diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:30 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:25:30 -0700 |
| commit | 70a222d72f69f0b22791fb2c61412359ad2274c5 (patch) | |
| tree | 64dfda60155ce31db21085fdc3d3961d2c16c4fe | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5407.txt | 12894 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5407.zip | bin | 0 -> 300026 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
5 files changed, 12910 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5407.txt b/5407.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ab17b90 --- /dev/null +++ b/5407.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12894 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Recreations of A Country Parson +by A. K. H. Boyd + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Recreations of A Country Parson + +Author: A. K. H. Boyd + +Release Date: April, 2004 [EBook #5407] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on July 9, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE RECREATIONS OF A COUNTRY PARSON *** + + + + +This eBook was created by Charles Aldarondo (pg@aldarondo.net). + + + +THE RECREATIONS OF A COUNTRY PARSON. + +SECOND SERIES. + +A. K. H. BOYD. + +BOSTON: + +1862. + + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + + + +CHAPTER I. CONCERNING THE PARSON'S CHOICE + +CHAPTER II. CONCERNING DISAPPOINTMENT AND SUCCESS + +CHAPTER III. CONCERNING SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS + +CHAPTER IV. CONCERNING CHURCHYARDS + +CHAPTER V. CONCERNING SUMMER DAYS + +CHAPTER VI. CONCERNING SCREWS + +CHAPTER VII. CONCERNING SOLITARY DAYS + +CHAPTER VIII. CONCERNING GLASGOW DOWN THE WATER + +CHAPTER IX. CONCERNING MAN AND HIS DWELLING-PLACE + +CHAPTER X. LIFE AT THE WATER-CURE + +CHAPTER XI. CONCERNING FRIENDS IN COUNCIL + +CHAPTER XII. CONCERNING THE PULPIT IN SCOTLAND + +CHAPTER XIII. CONCERNING FUTURE TEARS + +CHAPTER XIV. CONCLUSION + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +CONCERNING THE PARSON'S CHOICE BETWEEN TOWN AND COUNTRY. + + + + +One very happy circumstance in a clergyman's lot, is that he is +saved from painful perplexity as regards his choice of the scene +in which he is to spend his days and years. I am sorry for the +man who returns from Australia with a large fortune; and with no +further end in life than to settle down somewhere and enjoy it. +For in most cases he has no special tie to any particular place; +and he must feel very much perplexed where to go. Should any person +who may read this page cherish the purpose of leaving me a hundred +thousand pounds to invest in a pretty little estate, I beg that +he will at once abandon such a design. He would be doing me no +kindness. I should be entirely bewildered in trying to make up my +mind where I should purchase the property. I should be rent asunder +by conflicting visions of rich English landscape, and heathery Scottish +hills: of seaside breezes, and inland meadows: of horse-chestnut +avenues, and dark stern pine-woods. And after the estate had been +bought, I should always be looking back and thinking I might have +done better. So, on the whole, I would prefer that my reader should +himself buy the estate, and bequeath it to me: and then I could +soon persuade myself that it was the prettiest estate and the +pleasantest neighbourhood in Britain. + +Now, as a general rule, the Great Disposer says to the parson, Here +is your home, here lies your work through life: go and reconcile +your mind to it, and do your best in it. No doubt there are men in +the Church whose genius, popularity, influence, or luck is such, +that they have a bewildering variety of livings pressed upon them: +but it is not so with ordinary folk; and certainly it was not so +with me. I went where Providence bade me go, which was not where +I had wished to go, and not where I had thought to go. Many who +know me through the pages which make this and a preceding volume, +have said, written, and printed, that I was specially cut out for +a country parson, and specially adapted to relish a quiet country +life. Not more, believe me, reader, than yourself. It is in every +man who sets himself to it to attain the self-same characteristics. +It is quite true I have these now: but, a few years since, never +was mortal less like them. No cockney set down near Sydney Smith +at Foston-le-Clay: no fish, suddenly withdrawn from its native +stream: could feel more strange and cheerless than did I when I +went to my beautiful country parish, where I have spent such happy +days, and which I have come to love so much. + +I have said that the parson is for the most part saved the labour +of determining where he shall pitch his tent: his place and his +path in life are marked out for him. But he has his own special +perplexity and labour: quite different from those of the man to +whom the hundred thousand pounds to invest in land are bequeathed: +still, as some perhaps would think, no less hard. His work is to +reconcile his mind to the place where God has set him. Every mortal +must, in many respects, face one of these two trials. There is all +the world before you, where to choose; and then the struggle to +make a decided choice with which you shall on reflection remain +entirely satisfied. Or there is no choice at all: the Hand above +gives you your place and your work; and then there is the struggle +heartily and cheerfully to acquiesce in the decree as to which you +were not consulted. + +And this is not always an easy thing; though I am sure that the +man who honestly and Christianly tries to do it, will never fail to +succeed at last. How curiously people are set down in the Church; +and indeed in all other callings whatsoever! You find men in the +last places they would have chosen; in the last places for which +you would say they are suited. You pass a pretty country church, +with its parsonage hard-by embosomed in trees and bright with +roses. Perhaps the parson of that church had set his heart on an +entirely different kind of charge: perhaps he is a disappointed +man, eager to get away, and (the very worst possible policy) trying +for every vacancy of which he can hear. You think, as you pass by, +and sit down on the churchyard wall, how happy you could be in so +quiet and sweet a spot: well, if you are willing to do a thing, +it is pleasant: but if you are struggling with a chain you cannot +break, it is miserable. The pleasantest thing becomes painful, +if it is felt as a restraint. What can be cosier than the warm +environment of sheet and blanket which encircles you in your snug +bed? Yet if you awake during the night at some alarm of peril, and +by a sudden effort try at once to shake yourself clear of these +trammels, you will, for the half-minute before you succeed, feel +that soft restraint as irksome as iron fetters. 'Let your will lead +whither necessity would drive,' said Locke, 'and you will always +preserve your liberty.' No doubt, it is wise advice; but how to do +all that? + +Well, it can be done: but it costs an effort. Great part of the +work of the civilized and educated man consists of that which the +savage, and even the uneducated man, would not regard as work at +all. The things which cost the greatest effort may be done, perhaps, +as you sit in an easy chair with your eyes shut. And such an effort +is that of making up our mind to many things, both in our own lot, +and in the lot of others. I mean not merely the intellectual effort +to look at the success of other men and our own failure in such a +way as that we shall be intellectually convinced that, we have no +right to complain of either: I do not mean merely the labour to +put things in the right point of view: but the moral effort to look +fairly at the facts not in any way disguised,--not tricked out by +some skilful art of putting things;--and yet to repress all wrong +feeling;--all fretfulness, envy, jealousy, dislike, hatred. I do +not mean, to persuade ourselves that the grapes are sour; but (far +nobler surely) to be well aware that they are sweet, and yet be +content that another should have them and not we. I mean the labour, +when you have run in a race and been beaten, to resign your mind +to the fact that you have been beaten, and to bear a kind feeling +towards the man who beat you. And this is labour, and hard labour; +though very different from that physical exertion which the uncivilized +man would understand by the word. Every one can understand that to +carry a heavy portmanteau a mile is work. Not every one remembers +that the owner of the portmanteau, as he walks on carrying nothing +weightier than an umbrella, may be going through exertion much +harder than that of the porter. Probably St. Paul never spent +days of harder work in all his life, than the days he spent lying +blind at Damascus, struggling to get free from the prejudices and +convictions of all his past years, and resolving--on the course he +would pursue in the years to come. + +I know that in all professions and occupations to which men +can devote themselves, there is such a thing as com petition: and +wherever there is competition, there will be the temptation to envy, +jealousy, and detraction, as regards a man's competitors: and so +there will be the need of that labour and exertion which lie in +resolutely trampling that temptation down. You are quite certain, +rny friend, as you go on through life, to have to make up your +mind to failure and disappointment on your own part, and to seeing +other men preferred before you. When these tilings come, there +are two ways of meeting them. One is, to hate and vilify those who +surpass you, either in merit or in success: to detract from their +merit and under-rate their success: or, if you must admit some +merit, to bestow upon it very faint praise. Now, all this is natural +enough; but assuredly it is neither a right nor a happy course to +follow. The other and better way is, to fight these tendencies to +the death: to struggle against them, to pray against them: to resign +yourself to God's good will: to admire and love the man who beats +you. This course is the right one, and the happy one. I believe the +greatest blessing God can send a man, is disappointment, rightly +met and used. There is no more ennobling discipline: there is no +discipline that results in a happier or kindlier temper of mind. +And in honestly fighting against the evil impulses which have been +mentioned, you will assuredly get help and strength to vanquish +them. I have seen the plain features look beautiful, when man or +woman was faithfully by God's grace resisting wrong feelings and +tendencies, such as these. It is a noble end to attain, and it +is well worth all the labour it costs, to resolutely be resigned, +cheerful, and kind, when you feel a strong inclination to be +discontented, moody, and bitter of heart. Well said a very wise +mortal, 'Better is he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh +a city.' And that ruling of the spirit which is needful to rightly +meet disappointment, brings out the best and noblest qualities that +can be found in man. + +Sometimes, indeed, even in the parson's quiet life, he may know +something of the first perplexity of which we have been thinking: +the perplexity of the man who is struggling to make up his mind +where he is to settle down for the remainder of life. And it is +not long since such a perplexity came my way. For I had reached a +spot in my onward path at which I must make a decided choice. I must +go either to the right or the left: for, as Goldsmith has remarked +with great force, when the road you are pursuing parts into several +roads, you must be careful to follow only one. And I had to decide +between