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 6 Preface

Part I: Fundamentals of Part II: Object-Oriented Part III: GUI Programming Part IV: Data Structures and Part V: Advanced Java
Programming Programming Algorithms Ch 16 Programming
Chapter 1 Introduction to Chapter 9 Objects and Classes Chapter 14 JavaFX Basics Ch 7 Chapter 18 Recursion Chapter 32 Multithreading and
Computers, Programs, and Parallel Programming
Java
Chapter 10 Thinking in Objects Chapter 15 Event-Driven Ch 13 Chapter 19 Generics
Programming and Chapter 33 Networking
Chapter 2 Elementary Animations
Chapter 11 Inheritance and Chapter 20 Lists, Stacks, Queues,
Programming
Polymorphism and Priority Queues Chapter 34 Java Database
Chapter 16 JavaFX Controls Programming
Chapter 3 Selections and Multimedia
Chapter 12 Exception Chapter 21 Sets and Maps
Handling and Text I/O Chapter 35 Advanced Database
Chapter 4 Mathematical Chapter 31 Advanced JavaFX Programming
Chapter 22 Developping
Functions, Characters, Chapter 13 Abstract Classes and FXML Efficient Algorithms
and Strings and Interfaces Chapter 36 Internationalization
Chapter 23 Sorting
Chapter 5 Loops Chapter 17 Binary I/O Chapter 37 Servlets
Chapter 24 Implementing Lists,
Chapter 6 Methods Stacks, Queues, and Priority Chapter 38 JavaServer Pages
Queues

Chapter 7 Single-Dimensional Chapter 39 JavaServer Faces

Arrays Chapter 25 Binary Search Trees
Chapter 40 RMI
Note: Chapters 1–18 are in the
Chapter 8 Multidimensional Chapter 26 AVL Trees
brief version of this book.
Arrays Chapter 41 Web Services
Note: Chapters 1–30 are in the Chapter 27 Hashing
comprehensive version.

Note: Chapters 31–44 are bonus Chapter 28 Graphs and

chapters available from the Applications
Companion Website.

Chapter 29 Weighted Graphs

and Applications

Chapter 30 Aggregate Operations

and Collection Streams

Chapter 42 2-4 Trees and B-

Trees

Chapter 43 Red-Black Trees Ch 9 Chapter 44 Testing Using JUnit

 Preface  7

Organization of the Book

The chapters can be grouped into five parts that, taken together, form a comprehensive introduc-
tion to Java programming, data structures and algorithms, and database and Web programming.
Because knowledge is cumulative, the early chapters provide the conceptual basis for under-
standing programming and guide students through simple examples and exercises; subsequent
chapters progressively present Java programming in detail, culminating with the development
of comprehensive Java applications. The appendixes contain a mixed bag of topics, including an
introduction to number systems, bitwise operations, regular expressions, and enumerated types.

Part I: Fundamentals of Programming (Chapters 1–8)

The first part of the book is a stepping stone, preparing you to embark on the journey of learning
Java. You will begin to learn about Java (Chapter 1) and fundamental programming t­echniques
with primitive data types, variables, constants, assignments, expressions, and operators (­Chapter 2),
selection statements (Chapter 3), mathematical functions, characters, and strings (Chapter 4), loops
(Chapter 5), methods (Chapter 6), and arrays (Chapters 7–8). After ­Chapter 7, you can jump to
Chapter 18 to learn how to write recursive methods for solving inherently recursive problems.

Part II: Object-Oriented Programming (Chapters 9–13, and 17)

This part introduces object-oriented programming. Java is an object-oriented programming
language that uses abstraction, encapsulation, inheritance, and polymorphism to provide
great flexibility, modularity, and reusability in developing software. You will learn program-
ming with objects and classes (Chapters 9–10), class inheritance (Chapter 11), polymorphism
(­Chapter 11), exception handling (Chapter 12), abstract classes (Chapter 13), and interfaces
(Chapter 13). Text I/O is introduced in Chapter 12 and binary I/O is discussed in Chapter 17.

Part III: GUI Programming (Chapters 14–16 and Bonus Chapter 31)
JavaFX is a new framework for developing Java GUI programs. It is not only useful for
developing GUI programs, but also an excellent pedagogical tool for learning object-oriented
programming. This part introduces Java GUI programming using JavaFX in Chapters 14–16.
Major topics include GUI basics (Chapter 14), container panes (Chapter 14), drawing shapes
(Chapter 14), event-driven programming (Chapter 15), animations (Chapter 15), and GUI
­controls (Chapter 16), and playing audio and video (Chapter 16). You will learn the a­ rchitecture
of JavaFX GUI programming and use the controls, shapes, panes, image, and video to develop
useful applications. Chapter 31 covers advanced features in JavaFX.

Part IV: Data Structures and Algorithms (Chapters 18–30 and Bonus Chapters 42–43)
This part covers the main subjects in a typical data structures and algorithms course. Chapter 18
introduces recursion to write methods for solving inherently recursive problems. Chapter 19 presents
how generics can improve software reliability. Chapters 20 and 21 introduce the Java Collection
Framework, which defines a set of useful API for data structures. Chapter 22 discusses measur-
ing algorithm efficiency in order to choose an appropriate algorithm for applications. Chapter 23
describes classic sorting algorithms. You will learn how to implement several classic data struc-
tures lists, queues, and priority queues in Chapter 24. Chapters 25 and 26 introduce binary search
trees and AVL trees. Chapter 27 presents hashing and implementing maps and sets using hashing.
Chapters 28 and 29 introduce graph applications. Chapter 30 introduces aggregate operations for
collection streams. The 2-4 trees, B-trees, and red-black trees are covered in Bonus Chapters 42–43.

Part V: Advanced Java Programming (Chapters 32-41, 44)

This part of the book is devoted to advanced Java programming. Chapter 32 treats the use of
multithreading to make programs more responsive and interactive and introduces parallel pro-
gramming. Chapter 33 discusses how to write programs that talk with each other from different
8 Preface
hosts over the Internet. Chapter 34 introduces the use of Java to develop database projects.
Chapter 35 delves into advanced Java database programming. Chapter 36 covers the use of
internationalization support to develop projects for international audiences. Chapters 37 and
38 introduce how to use Java servlets and JavaServer Pages to generate dynamic content from
Web servers. Chapter 39 introduces modern Web application development using JavaServer
Faces. Chapter 40 introduces remote method invocation and Chapter 41 discusses Web ser-
vices. Chapter 44 introduces testing Java programs using JUnit.

Appendixes
This part of the book covers a mixed bag of topics. Appendix A lists Java keywords. ­Appendix B
gives tables of ASCII characters and their associated codes in decimal and in hex. Appen-
dix C shows the operator precedence. Appendix D summarizes Java modifiers and their usage.
Appendix E discusses special floating-point values. Appendix F introduces number systems and
conversions among binary, decimal, and hex numbers. Finally, Appendix G introduces bitwise
operations. Appendix H introduces regular expressions. Appendix I covers enumerated types.

Java Development Tools

You can use a text editor, such as the Windows Notepad or WordPad, to create Java programs
and to compile and run the programs from the command window. You can also use a Java
development tool, such as NetBeans or Eclipse. These tools support an integrated develop-
ment environment (IDE) for developing Java programs quickly. Editing, compiling, building,
executing, and debugging programs are integrated in one graphical user interface. Using these
tools effectively can greatly increase your programming productivity. NetBeans and Eclipse
IDE tutorials are easy to use if you follow the tutorials. Tutorials on NetBeans and Eclipse can be found in
the supplements on the Companion Website www.pearsonglobaleditions.com/Liang.

Student Resources
The Companion Website (www.pearsonglobaleditions.com/Liang) contains the following
resources:
■■ Answers to CheckPoint questions
■■ Solutions to majority of even-numbered programming exercises
■■ Source code for the examples in the book
■■ Interactive quiz (organized by sections for each chapter)
■■ Supplements
■■ Debugging tips
■■ Video notes
■■ Algorithm animations

Supplements
The text covers the essential subjects. The supplements extend the text to introduce additional
topics that might be of interest to readers. The supplements are available from the Companion
Website.
 Preface  9

Instructor Resources
The Companion Website, accessible from www.pearsonglobaleditions.com/Liang, contains the
following resources:
■■ Microsoft PowerPoint slides with interactive buttons to view full-color, syntax-highlighted
source code and to run programs without leaving the slides.
■■ Solutions to a majority of odd-numbered programming exercises.
■■ More than 200 additional programming exercises and 300 quizzes organized by ­chapters.
These exercises and quizzes are available only to the instructors. Solutions to these
­exercises and quizzes are provided.
■■ Web-based quiz generator. (Instructors can choose chapters to generate quizzes from a
large database of more than two thousand questions.)
■■ Sample exams. Most exams have four parts:
■■ Multiple-choice questions or short-answer questions
■■ Correct programming errors
■■ Trace programs
■■ Write programs
■■ Sample exams with ABET course assessment.
■■ Projects. In general, each project gives a description and asks students to analyze, design,
and implement the project.
Some readers have requested the materials from the Instructor Resource Center. Please
understand that these are for instructors only. Such requests will not be answered.

Online Practice and Assessment

with MyProgrammingLab
MyProgrammingLab helps students fully grasp the logic, semantics, and syntax of program-
ming. Through practice exercises and immediate, personalized feedback, MyProgrammingLab
improves the programming competence of beginning students who often struggle with the
basic concepts and paradigms of popular high-level programming languages.
A self-study and homework tool, a MyProgrammingLab course consists of hundreds of small
practice problems organized around the structure of this textbook. For students, the system auto-
matically detects errors in the logic and syntax of their code submissions and offers targeted hints
that enable students to figure out what went wrong—and why. For instructors, a comprehensive
gradebook tracks correct and incorrect answers and stores the code inputted by students for review.
MyProgrammingLab is offered to users of this book in partnership with Turing’s Craft, the
makers of the CodeLab interactive programming exercise system. For a full demonstration,
to see feedback from instructors and students, or to get started using MyProgrammingLab in
your course, visit www.myprogramminglab.com.

Video Notes
We are excited about the new Video Notes feature that is found in this new edition. These VideoNote

videos provide additional help by presenting examples of key topics and showing how
to solve problems completely from design through coding. Video Notes are available from
www.pearsonglobaleditions.com/Liang.
10 Preface

Algorithm Animations
Animation We have provided numerous animations for algorithms. These are valuable pedagogical tools
to demonstrate how algorithms work. Algorithm animations can be accessed from the Com-
panion Website.

