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ble toleration of divergent opinions. The Church of England should be as nearly as possible identical with the nation of England, embracing all who could honestly claim the name of Christian. That was the only test, but that test was to be applied rigidly. With Unitarians he would make no terms. He would have had no sympathy with those who to-day assert that they have a right to call themselves Christians because, though rejecting Christ's Divinity, they yet hold Him in reverence as a human teacher. That quibble Arnold would have rejected without hesitation; but he made little account of the principles by which Christians are divided from one another. The result was, that at a time when nearly all men who took a living interest in religious matters were eagerly debating questions of Church history and pa tristic teaching and theological interpretation, he stood on an eminence by himself, satisfying neither party and influencing few except those who, as his pupils, came directly under his influence. Neither the Oxford High Church school, nor those who regarded that school as drawing dangerously near to Popery, could regard him as otherwise than unsound in his principles; and the greater the energy with which he intervened in the conflict, the more sure he was to draw down blows on himself from both sides.

So, in religion as in education, Arnold founded no new system, but was the prophet of a true and life-giving spirit. With few disciples to follow exactly in his footsteps, he was yet helpful and stimulative to all with whom he came into contact. If his educational methods required enlargement, so as to include a wider range of subjects, and if his religious teaching required to be guided by a sounder grasp of Church principles, the spirit which inspired both was healthy and true; and the reverence in which his name is VOL. LXIX. 45


held to this day, and will be held to a distant future, is fully and honorably deserved. Not Winchester only, which educated him, nor Rugby, which he educated, nor even all the public schools whom his example influenced so deeply, but all cultivated members of the English-speaking peoples throughout the world, are proud to acknowledge the greatness of soul which inspired Thomas Arnold, and the debt which they owe to his generous spirit and upright manliness of character.

When all that knew him cherished his memory, it was natural that his own family should do so most of all; and Matthew Arnold's recently published letters bear constant testimony to his devotion to his father's memory. Yet in passing to the consideration of the son's career one cannot help feeling oneself surrounded by a wholly different atmosphere. The difference is partly one of circumstances, but it is still more one of temperament and character. Having been, in the first instance, sent to Winchester, like his father before him, he was removed thence when his father went to Rugby, and thenceforward lived at home, receiving practically the education of a day-boarder. Possibly this amount of separation from the common life of a school had something to do with the aloofness which characterized him afterwards; possibly, too, the uncongenial character of his work in later life contributed to the same end. While his father's lot had fallen in a great public school, his own was cast in an Inspectorship of elementary education among schools especially patronized by Nonconformists. He did his work honestly and adequately, but (as Sir Joshua Fitch regretfully admits) he never regarded it with that enthusiasm which a properly constituted Inspector of Schools should feel. He looked upon it as bread-and-butter work, necessary to him as a father of a family,

but not affording scope to his special and proper powers. But behind these differences of circumstances there lay also a difference of temperament which was fostered by them-a temperament intellectual rather than emotional, and critical rather than enthusiastic.

Given, then, this temperament, intellectual rather than emotional; given, too, these uncongenial, or but half-congenial, circumstances, which dulled enthusiasm and encouraged criticism; and given in addition the reaction from religious and theological excitement which characterized the generation following that of the Oxford Movement, we can fairly account for the lines upon which Matthew Arnold's genius developed itself. Like his father, he tried to educate his generation, but his aims and his methods were different. While his father endeavored to touch men's hearts and elevate their characters, he aimed at touching their minds and widening their intellects. His method was sarcasm, not enthusiasm. watchword was culture, not religion.


On his official work as an Inspector of Schools it is not necessary to say much. There have probably been many better inspectors; and the best of his work was probably due to the fact that he was not only an inspector. His reputation as a scholar, a critic, and a man of letters, gave weight to his recommendations on all matters touching the intellectual development of educational methods, and also (as Sir Joshua Fitch points out) gave a pleasant stimulus to many managers and masters of schools whom he met in his official progresses. He was always averse to Procrustean systems of examination and reward (a characteristically Arnoldian feature), and was constantly on the look-out for opportunities to inculcate a wider literary culture into the children under his charge. He advocated (without much success) increased reading of the Bible, not as

religious instruction but as literature. Further, he was more than once despatched on missions to the Continent, to report on foreign educational methods, of which his love of French intellectual characteristics and his distaste for contemporary English Philistinism made him a sympathetic student; and his reports of these missions contain much that is interesting and suggestive, though we do not know that they have left much impresion on the edu cational policy of English governments. But the greater part of his official work bulks no larger in his life's achievement than the folios filled by Charles Lamb at the India House. Like his father, he had interests outside his profession to which he devoted his spare time; but, unlike his father, it was in these outside occupations that his greatest work was done.