country and town. I had to resolve whether I was to remain +in that quiet cure of souls about which I formerly told you; or go +into the hard work and hurry of a large parish in a certain great +city. + +I had been for more than five years in that sweet country place: it +seemed a very long time as the days passed over. Even slow-growing +ivy grew feet longer in that time, and climbing roses covered yards +and yards of wall. And for very many months I thought that here I +was to live and die, and never dreamt of change. Not indeed that +my tastes were always such. At the beginning of that term of years, +when I went down each Sunday morning to preach in the plain little +church to a handful of quiet rustic people, I used to think of +a grand edifice where once upon a time, at my first start in my +profession, I had preached each afternoon for many months to a very +large congregation of educated folk; and I used to wonder whether +my old friends remembered and missed me. Once there was to me +a fascination about that grand church, and all connected with it: +now it is to me no more than it is to every one else, and I pass +near it almost every day and hardly look at it. Other men have +taken my old place in it, and had the like feelings, and got over +them. Several of these men I never saw: how much I should like to +shake each man's hand! But all these fancies were long, long ago: +I was pleased to be a country parson, and to make the best of it. +Friends, who have held like stations in life, have you not felt, +now and then, a little waking up of old ideas and aspirations? All +this, you thought, was not what you once had wished, and pictured +to yourself. You vainly fancied, in your student days, that you +might reach a more eminent place and greater usefulness. I know, +indeed, that even such as have gone very unwillingly to a little +remote country parish, have come most heartily to enjoy its peaceful +life: have grown fond of that, as they never thought to do. I do +not mean that you need affectedly talk, after a few months there, +as if you had lived in the country all your life, and as if your +thoughts had from childhood run upon horses, turnips, and corn. But +in sober earnest, as weeks pass over, you gain a great interest in +little country cares; and you discover that you may be abundantly +useful, and abundantly laborious, amid a small and simple population. + +Yet sometimes, my clever friend, I know you sit down on a green +bank, under the trees, and look at your little church. You think, +of your companions and competitors in College days, filling +distinguished places in life: and, more particularly, of this and +that friend in your own calling, who preaches to as many people on +one Sunday as you do in half a year. Fine fellows they were: and +though you seldom meet now, you are sure they are faithful, laborious, +able, and devoted ministers: God bless them all! You wonder how +they can do so much work; and especially how they have confidence +to preach to so large and intelligent congregations. For a certain +timidity, and distrust of his own powers, grows upon the country +parson. He is reaching the juster estimate of himself, indeed: yet +there is something not desirable in the nervous dislike to preach +in large churches and to cultivated people which is sure to come. +And little things worry him, which would not worry a mind kept more +upon the stretch. It is possible enough that among the Cumberland +hills, or in curacies like Sydney Smith's on Salisbury Plain, or +wandering sadly by the shore of Shetland fiords, there may be men +who had in them the makings of eminent preachers; but whose powers +have never been called out, and are rusting sadly away: and in whom +many petty cares are developing a pettiness of nature. + +I have observed that in those advertisements which occasionally appear +in certain newspapers, offering for sale the next presentation to +some living in the Church, the advertiser, after pointing out the +various advantages of the situation, frequently sums up by stating +that the population of the parish is very small, and so the +clergyman's duty very light. I always read such a statement with +great displeasure. For it seems to imply, that a clergyman's great +object is, to enjoy his benefice and do as little duty as possible +in return for it. I suppose it need not be proved, that if such +were truly the great object of any parson, he has no business to +be in the Church at all. Failing health, or powers overdriven, may +sometimes make even the parson whose heart is in his work desire a +charge whose duty and responsibility are comparatively small: but +I firmly believe that in the case of the great majority of clergymen, +it is the interest and delight they feel in their work, and not +its worldly emolument, that mainly attach them to their sacred +profession: and thus that the more work they have to do (provided +their strength be equal to it), the more desirable and interesting +they hold their charge to be. And I believe that the earnest pastor, +settled in some light and pleasant country charge, will oftentimes, +even amid his simple enjoyment of that pleasant life, think that +perhaps he would be more in the path of duty, if, while the best +years of his life are passing on, he were placed where he might +serve his Master in a larger sphere. + +And thinking now and then in this fashion, I was all of a sudden +asked to undertake a charge such as would once have been my very +ideal: and in that noble city where my work began, and so which +has always been very dear. But I felt that everything was changed. +Before these years of growing experience, I dare say I should not +have feared to set myself even to work as hard; but now I doubted +greatly whether I should prove equal to it. That time in the country +had made me sadly lose confidence. And I thought it would be very +painful and discouraging to go to preach to a large congregation, +and to see it Sunday by Sunday growing less, as people got discontented +and dropped away. + +But happily, those on whom I leant for guidance and advice, were +more hopeful than myself; and so I came away from my beautiful +country parish. You know, my friends, who have passed through the +like, the sorrow to look for the last time at each kind homely +face: the sorrow to turn away from the little church where you have +often preached to very small congregations: the sorrow to leave +each tree you have planted, and the evergreens whose growth you +have watched, year by year. Soon, you are in all the worry of what +in Scotland we call a flitting: the house and all its belongings +are turned upside down. The kindness of the people comes out with +tenfold strength when they know how soon you are to part. And some, +to whom you had tried to do little favours, and who had somewhat +disappointed you by the slight sense of them they had shown, now +testify by their tears a hearty regard which you never can forget. + +The Sunday comes when you enter your old pulpit for the last time. +You had prepared your sermon in a room from which the carpet had +been removed, and amid a general confusion and noise of packing. +The church is crowded in a fashion never seen before. You go through +the service, I think, with a sense of being somewhat stunned and +bewildered. And in the closing sentences of your sermon, you say +little of yourself; but in a few words, very hard to speak, you +thank your old friends for their kindness to you through the years +you have passed together; and you give them your parting advice, in +some sentence which seems to contain the essence of all you meant +to teach in all these Sundays; and you say farewell, farewell. + +You are happy, indeed, if after all, though quitting your country +parsonage, and turning over a new leaf in life, you have not to make +a change so entire as that from country to town generally is: if, +like me, you live in the most beautiful city in Britain: a city +where country and town are blended together: where there are green +gardens, fields, and trees: shady places into which you may turn +from the glaring streets, into verdure as cool and quiet as ever, +and where your little children can roll upon the grass, and string +daisies as of old; streets, from every opening in which you look +out upon blue hills and blue sea. No doubt, the work is very hard, +and very constant; and each Sunday is a very exciting and exhausting +day. You will understand, my friend, when you go to such a charge, +what honour is due to those venerable men who have faithfully and +efficiently done the duty of the like for thirty or forty years. +You will look at them with much interest: you will receive their +kindly counsel with great respect. You will feel it somewhat trying +and nervous work to ascend your pulpit; and to address men and women +who in mental cultivation, and in things much more important, are +more than equal to yourself. And as you walk down; always alone, +to church each Sunday morning, you will very earnestly apply for +strength and wisdom beyond your own, in a certain Quarter where +they will never be sought in vain. Yet you will delight in all your +duty: and you will thank God you feel that were your work in life +to choose again, you would give yourself to the noblest task that +can be undertaken by mortal, with a resolute purpose firmer a +thousand times than even the enthusiastic preference of your early +youth. The attention and sympathy with which your congregation +will listen to your sermons, will be a constant encouragement and +stimulus; and you will find friends so dear and true, that yon. +will hope never to part from them while life remains. In such a +life, indeed, these Essays, which never would have been begun had +my duty been always such, must be written in little snatches of +time: and perhaps a sharp critic could tell, from internal evidence, +which of them have been written in the country and which in the +town. I look up from the table at which I write: and the roses, +honeysuckle, and the fuchsias, of a year since, are far away: +through the window I discover lofty walls, whose colour inclines +to black. Yet I have not regretted the day, and I do not believe +I ever will regret the day, when I ceased to be a Country Parson. + + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +CONCERNING DISAPPOINTMENT AND SUCCESS. + + + + +Russet woods of Autumn, here you are once more! I saw you, golden +and brown, in the afternoon sunshine to-day. Crisp leaves were +falling, as I went along the foot-path through the woods: crisp +leaves lie upon the green graves in the churchyard, fallen from the +ashes: and on the shrubbery walks, crisp leaves from the beeches, +accumulated where the grass bounds the gravel, make a warm edging, +irregular, but pleasant to see. It is not that one is 'tired of +summer:' but there is something soothing and pleasing about the +autumn days. There is a great clearness of the atmosphere sometimes; +sometimes a subdued, gray light is diffused everywhere. In the +country, there is often, on these afternoons, a remarkable stillness +in the air, amid which you can hear a withering leaf rustling down. +I will not think that the time of bare branches and brown grass +is so very near as yet; Nature is indeed decaying, but now we have +decay only in its beautiful stage, wherein it is pensive, but not +sad. It is but early in October; and we, who live in the country all +through the winter, please ourselves with the belief that October +is one of the finest months of the year, and that we have many +warm, bright, still days yet before us. Of course we know we are +practising upon ourselves a cheerful, transparent delusion; even +as the man of