No More Learning

In Paris Agassiz also won the friendship of Humboldt,
who, learning that he stood in need of money, presented him with so
generous a sum as to enable the ambitious young naturalist to work
with a free and buoyant spirit.
His practical career began in 1832, when he was installed at Neuf-
châtel, from which point he easily studied the Alps. Two years later,
after the Poissons fossiles) (Fossil Fishes) appeared, he visited Eng-
land to lecture. Then returning to his picturesque home, he applied
himself to original investigation, and through his lectures and publi-
cations won honors and degrees. His daring opinions, however,
sometimes provoked ardent discussion and angry comment.
Agassiz's passion for investigation frequently led him into dangers
that imperiled both life and limb. In the summer of 1841, for exam-
ple, he was lowered into a deep crevasse bristling with huge stalac-
tites of ice, to reach the heart of a glacier moving at the rate of
forty feet a day. While he was observing the blue bands on the
glittering ice, he suddenly touched a well of water, and only after
great difficulty made his companions understand his signal for rescue.
These Alpine experiences are well described by Mrs. Elizabeth Cary
Agassiz, and also by Edouard Desors in his Séjours dans les Gla-
ciers' (Sojourn among the Glaciers: Neufchâtel, 1844). Interesting
particulars of these glacial studies ('Études des Glaciers') were soon
issued, and Agassiz received many gifts from lovers of science,
among whom was numbered the King of Prussia. His zoölogical and
geological investigations were continued, and important works on
Fossil Mollusks, Tertiary Shells,' and Living and Fossil Echino-
derms' date from this period.
He had long desired to visit America, when he realized this wish
in 1846 by an arrangement with the Lowell Institute of Boston,
where he gave a series of lectures, afterwards repeated in various
cities. So attractive did he find the fauna and flora of America, and
so vast a field did he perceive here for his individual studies and
instruction, that he returned the following year. In 1848 the Prussian
government, which had borne the expenses of his scientific mission,
-a cruise along our Atlantic coast to study its marine life. --- released
him from further obligation that he might accept the chair of geol-
ogy in the Lawrence Scientific School of Harvard l'niversity. His
cruises, his explorations, and his methods, combined with his attractive


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212
JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
personality, gave him unique power as a teacher; and
many of
his biographers think that of all his gifts, the ability to instruct was
the most conspicuous. He needed no text-books, for he went directly
to Nature, and did not believe in those technical, dry-as-dust terms
which lead to nothing and which are swept away by the next gener-
ation. Many noted American men of science remember the awaken-
ing influence of his laboratories in Charleston and Cambridge, his
museum at Harvard, and his summer school at Penikese Island in
Buzzard's Bay, Massachusetts, where natural history was studied
under ideal conditions. It was here that he said to his class :-"A
laboratory of natural history is a sanctuary where nothing profane
should be tolerated. ” Whittier has left a poem called “The Prayer
of Agassiz, describing
( The isle of Penikese
Ranged about by sapphire seas. ”
Just as he was realizing two of his ambitions, the establishment
of a great museum and a practical school of zoölogy, he died, Decem-
ber 14th, 1873, at his home in Cambridge, and was buried at Mount
Auburn beneath pine-trees sent from Switzerland, while a bowlder
from the glacier of the Aar was selected to mark his resting-place.
Agassiz was greatly beloved by his pupils and associates, and was
identified with the brilliant group — Emerson, Longfellow, Holmes, and
Lowell, - each of whom has written of him. Lowell considered his
Elegy on Agassiz,' written in Florence in 1874, among his best
verses; Longfellow wrote a poem for “The Fiftieth Birthday of
Agassiz,' and Holmes A Farewell to Agassiz) on his departure for
the Andes, whose affectionate and humorous strain thus closes:-
(
« Till their glorious raid is o'er,
And they touch our ransomed shore !
Then the welcome of a nation,
With its shout of exultation,
Shall awake the dumb creation,
And the shapes of buried æons
Join the living creatures' pæans,
While the mighty megalosaurus
Leads the palæozoic chorus,
God bless the great Professor,
And the land its proud possessor,
Bless them now and evermore ! )
Numerous biographies and monographs of Agassiz exist in many
languages, a complete list of which is given in the last published
'Life of Agassiz,' by Jules Marcou (New York and London, 1896),
and also in the Life of Agassiz,' by Charles F. Holder (New York,


## p. 213 (#243) ############################################

JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
213
1893). Complete lists of Agassiz's works are also given in these bio-
graphies, and these titles show how versatile was his taste and how
deep and wide his research. His principal contributions to science
are in French and Latin, but his most popular books appeared in
English. These include “The Structure of Animal Life,' Methods of
Study,' (Geological Sketches,' and Journey in Brazil,' the latter
written with Mrs. Agassiz. His Contributions to the Natural History
of the United States,' planned to be in ten large books, only reached
four volumes.
In his Researches concerning Fossil Fishes,' Agassiz expressed
the views that made him a lifelong opponent of the Darwinian
theories, although he was a warm friend of Darwin. Considering
the demands upon his time as teacher, lecturer, and investigator,
the excellence not less than the amount of the great naturalist's
work is remarkable, and won such admiration that he was made a
member of nearly every scientific society in the world. One of his
favorite pastimes was deep-sea dredging, which embraced the excite-
ment of finding strange speciinens and studying their singular habits.
Of his love and gift for instructing, Mrs. Agassiz says in her
+Life(Boston, 1885): –
Teaching was a passion with him, and his power over his pupils might
be measured by his own enthusiasm. He was, intellectually as well as socially,
a democrat in the best sense. He delighted to scatter broadcast the highest
results of thought and research, and to adapt them even to the youngest and
most uninformed minds. In bis later American travels he would talk of gla-
cial phenomena to the driver of a country stage-coach among the mountains,
or to some workman splitting rock at the roadside, with as much earnestness
as if he had been discussing problems with a brother geologist; he would
take the common fisherman into his scientific confidence, telling him the inti-
mate secrets of fish-culture or fish-embryology, till the man in his turn grew
enthusiastic and began to pour out information from the stores of his own
rough and untaught habits of observation. Agassiz's general faith in the
susceptibility of the popular intelligence, however untaught, to the highest
truths of nature, was contagious, and he created or developed that in which
he believed. )
The following citations exhibit his powers of observation, and that
happy method of stating scientific facts which interests the specialist
and general reader alike.


