FRANCIS PARKMAN.
A We of Francis Parkman. By C. H. Farnham. (Macmillan and Co. 8s. 6d.)—Francis Parkman, a painter of heroes, was himself a hero. Such is the burden of Mr. Farnham's biography, and there is no man who knows the brave record of this sad life that will not echo it. For Parkman fought a lifelong battle with disease. Lamed by arthritis, half-blind, and driven at times to the verge of madness by some mysterious disease of the nerves, he yet pursued the task of history with a single-minded courage, The documents whiCh he could not read were read to him, the vast masses of material which be knew how to trace were copied by zealous clerks, and the history of letters shows no more valiant struggle than this of Park man's against adversity. But, happily, Parkman had chosen his subject while yet a boy. He had collected much material while eye- sight and activity remained to him. He had visited the scenes of the drama which he was destined to write ; he had lived and hunted with the Indians in their trackless deserts. So that when a harsh fate shut him up in his study, he had still a vast reserve of reminiscence upon which to draw. But the pathos of his life was unassuaged. He hated weakness, he scorned inactivity. The air of heaven and the smell of the grass-plain were almost neces- sary to him; yet he was forced to sacrifice the sights and sports which he loved so well. It is characteristic of him that when all work was forbidden to his brain, he turned to the culture of flowers, and became celebrated in a new profession. Of his life there is little enough to tell. Now he visited Italy, now he lived in Paris, now he ran through England without much sympathy. But his real life lay in his work, and it is in such masterpieces as " Montcalm and Wolfe " that he raised his monument and traced his biography. However, Mr. Farnham shows him to us in one other aspect,—as a dogmatic, confident controversialist, who dared to express his views in the strongest terms and without compromise. He was what we should call in England an old-fashioned Tory, and his must have seemed a voice crying in the wilderness to democratic America. Mr. Farnham has written an interesting book—that goes without saying—but he has not composed a good biography. In the first place, he is too anxious to trace Parkman back to his origins, and to find his character in his books. Now, this is always a dangerous process, and it is the more dangerous in the case of one who was before all things an artist in history. Parkman did not dabble in those general principles (falsely called " philosophy ") which are will-o'-the- wisps to mislead the historian. He saw his subject whole as well as in detail, he had a splendid sense of subordination, and he wrote with a style that was always adequate to the occasion. But he did not and could not find in fortuitous events a false synthesis,—he was far too fine an artist for that. And when Mr. Farnham puts a limitation upon Parkman's talent, he converts a virtue into a vice. Nor is Mr. Farnham gifted with the sense of humour. On p. 222 we read this astounding observa- tion : " Pitt, in spite of certain weaknesses, also drew forth some sympathetic words." Some sympathetic words for Pitt, who dominated the eighteenth century, and who was perhaps the greatest statesman ever born to the Anglo-Saxon race It is almost incredible, and even Parkman, for all his anti-English bias, would have laughed heartily at his biographer's patronage. However, as we have said, the book is interesting ; and if it does less than justice to Parkman, it gives his admirers all the materials upon which to base a judgment.
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