love of truth is paramount with him. He complains that "people say the ruins "of Pæstum stand in the midst of a "desert; whereas their site is nothing

more than a miserable, badly-cultivated "country, decaying like the temples "themselves! Men always insist on adorning truth instead of describing "it. Even M. de Chateaubriand has "painted the real wilderness in false "colours." His own "Fortnight in the Wilderness" will interest even those who are sated with pictures of wild life. The fire and vivacity, the susceptible imagination and the keen observation, may be met with elsewhere; but hardly ever controlled by a reason so sober and truthful, or enlightened by such breadth of view.

When, however, in analysing the picture of character which Tocqueville's letters leave upon my mind, I try to seize the ground-colour that gives the tone to the whole, it seems to me to consist in a child-like elevation of feeling. In one passage of the memoir, M. de Beaumont observes that "intel"lectual superiority would hardly be "worth having if the moral feelings and "the character were to remain at the "ordinary level." This outburst of naïf enthusiasm strikes one as almost comic, in the mouth of an elderly politician; but it suits Tocqueville exactly. The lofty moral ideal, which in the case of so many men shines clearly in youth, and then gradually fades away before the commonplaces of practical life, exercised over Tocqueville a perpetual and harmonious influence. This seems to have been partly due to the delicate balance that he always preserved between reason and feeling. Neither enthusiasm, passion, nor vanity, of all which he had his fair share, ever hindered him from seeing things exactly as they were; and this striking soberness of judgment protected his youthful enthusiasm, and prevented it from being too rudely shaken by a contact with the realities of the world. Consequently, his letters indicate remarkably little development of character,

extend; and what little they do show is very calm and equable. Nor is there any exaggerated mock-maturity in his youthful wisdom, or forced vivacity in the outbursts of his later years. We see, indeed, that his unbounded ambition that promethean fire which is needed to impel the most finely compounded characters into proper action— was calmed gradually into a quieter and more hidden feeling; yet even this ambition had never made him overestimate the success towards which it strove. He writes at the age of thirty to his most intimate friend, "As I "advance in life, I see it more and more "from the point of view which I used "to fancy belonged to the enthusiasm "of early youth, as a thing of very "mediocre worth, valuable only as far as one can employ it in doing one's duty in serving men, and in taking "one's fit place among them." And, fifteen years later, he writes to M. de Beaumont : "I consoled myself by

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thinking that, if I had to live this "quarter of a century over again, I "should not on the whole act very dif"ferently. I should try to avoid many "trifling errors, and many undoubted "follies; but as to the bulk of my ideas, "sentiments, and even actions, I should "make no change. I also remarked "how little alteration there was in my "views of men in general during all "these years. Much is said about the "dreams of youth, and the awaking of "mature age. I have not noticed this "in myself. I was from the first struck "by the vices and weaknesses of man"kind; and, as to the good qualities "which I then attributed to them, I "must say that I still find them much "the same." It is truly refreshing to us whose ears are filled with the painful cynicism of premature experience, to find that even now, to some favoured souls, is granted the privilege of perpetual youth.

If any lack of interest should be felt in these letters, it will be, I think, from a cause which is not altogether a defect. There are no shadows, in one sense, in

Tocqueville's life, both inner and outer. The perfect healthiness of his nature excludes the charm that is sometimes derived from an element of morbidity. But one may also say with truth, that there is a want of depth. Perhaps the most interesting element in the lives of great thinkers is their imperfect utterance of deep truths only half-grasped; their consciousness of enveloping mystery and darkness, into which the light that shines from them throws only dim suggestive rays. We find nothing of this in Tocqueville. "Shallow" and superficial" are the last epithets that could be applied; and yet we cannot call him profound, either in character or intellect. Earnest as he was in the search after truth, he was destitute of one power, necessary in the pursuit of the highest truth; he could not endure to doubt. M. Beaumont extracts from his early notes this remarkable passage: "If I were desired to classify human "miseries I should do so in this "order

"1. Sickness. "2. Death. "3. Doubt."

