His two novels are _Tristram Shandy_ (17_A history of English literature

Journey_ (1768). The first made him famous, and rather turned his

head, confirming him in some of his worst mannerisms. Both novels are

bundles of episodes and digressions, often irritatingly prolonged. The

characters are elaborately handled, caressed, and bewept. Perhaps the

most famous of them is “my uncle Toby,” with his Corporal Trim. Both

books are saturated with a sentiment that modern taste can only call

sloppiness. This sentiment, however, does not prevent a sniggering

indecency from appearing in the narrative. The style is distinguished

by many antics, such as exclamation, inversion, and unfinished

sentences. These mannerisms have long made Sterne distasteful to all

but highly trained palates, but no one can deny him great ingenuity

and industry, which can gradually unswathe characters and incidents

from their trappings of talk and digression, an acute perception of

character, and an immense opinion of his own importance.

The following is an exciting incident that occurred just after the

birth of Tristram Shandy. Susannah, the serving-maid, rouses Mr. Shandy

with the news that the child is in a fit. Observe the staccato dialogue

and the ingenious variation of the paragraph. The humor is typical of

Sterne.

“Bless me, sir,” said Susannah, “the child’s in a fit”--“And

where’s Mr Yorick?”--“Never where he should be,” said Susannah,

“but his curate’s in the dressing-room, with the child upon his

arm, waiting for the name--and my mistress bid me run as fast as

I could to know, as Captain Shandy is the godfather, whether it

should not be called after him.”

“Were one sure,” said my father to himself, scratching his

eyebrow, “that the child was expiring, one might as well

compliment my brother Toby as not--and ’t would be a pity in

such a case, to throw away so great a name as Trismegistus upon

him--But he may recover.”

“No, no”--said my father to Susannah, “I’ll get up”--“There’s

no time,” cried Susannah, “the child’s as black as my shoe.”

“Trismegistus,” said my father--“But stay--thou art a leaky

vessel, Susannah,” added my father; “can’st thou carry

Trismegistus in thy head the length of the gallery without

scattering?”--“Can I?” cried Susannah, shutting the door in a

huff--“If she can, I’ll be shot,” said my father, bouncing out

of bed in the dark, and groping for his breeches.

Susannah ran with all speed along the gallery.

My father made all possible speed to find his breeches.

=3. Horace Walpole (1717–97).= Walpole was the son of Sir Robert

Walpole, the famous Whig minister. He touched upon several kinds of

literature, his letters being among the best of their kind. His one

novel, _The Castle of Otranto_ (1764), is of importance, for it was

the first of the productions of a large school (sometimes called

the “terror school”) of novelists who dealt with the grisly and

supernatural as their subject. Walpole’s novel, which he published

almost furtively, saying, like Chatterton, that the work was of

medieval origin, described a ghostly castle, in which we have

walking skeletons, pictures that move out of their frames, and other

blood-curdling incidents. The ghostly machinery is often cumbrous, but

the work is creditably done, and as a return to the romantic elements

of mystery and fear the book is noteworthy.

=4. Other Terror Novelists.= (_a_) =William Beckford (1759–1844).=

The one novel now associated with Beckford’s name is _Vathek_ (1784).

Beckford, who was a man of immense wealth and crazy habits, drew

largely upon _The Arabian Nights_ for material for the book. The

central figure of the novel is a colossal creature, something like

a vampire in disposition, who preys upon mankind and finally meets

his doom with suitable impressiveness. Beckford had a wild, almost

staggering, magnificence of imagination, and his story, though crude

and violent in places, does not lack a certain reality.

(_b_) =Mrs. Ann Radcliffe (1764–1823).= This lady was the most popular

of the terror novelists, and published quite a large number of books

that followed a fairly regular plan. Among such were her _A Sicilian

Romance_ (1790), _The Romance of the Forest_ (1791), and the most

popular of them all, _The Mysteries of Udolpho_ (1794). Her stories

took on almost a uniform plot, involving mysterious manuscripts,

haunted castles, clanking chains, and cloaked and saturnine strangers.

At the end of all the horrors Mrs. Radcliffe rather spoils the effect

by giving away the secrets of them, and revealing the fact that the

terrors were only illusions after all. Nowadays the novels appear tame,

but they showed the way to a large number of other writers, for they

were fresh to the public of their time.

(_c_) =Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775–1818).= Lewis is perhaps the crudest

of the terror school, and only one book of his, _The Monk_ (1795), is

worth recording. Lewis, who is lavish with his horrors, does not try to

explain them. His imagination is grimmer and fiercer than that of any

of the other writers of the same class, and his book is probably the

“creepiest” of its kind.

=5. Henry Mackenzie (1745–1831).= This novelist is the most

considerable of the sentimental school, who took Sterne for their

master. His best-known work is _The Man of Feeling_ (1771), in which

maudlin sentiment has free play. To his contemporaries Mackenzie was

known as “the Man of Feeling.”

=6. Frances Burney (1752–1840)=, whose married name was =Madame

d’Arblay=, is rather an important figure, for she exercised a

considerable influence on her age. Her diaries and letters are

clever and informative, and her two best novels, _Evelina_ (1778)

and _Cecilia_ (1782), are lively and acute representations of

fashionable society. Johnson, with his heavy jocularity, called her a

“character-monger,” meaning that her chief effects were obtained in the

portraying of character. In the construction of _Evelina_ she returns

to the clumsy letter-method of Richardson, but she has a wit of an

agreeably acid flavor. She is no mean predecessor of Jane Austen. (See

p. 354.)

EDWARD GIBBON (1737–94)

=1. His Life.= Gibbon, who was born at Putney, was a sickly child,

and, according to his own grateful acknowledgment, he owed his

life to the exertions of his aunt, Catherine Porten. He had little

regular schooling, but from his early years he was an eager reader of

history. At the age of fifteen he entered Magdalen College, Oxford,

an institution of which he always spoke afterward with aversion and

contempt. “To the University of Oxford,” he writes, “I acknowledge

no obligation, and she will as readily renounce me as a son, as I am

willing to disclaim her as a mother.” His private historical studies

led him to become a Roman Catholic when he was sixteen years old, to

the great horror of his father, and resulted in his expulsion from the

university. His father packed him off to Lausanne, in Switzerland, in

the hope that the Protestant atmosphere of the place would wean him

from his new faith.

From his stay in Lausanne began Gibbon’s long and affectionate

acquaintance with French language and learning, two sources from

which he was to draw the chief inspiration for his masterpiece. He

returned to England in 1758, and had a brief and mixed experience in

the Militia; afterward he toured the Continent, visiting the famous

_salons_ of Paris and seeing Rome. Returning to England after some

years, he entered Parliament (1774), hoping for political preferment.

In this he was only moderately successful, for he was a lukewarm and

rather cynical politician. He returned to Lausanne, where he completed

his great work in June 1787. He finally came back to England, and died

in lodgings in London.

=2. His Works.= His first projected book, _A History of Switzerland_

(1770), was never finished. Then appeared the first volume of _The

Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ (1776). At nearly regular

intervals of two years each of the other five volumes was produced, the

last appearing in 1788. His _Autobiography_, which contains valuable

material concerning his life, is his only other work of any importance,

and it is written with all his usual elegance and suave, ironic humor.

To most judges _The Decline and Fall_ ranks as one of the greatest

of historical works, and is a worthy example of what a history ought

to be. In time it covers more than a thousand years, and in scope it

includes all the nations of Europe. It sketches the events leading

up to the dissolution of the Roman Empire, and traces the rise of

the states and nations that previously formed the component parts of

the Roman world, concluding with the fall of Constantinople in the

fifteenth century. For this great task Gibbon’s knowledge is adequate;

recent specialized research has rarely been able to pick holes in his

narrative. Moreover, he had also that infallible sense of proportion

which is the mark of the born historian: he knows what and when to

omit, to condense, or give in full. In consequence his gigantic

narrative has the balance and the beauty that result from a single

and indivisible _mind_ directing it, and suggests in plan and

workmanship a vast cathedral.

Exception has been taken to Gibbon’s humor, and with some reason.

His skeptical bias, the product of his studies in French, pervades

the entire work. This mental attitude need be no disadvantage to the

historian, for it leads him to scrutinize his evidence very severely.

But in the case of Gibbon it is troublesome at times, especially when

he deals with the rise of the Christian faith. In the chapters devoted

to the early Christians he sets the facts down solemnly, but all the

time he is subtly and sneeringly ironical, a characteristic that

aroused the great indignation of Johnson. At many other points when

recording disagreeable incidents Gibbon reveals a sniggering nastiness

of humor unworthy of so great a writer.

