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associated with Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, the celebrated Dean of Westminster, but some of the characteristics of Arthur Clough went to the making up of the portrait. Of all these brilliant boys, young Clough was acknowledged to possess the keenest mind, and won his way to Oxford the most easily. At the university he gained many of the great prizes and was distinguished among a thousand students for his scholarship. Leaving Oxford he spent some time as an instructor in the University of London. There he met Walter Bagehot, and the two young men became warm and sympathetic friends, Clough, who was the senior by seven years, exercising no little influence on Bagehot's subsequent Career. In 1852 Clough accepted a position at Harvard as lecturer and instructor in English literature, but he only remained about a year, returning to London to accept an educational position under the government. He wrote much, worked hard, married, and then his health, never robust, began to fail. He went to Italy, but to no purpose. In November, 1861, he died in Florence, and is buried there in the Protestant cemetery. Clough wrote several long poems and many 383

short ones, which have been collected and published. His principal poem has the somewhat forbidding title of “The Bothie of Tober-naVuolich,” which means “The Hut of the Bearded Well,” and is written in hexameter verse, a meter, the author says, adopted after reading Longfellow’s “Evangeline.” It is replete with wit and mirth, interspersed with deep and serious thought concerning the problems of life and being. It in outline describes the adventures of an Oxford vacation party, one of the members of which is the hero, and there are several love episodes. It is not diffcult to get interested in it, and it is well worth reading. Quotation can hardly do iustice to it:

I am sorry to say your Providence puzzles me sadly ; Children of circumstance are we to be 2 You answer, On no wise ! Where does circumstance end, and where Providence 2 Where begins it 2 What are we to resist, and what are we to be friends with ? If there is battle 'tis battle by night. I stand in the darkness, Here in the mélée of men, Ionian and Dorian on both sides Signal and password known ; which is friend and which is foeman 2 Yet is my feeling rather to ask, where is the battle 2 O that the armies indeed were arrayed O joy of the onset !

Sound, thou trumpet of God ; come forth, great cause, to array us.

King and leader appear ; thy soldiers sorrowing seek thee.

Would that the armies indeed were arrayed O where is the battle !

Clough, strongly pessimistic, did not attempt to solve these problems, but stated and accepted them as if they were inevitable and insoluble. It was he that Emerson had in mind—though they were the best of friends, but far asunder in their habits of thought—when he said : “‘Ah!’ says my languid Oxford gentleman, “nothing new or true—and no matter.’” The following stanza expresses this feeling :

Like a good subject and wise man,
Believe whatever things you can,
Take your religion as 'twas found you,
And say no more of it, confound you.

And yet it is hardly just to call Clough's poetry cynical. It is realistic and virile and describes much in our thoughts and feelings and speculations that leads to cynical conclusions. Much that is pretentious and more that is absurd in creed and thought dissolve under the keen light he throws upon it.

How keen are the following verses:

Some future day, when what is now is not,
When all old faults and follies are forgot,
And thoughts of difference passed like dreams away—
We'll meet again upoli some future day.

When all that hindered, all that vexed our love,
The tall, rank weeds that climb the blade above,
And all but it has yielded to decay—
We'll meet again upon some future day.

When we have proved, each on his course alone,
The wider world, and learnt what's now unknown,
Have made life clear and worked out each a way—
We'll meet again ; we shall have much to say.

With happier mood, and feelings born anew,
Our boyhood's bygone fancies we'll review,
Talk o'er old talks, play as we used to play,
And meet again on many a future day.

Some day, which oft our hearts shall yearn to see
In some far year, though distant yet to be,
Shall we indeed—ye winds and waters say !—
Meet yet again upon some future day ?

Many other of his poems we would delight to quote, such as “Green Fields of England,” or

“Where lies the land to which the ship would

go?” but we can only refer readers to the printed

volume. There they will find much that will be a revelation and a delight.

WALTER BAGEHOT,

BUSINESS MAN IN LITERATURE.
(1826–1877.)

We frequently hear of the “business man in politics,” though perhaps not so often as we should, but we do not hear, save at great intervals, of the business man in letters. That is, of the man who, highly educated or with strong literary tendencies, after devoting most of his time to the acquisition of fortune in the ordinary channels of business, giving some part of his remaining hours to the literary calling. There must be large numbers of men in the United States who are university bred, not in professional life but engaged in other callings, who could, if they would, do great things in literature and art and thus promote the general culture of the public.

Doubtless there are some who are thus engaged, as our art institutes and libraries testify, but their number is by no means as great as it might

be.

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