In respect, therefore, of the deepest interests of humanity he was content to be guided. He was devoutly attached. to Romanism; but rather from the felt necessity of having a religion, than from a deliberate conviction in favour of the particular creed. He had acutely observed some of the more particular mutual influences of religions and forms of government; but his remarks on the more general relations of religion to humanity seem to me to constitute the weakest part of his writings. To metaphysics he had a dislike which he frequently shows. He sends M. de Corcelle a copy of Aristotle, with the remark that it is "much too Greek to suit him ;" and in the second part of his "Democracy in America" we can detect, here and there, that his acquaintance with philosophy is somewhat superficial. It is no contradiction to this, that Tocqueville displays considerable skill in psychological analysis. He shows the

pends only or chiefly on individual observation and reflection. His insight was always both keen and wide, his analysis both ingenious and sound; but systematic abstract thought was not to his taste, and he never pursued it with

his full energy. We may sum up much by saying that Tocqueville applied to the study of politics a mind that, both in its merits and in its defects, was of the scientific rather than the philosophic kind. We notice in him many traits peculiar to students of physics. Thus, he early chose and always adhered to a special and definite subject of study; his method was purely inductive; he always went straight to the original documents, which formed, as it were, the matter whose laws he was investigating; he wrote down only the results of long and laborious observation; and these results were again rigorously winnowed before they saw the light. "For one book he published," says M. Beaumont, "he wrote ten." And this is corroborated by the glimpses into his laboratory that his letters from time to time allow. Thus, at the outset of his preparation for his last work, he says, "I investigate, I experimentalize: "I try to grasp the facts more closely "than has yet been attempted, and to

wring out of them the general truths "which they contain." And again, three years later: "I make the utmost "efforts to ascertain, from contemporary

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evidence, what really happened; and "often spend great labour in discovering "what was ready to my hand. When "I have gathered in this toilsome har

vest, I retire, as it were, into myself: "I examine with extreme care, collate "and connect the notions which I have "acquired, and simply give the result." As an example of his conscientious labour, I may mention that he learnt the German language at the age of fifty, read several German books, and travelled in Germany for some months, for the sake of obtaining information which he compressed into a few paragraphs of his "Ancien Régime." While taxing thus the resources of his observation to the

love of truth is paramount with him. He complains that "people say the ruins "of Pæstum stand in the midst of a "desert; whereas their site is nothing

more than a miserable, badly-cultivated "country, decaying like the temples "themselves! Men always insist on adorning truth instead of describing "it. Even M. de Chateaubriand has 66 painted the real wilderness in false "colours." His own "Fortnight in the Wilderness" will interest even those who are sated with pictures of wild life. The fire and vivacity, the susceptible imagination and the keen observation, may be met with elsewhere; but hardly ever controlled by a reason so sober and truthful, or enlightened by such breadth

of view.

When, however, in analysing the picture of character which Tocqueville's letters leave upon my mind, I try to seize the ground-colour that gives the tone to the whole, it seems to me to consist in a child-like elevation of feeling. In one passage of the memoir, M. de Beaumont observes that "intel"lectual superiority would hardly be "worth having if the moral feelings and "the character were to remain at the "ordinary level." This outburst of naïf enthusiasm strikes one as almost comic, in the mouth of an elderly politician; but it suits Tocqueville exactly. The lofty moral ideal, which in the case of so many men shines clearly in youth, and then gradually fades away before the commonplaces of practical life, exercised over Tocqueville a perpetual and harmonious influence. This seems to have been partly due to the delicate balance that he always preserved between reason and feeling. Neither enthusiasm, passion, nor vanity, of all which he had his fair share, ever hindered him from seeing things exactly as they were; and this striking soberness of judgment protected his youthful enthusiasm, and prevented it from being too rudely shaken by a contact with the realities of the world. Consequently, his letters indicate remarkably little development of character,

extend; and what little they do show is very calm and equable. Nor is there any exaggerated mock-maturity in his youthful wisdom, or forced vivacity in the outbursts of his later years. We see, indeed, that his unbounded ambition that promethean fire which is needed to impel the most finely compounded characters into proper action— was calmed gradually into a quieter and more hidden feeling; yet even this ambition had never made him overestimate the success towards which it

strove. He writes at the age of thirty to his most intimate friend, "As I "advance in life, I see it more and more "from the point of view which I used "to fancy belonged to the enthusiasm "of early youth, as a thing of very "mediocre worth, valuable only as far

as one can employ it in doing one's "duty in serving men, and in taking "one's fit place among them." And, fifteen years later, he writes to M. de Beaumont: "I consoled myself by "thinking that, if I had to live this quarter of a century over again, I "should not on the whole act very differently. I should try to avoid many "trifling errors, and many undoubted "follies; but as to the bulk of my ideas, "sentiments, and even actions, I should "make no change. I also remarked "how little alteration there was in my "views of men in general during all "these years.

Much is said about the "dreams of youth, and the awaking of "mature age. I have not noticed this "in myself. I was from the first struck

lack of interest should be felt in these letters, it will be, I think, from a cause which is not altogether a defect. There are no shadows, in one sense, in