ap; so were their voices; and on came the splashing oars and roaring lungs.

"Now the colours of the racing Jerseys peeped distinct. The oarsmen's heads and bodies came swinging back like one, and the oars seemed to lash the water savagely, like a connected row of swords, and the spray squirted at each vicious stroke. The boats leaped and darted side by side, and, looking at them in front, Julia could not say which was ahead. On they came nearer and nearer, with hundreds of voices vociferating, Go it, Cambridge!' 'Well pulled, Oxford!' 'You are gaining, hurrah! ' •Well pulled, Trinity!' 'Hurrah!' 'Oxford!' Cambridge!' 'Now is your time, Hardie; pick her up!' 'Oh, well pulled, Six!' Well pulled, Stroke!' Up, up! lift her a bit!' 'Cambridge!' 'Oxford!' Hurrah!'

6

6

6

6

"At this Julia turned red and pale by turns. said she, clasping her hands and colouring high, wrong if I was to pray for Oxford to win?'

'Oh, mamma!'

would it be very

"Mrs. Dodd had a monitory finger; it was on her left hand : she raised it; and, that moment, as if she had given a signal, the boats, foreshortened no longer, shot out to treble the length they had looked hitherto, and came broadside past our palpitating fair, the elastic rowers stretched like greyhounds in a chase, darting forward at each stroke so boldly they seemed flying out of the boats, and surging back as superbly, an eightfold human wave: their nostrils all open, the lips of some pale and glutinous; their white teeth all clenched grimly, their young eyes all glowing, their supple bodies swelling, the muscles writhing beneath their Jerseys, and the sinews starting on each bare brown arm; their little shrill coxswains shouting imperiously at the young giants, and working to and fro with them, like jockeys at a finish; nine souls and bodies flung whole into each magnificent effort; water foaming and flying, rowlocks ringing, crowd running, tumbling, and howling like mad; and Cambridge a boat's nose ahead.

66 They had scarcely passed our two spectators, when Oxford put on a furious spurt, and got fully even with the leading boat. There was a louder roar than ever from the bank. Cambridge spurted desperately in turn, and stole those few feet back; and so they went fighting every inch of water. Bang! A cannon on the bank sent its smoke over both competitors; it dispersed in a

moment, and the boats were seen pulling slowly towards the bridge, Cambridge with four oars, Oxford with six, as if that gun had winged them both.

"The race was over.

"But who had won our party could not see, and must wait to learn."1

Contrast with this the well-known account of a boatrace in "Tom Brown at Oxford." It is too long to quote entire; but a short extract will suffice to show how much is lost by frequent changes in point of view:—

"Both boats make a beautiful start, and again as before in the first dash the St. Ambrose pace tells, and they gain their boat's length before first winds fail; then they settle down for a long, steady effort. Both crews are rowing comparatively steady, reThus they pass

serving themselves for the tug of war up above. the Gut, and so those two treacherous corners, the scene of countless bumps, into the wider water beyond, up under the willows.

"Miller's face is decidedly hopeful; he shows no sign, indeed, but you can see that he is not the same man. as he was at this place in the last race. He feels that to-day the boat is full of life, and that he can call on his crew with hopes of an answer. His well-trained eye also detects that, while both crews are at full stretch, his own, instead of losing, as it did on the last night, is now gaining inch by inch on Oriel. The gain is scarcely perceptible to him even; from the bank it is quite imperceptible; but there it is; he is surer and surer of it, as one after another the willows are left behind.

"And now comes the pinch. The Oriel captain is beginning to be conscious of the fact which has been dawning on Miller, but will not acknowledge it to himself, and as his coxswain turns the boat's head gently across the stream, and makes for the Berkshire side and the goal, now full in view, he smiles grimly as he quickens his stroke; he will shake off these light-heeled gentry yet, as he did before.

"Miller sees the move in a moment, and signals his captain, and the next stroke St. Ambrose has quickened also; and now

1 Charles Reade: Hard Cash, chap. i.

there is no mistake about it, St. Ambrose is creeping up slowly but surely. The boat's length lessens to forty feet, thirty feet; surely and steadily lessens. But the race is not lost yet; thirty feet is a short space enough to look at on the water, but a good bit to pick up foot by foot in the last two hundred yards of. a desperate struggle. They are over under the Berkshire side now, and there stands up the winning-post, close ahead, all but won. The distance lessens and lessens still, but the Oriel crew stick steadily and gallantly to their work, and will fight every inch of distance to the last. The Orielites on the bank, who are rushing along, some. times in the water, sometimes out, hoarse, furious, madly alter nating between hope and despair, have no reason to be ashamed of a man in the crew. Off the mouth of the Cherwell there is still twenty feet between them. Another minute, and it will be over one way or another. Every man in both crews is now doing his best, and no mistake: tell me which boat holds the most men who can do better than their best at a pinch, who will risk a broken blood-vessel, and I will tell you how it will end."1