Acknowledgments
I would like to thank Armstrong State University for enabling me to teach what I write and for
supporting me in writing what I teach. Teaching is the source of inspiration for continuing to
improve the book. I am grateful to the instructors and students who have offered comments,
suggestions, corrections, and praise. My special thanks go to Stefan Andrei of Lamar Univer-
sity and William Bahn of University of Colorado Colorado Springs for their help to improve
the data structures part of this book.
This book has been greatly enhanced thanks to outstanding reviews for this and previous edi-
tions. The reviewers are: Elizabeth Adams (James Madison University), Syed Ahmed (North
­Georgia College and State University), Omar Aldawud (Illinois Institute of Technology), Ste-
fan Andrei (Lamar University), Yang Ang (University of Wollongong, Australia), Kevin Bierre
(Rochester Institute of Technology), Aaron Braskin (Mira Costa High School), David Champion
(DeVry Institute), James Chegwidden (Tarrant County College), Anup Dargar (University of North
Dakota), Daryl Detrick (Warren Hills Regional High School), Charles Dierbach (Towson Univer-
sity), Frank Ducrest (University of Louisiana at Lafayette), Erica Eddy (University of Wisconsin at
Parkside), Summer Ehresman (Center Grove High School), Deena Engel (New York University),
Henry A. Etlinger (Rochester Institute of Technology), James Ten Eyck (Marist College), Myers
Foreman (Lamar University), Olac Fuentes (University of Texas at El Paso), Edward F. Gehringer
(North Carolina State University), Harold Grossman (Clemson University), Barbara Guillot (Loui-
siana State University), Stuart Hansen (University of Wisconsin, Parkside), Dan Harvey (Southern
Oregon University), Ron Hofman (Red River College, Canada), Stephen Hughes (Roanoke Col-
lege), Vladan Jovanovic (Georgia Southern University), Deborah Kabura Kariuki (Stony Point
High School), Edwin Kay (Lehigh University), Larry King (University of Texas at Dallas), Nana
Kofi (Langara College, Canada), George Koutsogiannakis (Illinois Institute of Technology), Roger
Kraft (Purdue University at Calumet), Norman Krumpe (Miami University), Hong Lin (DeVry
Institute), Dan Lipsa (Armstrong State University), James Madison (Rensselaer Polytechnic Insti-
tute), Frank Malinowski (Darton College), Tim Margush (University of Akron), Debbie Masada
(Sun Microsystems), Blayne Mayfield (Oklahoma State University), John McGrath (J.P. McGrath
Consulting), Hugh McGuire (Grand Valley State), Shyamal Mitra (University of Texas at Austin),
Michel Mitri (James Madison University), Kenrick Mock (University of Alaska Anchorage), Frank
Murgolo (California State University, Long Beach), Jun Ni (University of Iowa), Benjamin N ­ ystuen
(University of Colorado at Colorado Springs), Maureen Opkins (CA State University, Long Beach),
Gavin Osborne (University of Saskatchewan), Kevin Parker (Idaho State University), Dale Par-
son (Kutztown University), Mark Pendergast (Florida Gulf Coast University), Richard Povinelli
(Marquette University), Roger Priebe (University of Texas at Austin), Mary Ann Pumphrey (De
Anza Junior College), Pat Roth (Southern Polytechnic State University), Amr Sabry (Indiana Uni-
versity), Ben Setzer (Kennesaw State University), Carolyn Schauble (Colorado State University),
David Scuse (University of Manitoba), Ashraf Shirani (San Jose State University), Daniel Spiegel
(Kutztown University), Joslyn A. Smith (Florida Atlantic University), Lixin Tao (Pace University),
Ronald F. Taylor (Wright State University), Russ Tront (Simon Fraser University), Deborah ­Trytten
(University of Oklahoma), Michael Verdicchio (Citadel), Kent Vidrine (George Washington Uni-
versity), and Bahram Zartoshty (California State University at Northridge).
It is a great pleasure, honor, and privilege to work with Pearson. I would like to thank Tracy
Johnson and her colleagues Marcia Horton, Demetrius Hall, Yvonne Vannatta, Kristy Alaura,
Carole Snyder, Scott Disanno, Bob Engelhardt, Shylaja Gattupalli, and their colleagues for
organizing, producing, and promoting this project.
As always, I am indebted to my wife, Samantha, for her love, support, and encouragement.
 Preface  11

Acknowledgments for the Global Edition

Pearson would like to thank and acknowledge Yvan Maillot (Univresite Haute-Alsace) and
Steven Yuwono (National ­University of Singapore) for contributing to this Global Edition,
and Arif Ahmed (National Institute of Technology, ­Silchar), Annette Bieniusa (University of
Kaiserslautern), Shaligram Prajapat (Devi Ahilya Vishwavidyalaya, Indore), and Ram Gopal
Raj (University of Malaya) for reviewing this Global Edition.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1 I ntroduction to Computers,
­Programs, and Java™ 23
1.1 Introduction 24
1.2 What Is a Computer? 24
1.3 Programming Languages 29
1.4 Operating Systems 31
1.5 Java, the World Wide Web, and Beyond 32
1.6 The Java Language Specification, API, JDK,
JRE, and IDE 33
1.7 A Simple Java Program 34
1.8 Creating, Compiling, and Executing a Java Program 37
1.9 Programming Style and Documentation 40
1.10 Programming Errors 42
1.11 Developing Java Programs Using NetBeans 45
1.12 Developing Java Programs Using Eclipse 47

Chapter 2 Elementary Programming 55

2.1 Introduction 56
2.2 Writing a Simple Program 56
2.3 Reading Input from the Console 59
2.4 Identifiers 62
2.5 Variables 62
2.6 Assignment Statements and Assignment Expressions 64
2.7 Named Constants 65
2.8 Naming Conventions 66
2.9 Numeric Data Types and Operations 67
2.10 Numeric Literals 70
2.11 Evaluating Expressions and Operator Precedence 72
2.12 Case Study: Displaying the Current Time 74
2.13 Augmented Assignment Operators 76
2.14 Increment and Decrement Operators 77
2.15 Numeric Type Conversions 79
2.16 Software Development Process 81
2.17 Case Study: Counting Monetary Units 85
2.18 Common Errors and Pitfalls 87

Chapter 3 Selections 97
3.1 Introduction 98
3.2 boolean Data Type 98
3.3 if Statements 100
3.4 Two-Way if-else Statements 102
3.5 Nested if and Multi-Way if-else Statements 103
3.6 Common Errors and Pitfalls 105
3.7 Generating Random Numbers 109
3.8 Case Study: Computing Body Mass Index 111
3.9 Case Study: Computing Taxes 112
3.10 Logical Operators 115
3.11 Case Study: Determining Leap Year 119
3.12 Case Study: Lottery 120
3.13 switch Statements 122
12
 Contents  13
3.14 Conditional Operators 125
3.15 Operator Precedence and Associativity 126
3.16 Debugging 128

Chapter 4 Mathematical Functions,

Characters, and Strings 141
4.1 Introduction 142
4.2 Common Mathematical Functions 142
4.3 Character Data Type and Operations 147
4.4 The String Type 152
4.5 Case Studies 161
4.6 Formatting Console Output 167

Chapter 5 Loops 181

5.1 Introduction 182
5.2 The while Loop 182
5.3 Case Study: Guessing Numbers 185
5.4 Loop Design Strategies 188
5.5 Controlling a Loop with User Confirmation or a Sentinel Value 190
5.6 The do-while Loop 192
5.7 The for Loop 195
5.8 Which Loop to Use? 198
5.9 Nested Loops 200
5.10 Minimizing Numeric Errors 202
5.11 Case Studies 204
5.12 Keywords break and continue 208
5.13 Case Study: Checking Palindromes 211
5.14 Case Study: Displaying Prime Numbers 213

Chapter 6 Methods 227

6.1 Introduction 228
6.2 Defining a Method 228
6.3 Calling a Method 230
6.4 void vs. Value-Returning Methods 233
6.5 Passing Parameters by Values 236
6.6 Modularizing Code 239
6.7 Case Study: Converting Hexadecimals to Decimals 241
6.8 Overloading Methods 243
6.9 The Scope of Variables 246
6.10 Case Study: Generating Random Characters 247
6.11 Method Abstraction and Stepwise Refinement 249

Chapter 7 Single-Dimensional Arrays 269

7.1 Introduction 270
7.2 Array Basics 270
7.3 Case Study: Analyzing Numbers 277
7.4 Case Study: Deck of Cards 278
7.5 Copying Arrays 280
7.6 Passing Arrays to Methods 281
7.7 Returning an Array from a Method 284
7.8 Case Study: Counting the Occurrences of Each Letter 285
7.9 Variable-Length Argument Lists 288
7.10 Searching Arrays 289
7.11 Sorting Arrays 293
14 Contents
7.12 The Arrays Class 294
7.13 Command-Line Arguments 296

Chapter 8 Multidimensional Arrays 311

8.1 Introduction 312
8.2 Two-Dimensional Array Basics 312
8.3 Processing Two-Dimensional Arrays 315
8.4 Passing Two-Dimensional Arrays to Methods 317
8.5 Case Study: Grading a Multiple-Choice Test 318
8.6 Case Study: Finding the Closest Pair 320
8.7 Case Study: Sudoku 322
8.8 Multidimensional Arrays 325

Chapter 9 Objects and Classes 345

9.1 Introduction 346
9.2 Defining Classes for Objects 346
9.3 Example: Defining Classes and Creating Objects 348
9.4 Constructing Objects Using Constructors 353
9.5 Accessing Objects via Reference Variables 354
9.6 Using Classes from the Java Library 358
9.7 Static Variables, Constants, and Methods 361
9.8 Visibility Modifiers 366
9.9 Data Field Encapsulation 368
9.10 Passing Objects to Methods 371
9.11 Array of Objects 375
9.12 Immutable Objects and Classes 377
9.13 The Scope of Variables 379
9.14 The this Reference 380

Chapter 10 Object-Oriented Thinking 389

10.1 Introduction 390
10.2 Class Abstraction and Encapsulation 390
10.3 Thinking in Objects 394
10.4 Class Relationships 397
10.5 Case Study: Designing the Course Class 400
10.6 Case Study: Designing a Class for Stacks 402
10.7 Processing Primitive Data Type Values as Objects 404
10.8 Automatic Conversion between Primitive Types
and Wrapper Class Types 407
10.9 The BigInteger and BigDecimal Classes 408
10.10 The String Class 410
10.11 The StringBuilder and StringBuffer Classes 416

Chapter 11 Inheritance and

Polymorphism 433
11.1 Introduction 434
11.2 Superclasses and Subclasses 434
11.3 Using the super Keyword 440
11.4 Overriding Methods 443
11.5 Overriding vs. Overloading 444
11.6 The Object Class and Its toString() Method 446
11.7 Polymorphism 447
11.8 Dynamic Binding 447
11.9 Casting Objects and the instanceof Operator 451
11.10 The Object’s equals Method 455
 Contents  15
11.11 The ArrayList Class 456
11.12 Useful Methods for Lists 462
11.13 Case Study: A Custom Stack Class 463
11.14 The protected Data and Methods 464
11.15 Preventing Extending and Overriding 467

Chapter 12 Exception Handling

and Text I/O 475
12.1 Introduction 476
12.2 Exception-Handling Overview 476
12.3 Exception Types 481
12.4 More on Exception Handling 484
12.5 The finally Clause 492
12.6 When to Use Exceptions 493
12.7 Rethrowing Exceptions 494
12.8 Chained Exceptions 495
12.9 Defining Custom Exception Classes 496
12.10 The File Class 499
12.11 File Input and Output 502
12.12 Reading Data from the Web 508
12.13 Case Study: Web Crawler 510

Chapter 13 Abstract Classes and Interfaces 521

13.1 Introduction 522
13.2 Abstract Classes 522
13.3 Case Study: the Abstract Number Class 527
13.4 Case Study: Calendar and GregorianCalendar 529
13.5 Interfaces 532
13.6 The Comparable Interface 535
13.7 The Cloneable Interface 540
13.8 Interfaces vs. Abstract Classes 545
13.9 Case Study: The Rational Class 548
13.10 Class-Design Guidelines 553