forty-eight often declares that about forty-eight +or fifty is the prime of life. I like to remember that Mrs. Hemans +was describing October, when she began her beautiful poem on The +Battle of Morgarlen, by saying that, 'The wine-month shone in its +golden prime:' and I think that in these words the picture presented +to the mind of an untravelled Briton, is not the red grapes hanging in +blushing profusion, but rather the brown, and crimson, and golden +woods, in the warm October sunshine. So, you russet woods of autumn, +you are welcome once more; welcome with all your peculiar beauty, +so gently enjoyable by all men and women who have not used up life; +and with all your lessons, so unobtrusive, so touching, that have +come home to the heart of human generations for many thousands +of years. Yesterday was Sunday; and I was preaching to my simple +rustics an autumn sermon from the text We all do fade as a leaf. +As I read out the text, through a half-opened window near me, two +large withered oak-leaves silently floated into the little church +in the view of all the congregation. I could not but pause for a +minute till they should preach their sermon before I began mine. +How simply, how unaffectedly, with what natural pathos they seemed +to tell their story! It seemed as if they said, Ah you human beings, +something besides us is fading; here we are, the things like which +you fade! + +And now, upon this evening, a little sobered by the thought that +this is the fourth October which has seen this hand writing that +which shall attain the authority of print, I sit down to begin an +essay which is to be written leisurely as recreation and not as +work. I need not finish this essay, unless I choose, for six weeks +to come: so I have plenty of time, and I shall never have to write +under pressure. That is pleasant. And I write under another feeling, +more pleasing and encouraging still. I think that in these lines +I am addressing many unknown friends, who, though knowing nothing +more of me than they can learn from pages which I have written, +have come gradually not to think of me as a stranger. I wish here +to offer my thanks to many whose letters, though they were writing +only to a shadow, have spoken in so kindly a fashion of the writer's +slight productions, that they have given me much enjoyment in the +reading, and much encouragement to go on. To all my correspondents, +whether named or nameless, I now, in a moral sense, extend a friendly +hand. As to the question sometimes put, who the writer is, that +is of no consequence. But as to what he is, I think, intelligent +readers of his essays, you will gradually and easily see that. + +It is a great thing to write leisurely, and with a general feeling +of kindliness and satisfaction with everybody; but there is a +further reason why one should set to work at once. I feel I must +write now, before my subject loses its interest; and before the +multitude of thoughts, such as they are, which have been clustering +round it since it presented itself this afternoon in that walk +through the woods, have faded away. It is an unhappy thing, but it +is the fact with many men, that if you do not seize your fancies +when they come to you, and preserve them upon the written page, you +lose them altogether. They go away, and never come back. A little +while ago I pulled out a drawer in this table whereon I write; and +I took out of it a sheet of paper, on which there are written down +various subjects for essays. Several are marked with a large cross; +these are the essays which are beyond the reach of fate: they are +written and printed. Several others have no cross; these are the +subjects of essays which are yet to be written. But upon four of +those subjects I look at once with interest and sorrow. I remember +when I wrote down their names, what a vast amount, as I fancied, +I had to say about them: and all experience failed to make me feel +that unless those thoughts were seized and chronicled at once, +they would go away and never come back again. How rich the subjects +appeared to me, I well remember! Now they are lifeless, stupid +things, of which it is impossible to make anything. Before, they +were like a hive, buzzing with millions of bees. Now they are like +the empty hive, when the life and stir and bustle of the bees are +gone. O friendly reader, what a loss it was to you, that the writer +did not at once sit down and sketch out his essays, Concerning Things +Slowly Learnt; and Concerning Growing Old! And two other subjects +of even greater value were, Concerning the Practical Effect of +Illogical Reasons, and An Estimate of the Practical Influence of +False Assertions. How the hive was buzzing when these titles were +written down: but now I really hardly remember anything of what +I meant to say, and what I remember appears wretched stuff. The +effervescence has gone from the champagne; it is flat and dead. +Still, it is possible that these subjects may recover their interest; +and the author hereby gives notice that he reserves the right of +producing an essay upon each of them. Let no one else infringe his +vested claims. + +There is one respect in which I have often thought that there is +a curious absence of analogy between the moral and the material +worlds. You are in a great excitement about something or other; you +are immensely interested in reaching some aim; you are extremely +angry and ferocious at some piece of conduct; let us suppose. Well, +the result is that you cannot take a sound, clear, temperate view +of the circumstances; you cannot see the case rightly; you actually +do see it very wrongly. You wait till a week or a month passes; +till some distance, in short, intervenes between you and the matter; +and then your excitement, your fever, your wrath, have gone down, +as the matter has lost its freshness; and now you see the case +calmly, you see it very differently indeed from the fashion in +which you saw it first; you conclude that now you see it rightly. +One can think temperately now of the atrocities of the mutineers +in India, It does riot now quicken your pulse to think of them. +You have not now the burning desire you once felt, to take a Sepoy +by the throat and cut him to pieces with a cat-of-nine-tails. The +common consent of mankind has decided that you have now attained +the right view. I ask, is it certain that in all cases the second +thought is the best;--is the right thought, as well as the calmest +thought? Would it be just to say (which would be the material +analogy) that you have the best view of some great rocky island when +you have sailed away from it till it has turned to a blue cloud on +the horizon; rather than when its granite and heather are full in +view, close at hand? I am not sure that in every case the calmer +thought is the right thought, the distant view the right view. You +have come to think indifferently of the personal injury, of the +act of foul cruelty and falsehood, which once roused you to flaming +indignation. Are you thinking rightly too? Or has not just such +an illusion been practised upon your mental view, as is played upon +your bodily eye when looking over ten miles of sea upon Staffa? +You do not see the basaltic columns now; but that is because you +see wrongly. You do not burn at the remembrance of the wicked lie, +the crafty misrepresentation, the cruel blow; but perhaps you ought +to do so. And now (to speak of less grave matters) when all I had +to say about Growing Old seems very poor, do I see it rightly? Do +I see it as my reader would always have seen it? Or has it faded +into falsehood, as well as into distance and dimness? When I look +back, and see my thoughts as trash, is it because they are trash +and no better? When I look back, and see Ailsa as a cloud, is it +because it is a cloud and nothing more? Or is it, as I have already +suggested, that in one respect the analogy between the moral and +the material fails. + +I am going to write Concerning Disappointment and Success. In the +days when I studied metaphysics, I should have objected to that +title, inasmuch as the antithesis is imperfect between the two +things named in it. Disappointment and Success are not properly +antithetic; Failure and Success are. Disappointment is the feeling +caused by failure, and caused also by other things besides failure. +Failure is the thing; disappointment is the feeling caused by the +thing; while success is the thing, and not the feeling. But such +minute points apart, the title I have chosen brings out best the +subject about which I wish to write. And a very wide subject it +is; and one of universal interest. + +I suppose that no one will dispute the fact that in this world +there are such things as disappoititment and success. I do not +mean merely that each man's lot has its share of both; I mean that +there are some men whose life on the whole is a failure, and that +there are others whose life on the whole is a success. You and I, +my reader, know better than to think that life is a lottery; but +those who think it a lottery, must see that there are human beings +who draw the prizes, and others who draw the blanks. I believe in +Luck, and Ill Luck, as facts; of course I do not believe the theory +which common consent builds upon these facts. There is, of course, +no such thing as chance; this world is driven with far too tight a +rein to permit of anything whatsoever falling out in a way properly +fortuitous. But it cannot be denied that there are persona with +whom everything goes well, and other persons with whom everything +goes ill. There are people who invariably win at what are called +games of chance. There are people who invariably lose. You remember +when Sydney Smith lay on his deathbed, how he suddenly startled +the watchers by it, by breaking a long silence with a sentence from +one of his sermons, repeated in a deep, solemn voice, strange from +the dying man: His life had been successful at last; but success +had come late; and how much of disappointment he had known! And +though he had tried to bear up cheerily under his early cares, they +had sunk in deep. 