his strength. His pictorial faculty is astonishing; neither pomp nor circumstance cumbers it; it moves along like a triumphal procession, which no weight of insignia and banner can oppress. Out of the past he selects some special drama, which is vivified and held together by the life of a single individual, and that he paints with his most brilliant colours. He is the creator of the Historical Essay, and in that department is not likely soon to have a successor. His unfinished History is only a series of historical pictures pieced together into one imposing panorama, but throughout there is wonderful splendour and pomp of colour. Every figure, too, is finished down to the buttons and the finger nails.

Considered as a literary form, the Essay is comparatively of late growth. The first literary efforts of a people consist of song and narrative. First comes the poet or minstrel, who sings heroic exploits, the strength and courage of heroes. These songs pass from individual to individual, and are valuable, not on account of the amount of historic truth, but of the amount of passion and imagery, they contain. Explode to-morrow into mere myth and dream the incidents of the Iliad, and you do not affect in the slightest degree the literary merit of the poem. Still for all men Achilles shouts in the trenches, Helen is beautiful, the towers of Ilium flame to heaven. Prove that Chevy Chase cannot in any one particular be considered a truthful relation of events, and you do it no special harm. It stirs the blood like a trumpet all the same. After the poet comes the prose narrator of events, who presents his facts peering obscurely through the mists of legend, but who has striven, as far as his ability extends, to tell us the truth. When he appears, the history of a nation has become extensive enough and important enough to awaken curiosity; men are anxious to know how events did actually occur, and what relation one event bears to another. When he appears, the national temper has cooled down-men no longer stand blinded by the splendours of sunrise. The sunrise has melted into the light of common day. The air has become emptied of wonder. The gods have deserted earth, and men only remain. Long after the poet and the historian comes the Essayist. Before the stage is prepared for him, thought must have accumulated to a certain point; a literature less or more must be in existence, and must be preserved in printed books. Songs have been sung, histories and biographies have been written; and to these songs, histories, and biographies he must have access. Then, before he can write, society must have formed itself, for in its complexity and contrasts he finds his food. Before the Essayist can have free play, society must have existed long enough to have become self-conscious, introspective; to have brooded over itself and its perplexities; to have discovered its blots and weak points; to have become critical, and, consequently appreciative of criticism. And as the Essay does not, like the poem, or the early history or narration of events, appeal to the primitive feelings, before it can be read and enjoyed, there must exist a class who have attained wealth and leisure, and a certain acquaintance with the accumulated stores of thought on which the Essayist works, else his allusions are lost, his criticism a dead letter, his satire pointless. All this takes a long time to accomplish, and it is generally late in the literary history of a country before its Essayists appear. Then, the Essay itself has its peculiar literary conditions. It bears the same

relation to the general body of prose that the lyric bears to the general body of poetry. Like the lyric, it is brief; and, like the lyric, it demands a certain literary finish and perfection. In a long epic, the poet may now and then be allowed to nod; in a history, it is not essential that every sentence should sparkle. But the Essayist, from the very nature of his task, is not permitted to be dull or slovenly. He must be alert, full of intellectual life, concise, polished. He must think clearly, and express himself clearly. His style is as much an element of his success as his thought. The narrow limit in which he works demands this. In a ten-mile race it is not expected that the runners shall go all the way at the top of their speed; in a race of three hundred yards it is not unreasonably expected that they shall do so. Then, besides all this, the Essay must, as a basis or preliminary, be artistically conceived. It is neither a dissertation nor a thesis; properly speaking, it is a work of art, and must conform to artistic rules. It requires not only the intellectual qualities which we have indicated, but unity, wholeness, self-completion. In this it resembles a poem. It must hang together. It must round itself off into a separate literary entity. When finished, it must be able to sustain itself and live. The Essayists of whom we have spoken fulfil these conditions more or less; and the measure of their fulfilment is the measure of success. These writers indicate in what directions the Essay has manifested itself, and they may be roughly arranged in groups and clusters. There are the egotists-the most delightful of all-who choose for subjects themselves, their surroundings, their moods and phantasies, whose charm consists not so much in the value or brilliancy of thought as in revelation of personal character: these are represented by Montaigne and Lamb; the satirists of society, manners, and social phenomena, by Addison and Steele; the fanciful and ornamental Essayists-they who wreathe the human porch with the honeysuckles of poetry-by Hunt, and by Hazlitt to some extent; the critical and biographical Essay, by Carlyle; the historical Essay-the brilliant and many-coloured picture of which some single man's life is the frame-by Lord Macaulay; the moral and didactic Essay, by Bacon in old time, and recently by Sir Henry Taylor and Sir Arthur Helps. Of course, this is but an arrangement in the rough, and will not stand a too critical examination, for several of the writers mentioned belong now to one cluster and now to another. Essaywriting is a craft vigorously prosecuted in England at present; and generally the writers will be found to belong to one or other of the groups which we have indicated.

