is, indeed, a custom inseparable from
civilised life. The theoretic moralist's reminder that monuments of
human greatness sooner or later come to dust is a doctrine too
discouraging of all human effort to exert much practical effect.
Monuments are, in the eyes of the intelligent, tributes for services
rendered to posterity by great men. But incidentally they have an
educational value. They help to fix the attention of the thoughtless
on facts which may, in the absence of outward symbols, escape notice.
They may act as incentives to thought. They may convert the
thoughtless into the thoughtful. Wide as are the ranks of
Shakespeare's readers, they are not, in England at any rate, incapable
of extension; and, whatever is likely to call the attention of those
who are as yet outside the pale of knowledge of Shakespeare to what
lies within it, deserves respectful consideration.

It is never inconsistent with a nation's dignity for it to give
conspicuous expression of gratitude to its benefactors, among whom
great writers take first rank. Monuments of fitting character give
that conspicuous expression. Bacon, the most enlightened of English
thinkers, argued, within a few years of Shakespeare's death, that no
self-respecting people could safely omit to erect statues of those who
had contributed to the genuine advance of their knowledge or prestige.
The visitors to Bacon's imaginary island of New Atlantis saw statues
erected at the public expense in memory of all who had won great
distinction in the arts or sciences. The richness of the memorial
varied according to the value of the achievement. "These statues," the
observer noted, "are some of brass, some of marble and touchstone,
some of cedar and other special woods, gilt and adorned, some of iron,
some of silver, some of gold." No other external recognition of great
intellectual service was deemed, in Bacon's Utopia, of equal
appropriateness. Bacon's mature judgment deserves greater regard than
the splendid imagery of Milton's budding muse.

VIII

In order to satisfy the commemorative instinct in a people, it is
necessary, as Bacon pointed out, strictly to adapt the means to the
end. The essential object of a national monument to a great man is to
pay tribute to his greatness, to express his fellow-men's sense of his
service. No blunder could be graver than to confuse the issue by
seeking to make the commemoration serve any secondary or collateral
purpose. It may be ve