"
The truth about Charles Kingsley seems to be that he rather made a
brave and cheery noise in this night-battle of modern life, than
that he directed any movement of forces. He kept cheering, as it
were, and waving his sword with a contagious enthusiasm. Being a
poet, and a man both of heart and of sentiment, he was equally
attached to the best things of the old world and to the best of the
new world, as far as one can forecast what it is to be. He loved
the stately homes of England, the ancient graduated order of
society, the sports of the past, the military triumphs, the
patriotic glories. But he was also on the side of the poor: as
"Parson Lot" he attempted to be a Christian Socialist.
Now, the Socialists are the people who want to take everything; the
Christians are the persons who do not want to give more than they
find convenient. Kingsley himself was ready to give, and did give,
his time, his labour, his health, and probably his money, to the
poor. But he was by no means minded that they should swallow up the
old England with church and castle, manor-house and tower, wealth,
beauty, learning, refinement. The man who wrote "Alton Locke," the
story of the starved tailor-poet, was the man who nearly wept when
he heard a fox bark, and reflected that the days of fox-hunting were
numbered. He had a poet's politics, Colonel Newcome's politics. He
was for England, for the poor, for the rich, for the storied houses
of the chivalrous past, for the cottage, for the hall; and was dead
against the ideas of Manchester, and of Mr.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189