens's concep- 
 tion ; it is false to experience, and yet more false to art. 
 
68 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 And Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre is hardly better 
 in execution. There are any number of excellent 
 reasons to justify Rochester's treatment of Jane Eyre, 
 but no amount of reason would liave justified him had 
 the marriage ceremony been performed. The catas- 
 trophe which takes place on the morning of the 
 wedding just averts our prejudice, and saves the repu- 
 tation of tlie novelist. Here, too, you will see, our 
 moral censorship has to be appeased, and character and 
 circumstances have to be moulded to suit our precon- 
 ceived notions of these things. 
 
 Even George Eliot must bow to the inevitable. The 
 novelist may mould her life on a principle above the 
 criticism of society, but these instincts must not ap- 
 pear in her conception of feminine nature in her books. 
 Maggie Tulliver, in the Mill on the Floss, must die an 
 unnatural death, — is drowned to appease the savage 
 instincts of our conventional momlity. And every one 
 must have been struck with the immense difference 
 which exists between Sliakespeare's conception of the 
 passionate Italian nature in Romeo and Juliet, and 
 George Eliot's conception of the same passionate 
 Italian nature in Romola, Shakespeare, of course, was 
 not influenced by these conventional restraints, and 
 could afford to be true to humanity and art ; but George 
 Eliot could not, and hence Romola is Italian only when 
 seen through the English spectacles of George Eliot, 
 and the passionate Italian nature is subdued by tlie 
 
CLARA MIDDLE TON, 69 
 
 cold and bloodless morality of the English people in 
 the nineteenth century. 
 
 Hence, then, Meredith appears to me to be the point 
 of departure, as I said at the outset, for the better treat- 
 ment of the feminine in the future. 
 
 But I would not stop here ; if Meredith has betrayed 
 one of the fundamental canons of the English novelist's 
 craft, he has also effected a reconciliation between it 
 and art. 
 
 In Clara Middleton we approach nearer to Shake- 
 speare's conception of woman's nature and purpose, with 
 its natural artistic setting in frame of gold. She is 
 an artistic triumph, both in conception and achieve- 
 ment ; " true to the kindred points of heaven and 
 home." 
 
 Becky Sharp, which I take to be one of the greatest 
 achievements in English fiction — in the feminine — 
 judged purely from the standpoint of art, is incomplete 
 when compared with Meredith's heroine ; there are un- 
 imagined details in her life which Thackeray omitted ; 
 periods when Becky drops out of existence, and even 
 the denizens of Vanity Fair could take no cognizance 
 of her actions. Now, this is due to one of two reasons : 
 either it is due to the instinctive sense of proportion in 
 the artist, or it is due to the influence which the cur- 
 rent morality exercised over him in this particular 
 direction, with the rest of his brethren, making him 
 subordinate his art to conventional moral prejudice. 
 
70 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 This last I take to be the true reason, and in chapter 
 sixty-four in Vanity Fair he says so himself. ' 
 
 Here, then, is the artist's acknowledgment of liis fail- 
 ure to complete his ideal, owing to certain predominant 
 notions of morality prevailing in his auditory. He 
 must mix his colors in lives in accordance with the 
 preferential tastes of society. He may, and he has^ 
 drawn in lines that are indeed most strongly sugges- 
 tive. This is forgiven, so long as tlie naked reality is 
 hidden ; but the picture is still incomplete, and all these 
 gaps and evasions noticeable in Becky's career mar the 
 perfection of his w^ork, and rasp upon our nerves, mak- 
 ing us wish that the rigidly moral tone of English 
 social life had not been so strongly developed as to 
 come perennially into collision with the artist's concep- 
 tion, and make ideal achievement impossible. 
 
 And Meredith, while giving in the characterization 
 of Clara Middleton an artistic completeness, has left 
 nothing to cavil at in the sensuous charm which he has 
 thrown around her. 
 
 I am aware that there is a stage, as where wit degen- 
 erates into buffooneiy, so where artistic license in lim- 
 ning the erotic emotions degenerates into licentiousness. 
 But the days of Wycherley and Congreve, with their 
 exaggerated emphasis on the vices of society, are over 
 in English literature. Theirs wa.s not art ; it was the 
 portrayal of sensuality and vicious pleasure for its 
 own sake. And the delineation of vice which arises 
 
CLARA MIDDLE TON. 71 
 
 from the morbid pleasure of steeping the poetic faculty 
 in sensual desire is perhaps after all the worst prostitu- 
 tion of the artist's power. 
 
 Meredith avoids everything in our human instincts 
 which would tend to debase his ideal. He deals with 
 the hidden emotions of life only to lift them out 
 of the commonplace, and set them where, with true 
 poetic insight, he sees they will appear, not to the 
 untutored imagination, but to minds fitted to receive 
 the subtle intuitions of a master. And he has withal 
 the power to evoke the soft and radiant light which 
 has ever been the strongest bond between master and 
 disciple, and which is a truer guide to the master's 
 thought than any skilled criticism which does not 
 vibrate this sympathetic medium. 
 
 Clara Middleton is comparable to an English spring 
 morning, with its inexpressible charm, when the earth 
 is blushing with life, and the sun is veiling his face like 
 a coy maiden with the thin gray mist that rises over 
 wood and field ; when the air is instinct, and the birds 
 are singing their sweetest song of praise in honor of the 
 new-born day. 
 
 Tliis is the time when nature appeals most directly 
 to us, by unveiling the sensuous, glowing side of crea- 
 tion, and the ordinary processes of life are glorified by 
 the divine instinct which is flowing through our veins, 
 and tingling into pleasant sensitiveness the dormant 
 chords of our lives. Whoever has been penetrated 
 
72 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 with these emotions of nature in the spring days, wlien 
 
 " Nature is tremulous with excess of joy," has felt the 
 
 charm which rises from the contemplation of the rich 
 
 and rare embodiment of feminine qualities in Clara 
 
 Middleton. 
 
 JOSEPH FAIRNEY. 
 