'We speak of life as a journey,' he said, 'but +how differently is that journey performed! Some are borne along +their path in luxury and ease; while some must walk it with naked +feet, mangled and bleeding.' + +Who is there that does not sometimes, on a quiet evening, even +before he has attained to middle age, sit down and look back upon +his college days, and his college friends; and think sadly of the +failures, the disappointments, the broken hearts, which have been +among those who all started fair and promised well? How very much +has after life changed the estimates which we, formed in those +days, of the intellectual mark and probable fate of one's friends +and acquaintances! You remember the dense, stolid dunces of that +time: you remember the men who sat next you in the lecture-room, +and never answered rightly a question that was put to them: you +remember how you used to wonder if they would always be the dunces +they were then. Well, I never knew a man who was a dunce at twenty, +to prove what might be called a brilliant or even a clever man in +after life; but we have all known such do wonderfully decently. +You did not expect much of them, you see. You did not try them by +an exacting standard. If a monkey were to write his name, you would +be so much surprised at seeing him do it at all, that you would +never think of being surprised that he did not do it very well. So, +if a man you knew as a remarkably stupid fellow preaches a decent +sermon, you hardly think of remarking that it is very common-place +and dull, you are so much pleased and surprised' to find that the +man can preach at all. And then, the dunces of college days are +often sensible, though slow and in this world, plain plodding common +sense is very likely in the long run to beat erratic brilliancy. +The tortoise passes the hare. I owe an apology to Lord Campbell +for even naming him on the same page on which stands the name of +dunce: for assuredly in shrewd, massive sense, as well as in kindness +of manner, the natural outflow of a kind and good heart, no judge +ever surpassed him. But I may fairly point to his career of unexampled +success as an instance which proves my principle. See how that +man of parts which are sound and solid, rather than brilliant or +showy, has won the Derby and the St. Ledger of the law: has filled +with high credit the places of Chief Justice of England and Lord +Chancellor. And contrast his eminently successful and useful course +with that of the fitful meteor, Lord Brougham. What a great, dazzling +genius Brougham unquestionably is; yet his greatest admirer must +admit that his life has been a brilliant failure. But while you, +thoughtful reader, in such a retrospect as I have been supposing, +sometimes wonder at the decent and reasonable success of the dunce, +do you not often lament over the fashion in which those who promised +well, and even brilliantly, have disappointed the hopes entertained +of them? What miserable failures such have not unfrequently made! +And not always through bad conduct either: not always, though +sometimes, by taking to vicious courses; but rather by a certain want +of tact and sense, or even by just somehow missing the favourable +tide. You have got a fair living and a fair standing in the Church; +you have held them for eight or ten years; when some evening as you +are sitting in your study or playing with your children, a servant +tells you, doubtfully, that a man is waiting to see you. A poor, +thin, shabbily-dressed fellow comes in, and in faltering tones begs +for the lean of five shillings. Ah, with what a start you recognise +him! It is the clever fellow whom you hardly beat at college, who +was always so lively and merry, who sang so nicely, and was so +much asked out into society. You had lost sight of him for several +years; and now here he is, shabby, dirty, smelling of whisky, with +bloated face and trembling hand: alas, alas, ruined! Oh, do not +give him up. Perhaps you can do something for him. Little kindness +he has known for very long. Give him the five shillings by all +means; but next morning see you go out, and try what may be done +to lift him out of the slough of despond, and to give him a chance +for better days! I know that it may be all in vain; and that +after years gradually darkening down you may some day, as you pass +the police-office, find a crowd at the door, and learn that they +have got the corpse of the poor suicide within. And even when the +failure is not so utter as this, you find, now and then, as life +goes onward, that this and that old acquaintance has, you cannot +say how, stepped out of the track, and is stranded. He went into the +Church: he is no worse preacher or scholar than many that succeed; +but somehow he never gets a living. You sometimes meet him in +the street, threadbare and soured: he probably passes you without +recognising you. O reader, to whom God has sent moderate success, +always be chivalrously kind and considerate to such a disappointed +man! + +I have heard of an eminent man who, when well advanced in years, +was able to say that through all his life he had never set his +mind on anything which he did not succeed in attaining. Great and +little aims alike, he never had known what it was to fail. What a +curious state of feeling it would be to most men to know themselves +able to assert so much! Think of a mind in which disappointment +is a thing unknown! I think that one would be oppressed by a vague +sense of fear in regarding one's self as treated by Providence in +a fashion so different from the vast majority of the race. It cannot +be denied that there are men in this world in whose lot failure +seems to be the rule. Everything to which they put their hand breaks +down or goes amiss. But most human beings can testify that their +lot, like their abilities, their stature, is a sort of middling +thing. There is about it an equable sobriety, a sort of average +endurableness. Some things go well: some things go ill. There is +a modicum of disappointment: there is a modicum of success. But so +much of disappointment comes to the lot of almost all, that there +is no object in nature at which we all look with so much interest +as the invariably lucky man--the man whom all this system of things +appears to favour. You knew such a one at school: you knew him at +college: you knew him at the bar, in the Church, in medicine, in +politics, in society. Somehow he pushes his way: things turn up +just at the right time for him: great people take a fancy to him: +the newspapers cry him up. Let us hope that you do not look at him +with any feeling of envy or bitterness; but you cannot help looking +at him with great interest, he is so like yourself, and at the same +time so very unlike you. Philosophers tell us that real happiness +is very equally distributed; but there is no doubt that there is a +tremendous external difference between the man who lives in a grand +house, with every appliance of elegance and luxury, with plump +servants, fine horses, many carriages, and the poor struggling +gentleman, perhaps a married curate, whose dwelling is bare, whose +dress is poor, whose fare is scanty, whose wife is careworn, whose +children are ill-fed, shabbily dressed, and scantily educated. +It is conceivable that fanciful wants, slights, and failures, may +cause the rich man as much and as real suffering as substantial +wants and failures cause the poor; but the world at large will +recognise the rich man's lot as one of success, and the poor man's +as one of failure. + +This is a world of competition. It is a world full of things that +many people wish to get, and that all cannot get at once; and +to say this is much as to say that this is a world of failure and +disappointments. All things desirable, by their very existence imply +the disappointment of some. When you, my reader, being no longer +young, look with a philosophic eye at some pretty girl entering a +drawing-room, you cannot but reflect, as you survey the pleasing +picture, and more especially when you think of the twenty thousand +pounds--Ah! my gentle young friend, you will some day make one heart +very jolly, but a great many more extremely envious, wrathful, and +disappointed. So with all other desirable things; so with a large +living in the Church; so with aliy place of dignity; so with a seat +on the bench; so with the bishopric; so with the woolsack; so with +the towers of Lambeth. So with smaller matters; so with a good +business in the greengrocery line; so with a well-paying milk-walk; +so with a clerk's situation of eighty pounds a year; so with an +errand boy's place at three shillings a week, which thirty candidates +want, and only one can get. Alas for our fallen race! Is it not +part, at least, of some men's pleasure in gaining some object which +has been generally sought for, to think of the mortification of +the poor fellows that failed? + +Disappointment, in short, may come and must come wherever man can +set his wishes and his hopes. The only way not to be disappointed +when a thing turns out against you, is not to have really cared how +the thing went. It is not a truism to remark that this is impossible +if you did care. Of course you are not disappointed at failing of +attaining an end which you did not care whether you attained or +not; but men seek very few such ends. If a man has worked day and +night for six weeks in canvassing his county, and then, having been +ignominiously beaten, on the following day tells you he is not in +the least degree disappointed, he might just as trulv assure you, +if you met him walking up streaming with water from a river into +which he had just fallen, that he is not the least wet. No doubt +there is an elasticity in the healthy mind which very soon tides +it over even a severe disappointment; and no doubt the grapes which +are unattainable do sometimes in actual fact turn sour. But let no +man tell us that he has not known the bitterness of disappointment +for at least a brief space, if he have ever from his birth tried +to get anything, great or small, and yet not got it. Failure is +indeed a thing of all degrees, from the most fanciful to the most +weighty: disappointment is a thing of all degrees, from the transient +feeling that worries for a minute, to the great crushing blow that +breaks the mind's spring for ever. Failure is a fact which reaches +from the poor tramp who lies down by the wayside to die, up to the +man who is only made Chief Justice when he wanted the Chancellorship, +or who dies Bishop of London when he had set his heart upon being +Archbishop of Canterbury; or to the Prime Minister, unrivalled in +eloquence, in influence, in genius, with his fair domains and his +proud descent, but whose horse is beaten after being first favourite +for the Derby. Who shall say that either disappointed man felt less +bitterness and weariness of heart than the other? Each was no more +than disappointed; and the keenness of disappointment bears no +proportion to the reality of the value of the object whose loss +caused it. And what endless crowds of human beings, children and +old men, nobles and snobs, rich men and poor, know the bitterness +of disappointment from day to day. It begins from the child shedding +many tears when the toy bought with the long-hoarded pence is broken +the first day it comes home; it goes on to the Duke expecting the +Garter, who sees in the newspaper. at breakfast that the yards of +blue ribbon have been given to another. What a hard time his servants +have that day. How loudly he roars at them, how willingly would he +kick them! Little recks he that forenoon of his magnificent castle +and his ancestral woods. It may here be mentioned that a very +pleasing opportunity is afforded to malignant people for mortifying +a clever, ambitious man, when any office is vacant to which it is +known he aspires. A judge of the Queen's Bench has died: you, Mr. +Verjuice, know how Mr. Swetter, Q. C., has been rising at the bar; +you know how well he deserves the ermine. Well, walk down to his +chambers; go in and sit down; never mind how busy he is--your time +is of no value--and talk of many different men as extremely suitable +for the vacant seat on the bench, but never in the remotest manner +hint at the claims of Swetter himself. I have often seen the like +done. And you, Mr. Verjuice, may conclude almost with certainty that +in doing all this you are vexing and mortifying a deserving man. +And such a consideration will no doubt be compensation sufficient +to your amiable nature for the fact that every generous muscular +Christian would like to take you by the neck, and swing your sneaking +carcase out of the window. + +Even a slight disappointment, speedily to be repaired, has in it +something that jars painfully the mechanism of the mind. You go to +the train, expecting a friend, certainly. He does not come. Now this +worries you, even though you receive at the station a telegraphic +message that he will be by the train which follows in two hours. +Your magazine fails to come by post on the last day of the month; +you have a dull, vague sense of something wanting for an hour or +two, even though you are sure that you will have it next morning. +And indeed a very krge share of the disappointments of civilized +life are associated with the post-office. I