thesis of the two that will produce the criticism of the future. When Schelling spoke of architecture as frozen music, he sounded the keynote of what we may call the romantic manner in criticism. In romantic writing,' as we are told by 5 Professor Sydney Colvin, 'all objects are exhibited as it were through a colored and iridescent atmosphere. Round about every central idea the romantic writer summons up a cloud of accessory and subordinate ideas for the sake of enhancing its effect, if at the risk of confusing its outlines.' 10 To Mr. Symonds as a critic this definition of romanticism closely applies. A student of all the arts, a lover of natural no less than of man-created beauty, he was constantly bringing one set of impressions to the aid of another. He delighted in illustrating poetry by the phrases of landscape, 15 and painting by the language of music. Those who will have only the clean-cut critical phraseology of Sainte-Beuve and Arnold resent the exuberance of Symonds, and do imperfect justice to its beauty as well as to its power of making a lasting impression. If they admit the latter quality, 20 they will say that the impression is false, that the half-lights of romanticism are misleading, and that each artistic or other embodiment of beauty has its distinct province, forgetting that all forms of beauty appeal to the same emotional consciousness, and that the law of association is no less 25 valid in the emotional than in the intellectual sphere.

Professor Tyrrell, in a satirical sketch of the modern methods of classical study, says: "To study the works, for instance, of the Greek dramatists is no longer a road to success as a scholar, or as a student. No: you must be ready to liken 30 Æschylus to an Alpine crevasse, Sophocles to a fair avenue of elms, and Euripides to an amber weeping Phæthontid, or a town pump in need of repairing.' This is clearly a reference to such books as Symond's 'Studies of the Greek Poets' and yet that book has done more to rouse an enthusi35 asm for Greek poetry, and foster a desire for its acquaintance, than all the unromantic tomes of the grammarians.

One subject Mr. Symonds made his own, and by his work done upon that subject he will be chiefly remembered. The Italian Renaissance has had historians of more minutely accurate scholarship, and its separate phases have perhaps found occasional treatment subtler and more profound than 5 it was in his power to give them. But the period as a whole, its political and domestic life, its literature and art, received at his hands a treatment that lacks neither grasp nor sympathy, that is distinctly the best and most attractive in English literature. This treatment is chiefly embodied in 10 the series of seven volumes, beginning with 'The Age of the Despots,' and ending with the 'Catholic Reaction' but is also to be sought in the masterly life of Michelangelo, in 'An Introduction to the Study of Dante,' in the verse and prose translations from Italian literature, and in the host of 15 studies and sketches from time to time contributed to the periodicals. Upon the fascinating period with which all this work deals the best part of the author's thought was centred, and modern criticism offers few instances of so close an adaptation of a writer to his theme. Both by 20 temperament and training he was the man for the work, and the way in which, the main body of the work accomplished, he has lingered upon the outskirts of his chosen field of study reveals the extent to which the subject took possession of his mind and sympathies. The author's studies of other 25 literatures than the Italian are chiefly represented by his work on the Greek poets, his essay on Lucretius, his 'Sidney' and 'Shelley' in the English Men of Letters Series,' his 'Jonson' in the series of 'English Worthies,' and his thick volume entitled 'Shakespeare's Predecessors 30 in the English Drama,' intended to be the first volume of a complete history of our great dramatic period. His volumes of travel in Italy and Greece are genuine literature, exemplifying the wealth of his learning, the justness of his perceptions, and the beauty of his style. His original verse, 35 considerable in amount, falls short of being great poetry,

but may be read with keen pleasure, and appeals strongly to the reflective mind. His essays on the principles of æsthetics are burdened with verbiage and not always lucid in enunciation, but they are weighty enough amply to repay their 5 readers. When we consider his, work as a whole we are impressed with its range, its sanity, and its devotion to the Goethean ideal of the good, true, and beautiful. His death has made a conspicuous vacancy in the rapidly thinning ranks of our older writers, and upon no other shoulders does 10 his particular mantle seem yet to have fallen.

XIII.

E. L. GODKIN.

Mr. Horace Greeley.1

New York Evening Post.