ESSAYS 
 
 THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth is a book of considera- 
 ble power and ability, which its author has come very 
 near to spoiling, from the aesthetic point of view, by 
 a most unhappy sentence, and an irritating foot-note 
 thereto attached. The sentence is on the last page but 
 one, and is as follows : — 
 
 "I ask your sympathy, then, for their rare constancy 
 
 and pure affection, and their cruel separation by a vile 
 
 heresy in the bosom of the Church ; but not your pity for 
 their early but happy end." 
 
 The foot-note attached to "vile heresy " is "Celibacy 
 of the clergy, an invention truly fiendish." The writer 
 of this essay would beg leave to urge that this sentence 
 and its foot-note are to be reprobated, whatever views 
 we may hold on the particular subject mentioned, be- 
 cause they unveil in a crude and inartistic manner a 
 purpose which the story itself, told as it is with such 
 power and pathos, would leave sufficiently prominent, 
 and because they deal in far too summary a fashion 
 with a tangled and difficult subject. The ascetic idea 
 is a many-sided one, taking varying forms under vary- 
 
 76 
 
76 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING 
 
 ing circumstances. And it should be observed at the 
 outset that it is not by any means the invention of 
 Catholic Christianity, although in our minds it is very 
 largely associated with it. It is by an examination 
 of the principles on which asceticism has based itself, 
 and of the varying forms in which it has been ex- 
 hibited, that we may hope to get some view of our 
 subject, — "the ideal of asceticism." 
 
 There was a great deal of asceticism of a monastic 
 type deeply interwoven in the old religions of the 
 East, such as Buddhism, and the religion of the Per- 
 sian Zoroaster. Indeed, monasticism constitutes the 
 central feature of the former. It seems to have exr 
 hibited itself in the shape of a desire to retire from 
 the impediments of ordinary life, and to seek after a 
 philosophic calm and contemplation, together with an 
 emancipation as complete as possible from the enchain- 
 ing passions and affections of the flesh. It was a stage 
 to which every true Buddhist was expected to attain 
 sooner or later in his religious life. Such an asceticism 
 was inseparably connected with a principle common to 
 all the prominent systems of philosophy and religion 
 in the East — a belief in the inherent evil of things 
 material, and so of the flesh and the natural affections. 
 This type of asceticism was a marked feature in the 
 philosophy of the Greek Pythagoras ; and it appeal's 
 strongly, though in a modified form, in the writings 
 of Plato and Aristotle. It is modified by the very 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM. 11 
 
 great stress laid by these and by most Greek thinkers 
 on a man's duty as a citizen. 
 
 Christianity, then, found already existing in the 
 natures of its Oriental converts a very strong ten- 
 dency towards monasticism ; and the circumstances by 
 which early Christianity was surrounded, and tlie un- 
 swerving standard of high morality which Christianity 
 upheld, alike contributed to foster it. For Christian 
 monasticism sprang into being as a revolt from the 
 frightful wickedness which accompanied the decay of 
 Pagan civilization. The hideous license existing in 
 the Roman empire in the days of early Christianity 
 has been painted in lurid colors by many writers, and 
 the church did not hesitate to make a strong practical 
 protest against it. To the Christian the imperative call 
 seemed to be to come out from the midst of a world of 
 hopeless depravity. It can hardly be considered a 
 matter of wonder that early Christian asceticism soon 
 ran into excessive and exaggerated forms. 
 
 It was in Egypt that monasticism took deepest root, 
 and in the third and fourth centuries there were many 
 thousands of monks living in the desert retreats of 
 that country. Egyptian monasticism took a most exag- 
 gerated form. An absurd and disproportionate stress 
 was laid upon certain portions of the gospel teaching. 
 Passages such as, " He that loveth father or mother 
 more than me is not worthy of me," were distorted 
 beyond all recognition, until it became a virtue to 
 
78 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 desert even Christian parents in the most relentlessly 
 cruel manner. Many stories are to be found in Lecky's 
 Hutory of European Morals illustrative of this. Mor- 
 tification of the flesh was pursued to the most rigorous 
 extreme, and tlie body was lacerated and sUirved in the 
 fierce endeavor to eradicate every vestige of the natural 
 appetites of mankind. Many of the P^gyptian monks 
 lived in solitude, wrestling in utter loneliness with the 
 powers of evil which seemed to infect the whole world. 
 Tlie effect of such a life of austerity and solitude was 
 often simply to foster the horrible visions and imagina- 
 tions of evil from which the monk souglit to rid himself. 
 The true proportion of morality was thrown out, and 
 the domestic virtues were rigorously suppressed. "To 
 break by his ingratitude the heart of the mother who 
 had borne him, to persuade the wife who adored him 
 that it was her duty to separate from him forever, to 
 abandon his children, uncared for and beggars, to the 
 mercies of the world, was regarded by the 'true hermit 
 as tlie most acceptable offering he could make to his 
 God. His business was to save his own soul.'* 
 
 The great St. Jerome, who did much to foster and 
 encourage monasticisra, endeavored to regulate these 
 austerities and to restrain the more exas^orerated forms 
 of mortification ; and as time went on, this excess was 
 gradually regulated. But it was with the growth of 
 that type of monasticism which St. Benedict founded, 
 that a better order of things came about. The earlier 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM. 79 
 
 monasticism in its fanatical devotion could think of 
 notliing but the suppression of all that was earthly ; 
 and even learning of all kinds was rigorously avoided, 
 and no useful work of any sort was undertaken. The 
 Benedictine monasteries, on the other hand, were cen- 
 tres of civilization and industry, doing much for the 
 pursuit of learning, and tilling the soil of Italy. In 
 fact, the strong practical bent of the Roman mind pro- 
 duced a type of asceticism essentially diffeient to that 
 of the mystic Oriental and the philosophic Greek. It 
 was an asceticism witli a purpose, instead of an asceti- 
 cism which sought its end in the suppression of all 
 that was human. Dean Milman, the author of the 
 Hutory of Latin Christianity^ is no lover of monasti- 
 cism in any form, but he gives its due praise to the 
 best Western monasticism. "Western monasticism," 
 he says, " in its general charactei', was not the barren, 
 idly laborious, or dreamy quietude of the East. It 
 was industrious and productive : it settled colonies, 
 preserved arts and letters, built splendid edifices, fer- 
 tilized deserts. If it rent from the world the most 
 powerful minds, having trained them by its stern disci- 
 pline, it sent them back to rule the world. It continu- 
 ally, as it were, renewed its youth, and kept up a 
 constant infusion of vigorous life ; now quickening into 
 enthusiasm, now darkening into fanaticism, and by its 
 perpetual rivalry stimulating the zeal or supplying the 
 deficiencies of the secular clergy. In successive ages it 
 