The literary work of Matthew Arnold falls into three, if not four, divisions. There is what may be called his didactic work, part of which may be described as his teaching on religion, while the other part is his teaching on culture. Next, there is his work in the sphere of literary criticism; and finally, there is his poetry. Of his writings on the subject of religion it is not necessary to say much. That he was earnest in his desire for the good of humanity is unquestionable, but the trace that he left upon either his contemporaries or his successors in this respect was small. His father had passed through a long and severe struggle with doubt, but had emerged victorious, and could thenceforth throw all his vigorous enthusiasm into the cause of Christianity. Whether the son struggled with doubt we know not, but it is certain that doubt was victorious; and his teaching was in the name of a God whom he knew only as "a stream of tendency, not ourselves, that makes for righteousness," not a God revealed to us in Christ. This in itself weak

ened his position as a religious teacher; but it may be doubted whether, with his somewhat reserved and critical temperament, he could ever have exercised a wide influence in this direction. He could not speak to the emotions, he could only arouse the intellect; and it was in his appeals to the intellect, in his efforts to purify the taste and enlarge the culture of the English public, that he was most truly and effectively a teacher.

It may be doubted whether, even in the sixties and early seventies, the taste of England was so low as Matthew Arnold habitually represented it, or its vulgarity so blatant and self-satisfied. It must be remembered that, before the passing of the Education Act, his work lay wholly among schools supported by the Nonconformist bodies, the managers of whom were, presumably, mostly Nonconformists; and this was hardly a sphere in which Arnold was likely to find many congenial spirits. Hence his continual warfare against Dissent, not qua religious Dissent, but on account of its intellectual barrenness, its narrowness, and its want of culture. But it would be useless to contend that this is the whole explanation of the matter. At no time could the average taste of a large and very busy community reach the standard of taste and culture which Arnold desiderated; but the England of thirty years ago fell very short of that ideal indeed. A reader who will take advantage of the recent reprint of that most characteristically Arnoldian jeu d'esprit, long so inaccessible, "Friendship's Garland," cannot but feel that many of Arnold's gibes have lost much of their weight to-day. But if this is true-if the strivings after culture are to-day more genuine and more wide-spread; if the standard of popular taste has been raised above the level of early Victorian days-the credit is in no small measure due to Matthew Arnold

himself. Not, of course, to him alone. Other workers, such as Ruskin among his seniors, Hunt, Burne-Jones, Morris, Rossetti, Pater, among his coevals and juniors, were in their own different spheres laboring in the same direction and incurring the same opposition and ridicule as he met with. But however much his catchwords-his "Philistines" and "Barbarians," his "sweetness and light"-were scoffed at, the phrases stuck, as he intended, and some impression was made on the well-nigh impenetrable hide of British self-complacency. It is not merely self-flattery to say that intellectual interests are more widely diffused now than before Arnold wrote; nor is the change wholly a gain. If culture is more diffused, it is also less concentrated, and in literary achievement of the highest order the present generation compares but poorly with the last. Still, for the public at large the gain is clear. More good books are read, more good pictures are studied, more good music is listened to, than was the case a generation ago; and if it is the case that much of this apparently cultured interest is a sham, it is clearly a gain that fashion should require an appearance of refinement and good taste rather than an appearance of vulgarity and indifference.

In the intervals of his "puny warfare against the Philistines," of his attempts "to pull out a few more stops in that powerful, but at present somewhat narrow-toned organ, the modern Englishman," Arnold found time for many excursions into literary criticism, wherein he set an example of that culture which he would fain inculcate on his contemporaries. If one is asked for the most salient characteristic of his literary criticism (and in this brief notice we have no space for more), it would seem to be his constant insistence upon a high standard of taste. He tries to rise above temporary and superficial qualities, and to test every


thing by certain supreme canons, valid for all time. He asks of this poet and of that, Has he the "grand style?"-of the translator of Homer, Has he rapidity, plainness and directness of style and thought, and nobleness of soul?— of the critic, Has he sweetness and light? The grand style in creative literature, lucidity in criticism: these were his ideals, which he was never weary of preaching. His criticisms of other writers have a way of abiding by one, because he cultivated this lucidity himself, and because he had the gift of arranging his study of an author round some central feature idea, which is imprinted on the memory by the way in which it is handled and enforced from all sides. It was this love of lucidity that gave him his admiration for the French school of literary prose, with its clear logical arrangement and precision of phrase, and especially for Sainte-Beuve, the most clear-sighted, suggestive, and withal sane of critics. The sensationalism which tries to get a hearing by forced novelties of phrase or idea, which takes but one side of a truth and distorts that, never appealed to him. His judgment was sober and "of the centre," yet by his manner of expressing it, by the illuminating gift of apposite phrase and suggestive thoughts, he avoided monotony and commonplace. Culture of mind, lucidity of phrase, went hand in hand for him; and like Chaucer's parish priest,

He taughte, but first he folwed it himselve.