His prose style, deliberately cultivated as being most suited to

his subject, is peculiar to himself. It is lordly and commanding,

with a full, free, and majestic rhythm. Admirably appropriate to its

gigantic subject, the style has nevertheless some weaknesses. Though

it never flags, and rarely stumbles, the very perfection of it tends

to monotony, for it lacks ease and variety. The extract shows the

elaborate construction of the sentences and the rolling character of

the rhythm:

Three days Mahomet and his companion were concealed in the

cave of Thor, at the distance of a league from Mecca; and in

the close of each evening, they received from the son and

daughter of Abubeker a secret supply of intelligence and food.

The diligence of the Koreish explored every haunt in the

neighbourhood of the city; they arrived at the entrance of the

cavern; but the providential deceit of a spider’s web and a

pigeon’s nest is supposed to convince them that the place was

solitary and inviolate. “We are only two,” said the trembling

Abubeker. “There is a third,” replied the prophet; “it is

God himself.” No sooner was the pursuit abated, than the two

fugitives issued from the rock, and mounted their camels; on

the road to Medina they were overtaken by the emissaries of the

Koreish; they redeemed themselves with prayers and promises from

their hands. In this eventful moment the lance of an Arab might

have changed the history of the world. The flight of the prophet

from Mecca to Medina has fixed the memorable era of the Hegira,

which, at the end of twelve centuries, still discriminates the

lunar years of the Mahometan nations.

OTHER HISTORIANS

=1. David Hume (1711–76).= Born and educated at Edinburgh, Hume first

distinguished himself as a philosopher, publishing the _Treatise on

Human Nature_ (1739–40) and _Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary_

(1741). Later he turned to historical work, writing _The History of

England_, in six volumes, which appeared between the years 1754 and

1762. At first the work was coldly received, for it traversed the

popular Whig notions, but in time the book raised Hume to the position

of the leading historian of the day. He died in the same year that

witnessed the issue of the first volume of _The Decline and Fall_.

As a historian Hume makes no pretense at profound research, so that his

work has little permanent value as history. He possesses a clear and

logical mind and a swift and brilliant narrative style. In the history

of literature his work is of importance as being the first of the

popular and literary histories of the country.

=2. William Robertson (1721–93).= Robertson also was a Scot, being

born in the country of Midlothian. After leaving the university he

entered the Scottish Church. He had an active and successful career

as a historian, producing among other works _The History of Scotland_

(1759), _The History of Charles V_ (1769), and _The History of America_

(1777).

The range of Robertson’s subject-matter shows that he could have been

no deep student of any particular epoch of history. He aimed at a

plain and businesslike narrative of events, taking the average man’s

view of the facts he chronicled, and, with perhaps the exception of

his pronounced bias in favor of Mary Queen of Scots, he is never

conspicuously personal in his opinions.

=3. James Boswell (1740–95)= was born in Edinburgh of a good

Scottish family. He studied law, but his chief delight was the pursuit

of great men, whose acquaintance he greedily cultivated.

He lives in literature by his supreme effort, _The Life of Samuel

Johnson_ (1791), which ranks as one of the best biographies in

existence. Boswell sought and obtained Johnson’s friendship; endured

any humiliation for the sake of improving it; and for twenty-one

years, by means of an astonishing amount of patience, pertinacity, and

sheer thick-skinned imperviousness to slight and insult, obtained an

intimate personal knowledge of Johnson’s life and habits. Boswell has

suffered at the hands of Macaulay, who has pictured him as being a

knavish buffoon. No doubt he had glaring faults; but on the other hand

he had great native shrewdness, a vigorous memory, a methodical and

tireless industry which made him note down and preserve many details

of priceless value, and a natural genius for seizing upon points of

supreme literary importance. All these gifts combine to make his book a

masterpiece.

The following extract illustrates Boswell’s acute perception, his eye

for detail, and his limpid and vivacious style:

That the most minute singularities which belonged to him, and

made very observable parts of his appearance and manner, may not

be omitted, it is requisite to mention, that while talking or

even musing as he sat in his chair, he commonly held his head to

one side towards his right shoulder, and shook it in a tremulous

manner, moving his body backwards and forwards, and rubbing his

left knee in the same direction, with the palm of his hand. In

the intervals of articulating he made various sounds with his

mouth, sometimes as if ruminating, or what is called chewing

the cud, sometimes giving half a whistle, sometimes making his

tongue play backwards from the roof of his mouth, as if clucking

like a hen, and sometimes protruding it against his upper gums

in front, as if pronouncing quickly under his breath, _too,

too, too_: all this accompanied sometimes with a thoughtful

look, but more frequently with a smile. Generally when he had

concluded a period, in the course of a dispute, by which time he

was a good deal exhausted by violence and vociferation, he used

to blow out his breath like a whale. This I suppose was a relief

to his lungs; and seemed in him to be a contemptuous mode of

expression, as if he had made the arguments of his opponent fly

like chaff before the wind.

_The Life of Samuel Johnson._

EDMUND BURKE (1729–97)

Burke shares with Gibbon the place of the greatest prose stylist of

the period now under review. He is, moreover, recognized as one of the

masters of English prose.

=1. His Life.= Born in Dublin, Burke was educated at Trinity College,

Dublin, and then removed to London to study law in the Middle Temple.

He soon showed that his real bent lay toward politics and literature,

and it was not long before he published some books that attracted a

good deal of attention and admitted him into the famous Johnson Club.

In politics he attached himself to the Whig party, obtained some

small appointments, and became member for Wendover (1765). Both as an

orator and as a pamphleteer he was a powerful advocate for his party,

and very soon his splendid gifts won for him a leading place in the

House of Commons. His style of oratory, often labored, rhetorical, and

theatrical, exposed him to much censure and ridicule, and his speeches

were frequently prolonged to the point of dullness. But at its best his

eloquence was powerful in attack and magnificent in appeal, rising to

the very summit of the orator’s art. When the Whigs attained to office

in 1783 Burke was appointed Paymaster of the Forces. He was leader in

the prosecution of Warren Hastings, making a speech of immense length

and power (1788). On the outbreak of the French Revolution in 1789 he

left his party and attacked the revolutionaries with all his great

energy. In 1794, broken in health, he retired from Parliament, but

continued to publish pamphlets till his death in 1797.

=2. His Works.= The considerable sum of Burke’s achievement can

for the sake of convenience be divided into two groups: his purely

philosophical writings, and his political pamphlets and speeches.

(_a_) His philosophical writings, which comprise the smaller division

of his product, were composed in the earlier portion of his career. _A

Vindication of Natural Society_ (1756) is a parody of the style and

ideas of Bolingbroke, and, though it possesses much ingenuity, it has

not much importance as an original work. _A Philosophical Inquiry into

the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful_ (1756) is his

most considerable attempt at philosophy. As philosophy the book is only

middling, for its theory and many of its examples are questionable, but

it has the sumptuous dressing of Burke’s language and style.

(_b_) His political works are by far his most substantial claim to

fame. In variety, breadth of view, and illuminating power of vision

they are unsurpassed in the language. The chief of the many works are

_Thoughts on the Present Discontents_ (1770), a resounding attack

on the Tory Government then in power; _Reflections on the French

Revolution_ (1790), which marked his departure from his old party and

his fierce challenge to the extreme revolutionary policy; _Letter to

a Noble Lord_ (1796); and _Letters on a Regicide Peace_ (1797). In

addition we have much purely oratorical work, such as the notable

speeches on the American question and his great philippic against

Warren Hastings.

=3. Features of his Work.= Though the occasion of Burke’s political

writings has vanished, the books can still be read with profit and

pleasure. Burke was the practical politician, applying to the problems

of his day the light of a clear and forcible intelligence; yet, above

this, he had an almost supreme faculty for discerning the eternal

principles lying behind the shifting and troubled scenes of his time.

He could distill from the muddy liquid of contemporary party strife the

clear wine of wisdom, and so deduce ideas of unshakable permanence.

Thus pages of his disquisition, scores of his dicta, can still be

applied almost without qualification to the problems of any civilized

state and time. A good deal of the writing is of an inferior quality;

it can be flashy, labored, and dull; but as a whole it possesses the

foundations of sanity and wisdom.

We have in addition the permanent attraction of Burke’s style. His

prose is marked by all the devices of the orator: much repetition,

careful arrangement and balance of parts, copious use of the rhetorical

figures (such as metaphor, simile, epigram, and exclamation),

variation of the sentence, homely illustrations, and a swift but steady

rhythm. When he overdoes these devices he is garish and vulgar, but

for the most part his style impresses the reader with an effect of

elevation, strength, and noble perspicuity.

