s, and condemned all others as
barbarous, they were led to pass judgments, such, for example, as
Voltaire's view of Dante and Shakespeare, which strike us as strangely
crude and unappreciative. The change in this, as in other departments of
thought, means again that criticism, as Professor Courthope has said,
must become thoroughly inductive. We must start from experience. We must
begin by asking impartially what pleased men, and then inquire why it
pleased them. We must not decide dogmatically that it ought to have
pleased or displeased on the simple ground that it is or is not
congenial to ourselves. As historical methods extend, the same change
takes place in regard to political or economical or religious, as well
as in regard to literary investigations. We can then become catholic
enough to appreciate varying forms; and recognise that each has its own
rules, right under certain conditions and appropriate within the given
sphere. The great empire of literature, we may say, has many provinces.
There is a 'law of nature' deducible from universal principles of reason
which is applicable throughout, and enforces what may be called the
cardinal virtues common to all forms of human expression. But
subordinate to this, there is also a municipal law, varying in every
province and determining the particular systems which are applicable to
the different state of things existing in each region.

This method, again, when carried out, implies the necessary connection
between the social and literary departments of history. The adequate
criticism must be rooted in history. In some sense I am ready to admit
that all criticism is a nuisance and a parasitic growth upon literature.
The most fruitful reading is that in which we are submitting to a
teacher and asking no questions as to the secret of his influence.
Bunyan had no knowledge of the 'higher criticism'; he read into the
Bible a great many dogmas which were not there, and accepted rather
questionable historical data. But perhaps he felt some essential
characteristics of the book more thoroughly than far more cultivated
people. No critic can instil into a reader that spontaneous sympathy
with the thoughts and emotions incarnated in the great masterpieces
without which all reading is cold and valueless. In spite of all
differences of dialect and costume, the great men can place themselves
in spiritual contact with men of most distant races and periods. Art, we
are told, is immort