do not suppose the +extreme case of the poor fellow who calls at the office expecting +a letter containing the money without which he cannot see how he +is to get through the day; nor of the man who finds no letter on +the day when he expects to hear how it fares with a dear relative +who is desperately sick. I am thinking merely of the lesser +disappointments which commonly attend post-time: the Times not +coming when you were counting with more than ordinary certainty +on its appearing; the letter of no great consequence, which yet +you would have liked to have had. A certain blankness--a feeling +difficult to define--attends even the slightest disappointment; and +the effect of a great one is very stunning and embittering indeed. +You remember how the nobleman in Ten Thousand a Year, who had been +refused a seat in the Cabinet, sympathized with poor Titmouse's +exclamation when, looking at the manifestations of gay life +in Hyde-park, and feeling his own absolute exclusion from it, he +consigned everything to perdition. All the ballads of Professor +Aytoun and Mr. Theodore Martin are admirable, but there is none +which strikes me as more so than the brilliant imitation of Locksley +Hall, And how true to nature the state of mind ascribed to the +vulgar snob who is the hero of the ballad, who, bethinking himself +of his great disappointment when his cousin married somebody else, +bestowed his extremest objurgations upon all who had abetted the +hateful result, and then summed up thus comprehensively:-- + + Cursed be the foul apprentice, who his loathsome fees did earn; + Cursed be the clerk and parson; CURSED BE THE WHOLE CONCERN! + +It may be mentioned here as a fact to which experience will testify, +that such disappointments as that at the railway station and the +post-office are most likely to come when you are counting with +absolute certainty upon things happening as you wish; when not +a misgiving has entered your mind as to your friend's arriving or +your letter coining. A little latent fear in your soul that you +may possibly be disappointed, seems to have a certain power to fend +off disappointment, on the same principle on which taking out an +umbrella is found to prevent rain. What you are prepared for rarely +happens. The precise thing you expected comes not once in a thousand +times. A confused state of mind results from long experience of +such cases. Your real feeling often is: Such a thing seems quite +sure to happen; I may say I expect it to happen; and yet I don't +expect it, because I do: for experience has taught me that the +precise thing which I expect, which I think most likely, hardly +ever comes. I am not prepared to side with a thoughtless world, +which is ready to laugh at the confused statement of the Irishman +who had killed his pig. It is not a bull; it is a great psychological +fact that is involved in his seemingly contradictory declaration--'It +did not weigh as much as I expected, and I never thought it would!' + +When young ladies tell us that such and such a person 'has met with +a disappointment,' we all understand what is meant. The phrase, +though it is conventionally intelligible enough, involves a fallacy: +it seems to teach that the disappointment of the youthful heart in +the matter of that which in its day is no doubt the most powerful +of all the affections, is by emphasis the greatest disappointment +which a human being can ever know. Of course that is an entire +mistake. People get over that disappointment not but what it may +leave its trace, and possibly colour the whole of remaining life; +sometimes resulting in an unlovely bitterness and hardness of +nature; sometimes prolonging even into age a lingering thread of +old romance, and keeping a kindly corner in a heart which worldly +cares have in great measure deadened. But the disappointment +which has its seat in the affections is outgrown as the affections +themselves are outgrown, as the season of their predominance passes +away; and the disappointment which sinks the deepest and lasts the +longest of all the disappointments which are fanciful rather than +material, is that which reaches a man through his ambition and his +self-love,--principles in his nature which outlast the heyday of +the heart's supremacy, and which endure to man's latest years. The +bitter and the enduring disappointment to most human beings is that +which makes them feel, in one way or other, that they are less +wise, clever, popular, graceful, accomplished, tall, active, and in +short fine, than they had fancied themselves to be. But it is only +to a limited portion of human kind that such words as disappointment +and success are mainly suggestive of gratified or disappointed +ambition, of happy or blighted affection; to the great majority +they are suggestive rather of success or non-success in earning +bread and cheese, in finding money to pay the rent, in generally +making the ends meet. You are very young, my reader, and little +versed in the practical affairs of ordinary life, if you do not +know that such prosaic matters make to most men the great aim of +their being here, so far as that aim is bounded by this world's +horizon. The poor cabman is successful or is disappointed, according +as he sees, while the hours of the day are passing over, that he +is making up or not making up the shillings he must hand over to +his master at night, before he has a penny to get food for his wife +and children. The little tradesman is successful or the reverse, +according as he sees or does not see from week to week such a small +accumulation of petty profits as may pay his landlord, and leave a +little margin by help of which he and his family may struggle on. +And many an educated man knows the analogous feelings. The poor +barrister, as he waits for the briefs which come in so slowly--the +young doctor, hoping for patients--understand them all. Oh what +slight, fanciful things, to such men, appear such disappointments +as that of the wealthy proprietor who fails to carry his county, +or the rich mayor or provost who fails of being knighted! + +There is an extraordinary arbitrariness about the way in which great +success is allotted in this world. Who shall say that in one case +out of every two, relative success is in proportion to relative +merit? Nor need this be said in anything of a grumbling or captious +spirit. It is but repeating what a very wise man said long ago, +that 'the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the +strong.' I suppose no one will say that the bishops are the greatest +men in the Church of England, or that every Chief Justice is a +greater man than every puisne judge. Success is especially arbitrary +in cases where it goes by pure patronage: in many such cases the +patron would smile at your weakness if you fancied that the desire +to find the best man ever entered his head. In the matter of the +bench and bar, where tangible duties are to be performed, a patron +is compelled to a certain amount of decency; for, though he may +not pretend to seek for the fittest man, he must at least profess +to have sought a fit man. No prime minister dare appoint a blockhead +a judge, without at least denying loudly that he is a blockhead. +But the arbitrariness of success is frequently the result of causes +quite apart from any arbitrariness in the intention of the human +disposer of success; a Higher Hand seems to come in here. The +tide of events settles the matter: the arbitrariness is in the way +in which the tide of events sets. Think of that great lawyer and +great man, Sir Samuel Romilly. Through years of his practice at +the bar, he himself, and all who knew him, looked to the woolsack +as his certain destination. You remember the many entries in his +diary bearing upon the matter; arid I suppose the opinion of the +most competent was clear as to his unrivalled fitness for the post. +Yet all ended in nothing. The race was not to the swift. The first +favourite was beaten, and more than one outsider has carried ofil +the prize for which he strove in vain. Did any mortal ever dream, +during his days of mediocrity at the bar, or his time of respectability +as a Baron of the Exchequer, that Sir R. M. Rolfe was the future +Chancellor? Probably there is no sphere in which there is more of +disappointment and heartburning than the army. It must be supremely +mortifying to a grey-headed veteran, who has served his country for +forty years, to find a beardless Guardsman put over his head into +the command of his regiment, and to see honours and emoluments +showered upon that fair-weather colonel. And I should judge that +the despatch written by a General after an important battle must +be a source of sad disappointment to many who fancied that their +names might well be mentioned there. But after all, I do not know +but that it tends to lessen disappointment, that success should +be regarded as going less by merit than by influence or good luck. +The disappointed man can always soothe himself with the fancy that +he deserved to succeed. It would be a desperately mortifying thing +to the majority of mankind, if it were distinctly ascertained +that each man gets just what he deserves. The admitted fact that +the square man, is sometimes put in the round hole, is a cause +of considerable consolation to all disappointed men, and to their +parents, sisters, aunts, and grandmothers. + +No stronger proof can be adduced of the little correspondence that +often exists between success and merit, than the fact that the +self-same man, by the exercise of the self-same powers, may at one +time starve and at another drive his carriage and four. When poor +Edmund Kean was acting in barns to country bumpkins, and barely +rinding bread for his wife and child, he was just as great a genius +as when he was crowding Drury Lane. When Brougham presided in the +House of Lords, he was not a bit better or greater than when he +had hung about in the Parliament House at Edinburgh, a briefless +and suspected junior barrister. When all London crowded to see the +hippopotamus, he was just the animal that he was a couple of years +later, when no one took the trouble of looking at him. And when +George Stephenson died, amid the applause and gratitude of all the +intelligent men in Britain, he was the same man, maintaining the +same principle, as when men of science and of law regarded as a +mischievous lunatic the individual who declared that some day the +railroad would be the king's highway, and mail-coaches would be +drawn by steam. + +As to the very highest prizes of human affairs, it is, I believe, +admitted on all hands, that these generally fall to second-rate +men. Civilized nations have found it convenient entirely to give +up the hallucination that the monarch is the greatest, wisest, and +best man in his dominions. Nobody supposes that. And in the case +of hereditary dynasties, such an end is not even aimed at. But it +is curious to find how with elective sovereignties it is just the +same way. The great statesmen of America have very rarely attained +to the dignity of President of the United States. Not Clays and +Webstcrs have had their four years at the White House. And even +Cardinal Wiseman candidly tells us that the post which is regarded +by millions as the highest which can be held by mortal, is all but +systematically given to judicious mediocrity. A great genius will +never be Pope. The coach must not be trusted to too dashing a +charioteer. Give us the safe and steady man. Everybody knows that +the same usage applies to the Primacy in England. Bishops must be +sensible; but archbishops are by some regarded with suspicion if +they have ever committed themselves to sentiments more startling +than that two and