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214
JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
THE SILURIAN BEACH
From (Geological Sketches
W
ITH what interest do we look upon any relic of early
human history! The monument that tells of a civiliza-
tion whose hieroglyphic records we cannot even decipher,
the slightest trace of a nation that vanished and left no sign of
its life except the rough tools and utensils buried in the old site
of its towns or villages, arouses our imagination and excites our
curiosity. Men gaze with awe at the inscription on an ancient
Egyptian or Assyrian stone; they hold with reverential touch the
yellow parchment-roll whose dim, defaced characters record the
meagre learning of a buried nationality; and the announcement
that for centuries the tropical forests of Central America have
hidden within their tangled growth the ruined homes and tem-
ples of a past race, stirs the civilized world with a strange, deep
wonder.
To me it seems, that to look on the first land that was ever
lifted above the wasted waters, to follow the shore where the
earliest animals and plants were created when the thought of God
first expressed itself in organic forms, to hold in one's hand a bit
of stone from an old sea-beach, hardened into rock thousands of
centuries ago, and studded with the beings that once crept upon
its surface or were stranded there by some retreating wave, is
even of deeper interest to men than the relics of their own race,
for these things tell more directly of the thoughts and creative
acts of God.
The statement that different sets of animals and plants have
characterized the successive epochs is often understood as indi-
cating a difference of another kind than that which distinguishes
animals now living in different parts of the world. This is a mis-
take. They are so-called representative types all over the globe,
united to each other by structural relations and separated by
specific differences of the same kind as those that unite and sep-
arate animals of different geological periods. Take, for instance,
mud-flats or sandy shores in the same latitudes of Europe and
America: we find living on each, animals of the same structural.
character and of the same general appearance, but with certain
specific differences, as of color, size, external appendages, etc.
They represent each other on the two continents. The American
wolves, foxes, bears, rabbits, are not the same as the European,
-


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JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
215
but those of one continent are as true to their respective types as
those of the other; under a somewhat different aspect they repre-
sent the same groups of animals. In certain latitudes, or under
conditions of nearer proximity, these differences may be less
marked. It is well known that there is a great monotony of
type, not only among animals and plants but in the human races
also, throughout the Arctic regions; and some animals character-
istic of the high North reappear under such identical forms in
the neighborhood of the snow-fields in lofty mountains, that to
trace the difference between the ptarmigans, rabbits, and other
gnawing animals of the Alps, for instance, and those of the
Arctics, is among the most difficult problems of modern science.
And so is it also with the animated world of past ages: in
similar deposits of sand, mud, or lime, in adjoining regions of
the same geological age, identical remains of animals and plants
may be found; while at greater distances, but under similar cir-
cumstances, representative species may occur. In very remote
regions, however, whether the circumstances be similar or dis-
similar, the general aspect of the organic world differs greatly,
remoteness in space being thus in some measure an indication of
the degree of affinity between different faunæ. In deposits of
different geological periods immediately following each other, we
sometimes find remains of animals and plants so closely allied to
those of earlier or later periods that at first sight the specific dif-
ferences are hardly discernible. The difficulty of solving these
questions, and of appreciating correctly the differences and simi-
larities between such closely allied organisms, explains the antago-
nistic views of many naturalists respecting the range of existence
of animals, during longer or shorter geological periods; and the
superficial way in which discussions concerning the transition of
species are carried on, is mainly owing to an ignorance of the
conditions above alluded to. My own personal observation and
experience in these matters have led me to the conviction that
every geological period has had its own representatives, and that
no single species has been repeated in successive ages.
The laws regulating the geographical distribution of animals,
and their combination into distinct zoological provinces called fau-
næ, with definite limits, are very imperfectly understood as yet;
but so closely are all things linked together from the beginning
till to-day, that I am convinced we shall never find the clew
to their meaning till we carry on our investigations in the


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216
JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
past and the present simultaneously. The same principle accord-
ing to which animal and vegetable life is distributed over the
surface of the earth now, prevailed in the earliest geological
periods. The geological deposits of all times have had their
characteristic fauna under various zones, their zoölogical prov.
inces presenting special combinations of animal and vegetable
life over certain regions, and their representative types repro-
ducing in different countries, but under similar latitudes, the
same groups with specific differences.
Of course, the nearer we approach the beginning of organic
life, the less marked do we find the differences to be; and for a
very obvious reason. The inequalities of the earth's surface, her
mountain-barriers protecting whole continents from the Arctic
winds, her open plains exposing others to the full force of the
polar blasts, her snug valleys and her lofty heights, her table-
lands and rolling prairies, her river-systems and her dry deserts,
her cold ocean-currents pouring down from the high North on
some of her shores, while warm ones from tropical seas carry
their softer, influence to others, - in short, all the contrasts in the
external configuration of the globe, with the physical conditions
attendant upon them, are naturally accompanied by a correspond-
ing variety in animal and vegetable life.
But in the Silurian age, when there were no elevations higher
than the Canadian hills, when water covered the face of the
earth with the exception of a few isolated portions lifted above
the almost universal ocean, how monotonous must have been the
conditions of life! And what should we expect to find on those
first shores? If we are walking on a sea-beach to-day, we do not
look for animals that haunt the forests or roam over the open
plains, or for those that live in sheltered valleys or in inland
regions or on mountain-heights. We look for Shells, for Mussels
and Barnacles, for Crabs, for Shrimps, for Marine Worms, for
Star-Fishes and Sea-Urchins, and we may find here and there a
fish stranded on the sand or strangled in the sea-weed.
remember, then, that in the Silurian period the world, so far as
it was raised above the ocean, a beach; and let us seek
there for such creatures as God has made to live on seashores,
and not belittle the Creative work, or say that He first scattered
the seeds of life in meagre or stinted measure, because we do
not find air-breathing animals when there was no fitting atmo-
sphere to feed their lungs, insects with no terrestrial plants to
Let us
was


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JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
217
live upon, reptiles without marshes, birds without trees, cattle
without grass,— all things, in short, without the essential con-
ditions for their existence.
I have spoken of the Silurian beach as if there were but one,
not only because I wished to limit my sketch, and to attempt
at least to give it the vividness of a special locality, but also
because a single such shore will give us as good an idea of the
characteristic fauna of the time as if we drew our material from
a wider range.
There are, however, a great number of parallel
ridges belonging to the Silurian and Devonian periods, running
from east to west, not only through the State of New York, but
far beyond, through the States of Michigan and Wisconsin into
Minnesota; one may follow nine or ten such successive shores in
unbroken lines, from the neighborhood of Lake Champlain to the
Far West. They have all the irregularities of modern seashores,
running up to form little bays here, and jutting out in promonto-
ries there.
Although the early geological periods are more legible in
North America, because they are exposed over such extensive
tracts of land, yet they have been studied in many other parts
of the globe. In Norway, in Germany, in France, in Russia, in
Siberia, in Kamchatka, in parts of South America, - in short,
wherever the civilization of the white race has extended, Silurian
deposits have been observed, and everywhere they bear the same
testimony to a profuse and varied creation. The earth was
teeming then with life as now; and in whatever corner of its
surface the geologist finds the old strata, they hold a dead fauna
as numerous as that which lives and moves above it. Nor do we
find that there was any gradual increase or decrease of any
organic forms at the beginning and close of the successive
periods. On the contrary, the opening scenes of every chapter
in the world's history have been crowded with life, and its last
leaves as full and varied as its first.
VOICES
From Methods of Study in Natural History)
T
HERE is a chapter in the Natural History of animals that has
hardly been touched upon as yet, and that will be especially
interesting with reference to families. The voices of ani-
mals have a family character not to be mistaken. All the