80 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 adapted itself to the state of the human mind. At first 
 a missionary to barbarous nations, it built abbeys, hewed 
 down forests, cultivated swamps, enclosed domains, re- 
 trieved or won for civilization tracts which had fallen 
 into waste or had never known culture. With St. 
 Dominic it turned its missionary zeal upon Christianity 
 itself, and spread as a preaching order throughout Chris- 
 tendom ; with St. Francis it became even more popular, 
 and lowered itself to the very humblest of mankind." 
 And again he speaks of Western monasticism " as the 
 missionary of what was holy and Christian in the new 
 civilization; as the chief maintainer, if not the restorer, 
 of agriculture in Italy ; as the cultivator of the for- 
 ests and morasses of the north ; as the apostle of the 
 heathen who dwelt beyond the pale of the Western 
 empire." 
 
 In a word, it was characteristic of Eastern monasti- 
 cism to content itself with the morbid desire to repress 
 the affections and to save the soul of the individual 
 monk ; it was characteristic of the Western asceticism 
 that it associated men together, schooled them, and 
 disciplined them by a life of regulated self-denial, 
 so as to make them available for high and useful 
 purposes. 
 
 This very rough and inadequate survey of different 
 types of asceticism has been made with the purpose 
 of leading up to principles; and it should be borne in 
 mind that, in all that has been said, only general ten- 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM. 81 
 
 dencies have been indicated, and the description of 
 monasticism in these different forms is only true in 
 the broad. 
 
 The principle I would now wish to state is this : 
 asceticism is true or false, good or bad, according as 
 it is what may be called athletic (following a well- 
 known metaphor of St. Paul), or dualistic. This 
 needs explanation. And first, what is dualism? Dual- 
 ism is a system of thought which builds itself on the 
 eternal antagonism of two principles, one good and the 
 other bad. Its most obvious form is that which per- 
 vades Oriental philosophies and religions. It teaches 
 that matter is inherently and essentially bad. Only 
 spirit can be inherently and essentially good. The 
 body, or the flesh, is hopelessly and unquestionably 
 bad ; the soul, in so far as it can be freed from the 
 flesh, is good. The object and aim of existence is, 
 therefore, to crush and ill-use the body, and restrain as 
 far as possible every bodily want and appetite, liowever 
 innocent. This system of thought existed in Persia 
 and India centuries before th^ appearance of Chris- 
 tianity. It is sometimes knov^ii as '' MatnichaSism," 
 because" in Christiaba tiittes a Persian he'r^tic named 
 Maries developed if, and ehdeavored, witli partiftl 
 success, to infect Christianity with it. It is to be 
 observed that Manich seism does not teach simply that 
 the flesh is evil when over-indulged, or that such and 
 such an act is evil if carried to excess, but that the 
 
82 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 act is under all circumstances hopelessly wrong. Mar- 
 riage, to the Oriental dualist, is as wrong as what is 
 generally recognized as immorality. Eating and drink- 
 ing are only to be just tolerated because suicide is 
 wrong, and a man is bound to keep liimself alive. 
 This kind of thought is ever reappearing, and the 
 moralist has ever to be on his watch against it. It is 
 to be found in the Puritanism which forbids absolutely 
 certain pleasures, such as music and dancing, innocent 
 in themselves, and only wrong when carried to excess, 
 or prostituted to low uses. An illustration of it is to 
 be found even now among a certain class of temper- 
 ance advocates, who hold that to touch a di'op of in- 
 toxicating liquor is under all circumstances sinful. 
 Such a system of thought is pernicious, not only be- 
 cause it is in itself false, but because in history it has 
 always been known to produce violent reactions into 
 the opposite extremes of vice and license. It is a 
 demon which has been exorcised over and over again, 
 but which is ever reappearing. Now, it is the asceti- 
 cism which founds itself on principles such as these, 
 which is bad. It makes a vain attempt to eradicate 
 natural appetites and affections which are given to 
 mankind for a certain purpose, and are only bad when 
 uncontrolled and indulged under unlawful circum- 
 stances. Christians who are misled into an asceticism 
 of this type are false to their own principles ; for they 
 forget that the God whom they serve created the body 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM. 83 
 
 as well as the soul, and that the Son of God has dig- 
 nified the body by living an incarnate life. It. was 
 only the extreme- wickedness and degradation that re- 
 sulted from tlie decay of a great civilization which 
 made such an asceticism possible in the Christian 
 church. Certain numbers of early Christians, flying 
 in horror from the revolting immorality of the world 
 about them, ran into this opposite extreme. A better 
 type of monasticism did, as has been shown, grow up ; 
 but monasticism has hardly ever been wholly free 
 from this Manicheean taint. 
 
 It is characteristic, also, of a monasticism thus tainted, 
 that it holds strange and false theories as to the meri- 
 toriousness of acts of self-denial and mortification. 
 Such acts come to be regarded, not merely as part of 
 a discipline intended to school the individual for cer- 
 tain noble ends, but as in themselves meritorious. So 
 much mortification will buy off so much purgatoiy 
 hereafter. A certain amount of needless pain suf- 
 fered on earth acquires thus a commercial value, and 
 represents so much purchasing power for pleasure in 
 heaven. 
 