two make four. Let me suppose, my reader, that you +have met with great success: I mean success which is very great in +your own especial field. The lists are just put out, and you are +senior wrangler; or you have got the gold medal in some country +grammar-school. The feeling in both cases is the same. In each case +there combines with the exultant emotion, an intellectual conception +that you are one of the greatest of the human race. Well, was +not the feeling a strange one? Did you not feel somewhat afraid? +It seemed too much. Something was sure to come, you thought, that +would take you down. Few are burdened with such a feeling; but surely +there is something alarming in great success. You were a barber's +boy: you are made a peer. Surely you must go through life with an +ever-recurring emotion of surprise at finding yourself where you +are. It must be curious to occupy a place whence you look down upon +the heads of most of your kind. A duke gets accustomed to it; but +surely even he must sometimes wonder how he comes to be placed so +many degrees above multitudes who deserve as well. Or do such come +to fancy that their merit is equal to their success; and that by +as much as they are better off than other men, they are better than +other men? Very likety they do. It is all in human nature. And I +suppose the times have been in which it would have been treasonable +to hint that a man with a hundred thousand pounds a year was not +at least two thousand times as good as one with fifty. + +The writer always feels a peculiar sympathy with failure, and with +people who are suffering from disappointment, great or small. It is +not that he himself is a disappointed man. No; he has to confess, +with deep thankfulness, that his success has far, very far, +transcended his deserts. And, like many other men, he has found +that one or two events in his life, which seemed disappointments +at the time, were in truth great and signal blessings. Still, every +one has known enough of the blank, desolate feeling of disappointment, +to sympathize keenly with the disappointments of others. I feel +deeply for the poor Punch and Judy man, simulating great excitement +in the presence of a small, uninterested group, from which people +keep dropping away. I feel for the poor barn-actor, who discovers, +on his first entrance upon his rude stage, that the magnates of +the district, who promised to be present at the performance, have +not come. You have gone to see a panorama, or to hear a lecture on +phrenology. Did you not feel for the poor fellow, the lecturer or +exhibitor, when ne came in ten minutes past the hour, and found +little but empty benches? Did you not see what a chill fell upon +him: how stupified he seemed: in short, how much disappointed he +was? And if the money he had hoped to earn that evening was to pay +the lodgings in which he and his wife were staying, you may be sure +there was a heart sickness about his disappointment far beyond the +mortification of mere self-love. When a rainy day stops a pic-nic, +or mars the enjoyment of it, although the disappointment is hardly +a serious one, still it is sure to cause so much real suffering, +that only rancorous old ladies will rejoice in the fact. It is +curious how men who have known disappointment themselves, and who +describe it well, seem to like to paint lives which in the meantime are +all hope and success. There is Mr. Thackeray. With what sympathy, +with what enjoyment, he shows us the healthy, wealthy, hopeful +youths, like Clive Newcome, or young Pendennis, when it was all +sunshine around the young prince! And yet how sad a picture of +life he gives us in The Newcomes. It would not have done to make +it otherwise: it is true, though sad: that history of the good and +gallant gentleman, whose life was a long disappointment, a long +failure in all on which he had set his heart; in his early love, +in his ambitious plans for his son, even in his hopes for his son's +happiness, in his own schemes of fortune, till that life of honour +ended in the almshouse at last. How the reader wishes that the +author would make brighter days dawn upon his hero! But the author +cannot: he must hold on unflinchingly as fate. In such a story as +his, truth can no more be sacrificed to our wishes than in real +life we know it to be. Well, all disappointment is discipline; and +received in a right spirit, it may prepare us for better things +elsewhere. It has been said that heaven is a place for those who +failed on earth. The greatest hero is perhaps the man who does his +very best, and signally fails, and still is not embittered by the +failure. And looking at the fashion in which an unseen Power permits +wealth and rank and influence to go sometimes in this world, we are +possibly justified in concluding that in His judgment the prizes +of this Vanity Fair are held as of no great account. A life here, +in which you fail of every end you seek, yet which disciplines you +for a better, is assuredly not a failure. + +What a blessing it would be, if men's ambition were in every case +made to keep pace with their ability. Very much disappointment +arises from a man's having an absurd over-estimate of his own +powers, which leads him, to use an expressive Scotticism, to even +himself to some position for which he is utterly unfit, and which +he has no chance at all of reaching. A lad comes to the university +who has been regarded in his own family as a great genius, and +who has even distinguished himself at some little country school. +What a rude shock to the poor fellow's estimate of himself; what +a smashing of the hopes of those at home, is sure to come when he +measures his length with his superiors; and is compelled, as is +frequently the case, to take a third or fourth-rate position. If +you ever read the lives of actors (and every one ought, for they +show you a new and curious phase of life), you must have smiled +to see the ill-spelled, ungrarnmatical letters in which some poor +fellow writes to a London manager for an engagement, and declares +that he feels within him the makings of a greater actor than Garrick +or Kean. How many young men who go into the Church fancy that they +are to surpass Melvill or Chalmers! No doubt, reader, you have +sometimes come out of a church, where you had heard a preacher +aiming at the most ambitious eloquence, who evidently had not the +slightest vocation that way; and you have thought it would be well +if no man ever wished to be eloquent who had it not in him to be +so. Would that the principle were universally true! Who has not +sometimes been amused iff passing along the fashionable street of +a great city, to see a little vulgar snob dressed out within an +inch of his life, walking along, evidently fancying that he looks +like a gentleman, and that he is the admired of all admirers? +Sometimes, in a certain street which I might name, I have witnessed +such a spectacle, sometimes with amusement, oftener with sorrow and +pity, as I thought of the fearful, dark surmises which must often +cross the poor snob's mind, that he is failing in his anxious +endeavours. Occasionally, too, I have beheld a man bestriding a +horse in that peculiar fashion which may be described as his being +on the outside of the animal, slipping away over the hot stones, +possibly at a trot, and fancying ivthough with many suspicions to +the contrary; that he is witching the world with noble horsemanship. +What a pity that such poor fellows will persist in aiming at what +they cannot achieve! What mortification and disappointment they must +often know! The horse backs on to the pavement, into a plate-glass +window, just as Maria, for whose sake the poor screw was hired, is +passing by. The boys halloo in derision; and some ostler, helpful, +but not complimentary, extricates the rider, and says, 'I see you +have never been on 'ossback before; you should not have pulled the +curb-bit that way!' And when the vulgar dandy, strutting along, +with his Brummagem jewellery, his choking collar, and his awfully +tight boots which cause him agony, meets the true gentleman; how +it rushes upon him that he himself is only a humbug! How the poor +fellow's heart sinks! + +Turning from such inferior fields of ambition as these, I think +how often it happens that men come to some sphere in life with +a flourish of trumpets, as destined to do great things, and then +fail. There is a modest, quiet self-confidence, without which +you will hardly get on in this world; but I believe, as a general +rule, that the men who have attained to very great success have +started with very moderate expectations. Their first aim was lowly; +and the way gradually opened before them. Their ambition, like +their success, went on step by step; they did not go at the top of +the tree at once. It would be easy to mention instances in which +those who started with high pretensions have been taught by stern +fact to moderate them; in which the man who came over from the +Irish bar intending to lead the Queen's Bench, and become a Chief +Justice, was glad, after thirty years of disappointment, to get +made a County Court judge. Not that this is always so; sometimes +pretension, if big enough, secures success. A man setting up as a +silk-mercer in a strange town, is much likelier to succeed if he +opens a huge shop, painted in flaring colours and puffed by enormous +bills and vast advertising vans, than if he set up in a modest +way, in something like proportion to his means. And if he succeeds, +well; if he fails, his creditors bear the loss. A great field +has been opened for the disappointment of men who start with the +flourish of trumpets already mentioned, by the growing system of +competitive examinations. By these, your own opinion of yourself, +and the home opinion of you, are brought to a severe test. I think +with sympathy of the disappointment of poor lads who hang on week +after week, hoping to hear that they have succeeded in gaining the +coveted appointment, and then learn that they have failed. I think +with sympathy of their poor parents. Even when the prize lost is +not substantial pudding, but only airy praise, it is a bitter thing +to lose it, after running the winner close. It must be a supremely +irritating and mortifying thing to be second wrangler. Look at the +rows of young fellows, sitting with their papers before them at a +Civil Service Examination, and think what interest and what hopes +are centred on every one of them. Think how many count on great +success, kept up to do so by the estimation in which they are held +at home. Their sisters and their mothers think them equal to anything. +Sometimes justly; sometimes the fact justifies the anticipation. +When Baron Alderson went to Cambridge, he tells us that he would +have spurned the offer of being second man of his year; and sure +enough, he was out of sight the first. But for one man of whom the +home estimation is no more than just, there are ten thousand in +whose case, to strangers, it appears simply preposterous. + +There is one sense in which all after-life may be said to be a +disappointment. It is far different from that which it was pictured +by early anticipations and hopes. The very greatest material success +still leaves the case thus. And no doubt it seems strange to many +to look back on the fancies of youth, which experience has sobered +down. When you go back, my reader, to the village where you were +brought up, don't you remember how you used to fancy that when you +were a man you would come to it in your carriage and four? This, it +is unnecessary to add, you have not yet done. You thought likewise +that when you came back you would be arrayed in a scarlet coat, +possibly in a cuirass