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218
JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
was
Canida bark and howl! - the fox, the wolf, the dog, have the
same kind of utterance, though on a somewhat different pitch.
All the bears growl, from the white bear of the Arctic snows to
the small black bear of the Andes. All the cats meow, from our
quiet fireside companion to the lions and tigers and panthers of
the forests and jungle. This last may seem a strange assertion;
but to any one who has listened critically to their sounds and
analyzed their voices, the roar of the lion is but a gigantic meow,
bearing about the same proportion to that of a cat as its stately
and majestic form does to the smaller, softer, more peaceful
aspect of the cat. Yet notwithstanding the difference in their
size, who can look at the lion, whether in his more sleepy mood,
as he lies curled up in the corner of his cage, or in his fiercer
moments of hunger or of rage, without being reminded of a
cat ? And this is not merely the resemblance of one carnivorous
animal to another; for no one ever reminded of a dog or
wolf by a lion.
Again, all the horses and donkeys neigh; for the bray of a
donkey is only a harsher neigh, pitched on a different key, it is
true, but a sound of the same character—as the donkey himself
is but a clumsy and dwarfish horse. All the cows low, from the
buffalo roaming the prairie, the musk-ox of the Arctic ice-fields,
or the yak of Asia, to the cattle feeding in our pastures.
Among the birds, this similarity of voice in families is still
more marked. We need only recall the harsh and noisy parrots,
so similar in their peculiar utterance. Or, take as an example
the web-footed family: Do not all the geese and the innumerable
host of ducks quack? Does not every member of the crow fam-
ily caw, whether it be the jackdaw, the jay, or the magpie, the
rook in some green rookery of the Old World, or the crow of
our woods, with its long, melancholy caw that seems to make the
silence and solitude deeper? Compare all the sweet warblers of
the songster family — the nightingales, the thrushes, the mocking-
birds, the robins; they differ in the greater or less perfection of
their note, but the same kind of voice runs through the whole
group.
These affinities of the vocal systems among the animals form
a subject well worthy of the deepest study, not only as another
character by which to classify the animal kingdom correctly, but
as bearing indirectly also on the question of the origin of ani-
mals. Can we suppose that characteristics like these have been
--
--
-
-


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JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
219
communicated from one animal to another ? When we find that
all the members of one zoological family, however widely scat-
tered over the surface of the earth, inhabiting different continents
and even different hemispheres, speak with one voice, must we
not believe that they have originated in the places where they
now occur, with all their distinctive peculiarities? Who taught
the American thrush to sing like his European relative ? He
surely did not learn it from his cousin over the waters. Those
who would have us believe that all animals originated from com-
mon centres and single pairs, and have been thence distributed
over the world, will find it difficult to explain the tenacity of
such characters, and their recurrence and repetition under circum-
stances that seem to preclude the possibility of any communication,
on any other supposition than that of their creation in the differ-
ent regions where they are now found. We have much yet to
learn, from investigations of this kind, with reference not only to
families among animals, but to nationalities among men also. . .
The similarity of motion in families is another subject well
worth the consideration of the naturalist: the soaring of the birds
of prey, — the heavy flapping of the wings in the gallinaceous
birds, the floating of the swallows, with their short cuts and an-
gular turns, -- the hopping of the sparrows,— the deliberate walk of
the hens and the strut of the cocks,- the waddle of the ducks and
geese, - the slow, heavy creeping of the land-turtle, -the graceful
flight of the sea-turtle under the water, — the leaping and swim-
ming of the frog,- the swift run of the lizard, like a flash of
green or red light in the sunshine, - the lateral undulation of the
serpent,--the dart of the pickerel, - the leap of the trout, - the
rush of the hawk-moth through the air, — the fluttering flight of
the butterfly,— the quivering poise of the humming-bird, — the
arrow-like shooting of the squid through the water,--the slow
crawling of the snail on the land, - the sideway movement of
the sand-crab,- the backward walk of the crawfish,—the almost
imperceptible gliding of the sea-anemone over the rock, – the
graceful, rapid motion of the Pleurobrachia, with its endless
change of curve and spiral. In short, every family of animals
has its characteristic action and its peculiar voice; and yet so lit-
tle is this endless variety of rhythm and cadence both of motion
and sound in the organic world understood, that we lack words to
express one-half its richness and beauty.


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220
JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
FORMATION OF CORAL REEFS
From Methods of Study in Natural History)
or a long time it was supposed that the reef-builders inhabited
even
sounding-lines from a depth of many hundreds or
thousands of feet, and it was taken for granted that they must
have had their home where they were found: but the facts
recently ascertained respecting the subsidence of ocean-bottoms
have shown that the foundation of a coral-wall
may
have sunk
far below the place where it was laid. And it is now proved,
beyond a doubt, that no reef-building coral can thrive at a depth
of more than fifteen fathoms, though corals of other kinds occur
far lower, and that the dead reef-corals, sometimes brought to
the surface from much greater depths, are only broken fragments
of some reef that has subsided with the bottom on which it was
growing But though fifteen fathoms is the maximum depth at
which any reef-builder can prosper, there are many which will
not sustain even that degree of pressure; and this fact has, as
we shall see, an important influence on the structure of the reef.
Imagine now a sloping shore on some tropical coast descending
gradually below the surface of the sea. Upon that slope, at a
depth of from ten to twelve or fifteen fathoms, and two or three
or more miles from the mainland, according to the shelving of
the shore, we will suppose that one of those little coral animals,
to whom a home in such deep waters is congenial, has established
itself. How it happens that such a being, which we know is
immovably attached to the ground, and forms the foundation of
a solid wall, was ever able to swim freely about in the water till
it found a suitable resting-place, I shall explain hereafter, when
I say something of the mode of reproduction of these animals.
Accept, for the moment, my unsustained assertion, and plant our
little coral on this sloping shore, some twelve or fifteen fathoms
below the surface of the sea.
The internal structure of such a coral corresponds to that of
the sea-anemone. The body is divided by vertical partitions from
top to bottom, leaving open chambers between; while in the
centre hangs the digestive cavity, connected by an opening in the
bottom with all these chambers. At the top is an aperture serv-
ing as a mouth, surrounded by a wreath of hollow tentacles, each
1


