cerned with phonetics, we find that the properly literary theses have but seldom a general character, rarely deal with problems concerning a whole period. This is, however, the case with the book of Beljame pointed out above, or with Cestre's "English Poets and the French Revolution," or Cazamian's "The English Social Novel in the Middle of the Nineteenth Century," or Reyher's "English Masques," or Barbeau's "Social and Literary History of the City of Bath."

All the other theses, or nearly all, are biographical. They are devoted to some writer-either of the Renaissance, like Feuillerat's "John Lily," Castelain's "Ben Jonson," Delattre's "Robert Herrick"; or of the classical age, like Bastide's "John Locke," Morel's "James Thomson," Walter Thomas's "Edward Young"; or of the transitional period between classicism and romanticism, like Stapfer's "Sterne," Huchon's "George Crabbe," Boucher's "William Cowper," Angellier's "Robert Burns." A certain number treat of the romantic poets themselves, like Berger's "William Blake," Legouis's "Wordsworth," Koszul's "Shelley," Wolff's "Keats," or of the prose writers of the same epoch, like Derocquigny's "Charles Lamb," Douady's "William Hazlitt," and Chevrillon's "Sidney Smith." America has not yet had quite her due but still she has not been neglected; witness Dhaleine's careful work on "Nathaniel Hawthorne" and the great study of "Edgar Allan Poe" by Lauvrière. This list is not at all exhaustive. It does not include all the theses. Besides, several volumes are intentionally left out which have been recently written on English literature either by the same docteurs, or published by critics outside of the universities, among them being the books of our ambassador to the United States, M. Jusserand, whose contributions to the history of English literature, are distinguished as much by their erudition as by their brilliance.

But mere enumeration is wearisome and does not signify

much. Quality is the thing. Now, though the value of the above-mentioned theses is of course unequal, all have been deemed serviceable. Moreover, in spite of their diversity, a certain family relationship, or rather national likeness, is noticeable in all. Their characteristics are best seen, perhaps, from the book which is, by common consent, considered the masterpiece of the series-the "Robert Burns" of Auguste Angellier. All French Anglicisants boast of it as a national achievement. To it they would at once proudly refer the inquisitive foreigner anxious to know what can be done by a Frenchman in the way of literary criticism on a British subject. In this instance, it should be stated that the writer of the thesis happened to be a man of more than ordinary talent, one indeed who was sometime after to prove his genius in creative literature by endowing his country with the most thoughtful and pathetic poetry produced in the language for many years. Ordinarily, I disclaim big words but I must needs have recourse to such to do simple justice to this man and his work. It is much to be deplored that the size and length of his "Burns" should have till now frightened English or American publishers from their duty of giving a translation of it to the public. Such a feat is, of course, in some sense exceptional, but, all the same, it is typical of the work done in our universities. It differs from the rest in degree, not in kind. It represents the ideal aimed at by many. It has been influential and stimulating as an admired model. The chief traits of our English scholarship might be deduced from it.

But to make my drift clear, I must recall a distinction already familiar, even hackneyed, between the two main modes of criticism, which I will designate, for convenience' sake, one as the erudite (historical, objective, scientific) mode, the other as the literary, or æsthetic, or subjective.

The proper function of the erudite method is to correct current errors in literary history, or to add some novel fact to those already known. It aims at increasing our knowl

edge of the biography of authors, of the chronology of their works, or of the influence exercised by them. It does not concern itself much with facts already sifted and proved true. Its process is somewhat analogous to that of geometry: does not every new geometer take Euclid for granted and go forward, adding a new theorem to the number, if he can? No one can pay too much respect to this method, so exclusive of idle verbiage. It spares the adept a repetition of known data. It saves him the trouble of trudging again over well-trodden ground. It tends only to the advancement of science, as far as the word is allowable when one speaks of history or letters. Of this mode of criticism, Germany first gave splendid examples to the world. Though it is not her monopoly, she excels in it. Her special books and reviews are full of it, almost to the exclusion of every other mode. In some directions, it is true, and particularly in the field of research that we are now concerned with, I wonder whether America has not actually outstripped Germany herself, after having been her disciple. As I was some time ago getting up a small popular book on Chaucer and had to acquaint myself with the most recent critical works on his life and his poetry, I was struck by the predominance of Americans in the list of the latest discoverers. Foremost in the catalogue were the names of Professors Kittredge, Schofield, Tatlock, Root, Lowes, Young, and others, nearly dispossessing the country of Ten Brink of her former supremacy.