 The asceticism based on a good principle I have 
 called athletic, and for this reason. Asceticism is a 
 word derived from the Greek word, ao-Kryo-tg (askesis), 
 which means "training," or "practice," and generally 
 athletic training. So athletic asceticism is, in fact, 
 an asceticism which is true to its name. It treats the 
 
84 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 body, not as something inherently evil, but as an instru- 
 ment, a useful servant given for high purposes ; but to 
 be carefully kept in order lest it become the master; 
 to be kept in good trim for its master's use. '^ I keep 
 under my body and bring it into subjection," says St. 
 Paul ; or, more literally, *^ I buffet my body and lead it 
 about as a slave." According to this principle, the body 
 is to be disciplined, not crushed ; the whole man is to 
 be developed ; nothing is in itself to be called common 
 or unclean. The bad asceticism tried vainly to crush the 
 bodily affections, family ties, and the intellect. The good 
 asceticism seeks to control by inflexible but rational 
 laws the bodily affections, to sanctify family ties, and to 
 consecrate the intellect to the highest possible pursuits. 
 It is difficult to imagine a character more opposed to 
 the bad asceticism than that of Gerard in The Cloister 
 and the Hearth. His nature is all aglow with family 
 affections of a noble type, as seen in his love for his 
 parents, and in his pure passion for Margaret. His 
 artistic sensibilities are keen and highly trained ; and he 
 is drawn to the church, not only by his deep piety, but 
 by his strong scholarly instincts, which make him such 
 a delightful character to study. The course of reckless 
 vice through which he went in Rome, and the opposite 
 extreme of fantastic asceticism by which he tried to 
 master himself in the cave at Gouda, were but episodes, 
 bad dreams, brought about by strong revulsions of 
 feeling which, temporarily overmastered him. 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM. 85 
 
 There is a good deal of hard hitting at monks and 
 their ways in the book ; but it should be remembered 
 that the monastic system is shown in its pages to pro- 
 duce its attractive as well as its hard and relentless 
 characters — its Anselm as well as its Jerome; and it 
 did much in a dark and turbulent age for the protection 
 and propagation of learning and scholarship, without 
 which Gerard and Masfnus Erasmus could never have 
 lived before us, the one in fiction, and the other in 
 history. 
 
 But the object of the book is, of course, to write down 
 the celibacy of the clergy. We should know that well 
 enough without that infelicitous sentence and dread- 
 ful foot-note before alluded to ; but we must return to 
 them for a moment to see how our subject of the ascetic 
 ideal is affected by the question of the celibacy of the 
 clergy. Charles Reade states his case in too summary 
 and hasty a fashion. He forgets that there were sound 
 and rational motives at work, as well as unsound and 
 mistaken ones, among those who brought about the 
 enforced celibacy of the clergy in the Latin Church. 
 There is a distinct call for celibate clergy, for certain 
 purposes. In certain spheres of the church's work, es- 
 pecially in missionary work, and in some parts of large 
 cities, the work of celibate priests will be obviously 
 more effective, more free and unhampered, than that of 
 married clergy, with the impediments of a wife and 
 family. A man who takes up this class of work must 
 
86 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 be like a soldier equipped for active service, and he 
 will be missing his vocation if he does anything to 
 make himself a less effective instrument for the work. 
 He is called to greater self-denial than other men. But 
 any system which teaches that marriage is essentially a 
 lower state than celibacy, and therefore requires that 
 those who are employed for sacred functions must not 
 so far degrade themselves as to marry, is but involved 
 once again in the oft-exorcised dualism, and is confound- 
 ing things wrong in themselves Avith things wrong only 
 under certain circumstances. Such teaching is tainted 
 with the old poison of Manichaeism over again, which 
 takes a low view of marriage, making it only less bad 
 than direct immorality. 
 
 No asceticism is true wliich does not contemplate the 
 development of the whole man in the best and fullest 
 sense. It will not trample wliat is merely earthly, 
 but it recognizes the need of discipline in the inter- 
 ests of something higlier. The lower jiature is to 
 be kept rigorously under control; to be denied and 
 repressed when its assertion conflicts with the higher, 
 and demands a satisfaction wliich circumstances make 
 unlawful. For, after all, asceticism is but the proper 
 recognition of a higher element than that which is 
 merely animal ; and therefore will not allow an un- 
 regulated or excessive pursuit of any pleasure, how- 
 ever innocent it may be in itself. It is the call to 
 sacrifice. Robert Browning has some noble, but char- 
 
THE IDEAL OF ASCETICISM. 87 
 
 acteristically awkward expressions on the subject in 
 Rahhi Ben Ezra : — 
 
 " Poor vaunt of life indeed 
 Were man but formed to feed 
 On joy, to solely seek and find and feast; 
 Such feasting ended, then 
 As sure an end to men ; 
 
 Irks care the crop-full bird ? Frets doubt the 
 maw-crammed beast ? 
 
 Then welcome each rebuff 
 That turns earth's smoothness rough, 
 Each sting that bids, nor sit, nor stand, but go! 
 Be our joy three-parts pain ! 
 Strive, and hold cheap the strain ; 
 Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge 
 the throe." 
 
 To sum up — the ideal asceticism is not a useless mor- 
 tification pursued for its own ends, but a discipline with 
 a purpose in view. The ascetic may, in certain circum- 
 stances, be called to give up certain family ties ; but he 
 will not consider that the isolated act is in itself merito- 
 rious, and he will not underrate or take a low view of 
 family ties for others ; while recognizing the tempta- 
 tions of the flesh when undisciplined, he will not insult 
 his body by needless or purposeless severities. A young 
 Northumbrian poet has stated the case well. To a 
 Northumbrian audience it will be of interest to state 
 his name. It is Lord Warkworth, who has this year 
 carried off the Newdigate prize at Oxford with a poem 
 on St. Francis d'Assisi, distinctly above the ordinary 
 
88 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING, 
 
 level of prize compositions. Dealing with the well- 
 known story of St. Francis's vision of the stigmata or 
 marks of Christ's passion, he puts these words into the 
 mouth of the saint : — 
 
 — " Then I understood 
 The vision: ' In my flesh should I see God,' — 
 That flesh which I had deemed the prison-cell 
 That clogs th' aspiring soul ; th' unlovely shell 
 That hides the young life of the tender grain, 
 Shall in transfigured beauty robe again 
 The ripened ears of harvest ! Strange it were, 
 Did pain please God, who made His world so fair! 
 They serve Him best whose kindled spirits move 
 In perfect cadence with His life of love." 
 