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JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
22 1
one of which connects at its base with one of the chambers, so
that all parts of the animal communicate freely with each other.
But though the structure of the coral is identical in all its parts
with the sea-anemone, it nevertheless presents one important
difference. The body of the sea-anemone is soft, while that of
the coral is hard.
It is well known that all animals and plants have the power
of appropriating to themselves and assimilating the materials they
need, each selecting from the surrounding elements whatever
contributes to its well-being. Now, corals possess in an extraor-
dinary degree, the power of assimilating to themselves the lime
contained in the salt water around them; and as soon as our little
coral is established on a firm foundation, a lime deposit begins to
form in all the walls of its body, so that its base, its partitions,
and its outer wall, which in the sea-anemone remain always soft,
become perfectly solid in the polyp coral, and form a frame as
hard as bone.
It may naturally be asked where the lime comes from in the
sea which the corals absorb in such quantities. As far as the
living corals are concerned the answer is easy, for an immense
deal of lime is brought down to the ocean by rivers that wear
away the lime deposits through which they pass. The Mississippi,
whose course lies through extensive lime regions, brings down
yearly lime enough to supply all the animals living in the Gulf of
Mexico. But behind this lies a question, not so easily settled, as
to the origin of the extensive deposits of limestone found at the
very beginning of life upon earth. This problem brings us to the
threshold of astronomy; for the base of limestone is metallic in
character, susceptible therefore of fusion, and may have formed a
part of the materials of our earth, even in an incandescent state,
when the worlds were forming. But though this investigation as
to the origin of lime does not belong either to the naturalist or the
geologist, its suggestion reminds us that the time has come when
all the sciences and their results are so intimately connected that
no one can be carried on independently of the others. Since the
study of the rocks has revealed a crowded life whose records are
hoarded within them, the work of the geologist and the naturalist
has become one and the same; and at that border-land where the
first crust of the earth was condensed out of the igneous mass of
materials which formed its earliest condition, their investigation
mingles with that of the astronomer, and we cannot trace the


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2 2 2
JEAN LOUIS RODOLPHE AGASSIZ
limestone in a little coral without going back to the creation of
our solar system, when the worlds that compose it were thrown
off from a central mass in a gaseous condition.
When the coral has become in this way permeated with lime,
all parts of the body are rigid, with the exception of the upper
margin, the stomach, and the tentacles. The tentacles are soft
and waving, projected or drawn in at will; they retain their flex-
ible character through life, and decompose when the animal dies.
For this reason the dried specimens of corals preserved in
museums do not give us the least idea of the living corals, in
which every one of the millions of beings composing such a com-
munity is crowned by a waving wreath of white or green or
rose-colored tentacles.
As soon
as the little coral is fairly established and solidly
attached to the ground, it begins to bud. This may take place
in a variety of ways, dividing at the top or budding from the
base or from the sides, till the primitive animal is surrounded by
a number of individuals like itself, of which it forms the nucleus,
and which now begin to bud in their turn, each one surrounding
itself with a numerous progeny, all remaining, however, attached
to the parent. Such a community increases till its individuals are
numbered by millions, and I have myself counted no less than
fourteen millions of individuals in a coral mass of Porites meas-
uring not more than twelve feet in diameter. The so-called coral
heads, which make the foundation of a coral wall, and seem by
their massive character and regular form especially adapted to
give a strong, solid base to the whole structure, are known in
our classification as the Astræans, so named on account of the
little [star-shaped] pits crowded upon their surface, each one of
which marks the place of a single more or less isolated individual
in such a community.
Selections used by permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Company, Publishers.


## p. 223 (#253) ############################################

223
AGATHIAS
(536-581)
EGATHIAS tells us, in his Proæmium,' that he was born at
Myrina, Asia Minor, that his father's name was Memnonius,
and his own profession the law of the Romans and practice
in courts of justice. He was born about A. D. 536, and was educated
at Alexandria. In Constantinople he studied and practiced his pro-
fession, and won his surname of “Scholasticus,” a title then given to a
lawyer. He died, it is believed, at the age of forty-four or forty-five.
He was a Christian, as he testifies in his epigrams. In the sketch
of his life prefixed to his works, Niebuhr collates the friendships he
himself mentions, with his fellow-poet Paulus Silentiarius, with Theo-
dorus the decemvir, and Macedonius the ex-consul. To these men
he dedicated some of his writings.
Of his works, he says in his Proæmium that he wrote in his
youth the Daphniaca,' a volume of short poems in hexameters, set
off with love-tales. His Anthology,' or 'Cyclus,' was a collection of
poems of early writers, and also compositions of his friend Paulus
Silentiarius and others of his time. A number of his epigrams, pre-
served because they were written before or after his publication of
the Cyclus,' have come down to us and are contained in the "An-
thologia Græca. ' His principal work is his Historia,' which is an
account of the conquest of Italy by Narses, of the first war between
the Greeks and Franks, of the great earthquakes and plagues, of the
war between the Greeks and Persians, and the deeds of Belisarius in
his contest with the Huns, — of all that was happening in the world
Agathias knew between 553 and 558 A. D. , while he was a young
man. He tells, for instance, of the rebuilding of the great Church of
St. Sophia by Justinian, and he adds:- “If any one who happens to
live in some place remote from the city wishes to get a clear notion
of every part, as though he were there, let him read what Paulus
(Silentiarius) has composed in hexameter verse. ”
The history of Agathias is valuable as a chronicle. It shows that
the writer had little knowledge of geography, and was not enough of
a philosopher to look behind events and trace the causes from which
they proceeded. He is merely a simple and honest writer, and his
history is a business-like entry of facts. He dwells upon himself and
his wishes with a minuteness that might seem self-conscious, but is
really naif; and goes so far in his outspokenness as to say that if
for the sake of a livelihood he took up another profession, his taste
would have led him to devote himself to the Muses and Graces.