And finally, Arnold was a poet, and a poet in a generation which reached a very high level of poetic production. The Victorian age may not have so many names of the first rank as the Georgian, which can bring into the field such giants as Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, Byron, and Scott; but a generation which can claim Ten

nyson, the Brownings, Arnold, Swinburne, and William Morris, may hold up its head with the best. Among this distinguished gathering Arnold has a well defined position of his own. Without the beauty and charm of Tennyson, the force and dramatic power of Browning, the extraordinary rhythmical mastery of Swinburne, he excels them all in what may be called intellectual poetry. The grave meditative solemnity of such poems as "Obermann" and the "Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse" and "Rugby Chapel" touches notes such as few poets have reached, due to a peculiar combination of intellectual culture and genuine poetic feeling. His poetry always has the tincture of intellect, of meditation, of deliberate and studied art; but it would not be so impressive as it is if there were not a genuine spirit of poetry at the back of it, a sense of beauty (seen perhaps most clearly in certain stanzas of "Thyrsis" and "The Scholar Gipsy") and an insight into the springs of thought and character which make their possessor a poet. The "Spirit of Intellectual Beauty" whom Shelley invoked must surely have been the Muse whom Arnold served; and, in consequence, his disciples and admirers must always be drawn from those who have had some intellectual and literary training. But among these (and the class is not a very narrow one) he will find a train of followers, at least so long as the problems with which he deals exercise the human mind. On the minor poets of the younger generation his influence is marked and unmistakable; and many readers, in times of intellectual unrest, will turn to him for sympathy and congenial companionship when a greater poet would help them less.

Mr. Hutton once singled out Matthew Arnold as the typical representative of that Oxford generation which followed the generation of Newman. The tur

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bulent excitement of religious controversy had given place to an intellectual questioning of all things, to an attitude of doubt which was not merely a fashion, though in some cases it degenerated into that. It was a natural reaction, and has itself in turn given way to the combination of High Church views with critical scholarship which characterizes the Oxford of to-day. Possibly Clough is a fairer representative of it than Arnold: Clough, with his paroxysms of doubt and blind gropings after faith, with his struggle of the soul in hope against the insistent whisperings of the intellect. The Olympian, if melancholy, serenity of Arnold marks the older man rather than the youth. He stands rather aloof from his generation, girding at its vulgarity, striving somewhat hopelessly to elevate its standards, teaching it by The Church Quarterly Review.

his example in literary criticism, and from time to time retiring into himself to commune with his soul in verse. His father taught his generation by a sympathetic mingling with it, stimulating it by his own enthusiasm and generous championship of right; the son taught his later generation as it were from outside, more by his example than by his exhortations. But both left their marks on the England of their day; and if in any respect we have advanced in the tone of our public school education, in a sympathetic and tolerant view of human nature and of religious controversy, in a wider range of intellectual interests, in a higher standard of taste in art and literature, we owe not a little of it to the advocacy and the example of Thomas and Matthew Arnold.



One night, just two hundred years ago, at a meeting of a certain Kit-Cat Club, famous for its mutton pies and its Whiggism, a little person, not yet eight years old, and uncommonly shrewd, quick, and bright-eyed, unanimously elected as the Club's toast for the year, finely complimented by the noisy fine company (the little toast understands and remembers the compliments very well indeed) before she goes back to dull lessons, a "home-spun governess," and obscurity.

This little adventure is, indeed, only the beginning of a life full of adventures-and of ventures, one may addfor the child-toast of the Kit-Cats grows into the girl who elopes presently with a certain Mr. Wortley, accompanies him through a thousand difficulties on his embassy to the Porte. introduces into England a harebrained scheme called inoculation (at which the


pompous faculty look greatly askance), is loved and hated by Pope, is my Lady Bute's mother and a great figure-not a little dreaded and admired-in great society, leaves her husband and England for many years' obscurity in Italy, and writes letters which have none of the delicate softness of Madame de Sévigné or the polish of Lord Chesterfield, but a bold, vivid, daring portraiture, and a strong, coarse, honest view of life, which is no one's in the world but Lady Wortley Montagu's.

My Lady does not write at nearly such great length as that witty enemy of hers-Horace Walpole. While he is etching in a single light or shade into one of his fine pictures, she has painted a dozen impressions with her great brush. Is her Ladyship's style more vivid when she is struggling home from Constantinople through the Eu

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