In the extract now given, note that the actual vocabulary does not

abound in long Latinized words as in the case of Johnsonese. The ornate

effect is produced rather by the elevation of the sentiment and the

sweeping cadence of the style.

On the scheme of this barbarous philosophy, which is the

offspring of cold hearts and muddy understandings, and which

is as void of solid wisdom as it is destitute of all taste and

elegance, laws are to be supported only by their own terrors,

and by the concern which each individual may find in them from

his own private speculations, or can spare to them from his

own private interests. In the groves of _their_ Academy,

at the end of every vista, you see nothing but the gallows!

Nothing is left which engages the affections on the part of the

commonwealth. On the principles of this mechanic philosophy, our

institutions can never be embodied, if I may use the expression,

in persons, so as to create in us love, veneration, admiration,

or attachment. But that sort of reason which banishes the

affections is incapable of filling their place. These public

affections, combined with manners, are required sometimes as

supplements, sometimes as correctives, always as aids, to law.

The precept given by a wise man, as well as a great critic, for

the construction of poems is equally true as to states: “Non

satis est pulchra esse poemata, dulcia sunto.” There ought to

be a system of manners in every nation which a well-formed mind

would be disposed to relish. To make us love our country, our

country ought to be lovely.

_Reflections on the French Revolution_

OTHER PROSE-WRITERS

=1. Adam Smith (1723–90).= This author was born at Kirkcaldy, in

Fifeshire, and completed his education at Glasgow and Oxford. He was

appointed professor at Glasgow University, whence he issued his famous

book _The Wealth of Nations_ (1776).

In the history of economics the work is epoch-making, for it lays the

foundations of modern economic theory. In the history of literature it

is noteworthy because it is another example of that spirit of research

and inquiry that was abroad at this time, playing havoc with literary

convention as well as with many other ideas. The book is also a worthy

example of the use of a plain businesslike style in the development of

theories of far-reaching importance.

=2. William Paley (1743–1805)= may be taken as the typical theological

writer of the age. He was a brilliant Cambridge scholar, and obtained

high offices in the Church, finally becoming an archdeacon. His chief

books are _Moral and Political Philosophy_ (1785), _Horæ Paulinæ_

(1790), and _A View of the Evidences of Christianity_ (1794). His style

is lively and attractive, and he possessed much vigor of character and

intellect.

=3. The Earl of Chesterfield (1694–1773)= was of the famous Stanhope

family. In his day he was an illustrious wit and man of fashion, and

held high political offices. He is an example of the aristocratic

amateur in literature, and he wrote elegant articles for the

fashionable journals, such as _The World_.

His _Letters to his Son_, which were published shortly after his death

in 1773, caused a great flutter. They appeared diabolically cynical

and immoral, and as such they were denounced by Johnson. No doubt they

affect the tired cynicism of the man of the world, but that does not

prevent them from being keen and clever, and underneath their bored

indifference to morality they reveal a shrewd judgment of men and

manners. (See p. 342.)

=4. William Godwin (1756–1836)= is a prominent example of the

revolutionary man of letters of the time. He was the son of a

dissenting minister, and intended to follow the same profession, but

very soon drifted away from it. He then devoted himself to the pursuit

of letters, in which he developed his extreme views on religion,

politics, sociology, and other important themes. His _Political

Justice_ (1793) was deeply tinged with revolutionary ideas, and had a

great effect on many young and ardent spirits of the age, including

Shelley. His novel _Caleb Williams_ (1794) was a dressing of the same

theories in the garb of fiction. Godwin is worth notice because he

reveals the spread of the revolutionary doctrines that were so strongly

opposed by Burke.

=5. Gilbert White (1720–93)= deserves mention as the first naturalist

who cast his observations into genuine literary form. He was born

at Selborne, Hampshire, studied at Oxford, and took holy orders. He

settled at his native place, and published _The Natural History of

Selborne_ (1789). The book is a series of genuine letters written to

correspondents who are interested in the natural history of the place.

White reveals much closeness and sympathy of observation, and he can

command a sweet and readable style. He shows the “return to nature” in

a practical and praiseworthy form. (See p. 355.)

THE DEVELOPMENT OF LITERARY FORMS

This, being an age of transition, is an age of unrest, of advance and

retreat, of half-lights and dubious victories. But if we bring together

the different types of literature, and mark how they have developed

during the period, we can see that the trend of the age is quite clear.

=1. Poetry.= In 1740 we have Pope still alive and powerful, and Johnson

an aspiring junior; in 1800, with Burns and Blake, Romanticism has

unquestionably arrived. This great change came gradually, but its

stages can be observed with some precision.

(_a_) The first symptom of the coming change was the _decline of the

heroic couplet_, the dominance of which passed away with its greatest

exponent, Pope. Toward the middle of the century a large number of

other poetical forms can be observed creeping back into favor.

(_b_) The change was first seen in the free use of the _Pindaric ode_

in the works of Gray and Collins, which appeared in the middle years of

the century. The Pindaric ode is a useful medium for the transitional

stage, for it has the double advantage of being “classical” and of

being free from the more formal rules of couplet and stanza. Gray’s

_The Bard_ (1757) and Collins’s ode _The Passions_ (1747) are among the

best of the type.

(_c_) Another omen was the revival of the _ballad_, which was due to

renewed interest in the older kinds of literature. The revived species,

as seen in Goldsmith’s _The Hermit_ and Cowper’s _John Gilpin_, has not

the grimness and crude narrative force of the genuine ballad, but it

is lively and often humorous. Another ballad-writer was =Thomas Percy

(1729–1811)=, who, in addition to collecting the _Reliques_ (1765),

composed ballads of his own, such as _The Friar of Orders Grey_.

Chatterton’s _Bristowe Tragedy_ has much of the fire and somberness of

the old ballads.

(_d_) The _descriptive and narrative poems_ begin with the

old-fashioned _London_ (1738) of Johnson; the development is seen in

Goldsmith’s _Traveller_ (1764) and _Deserted Village_ (1770), in which

the heroic couplet is quickened and transformed by a real sympathy

for nature and the poor; the advance is carried still further by the

blank-verse poems of Cowper (_The Task_) and Crabbe (_The Village_)

and the Spenserian stanzas of minor poets like Shenstone (_The

Schoolmistress_).

(_e_) Finally there is the rise of the _lyric_. The Pindarics of

Collins and Gray are lyrics in starch and buckram; the works of

Chatterton, Smart, Macpherson, Cowper, and, lastly, of Burns and Blake

show in order the lyrical spirit struggling with its bonds, shaking

itself free, and finally soaring in triumph. Romanticism has arrived.

=2. Drama.= In this period nothing is more remarkable than the poverty

of its dramatic literature. Of this no real explanation can be given.

The age was simply not a dramatic one; for the plays that the age

produced, with the exceptions of a few notable examples of comedy, are

hardly worth noticing.

Tragedy comes off worst of all. The sole tragedy hitherto mentioned in

this chapter is Johnson’s _Irene_ (1749), which only the reputation of

its author has preserved from complete oblivion. A tragedy which had a

great vogue was _Douglas_ (1754), by =John Home (1722–1808)=. It is now

almost forgotten. =Joanna Baillie (1762–1851)= produced some historical

blank-verse tragedies, such as _Count Basil_ (1798) and _De Montfort_

(1798). Her plays make fairly interesting reading, and some of their

admirers, including Scott, said that she was Shakespeare revived.

Among the comedies we have the sprightly plays of Goldsmith, already

noticed, Fielding’s _Tom Thumb_, and the work of =Richard Brinsley

Sheridan (1751–1816)=.

Sheridan was an Irishman, and became a prominent wit and politician.

His wit is admirably revealed in his three brilliant prose comedies.

_The Rivals_ (1775), _The School for Scandal_ (1777), and _The

Critic_ (1779). The three all resemble the best of the Restoration

comedies, without the immorality that taints their models. The plots

are ingenious and effective, though they depend largely on a stagy

complexity of intrigue; the characters, among whom are the immortal

figures of Mrs. Malaprop, Bob Acres, and Sir Fretful Plagiary, are

stage types, but they are struck off with daring skill; and the

dialogue is often a succession of brilliant repartees. The worst that

can be said against the plays is that they are artificial, and that the

very cleverness of them becomes fatiguing. With the work of Sheridan

the artificial comedy reaches its climax.

=3. Prose.= The prose product of the period is bulky, varied, and

of great importance. The importance of it is clear enough when we

recollect that it includes, among many other things, possibly the best

novel in the language (_Tom Jones_), the best history (_The Decline and

Fall_), and the best biography (_The Life of Doctor Johnson_).

