་ (often no doubt conventional) contribute to suggest the tropes with which he loves to ornament his diction, he derives most of these, and of his descriptive touches in general, from his favourite trees and flowers and birds. The shadow of the forest, the colour and perfume of rose, marigold, and woodbine, the golden sheen of the cornfield, the note of the nightingale and the flight of the birds by land and sea, seem to haunt his pages; and even the stillness of the night presents itself to him as the season when there is 99 9 ""No whispering but of leaves, on which the breath · Shirley, who made some doubtful claim to be of the family of the Earls Ferrers-for the famous pedigree and ancestral portraits, at Staunton Harold, do not include him-connects us with the mid-17th century and the University of Laud, of whose college he was a member. In his pleasant sketches of the University theatricals of this period, Sir Adolphus does not dwell on Laud's sympathy with the drama, or the famous performances of Narcissus' and 'The Christmas Prince,' as well as those seen by James I (and quite possibly by Shakespeare) without, and by Charles I within, his college walls. Historically, he shows an understanding, which is not too common, of Laud's position. Shakespeare: the dramatists: Laud: the Puritans: these form a panorama which Sir A. Ward constantly illuminates. There are, for example, many happy touches in the manner in which he gently plays with Mark Pattison's 'Milton.' There is all the respect due to the great learning of the writer, all the appreciation of the surpassing charm of those poems which were 'when produced, as they are now, the finest flower of English poetry.' But there is also the delicate perception of incongruity, which Pattison himself never possessed or he would never have penned the immortal mixed metaphor at the beginning of his 'Memoirs' and would have 'given himself the trouble of avoiding a looseness of syntax which it is impossible to suppose intentional, and spared himself that of using a vocabulary which is manifestly such.' He quotes one characteristic phrase with obvious glee-to stupefy instead of training the faculties by the rapid inculcation of unassimilated information.' The reproach is one which he himself happily avoids; and one may guess how he would have regarded the spectacle, which might be seen not so long ago in Calcutta, of an Indian student committing to memory the whole of this very biography, and how the Rector of Lincoln himself would have regarded it. Nor does Sir Adolphus Ward altogether refrain from, at least, the suggestion of a dispute with his author. He will not agree that Milton was guilty of prostituting his powers to the service of a political party. He will not believe that the Protector left the poet unconsulted in all matters of importance. He passes gently over the bitterness of feeling which marred Milton's private life as it marred his political writings. It is difficult, indeed, to keep constantly in mind that the same hand wrote 'Il Penseroso' and 'Eikonoklastes'; and the idolaters of Milton are ever afraid, with Landor, to be accused of disrespect or irreverence to this immortal man.' But Sir Adolphus, if he abates no jot of the admiration which posterity has showered upon the Puritan poet, will not accept the view that the Restoration was a moral catastrophe.' He too greatly enjoys the power of Dryden for that, and he rightly sees that such mastery in literature as his could not be divorced from moral strength. And in his very vivid sketch of Evelyn he pointedly rejects the opinion, still too common, that the Puritans were the only pious people of their day and that for years after the Restoration there was in England no true religion at all. If Evelyn, he says, 'has been frequently called a Puritan, this is only because the whole period of English life into which that of his manhood coincided is still persistently misunderstood. Perhaps, however, the fallacious fancy is being gradually destroyed that in what is called the Restoration Age, not only religious sentiments but a religious conduct of life was in the main confined to the Puritans and those who were in general sympathy with them. This fallacy Evelyn's own 'Diary,' hardly less than his imperishable monograph on the life of Mrs Godolphin, ought long since to have sufficed of themselves to explode' (IV, 97). And then he illustrates the truth of his wider view by a delightful study of Good Women' and an estimate, as favourable as felicitous, of the sacred poetry of Bishop Ken. Lady Warwick, Mrs Godolphin, and the noble widow of William, Lord Russell, would indeed redeem any society from the reproach of heedlessness of its highest interests, as would the charming letters of the Verney ladies (which also are often quoted in this volume) from any charge of unconcern in the simple wants and business of common folk. From the survey of men and women in their lives and their diaries we pass to the loftiest expression of their thoughts in poetry and prose. Dryden, the master of historical drama and of satire, the masculine exemplar in strong English prose, is shown in the greatness of his general capacity; we pass from Dryden to the English drama of which he is so great, though now so neglected, a glory. We cannot but regret that the Master has not fulfilled the promise which he at least suggested in the preface