That a skilful writer may change his point of view in such a manner as to make it easy for the reader to follow him is shown by the following passage from Macaulay:

"Mackay, accompanied by one trusty servant, spurred bravely through the thickest of the claymores and targets, and reached a point from which he had a view of the field. His whole army had disappeared, with the exception of some Borderers whom Leven had kept together, and of Hastings's regiment, which had poured a murderous fire into the Celtic ranks, and which still kept unbroken order. All the men that could be collected were only a few hundreds. The general made haste to lead them across the Garry, and, having put that river between them and the enemy, paused for a moment to meditate on his situation.

"He could hardly understand how the conquerors could be so unwise as to allow him even that moment for deliberation. They might with ease have killed or taken all who were with him before the night closed in. But the energy of the Celtic warriors had spent itself in one furious rush and one short struggle. The pass

1 Thomas Hughes: Tom Brown at Oxford, part i. chap. xiv.

was choked by the twelve hundred beasts of burden which carried the provisions and baggage of the vanquished army. Such a booty was irresistibly tempting to men who were impelled to war quite as much by the desire of rapine as by the desire of glory. It is probable that few even of the chiefs were disposed to leave so rich a prize for the sake of King James. Dundee himself might at that moment have been unable to persuade his followers to quit the heaps of spoil, and to complete the great work of the day; and Dundee was no more.

"At the beginning of the action he had taken his place in front of his little band of cavalry. He bade them follow him, and rode forward. But it seemed to be decreed that, on that day, the Lowland Scotch should in both armies appear to disadvantage. The horse hesitated. Dundee turné round, stood up in his stirrups, and, waving his hat, invited them to come on. As he lifted his arm, his cuirass rose, and exposed the lower part of his left side. A musket ball struck him; his horse sprang forward and plunged into a cloud of smoke and dust, which hid from both armies the fall of the victorious general. A person named Johnstone was near him and caught him as he sank down from the saddle. How goes the day?' said Dundee. Well for King James,' answered Johnstone: but I am sorry for Your Lordship.' 'If it is well for him,' answered the dying man, it matters the less for me.' He never spoke again; but when, half an hour later, Lord Dunfermline and some other friends came to the spot, they thought that they could still discern some faint remains of life. The body, wrapped in two plaids, was carried to the Castle of Blair." 1

A central idea.

6

To secure method in movement, a writer should keep constantly in mind the central idea of his narrative; about that central idea he should group all other ideas according to their relative value and pertinence. The difficulty of applying this principle increases, of course, with the amount and the variety of a writer's material. It is greater in a novel that represents numerous characters in varying circumstances than in a short and simple story; it is greater in a history

1 Macaulay: History of England, vol. iii. chap. xiii.

that deals with the multiform circumstances of modern life than in one that recounts the Sicilian Expedition or a crusade.

In biography, it is comparatively easy to fulfil the requirements of method in movement with regard both to point of view and to central idea; for a biogra- Method in biography. phy concerns itself with the life of one man. In order to show this man's inherited traits and the cir cumstances surrounding him at birth, an introduction may be necessary, but it should be as short as possible. Once on the scene, the man himself should be kept to the front; the narrative should move forward with his life, and should end with his death. Contemporary persons, incidents, and opinions should be mentioned so far, and so far only, as they influenced his life and character, and they should be introduced in such a way as to show that that influence was the cause of their introduction. These conditions are fulfilled in Mr. Trevelyan's "Life of Macaulay." In sharp contrast with this is Masson's "Life of Milton," of which Lowell says, "It is plain . . . that Mr. Masson himself has an uneasy consciousness . . . that Milton ought somehow to be more than a mere incident of his own biography."1

in

In history, and especially in history that deals with modern times, so many subjects have to be treated, so many details have to be given, that method in Method In movement is not easily attained. An unskil- history. ful historian runs from one point of view to another, and he has no central idea. Having no sense of proportion, he gives as much space to unimportant as to important matters. Having no eye for perspective, he fails to show the true relations between events. Even when his narrative

1 Lowell: Literary Essays; Milton.