(_a_) _The Rise of the Novel._ There are two main classes of fictional

prose narratives, namely, the tale or romance and the novel. The

distinction between the two need not be drawn too fine, for there is a

large amount of prose narrative that can fall into either group; but,

broadly speaking, we may say that the tale or romance depends for its

chief interest on incident and adventure, whereas the novel depends

more on the display of character and motive. In addition, the story

(or _plot_, or _fable_) of the novel tends to be more complicated than

that of the tale, and it often leads to what were called by the older

writers “revolutions and discoveries”--that is, unexpected developments

in the narrative, finishing with an explanation that is called the

_dénouement_. The tale, moreover, can be separated from the romance:

the plot of the tale is commonly matter-of-fact, while that of the

romance is often wonderful and fantastic.

There is little doubt that the modern novel has its roots in the

medieval romances, such as _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ and

those dealing with the legends of King Arthur. Another source of the

novel were the collections of ballads telling of the adventures of

popular heroes of the type of Robin Hood. These romances were written

in verse; they were supplied with stock characters, like the wandering

knight, the distressed damsel, and the wicked wizard; they had stock

incidents, connected with enchanted castles, fiery dragons, and

perilous ambushes; and their story rambled on almost interminably. They

were necessary to satisfy the human craving for fiction, and they were

often fiction of a picturesque and lively kind.

The age of Elizabeth saw the rise of the prose romance. We have

examples in the _Euphues_ (1579) of Lyly and the _Arcadia_ of Sidney.

As fiction these tales are weighed down with their fantastic prose

styles, and with their common desire to expound a moral lesson. Their

characters are rudimentary, and there is little attempt at a plot and

love-theme. Yet they represent an advance, for they are fiction.

They are interesting from another viewpoint. They show us that curious

diffidence that was to be a drag on the production of the novel even as

late as the time of Scott. Authors were shy of being novelists for two

main reasons: first, there was thought to be something almost immoral

in the writing of fiction, as it was but the glorification of a pack

of lies; and, secondly, the liking for fiction was considered to be the

craving of diseased or immature intellects, and so the production of it

was unworthy of reasonable men. Thus if a man felt impelled to write

fiction he had to conceal the narrative with some moral or allegorical

dressing.

A new type of embryo novel began to appear at the end of the sixteenth

century, and, becoming very popular during the seventeenth, retained

its popularity till the days of Fielding and Smollett.

This class is known as the _picaresque_ novel, a name derived from the

Spanish word _picaron_, which means a wandering rogue. As the name

implies, it is of Spanish origin. For hero it takes a rascal who leads

a wandering life, and has many adventures, most of them of a scandalous

kind. The hero is the sole link between the different incidents, and

there is much digression and the interposing of other short narratives.

In Spain the picaresque type originated in parodies of the old

romances, and of such parodies the greatest is the _Don Quixote_ (1604)

of Cervantes. In France the type became common, the most famous example

of it being the _Gil Blas_ (1735) of Le Sage.

In England the picaresque novel had an early start in _Jack Wilton,

or The Unfortunate Traveller_, by Nash, (1567–1601), whose work often

suggests that of Defoe. Nash’s work is crude, but it has vigor and some

wit. A later effort in the same kind is _The English Rogue_ (1665), by

Richard Head. The book is gross and scandalous to an extreme degree,

but it has energy, and, as it takes the hero to many places on the

globe, the reader obtains interesting glimpses of life in foreign parts.

Another type that came into favor was the heroic romance. This

was based on the similar French romances of Mademoiselle Scudéri

(1607–1701) and others. This class of fiction was the elegant variety

of the grosser picaresque novel, and it was much duller. The hero of

a heroic romance was usually of high degree, and he underwent a long

series of romantic adventures, many of them supernatural. There was

much love-making, involving long speeches containing “noble sentiments,

elegantly expressed.” The length of these romances was enormous; the

_Grand Cyrus_ of Mademoiselle Scudéri ran to ten large volumes. Popular

English specimens were Ford’s _Parismus, Prince of Bohemia_ (1598)

and _Parthenissa_ (1654), by Roger Boyle. It is worth noting that the

artificial heroic romance collapsed about the end of the seventeenth

century, whereas the picaresque class, which in spite of its grave

faults was a human and interesting type of fiction, survived and

influenced the novel in later centuries.

By the end of the seventeenth century the novel is dimly taking shape.

=Aphra Behn (1640–89)= wrote stories that had some claims to plot,

character-drawing, and dialogue. Her _Orinooko, or The Royal Slave_

shows some power in describing the persecution of a noble negro, a

kind of Othello, at the hands of brutal white men. The work of Bunyan

(1628–88) was forced to be allegorical, for the Puritans, of whom he

was one, abhorred the idea of writing fiction, which they regarded as

gilded lies. Yet _The Pilgrim’s Progress_ abounds in qualities that go

to make a first-rate novel: a strong and smoothly working plot, troops

of human and diverse characters, impressive descriptive passages, and

simple dialogue dramatically sound. His other works, notably _The Life

and Death of Mr. Badman_, are also very close to the novel proper.

In the eighteenth century we see another development in the Coverley

papers (1711) of Steele and Addison. There is little plot in this

essay-series, and only a rudimentary love-theme; but the allegorical

fabric is gone, there is much entertaining character-sketching, and

the spice of delicate humor. We should note also that we have here the

beginnings of the society and domestic novel, for the papers deal with

ordinary people and incidents.

The genuine novel is very near indeed in the works of Defoe

(1659–1731). His novels are of the picaresque type in the case of

_Captain Singleton_ (1720), _Moll Flanders_ (1722), and _Colonel Jack_

(1722). They have many of the faults of their kind: the characters

are weakly drawn, the plots are shaky and sprawling, and much of the

incident is indecorous; yet they have a virile and sustaining interest

that is most apparent in the best parts of _Robinson Crusoe_ (1719).

Then, toward the middle of the century, came the swift and abundant

blossoming of the novel, raising the type to the rank of one of the

major species of literature. The time was ripe for it. The drama,

which had helped to satisfy the natural human desire for a story,

was moribund, and something had to take its place. Here we can only

summarize very shortly the work of the novelists already discussed in

this chapter. Richardson’s _Pamela_ (1740) had the requisites of plot,

characters, and dialogue, and these of high merit; but the diffidence

of the early fiction-writer possessed him, and he had to conceal

the novel-method under the clumsy disguise of a series of letters.

Fielding’s robust common sense had no such scruples, and his _Tom

Jones_ (1749) shows us the novel in its maturity. Later novelists could

only modify and improve in detail; with Fielding the principles of the

novel were established.

The modifications of Fielding’s immediate successors can be briefly

noticed. Smollett reverted to the picaresque manner, but he added the

professional sailor to fiction, and gave it types of Scottish character

that Scott was to improve upon; Sterne made the novel sentimental and

fantastic, and founded a sentimental school; the Radcliffe novels,

popular toward the end of the century, made fiction terrific; while

in _The Vicar of Wakefield_ (1766) Goldsmith showed us what the novel

can do in respect of a simple yet effective plot, human and lovable

personages, dialogue of a dramatic kind, and a tender and graceful

humor. Johnson’s _Rasselas_ (1759), which reverted to the methods

of _Euphues_, was pure reaction, but it possesses an interest as a

reversion to a long-dead type.

(_b_) _The Rise of the Historical Work._ The development of history

came late, but almost necessarily so. The two main requirements of

the serious historian are knowledge of his subject and maturity of

judgment. Before the year 1750 no great historical work had appeared

in any modern language. Raleigh’s _History of the World_ (1614) is not

a real history; it is only the fruit of the mental exertions of an

imprisoned man who seeks relaxation. Clarendon’s _History of the Great

Rebellion_, which was not published till 1704, is largely the record of

his own personal experiences and opinions. He makes little attempt at

an impartial and considered judgment or at placing the rebellion in its

proper perspective.

The general advance in knowledge and the research into national affairs

which were the features of eighteenth-century culture quickly brought

the study of history into prominence. France led the way, and the

Scots, traditionally allied to the French, were the first in Britain

to feel the influence. Hence we have Hume’s _History of England_

(1754) and the works of Robertson. These books excelled in ease and

sense, but the knowledge displayed in them was not yet sufficient to

make them epoch-making. Gibbon’s _Decline and Fall_ (1776) in

knowledge, in method, and in literary style is as near perfection as

human frailty can attain. Thus within twenty or thirty years the art

of writing history in English advanced from a state of tutelage to

complete development.

(_c_) _Letter-writing._ The habit of writing letters became very

popular during the eighteenth century, and flourished till well

into the nineteenth, when the institution of the penny post made

letter-writing a convenience and not an art. It was this popularity of

the letter that helped Richardson’s _Pamela_ into public favor.