 C. G. Hall. 
 
ESSAYS 
 
 CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN "ROMOLA" 
 
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN ^^ROMOLA' 
 
 The great purpose of George Eliot in Romola is to j 
 show the effect of circumstance upon the development / 
 of the human character. 
 
 We may first turn aside to note other illustrations of \ 
 character development. A young man, who has hitherto ! 
 been the acknowledged pattern of the vilhige, in an evil / 
 hour gives way to temptation, and finally becomes more i 
 dissolute and dangerous than all his neighbors. This 
 is character development^ — a character not assumed or 
 acted, but real and cultivated. 
 
 Who has not trembled as he has sat within the soul 
 of Lady Macbetli while the terrible storm is accumulat- 
 ing ? She has only succeeded in acting a character, 
 she has not developed one. She has taken intoxicating 
 drink, and temporarily succeeded in paralyzing her 
 higher self ; but that artificial influence has gone, and 
 the old character remains inexorable. Although oppor- 
 tunity has inflamed a long smouldering ambition, that 
 ambition has failed to call to its aid any embryonic 
 character germs. The higher must not live, the lower 
 nature will not germinate ; and that which happens is 
 
 91 
 
92 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 just what must happen under the circumstances. Reason 
 resigns her seat in the conflict. 
 
 The more we think of the vibrations produced by 
 tempting circumstance upon our own moral natures, 
 the more we realize the truth of George Eliot's philos- 
 ophy, and the subtlety of her intellect. Silas Marner 
 creeps away from society in general ; it seems to him 
 that the world is so incomprehensibly big and myste- 
 riously peopled. Under an altered environment liis 
 social and religious proclivities give way to imbecile 
 selfislmess. While his character thus hardens into ab- 
 stract avarice, the living world seems to have no exis- 
 tence for him, except as a mysterious monster tliat gives 
 him gold for labor. But his gold at length is stolen 
 from him, and now there is nothing for that silent heart 
 to love in silence. For a heart tliat has the germs of 
 love in it, and fails to find another heart to recipro- 
 cate affection, will waste its sweetness upon the inani- 
 mate, or it will burst. So it was with Silas. Sally — 
 faithless Sally — first opened her heart to his love, but 
 shut it again; and we find that when Sally is no more to 
 him his affection becomes transfused to love of wealth. 
 But another accident occui^s. A little child, whose 
 mother lies dead in the snow, totters into the cottage 
 of Silas just at the moment when life seems most in 
 tolerable. And what happens? From that moment 
 poverty becomes bliss. Here at once is a substitute 
 in a living reality for the lost gold. And no hand 
 
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN '' ROMOLA." 93 
 
 better than George Eliot's could have shown liow won- 
 derfully, yet naturally, the buried germs of a long-dead 
 life bloom forth under the influence of this child, and 
 how Silas tastes the fulness of a great character in his 
 old age. 
 
 It is always the story of a soul she tells. We are in- 
 stantly enveloped in a pyschological atmosphere ; for 
 while some writers keep one in the outer world, and 
 give only in lightning flashes furtive glances into the 
 inner life, she takes us there, and there we remain, and 
 thence look out upon the surface of existence. Who 
 has not felt as though he dwelt really within the of- 
 fended soul of Gwendolen, who married for gold and 
 position, expecting thereby to pacify a soul left celibate ? 
 But outward ease did not bring into peace ; the light- 
 some innocence of her character becomes displaced, and 
 dark and hitherto unsuspected thoughts take possession 
 of her whole being, bubbling forth unbidden, as in- 
 stincts do. 
 
 In Silas Marner^ beautiful and complete in itself as 
 it is, we have only the preface, to which Romola is the 
 accomplished fact. While Silas Marner is perfect in its 
 simplicity, Romola is great in its complexity. We must 
 remember the stupendous historic background of the 
 story — Florence with all her ancient grandeur, her 
 teeming inhabitants with their cries of joy, of pain, of 
 hope, of revenge; and above all is heard the clarion 
 voice of Savonarola rushing through the Florentine 
 
94 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 soul like a mad rivei'. All this gigantic background 
 is conjured up to show — what? The evolution of one 
 beautiful life ! 
 
 Great and good people always leave their souls 
 behind thein, wliether it be in statuary, or books, 
 or deeds. George Eliot has left her living soul witli 
 Romola. A statue is left by a master — a statue with a 
 soul in it, that makes us feel when we look upon it as 
 though we were in the presence of an extraordinary 
 being. Its eyes are stone, yet they gaze down into the 
 deep recesses of our being ; no affection can be forced 
 upon it, no secret can be hidden from its siglit ; we dare 
 not touch its garment, nor utter nor think an unholy 
 thought in its presence. As such a statue is Romola 
 introduced to us. Her silence is greater than elo- 
 quence, and her coldness comes of holiness. She is 
 rigid, yet as sensitive as the sensitive plant. Slie is 
 touched by love, — blind love, — and the whole mechan- 
 ism of a great character is set in motion. She is 
 touched by falsehood, and she seems to return to marble 
 again. Romola's inward beauties are developed in ad- 
 versity and sorrow. She wrestles with her poorer self ; 
 Tito wrestles with his higher self. Tito deals out his 
 soul to evade unpleasant duties, only to find that the 
 unperformed remain everlasting debts that accumulate 
 and increase unhappiness, until finally all pleasure is 
 swallowed up, and life becomes a wide, trackless waste 
 of misery. 
 