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GRACE AGUILAR
He wrote in the Ionic dialect of his time. The best edition of his
(Historia” is that of Niebuhr (1828). Those of his epigrams pre-
served in the Greek anthology have not infrequently been turned
into English; the happiest translation of all is that of Dryden, in his
(Life of Plutarch. '
ON PLUTARCH
C
HERONEAN Plutarch, to thy deathless praise
Does martial Rome this grateful statue raise;
Because both Greece and she thy fame have shar'd
(Their heroes written, and their lives compar'd);
But thou thyself could'st never write thy own:
Their lives have parallels, but thine has none.
GRACE AGUILAR
(1816-1847)
FI
IFTY years ago a Jewish writer of English fiction was a new
and interesting figure in English literature. Disraeli, indeed,
had flashed into the literary world with “Coningsby,' that
eloquent vindication of the Jewish race. His grandiose (Tancred'
had revealed to an astonished public the strange life of the Desert,
of the mysterious vastness whence swept forth the tribes who became
the Moors of Spain and the Jews of Palestine. Disraeli, however,
stood in no category, and established no precedent. But when Miss
Aguilar's stories began to appear, they were
eagerly welcomed by a public with whom
she had already won reputation and favor
as the defender and interpreter of her faith.
The youngest child of a rich and refined
household, Grace Aguilar was born in 1816
at Hackney, near London, of that historic
strain of Spanish-Jewish blood which for
generations had produced not only beauty
and artistic sensibility, but intellect. Her
ancestors were refugees from persecution,
and in her burned that ardor of faith which
GRACE AGUILAR
persecution kindles. Fragile and sensitive,
she was educated at home, by her cultivated
father and mother, under whose solicitous training she developed an
alarming precocity. At the age of twelve she had written a heroic

a


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225
drama on her favorite hero, Gustavus Vasa. At fourteen she had
published a volume of poems. At twenty-four she accomplished her
chief work on the Jewish religion, The Spirit of Judaism,' a book
republished in America with preface and notes by a well-known
rabbi, Dr. Isaac Leeser of Philadelphia. Although the orthodox priest
found much in the book to criticize, he was forced to commend its
ability. It insists on the importance of the spiritual and moral
aspects of the faith delivered to Abraham, and deprecates a super-
stitious reverence for the mere letter of the law. It presents Judaism
as a religion of love, and the Old Testament as the inspiration of the
teachings of Jesus. Written more than half a century ago, the book
is widely read to-day by students of the Jewish religion.
Four years later Miss Aguilar published “The Jewish Faith: Its
Spiritual Consolation, Moral Guidance, and Immortal Hope,' and 'The
Women of Israel,' a series of essays on Biblical history, which was
followed by Essays and Miscellanies. ' So great was the influence of
her writings that the Jewesses of London gave her a public testi-
monial, and addressed her as “the first woman who had stood forth
as the public advocate of the faith of Israel. ” While on her way to
visit a brother then residing at Schwalbach, Germany, she was taken
ill at Frankfurt, and died there, at the early age of thirty-one.
The earliest and the best known of Miss Aguilar's novels is
Home Influence, which rapidly passed through thirty editions, and
is still a favorite book with young girls. There is little incident in
the story, which is the history of the development of character in a
household of six or seven young persons of very different endow-
ments and tendencies. It was the fashion of the day to be didactic,
and Mrs. Hamilton, from whom the home influence » radiates, seems
to the modern reader somewhat inclined to preach, in season and out
of season. But the story is interesting, and the characters are dis-
tinctly individualized, while at least one episode is dramatically
treated.
( The Mother's Recompense is a sequel to Home Influence,'
wherein the further fortunes of the Hamilton family are so set forth
that the wordly-minded reader is driven to the inference that the
brilliant marriages of her children are a sensible part of Mrs. Hamil-
ton's recompense. The story is vividly and agreeably told.
Of a different order is 'The Days of Bruce,' a historic romance of
the late thirteenth century, which is less historic than romantic, and
in whose mirror the rugged chieftain would hardly recognize his
angularities.
'The Vale of Cedars) is a historic tale of the persecution of the
Jews in Spain under the Inquisition. It is told with intense feeling,
with much imagination, and with a strong love of local color. It is
1--15


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226
GRACE AGUILAR
said that family traditions are woven into the story. This book, as
well as Home Influence,' had a wide popularity in a German version.
In reading Grace Aguilar it is not easy to believe her the contem-
porary of Currer Bell and George Eliot. Both her manner and her
method are earlier. Her lengthy and artificial periods, the rounded
and decorative sentences that she puts into the mouths of her charac-
ters under the extremest pressure of emotion or suffering, the italics,
the sentimentalities, are of another age than the sinewy English and
hard sense of 'Jane Eyre' or 'Adam Bede. ' Doubtless her peculiar,
sheltered training, her delicate health, and a luxuriant imagination
that had seldom been measured against the realities of life, account
for the old-fashioned air of her work. But however antiquated their
form may become, the substance of all her tales is sweet and sound,
their charm for young girls is abiding, their atmosphere is pure, and
the spirit that inspires them is touched only to fine issues.
The citation from "The Days of Bruce' illustrates her narrative
style; that from Woman's Friendship’ her habit of disquisition; and
the passage from Home Influence) her rendering of conversation.
THE GREATNESS OF FRIENDSHIP
I"
From "Woman's Friendship
is the fashion to deride woman's influence over woman, to
laugh at female friendship, to look with scorn on all those
who profess it; but perhaps the world at large little knows
the effect of this influence,-how often the unformed character of
a young, timid, and gentle girl may be influenced for good or evil
by the power of an intimate female friend. There is always to
me a doubt of the warmth, the strength, and purity of her feel-
ings, when a young girl merges into womanhood, passing over
the threshold of actual life, seeking only the admiration of the
other sex; watching, pining, for a husband, or lovers, perhaps,
and looking down on all female friendship as romance and folly.
No young spirit was ever yet satisfied with the love of nature.
Friendship, or love, gratifies self-love; for it tacitly acknowl-
edges that we must possess some good qualities to attract beyond
the mere love of nature. Coleridge justly observes, that it is
well ordered that the amiable and estimable should have a fainter
perception of their own qualities than their friends have, other-
wise they would love themselves. ” Now, friendship, or love, per-
mits their doing this unconsciously: mutual affection is a 'tacit


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227
-
avowal and appreciation of mutual good. qualities,- perhaps
friendship yet more than love, for the latter is far more an aspi-
ration, a passion, than the former, and influences the permanent
character much less. Under the magic of love a girl is generally
in a feverish state of excitement, often in a wrong position,
deeming herself the goddess, her lover the adorer; whereas it
is her will that must bend to his, herself be abnegated for him.
Friendship neither permits the former nor demands the latter. It
influences silently, often unconsciously; perhaps its power is never
known till years afterwards. A girl who stands alone, without
acting or feeling friendship, is generally a cold unamiable being,
so wrapt in self as to have no room for any person else, except
perhaps a lover, whom she only seeks and values as offering
his devotion to that same idol, self. Female friendship may be
abused, may be but a name for gossip, letter-writing, romance,
nay worse, for absolute evil: but that Shakespeare, the mighty
wizard of human hearts, thought highly and beautifully of female
friendship, we have his exquisite portraits of Rosalind and Celia,
Helen and the Countess, undeniably to prove; and if he, who
could portray every human passion, every subtle feeling of
humanity, from the whelming tempest of love to the fiendish
influences of envy and jealousy and hate; from the incompre-
hensible mystery of Hamlet's wondrous spirit, to the simplicity
of the gentle Miranda, the dove-like innocence of Ophelia, who
could be crushed by her weight of love, but not reveal it; - if
Shakespeare scorned not to picture the sweet influences of female
friendship, shall women pass by it as a theme too tame, too idle
for their pens?
THE ORDER OF KNIGHTHOOD
From "The Days of Bruce)
A
RIGHT noble and glorious scene did the great hall of the pal-
ace present the morning which followed this eventful night.
The king, surrounded by his highest prelates and nobles,
iningling indiscriminately with the high-born dames and maidens
of his court, all splendidly attired, occupied the upper part of the
hall, the rest of which was crowded by both his military fol-
lowers and many of the good citizens of Scone, who flocked in
great numbers to behold the august ceremony of the day. Two
immense oaken doors at the south side of the hall were flung