A favorite form of the letter was a long communication, sometimes

written from abroad, discussing some topic of general interest. Such

a letter was semi-public in nature, and was meant to be handed round

a circle of acquaintances. Frequently a series of letters was bound

into book-form. Collections of this kind were the letters of Lady

Mary Wortley Montagu (1689–1762), written to Pope and others from

Constantinople, and of Thomas Gray, from the Lake District and the

Continent. Sometimes the letters contain comments on political and

social matters, as in the famous compositions of Lord Chesterfield to

his son, which we have already noticed. We give an extract from one of

Chesterfield’s letters, for it is valuable as an example of witty and

polished prose. A letter of the type of Chesterfield’s is really an

essay which is given a slightly epistolary form.

LONDON, _May 27, 1753_

... You are now but nineteen, an age at which most of your

countrymen are illiberally getting drunk in Port at the

University. You have greatly got the start of them in learning;

and, if you can equally get the start of them in the knowledge

and manners of the world, you may be very sure of outrunning

them in Court and Parliament, as you set out so much earlier

than they. They generally begin but to see the world at

one-and-twenty; you will by that age have seen all Europe.

They set out upon their travels unlicked cubs; and in their

travels they only lick one another, for they seldom go into

any other company. They know nothing but the English world,

and the worst part of that too, and generally very little of

any but the English language; and they come home, at three or

four-and-twenty, refined and polished (as is said in one of

Congreve’s plays) like Dutch skippers from a whale-fishing.

The care which has been taken of you, and (to do you justice)

the care you have taken of yourself, has left you, at the age

of nineteen only, nothing to acquire but the knowledge of the

world, manners, address, and those exterior accomplishments.

But they are great and necessary acquisitions, to those who

have sense enough to know their true value; and your getting

them before you are one-and-twenty, and before you enter upon

the active and shining scene of life, will give you such an

advantage over all your contemporaries, that they cannot

overtake you: they must be distanced. You may probably be placed

about a young prince, who will probably be a young king. There

all the various arts of pleasing, the engaging address, the

versatility of manners, the brilliant, the Graces, will outweigh

and yet outrun all solid knowledge and unpolished merit. Oil

yourself therefore, and be both supple and shining, for that

race, if you would be first, or early, at the goal.

A type of letter which is frankly a work written for publication is

well represented by the famous _Letters of Junius_, which caused a

great stir in their day. They are what are called “open letters”--that

is, they are for general perusal, while they gain additional point by

being addressed to some well-known personage. The public, as it were,

has the satisfaction of looking over the shoulder of the man to whom

they are addressed. “Junius” is now supposed to have been =Sir Philip

Francis (1740–1818)=, though the identity of the writer was long

concealed. They began to appear in _The Public Advertiser_ in 1769, and

by their immensely destructive power they shook the Government to its

base. In force and fury they resemble Swift’s _Drapier’s Letters_, but

they tend to become petty and spiteful.

The more intimate and private letters of this period, of which there

is a large and interesting collection, are of a deeper significance to

us now, for they contain a human interest by revealing the nature of

the people who wrote them. In _The Life of Doctor Johnson_ Boswell

published many of Johnson’s letters, the most famous of which is that

containing the snub to Chesterfield. It is quoted in the exercises

attached to this chapter. Horace Walpole, as we have already noted

(p. 323), left a voluminous correspondence which for wit, vivacity,

and urbane and shallow common sense is quite remarkable. The private

letters of Cowper are attractive for their easy and unaffected grace

and their gentle and pervasive humor. We add an extract from a letter

by Cowper. The style of it should be compared with that of Chesterfield.

(_To William Hayley._)

WESTON, _February 24, 1793_

... Oh! you rogue! what would you give to have such a dream

about Milton, as I had about a week since? I dreamed that

being in a house in the city, and with much company, looking

toward the lower end of the room from the upper end of it, I

descried a figure which I immediately knew to be Milton’s.

He was very gravely, but very neatly attired in the fashion

of his day, and had a countenance which filled me with those

feelings which an affectionate child has for a beloved father,

such, for instance, as Tom has for you. My first thought was

wonder, where he could have been concealed so many years; my

second, a transport of joy to find him still alive; my third,

another transport to find myself in his company; and my fourth,

a resolution to accost him. I did so, and he received me with a

complacence, in which I saw equal sweetness and dignity. I spoke

of his _Paradise Lost_, as every man must, who is worthy

to speak of it at all, and told him a long story of the manner

in which it affected me, when I first discovered it, being at

that time a schoolboy. He answered me by a smile and a gentle

inclination of his head. He then grasped my hand affectionately,

and with a smile that charmed me, said, “Well, you for your part

will do well also”; at last recollecting his great age (for I

understood him to be two hundred years old), I feared that I

might fatigue him by much talking; I took my leave, and he took

his, with an air of the most perfect good breeding. His person,

his features, his manner, were all so perfectly characteristic,

that I am persuaded an apparition of him could not present him

more completely. This may be said to have been one of the dreams

of Pindus,[169] may it not?... With Mary’s kind love, I must now

conclude myself, my dear brother, ever yours,

LIPPUS[170]

(_d_) _The Periodical Essay._ Compared with the abundance of the

earlier portion of the century, the amount produced later seems of

little importance. The number of periodicals, however, was as great as

ever. Johnson wrote _The Rambler_ and _The Idler_, and contributed also

to _The Adventurer_ and others; Goldsmith assisted _The Bee_ during

its brief career. _The Connoisseur_, to which Cowper contributed for

a space, _The Mirror_ and _The Lounger_, published in Edinburgh by

Mackenzie, “the Man of Feeling,” _The Observer_ and _The Looker On_ all

imitated _The Spectator_ with moderate success, but show no important

development in manner or matter.

(_e_) _Miscellaneous Prose._ The amount of miscellaneous prose is

very great indeed, and a fair proportion of it is of high merit. We

have already given space to the political and philosophical writings

of Burke, whose work is of the highest class, as represented in _The

Sublime and Beautiful_ and _Reflections on the French Revolution_.

Political writing of a different aim is seen in Godwin’s _Political

Justice_; and the religious writings of Paley, the critical writings of

Percy, and the natural history of Gilbert White are all to be included

in this class.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF LITERARY STYLE

=1. Poetry.= In poetical style the transitional features are well

marked. The earlier authors reveal many artificial mannerisms--for

example, extreme regularity of meter and the frequent employment of the

more formal figures of speech, such as personification and apostrophe.

The Pindaric odes of Gray and Collins are examples of the transitional

style:

Ye distant spires! ye antique towers!

That crown the watery glade,

Where grateful Science still adores

Her Henry’s holy shade;

And ye that from the stately brow

Of Windsor’s heights the expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way.

GRAY, _Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College_

In this verse there are the conventional personifications of Science

and the Thames, and such stock phrases as “the watery glade.” The whole

poem, however, is infused with a new spirit of mingled energy and

meditation.

As the century draws to a close we have many of the newer styles

appearing: the more regular blank verse of Cowper; the lighter heroic

couplet of Goldsmith; the archaic medley of Chatterton; and the intense

simplicity of Burns and Blake. As a further example of the new manner

we quote a few stanzas from a poem by Fergusson, who, dying in the year

1774 (ten years before the death of Johnson), wrote as naturally as

Burns himself:

As simmer rains bring simmer flowers,

And leaves to cleed the birken bowers;

Sae beauty gets by caller showers

Sae rich a bloom,

As for estate, or heavy dowers

Aft stands in room.

What makes auld Reekie’s dames so fair

It canna be the halesome air;

But caller burn, beyond compare,

The best o’ ony,

That gars them a’ sic graces skair[171]

An’ blink sae bonny.

On Mayday, in a fairy ring,

We’ve seen them roun’ Saint Anthon’s spring,

Frae grass the caller dew-draps wring,

To weet their e’en,

An’ water, clear as crystal spring,

To synd[172] them clean.

_Caller Water_

=2. Prose.= As in poetry, we have in prose many men and many

manners. The simplest prose of the period is found chiefly in the works

of the novelists, of whom Fielding and Smollett are good examples.

Smollett’s prose, as in the following example, is almost colloquial in

its native directness.

After we had been all entered upon the ship’s books, I inquired

of one of my shipmates where the surgeon was, that I might

have my wounds dressed, and had actually got as far as the

middle deck (for our ship carried eighty guns) in my way to the

cockpit, when I was met by the same midshipman, who had used

me so barbarously in the tender: he, seeing me free from my

chains, asked, with an insolent air, who had released me? To

this question, I foolishly answered with a countenance that too

plainly declared the state of my thoughts; “Whoever did it, I am

persuaded did not consult you in the affair.” I had no sooner

uttered these words, than he cried, “Damn you, I’ll teach you to

talk so to your officer.” So saying, he bestowed on me several

severe stripes, with a supple jack he had in his hand: and going

to the commanding officer, made such a report of me, that I was

immediately put in irons by the master-at-arms, and a sentinel

placed over me.