To the second, or literary, species of criticism it would be difficult to ascribe a local habitation, a fixed home, for it is found more or less in every civilized nation. It consists chiefly of the reflection in an individual mind of the life of a particular writer. In its least reputable form, it is wayward, impulsive, somewhat arbitrary, and even at times fantastic. In its better mood, it is aware and respectful of facts, anxious not to collide with them, but does not make them its primary object. It gives less thought

to literary history than to the æsthetic and moral aspects of literature. The literary critic is not as a rule a firm believer in the possibility of ever turning literature or even literary history into a science. According to him, the duty of each successive generation is to drink in all it can of the meaning and beauty of books. By his effort no other result is achieved, no other novelty is produced than what comes from the combination of an original work with one more critic's mind. The only addition made in this case is merely subjective-dependent on the critic's idiosyncrasy, or his particular powers of sensibility, imagination, and taste.

Thus are the two sister criticisms different in most things, even hostile if you take them in their extreme moods, and often unwilling to admit each other's particular worth and raison d'être. Now, if I am not mistaken, French criticism as it manifests itself in the majority of theses under discussion, and especially in the representative one of Angellier, is an attempt to conciliate the two methods. For which it may either be condemned as amphibious, neither fish nor flesh, or on the contrary exalted as harmoniously complete.

Angellier's "Burns" is an erudite book, there is no question of that. It is so to such an extent that even Scotchmen, so hard to please when their national poet is discussed, so shy even of the praise given him by foreigners, have admitted its almost infallible accuracy. Angellier had the full equipment of precise knowledge for his difficult task—a thorough familiarity with Burns's dialect, his country, and his haunts, as well as with the minutest details of his life. Add to this a wide acquaintance with the social history of Scotland and with the whole of British literature. He was thus qualified to discuss authoritatively all the moot points pertaining to Burns's works and career. Thanks to that, his book gives satisfaction to the most exacting scientific scholar.

Yes, his thesis is erudite as a matter of course. But it is so only as a matter of course-only as a necessary preparation for a study the gist of which lies elsewhere. Erudition

was his starting-point, not his goal. He sticks to facts as closely as anyone; indeed, will do nothing without them, but is never contented with the bare statement, will interpret the most trivial data through psychological processes in which his faculties of thought, feeling, and imagination are at work. What he purposed to write was a book of perfect truth that should at the same time be a book of art.

His "Burns," as he himself explains, aims at being "an historical novel" but one that should from beginning to end strictly adhere to reality. It is meant to pass muster with the specialist, and yet to be accessible to the public at large,— nay, to the French public, that is to say, to readers wholly ignorant of the Scotch songster. In consequence, nothing could be left half-told, simply hinted at or suggested. Angellier had to lay a stress on the best-known facts of his hero's life as well as on the most obscure. A sad cause of idle repetitions indeed, if any fact in the moral world could be summed up in a formula, if it had limits as distinct as a circle or a triangle! But whoever has read his "Burns" will acknowledge that almost at every step a new light is thrown by the critic on the tritest and most trivial details, because in such matters no intense thinking and vivid sympathy go without their harvest. By the bye, may not we reckon this as a foreign critic's advantage that he has to make clear to himself and his countrymen many particulars, many simple acts and common utterances, on which a native critic would never think of dwelling? Thus is the broad humanity in an individual career set forth. Thus does the general evolve itself out of the particular.

The French are supposed to revel in general ideas, by which it is often understood that they soon grow weary of facts, love to lose sight of "solid earth" and build intellectual castles in the air. I will not undertake to examine how far this opinion is supported by their history and literature taken as a whole. But I believe that their criticism—or, at least, the special criticism with which I am now concerned