BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 4, Issue 1079, 18 March 1911, Page 9

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

/-v —« •• VERSUS OLD AND NEW. DIANA IN THE OPEN. * As the strong sun that leaps upon the sea, She runs amid tho waving grass. Beware! The flashing strands of her tumultuous hair ■' Will bind you to her track eternally, Her young; smooth arms, her waist and bosom free, Her shining shoulders, beautiful and bare, Her dabbled ankles dazzle those who dare To gaze too long. They follow hastily. A "perilous quest!, Oh, whosoever followSwift, pure Diana's star, a harbinger •By. hill ar.d heath,, through stream and mossy hollow, Must too bo, pure. Swift torment fell on . him ' Who, breaking on her bathing at the ~ brim . Of some "cool streamlet, lusted after her. E. N., de C. A., in the "Nation." . ■ THE GRAVE OF KEATS. . Where silver swathes of newly fallen hay Fling. up their incense to the Koman sun; . , Where violets spread' their dusky leaves •" 'and. ran • In a dim ripple, a"M a glittering bay Lifts overhead his living wreath; where day • - - Burns-fierce upon his endless night and none '. ; Can whisper to him of the thing lie won, Love-starved young Keats hath cast his gift of clay. '. , And still the little marble makes a moan Under tho scented shade; . one nightingale . "v..'': : " With, many a meek and mourning monotone V ' .. [ Throbs of his sorrow; sings how oft men fail •' " .. . And leave-their, dearest, light-bringers t[ alone ' - • Ti'shino unseen, and all unfriended pale. >. ,• Eden Fhilpotts in "Wild Fruit." THE DOOM OF' SAILS. -; Alasl'vmust ye utterly vanish, and cease from amidst us, /. Sails .of the olden Sea? Now dispossessed by .the stern and stunted ironclad, Wingless and squat and stern? ;P(irple. sails of the heroes lured to.the WestwanK Spread for the golden isles! Sails of a magic foam .with faery plunder, i , Wafting the wizard gold! / ■ Sails of the morning, • come like ghosts on the sea-line,'. . With midnight load of the deep! ' Sails of 'the sunset, red over endless waters, - ' , ' For the furthest Orient filled! Sails of the. starlight, passing we know not whither. Silent, lighted, and lone! Sails of the sea-man accursed, and cruising for ever, • • - -Hoist by a spectral crew! Sails set. afire by the lightning, resounding to tempest, That drum and thunder and sing! Sails that I 'unruffled.repose on a bosom of azure', "Glassed-by a placid flood! . . : Alas:! must '.ye iro as ; a'dream, and de- , part as a vision, •' Sails of. the olden sea? —Stephen Phillips in, the "Spectator." it;: '- / ', ' LORD MORLEY ON LITERATURE , Lord Morley, as president of tho Eng- ; lish Association, delivered ivitli charm ' a most delightful address oil "Lan- , guage and Literature" last month. "The Times" devoted some four columns 1 to, it, and of . this v;o give an ab- ' stract. ( Lord Morley., began his address on ■ .literaturo by quoting Miss Elizabeth : Lee, thd- secretary of the English Association.' '.'She says of a certain author ■ that he takes us into that atmosphere of beauty, more or less -frequent excursions, but which are necessary to ' help us to enduro what sho calls the rusn of life and tho enforced ugliness of ' much of' our ' surroundings. Grammar, philology, rules of rhetoric are indis- , pens'afile apparatus.