_Roderick Random_

The excellent middle style of Addison, the prose-of-all-work, survives,

and will continue to survive, for it is indispensable to all manner of

miscellaneous work. Goldsmith’s prose is one of the best examples of

the middle style, and so is the later work of Johnson, as well as the

writings of the authors of miscellaneous prose already mentioned in

this chapter. The following passage from Goldsmith shows his graceful

turn of sentence and his command of vocabulary. The style is clearness

itself.

The next that presented for a place, was a most whimsical figure

indeed. He was hung round with papers of his own composing, not

unlike those who sing ballads in the streets, and came dancing

up to the door with all the confidence of instant admittance.

The volubility of his motion and address prevented my being able

to read more of his cargo than the word _Inspector_, which

was written in great letters at the top of some of the papers.

He opened the coach-door himself without any ceremony, and was

just slipping in, when the coachman, with as little ceremony,

pulled him back. Our figure seemed perfectly angry at this

repulse, and demanded gentleman’s satisfaction. “Lord, sir!”

replied the coachman, “instead of proper luggage, by your bulk

you seem loaded for a West India voyage. You are big enough,

with all your papers, to crack twenty stage-coaches. Excuse me,

indeed, sir, for you must not enter.”

_The Bee_

The more ornate class of prose is represented by the _Rambler_

essays of Johnson and the writings of Gibbon and Burke. Of the three

Johnsonese is the most cumbrous, being overloaded with long words and

complicated sentences, though it has a massive strength of its own.

Gibbon bears his mantle with ease and dignity, and Burke has so much

natural vitality that his style hardly weighs upon him at all; he does

stumble, but rarely, whereas it is sometimes urged as a fault of the

prose of Gibbon that it is so uniformly good that the perfection of it

becomes deadening.

TABLE TO ILLUSTRATE THE DEVELOPMENT OF LITERARY FORMS

+----+----------------------------------------------+-------------------------+----------------------------------------+

| +----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

| | | | | | | | | |

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

| | | | | | | | | |

|1770| | | | | | | | |

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

|1780| | | | | | | | Cowper |

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

| | | | | | | | | |

|1790| | | | | | | |White |

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

| | | | | | | | | |

| | | | | | | | | |

|1800| | | | |Baillie | | | |

+----+----------+---------------------+-------------+------------+------------+--------------+-----------+-------------+

A fresh and highly interesting style is the poetic prose of

Macpherson’s _Ossian_. Macpherson’s style is not ornate, for

it is drawn from the simplest elements; it possesses a solemnity of

expression, and so decided a rhythm and cadence, that the effect is

almost lyrical. In the passage now given the reader should note that

the sentences are nearly of uniform length, and that they could easily

be written as separate lines of irregular verse:

Her voice came over the sea. Arindal my son descended from

the hill; rough in spoils of the chase. His arrows rattled by his

side; his bow was in his hand; five dark grey dogs attend his

steps. He saw fierce Erath on the shore; he seized and bound

him to an oak. Thick wind the thongs of the hide around his

limbs; he loads the wind with his groans. Arindal ascends the

deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Amar came in his

wrath, and let fly the grey-feathered shaft. It sunk, it sunk in

thy heart, O Arindal my son; for Erath the traitor thou diedst.

The oar is stopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired.

What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy

brother’s blood! The boat is broken in twain. Amar plunges

into the sea, to rescue his Daura, or die. Sudden a blast from

the hill came over the waves. He sunk, and he rose no more.

EXERCISES

1. The first extract given below is in Johnsonese, the second

is written in Johnson’s later manner. Compare the

two with regard to their vocabulary and sentence-construction,

and say which is the more ornate and which is the

clearer and more vigorous. Which of the two do you

prefer?

(1) In this work, when it shall be found that much is omitted,

let it not be forgotten that much likewise is performed; and

though no book was ever spared out of tenderness to the author,

and the world is little solicitous to know whence proceeded the

faults of that which it condemns, yet it may gratify curiosity to

inform it, that the English Dictionary was written with little

assistance of the learned, and without any patronage of the great;

not in the soft obscurities of retirement, or under the shelter of

academic bowers, but amid inconvenience and distraction, in sickness

and in sorrow. It may repress the triumph of malignant

criticism to observe, that if our language is not here fully displayed,

I have only failed in an attempt which no human powers

have hitherto completed. If the lexicons of ancient tongues, now

immutably fixed, and comprised in a few volumes, be yet, after

the toil of successive ages, inadequate and delusive; if the aggregated

knowledge and co-operating diligence of the Italian

academicians did not secure them from the censure of Beni; if

the embodied critics of France, when fifty years had been spent

upon their work, were obliged to change its economy, and give

their second edition another form, I may surely be contented without

the praise of perfection.

JOHNSON, _Preface to “Dictionary,”_ 1755

(2) It is not to be inferred that of this poetical vigour Pope

had only a little, because Dryden had more; for every other

writer since Milton must give place to Pope; and even of Dryden

it must be said, that if he has brighter paragraphs he has not

better poems. Dryden’s performances were always hasty, either

excited by some external occasion, or extorted by domestic

necessity; he composed without consideration, and published

without correction. What his mind could supply at call, or

gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all that he

gave. The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him to condense his

sentiments, to multiply his images, and to accumulate all that

study might produce or chance might supply. If the flights of

Dryden therefore are higher, Pope continues longer on the wing.

If of Dryden’s fire the blaze is brighter, of Pope’s the heat is

more regular and constant. Dryden often surpasses expectation,

and Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent

astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight.

JOHNSON, _Lives of the Poets_, 1780

2. Compare the following passage with the example of Johnsonese

given in the last question. Which is the more abstract, and which

is the more ornate? Is there any resemblance between the two in

sentence-construction and vocabulary?

There are few great personages in history who have been more

exposed to the calumny of enemies, and the adulation of friends,

than Queen Elizabeth, and yet there is scarce any whose

reputation has been more certainly determined by the unanimous

consent of posterity. The unusual length of her administration,

and the strong features of her character, were able to overcome

all prejudices; and obliging her detractors to abate much of

their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of their panegyrics,

have at last, in spite of political factions, and, what is

more, of religious animosities, produced an uniform judgment

with regard to her conduct. Her vigour, her constancy, her

magnanimity, her penetration, vigilance, address, are allowed

to merit the highest praises, and appear not to have been

surpassed by any person who ever filled a throne: a conduct less

rigorous, less imperious, more sincere, more indulgent to her

people, would have been requisite to form a perfect character.

By the force of her mind, she controlled all her more active

and stronger qualities, and prevented them from running into

excess. Her heroism was exempt from all temerity, her frugality

from avarice, her friendship from partiality, her active temper

from turbulency and a vain ambition. She guarded not herself

with equal care or equal success from lesser infirmities--the

rivalship of beauty, the desire of admiration, the jealousy of

love, and the sallies of anger.

HUME, _The History of England_

3. The following poetical extracts, which are arranged in chronological

order, are meant to show the transition from the classical to Romantic

methods. In each examine the subject, style, and the attitude of the

author, and explain how the transition is revealed.

(1) For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crowned,

The berries crackle, and the mill turns round:

On shining altars of Japan they raise

The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze:

From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide,

While China’s earth receives the smoking tide;

At once they gratify their scent and taste,

And frequent cups prolong the rich repast.

Straight hover round the fair her airy band:

Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned;

Some o’er her lap their careful plumes displayed,

Trembling and conscious of the rich brocade.

POPE, _The Rape of the Lock_, 1712

(2) In elbow-chair, like that of Scottish stem,

By the sharp tooth of cank’ring eld defaced,

In which, when he receives his diadem,

Our sov’reign prince and liefest liege is placed,

The matron sate; and some with rank she grac’d,

(The source of children’s and of courtier’s pride!)

Redress’d affronts, for vile affronts there pass’d;

And warn’d them not the fretful to deride,

But love each other dear, whatever them betide.

Right well she knew each temper to decry;

To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise;

Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high,

And some entice with pittance small of praise;

And other some with baleful sprig she frays;

Ev’n absent, she the reins of power doth hold,

While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways;

Forewarn’d, if little bird their pranks behold,

’Twill whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold.

SHENSTONE, _The Schoolmistress_, 1742

(3) But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure?

Still it whisper’d promis’d pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail;

Still would her touch the strain prolong;

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,

She call’d on Echo still, through all the song:

And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,

And Hope enchanted smil’d, and wav’d her golden hair.

