sh Antilles.

James Anthony Froude is, beyond any doubt whatever, a very considerable
figure in modern English literature. It has, however, for some time
ceased to be a question whether his acceptability, to the extent which
it reaches, has not been due rather to the verbal attractiveness than
to the intrinsic value and trustworthiness of his opinions and
teachings. In fact, so far as a judgment can be formed from examined
specimens of his writings, it appears that our [28] author is the
bond-slave of his own phrases. To secure an artistic perfection of
style, he disregards all obstacles, not only those presented by the
requirements of verity, but such as spring from any other kind of
consideration whatsoever. The doubt may safely be entertained whether,
among modern British men of letters, there be one of equal capability
who, in the interest of the happiness of his sentences, so cynically
sacrifices what is due not only to himself as a public instructor, but
also to that public whom he professes to instruct. Yet, as the too
evident plaything of an over-permeable moral constitution, he might set
up some plea in explanation of his ethical vagaries. He might urge,
for instance, that the high culture of which his books are all so
redolent has utterly failed to imbue him with the nil admirari
sentiment, which Horace commends as the sole specific for making men
happy and keeping them so. For, as a matter of fact, and with special
reference to the work we have undertaken to discuss, Mr. Froude, though
cynical in his general utterances regarding Negroes-of the male sex, be
it noted-is, in the main, all extravagance and self-abandonment
whenever he [29] brings an object of his arbitrary likes or dislikes
under discussion. At such times he is no observer, much less
worshipper, of proportion in his delineations. Thorough-paced,
scarcely controllable, his enthusiasm for or against admits no degree
in its expression, save and except the superlative. Hence Mr. Froude's
statement of facts or description of phenomena, whenever his feelings
are enlisted either way, must be taken with the proverbial "grain of
salt" by all when enjoying the luxury of perusing his books. So
complete is his self-identification with the sect or individual for the
time being engrossing his sympathy, that even their personal
antipathies are made his own; and the hostile language, often
exaggerated and unjust, in which those antipathies find vent,