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GRACE AGUILAR
open, and through them was discerned the large space forming
the palace yard, prepared as a tilting-ground, where the new-
made knights were to prove their skill. The storm had given
place to a soft, breezy morning, the cool freshness of which
appeared peculiarly grateful from the oppressiveness of the night;
light downy clouds sailed over the blue expanse of heaven, tem-
pering without clouding the brilliant rays of the sun. Every
face was clothed with smiles, and the loud shouts which hailed
the youthful candidates for knighthood, as they severally entered,
told well the feeling with which the patriots of Scotland were
regarded.
Some twenty youths received the envied honor at the hand
of their sovereign this day; but our limits forbid a minute
scrutiny of the bearing of any, however well deserving, save of
the two whose vigils have already detained us so long. A yet
longer and louder shout proclaimed the appearance of the
youngest scion of the house of Bruce and his companion. The
daring patriotism of Isabella of Buchan had enshrined her in
every heart, and so disposed all men towards her children that
the name of their traitorous father was forgotten.
Led by their godfathers, Nigel by his brother-in-law Sir
Christopher Seaton, and Alan by the Earl of Lennox, their
swords, which had been blessed by the abbot at the altar, slung
round their necks, they advanced up the hall. There was a
glow on the cheek of the young Alan, in which pride and
modesty were mingled; his step at first was unsteady and his
lip was seen to quiver from very bashfulness, as he first glanced
round the hall and felt that every eye was turned toward him;
but when that glance met his mother's fixed on him, and breath-
ing that might of love that filled her heart, all boyish tremors
fled, the calm, staid resolve of manhood took the place of the
varying glow upon his cheek, the quivering lip became com-
pressed and firm, and his step faltered not again.
The cheek of Nigel Bruce was pale, but there was firmness
in the glance of his bright eye, and a smile unclouded in its
joyance on his lip. The frivolous lightness of the courtier, the
mad bravado of knight-errantry, which was not uncommon to
the times, indeed, were not there. It was the quiet courage of
the resolved warrior, the calm of a spirit at peace with itself,
shedding its own high feeling and poetic glory over all around
him.


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229
On reaching the foot of King Robert's throne, both youths
knelt and laid their sheathed swords at his feet. Their armor-
bearers then approached, and the ceremony of clothing the can-
didates in steel commenced; the golden spur was fastened on the
left foot of each by his respective godfather, while Athol, Hay,
and other nobles advanced to do honor to the youths, by aiding
in the ceremony.
Nor was it warriors alone.
"Is this permitted, lady ? ” demanded the king, smiling, as
the Countess of Buchan approached the martial group, and,
aided by Lennox, fastened the polished cuirass on the form of
her son. «Is it permitted for a matron to arm a youthful
knight? Is there no maiden to do such inspiring office ? "
“Yes, when the knight is one like this, my liege,” she
answered, in the same tone. « Let a matron arm him, good my
liege,” she added, sadly: “let a mother's hand enwrap his boyish
limbs in steel, a mother's blessing mark him thine and Scot-
land's, that those who watch his bearing in the battle-field may
know who sent him there, may thrill his heart with memories
of her who stands alone of her ancestral line, that though he
bears the name of Comyn, the blood of Fife flows reddest in his
veins! »
“Arm him and welcome, noble lady,” answered the king, and
a buzz of approbation ran through the hall; "and may thy noble
spirit and dauntless loyalty inspire him: we shall not need a
trusty follower while such as he are around us. Yet, in very
deed, my youthful knight must have a lady fair for whom he
tilts to-day. Come hither, Isoline, thou lookest verily inclined
to envy thy sweet friend her office, and nothing loth to have a
loyal knight thyself. Come, come, my pretty one, no blushing
now. Lennox, guide those tiny hands aright. ”
Laughing and blushing, Isoline, the daughter of Lady Camp-
bell, a sister of the Bruce, a graceful child of some thirteen
summers, advanced nothing loth, to obey her royal uncle's sum-
mons; and an arch smile of real enjoyment irresistibly stole over
the countenance of Alan, dispersing the emotion his mother's
words produced.
Nay, tremble not, sweet one,” the king continued, in a
, lower and yet kinder tone, as he turned from the one youth to
the other, and observed that Agnes, overpowered by emotion,
had scarcely power to perform her part, despite the whispered
words of encouraging affection Nigel murmured in her ear. One


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by one the cuirass and shoulder-pieces, the greaves and gaunt-
lets, the gorget and brassards, the joints of which were so beau-
tifully burnished that they shone as mirrors, and so flexible that
every limb had its free use, enveloped those manly forms. Their
swords once again girt to their sides, and once more kneeling,
the king descended from his throne, alternately dubbing them
knight in the name of God, St. Michael, and St. George.
THE CULPRIT AND THE JUDGE
From Home Influence)
MK
RS. HAMILTON was seated at one of the tables on the dais
nearest the oriel window, the light from which fell on her,
giving her figure— though she was seated naturally enough
in one of the large maroon-velvet oaken chairs an unusual
effect of dignity and command, and impressing the terrified
beholder with such a sensation of awe that had her life depended
on it, she could not for that one minute have gone forward; and
even when desired to do so by the words “I desired your pres-
ence, Ellen, because I wished to speak to you: come here with-
out any more delay," — how she walked the whole length of that
interminable room, and stood facing her aunt, she never knew.
Mrs. Hamilton for a full minute did not speak, but she fixed
that searching look, to which we have once before alluded, upon
Ellen's face; and then said, in a tone which, though very low
and calm, expressed as much as that earnest look:
Ellen! is it necessary for me to tell you why you are here -
necessary to produce the proof that my words are right, and that
you have been influenced by the fearful effects of some uncon-
fessed and most heinous sin ? Little did I dream its nature. ”
For a moment Ellen stood as turned to stone, as white and
rigid — the next she had sunk down with a wild, bitter cry, at
Mrs. Hamilton's feet, and buried her face in her hands.
“Is it true — can it be true— that you, offspring of my own
sister; dear to me, cherished by me as my own child
been the guilty one to appropriate, and conceal the appropriation
of money, which has been a source of distress by its loss, and
the suspicion thence proceeding, for the last seven weeks ? — that
you could listen to your uncle's words, absolving his whole
household as incapable of a deed which was actual theft, and
yet, by neither word nor sign, betray remorse or guilt ? — could
ac
-you have