COLLINS, _The Passions_, 1747

(4) There often wanders one, whom better days

Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimmed

With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound.

A serving-maid was she, and fell in love

With one who left her, went to sea, and died.

Her fancy followed him through foaming waves

To distant shores, and she would sit and weep

At what a sailor suffers; fancy, too,

Delusive most where warmest wishes are,

Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of transports she was not to know.

She heard the doleful tidings of his death,

And never smiled again.

COWPER, _The Task_, 1785

(5) How sweet I roamed from field to field,

And tasted all the summer’s pride;

Till I the Prince of Love beheld,

Who in the sunny beams did glide.

He showed me lilies for my hair,

And blushing roses for my brow:

He led me through his gardens fair,

Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,

And Phœbus fired my vocal rage;

He caught me in his silken net,

And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then laughing, sports and plays with me;

Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

BLAKE, _Songs of Innocence_, 1789

4. (_a_) Classify the styles of the following extracts into plain,

ornate, or middle, and give reasons for your classification in each

case. (_b_) How far does the style of each suit the subject? (_c_) Give

a short account of each of the authors represented. (_d_) How far does

the style in each case reveal the character of the author?

(1) Sir, your throne cannot stand secure upon the principles

of unconditional submission and passive obedience; on powers

exercised without the concurrence of the people to be governed;

on Acts made in defiance of their prejudices and habits; on

acquiescence procured by foreign mercenary troops, and secured

by standing armies. These may possibly be the foundation of

other thrones; they must be the subversion of yours. It was

not to passive principles in our ancestors, that we owe the

honour of appearing before a sovereign, who cannot feel that

he is a prince without knowing that we ought to be free. The

Revolution was a departure from the ancient course of the

descent of this monarchy. The people, at that time, re-entered

into their original rights; and it was not because a positive

law authorised what was then done, but because the freedom

and safety of the subject, the origin and cause of all laws,

required a proceeding paramount and superior to them. At that

ever-memorable and instructive period, the letter of the law

was superseded in favour of the substance of liberty. To the

free choice, therefore, of the people, without either king

or parliament, we owe that happy establishment, out of which

both King and Parliament were regenerated. From that great

principle of liberty have originated the statutes, confirming

and ratifying the establishment from which your majesty derives

your right to rule over us. Those statutes have not given us our

liberties; our liberties have produced them. Every hour of your

majesty’s reign your title stands upon the very same foundation,

on which it was at first laid; and we do not know a better, on

which it can possibly be placed.

BURKE, _Address to the King_

(2) (_Evelina, a demure young miss, is describing her

experiences in a letter to her friend Miss Mirvan._)

I burst into tears: with difficulty I had so long restrained

them; for my heart, while it glowed with tenderness and

gratitude, was oppressed with a sense of its own unworthiness.

“You are all, all goodness!” cried I, in a voice scarce

audible; “little as I deserve,--unable as I am to repay, such

kindness,--yet my whole soul feels,--thanks you for it!”

“My dearest child,” cried he, “I cannot bear to see thy

tears;--for my sake dry them; such a sight is too much for me;

think of that, Evelina, and take comfort, I charge thee!”

“Say then,” cried I, kneeling at his feet, “say then that you

forgive me! that you pardon my reserve,--that you will again

suffer me to tell you my most secret thoughts, and rely upon my

promise never more to forfeit your confidence!--my father!--my

protector!--my ever-honoured,--ever-loved--my best and only

friend!--say you forgive your Evelina, and she will study better

to deserve your goodness!”

He raised, he embraced me: he called me his sole joy, his only

earthly hope, and the child of his bosom! He folded me to his

heart: and while I wept from the fulness of mine, with words of

sweetest kindness and consolation, he soothed and tranquillised

me.

Dear to my remembrance will ever be that moment when, banishing

the reserve I had so foolishly planned, and so painfully

supported, I was restored to the confidence of the best of men!

BURNEY, _Evelina_

(3) (_The courtship of Tom Jones and Sophia Western is

interrupted by the entrance of Sophia’s father, a bluff old

squire._)

At this instant, Western, who had stood some time listening,

burst into the room, and with his hunting voice and phrase,

cried out, “To her, boy, to her, go to her.---- That’s it,

little honeys, O that’s it! Well! what, is it all over? Hath

she appointed the day, boy? What, shall it be to-morrow or next

day? It shan’t be put off a minute longer than next day, I am

resolved.” “Let me beseech you, sir,” says Jones, “don’t let

me be the occasion”---- “Beseech--,” cries Western. “I thought

thou hadst been a lad of higher mettle than to give way to a

parcel of maidenish tricks.---- I tell thee ’tis all flimflam.

Zoodikers! she’d have the wedding to-night with all her heart.

Would’st not, Sophy? Come, confess, and be an honest girl

for once. What, art dumb? Why dost not speak?” “Why should I

confess, sir?” says Sophia, “since it seems you are so well

acquainted with my thoughts?”---- “That’s a good girl,” cries

he, “and dost consent then?” “No, indeed, sir,” says Sophia,

“I have given no such consent.”--“And wunt not ha un then

to-morrow, nor next day?” says Western.---- “Indeed, sir,”

says she, “I have no such intention.” “But I can tell thee,”

replied he, “why hast nut; only because thou dost love to be

disobedient, and to plague and vex thy father.”--“Pray, sir,”

said Jones, interfering---- “I tell thee thou art a puppy,”

cries he. “When I forbid her, then it was all nothing but

sighing and whining, and languishing and writing; now I am vor

thee, she is against thee. All the spirit of contrary, that’s

all. She is above being guided and governed by her father, that

is the whole truth on’t. It is only to disoblige and contradict

me.” “What would my papa have me do?” cries Sophia. “What would

I ha thee do?” says he, “why gi’ un thy hand this moment.”----

“Well, sir,” says Sophia. “I will obey you.--There is my hand,

Mr Jones.”

FIELDING, _Tom Jones_

(4) Thus kites and buzzards sail round in circles with wings

expanded and motionless; and it is from their gliding manner

that the former are still called in the north of England gleads,

from the Saxon verb _glidan_ to glide. The kestrel,

or windhover, has a peculiar mode of hanging in the air in

one place, his wings all the while being briskly agitated.

Hen-harriers fly low over heaths or fields of corn and beat the

ground regularly like a pointer or setting-dog. Owls move in a

buoyant manner, as if lighter than the air; they seem to want

ballast. There is a peculiarity belonging to ravens that must

draw the attention even of the most incurious--they spend all

their leisure time in striking and cuffing each other on the

wing in a kind of playful skirmish; and, when they move from

one place to another, frequently turn on their backs with a

loud croak and seem to be falling to the ground. When this odd

gesture betides them, they are scratching themselves with one

foot, and thus lose the centre of gravity. Rooks sometimes dive

and tumble in a frolicsome manner; crows and daws swagger in

their walk; wood-peckers fly _volatu undoso_, opening and

closing their wings at every stroke, and so are always rising or

falling in curves.

WHITE, _The Natural History of Selborne_

5. The following are three examples of the heroic couplet, arranged

in chronological order. Examine the meter, vocabulary, and subject of

each, and state if any development is noticeable.

(1) Enlarge my life with multitude of days!

In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays;

Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know,

That life protracted is protracted woe.

Time hovers o’er, impatient to destroy,

And shuts up all the passages of joy:

In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,

The fruit autumnal and the vernal flow’r;

With listless eyes the dotard views the store:

He views, and wonders that they please no more.

Now pall the tasteless meats and joyless wines,

And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns.

JOHNSON, _The Vanity of Human Wishes_, 1749

(2) Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled,

And still where many a garden flower grows wild:

There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,

The village preacher’s modest mansion rose.

A man he was to all the country dear,

And passing rich with forty pounds a-year;

Remote from towns he ran his godly race,

Nor e’er had changed, nor wished to change, his place;

Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power,

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour;

Far other aims his heart had learned to prize,

More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise.

GOLDSMITH, _The Deserted Village_, 1770

(3) When Plenty smiles--alas! she smiles for few--

And those who taste not, yet behold her store,

Are as the slaves that dig the golden ore--

The wealth around them makes them doubly poor.

Or will you deem them amply paid in health,

Labour’s fair child, that languishes with wealth?

Go, then! and see them rising with the sun,

Through a long course of daily toil to run;

See them beneath the Dog-star’s raging heat,

When the knees tremble and the temples beat;

Behold them, leaning on their scythes, look o’er

The labour past, and toils to come explore;

See them alternate suns and showers engage,

And hoard up aches and anguish for their age;

Then own that labour may as fatal be

To these thy slaves, as thine excess to thee.