Chapter 14 JavaFX Basics 563

14.1 Introduction 564
14.2 JavaFX vs Swing and AWT 564
14.3 The Basic Structure of a JavaFX Program 564
14.4 Panes, Groups, UI Controls, and Shapes 567
14.5 Property Binding 570
14.6 Common Properties and Methods for Nodes 573
14.7 The Color Class 575
14.8 The Font Class 576
14.9 The Image and ImageView Classes 578
14.10 Layout Panes and Groups 580
14.11 Shapes 589
14.12 Case Study: The ClockPane Class 602

Chapter 15 Event-Driven Programming

and Animations 615
15.1 Introduction 616
15.2 Events and Event Sources 618
15.3 Registering Handlers and Handling Events 619
15.4 Inner Classes 623
15.5 Anonymous Inner Class Handlers 624
16 Contents
15.6 Simplifying Event Handling Using Lambda Expressions 627
15.7 Case Study: Loan Calculator 631
15.8 Mouse Events 633
15.9 Key Events 635
15.10 Listeners for Observable Objects 638
15.11 Animation 640
15.12 Case Study: Bouncing Ball 648
15.13 Case Study: US Map 652

Chapter 16 JavaFX UI Controls

and Multimedia 665
16.1 Introduction 666
16.2 Labeled and Label 666
16.3 Button 668
16.4 CheckBox 670
16.5 RadioButton 673
16.6 TextField 676
16.7 TextArea 677
16.8 ComboBox 681
16.9 ListView 684
16.10 ScrollBar 687
16.11 Slider 690
16.12 Case Study: Developing a Tic-Tac-Toe Game 693
16.13 Video and Audio 698
16.14 Case Study: National Flags and Anthems 701

Chapter 17 Binary I/O 713

17.1 Introduction 714
17.2 How Is Text I/O Handled in Java? 714
17.3 Text I/O vs. Binary I/O 715
17.4 Binary I/O Classes 716
17.5 Case Study: Copying Files 726
17.6 Object I/O 728
17.7 Random-Access Files 733

Chapter 18 Recursion 741

18.1 Introduction 742
18.2 Case Study: Computing Factorials 742
18.3 Case Study: Computing Fibonacci
Numbers 745
18.4 Problem Solving Using Recursion 748
18.5 Recursive Helper Methods 750
18.6 Case Study: Finding the Directory Size 753
18.7 Case Study: Tower of Hanoi 755
18.8 Case Study: Fractals 758
18.9 Recursion vs. Iteration 762
18.10 Tail Recursion 762

Chapter 19 Generics 773

19.1 Introduction 774
19.2 Motivations and Benefits 774
19.3 Defining Generic Classes and Interfaces 776
19.4 Generic Methods 778
19.5 Case Study: Sorting an Array of Objects 780
 Contents  17
19.6 Raw Types and Backward Compatibility 782
19.7 Wildcard Generic Types 783
19.8 Erasure and Restrictions on Generics 786
19.9 Case Study: Generic Matrix Class 788

Chapter 20 L
 ists, Stacks, Queues, and
Priority Queues 797
20.1 Introduction 798
20.2 Collections 798
20.3 Iterators 802
20.4 Using the forEach Method 803
20.5 Lists 804
20.6 The Comparator Interface 809
20.7 Static Methods for Lists and Collections 813
20.8 Case Study: Bouncing Balls 816
20.9 Vector and Stack Classes 820
20.10 Queues and Priority Queues 821
20.11 Case Study: Evaluating Expressions 825

Chapter 21 Sets and Maps 837

21.1 Introduction 838
21.2 Sets 838
21.3 Comparing the Performance of Sets and Lists 846
21.4 Case Study: Counting Keywords 849
21.5 Maps 850
21.6 Case Study: Occurrences of Words 855
21.7 Singleton and Unmodifiable Collections and Maps 857

Chapter 22 Developing Efficient

Algorithms 861
22.1 Introduction 862
22.2 Measuring Algorithm Efficiency Using Big O Notation 862
22.3 Examples: Determining Big O 864
22.4 Analyzing Algorithm Time Complexity 868
22.5 Finding Fibonacci Numbers Using Dynamic
Programming 871
22.6 Finding Greatest Common Divisors Using Euclid’s
Algorithm 873
22.7 Efficient Algorithms for Finding Prime Numbers 877
22.8 Finding the Closest Pair of Points Using
Divide-and-Conquer 883
22.9 Solving the Eight Queens Problem Using Backtracking 886
22.10 Computational Geometry: Finding a Convex Hull 889

Chapter 23 Sorting 903

23.1 Introduction 904
23.2 Insertion Sort 904
23.3 Bubble Sort 906
23.4 Merge Sort 909
23.5 Quick Sort 912
23.6 Heap Sort 916
23.7 Bucket and Radix Sorts 923
23.8 External Sort 925
18 Contents

Chapter 24 I mplementing Lists, Stacks,

Queues, and Priority Queues 939
24.1 Introduction 940
24.2 Common Operations for Lists 940
24.3 Array Lists 944
24.4 Linked Lists 951
24.5 Stacks and Queues 965
24.6 Priority Queues 969

Chapter 25 Binary Search Trees 975

25.1 Introduction 976
25.2 Binary Search Trees 976
25.3 Deleting Elements from a BST 989
25.4 Tree Visualization and MVC 995
25.5 Iterators 998
25.6 Case Study: Data Compression 1000

Chapter 26 AVL Trees 1011

26.1 Introduction 1012
26.2 Rebalancing Trees 1012
26.3 Designing Classes for AVL Trees 1015
26.4 Overriding the insert Method 1016
26.5 Implementing Rotations 1017
26.6 Implementing the delete Method 1018
26.7 The AVLTree Class 1018
26.8 Testing the AVLTree Class 1024
26.9 AVL Tree Time Complexity Analysis 1027

Chapter 27 Hashing 1031

27.1 Introduction 1032
27.2 What Is Hashing? 1032
27.3 Hash Functions and Hash Codes 1033
27.4 Handling Collisions Using Open Addressing 1035
27.5 Handling Collisions Using Separate Chaining 1039
27.6 Load Factor and Rehashing 1039
27.7 Implementing a Map Using Hashing 1041
27.8 Implementing Set Using Hashing 1050

Chapter 28 Graphs and Applications 1061

28.1 Introduction 1062
28.2 Basic Graph Terminologies 1063
28.3 Representing Graphs 1064
28.4 Modeling Graphs 1070
28.5 Graph Visualization 1080
28.6 Graph Traversals 1083
28.7 Depth-First Search (DFS) 1084
28.8 Case Study: The Connected Circles Problem 1088
28.9 Breadth-First Search (BFS) 1090
28.10 Case Study: The Nine Tails Problem 1093
 Contents  19

Chapter 29 W
 eighted Graphs and
Applications 1107
29.1 Introduction 1108
29.2 Representing Weighted Graphs 1109
29.3 The WeightedGraph Class 1111
29.4 Minimum Spanning Trees 1119
29.5 Finding Shortest Paths 1125
29.6 Case Study: The Weighted Nine Tails Problem 1134

Chapter 30 
Aggregate Operations
for Collection Streams 1145
30.1 Introduction 1146
30.2 Stream Pipelines 1146
30.3 IntStream, LongStream, and DoubleStream 1152
30.4 Parallel Streams 1155
30.5 Stream Reduction Using the reduce Method 1157
30.6 Stream Reduction Using the collect Method 1160
30.7 Grouping Elements Using the groupingby Collector 1163
30.8 Case Studies 1166

Chapter 31–44 are available from the Companion Website at

www.pearsonglobaleditions.com/Liang

Chapter 31 Advanced JavaFX and FXML

Chapter 32 Multithreading and Parallel
Programming
Chapter 33 Networking
Chapter 34 Java Database Programming
Chapter 35 Advanced Java Database Programming
Chapter 36 Internationalization
Chapter 37 Servlets
Chapter 38 JavaServer Pages
Chapter 39 JavaServer Faces
Chapter 40 Remote Method Invocation
Chapter 41 Web Services
Chapter 42 2-4 Trees and B-Trees
Chapter 43 Red-Black Trees
Chapter 44 Testing Using JUnit
20 Contents

Appendixes 1177
Appendix A Java Keywords 1179
Appendix B The ASCII Character Set 1180
Appendix C Operator Precedence Chart 1182
Appendix D Java Modifiers 1184
Appendix E Special Floating-Point Values 1186
Appendix F Number Systems 1187
Appendix G Bitwise Operations 1191
Appendix H Regular Expressions 1192
Appendix I Enumerated Types 1197

Quick Reference 1203

Index 1205
VideoNotes
Locations of VideoNotes
VideoNote
www.pearsonglobaleditions.com/Liang

Chapter 1 Introduction to Computers, Programs, Coupon collector’s problem 304

and Java™ 23 Consecutive four 306
Your first Java program 34
Compile and run a Java program 39 Chapter 8 Multidimensional Arrays 311
NetBeans brief tutorial 45 Find the row with the largest sum 316
Eclipse brief tutorial 47 Grade multiple-choice test 318
Sudoku 322
Chapter 2 Elementary Programming 55 Multiply two matrices 331
Obtain input 59 Even number of 1s 338
Use operators / and % 74
Software development Chapter 9 Objects and Classes 345
process 81 Define classes and objects 346
Compute loan payments 82 Use classes 358
Compute BMI 94 Static vs. instance 361
Data field encapsulation 368
Chapter 3 Selections 97 The this keyword 380
Program addition quiz 99 The Fan class 386
Program subtraction quiz 109
Use multi-way if-else Chapter 10 Object-Oriented Thinking 389
statements 112 The Loan class 391
Sort three integers 132 The BMI class 394
Check point location 134 The StackOfIntegers class 402
Process large numbers 408
Chapter 4 Mathematical Functions, Characters, The String class 410
and Strings 141 The MyPoint class 424
Introduce Math functions 142
Introduce strings and objects 152 Chapter 11 Inheritance and Polymorphism 433
Convert hex to decimal 165 Geometric class hierarchy 434
Compute great circle distance 173 Polymorphism and dynamic
Convert hex to binary 176 binding demo 448
The ArrayList class 456
Chapter 5 Loops 181 The MyStack class 463
Use while loop 182 New Account class 470
Guess a number 185
Multiple subtraction quiz 188 Chapter 12 Exception Handling and Text I/O 475
Use do-while loop 192 Exception-handling advantages 476
Minimize numeric errors 202 Create custom exception classes 496
Display loan schedule 219 Write and read data 502
Sum a series 220 HexFormatException 515

Chapter 6 Methods 227 Chapter 13 Abstract Classes and Interfaces 521

Define/invoke max method 230 Abstract GeometricObject class 522
Use void method 233 Calendar and Gregorian
Modularize code 239 Calendar classes 529
Stepwise refinement 249 The concept of interface 532
Reverse an integer 258 Redesign the Rectangle class 558
Estimate p 261
Chapter 14 JavaFX Basics 563
Chapter 7 Single-Dimensional Arrays 269 Getting started with JavaFX 564
Random shuffling 274 Understand property binding 570
Deck of cards 278 Use Image and ImageView 578
Selection sort 293 Use layout panes 580
Command-line arguments 297 Use shapes 589
21
22 VideoNotes
Display a tic-tac-toe board 608 Tic-Tac-Toe 693
Display a bar chart 610 Use Media, MediaPlayer,
and MediaView 698
Chapter 15 Event-Driven Programming Use radio buttons and text fields 705
and Animations 615 Set fonts 707
Handler and its registration 622
Anonymous handler 625 Chapter 17 Binary I/O 713
Move message using the Copy file 726
mouse 634 Object I/O 728
Animate a rising flag 640 Split a large file 738
Flashing text 646
Simple calculator 656 Chapter 18 Recursion 741
Check mouse-point location 658 Binary search 752
Display a running fan 661 Directory size 753
Fractal (Sierpinski triangle) 758
Chapter 16 JavaFX UI Controls and Multimedia 665 Search a string in a directory 769
Use ListView 684 Recursive tree 772
Use Slider 690

