We write in sand, our language grows,
And like the tide our work o'erflows.'
This is, of course, an extreme view, and time has proved it to be a false one; but the writers of the centuries previous to Waller are already in the position that he expected soon to be in himself. Chaucer is a household name, but we fear that few read his works, and still fewer the works of those who went before him. This is a state of things that should not be allowed to exist; but that it does exist, no one would be rash enough to deny. We do not blame those who neglect foreign literatures, but we do blame those who turn away from the authors of their own land because there is some little difficulty in understanding their writings.
It cannot be right that the literature of England for eight or ten centuries should be quietly ignored by Englishmen, because it is not easy to read its language; and, moreover, this difficulty is much exaggerated, for although a Saxon book may, without previous study, appear as if written in a foreign tongue, yet the few difficulties of its language will in a graduated study speedily disappear. The pedigree is complete that takes us back from the language of the nineteenth to that of the fifth century. Both in language and literature it is emphatically true that the child is father of the man, and no one can thoroughly appreciate the greatness of Shakspeare, Milton, and our moderns, who has not contrasted them with the authors who preceded them; no one can rightly judge the force of words and phrases, who has not followed them up to their sources, and seen the meads of thought they have flowed through.
Not long ago the early history, language, and literature of England were thought to be unworthy of study. Men of culture studied the languages and literatures of France, Italy, Spain, and Germany, but utterly neglected the early literature and language of their own country, which were considered rude and unworthy of attention. We do not expect to find any among the uneducated caring for the old forms of speech, but it is a disappointment to find men of education, who ought to be justly proud of the grandest literature in the world, treating our old writers with neglect. This feeling of contempt for our early literature is by no means yet destroyed, and therefore no lover of the work done by his ancestors should rest until it is entirely and for ever eradicated.
In the old English literature there is a choice for all tastes: history, biography, theology, science, romance, lyrics, and merry tales, have all come down to us from the earliest times, and in them may be seen the gradual development of the nation's mind. It should be a cause of pride for the Englishman to remember that the links in the chain that connects the language of Tennyson with the language of Alfred are all perfect.
Shall we, then, allow the treasures of the past to crumble and decay? We are now living in the enjoyment of an intellectual feast that centuries of our forefathers have prepared for us; and shall we in return leave to our children less than we have ourselves received? Are we not bound rather to take no rest until all our MS. treasures are placed beyond the reach of decay? The printing press must not be allowed to pause in its work until every line is set in type. Nothing is more likely to encourage our desire to attempt this great work than for us to see what has been done of old. All honour is due to the unnamed writer of the Vernon MS.,[172] to Shirley and Thornton, the contemporaries of Chaucer and Lyndesay, who recognised the value of the treasures that came in their way, and copied MS. libraries that have survived in safety to our times. The man who has consulted the grand Vernon MS. in the Bodleian Library has obtained a glimpse of the olden time, with its noble desire to benefit posterity, that he is never likely to forget.
The student, however, may naturally ask, 'Where can I study these works? I can't read at Oxford, Cambridge, Edinburgh, or London; and even if I could I don't understand the writing. I want the books in print, and not only in print, but in an accessible form.' It is this question that we will attempt to answer; this want that we will try to show can be satisfied.
Various worthy men have at different times laboured to diffuse a knowledge of our old literature, and societies have been formed for the same purpose. Hickes, Junius, Gale, Lye, the two Elstobs, and many others, are editors whose works have been so widely circulated that we need hardly dwell on them; but the issues of printing clubs are less known, and we therefore propose to summarize them. In 1812, the Roxburghe Club was instituted in London, to commemorate the grand sale of the Duke of Roxburghe's library, and although many trifling matters were printed by its members, yet through its aid several important texts have been brought to light. In 1818, John Gower's 'French Ballads' and other poems were printed; in 1819, Caxton's translation of six books of 'Ovid's Metamorphoses,' 'Le Morte Arthure,' and 'Sir Lancelot du Lake;' in 1828, 'Havelok the Dane;' in 1832, 'William and the Werwolf;' in 1838, 'The Owl and the Nightingale,' and Old English versions of the 'Gesta Romanorum,' and in later years the 'Alliterative Romance of Alexander,' the 'Ayenbite of Inwyt,' and the 'History of the Holy Graal.'
In 1823, the Bannatyne Club was started at Edinburgh, and in 1827, it printed the 'Palice of Honor,' by Gawin Douglas, and in 1839, a collection of all the poems relating to Sir Gawayne, and Douglas's translation of the 'Æneid of Virgil,' which it has left without preface, glossary, or notes.