of steel; whereas in fact you have come to +the little inn where nobody knows you to spend the night, and you +are wandering along the bank of the river (how little changed!) in +a shooting-jacket of shepherd's plaid. You intended to marry the +village grocer's pretty daughter; and for that intention probably +you were somewhat hastily dismissed to a school a hundred miles +off; but this evening as you passed the shop you discovered her, +a plump matron, calling to her children in a voice rather shrill +than sweet; and you discovered from the altered sign above the +door that her father is dead, and that she has married the shopman, +your hated rival of former years. And yet how happily the wind is +tempered to the shorn lamb! You are not the least mortified. You +are much amused that your youthful fancies have been blighted. It +would have been fearful to have married that excellent individual; +the shooting-jacket is greatly more comfortable than the coat +of mail; and as for the carriage and four, why, even if you could +afford them, you would seldom choose to drive four horses. And it +is so with the more substantial anticipations of maturer years. +The man who, as already mentioned, intended to be a Chief Justice, +is quite happy when he is made a County Court judge. The man who +intended to eclipse Mr. Dickens in the arts of popular authorship +is content and proud to be the great writer of the London Journal. +The clergyman who would have liked a grand cathedral like York Minster +is perfectly pleased with his little country church, ivy-green and +grey. We come, if we are sensible folk, to be content with what we +can get, though we have not what we could wish. + +Still, there are certain cases in which this can hardly be so. A +man of sense can bear cheerfully the frustration of the romantic +fancies of childhood and youth; but not many are so philosophical +in regard to the comparatively reasonable anticipations of more +reasonable years. When you got married at five-and-forty, your +hopes were not extravagant. You knew quite well you were not winning +the loveliest of her sex, and indeed you felt you had no right to +expect to do so. You were well aware that in wisdom, knowledge, +accomplishment, amiability, you could not reasonably look for more +than the average of the race. But you thought you might reasonably +look for that: and now, alas, alas! you find you have not got it. +How have I pitied a worthy and sensible man, listening to his wife +making a fool of herself before a large company of people! How +have I pitied such a one, when I heard his wife talking the most +idiotical nonsense; or when I saw her flirting scandalously with +a notorious scapegrace; or learned of the large parties which she +gave in his absence, to the discredit of her own character and the +squandering of his hard-earned gains! No habit, no philosophy, will +ever reconcile a human being of right feeling to such a disappointment +as that. And even a sadder thing than this--one of the saddest +things in life--is when a man begins to feel that his whole life is +a failure; not merely a failure as compared with the vain fancies +of youth, but a failure as compared with his sobered convictions of +what he ought to have been and what he might have been. Probably, +in a desponding mood, we have all known the feeling; and even when +we half knew it was morbid and transient, it was a very painful +one. But painful it must be beyond all names of pain, where it is +the abiding, calm, sorrowful conviction of the man's whole being. +Sore must be the heart of the man of middle age, who often thinks +that he is thankful his father is in his grave, and so beyond mourning +over his son's sad loss in life. And even when the stinging sense +of guilt is absent, it is a mournful thing for one to feel that he +has, so to speak, missed stays in his earthly voyage, and run upon +a mud-bank which he can never get off: to feel one's self ingloriously +and uselessly stranded, while those who started with us pass by +with gay flag and swelling sail. And all this may be while it is +hard to know where to attach blame; it may be when there was nothing +worse to complain of than a want of promptitude, resolution, and +tact, at the one testing time. Every one knows the passage in point +in Shakspeare. + +Disappointment, I have said, is almost sure to be experienced in +a greater or less degree, so long as anything remains to be wished +or sought. And a provision is made for the indefinite continuance +of disappointment in the lot of even the most successful of men, +by the fact in rerum naturu that whenever the wants felt on a lower +level are supplied, you advance to a higher platform, where a new +crop of wants is felt. Till the lower wants are supplied you never +feel the higher; and accordingly people who pass through life +barely succeeding in gaining the supply of the lower wants, will +hardly be got to believe that the higher wants are ever really felt +at all. A man who is labouring anxiously to earn food and shelter +for his children--who has no farther worldly end, and who thinks he +would be perfectly happy if he could only be assured on New Year's +day that he would never fail in earning these until the thirty-first +of December, will hardly believe you when you tell him that the +Marquis at the castle is now utterly miserable because the King would +not give him a couple of yards of blue or green ribbon. And it is +curious in how many cases worldly-successful men mount, step after +step, into a new series of wants, implying a new set of mortifications +and disappointments. A person begins as a small tradesman; all he +aims at is a maintenance for him and his. That is his first aim. +Say he succeeds in reaching it. A little ago he thought he would +have been quite content could he only do that. But from his new +level he sees afar a new peak to climb; now he aims at a fortune. +That is his next aim. Say he reaches it. Now he buys an estate; +now he aims at being received and admitted as a country gentleman; +and the remainder of his life is given to striving for social +recognition in the county. How he schemes to get the baronet to dine +with him, and the baronet's lady to call upon his homely spouse! +And every one has remarked with amusement the hive of petty +mortifications, failures, and disappointments, through which he +fights his way, till, as it may chance, he actually gains a dubious +footing in the society he seeks, or gives up the endeavour as a +final failure. Who shall say that any one of the successive wants +the man has felt is more fanciful, less real, than any other? To +Mr. Oddbody, living in his fine house, it is just as serious an +aim to get asked to the Duke's ball, as in former days it was to +Jack Oddbody to carry home on Saturday night the shillings which +were to buy his bread and cheese. + +And another shade of disappointment which keeps pace with all material +success is that which arises, not from failing to get a thing, but +from getting it and then discovering that it is not what we had +fancied--that it will not make us happy. Is not this disappointment +ft It everywhere? When the writer was a little boy, he was promised +that on a certain birthday a donkey should be bought for his future +riding. Did not he frequently allude to it in conversation with +his companions? Did not he plague the servants for information as +to the natural history and moral idiosyncrasy of donkeys? Did not +the long-eared visage appear sometimes through his dreams? Ah, +the donkey came! Then followed the days of being pitched over his +head; the occasions on which the brute of impervious hide rushed +through hedges and left me sticking in them: happiness was no +nearer, though the donkey was there. Have you not, my philosophic +friend, had your donkey? I mean your moral donkey. Yes, and scores +of such. When you were a schoolboy, longing for the holidays, +have you not chalked upon doors the legend--OH FOR AUGUST! Vague, +delightful visions of perfect happiness were wrapped up in the +words. But the holidays came, as all holidays have done and will +do; and in a few days you were heartily wearied of them. When you +were spoony about Marjory Anne, you thought that once your donkey +came, once you were fairly married and settled, what a fine thing +it would be! I do not say a syllable against that youthful matron; +but I presume you have discovered that she falls short of perfection, +and that wedded life has its many cares. You thought you would +enjoy so much the setting-up of your carriage; your wife and you +often enjoyed it by anticipation on dusty summer days: but though +all very well, wood and iron and leather never made the vehicle +that shall realize your anticipations. The horses were often lame; +the springs would sometimes break; the paint was always getting +scratched and the lining cut. Oh, what a nuisance is a carriage! +You fancied you would be perfectly happy when you retired from +business and settled in the country. What a comment upon such +fancies is the fashion in which retired men of business haunt the +places of their former toils like unquiet ghosts! How sick they +get of the country! I do not think of grand disappointments of +the sort; of the satiety of Vathek, turning sickly away from his +earthly paradise at Cintra; nor of the graceful towers I have seen +rising from a woody cliff above a summer sea, and of the story +told me of their builder, who, after rearing them, lost interest +in them, and in sad disappointment left them to others, and went +back to the busy town wherein he had made his wealth. I think of +men, more than one or two, who rented their acre of land by the +sea-side, and built their pretty cottage, made their grassplots and +trained their roses, and then in unaccustomed idleness grew weary +of the whole and sold their place to some keen bargain-maker for +a tithe of what it cost them. + +Why is it that failure in attaining ambitious ends is so painful? +When one has honestly done one's best, and is beaten after all, +conscience must be satisfied: the wound is solely to self-love; +and is it not to the discredit of our nature that that should imply +such a weary, blank, bitter feeling as it often does? Is it that +every man has within his heart a lurking belief that, notwithstanding +the world's ignorance of the fact, there never was in the world +anybody so remarkable as himself? I think that many mortals need +daily to be putting down a vague feeling which really comes to that. +You who have had experience of many men, know that you can hardly +over-estimate the extent and depth of human vanity. Never be afraid +but that nine men out of ten will swallow with avidity flattery, +however gross; especially if it ascribe to them those qualities of +which they are most manifestly deficient. + +A disappointed man looks with great interest at the man who has +obtained what he himself wanted. Your mother, reader, says that +her ambition for you would be entirely gratified if you could but +reach a certain place which some one you know has held for twenty +years. You look at him with much curiosity; he appears very much +like yourself; and, curiously, he does not appear particularly happy. +Oh, reader, whatever you do--though last week he gained without an +effort what you have been wishing for all your life--do not hate +him. Resolve that you will love and wish well to the man who fairly +succeeded where you fairly failed. Go to him and get acquainted +with him: if you and he are both true men, you will not find it a +difficult task to like him. It is perhaps asking too much of human +nature to ask you to do all this in the case of the man who has +carried off the woman you