Animations

Chapter 7 Single-Dimensional Arrays 269 radix sort on Companion

linear search animation on Website 924
Companion Website 290
binary search animation on Chapter 24 Implementing Lists, Stacks,
Companion Website 290 Queues, and Priority Queues 939
selection sort animation on list animation on Companion
Companion Website 293 Website 940
stack and queue animation on
Chapter 8 Multidimensional Arrays 311 Companion Website 965
closest-pair animation on
the Companion Website 320 Chapter 25 Binary Search Trees 975
BST animation on
Chapter 22 Developing Efficient Algorithms 861 Companion Website 976
binary search animation on
the Companion Website 868 Chapter 26 AVL Trees 1011
selection sort animation on AVL tree animation on
the Companion Website 868 Companion Website 1012
closest-pair animation on
Companion Website 883 Chapter 27 Hashing 1031
Eight Queens animation on linear probing animation on
the Companion Website 886 Companion Website 1036
convex hull animation on quadratic probing animation on
the Companion Website 889 Companion Website 1037
separate chaining animation on
Chapter 23 Sorting 903 Companion Website 1040
insertion-sort animation on
Companion Website 904 Chapter 28 Graphs and Applications 1061
bubble sort animation on the graph learning tool on
Companion Website 907 Companion Website 1064
merge animation on Companion U.S. Map Search 1086
Website 911 Chapter 29 Weighted Graphs and
partition animation on Applications 1107
Companion Website 915 weighted graph learning tool
heap animation on Companion animation on Companion Website 1108
Website 917
 Chapter

