We have spoken first of Whewell’s work in his College and University, because it was to them that he dedicated his life. We must now say a word or two on his literary and scientific attainments. He wrote an excellent English style, which reflects the personality of the writer to a more than usual extent. As might be expected from his studies and tone of mind, he always wrote with clearness and good sense, though occasionally his periods are rough and unpolished, defects due to his habit of writing as fast as he could make the pen traverse the paper. But, just as it was not natural to him to be grave for long together, we find his most serious criticisms and pamphlets—nay, even his didactic works—lightened by good-humoured banter and humorous illustrations. On the other hand, when he was thoroughly serious and in earnest, his style rose to a dignified eloquence which has rarely been equalled, and never surpassed. For an illustration of our meaning we beg our readers to turn to the final chapters of the _Plurality of Worlds_. He was always fond of writing verse; and published more than one volume of poems and translations, of which the latter are by far the most meritorious. Nor must we forget his valiant efforts to get hexameters and elegiacs recognized as English metres. Example being better than precept, he began by printing a translation of Goethe’s _Hermann und Dorothea_, in the metre of the original, which he at first circulated privately among his friends; but subsequently he discussed the subject in several papers, in which he laid down the rules which he thought were required for successful composition of the metre. His main principle is to pay attention to accent, not to quantity, and to use trochees where the ancients would have used spondees; in other words, where according to the classical hexameter we should have two strong syllables, we are to have a strong syllable followed by a weak one. Here is a short specimen from the _Isle of the Sirens_:
‘Over the broad-spread sea the thoughtful son of Ulysses Steered his well-built bark. Full long had he sought for his father, Till hope, lingering, fled; for the face of the water is trackless. Then rose strong in his mind the thought of his home and his island; And he desired to return; to behold his Ithacan people, Listen their just complaints, restrain the fierce and the lawless.’