THE ENGLISH ESSAYISTS.

ESSAYS, CIVIL AND MORAL.

[FRANCIS BACON.* BORN 1561: DIED 1626.]

OF TRUTH.

"WHAT is truth?" said jesting Pilate; † and would not stay for an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness; and count it a bondage to fix a belief; affecting free-will in thinking, as well as in acting. And though the sect of philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain certain discoursing wits, which are of the same veins, though there be not so much blood in them as was in those of the ancients. But it is not only the difficulty and labour which men take in finding out of truth; nor again, that when it is found, it imposeth upon men's thoughts; that doth bring lies in favour: but a natural though corrupt love of the lie itself. One of the later school of the Grecians examineth the matter, and is at a stand to think what should

be in it, that men should love lies; where neither they make for pleasure, as with poets; nor for advantage, as with the merchant; but for the lie's sake. But I cannot tell this same truth is a naked and open day-light, that doth not show the masks, and mummeries, and triumphs of the world, half so stately and daintily as candlelights. Truth may perhaps come to the price of a pearl, that showeth best by day; but it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle, that showeth best in varied lights. A mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's minds, vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as one would, and the like; but it would leave the minds of a number of men, poor shrunken things; full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves? One of the fathers, in great severity, called lan-poesy, "vinum dæmonum;" because it filleth the imagination, and yet it is but with the shadow of a lie. But it is not the lie that passeth through the mind, but the lie that sinketh in, and settleth in it, that doth the hurt, such as we spake of before. But howsoever these things are thus in men's depraved judgments and affections, yet truth, which only doth judge itself, teacheth, that the inquiry of truth, which is the love-making, or wooing of it; the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it; and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it; is the The first sovereign good of human nature. creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of the sense; the last was the light of reason; and His Sabbath work ever since is the illumination of His Spirit. First He breathed light upon the face of the matter, or chaos; then He breathed light into the face of man; and still

* "His philosophical genius, and the force of his guage, gave him a greater advantage even than his learning, while his keen perception of the true and beautiful, and his analytic powers, have made him the marvel, delight, and despair of succeeding essayists.”—Devey.

"Who is there that, upon hearing the name of Lord Bacon, does not instantly recognise everything of genius the most profound, everything of literature the most extensive, everything of discovery the most penetrating, everything of observation on human life the most distinguished and refined?"-Burke in speech on the Impeachment of Warren Hastings.

"In Bacon's Essays the superiority of his genius appears to the greatest advantage; the novelty and depth of his reflections often receiving a strong relief from the triteness of the subject. The volume may be read from beginning to end in a few hours, and yet after the twentieth perusal, one seldom fails to remark in it something overlooked before. This, indeed, is a characteristic of all Bacon's writings, and is only to be

accounted for by the inexhaustible aliment they furnish to our own thoughts, and the sympathetic activity they impart to our torpid faculties."-Dugald Stewart. ↑ John xviii. 38.

