in his allegiances and hopes, he was the prototype
of a race of philosophers native and dominant among
people of English speech, if not in academic circles,
at least in the national mind. If we make allowance
for a greater personal subtlety, and for the diffidence
and perplexity inevitable in the present moral anarchy
of the world, we may find this same Lockian eclecticism
and prudence in the late Lord Balfour: and I have
myself had the advantage of being the pupil of a gifted
successor and, in many ways, emulator, of Locke, I
mean William James. So great, at bottom, does
their spiritual kinship seem to me to be, that I can
hardly conceive Locke vividly without seeing him as
a sort of William James of the seventeenth century.
And who of you has not known some other spontaneous,
inquisitive, unsettled genius, no less preoccupied
with the marvellous intelligence of some Brazilian
parrot, than with the sad obstinacy of some Bishop
of Worcester? Here is eternal freshness of conviction
and ardour for reform; great keenness of perception
in spots, and in other spots lacunae and impulsive
judgments; distrust of tradition, of words, of constructive
argument; horror of vested interests and of their smooth
defenders; a love of navigating alone and exploring
for oneself even the coasts already well charted by
others. Here is romanticism united with a scientific
conscience and power of destructive analysis balanced
by moral enthusiasm. Doubtless Locke might have
dug his foundations deeper and integrated his faith
better. His system was no metaphysical castle,
no theological acropolis: rather a homely ancestral
manor house built in several styles of architecture:
a Tudor chapel, a Palladian front toward the new geometrical
garden, a Jacobean parlour for political consultation
and learned disputes, and even—since we
are almost in the eighteenth century—a
Chinese cabinet full of curios. It was a habitable
philosophy, and not too inharmonious. There was
no greater incongruity in its parts than in the gentle
variations of English weather or in the qualified moods
and insights of a civilised mind. Impoverished
as we are, morally and humanly, we can no longer live
in such a rambling mansion. It has become a national
monument. On the days when it is open we revisit
it with admiration; and those chambers and garden
walks re-echo to us the clear dogmas and savoury diction
of the sage—omnivorous, artless, loquacious—whose
dwelling it was.
 Paper read before the Royal Society of Literature
on the occasion of the Tercentenary of the birth of
 See note I, p. 26.
 See note II, p. 29.
 See note III, p. 35.
 See note IV, p. 36.
 See note V, p. 37.
 See note VI, p. 39.
 See note VII, p. 43.
 See note VIII, p. 46.