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN '' ROMOLA^ 95 
 
 There are turning-points in all our lives — there are 
 "currents" that must be taken when they ''serve," or 
 the most important opportunity of our life is lost. 
 There is often much that is unpleasant to perform ere 
 we taste a morsel of real happiness. Pleasures often 
 come only from outward satisfaction ; happiness can 
 only come from the soul. Happiness once attained 
 owes much of its sweetness to the pain that has been 
 experienced in the struggle to obtain it; for, as it is 
 stated in the proem to Romola : — 
 
 " Little children are still the symbol of the eternal mar- 
 riage between love and duty ; " 
 
 and — 
 
 "Life to be highest must be made up of conscious vol- 
 untary sacrifice." 
 
 Here is Tito at a point where lanes meet and diverge. 
 This way is thorny, but the soul says, " Go ; " the 
 other way is apparently pleasant, but it leads to ruin. 
 We find him saying : — 
 
 " Can any philosophy prove to me that I was bound to 
 care for another's sufferings more than for my own ? . . . 
 The world belongs to youth and strength, and these glories 
 are his who can extract more pleasures out of them. . . . 
 Baldazzar has had his draught of life ; ... it is my turn 
 
 Thus we find that, when the presiding will of his 
 father sits no longer over him, Tito's character finds 
 
96 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 its polarity in selfishness, and we have the first and 
 all-important glimmer of Tito in an undreamed-of 
 character. 
 
 It is interesting to watch how with wondrous ra})id- 
 ity these newly awakened germs develop, whilst those 
 wliicli lay uppermost in his character as hitherto known 
 just as rapidly drop out of activity. His unconquer- 
 able love of self, his horror of unpleasant duties, grad- 
 ually crush the higher manhood out of him. Tlie 
 communings with the soul become less and less pro- 
 tracted. Desire becomes the master of conscience ; and 
 the embodiment of truth which he once reverenced in 
 Romola becomes now the personification of an inexor- 
 able Nemesis. Twin sisters are cowardice and selfish- 
 ness — while selfishness is ever directing the nervous 
 fingers of avarice, cowardice puts in every crevice of 
 thought a skeleton. 
 
 Yet Romola is not perfect ; she, too, has her antipathy 
 to painful duties. But while he shrinks from duty be- 
 cause of its unpleasantness, and is conscious of the 
 unrighteousness, she turns from duty through igno- 
 rance. 
 
 Romola has been reared in a world of dead wisdom, 
 yet sh^ has sucked in truth. She knows the book of 
 life only as it has been translated. Tito came to Iier 
 with liis living smiles and his love as a revelation. 
 But truth has gone from him, and she can no longer 
 love him ; and loveless cohabitation is to lier the lowest 
 
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN '' ROMOLA:' 97 
 
 depth of degradation. She would fly from falsehood 
 because her soul abhors it, and live a death in life. 
 But the voice of Savonarola arrests her ; and, while she 
 fancies that hitherto the deepest reaches of her soul 
 have been self-sounded, she is convinced ere long that 
 that which she accepted as holiness in the abstract was 
 not unsmitten by selfishness. 
 
 " What has your dead wisdom done for you, my daugh- 
 ter ? It has left you without a heart for the neighbours 
 among whom you dwell. . . . When the sword has pierced 
 your side, you say, I will go away ; I cannot bear my sor- 
 row. . . . You would leave your place empty, when it 
 ought to be filled with your pity and your labour. If there 
 is wickedness in the streets, your steps should shine with 
 light and purity ; if there is a cry of anguish, you, my 
 daughter, because you know the meaning of it, ought to be 
 there to still it. . . . Sorrow has come to teach you a new 
 religion. . . . My daughter, every bond of life is a debt ; 
 the right lies in the payment of that debt — it can lie 
 nowhere else." 
 
 And so it does. Is it not in this tendency in human 
 character to fly from the unpleasant, and the bringing 
 of it back again by higher and more powerful influ- 
 ences, that the hidden virtues of characters are often 
 called into permanent activity? Truly, "no man or 
 woman can choose their duties, any more than they 
 can choose their father, or mother, or birthplace." 
 
 Thus accident has given Romola another and a truer 
 and wider view of human duties. She had hitherto 
 
98 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 only known how sweet it was to be holy as defined in 
 keeping one's self apart from that which is unholy. 
 But holiness must now have no root in selfhood. 
 "Father," she says, "I will be guided. Teach me. I 
 will go back." Life, to be rightly lived, must not con^ 
 sist in doing no evil, like a statue in a busy thorough- 
 fare, but in practising a religion that has few words 
 and many deeds. There is no cathedral so beautiful as 
 one white soul ; no organ so expressive as one honest 
 voice ; and no religion more holy than one good deed. 
 No man exists for himself alone, and a life has not ful- 
 filled its mission unless the happiness of the community 
 is increased by it. There is no abstraction ; all are 
 links to one great chain of conscious existence ; and if 
 we sever ourselves, our strength is as naugh*/ to us, 
 for we gain nothing, and the purpose of oui- life is 
 then destroyed. 
 
 As a stone thrown into a lake causes «very drop of 
 water to be affected, so an accidental circumstance may 
 prove the turning-point, not of one, but of many lives. 
 We have seen how Tito's accident became the • begin- 
 ning of a degenerate life — a starting-point to a most 
 beautiful life is furnished in Romola. But in ' Baldaz- 
 zer the case is different. There is no development of a 
 sane or embryonic character ; intellectual darkness comes 
 over it, relieved now and then with flashes of memoiy, 
 like lightning in a midnight thunderstorm, making 
 only two projections visible, — remorse and revenge. 
 
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT IN '' ROMOLA:' 99 
 
 We have seen how beneath the magic influence of 
 Savonarola the inward majesty of Romola's character 
 comes out; for during the pestilence, wliere there is a 
 "cry of anguish," is she not there "to still it"? and 
 where there is wickedness in the streets, do not "her 
 steps shine with light and purity"? 
 