1
Introduction
to Computers,
Programs, and Java™
Objectives
■■ To understand computer basics, programs, and operating systems
(§§1.2–1.4).
■■ To describe the relationship between Java and the World Wide Web
(§1.5).
■■ To understand the meaning of Java language specification, API, JDK™,
JRE™, and IDE (§1.6).
■■ To write a simple Java program (§1.7).
■■ To display output on the console (§1.7).
■■ To explain the basic syntax of a Java program (§1.7).
■■ To create, compile, and run Java programs (§1.8).
■■ To use sound Java programming style and document programs properly
(§1.9).
■■ To explain the differences between syntax errors, runtime errors, and
logic errors (§1.10).
■■ To develop Java programs using NetBeans™ (§1.11).
■■ To develop Java programs using Eclipse™ (§1.12).
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
from the very sound of such ill-doing. Now on first reading this sensitive
criticism, one is tempted to a great shout of laughter, quite as coarse, I fear,
as the pursuit of governing, and almost as indecent as war. Ah! founders of
empires, and masters of men, where are your laurels now? “If some people
in public life were acquainted with Mrs. Wititterly’s real opinion of them,”
says Mr. Wititterly to Kate Nickleby, “they would not hold their heads
perhaps quite as high as they do.” But in moments of soberness such
distorted points of view seem rather more melancholy than diverting.
Evadne is, after all, but the feeble reflex of an over-anxious age which has
lost itself in a labyrinth of responsibilities. Shelley, whose rigidity of mind
was at times almost inconceivable, did not hesitate to deny every attribute
of greatness wherever he felt no sympathy. To him, Constantine was a
“Christian reptile,” a “stupid and wicked monster;” while of Napoleon he
writes with the invincible gravity of youth. “Buonaparte’s talents appear to
me altogether contemptible and commonplace; incapable as he is of
comparing connectedly the most obvious propositions, or relishing any
pleasure truly enrapturing.”
To the mundane and unpoetic mind it would seem that there were several
propositions, obvious or otherwise, which Napoleon was capable of
comparing quite connectedly, and that his ruthless, luminous fashion of
dealing with such made him more terrible than fate. As for pleasures, he
knew how to read and relish “Clarissa Harlowe,” for which evidence of
sound literary taste, one Englishman at least, Hazlitt, honored and loved
him greatly. If we are seeking an embodiment of unrelieved excellence who
will work up well into moral anecdotes and journalistic platitudes, the
emperor is plainly not what we require. But when we have great men under
consideration, let us at least think of their greatness. Let us permit our little
hearts to expand, and our little eyes to sweep a broad horizon. There is
nothing in the world I dislike so much as to be reminded of Napoleon’s
rudeness to Madame de Staël, or of Cæsar’s vain attempt to hide his
baldness. Cæsar was human; that is his charm; and Madame de Staël would
have sorely strained the courtesy of good King Arthur. Had she attached
herself unflinchingly to his court, it is probable he would have ended by
requesting her to go elsewhere.
On the other hand, it is never worth while to assert that genius repeals
the decalogue. We cannot believe with M. Waliszewski that because
Catherine of Russia was a great ruler she was, even in the smallest degree,
privileged to be an immoral woman, to give “free course to her senses
imperially.” The same commandment binds with equal rigor both empress
and costermonger. But it is the greatness of Catherine, and not her
immorality, which concerns us deeply. It is the greatness of Marlborough, of
Richelieu, and of Sir Robert Walpole which we do well to consider, and not
their shortcomings, though from the tone assumed too often by critics and
historians, one would imagine that duplicity, ambition and cynicism were
the only attributes these men possessed; that they stood for their vices
alone. One would imagine also that the same sins were quite unfamiliar in
humble life, and had never been practised on a petty scale by lawyers and
journalists and bank clerks. Yet vice, as Sir Thomas Browne reminds us,
may be had at all prices. “Expensive and costly iniquities which make the
noise cannot be every man’s sins; but the soul may be foully inquinated at a
very low rate, and a man may be cheaply vicious to his own perdition.”
It is possible then to overdo moral criticism, and to cheat ourselves out
of both pleasure and profit by narrowing our sympathies, and by applying
modern or national standards to men of other ages and of another race.
Instead of realizing, with Carlyle, that eminence of any kind is a most
wholesome thing to contemplate and to revere, we are perpetually longing
for some crucial test which will divide true heroism—as we now regard it—
from those forceful qualities which the world has hitherto been content to
call heroic. I have heard people gravely discuss the possibility of excluding
from histories, from school histories especially, the adjective “great,”
wherever it is used to imply success unaccompanied by moral excellence.
Alfred the Great might be permitted to retain his title. Like the “blameless
Ethiops,” he is safely sheltered from our too penetrating observation. But
Alexander, Frederick, Catherine, and Louis should be handed down to
future ages as the “well-known.” Alexander the Well-Known! We can all
say that with clear consciences, and without implying any sympathy or
regard for a person so manifestly irregular in his habits, and seemingly so
devoid of all altruistic emotions. It is true that Mr. Addington Symonds has
traced a resemblance between the Macedonian conqueror, and the ideal
warrior of the Grecian camp, Achilles the strong-armed and terrible.
Alexander, he maintains, is Achilles in the flesh; passionate, uncontrolled,
with an innate sense of what is great and noble; but “dragged in the mire of
the world and enthralled by the necessities of human life.” The difference
between them is but the difference between the heroic conception of a poet
and the stern limitations of reality.
Apart, however, from the fact that Mr. Symonds was not always what the
undergraduate lightly calls “up in ethics,” it is to be feared that Achilles
himself meets with scant favor in our benevolent age. “Homer mirrors the
world’s young manhood;” but we have grown old and exemplary, and shake
our heads over the lusty fierceness of the warrior, and the facile repentance
of Helen, and the wicked wiles of Circe, which do not appear to have met
with the universal reprobation they deserve. On the contrary, there is a
blithe good-temper in the poet’s treatment of the enchantress, whose very
name is so charming it disarms all wrath. Circe! The word is sweet upon
our lips; and this light-hearted embodiment of beauty and malice is not to
be judged from the bleak stand-point of Salem witch-hunters. If we are
content to take men and women, in and out of books, with their edification
disguised, we may pass a great many agreeable hours in their society, and
find ourselves unexpectedly benefited even by those who appear least
meritorious in our eyes. A frank and generous sympathy for any much
maligned and sorely slandered character,—such, for instance, as Graham of
Claverhouse; a candid recognition of his splendid virtues and of his single
vice; a clear conception of his temperament, his ability, and his work,—
these things are of more real service in broadening our appreciations, and
interpreting our judgments, than are a score of unqualified opinions taken
ready-made from the most admirable historians in Christendom. It is a
liberal education to recognize, and to endeavor to understand any form of
eminence which the records of mankind reveal.
As for the popular criticism which fastens on a feature and calls it a man,
nothing can be easier or more delusive. Claverhouse was merciless and
densely intolerant; but he was also loyal, brave, and reverent; temperate in
his habits, cleanly in his life, and one of the first soldiers of his day. Surely
this leaves some little balance in his favor. Marlborough may have been as
false as Judas and as ambitious as Lucifer; but he was also the greatest of
English-speaking generals, and England owes him something better than
picturesque invectives. What can we say to people who talk to us anxiously
about Byron’s unkindness to Leigh Hunt, and Dr. Johnson’s illiberal attitude
towards Methodism, and Scott’s incomprehensible friendship for John
Ballantyne; who remind us with austere dissatisfaction that Goldsmith did
not pay his debts, and that Lamb drank more than was good for him, and
that Dickens dressed loudly and wore flashy jewelry? I don’t care what
Dickens wore. I would not care if he had decorated himself with bangles,
and anklets, and earrings, and a nose-ring, provided he wrote “Pickwick”
and “David Copperfield.” If there be any living novelist who can give us
such another as Sam Weller, or Dick Swiveller, or Mr. Micawber, or Mrs.
Gamp, or Mrs. Nickleby, let him festoon himself with gauds from head to
foot, and wedge his fingers “knuckle-deep with rings,” like the lady in the
old song, and then sit down and write. The world will readily forgive him
his embellishments. It has forgiven Flaubert his dressing-gown, and George
Sand her eccentricities of attire, and Goldsmith his coat of Tyrian bloom,
and the blue silk breeches for which he probably never paid his tailor. It has
forgiven Dr. Johnson all his little sins; and Lamb the only sin for which he
craves forgiveness; and Scott—but here we are not privileged even to offer
pardon. “It ill becomes either you or me to compare ourselves with Scott,”
said Thackeray to a young writer who excused himself for some literary
laxity by saying that “Sir Walter did the same.” “We should take off our
hats whenever that great and good man’s name is mentioned in our
presence.”
 OPINIONS.
It has been occasionally remarked by people who are not wholly in
sympathy with the methods and devices of our time that this is an age of
keen intellectual curiosity. We have scant leisure and scant liking for hard
study, and we no longer recognize the admirable qualities of a wise and
contented ignorance. Accordingly, there has been invented for us in late
years, a via media, a something which is neither light nor darkness, a short
cut to that goal which we used to be assured had no royal road for languid
feet to follow. The apparent object of the new system is to enable us to live
like gentlemen, or like gentlewomen, on other people’s ideas; to spare us
the labor and exhaustion incidental to forming opinions of our own by
giving us the free use of other people’s opinions. There is a charming
simplicity in the scheme, involving as it does no effort of thought or mental
adjustment, which cannot fail to heartily recommend it to the general
public, while the additional merit of cheapness endears it to its thrifty
upholders. We are all accustomed to talk vaguely about “questions of
burning interest,” and “the absorbing problems of the day.” Some of us
even go so far as to have a tolerably clear notion of what these questions
and problems are. It is but natural, then, that we should take a lively
pleasure, not in the topics themselves, about which we care very little, but
in the persuasions and convictions of our neighbors, about which we have
learned to care a great deal. Discussions rage on every side of us, and the
easy, offhand, cocksure verdicts which are so frankly confided to the world
have become a recognized source of popular education and enlightenment.
I have sometimes thought that this feverish exchange of opinions
received a fatal impetus from that curious epidemic rife in England a few
years ago, and known as the “Lists of a Hundred Books.” Never before had
such an admirable opportunity been offered to people to put on what are
commonly called “frills,” and it must be confessed they made the most of it.
The Koran, the Analects of Confucius, Spinoza, Herodotus, Demosthenes,
Xenophon, Lewis’s History of Philosophy, the Saga of Burnt Njal, Locke’s
Conduct of the Understanding,—such, and such only, were the works
unflinchingly urged upon us by men whom we had considered, perhaps, as
human as ourselves, whom we might almost have suspected of solacing
their lighter moments with an occasional study of Rider Haggard or
Gaboriau. If readers could be made by the simple process of deluging the
world with good counsel, these arbitrary lists would have marked a new
intellectual era. As it was, they merely excited a lively but unfruitful
curiosity. “Living movements,” Cardinal Newman reminds us, “do not
come of committees.” I knew, indeed, one impetuous student who rashly
purchased the Grammar of Assent because she saw it in a list; but there was
a limit even to her ardor, for eighteen months afterwards the leaves were
still uncut. It is a striking proof of Mr. Arnold’s inspired rationality that,
while so many of his countrymen were instructing us in this peremptory
fashion, he alone, who might have spoken with authority, declined to add
his name and list to the rest. It was an amusing game, he said, but he felt no
disposition to play it.
Some variations of this once popular pastime have lingered even to our
day. Lists of the best American authors, lists of the best foreign authors,
lists of the best ten books published within a decade, have appeared
occasionally in our journals, while a list of books which prominent people
intended or hoped to read “in the near future” filled us with respect for such
heroic anticipations. Ten-volume works of the severest character counted as
trifles in these prospective studies. For the past year, it is true, the World’s
Fair has given a less scholastic tone to newspaper discussions. We hear
comparatively little about the Analects of Confucius, and a great deal about
the White City, and the Department of Anthropology. Perhaps it is better to
tell the public your impressions of the Fair than to confide to it your
favorite authors. One revelation is as valuable as the other, but it is possible,
with caution, to talk about Chicago in terms that will give general
satisfaction. It is not possible to express literary, artistic, or national
preferences without exposing one’s self to vigorous reproaches from people
who hold different views. I was once lured by a New York periodical into a
number of harmless confidences, unlikely, it seemed to me, to awaken
either interest or indignation. The questions asked were of the mildly
searching order, like those which delighted the hearts of children, when I
was a very little girl, in our “Mental Photograph Albums.” “Who is your
favorite character in fiction?” “Who is your favorite character in history?”
“What do you consider the finest attribute of man?” Having amiably
responded to a portion of these inquiries, I was surprised and flattered,
some weeks later, at seeing myself described in a daily paper—on the
strength, too, of my own confessions—as irrational, morbid, and cruel;
excusable only on the score of melancholy surroundings and a sickly
constitution. And the delightful part of it was that I had apparently revealed
all this myself. “Do not contend in words about things of no consequence,”
counsels St. Teresa, who carried with her to the cloister wisdom enough to
have kept all of us poor worldlings out of trouble.
The system by which opinions of little or no value are assiduously
collected and generously distributed is far too complete to be baffled by
inexperience or indifference. The enterprising editor or journalist who puts
the question is very much like Sir Charles Napier; he wants an answer of
some kind, however incapable we may be of giving it. A list of the queries
propounded to me in the last year or so recalls painfully my own
comprehensive ignorance. These are a few which I remember. What was my
opinion of college training as a preparation for literary work? What was my
opinion of Greek comedy? Was I a pessimist or an optimist, and why? What
were my favorite flowers, and did I cultivate them? What books did I think
young children ought not to read? At what age and under what impulses did
I consider children first began to swear? What especial and serious studies
would I propose for married women? What did I consider most necessary
for the all-around development of the coming young man? It appeared
useless to urge in reply to these questions that I had never been to college,
never read a line of Greek, never been married, never taken charge of
children, and knew nothing whatever about developing young men. I found
that my ignorance on all these points was assumed from the beginning, but
that this fact only made my opinions more interesting and piquant to people
as ignorant as myself. Neither did it ever occur to my correspondents that if
I had known anything about Greek comedy or college training, I should
have endeavored to turn my knowledge into money by writing articles of
my own, and should never have been so lavish as to give my information
away.
That these public discussions or symposiums are, however, an
occasional comfort to their participants was proven by the alacrity with
which a number of writers came forward, some years ago, to explain to the
world why English fiction was not a finer and stronger article. Innocent and
short-sighted readers, wedded to the obvious, had foolishly supposed that
modern novels were rather forlorn because the novelists were not able to
write better ones. It therefore became the manifest duty of the novelists to
notify us clearly that they were able to write very much better ones, but that
the public would not permit them to do it. Like Dr. Holmes, they did not
venture to be as funny as they could. “Thoughtful readers of mature age,”
we were told, “are perishing for accuracy.” This accuracy they were, one
and all, prepared to furnish without stint, but were prohibited lest “the clash
of broken commandments” should be displeasing to polite female ears. A
great deal of angry sentiment was exchanged on this occasion, and a great
many original and valuable suggestions were offered by way of relief. It
was an admirable opportunity for any one who had written a story to
confide to the world “the theory of his art,” to make self-congratulatory
remarks upon his own “standpoint,” and to deprecate the stupid propriety of
the public. When the echoes of these passionate protestations had died into
silence, we took comfort in thinking that Hawthorne had not delayed to
write “The Scarlet Letter” from a sensitive regard for his neighbors’
opinions; and that two great nations, unvexed by “the clash of broken
commandments,” had received the book as a heritage of infinite beauty and
delight. Art needs no apologist, and our great literary artist, using his chosen
material after his chosen fashion, heedless alike of new theories and of
ancient prejudices, gave to the world a masterpiece of fiction which the
world was not too stupid to hold dear.
The pleasure of imparting opinions in print is by no means confined to
professionals, to people who are assumed to know something about a
subject because they have been more or less occupied with it for years. On
the contrary, the most lively and spirited discussions are those to which the
general public lends a willing hand. Almost any topic will serve to arouse
the argumentative zeal of the average reader, who rushes to the fray with
that joyous alacrity which is so exhilarating to the peaceful looker-on. The
disputed pronunciation or spelling of a word, if ventilated with spirit in a
literary journal, will call forth dozens of letters, all written in the most
serious and urgent manner, and all apparently emanating from people of
rigorous views and limitless leisure. If a letter here or there—a u, perhaps,
or an l—can only be elevated to the dignity of a national issue, then the
combatants don their coats of mail, unfurl their countries’ flags, and
wrangle merrily and oft to the sounds of martial music. If, on the other
hand, the subject of contention be a somewhat obvious statement, as, for
example, that the work of women in art, science, and literature is inferior to
the work of men, it is amazing and gratifying to see the number of
disputants who promptly prepare to deny the undeniable, and lead a forlorn
hope to failure. The impassive reader who first encounters a remark of this
order is apt to ask himself if it be worth while to state so explicitly what
everybody already knows; and behold! a week has not passed over his head
before a dozen angry protestations are hurled into print. These meet with
sarcastic rejoinders. The editor of the journal, who is naturally pleased to
secure copy on such easy terms, adroitly stirs up slumbering sentiment; and
time, temper, and ink are wasted without stint by people who are the only
converts of their own eloquence. “Embrace not the blind side of opinions,”
says Sir Thomas Browne, who, born in a contentious age, with “no genius
to disputes,” preached mellifluously of the joys of toleration, and of the
discomforts of inordinate zeal.
Not very long ago, I was asked by a sprightly little paper to please say in
its columns whether I thought new books or old books better worth the
reading. It was the kind of question which an ordinary lifetime spent in hard
study would barely enable one to answer; but I found, on examining some
back numbers of the journal, that it had been answered a great many times
already, and apparently without the smallest hesitation. Correspondents had
come forward to overturn our ancient idols, with no sense of insecurity or
misgiving. One breezy reformer from Nebraska sturdily maintained that
Mrs. Hodgson Burnett wrote much better stories than did Jane Austen;
while another intrepid person, a Virginian, pronounced “The Vicar of
Wakefield” “dull and namby-pamby,” declaring that “one half the reading
world would agree with him if they dared.” Perhaps they would,—who
knows?—but it is a privilege of that half of the reading world to be silent on
the subject. Simple preference is a good and sufficient motive in
determining one’s choice of books, but it does not warrant a reader in
conferring his impressions upon the world. Even the involuntary humor of
such disclosures cannot win them forgiveness; for the tendency to permit
the individual spirit to run amuck through criticism is resulting in a lower
standard of correctness. “The true value of souls,” says Mr. Pater, “is in
proportion to what they can admire;” and the popular notion that everything
is a matter of opinion, and that one opinion is pretty nearly as good as
another, is immeasurably hurtful to that higher law by which we seek to rise
steadily to an appreciation of whatever is best in the world. Nor can we
acquit our modern critics of fostering this self-assertive ignorance, when
they so lightly ignore those indestructible standards by which alone we are
able to measure the difference between big and little things. It seems a
clever and a daring feat to set up models of our own; but it is in reality
much easier than toiling after the old unapproachable models of our
forefathers. The originality which dispenses so blithely with the past is
powerless to give us a correct estimate of anything that we enjoy in the
present.
It is but a short step from the offhand opinions of scientific or literary
men to the offhand opinions of the crowd. When the novelists had finished
telling us, in the newspapers and magazines, what they thought about one
another, and especially what they thought about themselves, it then became
the turn of novel-readers to tell us what they thought about fiction. This
sudden invasion of the Vandals left to the novelists but one resource, but
one undisputed privilege. They could permit us to know and they have
permitted us to know just how they came to write their books; in what
moments of inspiration, under what benign influences, they gave to the
world those priceless pages.

“Sing, God of Love, and tell me in what dearth

Thrice-gifted Snevellicci came on earth!”