CRABBE, _The Village_, 1783

6. We give first Johnson’s famous letter in which he refuses to accept

the tardy patronage of Lord Chesterfield. Show how the style is

appropriate to the subject, and how the letter reveals the life and

character of Johnson. Compare the style and temper of this letter with

those of the one that follows. In this extract Horace Walpole describes

the burial of George II. From this brief extract, what can you tell of

the character of Walpole?

(1)

_February 7, 1755_

MY LORD,

I have been lately informed, by the proprietor of _The World_,

that two papers, in which my _Dictionary_ is recommended to the

public, were written by your Lordship. To be so distinguished is

an honour which, being very little accustomed to favours from

the great, I know not well how to receive or in what terms to

acknowledge.

When, with some slight encouragement, I first visited your

Lordship, I was overpowered, like the rest of mankind, by the

enchantment of your address, and could not forbear to wish

that I might boast myself _le vainqueur du vainqueur de la

terre_,--that I might obtain that regard for which I saw the

world contending; but I found my attendance so little encouraged

that neither pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue

it. When I had once addressed your Lordship in public, I had

exhausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and uncourtly

scholar can possess. I had done all that I could; and no man is

well pleased to have his all neglected, be it ever so little.

Seven years, my Lord, have now passed since I waited in your

outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; during which time

I have been pushing on my work through difficulties, of which

it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last to the

verge of publication, without one act of assistance, one word of

encouragement, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not

expect, for I never had a patron before. The shepherd in Virgil

grew at last acquainted with Love, and found him a native of the

rocks. Is not a patron, my Lord, one who looks with unconcern on

a man struggling for life in the water, and when he has reached

ground, encumbers him with help?

The notice you have been pleased to take of my labours, had it

been early, had been kind; but it has been delayed till I am

indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and cannot

impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. I hope it is

no very cynical asperity, not to confess obligations when no

benefit has been received; or to be unwilling that the public

should consider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence

has enabled me to do for myself.

Having carried on my work thus far with so little obligation to

any favourer of learning, I shall not be disappointed though

I should conclude it, if less be possible, with less; for I

have been long wakened from that dream of hope in which I once

boasted myself with so much exultation,

My Lord,

Your Lordship’s most humble, most obedient Servant,

SAM. JOHNSON

(2)

ARLINGTON STREET, _November 13, 1760_

... Do you know, I had the curiosity to go to the burying

t’other night; I had never seen a royal funeral; nay, I walked

as a rag of quality, which I found would be, and so it was, the

easiest way of seeing it. It is absolutely a noble sight. The

Prince’s Chamber, hung with purple, and a quantity of silver

lamps, the coffin under a canopy of purple velvet, and six vast

chandeliers of silver on high stands, had a very good effect.

The Ambassador from Tripoli and his son were carried to see

that chamber. The procession through a line of foot-guards,

every seventh man bearing a torch, the horse-guards lining the

outside, their officers with drawn sabres and crape sashes

on horseback, the drums muffled, the fifes, bells tolling,

and minute guns, all this was very solemn. But the charm was

the entrance of the Abbey, where we were received by the Dean

and Chapter in rich copes, the choir and almsmen all bearing

torches; the whole Abbey so illuminated, that one saw it to

greater advantage than by day; the tombs, long aisles, and

fretted roof, all appearing distinctly, and with the happiest

chiaroscuro. There wanted nothing but incense, and little

chapels here and there, with priests saying mass for the repose

of the defunct--yet one could not complain of its not being

catholic enough. I had been in dread of being coupled with some

boy of ten years old--but the heralds were not very accurate,

and I walked with George Grenville, taller and older enough to

keep me in countenance.

WALPOLE

7. From a scrutiny of the subject and style of the following extracts

assign the authorship of each. State clearly the reasons that lead you

to select the particular author. Write a brief appreciation of the

style of each extract.

(1) Mr Davies mentioned my name; and respectfully introduced

me to him. I was much agitated; and recollecting his prejudice

against the Scotch, of which I had heard much, I said to Davies,

“Don’t tell where I come from.”--“From Scotland,” cried

Davies, roguishly. “Mr Johnson,” said I, “I do indeed come from

Scotland, but I cannot help it.” I am willing to flatter myself

that I meant this as light pleasantry to soothe and conciliate

him, and not as a humiliating abasement at the expense of my

country. But however that might be, this speech was somewhat

unlucky; for with that quickness of wit for which he was so

remarkable, he seized the expression “come from Scotland,” which

I used in the sense of being of that country; and, as if I had

said that I had come away from it, or left it, retorted, “That,

sir, I find, is what a very great many of your countrymen cannot

help.” This stroke stunned me a good deal; and when we had sat

down, I felt myself not a little embarrassed, and apprehensive

of what might come next.

(2) I have presumed to mark the moment of conception: I shall

now commemorate the hour of my final deliverance. It was on the

day, or rather night, of the 27th of June, 1787, between the

hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the

last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my

pen I took several turns in a _berceau_, or covered walk

of acacias, which commands a prospect of the country, the lake,

and the mountains. The air was temperate, the sky was serene,

the silver orb of the moon was reflected from the waters,

and all nature was silent. I will not dissemble the first

emotions of joy on recovery of my freedom, and, perhaps, the

establishment of my fame. But my pride was soon humbled, and a

sober melancholy was spread over my mind, by the idea that I had

taken an everlasting leave of an old and agreeable companion,

and that, whatsoever might be the future fate of my history, the

life of the historian must be short and precarious.

(3) An’ now, auld Cloots,[188] I ken ye’re thinkin,

A certain Bardie’s rantin, drinkin,

Some luckless hour will send him linkin,[189]

To your black pit;

But, faith! he’ll turn a corner jinkin,

An’ cheat you yet.

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben!

O wad ye tak a thought an’ men’!

Ye aiblins[190] might--I dinna ken--

Still hae a stake--

I’m wae to think upo’ yon den,

E’en for your sake!

(4) “I fought just as well,” continued the Corporal, “when the

regiment called me Trim, as when they called me James Butler.”

... “And for my own part,” said my uncle Toby, “though I

should blush to boast of myself, Trim;--yet, had my name been

Alexander, I could have done no more at Namur than my duty.” ...

“Bless your Honour!” cried Trim, advancing three steps as he

spoke, “does a man think of his Christian name when he goes upon

the attack?” ... “Or when he stands in the trench, Trim?” cried

my uncle Toby, looking firm.... “Or when he enters a breach?”

said Trim, pushing in between two chairs.... “Or forces the

lines?” cried my uncle, rising up, and pushing his crutch like a

pike.... “Or facing a platoon?” cried Trim presenting his stick

like a firelock.... “Or when he marches up the glacis?” cried my

uncle Toby, looking warm and setting his foot upon his stool.

8. How far are the statements in the following passage correct? Give

examples of what Macaulay refers to, and say if his remarks are

exaggerated in any form.

Johnson came up to London precisely at the time when the

condition of a man of letters was most miserable and degraded.

It was a dark night between two sunny days.... A writer had

little to hope from the patronage of powerful individuals.

The patronage of the public did not yet furnish the means of

comfortable subsistence.... If he had lived thirty years earlier

he would have sat in parliament, and would have been entrusted

with embassies to the High Allies.

MACAULAY

9. State how far the principles set out in the passage below are

followed in the novel of the eighteenth century.

A novel is a large diffused picture, comprehending the

characters of life, disposed in different groups and exhibited

in various attitudes, for the purposes of an uniform plan. This

plan cannot be executed with propriety, probability, or success,

without a principal personage to attract the attention, unite

the incidents, unwind the clue of the labyrinth, and at last

close the scene, by virtue of his own importance.

SMOLLETT, _Ferdinand, Count Fathom_

10. “The eighteenth century established a prose style.” (Craik.)

Discuss this statement on some such lines as the following: (_a_) Was

there no “established” style in prose before the eighteenth century?

(_b_) Who “established” it then? (_c_) What are the peculiarities of

the new prose style? (_d_) What are the purposes for which it was used?

(_e_) Has it been perpetuated? (_f_) Who has used it?

11. Matthew Arnold calls Burns “a beast with splendid gleams.” Why a

“beast”? And what does he mean by the “gleams”? Is the criticism fair

to Burns?

12. Account for the great development of the novel during the

eighteenth century.

13. Who are most obviously the “transitional” poets of the century? In

what sense are they transitional?

14. Give a historical account of the rise of the lyric during the

eighteenth century.

15. Estimate the influence of French learning and literature upon

English literature during the eighteenth century.

His two novels are _Tristram Shandy_ (1759–67) and _A Sentimental