- They "aro a worthy , •■exercisa. for cr.reful, ingenious, and erudite minds.' But all this technique is . only a means of access to those treasures ' of'our literature that in the old famous • words are with us .in the night, and in • the hurry of the prime, stir youth and . refresh age, adorn success, and to fail- , ure furnish shelter and consoltaion. . "It is no trifling concern that exer- ] • rises your association,- 110 art of ab- . struse pedagogic, no pedantry, like Car- , Jyle's favourite ', example of the firey ( grammarian who cried out against his' | rival, "May Heaven eternally confound • you for your theory of the irregular j Greek verbs!" Tho case has been ex- i plicitly opened nt least in one of its \ parts in tho rather startling sentences ] with which-Mr. Hartog some three or ) four years, ago began his excellent little , book on tho "Writing of English." < The sentences were four —tho English i hoy cannot write English, the English : boy is not taught to write English, the < French boy can write French, tho « French' boy writes French because he j is taught. On Mr. Hartog's plan for ; applying French methods to English j scholastic circumstances, I can venture j on no opinion. • If there is substance in the first , two of his propositions, tho , significant thing is not merely that tho ( boy cannot' write and is not taught to - write English, but the sort of indif- i fercnce implied.in suCli a state of facts , in the general, atmosphere to one of the 1 noblest of tongues, and in these days | far the most widely spread and far the j most powerful of tongues. Surely not < tho least stupendous fact in our British annals'is ..the. conquest of a boundless i area. of the habitable globe by our ] English language. There is no parallel, i "Looking at contemporary conditions, i what is thero .to strike,us? Wo cannot ■ miss the leading fact that two 'enor- i mou& changes have come to pass within .1 the..lnst . two . generations.. One is the < rise of physical science and invention 1 into reigning power .through the whole ] field of intellectual activity and interest, j The other is the huge augmentation of 1 those who. know' how to read and who I have come under tho influence of books, j Or shall we say of printed matter? For j if wc were to judge from the legions • who, travel by rail, literature means too [ often books that arc no boob, sntl i only a more or less respectable provi- j siou for wasting time." ( "The Headmaster of Eton n year ago told voir boldly that we live in" ail ( when there is the greatest abundanco : of' bad literature that was ever < known in any country in the { world, the cheapest and most accessible 1 bud literature. On tlu>. other hand,, it \ is quite true, and much to the point, f masterpieces are. now, in cheap form, i finding a ma"kef in overwhelming mini- ( oers. Ojio well-known series, now num- 1 hering 000 volumes, has in five years ( had a gross sale of seven million copies \ with no sign of decrease. Let us add j that even in the cheapest daily jour- i nals no book of serious worth ever goes 1 yithnit a notice, handling it with a \ degree cf competence, that not so nianv ] y<>ars ago was only to he found in half i a dozen expensive weeklies. Add on Dm 1 sainc side the .extension, popularity, < and success of public libraries, encour- i agiig as these facts are in every way. | >Stiil let us face, the unpleasant reflec- i tiorl that if.one of the main objects of i education' must, always bo to strengthen i tho faculty of continuous and coher- 1 rut 'lttcntion against that tendency to 1 futilt and ignoble dispersion which con- (