* Gen. ii. 7.

when the whole body is corrupted and dissolved; when many times death passeth with less pain than the torture of a limb: for the most vital parts are not the quickest of sense. And by him that spake only as a philosopher, and natural man, it was well said, "Pompa mortis magis terret, quam mors ipsa." Groans and convulsions, and a discoloured face, and friends weeping, and blacks, and obsequies, and the like, show death terrible. It is worthy the observing, that there is no passion in the mind of man so weak, but it mates and masters the fear of death: and there

He breatheth and inspireth light into the face of His chosen. The poet that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith yet excellently well: "It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea; a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures thereof below: but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth, a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear and serene and to see the errors, and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale below" so always, that this prospect before death is no such terrible enemy, when a man with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly, it is heaven upon earth to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in Providence, and turn upon the poles of truth.

To pass from theological and philosophical truth, to the truth of civil business; it will be acknowledged, even by those that practise it not, that clear and round dealing is the honour of man's nature; and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold and silver: which may make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it. For these winding and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent; which goeth basely upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a man with shame, as to be found false and perfidious. And therefore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason, why the word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious charge? Saith he, "If it be well weighed, to say that a man lieth, is as much as to say, that he is brave towards God, and a coward towards men. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man." Surely the wickedness of falsehood, and breach of faith, cannot possibly be so highly expressed, as in that it shall be the last peal to call the judgments of God upon the generations of men: it being foretold, that when Christ cometh "He shall not find faith upon the earth." +

OF DEATH.

Men fear death, as children fear to go in the dark and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other. Certainly, the contemplation of death, as the wages of sin, and passage to another world, is holy and religious; but the fear of it, as a tribute due unto nature, is weak. Yet in religious meditations, there is sometimes mixture of vanity and of superstition. You shall read in some of the friars' books of mortification, that a man should think with himself, what the pain is, if he have but his finger's end pressed or tortured; and thereby imagine what the pains of death are,

The celebrated French essayist, and styled the father of essay-writing as we now know it-born 1533; died 1592.

+ Luke xviii. 8.

hath so many attendants about him, that can win the combat of him. Revenge triumphs over death; love slights it; honour aspireth to it; grief flieth to it; fear pre-occupieth it; nay, we read, after Otho the emperor had slain himself, pity, which is the tenderest of affections, provoked many to die, out of mere compassion to their sovereign, and as the truest sort of followers. Nay, Seneca adds, niceness and satiety; "Cogita quamdiu eadem feceris; mori velle, non tantum fortis, aut miser, sed etiam fastidiosus potest." A man would die, though he were neither valiant, nor miserable, only upon a weariness to do the same thing so oft over and over. It is no less worthy to observe, how little alteration in good spirits the approaches of death make; for they appear to be the same men till the last instant. Augustus Cæsar died in a compliment; "Livia, conjugii nostri, memor vive, et vale." Tiberius in dissimulation; as Tacitus saith of him; "Jam Tiberium vires et corpus, non dissimulatio, deserebant." Vespasian in a jest; sitting upon the stool; "Ut puto, Deus fio." Galba with a sentence; "Feri, si cx re sit populi Romani;" holding forth his neck. Septimius Severus in despatch; "Adeste, si quid mihi restat agendum :" and the like. Certainly the Stoics bestowed too much cost upon death, and by their great preparations made it appear more fearful. Better saith he, "qui finem vitæ extremum inter munera ponit naturæ." It is as natural to die, as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other. He that dies in an earnest pursuit, is like one that is wounded in hot blood; who, for the time, scarce feels the hurt; and therefore a mind fixed and bent upon somewhat that is good, doth avert the dolours of death: but above all, believe it, the sweetest canticle is "Nunc dùmittis;"* when a man hath obtained worthy ends and expectations. Death hath this also; that it openeth the gate to good fame, and extinguisheth envy-"Extinctus amabitur idem."

OF UNITY IN RELIGION.

Religion being the chief band of human society, it is a happy thing, when itself is well contained within the true band of unity. The quarrels and

* In allusion to the song of Simeon, Luke ii. 29.

divisions about religion were evils unknown to the heathen. The reason was, because the religion of the heathen consisted rather in rites and ceremonies, than in any constant belief. for you may imagine what kind of faith theirs was, when the chief doctors and fathers of their church were the poets. But the true God hath this attribute, that He is a jealous God; and therefore His worship and religion will endure no mixture nor partner. We shall therefore speak a few words concerning the unity of the Church: what are the fruits thereof; what are the bounds; and what the means.