After which, unless the unsilenced public comes forward to say just how
and when and where they read the volumes, they must acknowledge
themselves routed from the field.
La vie de parade has reached its utmost license when a Prime Minister
of England is asked to tell the world—after the manner of old Father
William—how he has kept so hale; when the Prince of Wales is requested to
furnish a list of readable books; when an eminent clergyman is bidden to
reveal to us why he has never been ill; when the wife of the President of the
United States is questioned as to how she cooks her Thanksgiving dinner;
when married women in private life draw aside the domestic veil to tell us
how they have brought up their daughters, and unmarried women betray to
us the secret of their social success. Add to these sources of information the
opinions of poets upon education, and of educators upon poetry; of
churchmen upon politics, and of politicians upon the church; of journalists
upon art, and of artists upon journalism; and we must in all sincerity
acknowledge that this is an enlightened age. “The voice of the great
multitude,” to quote from a popular agitator, “rings in our startled ears;” and
its eloquence is many-sided and discursive. Albertus Magnus, it is said,
once made a head which talked. That was an exceedingly clever thing for
him to do. But the head was so delighted with its accomplishment that it
talked all the time. Whereupon, tradition holds, St. Thomas Aquinas grew
impatient, and broke it into pieces. St. Thomas was a scholar, a philosopher,
and a saint.
 THE CHILDREN’S AGE.
If adults are disposed to doubt their own decreasing significance, and the
increasing ascendency of children, they may learn a lesson in humility from
the popular literature of the day, as well as from social and domestic life.
The older novelists were so little impressed by the ethical or artistic
consequence of childhood that they gave it scant notice in their pages.
Scott, save for a few passages here and there, as in “The Abbot” and
“Peveril of the Peak,” ignores it altogether. Miss Austen is reticent on the
subject, and, when she does speak, manifests a painful lack of enthusiasm.
Mary Musgrave’s troublesome little boys and Lady Middleton’s
troublesome little girl seem to be introduced for no other purpose than to
show how tiresome and exasperating they can be. Fanny Price’s pathetic
childhood is hurried over as swiftly as possible, and her infant emotions
furnish no food for speculation or analysis. Saddest of all, Margaret
Dashwood is ignored as completely as if she had not reached the interesting
age of thirteen. “A good-humored, well-disposed girl,” this is all the
description vouchsafed her; after which, in the absence of further
information, we forget her existence entirely, until we are reminded in the
last chapter that she has “reached an age highly suitable for dancing, and
not very ineligible for being supposed to have a lover.” In other words, she
is now ready for treatment at the novelist’s hands; only, unhappily, the story
is told, the final page has been turned, and her chances are over forever.
I well remember my disappointment, as a child, at being able to find so
little about children in the old-fashioned novels on our bookshelves.
Trollope was particularly trying, because there were illustrations which
seemed to promise what I wanted, and which were wholly illusive in their
character. Posy and her grandfather playing cat’s-cradle, Edith Grantly
sitting on old Mr. Harding’s knee, poor little Louey Trevelyan furtively
watching his unhappy parents,—I used to read all around these pictures in
the hope of learning more about the children so portrayed. But they never
said or did anything to awaken my interest, or played any but purely passive
parts in the long histories of their grown-up relatives. I had so few books of
my own that I was compelled to forage for entertainment wherever I could
find it, dipping experimentally into the most unpromising sources, and
retiring discomfited from the search. “Vivian Grey” I began several times
with enthusiasm. The exploits of the hero at school amazed and thrilled me
—as well they might; but I never comprehensively grasped his social and
political career. Little Rawdon Crawley and that small, insufferable George
Osborne, were chance acquaintances, introduced through the medium of the
illustrations; but my real friends were the Tullivers and David Copperfield,
before he went to that stupid school of Dr. Strong’s at Canterbury, and lost
all semblance of his old childish self. It was not possible to grow deeply
attached to Oliver Twist. He was a lifeless sort of boy, despite the author’s
assurances to the contrary; and, though the most wonderful things were
always happening to him, it never seemed to me that he lived up to his
interesting surroundings. He would have done very well for a quiet life, but
was sadly unsuited to that lively atmosphere of burglary and housebreaking.
“Aladdin,” says Mr. Froude, “remained a poor creature, for all his genii.”
As for Nell, I doubt if it would ever occur to a small innocent reader to
think of her as a child at all. I was far from critical in those early days, and
much disposed to agree with Lamb’s amiable friend that all books must
necessarily be good books. Nell was, in my eyes, a miracle of courage and
capacity, a creature to be believed in implicitly, to be revered and pitied; but
she was not a little girl. I was a little girl myself, and I knew the difference.
It was Dickens who first gave children their prestige in fiction. Jeffrey,
we are assured, shed tears over Nell; and Bret Harte, whose own pathos is
so profoundly touching, describes for us the rude and haggard miners
following her fortunes with breathless sympathy:

“While the whole camp with ‘Nell’ on English meadows,

Wandered and lost their way.”

At present we are spared the heartrending childish deathbeds which

Dickens made so painfully popular, because dying in novels has rather gone
out of style. The young people live, and thrive, and wax scornful, and fill up
chapter after chapter, to the exclusion of meritorious adults. What a contrast
between the incidental, almost furtive manner in which Henry Kingsley
introduces his delightful children into “Ravenshoe,” and the profound
assurance with which Sarah Grand devotes seventy pages to a minute
description of the pranks of the Heavenly Twins. Readers of the earlier
novel used to feel they would like to know a little—just a little more of
Gus, and Flora, and Archy, and the patient nursery cat who was quite
accustomed to being held upside down, and who went out “a-walking on
the leads,” when she was needed to accompany her young master to bed.
Readers of “The Heavenly Twins” begin by being amused, then grow
aghast, and conclude by wondering why the wretched relatives of those
irrepressible children were not driven to some such expedient as that
proposed by a choleric old gentleman of my acquaintance to the doting
mother of an only son. “Put him in a hogshead, madam, and let him breathe
through the bunghole!”
Two vastly different types of infant precocity have been recently given
to the world by Mrs. Deland and Mrs. Hodgson Burnett, the only point of
resemblance between their respective authors being the conviction which
they share in common that children are problems which cannot be too
minutely studied, and that we cannot devote too much time or attention to
their scrutiny. Mrs. Deland, with less humor and a firmer touch, draws for
us in “The Story of a Child,” a sensitive, highly strung, morbid and
imaginative little girl, who seems born to give the lie to Schopenhauer’s
comfortable verdict, that “the keenest sorrows and the keenest joys are not
for women to feel.” Ellen Dale suffers as only a self-centred nature can. She
thinks about her self so much that her poor little head is turned with fancied
shortcomings and imaginary wrongs. Most children have these sombre
moods now and again. They don’t overcome them; they forget them, which
is a better and healthier thing to do. But Ellen’s humors are analyzed with a
good deal of seriousness and sympathy. When she is not “agonized” over
her tiny faults, she is “tasting sin with the subtle epicurean delight of the
artistic temperament;” a passage which may be aptly compared with George
Eliot’s tamer description of Lucy Deane trotting by her cousin Tom’s side,
“timidly enjoying the rare treat of doing something naughty.” The
sensations are practically the same, the methods of delineating them
different.
Mrs. Burnett, on the other hand, while indulging us unstintedly in
reminiscences of her own childhood, is disposed to paint the picture in
cheerful, not to say roseate colors. “The One I Knew the Best of All” was
evidently a very good, and clever, and pretty, and well-dressed little girl,
who played her part with amiability and decorum in all the small
vicissitudes common to infant years. No other children being permitted to
enter the narrative, except as lay figures, our attention is never diverted
from the small creature with the curls, who studies her geography, and eats
her pudding, and walks in the Square, and dances occasionally at parties,
and behaves herself invariably as a nice little girl should. It is reassuring,
after reading the youthful recollections of Sir Richard Burton, with their
irreverent and appalling candor, to be gently consoled by Mrs. Burnett, and
to know with certainty that she really was such a delightful and charming
child.
For Sir Richard, following the fashion of the day, has left us a spirited
record of his early years, and they furnish scant food for edification. There
was a time when unfledged vices, like unfledged virtues, were ignored by
the biographer, and forgotten even by the more conscientious writer, who
compiled his own memoirs. Scott’s account of his boyhood is graphic, but
all too brief. Boswell, the diffuse, speeds over Johnson’s tender youth with
some not very commendatory remarks about his “dismal inertness of
disposition.” Gibbon, indeed, awakens our expectations with this solemn
and stately sentence:—
“My lot might have been that of a slave, a savage, or a peasant; nor can I
reflect without pleasure on the bounty of nature which cast my birth in a
free and civilized country, in an age of science and philosophy, in a family
of honorable rank, and decently endowed with the gifts of fortune.”
After which majestic preamble, we are surprised to see how little interest
he takes in his own sickly and studious childhood, and how disinclined he is
to say complimentary things about his own precocity. He writes without
enthusiasm:—
“For myself I must be content with a very small share of the civil and
literary fruits of a public school.”
Burton, unhappily, had no share at all, and the loss of training and
discipline told heavily on him all his life. His lawless and wandering
childhood, so full of incident and so destitute of charm, is described with
uncompromising veracity in Lady Burton’s portly volumes. He was as far
removed from the virtues of Lord Fauntleroy as from the brilliant and
elaborate naughtiness of the Heavenly Twins; but he has the advantage over
all these little people in being so convincingly real. He fought until he was
beaten “as thin as a shotten herring.” He knocked down his nurse—with the
help of his brother and sister—and jumped on her. He hid behind the
curtains and jeered at his grandmother’s French. He was not pretty, and he
was not picturesque.
“A piece of yellow nankin would be bought to dress the whole family,
like three sticks of barley sugar.”
He was not amiable, and he was not polite, and he was not a safe child
on whom to try experiments of the “Harry and Lucy” order, as the
following anecdote proves:
“By way of a wholesome and moral lesson of self-command and self-
denial, our mother took us past Madame Fisterre’s (the pastry cook’s)
windows, and bade us look at all the good things; whereupon we fixed our
ardent affections on a tray of apple puffs. Then she said: ‘Now, my dears,
let us go away; it is so good for little children to restrain themselves.’ Upon
this we three devilets turned flashing eyes and burning cheeks on our
moralizing mother, broke the window with our fists, clawed out the tray of
apple puffs, and bolted, leaving poor Mother a sadder and a wiser woman,
to pay the damages of her lawless brood’s proceedings.”
It is the children’s age when such a story—and many more like it—are
gleefully narrated and are gladly read. Yet if we must exchange the old-time
reticence for unreserved disclosures, if we must hear all about an author’s
infancy from his teething to his first breeches, and from his A B C’s to his
Greek and Latin, it is better to have him presented to us with such
unqualified veracity. He is not attractive when seen in this strong light, but
he is very much alive.
 A FORGOTTEN POET.
There has been a vast deal of moralizing on the brevity of fame ever
since that far-away day when mankind became sufficiently sophisticated to
covet posthumous distinction. Yet, in reality, it is not so surprising that
people should be forgotten as that they should be remembered, and
remembered often for the sake of one swift, brave deed that cost no effort,
or of a few lovely words thrown to the world in a moment of unconscious
inspiration, when the writer little dreamed he was forging a chain strong
enough to link him with the future. Occasionally, too, a species of
immortality is conferred upon respectable mediocrity by the affection or the
abhorrence it excites. The men whom Pope rhymed about because he hated
them, the men to whom Lamb wrote so delightfully because he loved them,
all live for us in the indestructible land of letters. It would be a hard matter
to reckon up the sum of indebtedness which is thus innocently incurred by
those who have no coin of their own for payment.
Not long ago a writer of distinction was idling his way pleasantly
through a volume of Mrs. Browning’s poetry, when his attention was
arrested by a quotation which stood at the head of that rather nebulous
effusion, “A Rhapsody of Life’s Progress.” It was but a single line,
“Fill all the stops of life with tuneful breath,”

and it was accredited to Cornelius Mathews, author of “Poems on Man.” A

foot-note,—people were more generous in the matter of foot-notes forty
years ago than now—gave the additional and somewhat startling
information that “Poems on Man” was “a small volume by an American
poet, as remarkable in thought and manner for a vital sinewy vigour as the
right arm of Pathfinder.” This was stout praise. “The right arm of
Pathfinder.” We all know what sinewy vigor was there; but of Cornelius
Mathews, it would seem, no man knew anything at all. Yet his poems had
traveled far when they lay in Mrs. Browning’s path, and of her admiration
for them she had left us this unstinted proof. Moreover the one line,