[.fuses the brain and enervates the will, then arc we sure that tho printing press, mighty blessing as it is, cannot bo I counted a blessing without alloy. "What is to bo tlio effect upon the great,'tho noble, the difficult" art of writing? Tho writer of either prose or verso is not, and cannot be, independent of surrounding atmosphere and a responsive audience. liven the. sublimest genius, whoso dawn upon tho world scorns like nu accident, cut of all range of kuowable cause or condition —even ho is carried upon tho stream of time and circumstance. We all know how- French was shaped into its extraordinary perfection in the ■social influences of the greatest of. French Courts. How will our own English fare amid tho swelling tides of democracy? So far, if anybody thinks that some oddities of diction or tricks of affectation in construction, iu invention of Ugly words or revival of worn-out anil inappropriate old ones, that these vicifopperies show signs of creeping in, it is rather from above than below; from' who ought to know better than those who have had little chance of knowing. This wholesale admission, then, of tho principle of universal franchise, male and female, into tho world of letters, is ono mark of our new time. '

Now let me offer a few words oil tho effects of the relations of. letters and science. Wo may obviously data a new time _ from 1859, when Danviivs "Origin of Species" appeared, and along with two or three other imposing works of that date launched into common currency a iioiv vocabulary. We now apply in every sphere, high and low', trivial ot momentous, talk about, evolution, natural selection, environment, heredity, survival of tho fittest, and . all • the . rest. Tho most resolute and trenchant of Darwinians has warned us that now truths begin as rank' heresies and end as superstitions; and if lie were alive to see to-day all the effects of'his victory oil daily spccch, perhaps ho would not withdraw his words. -That great controversy has died dawn, or at least takes new shape, leaving, after all is said, ono of the master contributions to knowledge of nature and its laws and to man's view of life and tho working of his destinies. .. Scientific interest has now shifted into new areas of discovery, invention,, and speculation. .Still the "spirit of tho. timo remains tho spirit of science, and fact and ordered knowledge. ' What has boon the. effect of knowledge upon form, on language, on literary art? It adds boundless gifts to human conveniences. Does it make an inspiring public for the master of cither prose or verse?

"Darwin himself mado no pretensions ir. authorship. Ho once said to SirCharles Lvoll that a naturalist's lifo. would bo a liappy ono if ho had only to observe and never to write. Yet. lie is a writer, of excellent form for simple and direct. description, patient accumulation of persuasive arguments, and a noble and transparent candour iu 'stating what makes .against him, which, if not what is called style, is better : for tho reader than the finest style can bo. Ono eminent literary critic of my acquaintance finds his little volume on earthworms a most fascinating book even as literature. Then, although the controversial exigencies of his day affected him with a relish fcr laying too lustily about him with his powerful flail, I know no more lucid., effective, and manful English than you will find in Huxley. What more delightful book o'f travel than the "Himalaya Journals" of tho great naturalist Hooker, who carried on his botanical explorations some sixty years .ago, and happily is still anion;; us.? "I should like to name in passing the English poet yho, in Lowell's words, has written less and pleased more than any other. Gray was an incessant and a serious student' in 'learned tongues;, and his annotations' on tho "System of. Nature," by Linnaeus, his contemporary, bear witness to his industry and minute' observation as naturalist. On. a pane of the first volume he has transcribed some Greek words about our dumb friends. Wo ought to feel, says Airistot-le, nb childish dislike at inspecting even the humblest living creatures, for in them too dwells something marvellous; I bid you enter with confidence, for even here is the divine. It is pleasant to .associate these humanities with tho author of tho poem, of which I am still bold enough, .with your leave, to say that it has for a century and a half given to greater multitudes of men more of the 1 exquisite pleasure of poetry than any other singlo piece, in all glorious treasury of English verse. "

"111 prose fiction was one writer of commanding mind, saturated with the spirit of science. Who does not feel how Georgo Eliot's creative and literary art was impaired, and at last worscthan impaired, by her daily association with science? Or would it bo truer to say—l often thought it would —that the decline was due to her own ever-deepening sense of the pain of the world and the • tragedy cf sentient being? She never looked upon it all as ludibria return - hutianarum . the cruel sport of human things. ' Nor could she dismiss it in the spirit -of Queen Victoria's saving to Dr. "Benson about the follies and frivolities .of Vanity Fair: —'Archbishop, I sometimes think.' they must all bo mad.' Tho theatre was too oppressive for George Eliot. The double stress of emotion and thought, of sympathy and reason, wrought upon her too intensely for art. She could not, as virile spirits shoyid,rcconcile herself, to nature. It needed all her native and well-trained strength of soul to prevent her, science or no science, from being crushed by tho thought in Keats's lines how men sit and hear each other groan, how earth is full of sorrow and leaden-eyed despairs.

"Lot us look at the invasion of another province by the spirit 'of tho time. iThe eager curiosity of all these years about the facts of biology, chemistry, physics, and their. laws has inevitably quickened tho spread both of the same curiosity and the same respect, quickened by German example,, for ascertaining facts into the province of history. We live 'in tho documentary age. New sources emerge and new papers are daily dragged to light,. In the history of Great Britain alone documents aro every year brought almost ill harrow-loads to tho grateful student's door. Sacred archives everywhere are hiding'unsealed. Whether all .this bo new truth -or old falsehood hoc every explorer can be quite sure. But the dilemma is how fixed by fate and literary fashion, which is itself a kind pf fate. A fabric of inspiring narrative built on foundations of quicksand, on the one side; on tho other, a fearsome jungle of minute detail, every regiment in every battle numbered, every, hour accounted for, every turn of diplomatic craft tracked. Is. this over-burden of recorded fact a misfortune for modern history? How hard to move with freedom under it!

