al possession the equal of any
Hebrew. And this it is which makes one think that Shelley's early death
robbed us of much that would have been of quite supremest worth in
poetry.

This is not the time and place to take authors and deal with them one by
one, showing how the moral Hebraism is entirely possessed of Bunyan,
how entirely Hellenic are the spirit and style of Goethe and the clear
criticism and unperturbed intellectual processes of Johnson. I will
content myself with touching in no ordered way upon the Hebraic and
Hellenic note as it is uttered by one or two passages which I choose
almost at random. And first let us hear this passage of Carlyle:--

"A second thing I know. This lesson will have to be learned under
penalties. England will either learn it or England also will cease to
exist amongst nations. England will either learn to reverence its
heroes, and discriminate them from its sham heroes and valets and
gas-lighted histories, and to prize them as the audible God's voice
amid all inane jargons and temporary market-cries, and say to them with
heart loyalty, 'Be ye King and Priest and Gospel and guidance for us,'
or else England will continue to worship new and ever new forms of
Quackhood and so, with what resiliences and reboundings matter little,
go down to the Father of Quacks. Can I dread such things of England?
Wretched, thick-eyed, gross-hearted mortals, why will ye worship lies
and stuffed cloth suits, created by the ninth parts of men? It is not
your purses that suffer, your farm rents, your commerces, your mill
revenues--loud as ye lament over these things. No, it is not these
alone, but a far deeper than these. It is your _souls_ that lie dead,
crushed down under despicable nightmares, atheisms, brain fumes."

What is there here but the uncompromising moral attitude and
denunciation of the Hebrew seer? What is there but the same stormy
phrase, tumultuous almost to chaos? Carlyle is our own era's type of the
Hebraic temperament. Behind him follows Ruskin, a Carlyle tempered by
the spirit of Hellenic art without the balance of Hellenic calm. In what
Ruskin has to say on how we live and think, his sentences are one and
all of Grecian form, but the breath they breathe is Hebrew. I read in
Swinburne this address to England:--

Oh thou clothed round with raiment of white waves,
Thy brave brows brightening through the gray wet air,
Thou lulled with sea-sounds of a thousand caves
And lit with