It cannot therefore but be suspected that in including them Mr Arnold, unconsciously perhaps, but more probably with some consciousness, was feeling his way towards that wide extension of the province of the critic, that resurrection of the general Socratic attitude, which he afterwards adventured.  But it cannot be said that his experiments are on this particular occasion in any way disastrous.  With both his subjects he had the very strongest sympathy—­with Spinoza (as already with Heine) as a remarkable example of the Hebraic spirit and genius, rebellious to or transcending the usual limitations of Hebraism; with Marcus Aurelius as an example of that non-Christian morality and religiosity which also had so strong an attraction for him.  There is no trace in either essay of the disquieting and almost dismaying jocularity which was later to invade his discussion of such things:  we are still far from Bottles; the three Lord Shaftesburys relieve us by not even threatening to appear.  And accordingly the two essays add in no small degree, though somewhat after the fashion of an appendix or belated episode, to the charm of the book.  They have an unction which never, as it so often does in the case of Mr Arnold’s dangerous master and model Renan, degenerates into unctuosity; they are nobly serious, but without being in the least dull; they contain some exceedingly just and at the same time perfectly urbane criticism of the ordinary reviewing kind, and though they are not without instances of the author’s by-blows of slightly unproved opinion, yet these are by no means eminent in them, and are not of a provocative nature.  And I do not think it fanciful to suppose that the note of grave if unclassified piety, of reconciliation and resignation, with which they close the book, was intended—­that it was a deliberate “evening voluntary” to play out of church the assistants at a most remarkable function—­such a function as criticism in English had not celebrated before, such as, I think, it may without unfairness be said has not been repeated since. Essays in Criticism, let us repeat, is a book which is classed and placed, and it will remain in that class and place:  the fresh wreaths and the fresh mud, that may be in turn unfitly thrown upon it, will affect neither.

Between this remarkable book and the later ones of the same lustrum, we may conveniently take up the thread of biography proper where we last dropped it.  The letters are fuller for this period than perhaps for any other; but this very fulness makes it all the more difficult to select incidents, never, perhaps, of the very first importance, but vying with each other in the minor biographical interests.  A second fishing expedition to Viel Salm was attempted in August 1862; but it did not escape the curse which seems to dog attempts at repetition of the same pleasure.  The river was hopelessly low; the fish would not take; and the traveller came back in very little more than