 Yet another great change comes over Romola. The 
 voice of Savonarola, which has hitherto swept through 
 her soul like music that is more felt than heard, has 
 now lost its power. She has lost her faith in him ; and 
 " with the sinking of human trust the dignity of life 
 sinks too ; we cease to believe in our own better self, 
 since that also is part of the common nature which is 
 degraded in our thought ; and all finer influences of the 
 soul are dulled." She longed for repose ; she was tired 
 of the weary Avorld ; she felt " the spring of her once 
 active piety drjdng up," and again her egoism of self 
 predominated. Her bonds that once bound her to Tito 
 are beyond all power to reunite. " It is too late, Tito," 
 she finally says, " there is no killing the suspicion that 
 deceit has once begotten. ... I, too, am a human 
 being. I have a soul of my own that abhors your 
 actions. Our union is a pretence — as if a perpetual 
 lie could be a sacred marriage." 
 
 Out of every difliculty Tito comes more degraded. 
 His smile becomes slave to his base intrigues, and lines 
 gather and deepen about his mouth. But every sorrow 
 makes Komola more radiant. Her " barren egoistic 
 
100 FOUR YEARS OF NOVEL-READING. 
 
 complainings " drift her, not to selfish repose, but to the 
 very place where a great soul is needed ; and the truth 
 of Savonarola's words is beautifully confirmed : — 
 
 " The draught is bitter on the lips. But there is a 
 rapture in the cup — there is the vision that makes all 
 life below it dross forever." 
 
 Thomas Dawson. 
 
ADVERTISEMENTS 
 
Four Years of Novel Reading 
 
 By RICHARD G. MOULTON, Ph.D., 
 
 Professor of Literature in English in the University of Chicago, 
 and author of '* The Literary Study of the Bible," etc. 
 
 An account of an experiment to popularize the study of fiction. Professor 
 Moulton's introduction treats of the '• Dignity of Fiction." The " Backworth 
 Classical Novel Reading Union " is sketched and a tabulated account of four 
 years' work is given, foliowed by representative essays. The book is of interest 
 and value to the general reader, the student and teacher. 
 
 Cloth. Uncut, loo pages. Retail price, 50 cents. 
 
 An Introduction to English Fiction 
 
 By W. E. SIMONDS, Ph.D. 
 Professor of English Literature in Knox College. 
 
 Provides material for a comparative study of English fiction in its successive 
 epochs, and for an intelligent estimate of the characteristics and merits of our 
 story-tellers in the various stages of their art. 
 
 A brief historical outline is presented in six chapters, followed by twelve 
 texts, illustrative of the different periods described. 
 
 Cloth. 240 pages. Price, 80 cents. 
 
 Briefer Edition, omitting illustrative texts. Boards, 30 cents. 
 
 Standard Educational Novels 
 
 George Eliot's Silas Marner. With introduction and notes by George 
 A. Wauchope, Ph.D., Professor in South Carolina College. Nine 
 full-page illustrations by W. H. Lawrence. Cloth. 288 pages. Price, 
 35 cents. 
 
 Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield. With introduction and notes by Wil- 
 liam Henry Hudson, Professor in Leland Stanford Jr. University. Seven- 
 teen full-page illustrations by C. E. Brock. Cloth. 300 pages. Price, 50 
 cents. 
 
 Scott's Ivanhoe. With introduction, notes, and glossary by Porter L. 
 MacClintock, University of Chicago. Seventeen full-page illustrarions 
 by C. E. Brock. Cloth. 556 pages. Price, 50 cents. 
 
 Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities. With introducrion and notes by Ham- 
 ilton D. Moore, Indiana University. In preparation. 
 
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 John G. Wight, Ph.D., Principal Girls' High School, New York City. 
 With maps and illustrations. Cloth. 659 pages. Price, 50 cents. 
 
 D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK. CHICAGO 
 
TENNYSON 
 
 THE PRINCESS 
 
 Edited with introduction, notes, biographical outline, and bibliography by 
 ANDREW J. GEORGE, A. M., editor of " Select Poems of Words- 
 worth," "Select Poems of Burns," etc. 
 
 The Princess marks the beginning of a new period of Tennyson's work ; 
 the period which produced also In Memoriam, Maud, and the Idyls. 
 It lacks nothing of the lyric and picturesque qualities of the earlier poems, 
 and, in addition, contains the germ of that political and ethical philosophy 
 which is the distinctive note of Tennyson in the life of the century. 
 
 This edition is an interpretative study of the thought and the literary 
 merits of the poem, and contains the complete text. The notes are ex- 
 cellent and will draw the student into broader fields of study. 
 Cloth. 217 pages. Illustrated. Price, 40 cents. 
 
 THE PRINCESS. Briefer Edition 
 
 The matter included in this volume is identical in the introduction and 
 text with Mr. George's larger book described above. The notes, however, 
 are condensed and abridged. 
 
 Cloth. 144 pages. Illustrated. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 ENOCH ARDEN 
 
 Edited by CALVIN S. BROWN, A. M. 
 
 Has the latest text with an introduction, a chapter on prototypes of 
 Enoch Arden, and notes. This volume also contains the text of Locksley 
 Hall and Locksley Hall Sixty Years After, with analyses and notes. 
 
 In preparing these notes, Tennyson has been made his own interpreter 
 wherever possible. Brief critical extracts are given, and there is a bibliog- 
 raphy and biographical outline of Tennyson. 
 
 Cloth, 152 pages. Illustrated. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 PROLEGOMENA TO IN MEMORIAM 
 
 By THOMAS DAVIDSON, LL. D. 
 
 The author's aim has been to bring out clearly the soul problem which 
 forms its unity, and the noble solution offered by the poet. The work is 
 done in the belief that In Memoriam is not only the greatest English 
 poem of the century, but one of the great world poems. 
 
 The index of the poem adds to the resources for comparative study. 
 Cloth. 185 pages. Price, 50 cents. 
 
 D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORIt CHICAGO 
 
MILTON 
 
 Edited by ALBERT PERRY WALKER, A. M. 
 
 PARADISE LOST 
 
 Books I and II, with Selections from III, IV, VI, VII 
 and X. The editor has discarded notes on individual words 
 or expressions, and embodied the information needed in an 
 Introduction treating the popular, scientific, religious, and 
 mythological conceptions of the seventeenth century as they 
 appear in Milton's poems. In interpreting different pas- 
 sages, the pupil is always referred to that part of the Intro- 
 duction which will disclose to him the meaning of the text. 
 Cloth. 282 pages. Illustrated. Price, 45 cents. 
 