“Fill all the stops of life with tuneful breath”

had in it enough of character and sweetness to provoke an intelligent
curiosity. As a scholar and a man of letters, the reader felt his interest
awakened. He replaced Mrs. Browning on the book shelf, and made up his
mind with characteristic distinctness he would read the poems of this
forgotten American author.
It was not an easy resolution to keep. A confident appeal to the public
libraries of New York and Philadelphia brought to light the astonishing fact
that no copy of the “Poems on Man” was to be found within their walls. The
work had been published in several editions by Harper and Brothers
between the years 1838 and 1843; but no forlorn and dust covered volume
still lingered on their shelves. The firm, when interrogated, knew no more
about Cornelius Mathews than did the rest of the reading world. The next
step was to advertise for a second-hand copy; but for a long while it seemed
as though even second-hand copies had disappeared from the face of the
continent. The book was so exceedingly rare that it must have been a
universal favorite for the lighting of household fires. In the end, however,
persevering effort was crowned with its inevitable success. “The works of
Cornelius Mathews” were unearthed from some dim corner of obscurity,
and suffered to see the genial light of day.
They comprise a great deal of prose and a very little verse, all bound up
together, after the thrifty fashion of our fathers, in one portly volume, with
dull crimson sides, and double columns of distressingly fine print. The
“Poems on Man” are but nineteen in number, and were originally published
in a separate pamphlet. They are arranged systematically, and are designed
to do honor to American citizenship under its most sober and commonplace
aspect. The author is in no way discouraged by the grayness of his
atmosphere, nor by the unheroic material with which he has to deal. On the
contrary, he is at home with farmers, and mechanics, and merchants; and ill
at ease with painters and soldiers, to whom it must be confessed he
preaches a little too palpably. It is painful to consider what bad advice he
gives to the sculptor in this one vicious line,

“Think not too much what other climes have done.”

Yet, in truth, he is neither blind to the past, nor unduly elated with the
present. He feels the splendid possibilities of a young nation with all its life
before it; and earnestly, and with dignity, he pleads for the development of
character, and for a higher system of morality. If his verse be uneven and
mechanical, and the sinewy vigor of Pathfinder be not so apparent as might
have been reasonably expected, I can still understand how these simple and
manly sentiments should have awakened the enthusiasm of Mrs. Browning,
who was herself no student of form, and who sincerely believed that poetry
was a serious pursuit designed for the improvement of mankind.
In his narrower fashion, Mr. Cornelius Mathews shared this pious creed,
and strove, within the limits of his meagre art, to awaken in the hearts of his
countrymen a patriotism sober and sincere. He calls on the journalist to tell
the truth, on the artisan to respect the interests of his employer, on the
merchant to cherish an old-time honor and honesty, on the politician to
efface himself for the good of his constituency.

“Accursed who on the Mount of Rulers sits,

Nor gains some glimpses of a fairer day;
Who knows not there, what there his soul befits,—
Thoughts that leap up and kindle far away
The coming time! Who rather dulls the ear
With brawling discord and a cloud of words;
Owning no hopeful object, far or near,
Save what the universal self affords.”

This is not heroic verse, but it shows an heroic temper. The writer has
evidently some knowledge of things as they are, and some faith in things as
they ought to be, and these twin sources of grace save him from bombast
and from cynicism. Never in all the earnest and appealing lines does he
indulge himself or his readers in that exultant self-glorification which is so
gratifying and so inexpensive. His patriotism is not of the shouting and hat-
flourishing order, but has its roots in an anxious and loving regard for the
welfare of his fatherland. Occasionally he strikes a poetic note, and has
moments of brief but genuine inspiration.

“The elder forms, the antique mighty faces,”

which lend their calm and shadowy presence to the farmer’s toil, bring with
them swift glimpses of a strong pastoral world. Not a blithe world by any
means. No Pan pipes in the rushes. No shaggy herdsmen sing in rude
mirthful harmony. No sun-burnt girls laugh in the harvest-field. Rusticity
has lost its native grace, and the cares of earth sit at the fireside of the
husbandman. Yet to him belong moments of deep content, and to his clean
and arduous life are given pleasures which the artisan has never known.

“Better to watch the live-long day

The clouds that come and go,
Wearying the heaven they idle through,
And fretting out its everlasting blue.
Though sadness on the woods may often lie,
And wither to a waste the meadowy land,
Pure blows the air, and purer shines the sky,
For nearer always to Heaven’s gate you stand.”

The most curious characteristic of Mr. Mathew’s work is the easy and
absolute fashion in which it ignores the influence, and indeed the very
existence of woman. The word “man” must here be taken in its literal
significance. It is not of the human race that the author sings, but of one half
of it alone. No troublesome flutter of petticoats disturbs his serene
meditations; no echo of passion haunts his placid verse. Even in his opening
stanzas on “The Child,” there is no allusion to any mother. The infant
appears to have come into life after the fashion of Pallas Athene, and upon
the father only depends its future weal or woe. The teacher apparently
confines his labors to little boys; the preacher has a congregation of men;
the reformer, the scholar, the citizen, the friend, all dwell in a cool
masculine world, where the seductive voice of womankind never insinuates
itself to the endangering of sober and sensible behavior. This enforced
absence of “The Eternal Feminine” is more striking when we approach the
realms of art. Does the painter desire subjects for his brush?

“The mountain and the sea, the setting sun,

The storm, the face of men, and the calm moon,”

are considered amply sufficient for his needs. Does the sculptor ask for
models? They are presented him in generous abundance.
“Crowned heroes of the early age,
Chieftain and soldier, senator and sage;
The tawny ancient of the warrior race,
With dusky limb and kindling face.”
Or, should he prefer less conventional types—

“Colossal and resigned, the gloomy gods

Eying at large their lost abodes,
Towering and swart, and knit in every limb;
With brows on which the tempest lives,
With eyes wherein the past survives,
Gloomy, and battailous, and grim.”