The fruits of unity, next unto the well-pleasing of God, which is all in all, are two; the one towards those that are without the Church; the other towards those that are within. For the former: it is certain that heresies and schisms are of all others the greatest scandals; yea more than corruption of manners. For as in the natural body, a wound, or solution of continuity, is worse than a corrupt humour; so in the spiritual. So that nothing doth so much keep men out of the Church, and drive men out of the Church, as breach of unity: and therefore, whensoever it cometh to that pass, that one saith, "Ecce in deserto;"* another saith, "Ecce in penetralibus;"+ that is, when some men seek Christ in the conventicles of heretics, and others in an outward face of a church, that voice had need continually to sound in men's ears, "Nolite exire," go not out. The doctor of the Gentiles, the propriety of whose vocation drew him to have a special care of those without, saith: "If an heathen come in, and hear you speak with several tongues, will he not say that you are mad?" And certainly it is little better when atheists and profane persons do hear of so many discordant and contrary opinions in religion; it doth avert them from the Church, and maketh them "to sit down in the chair of the scorners."§ It is but a light thing to be vouched in so serious a manner, but yet it expresseth well the deformity: there is a master of scoffing, that in his catalogue of books of a feigned library sets down this title of a book, "The Morris-dance of Heretics." For indeed every sect of them hath a diverse posture or cringe by themselves, which cannot but move derision in worldlings and depraved politicians, who are apt to contemn holy things.

As for the fruit towards those that are within, it is peace; which containeth infinite blessings: it establisheth faith; it kindleth charity; the outward peace of the Church distilleth into peace of conscience; and it turneth the labours of writ

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ing and reading of controversies into treatises of mortification and devotion.

ing of them importeth exceedingly. There appear Concerning the bonds of unity; the true placspeech of pacification is odious. "Is it peace, to be two extremes. For to certain zealots all Jehu?* What hast thou to do with peace? turn thee behind me." Peace is not the matter, but following and party. Contrariwise, certain Laodiceans,† and lukewarm persons, think they may accommodate points of religion by middle-ways, and taking part of both, and witty reconciletween God and man. ments; as if they would make arbitrement be Both these extremes are

of Christians, penned by our Saviour himself, to be avoided; which will be done, if the league were, in the two cross clauses thereof, soundly and plainly expounded: "He that is not with us is against us:" and again, "He that is not against and of substance, in religion, were truly discerned us is with us:" that is, if the points fundamental, and distinguished from points not merely of faith, but of opinion, order, or good intention. This is a thing may seem to many a matter trivial, and done already; but if it were done less partially, it would be embraced more generally.

to my small model. Men ought to take heed of Of this may give only this advice, according rending God's Church by two kinds of controversies. point controverted is too small and light, not The one is, when the matter of the worth the heat and strife about it, kindled only by contradiction. For, as it is noted by one of the Fathers, Christ's coat indeed had no seam; but the Church's vesture was of divers colours: whereupon he saith, "In veste varietas sit, scisuniformity. The other is, when the matter of sura non sit;" they be two things, unity and the point controverted is great; but it is driven to an over-great subtilty and obscurity; so that it becometh a thing rather ingenious than substantial. A man that is of judgment and understanding shall sometimes hear ignorant men differ, and know well within himself that those which so differ mean one thing, and yet they themselves would never agree. And if it come so to pass in that distance of judgment which is God above, that knows the heart, doth not disbetween man and man, shall we not think that cern that frail men, in some of their contradicboth? The nature of such controversies is exceltions, intend the same thing, and accepteth of lently expressed by St Paul, in the warning and precept that he giveth concerning the same: "Devita profanas vocum novitiates, et oppositiones falsi nominis scientiæ."§ Men create oppositions which are not; and put them into ought to govern the term, the term in effect new terms so fixed, as, whereas the meaning governeth the meaning. There be also two false