 PARADISE LOST, Books I and II 
 
 Contains the full text and all the critical matter of the above 
 volume which pertains to Books I and II. 
 
 Cloth. 198 pages. Illustrated. Price, 25 cents. 
 
 SELECT MINOR POEMS 
 
 Includes A Hymn on the Nadvity, L' Allegro, II Pen 
 seroso, Comus, Lycidas, and Sonnets, with bibliography, 
 introduction, notes, glossary and index. 
 
 Cloth. 186 pages. Illustrated. Price, 25 cents. 
 
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 Contains Paradise Lost, I and II, with Selections from 
 Later Books, and Select Minor Poems, with introduction, 
 notes, glossary, etc. Attractively bound in one volume. 
 Dark red cloth. 395 pages. Price, 50 cents. 
 
 MACAULAY'S ESSAY ON MILTON 
 
 Provides all needful aids to the study ©f the historical, 
 literary, and critical parts ©f this essay. The introduction 
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 waste of time in deaUng with unimportant matters of detail. 
 
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A SHORT HISTORY OF 
 
 AMERICAN LITERATURE 
 
 By WALTER C. BRONSON, A.M., 
 Professor of English in Brown University 
 
 This book is at once scholarly and attractive, adapted to the 
 work of the class room, yet literary in spirit and execution. 
 
 The literature of each period has been presented in its relation 
 to the larger life of the nation, and to the Uteratures of England 
 and Europe, for only so can American literature be completely 
 understood and its significance fully perceived. 
 
 The writers are treated with admirable critical judgment. 
 The greater writers stand out strong and clean cut personalities. 
 The minor are given brief, but clear, treatment. 
 
 While the book lays its chief emphasis upon matters distinctly 
 literary, it contains exact details about the life and writings of 
 the greater authors, and is abundantly equipped with apparatus 
 fcr reference and study. 
 
 The Appendix contains nearly forty pages of extracts fi-om 
 the best but less accessible colonial writers, and valuable notes 
 concerning our early newspapers and magazines, a bibliography 
 of Colonial and Revolutionary literature, and an index. 
 
 ' No other manual of American literature says so much so 
 well in so little space. — Walter H. Page, editor of The 
 World's Work, recently editor of The Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 Cloth. 474 pages. Price, 80 cents. 
 
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The Divina Commedia and 
 Canzoniere of Dante Alighieri 
 
 TRANSLATED WITH NOTES AND STUDIES, BY THE LATE 
 
 E. H. PLUMPTRE, D.D., Bean of Wells 
 
 The industry, erudition and sympathetic imagination of the 
 writer place a large accumulation of knowledge at the disposal 
 of the student of Dante, and fitly complete a work, regarding 
 which on its appearance the London Spectator observed : ** No 
 book about Dante has been published that will stand comparison 
 with Dean Plumptre's.'* 
 
 Churchman (New York) : — The Dean has enriched the English language 
 and English literature with a translation which we do not doubt will efface 
 all other translations. 
 
 The Pall Mall Ga-zette : — Dean Plumptre's exact learn-ng, indomitable in- 
 dustry, and exhaustive investigation are beyond praise. He often surprises 
 us and sometimes amazes us by his skilful and felicitous rendering of 
 Dante's thought in Dante's own expression and metre. 
 
 A NEW EDITION IN FIVE VOLUMES 
 
 FoL i. — Hell. Foi. H. — Purgatory. FoL Hi. — Paradise. 
 FoL iv. — - Minor Poems. Fol. v. — -Studies. 
 
 Each "volume ivith Frontispiece^ and Index of subject and names. 
 
 Library Edition: — Limp cloth, extra gilt lettered,- gilt tops, uncut edges. 
 
 Price per set, ^4.00. 
 Students'" Edition: — Cloth, i6mo, uniform with Heath's English Classics. 
 
 Price per single volume, 50 cent5. 
 
 D. C. HEATH ii? CO., Publishers 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 
 
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE 
 
 Study of English Fiction. 
 
 By WILLIAM EDWARD SIMONDS, Ph.D. 
 
 Professor of English Literature, Knox College. 
 
 ENGLISH fiction is eminently worthy of the attention of the stu- 
 dent of literature, and the history of its development is a sub- 
 ject not unsuited to the methods of the class-room. The purpose 
 of this volume is to provide material for a comparative study of our 
 fiction in its successive epochs, and for an intelligent estimate of the 
 characteristics and merits of our story-tellers in the various stages of 
 their art. The book is inductive in plan. A brief historical outline 
 is presented in five introductory chapters which bear the following 
 titles: L Old English Story Tellers. IL The Romance at the 
 Court of Elizabeth. IIL The Rise of the Novel. IV. The Per- 
 fection of the Novel. V. Tendencies of To-day. VI. Books for 
 Reference and Reading. These chapters are followed by twelve 
 texts illustrative of the different periods described. These selections 
 are: i. Beowulf. II. King Horn. III. Arcadia. IV. Forbonius 
 and Prisceria (entire). V. Doron's Wooing. VI. Shepherds' 
 "Wives' Song. VII. Jack Wilton. VIII. Euphuism (from " A 
 Margarite of America"). IX. Moll Flanders. X. Pamela. XI. 
 Tom Jones. XII. Tristram Shandy. 
 
 P. J. Purnival, The Shakespearian, London, England : I'm glad yeu've 
 written on fiction. It is the greatest power in literature now, and has been the 
 Jeast studied scientifically. You've done the right thing. 
 
 R. Q. Moulton, Professor of Literature in English, University of Chieago: 
 You are rendering a great service to literary education in recognizing fiction as a 
 field for inductive treatment. The arrangement of the work will greatly increase 
 its practical usefulness. 
 
 doth. 240 pages. 80 cents. 
 
 ^r/V/«r £<fi//V?f. :::- Without illustrative selection*. 
 Boards. 91 pages. 50 ttnts. 
 
 D. C. HEATH & CO., Publishers 
 
 BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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