"I find in Sir James Murray's Dic-tionary—-a splendid triumph for any age—that I am responsible' for having once railed literature the most seductive, deceiving, and dangerous of professions. If any of you reject my warning, impatient as I confess myself of. overdoing precepts about style, let me urge you, besides the fundamental commonplaces about being above all things simple and direct, lucid' and terse, not using two words where one will do—about keeping the standard of proof high, and so forth—let me commend two qualities—for one of which I .must, against my will, use a French word—Sanity and Jnstossc. Sanity you know well, at least by name. .lustcsse is no-synonym for justice; it is more like equity, balance, a fair mind, measure, reserve. Voltaire, who. whatever else wo may think of him, know how to write, said of some great lady: 'T am charmed with _ her just and delicate mind ; without justesse of mind there is nothing.' You must curb your ambition of glory, of writing like Carlyle, Macaulay, Ruskin. You must take your chance of being called dry, flat, tame.

But .one advantage of these two qualities is that they arc within reach, and grandeur for most of us is not. And with this temper it is easier to see the truth, what tilings really are, and how they actually come to pass. "A graceful French description of what literature means in certain qf its types is worth hearing:—'Tl'.o man of letters is a singular being; lie does not look at cxacLly with his own eyes; lie is not the creature of his own impressions; he is a tree on whom yon have grafted Horacc, Virgil, Dante, Milton, Shakespeare, and tho rest, and hence grow flowers not natural, yet not artificial. Of all the mixed colours ho makes for himself a colour of his own; from all the glasses through which his eyes pass to the next world there is fused a .peculiar tint, and that is tlm imagination of tho man of letters. If ho l\as genius all these memories arc dissipated by tho energy of his personal gift.' "There were some interesting and good-natured observations in "The Times' a few days ago nbuut the dcclino in the oloquenco of our modern prose. It is unhappily .impoverished, tho writer says; it is not rich in expressing some of tho noblest experiences of tho human mind and heart. Grand prose, it may be true, is not heard in debate or in tho pulpits, and hardly abounds in the exercises of historian, critic, or biographer." Assuredly wo cannot envy tho man whom high passages of our classic prose—Sir Thomas Browne, Italeigh, Bacon, Hooker, ,Burke, tho last of them notably in the Address to tho King—do not afreet with something of the same swell of emotion as comes from soul-inspiring verse. But -grand prose conies from supreme issues, earnest convictions, eager desire to convert and persuade, sublime events, passionate beliefs—these are what movo t.o eloquence at its highest. Lincoln was no scholar, but tho Second Inaugural is not to.be surpassed, and I remember a passage ot Cobden's about tho Irish famine that is a masterpiece of eloquent feeling on that fateful tragedy. -'"There is, we must admit, to-day no monarch in any tongue upon the literary throne, no sovereign world-name in poetry or prose, in whom—as has happened before now not so many generations ago, in royal succession, to Scott, Byron, Goethe,' V. Hugo, Tolstoy—all tho civilised'world, Teuton, Latin," Celt, Slav, Oriental, are interested, for whoso new works it looks, or where'it seeks tlui gospel of the day. Nabosclish, to use an Irish word that became a favourite witli Sir Walter Scott; it does not matter. Do not let us nurso the humour of the despondent editor who mouriv •fully told his readers 'No now epic this month.' .

"Nobody can tell how the wonders of language are performed, nor how a book comes into tho world.. Genius is genius. Tho lamp that to-day spmo* may think burns low will bo replenished. New orbs will bring light. Literaturo may be trusted to take care of itself, for it is the transcript of the drama of life, with all its actors, moods; and Strange flashing fortunes. Tho curios,ity_ that it meets is perpetual and insatiable, mid tho impulses that inspire it can never be extinguished."