With all these legitimate subjects at his command, why indeed should the
artist turn aside after that beguiling beauty which Eve saw reflected in the
clear waters of Paradise, and which she loved with unconscious vanity or
ever Adam met her amorous gaze. Only to the poet is permitted the smallest
glimpse into the feminine world. In one brief half-line, Mr. Mathews coldly
and chastely allows that “young Love” may whisper something—we are not
told what—which is best fitted for the poetic ear.
What an old-fashioned bundle of verse it is, though written a bare half
century ago! How far removed from the delicate conceits, the inarticulate
sadness of our modern versifiers; from the rondeaux, and ballades, and
pastels, and impressions, and nocturnes, with which we have grown
bewilderingly familiar. How these titles alone would have puzzled the sober
citizen who wrote the “Poems on Man,” and who endeavored with rigid
honesty to make his meaning as clear as English words would permit. There
is no more chance to speculate over these stanzas than there is to speculate
over Hogarth’s pictures. What is meant is told, not vividly, but with
steadfast purpose, and with an innocent hope that it may be of some service
to the world. The world, indeed, has forgotten the message, and forgotten
the messenger as well. Only in a brief foot-note of Mrs. Browning’s there
lingers still the faint echo of what once was life. For such modest merit
there is no second sunrise; and yet a quiet reader may find an hour well
spent in the staid company of these serious verses, whose best eloquence is
their sincerity.
 DIALOGUES.
Dialogues have come back into fashion and favor. Editors of magazines
look on them kindly, and readers of magazines accept them as
philosophically as they accept any other form of instruction or
entertainment which is provided in their monthly bills of fare. Perhaps Mr.
Oscar Wilde is in some measure responsible for the revival; perhaps it may
be traced more directly to the serious and stimulating author of “Baldwin,”
whose discussions are sufficiently subtle and relentless to gratify the
keenest discontent. The restless reader who embarks on Vernon Lee’s portly
volume of conversations half wishes he knew people who could discourse
in that fashion, and is half grateful that he doesn’t. To converse for hours on
“Doubts and Pessimism,” or “The Value of the Ideal,” is no trivial test of
endurance, especially when one person does three-fourths of the talking. We
hardly know which to admire most: Baldwin, who elucidates a text—and
that text, evolution—for six pages at a breath, or Michael, who listens and
“smiles.” Even the occasional intermissions, when “Baldwin shook his
head,” or “they took a turn in silence,” or “Carlo’s voice trembled,” or
“Dorothy pointed to the moors,” do little to relieve the general tension. It is
no more possible to support conversation on this high and serious level than
it is possible to nourish it on Mr. Wilde’s brilliant and merciless epigrams.
Those sparkling dialogues in which Cyril might be Vivian, and Vivian,
Cyril; or Gilbert might be Ernest, and Ernest, Gilbert, because all alike are
Mr. Wilde, and speak with his voice alone, dazzle us only to betray. They
are admirable pieces of literary workmanship; they are more charming and
witty than any contemporaneous essays. But if we will place by their side
those few and simple pages in which Landor permits Montaigne and Joseph
Scaliger to gossip together for a brief half hour at breakfast time, we will
better understand the value of an element which Mr. Wilde excludes—
humanity, with all its priceless sympathies and foibles.
Nevertheless, it is not Landor’s influence, by any means, which is felt in
the random dialogues of to-day. He is an author more praised than loved,
more talked about than read, and his unapproachable delicacy and
distinction are far removed from all efforts of facile imitation. Our modern
“imaginary conversations,” whether openly satiric, or gravely instructive,
are fashioned on other models. They have a faint flavor of Lucian, a
subdued and decent reflection of the “Noctes;” but they never approach the
classic incisiveness and simplicity of Landor. There is a delightfully witty
dialogue of Mr. Barrie’s called “Brought Back from Elysium,” in which the
ghosts of Scott, Fielding, Smollett, Dickens, and Thackeray are interviewed
by five living novelists, who kindly undertake to point out to them the
superiority of modern fiction. In this admirable little satire, every stroke
tells, every phantom and every novelist speaks in character, and the author,
with dexterous art, fits his shafts of ridicule into the easy play of a possible
conversation. Nothing can be finer than the way in which Scott’s native
modesty, of which not even Elysium and the Grove of Bay-trees have
robbed him, struggles with his humorous perception of the situation.
Fielding is disposed to be angry, Thackeray severe, and Dickens infinitely
amused. But Sir Walter, dragged against his will into this unloved and alien
atmosphere, is anxious only to give every man his due. “How busy you
must have been, since my day,” he observes with wistful politeness, when
informed that the stories have all been told, and that intellectual men and
women no longer care to prance with him after a band of archers, or follow
the rude and barbarous fortunes of a tournament.
For such brief bits of satire the dialogue affords an admirable medium, if
it can be handled with ease and force. For imparting opinions upon abstract
subjects it is sure to be welcomed by coward souls who think that
information broken up into little bits is somewhat easier of digestion. I am
myself one of those weak-minded people, and the beguiling aspect of a
conversation, which generally opens with a deceptive air of sprightliness,
has lured me many times beyond my mental depths. Nor have I ever been
able to understand why Mr. Ruskin’s publishers should have entreated him,
after the appearance of “Ethics of the Dust,” to “write no more in
dialogues.” To my mind, that charming book owes its quality of
readableness to the form in which it is cast, to the breathing-spells afforded
by the innocent questions and comments of the children.
Mr. W. W. Story deals more gently with us than any other imaginary
conversationalist. From the moment that “He and She” meet unexpectedly
on the first page of “A Poet’s Portfolio,” until they say good-night upon the
last, they talk comprehensively and agreeably upon topics in which it is
easy to feel a healthy human interest. They drop into poetry and climb back
into prose with a good deal of facility and grace. They gossip about dogs
and spoiled children; they say clever and true things about modern
criticism; they converse seriously, but not solemnly, about life and love and
literature. They do not resolutely discuss a given subject, as do the Squire
and Foster in Sir Edward Strachey’s “Talk at a Country House;” but sway
from text to text after the frivolous fashion of flesh and blood; a fashion
with which Mr. Story has made us all familiar in his earlier volumes of
conversations. He is a veteran master of his field; yet, nevertheless, the
Squire and Foster are pleasant companions for a winter night. I like to feel
how thoroughly I disagree with both, and how I long to make a discordant
element in their friendly talk; and this is precisely the charm of dialogues as
a medium for opinions and ideas. Whether the same form can be
successfully applied to fiction is at least a matter of doubt. Laurence Alma
Tadema has essayed to use it in “An Undivined Tragedy,” and the result is
hardly encouraging. The mother tells the tale in a simple and touching
manner; and the daughter’s ejaculations and comments are of no use save to
disturb the narrative. It is hard enough to put a story into letters where the
relator suffers no ill-timed interruptions; but to embody it in a dialogue—
which is at the same time no play—is to provide a needless element of
confusion, and to derange the boundary line which separates fiction from
the drama.
 A CURIOUS CONTENTION.
What an inexhaustible fund of quarrelsomeness lies at the bottom of the
human heart! Since the beginning of the world, men have fought and
wrangled with one another; and now women seem to find their keenest
pleasure and exhilaration in fighting and wrangling with men. In literature,
in journalism, in lectures, in discussions of every kind, they are lifting up
their voices with an angry cry which sounds a little like Madame de
Sévigné’s “respectful protestation against Providence.” They are tired,
apparently, of being women, and are disposed to lay all the blame of their
limitations upon men.
There is nothing very healthful in such an attitude, nothing dignified,
nothing morally sustaining. Life is not easy to understand, but it seems
tolerably clear that two sexes were put upon the world to exist
harmoniously together, and to do, each of them, a share of the world’s work.
Their relation to one another has been a matter of vital interest from the
beginning, and no new light has dawned suddenly upon this century or this
people. The shrill contempt heaped by a few vehement women upon men,
the bitter invectives, the wholesale denunciations are as valueless and as
much to be regretted as the old familiar Billingsgate which once expressed
what Mr. Arnold termed “the current compliments” of theology. It is not
convincing to hear that “man has shrunk to his real proportions in our
estimation,” because we are still in the dark as to what these proportions
are. It is doubtless true that he is “imperfect from the woman’s point of
view,” and imperfect, let us conclude, from his own; but whether we have
attained that sure superiority which will enable us to work out his salvation
is at least a matter for dispute. There is an ancient and unpopular virtue
called humility which might be safely recommended to a woman capable of
writing such a passage as this, which is taken from an article published
recently in the “North American Review.” “We know the weakness of man,
and will be patient with him, and help him with his lesson. It is the woman’s
place and pride and pleasure to teach the child, and man morally is in his
infancy. Woman holds out a strong hand to the child-man, and insists, but
with infinite tenderness and pity, upon helping him along.”
 The fine unconscious humor of this suggestion ought to put everybody in
a good temper, and clear the air with a hearty laugh. But the desire to lead
other people rather than to control one’s self, though not often so naively
stated, is by no means new in the history of morals. It must have fallen
many times under the observation of Thomas à Kempis before he wrote this
gentle word of reproof. “In judging others a man usually toileth in vain. For
the most part he is mistaken, and he easily sinneth. But in judging and
scrutinizing himself, he always laboreth with profit.”
And, indeed, though it be true that in civilized communities a larger
proportion of women than of men live lives of cleanliness and self-restraint,
yet it should be remembered that the great leaders of spiritual thought, the
great reformers of minds and morals, have invariably been men. All that is
best in word and example, all that is upholding, stimulating, purifying, and
strenuous has been the gift of these faltering creatures, whom we are now
invited to take in hand, and conduct with “tenderness and pity” on their
paths. It might also be worth while to remind ourselves occasionally that
although we women may be destined to do the work of the future, men have
done the work of the past, and have struggled not altogether in vain, for the
physical and intellectual welfare of the world. This is a point which is
sometimes ignored in a very masterly manner. Eliza Burt Gamble who has
written a book on “The Evolution of Woman. An Inquiry into the Dogma of
her Inferiority to Man,” is exceedingly severe on theologians, priests, and
missionaries, by whom she considers our sex has been held in subjection.
She lays great stress on certain material facts, as, for example, the excess of
male births in times of war, famine, or pestilence; and the excess of female
births in periods of peace and plenty, when better nutrition brings about this
higher and happier result. She asserts that there are more male than female
idiots, and that reversions to a lower type are more common among men
than women. She has a great deal to say about the ancient custom of wife-
capture as a token of female superiority, and about the supremacy of woman
in all primitive and prehistoric life, a supremacy founded upon her finer
organization, and upon the altruistic principles which rule her conduct. But
even in this spirited and elaborate argument no attempt is made to put side
by side the work of woman and of man; no comparison is offered of their
relative contributions to civilization, social progress, art, science, literature,
music, or religion. Yet these are the tests by which preëminence is judged,
and to ignore them is to confess a failure. “If you wish me to believe that
you are witty, I must really trouble you to make a joke.” If you are better
than the workers of the world, show me the fruits of your labor.
Against this reasonable demand it is urged that never in the past, or at
least never since those pleasant primitive days, of which, unhappily, no
distinct record has been preserved, have women been permitted free scope
for their abilities. They have been kept down by the tyranny of men, and
have afforded through all the centuries a living proof that the strong and
good can be ruled by the weak and bad, physical force alone having given
to man the mastery. It was reserved for our generation to straighten this
tangled web, and to assign to each sex its proper limits and qualifications.
The greatest change the world has ever seen is taking place to-day.
“However full the air may be of other sounds,” said a recent lecturer on
this subject, “the cry that rises highest and swells the loudest comes from
the throats of women who in the last years of the nineteenth century of the
Christian era are just beginning to live. Men cannot appreciate this as we
do. From time out of mind they have used their brains and their instincts as
they chose, and they cannot understand the ecstacy we feel as we stretch the
limbs which have been cramped so long. What does it matter if they do not?
One thing is sure. New wine is not put into old bottles. The village that has
become a city does not return to its villageship. The man does not put on the
child’s garments again. So, whether men hate us or love us, we have
outgrown the cage in which we sang. The woman of the past is dead.”
It is not highly probable that universal hate will ever supplant that older
emotion which must be held responsible for the existence and the
circumstances of human life. But “the woman of the past” is a broad term,
and admits of a good deal of variety, The chaste Susanna and Potiphar’s
wife; Cornelia and Messalina; Jeanne d’Arc and Madame de Pompadour;
Hannah More and Aphra Behn, these are divergent types, and the singing
bird in her cage does not stand very distinctly for any of them. Humanity is
a large factor, and must be taken into serious account before we assure
ourselves too confidently that the old order is passing away. For good or for
ill, women have lived their lives with some approach to entirety during the
slow progress of the ages. It can hardly be claimed that either Cleopatra or
St. Theresa was cramped by confinement out of her broadest and amplest
development.
 Even if a radical change is imminent, there is no reason to be so fiercely
contentious about it. Let us remember Dr. Watts, and be pacified. Our little
hands were never made to tear each other’s eyes. It is possible surely to
plead for female suffrage without saying spiteful and sarcastic things about
men, especially as it is not their opposition, but the listless indifference of
our own sex, which stands between the eager advocate and her vote. There
is still less propriety in permitting this angry sentiment to bias our
conceptions of morality, and we pay but a poor tribute to woman in
assuming that she should be privileged to sin. The damnation of Faust and
the apotheosis of Margaret make one of the most effective of stage
illusions; but it is not a safe guide to practical rectitude, and we might do
well to remember that it is not Goethe’s final solution of the problem. In our
vehement reaction from the stringent rules of the past, we are now assuming
that the seven deadly sins grow less malignant in woman’s hands, and that
she can shift the burden of moral responsibility to the shoulders of that arch
offender, man. The shameful evidence of the courts is bandied about in
social circles, and made the subject-matter of denunciatory rhetoric on the
part of those whom self-respect should silence. It does not strengthen one’s
confidence in the future, to see the present lack of moderation and sanity in
people who are going to reform the world. When wives and mothers meet to
denounce with bitter eloquence the immorality of men, and then ask
contributions for a monument to Mary Wollstonecraft, “who suffered social
martyrdom in England a hundred years ago, for advocating the rights of
woman,” one feels a little puzzled as to the mental attitude of these
impetuous creatures. A sense of humor would save us from many
discouraging outbreaks, but humor is not a common attribute of reformers.
It is the peace-maker of the world, and this is the day of contentions.
 THE PASSING OF THE ESSAY.
It is the curious custom of modern men of letters to talk to the world a
great deal about their work; to explain its conditions, to uphold its value, to
protest against adverse criticism, and to interpret the needs and aspirations
of mankind through the narrow medium of their own resources. A good
many years have passed since Mr. Arnold noticed the growing tendency to
express the very ordinary desires of very ordinary people by such imposing
phrases as “laws of human progress” and “edicts of the national mind.” To-
day, if a new story or a new play meets with unusual approbation, it is at
once attributed to some sudden mental development of society, to some
distinct change in our methods of regarding existence. We are assured
without hesitation that all stories and all plays in the near future will be
built up upon these favored models.
To a few of us, perhaps, such prophetic voices have but a dismal ring.
We listen to their repeated cry, “The old order passeth away,” and we are
sorry in our hearts, having loved it well for years, and feeling no absolute
confidence in its successor. Then some fine afternoon we look abroad, and
are amazed to see so much of the old order still remaining, and apparently
disinclined to pass away, even when it is told plainly to go. How many
times have we been warned that poetry is shaking off its shackles, and that
rhyme and rhythm have had their little day? Yet now, as in the past, poets
are dancing cheerfully in fetters, with a harmonious sound which is most
agreeable to our ears. How many times have we been told that Sir Walter
Scott’s novels are dead, stone dead; that their grave has been dug, and their
epitaph written? Yet new and beautiful editions are following each other so
rapidly from the press, that the most ardent enthusiast wonders wistfully
who are the happy men with money enough to buy them. How many times
have we been assured that realistic and psychological fiction has supplanted
its gay brother of romance? Yet never was there a day when writers of
romantic stories sprang so rapidly and so easily into fame. Stevenson leads
the line, but Conan Doyle and Stanley Weyman follow close behind; while
as for Mr. Rider Haggard, he is a problem which defies any reasonable
solution. The fabulous prices paid by syndicates for his tales, the thousands
of readers who wait breathlessly from week to week for the carefully doled-
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