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231
behold the innocent suffering, the fearful misery of suspicion,
loss of character, without the power of clearing himself, and
stand calmly, heedlessly by --- only proving by your hardened
and rebellious temper that all was not right within — Ellen, can
this be true ? ”
« Yes! ” was the reply, but with such a fearful effort that her
slight frame shook as with an ague: “thank God that it is known!
I dared not bring down the punishment on myself; but I can bear
it. ”
« This is mere mockery, Ellen: how dare I believe even this
poor evidence of repentance, with the recollection of your past
conduct ? What were the notes you found ? "
Ellen named them.
“Where are they? - This is but one, and the smallest. ”
Ellen's answer was scarcely audible.
« Used them — and for what ? »
There was no answer; neither then nor when Mrs. Hamilton
sternly reiterated the question. She then demanded :-
"How long have they been in your possession ? "
“Five or six weeks; » but the reply was so tremulous it car-
ried no conviction with it.
«Since Robert told his story to your uncle, or before ? ”
« Before. ”
« Then your last answer was a falsehood, Ellen: it is full seven
weeks since my husband addressed the household on the subject.
You could not have so miscounted time, with such a deed to date
by. Where did you find them ? ”
Ellen described the spot.
« And what business had you there? You know that neither
you nor your cousins are ever allowed to go that way to Mrs.
Langford's cottage, and more especially alone. If you wanted to
see her, why did you not go the usual way? And when was
this ? - you must remember the exact day. Your memory is not
in general so treacherous. ”
Again Ellen was silent.
« Have you forgotten it? ”
She crouched lower at her aunt's feet, but the answer was
audible — "No. "
« Then answer me, Ellen, this moment, and distinctly: for
what purpose were you seeking Mrs. Langford's cottage by that
forbidden path, and when ? ”


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“I wanted money, and I went to ask her to take my trinkets
- my watch, if it must be — and dispose of them as I had read of
others doing, as miserable as I was; and the wind blew the notes
to my very hand, and I used them. I was mad then; I have
been mad since, I believe: but I would have returned the whole
amount to Robert if I could have but parted with my trinkets
in time. ”
To describe the tone of utter despair, the recklessness as to
the effect her words would produce, is impossible. Every word
increased Mrs. Hamilton's bewilderment and misery. To suppose
that Ellen did not feel was folly. It was the very depth of
wretchedness which was crushing her to earth, but every answered
and unanswered question but deepened the mystery, and rendered
her judge's task more difficult.
“And when was this, Ellen ? I will have no more evasion —
tell me the exact day. ”
But she asked in vain. Ellen remained moveless and silent as
the dead.
After several minutes Mrs. Hamilton removed her hands from
her face, and compelling her to lift up her head, gazed search-
ingly on her death-like countenance for some moments in utter
silence, and then said, in a tone that Ellen never in her life
forgot:-
“You cannot imagine, Ellen, that this half confession will
either satisfy me, or in the smallest degree redeem your sin.
One, and one only path is open to you; for all that you have
said and left unsaid but deepens your apparent guilt, and so
blackens your conduct, that I can scarcely believe I am address-
ing the child I so loved and could still so love, if but one real
sign be given of remorse and penitence—one hope of returning
truth. But that sign, that hope, can only be a full confession.
Terrible as is the guilt of appropriating so large a sum, granted
it came by the merest chance into your hand; dark as is the addi-
tional sin of concealment when an innocent person was suffer-
ing - something still darker, more terrible, must be concealed
behind it, or you would not, could not, continue thus obdurately
silent. I can believe that under some heavy pressure of misery,
some strong excitement, the sum might have been used without
thought, and that fear might have prevented the confession of
anything so dreadful; but what was this heavy necessity for
money, this strong excitement? What fearful and mysterious


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233
difficulties have you been led into to call for either ? Tell me
the truth, Ellen, the whole truth; let me have some hope of sav.
ing you and myself the misery of publicly declaring you the
guilty one, and so proving Robert's innocence. Tell me what
difficulty, what misery so maddened you, as to demand the dis-
posal of your trinkets. If there be the least excuse, the smallest
possibility of your obtaining in time forgiveness, I will grant it.
I will not believe you so utterly fallen. I will do all I can to
remove error, and yet to prevent suffering; but to win this, I
must have a full confession - every question that I put to you
must be clearly and satisfactorily answered, and so bring back the
only comfort to yourself, and hope to me. Will you do this,
Ellen ? »
"Oh that I could ! ” was the reply in such bitter anguish, Mrs.
Hamilton actually shuddered. “But I cannot — must not — dare
not. Aunt Emmeline, hate me; condemn me to the severest,
sharpest suffering; I wish for it, pine for it: you cannot loathe
me more than I do myself, but do not- do not speak to me in
these kind tones - I cannot bear them. It was because I knew
what a wretch I am, that I have so shunned you. I was not
worthy to be with you; oh, sentence me at once! I dare not
answer as you wish. ”
“Dare not! ” repeated Mrs. Hamilton, more and more bewil-
dered; and to conceal the emotion Ellen's wild words and ago-
nized manner had produced, adopting a greater sternness.
“You dare commit a sin, from which the lowest of my house-
hold would shrink in horror, and yet tell me you dare not make
the only atonement, give me the only proof of real penitence I
demand. This is a weak and wicked subterfuge, Ellen, and will
not pass with me. There can be no reason for this fearful obdu-
racy, not even the consciousness of greater guilt, for I promise
forgiveness, if it be possible, on the sole condition of a full confess-
ion. Once more, will you speak? Your hardihood will be utterly
useless, for you cannot hope to conquer me; and if you permit
me to leave you with your conduct still clothed in this impene-
trable mystery, you will compel me to adopt measures to subdue
that defying spirit, which will expose you and myself to intense
suffering, but which must force submission at last. ”
“ You cannot inflict more than I have endured the last seven
weeks,” murmured Ellen, almost inarticulately. "I have borne
that; I can bear the rest. "


