activity has been in the departments of history, of applied science, and the discussion of social and economic problems.  Although pure literature has made considerable gains, the main achievement has been in other directions.  The audience of the literary artist has been less than that of the reporter of affairs and discoveries and the special correspondent.  The age is too busy, too harassed, to have time for literature; and enjoyment of writings like those of Irving depends upon leisure of mind.  The mass of readers have cared less for form than for novelty and news and the satisfying of a recently awakened curiosity.  This was inevitable in an era of journalism, one marked by the marvelous results attained in the fields of religion, science, and art, by the adoption of the comparative method.  Perhaps there is no better illustration of the vigor and intellectual activity of the age than a living English writer, who has traversed and illuminated almost every province of modern thought, controversy, and scholarship; but who supposes that Mr. Gladstone has added anything to permanent literature?  He has been an immense force in his own time, and his influence the next generation will still feel and acknowledge, while it reads not the writings of Mr. Gladstone but may be those of the author of “Henry Esmond” and the biographer of “Rab and his Friends.”  De Quincey divides literature into two sorts, the literature of power and the literature of knowledge.  The latter is of necessity for to-day only, and must be revised to-morrow.  The definition has scarcely De Quincey’s usual verbal felicity, but we can apprehend the distinction he intended to make.

It is to be noted also, and not with regard to Irving only, that the attention of young and old readers has been so occupied and distracted by the flood of new books, written with the single purpose of satisfying the wants of the day, produced and distributed with marvelous cheapness and facility that the standard works of approved literature remain for the most part unread upon the shelves.  Thirty years ago Irving was much read in America by young people and his clear style helped to form a good taste and correct literary habits.  It is not so now.  The manufacturers of books, periodicals, and newspapers for the young keep the rising generation fully occupied, with a result to its taste and mental fibre which, to say the least of it, must be regarded with some apprehension.  The “plant,” in the way of money and writing industry invested in the production of juvenile literature, is so large and is so permanent an interest, that it requires more discriminating consideration than can be given to it in a passing paragraph.

Besides this, and with respect to Irving in particular, there has been in America a criticism—­sometimes called the destructive, sometimes the Donnybrook Fair—­that found “earnestness” the only thing in the world amusing, that brought to literary art the test of utility, and disparaged what is called the “Knickerbocker School” (assuming Irving to be the head of it) as wanting in purpose and virility, a merely romantic development of the post-Revolutionary period.  And it has been to some extent the fashion to damn with faint admiration the pioneer if not the creator of American literature as the “genial” Irving.