to his first volume, that he would include in his Collectanea 'a short selection of theatrical criticisms.' Nothing can be much better worth preserving than the judgments of a man of letters on the dramatic performances of his day. Hazlitt and Lamb and George Henry Lewes have made theirs part of the literature of England. Alas, Sir Adolphus Ward has given us only his memory of Helen Faucit. We sorely miss his records of the Irvings and Ellen Terry, of Phelps and Herman Vezin and Mary Anderson and Adelaide Neilson and Modjeska, names that are now, some of them, nothing more than names to the student of the drama; but memories, all of them, unforgettable to those who have seen these actors in their great parts. There must be few now alive who have witnessed Helen Faucit act, few who can echo from their own impressions the lines of Browning, 'Genius is a common story, Few guess that the spirit's glory Longed for! Few guess this: I know it.' But those who remember the opening of the Memorial the strange charm of Lady Martin's Beatrice, rather slow and stately and Victorian' as it seemed beside the Irish quickness of Barry Sullivan and the youthful freshness of Miss Wallis and Edward Compton, yet beautiful, illuminative, with the accent of high birth and intellectual keenness. Even the pose is unforgettable, the dignity that lay behind the happy mirth, even the black hair arranged like a portrait by Francis Grant or Von Angeli, and, in the gown, the shade of rich pink which our grandmothers loved. Sir Adolphus doubtless saw this performance, as did the writer of these lines, for he says of it: 'The artistic merits of this assumption it would be difficult to exaggerate, for what under different treatment seem the rough sallies of a boisterous wit were here subdued to a general conception of irresistible gaiety, and harmonised with the touches of tenderness without which the character would be incomplete. Helen Faucit, as an old friend had told her with regard to this very part, had only to give way to natural joyousness: "let yourself go free; you cannot be vulgar if you try ever so hard" (v, 436). And the one moment of fiery passion still stands out in the memory: Kill Claudio.' Truly says the Master of Peterhouse: 'Lady Martin had accustomed herself to "think out" these Shakespearean "pure women," and their experiences, as others follow the lives of queens and princesses from the cradle to the grave. As a matter of fact, she could not bring herself to part either with Portia or with Imogen at the close of the play, and, if she ever found fault with Shakespeare, it was on account of the stage epilogue which he imposed upon Rosalind. The book ["Shakespeare's Female Characters"] thus signally illustrates an intellectual sympathy of very rare intensity, and will remain a worthy memorial of one ""Whose daily life With that full pulse of noblest feeling glow'd 9 That lent its spell to her so potent art" (v, 439). This study, too brief, of Lady Martin makes us grieve that we are allowed no more of the Master's dramatic criticisms. Perhaps it is to make up for those we have lost that we are given the fresh and vigorous descriptions C of travel, and, still more, the acute and generous estimates of personal friends. Beside Lord Bryce's similar studies deserve to be placed the outstanding portraits of E. A. (Freeman and Lord Acton, and Leslie Stephen and Alfred Ainger. Each of these is a fit memorial of friendship with a true worthy of the Victorian age. There are many understanding phrases, often epigrammatic in their concise truthfulness. We must content ourselves with quoting one passage, about the beloved and delightful Master of the Temple : 'Those who best knew him, and the value of him, often repeated to one another that a life such as his would not have been wasted even had its only monument been the affection of his friends-even his friends of a day; that to have sweetened and lightened life for so many of us, to have made us less impatient of the apparent dullness of existence, and to have quickened our insight into the half-ignored bounty of the Giver of all, was in itself a result worth reaching' (V, 400). We end the reading of these volumes with a sense of grateful intimacy with their author. He has taken us, as it were, into his study, and let us see him in his daily interests and about his daily work, in his tastes, his enthusiasms and his friendships. But we should indeed inadequately recognise his place among the men of letters of our day if we did not remember that, first and foremost, he has been a great educational force. At Manchester he may be said to have inaugurated the work which has been continued, with such great public service, by Prof. Tout, his colleagues and disciples. At Cambridge he has joined in the development of a great School of History, which owed its inception to the zeal and attractive power of Sir George Prothero, whose loss his many friends, and all historical scholars, now so deeply deplore. For the ideal, and the practical advice, which Sir Adolphus Ward has set before his students, let us take his words to the University which owes so much to his influence and instruction: 'Here, in 19th-century Manchester, it would be idle for us to pretend to stand altogether on the ancient ways, though we should be blameworthy indeed, were we consciously to abandon a single sound tradition of earlier |