["The 'Evening Post,' under his editorship, was the home of that absolute intellectual freedom, intellectual courage, and intellectual honesty without which there can be no great newspaper. Every subject was discussed in the editorial council with a freedom of opinion that was simply 15 unlimited. When the paper spoke, it uttered the combined view of the entire staff as it had been arrived at in the discussion. Sometimes, probably in a great majority of instances, the original view of Mr. Godkin was the one expressed, but often he had abandoned that for a different one brought forward by someone else. He had no pride of opinion, 20 but, on the contrary, hailed with positive delight one that he recognized as superior to his own. He would fight for his own for all it was worth until convinced, and would fight at times with a good deal of human heat; but when the tussle was ended, even in his own defeat, there was not a trace of bitterness or injured vanity.. Nothing was more intoler25 able to him than the modern conception of the intellectual side of a newspaper, - the conception that has come in with the advent of commercial journalism,

which looks upon the editorial page as the mere

1 Reprinted by permission from Reflections and Comments. Copyright, 1895, by Charles Scribner's Sons.

tender of the business side, its writers as so many hands in a factory, rather than as constituting the soul of the paper.". - Personal Recollections of E. L. Godkin. J. B. Bishop. The Century, Sept., 1902.]

5

THERE has been something almost tragic about the close of Mr. Greeley's career. After a life of, on the whole, remarkable success and prosperity, he fell finally under the weight of accumulated misfortunes. Nobody who heard him declare that "he accepted the Cincinnati Convention and its consequences," but must be struck by the illustration of what is called “the irony of fate," which nearly everything that oc- 10 curred afterwards affords. His nomination, from whatever point of view we look at it, was undoubtedly a high honor. The manner in which it was received down to the Baltimore Convention was very flattering. Whether it was a proper thing to "beat Grant" or not, that so large and so shrewd a body of his 15 countrymen should have thought Mr. Greeley the man to do it was a great compliment. It found him, too, in possession of all the influence which the successful pursuit of his own calling could give a man -the most powerful editor in the Union, surrounded by friends and admirers, feared or 20 courted by nearly everybody in public life, and in the full enjoyment of widespread popular confidence in his integrity. In six short months he was well-nigh undone. He had endured a humiliating defeat, which seemed to him to indicate the loss of what was his dearest possession, the affection of 25 the American people; he had lost the weight in public affairs which he had built up by thirty years of labor; he saw his property and, as he thought, that of his friends diminished by the attempt to give him a prize which he had in his own estimation fairly earned, and, though last not least, he found 30 his home invaded by death, and one of the strongest of the ties which bind a man to this earth broken. It would not be wonderful if, under these circumstances, the coldest and toughest of men should lie down and die. But Mr. Greeley was neither cold nor tough. He was keenly sensitive both 35 to praise and blame. The applause of even paltry men

gladdened him, and their censure stung him. Moreover, he had that intense longing for reputation as a man of action by which men of the closet are so often torn. In spite of all that his writing brought him in reputation, he writhed under 5 the popular belief that he could do nothing but write, and he spent the flower of his years trying to convince the public that it was mistaken about him. It was to this we owed whatever was ostentatious in his devotion to farming, and in his interest in the manufacturing industry of the country. It Io was to this, too, that he owed his keen and lifelong desire for office, and, in part at least, his activity in getting offices for other people.

Office-seekers have become in the United States so ridiculous and so contemptible a class, that a man can hardly seek 15 a place in the public service without incurring a certain amount of odium; and perhaps nothing did more damage to Mr. Greeley's reputation than his anxiety to be put in places of trust or dignity. And yet it is doubtful if many men seek office with more respectable motives than his. For pecu20 niary emolument he cared nothing; but he did pine all his life long for some conspicuous recognition of his capacity for the conduct of affairs, and he never got it. The men who have nominations to bestow never had confidence enough in his judgment or ability to offer him anything which he would 25 have thought worthy of his expectations when there was the least chance of their choice receiving a popular ratification. They disliked him, as politicians are apt to dislike an editor in the political arena, as a man who, in having a newspaper at his back, is sure not to play their game fairly. The con30 sequence was that he was constantly irritated by finding how purely professional his influence was, or, in other words, what a mortifying disproportion existed between his editorial and his personal power. The first revelation the public had of the bitterness of his disappointment on this score was 35 caused by the publication of the famous Seward letter, and the surprise it caused was perhaps the highest compliment