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« Then you will not answer? You are resolved not to tell me
the day on which you found that money, the use to which it was
applied, the reason of your choosing that forbidden path, permit-
ting me to believe you guilty of heavier sins than may be the
case in reality. Listen to me, Ellen; it is more than time this
interview should cease; but I will give you one chance more. It
is now half-past seven,”- she took the watch from her neck, and
laid it on the table -"I will remain here one-half hour longer:
by that time this sinful temper may have passed away, and you
will consent to give me the confession I demand. I cannot
believe you so altered in two months as to choose obduracy and
misery, when pardon, and in time confidence and love, are
offered in their stead. Get up from that crouching posture; it
can be but mock humility, and so only aggravates your sin. ”
Ellen rose slowly and painfully, and seating herself at the
table some distance from her aunt, leaned her arms upon it, and
buried her face within n. Never before and never after did
half an hour appear so interminable to either Mrs. Hamilton or
Ellen. It was well for the firmness of the former, perhaps, that
she could not read the heart of that young girl, even if the cause
of its anguish had been still concealed. Again and again did the
wild longing, turning her actually faint and sick with its agony,
come over her to reveal the whole, to ask but rest and mercy
for herself, pardon and security for Edward: but then, clear as if
held before her in letters of fire, she read every word of her
brother's desperate letter, particularly Breathe it to my uncle or
aunt for if she knows it he will — and you will never see me
Her mother, pallid as death, seemed to stand before
her, freezing confession on her heart and lips, looking at her
threateningly, as she had so often seen her, as if the very
thought were guilt. The rapidly advancing twilight, the large
and lonely room, all added to that fearful illusion; and if Ellen
did succeed in praying it was with desperate fervor for strength
not to betray her brother. If ever there were a martyr spirit,
it was enshrined in that young, frail form.
"Aunt Emmeline, Aunt Emmeline, speak to me but one
word — only one
word of kindness before you go.
I do not
ask for mercy — there can be none for such a wretch as I am;
I will bear without one complaint, one murmur, all you may
inflict—you cannot be too severe. Nothing can be such agony as
the utter loss of your affection; I thought, the last two months,
>>
more.


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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
235
(C
that I feared you so much that it was all fear, no love: but now,
now that you know my sin, it has all, all come back to make me
still more wretched. ” And before Mrs. Hamilton could prevent,
or was in the least aware of her intention, Ellen had obtained
possession of one of her hands, and was covering it with kisses,
while her whole frame shook with those convulsed, but completely
tearless sobs.
“Will you confess, Ellen, if I stay? Will you give me the
proof that it is such agony to lose my affection, that you do love
me as you profess, and that it is only one sin which has so
changed you? One word, and, tardy as it is, I will listen, and it
I can, forgive. ”
Ellen made no answer, and Mrs. Hamilton's newly raised hopes
vanished; she waited full two or three minutes, then gently dis-
engaged her hand and dress from Ellen's still convulsive grasp;
the door closed, with a sullen, seemingly unwilling sound, and
Ellen was alone. She remained in the same posture, the same
spot, till a vague, cold terror so took possession of her, that the
room seemed filled with ghostly shapes, and all the articles of fur-
niture suddenly transformed to things of life; and springing up,
with the wild, Aleet step of fear, she paused not till she found
herself in her own room, where, Ainging herself on her bed, she
buried her face on her pillow, to shut out every object-oh, how
she longed to shut out thought!
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
(1805-1882)
N THE year 1881, at a commemorative dinner given to her
native novelist by the city of Manchester, it was announced
that the public library contained two hundred and fifty
volumes of his works, which passed through seven thousand six
hundred and sixty hands annually, so that his stories were read at
the rate of twenty volumes a day throughout the year.
ceptional prophet, who was thus not without honor in his own country,
was the son of a prosperous attorney, and was himself destined to
the bar. But he detested the law and he loved letters, and before he
was twenty he had helped to edit a paper, had written essays, a story,
and a play,-- none of which, fortunately for him, survive,--and had
This ex-


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236
WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
gone to London, ostensibly to read in a lawyer's office, and really to
spin his web of fiction whenever opportunity offered. Chance con-
nected the fortunes of young Ainsworth with periodical literature,
where most of his early work appeared. His first important tale was
(Rookwood,' published in 1834. This describes the fortunes of a
family of Yorkshire gentry in the last century; but its real interest
lies in an episode which includes certain experiences of the noto-
rious highwayman, Dick Turpin, and his furious ride to outrun the
hue and cry.
Sporting England was enraptured with the dash and
breathlessness of this adventure, and the novelist's fame was estab-
lished.
His second romance, “Crichton,' appeared in 1836. The hero
of this tale is the brilliant Scottish gentleman whose handsome
person, extraordinary scholarship, great
accomplishments, courage, eloquence, sub-
tlety, and achievement gained him the
sobriquet of “The Admirable. ” The chief
scenes are laid in Paris at the time of
Catherine de' Medici's rule and Henry
III. 's reign, when the air was full of in-
trigue and conspiracy, and when religious
quarrels were not more bitter and danger-
ous than political wrangles. The inscru-
table king, the devout Queen Louise of
Lorraine, the scheming queen-mother, and
Marguerite of Valois, half saint, half prof-
W. Harrison Ainsworth ligate, a pearl of beauty and grace; Henry
of Navarre, ready to buy his Paris with
sword or mass; well-known great nobles, priests, astrologers, learned
doctors, foreign potentates, ambassadors, pilgrims, and poisoners, –
pass before the reader's eye. The pictures of student life, at a time
when all the world swarmed to the great schools of Paris, serve to
explain the hero and the period.
When, in 1839, Dickens resigned the editorship of Bentley's Mis-
cellany, Ainsworth succeeded him. «The new whip,” wrote the old
one afterward, “having mounted the box, drove straight to Newgate.
He there took in Jack Sheppard, and Cruikshank the artist; and
aided by that very vulgar but very wonderful draughtsman, he made
an effective story of the burglar's and housebreaker's life. ” Every-
body read the story, and most persons cried out against so ignoble a
hero, so mean a history, and so misdirected a literary energy. The
author himself seems not to have been proud of the success which
sold thousands of copies of an unworthy book, and placed a dramatic
version of its vulgar adventures on the stage of eight theatres at



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WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH
237
once. He turned his back on this profitable field to produce, in rapid
succession, (Guy Fawkes,' a tale of the famous Gunpowder Plot;
(The Tower of London,' a story of the Princess Elizabeth, the reign
of Queen Mary, and the melancholy episode of Lady Jane Grey's
brief glory; Old Saint Paul,' a story of the time of Charles II. ,
which contains the history of the Plague and of the Great Fire;
(The Miser's Daughter'; Windsor Castle,' whose chief characters
are Katharine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Cardinal Wolsey, and Henry
the Eighth; 'St. James,' a tale of the court of Queen Anne; “The
Lancashire Witches); The Star-Chamber,' a historical story of the
time of Charles I.