loved; but as regards anything else, do +it all. Go to your successful rival, heartily congratulate him. +Don't be Jesuitical; don't merely felicitate the man; put down the +rising feeling of envy: that is always out-and-out wrong. Don't +give it a moment's quarter. You clerks in an office, ready to be +angry with a fellow-clerk who gets the chance of a trip to Scotland +on business, don't give in to the feeling. Shake hands with him +all round, and go in a body with him to Euston Square, and give +him three cheers as he departs by the night mail. And you, greater +mortals--you, rector of a beautiful parish, who think you would have +done for a bishop as well as the clergyman next you who has got the +mitre; you, clever barrister, sure some day to be solicitor-general, +though sore to-day because a man next door has got that coveted +post before you; go and see the successful man--go forthwith, +congratulate him heartily, say frankly you wish it had been you: +it will do oreat good both to him and to yourself. Let it not be +that envy--that bitter and fast-growing fiend--shall be suffered +in your heart for one minute. When I was at college I sat on the +same bench with a certain man. We were about the same age. Now, I +am a country parson, and he is a cabinet minister. Oh, how he has +distanced poor me in the race of life! Well, he had a tremendous +start, no doubt. Now, shall I hate him? Shall I pitch into him, rake +up all his errors of youth, tell how stupid he was (though indeed +he was not stupid), and bitterly gloat over the occasion on which +he fell on the ice and tore his inexpressibles in the presence of +a grinning throng? No, my old fellow-student, who hast now doubtless +forgotten my name, though I so well remember yours, though you got +your honours possibly in some measure from the accident of your +birth, you have nobly justified their being given you so early; and +so I look on with interest to your loftier advancement yet, and I +say--God bless you! + +I think, if I were an examiner at one of the Universities, that I +should be an extremely popular one. No man should ever be plucked. +Of course it would be very wrong, and, happily, the work is in the +hands of those who are much fitter for it; but, instead of thinking +solely and severely of a man's fitness to pass, I could not help +thinking a great deal of the heartbreak it would be to the poor +fellow and his family if he were turned. It would be ruin to any +magazine to have me for its editor. I should always be printing +all sorts of rubbishing articles, which are at present consigned +to the Balaam-box. I could not bear to grieve and disappoint the +young lady who sends her gushing verses. I should be picturing to +myself the long hours of toil that resulted in the clever lad's +absurd attempt at a review, and all his fluttering hopes and fears +as to whether it was to be accepted or not. No doubt it is by this +mistaken kindness that institutions are damaged and ruined. The +weakness of a sympathetic bishop burdens the Church with a clergy-man +who for many years will be an injury to her; and it would have been +far better even for the poor fellow himself to have been decidedly +and early kept out of a vocation for which he is wholly unfit. I am +far from saying that the resolute examiner who plucks freely, and +the resolute editor who rejects firmly, are deficient in kindness +of heart, or even in vividness of imagination to picture what they +are doing: though much of the suffering and disappointment of this +world is caused by men who are almost unaware of what they do. Like +the brothers of Isabella, in Keats' beautiful poem, + + Half ignorant, they turn an easy wheel, + That sets sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel. + +Yet though principle and moral decision may be in you sufficient +to prevent your weakly yielding to the feeling, be sure you always +sympathize with failure;--honest, laborious failure. And I think +all but very malicious persons generally do sympathize with it. It +is easier to sympathize with failure than with success. No trace of +envy comes in to mar your sympathy, and you have a pleasant sense +that you are looking down from a loftier elevation. The average man +likes to have some one to look down upon--even to look down upon +kindly. I remember being greatly touched by hearing of a young man +of much promise, who went to preach his first sermon in a little +church by the sea-shore in a lonely highland glen. He preached his +sermon, and got on pretty fairly; but after service he went down +to the shore of the far-sounding sea, and wept to think how sadly +he had fallen short of his ideal, how poor was his appearance +compared to what he had intended and hoped. Perhaps a foolish vanity +and self-conceit was at the foundation of his disappointment; but +though I did not know him at all, I could not but have a very kindly +sympathy for him. I heard, years afterwards, with great pleasure, +that he had attained to no small eminence and success as a pulpit +orator; and I should not have alluded to him here but for the fact +that in early youth, and amid greater expectations of him, he +passed away from this life of high aims and poor fulfilments. I +think how poor Keats, no doubt morbidly ambitious as well as morbidly +sensitive, declared in his preface to Endymion that 'there is no +fiercer hell than failure in a great attempt.' + +Most thoughtful men must feel it a curious and interesting study, +to trace the history of the closing days of those persons who have +calmly and deliberately, in no sudden heat of passion, taken away +their own life. In such cases, of course, we see the sense of +failure, absolute and complete. They have quietly resolved lo give +up life as a losing game. You remember the poor man who, having +spent his last shilling, retired to a wood far from human dwellings, +and there died voluntarily by starvation. He kept a diary of those +days of gradual death, setting out his feelings both of body and +mind. No nourishment passed his lips after he had chosen his last +resting-place, save a little water, which he dragged himself to +a pond to drink. He was not discovered till he was dead; but his +melancholy chronicle appeared to have been carried down to very +near the time when he became unconscious. I remember its great +characteristic appeared to be a sense of utter failure. There +seemed to be no passion, none of the bitter desperate resolution +which prompts the energetic 'Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world;' +but merely a weary, lonely wish to creep quietly away. I have no +look but one of sorrow and pity to cast on the poor suicide's grave. +I think the common English verdict is right as well as charitable, +which supposes that in every such case reason has become unhinged, +and responsibility is gone. And what desperate misery, what a +black horrible anguish of heart, whether expressing itself calmly +or feverishly, must have laid its gripe upon a human being before +it can overcome in him the natural clinging to life, and make him +deliberately turn his back upon 'the warm precincts of the cheerful +day.' No doubt it is the saddest of all sad ends; but I do not +forget that a certain Authority, the highest of all authorities, +said to all human beings, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' The +writer has, in the course of his duty, looked upon more than one +suicide's dead face; and the lines of Hood appeared to sketch the +fit feeling with which to do so:-- + + Owning her weakness, + Her evil behaviour; + And leaving, with meekness, + Her soul to her Saviour. + +What I have just written recalls to me, by some link of association, +the words I once heard a simple old Scotch-woman utter by her son's +deathbed. He was a young man of twenty-two, a pious and good young +man, and I had seen him very often throughout his gradual decline. +Calling one morning, I found he was gone, and his mother begged me +to come and see his face once more; and standing for the last time +by him, I said (and I could say them honestly) some words of Christian +comfort to the poor old woman. I told her, in words far better than +any of my own, how the Best Friend of mankind had said, 'I am the +Resurrection and the Life: he that believeth in Me, though he were +dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me, +shall never die.' I remember well her answer. 'Aye,' said she, 'he +gaed away trusting in that; and he'll be sorely disappointed if he +doesna' find it so.' Let me venture to express my hope, that when +my readers and I pass within the veil, we may run the risk of +no other disappointment than that these words should prove false; +and then it will be well with us. There will be no disappointment +there, in the sense of things failing to come up to our expectations. + +Let it be added, that there are disappointments with which even +the kindest hearts will have no sympathy, and failures over which +we may without malignity rejoice. You do not feel very deeply for +the disappointed burglar, who retires from your dwelling at 3 A. M., +leaving a piece of the calf of his leg in the jaws of your trusty +watch-dog; nor for the Irish bog-trotter who (poor fellow), +from behind the hedge, misses his aim at the landlord who fed him +and his family through the season of famine. You do not feel very +deeply for the disappointment of the friend, possibly the slight +acquaintance, who with elongated face retires from your study, +having failed to persuade you to attach your signature to a bill +for some hundreds of pounds 'just as a matter of form.' Very likely +he wants the money; so did the burglar: but is that any reason why +you should give it to him? Refer him to the wealthy and influential +relatives of whom he has frequently talked to you; tell him they +are the very people to assist him in such a case with their valuable +autograph. As for yourself, tell him you know what you owe to your +children and yourself; and say that the slightest recurrence to +such a subject must be the conclusion of all intercourse between +you. Ah, poor disappointed fellow! How heartless it is in you to +refuse to pay, out of your hard earnings, the money which he so +jauntily and freely spent! + +How should disappointment be met? Well, that is far too large +a question to be taken up at this stage of my essay, though there +are various suggestions which I should like to make. Some disappointed +men take to gardening and farming; and capital things they are. +But when disappointment is extreme, it will paralyse you so that +you will suffer the weeds to grow up all about you, without your +having the heart to set your mind to the work of having the place +made neat. The state of a man's garden is a very delicate and +sensitive test as to whether he is keeping hopeful and well-to-do. +It is to me a very sad sight to see a parsonage getting a dilapidated +look, and the gravel walks in its garden growing weedy. The parson +must be growing old and poor. The parishioners tell you how trim +and orderly everything was when he came first to the parish. But +his affairs have become embarrassed, or his wife and children are +dead; and though still doing his duty well, and faithfully, he has +lost heart and interest in these little matters; and so things are +as you see. + +I have been amused by the way in which some people meet disappointment. +They think it a great piece of worldly wisdom to deny that they +have ever been disappointed at all. Perhaps it might be so, if the +pretext were less transparent than it is. An old lady's son is +plucked at an examination for a civil appointment. She takes up +the ground that it is rather a credit to be plucked; that nearly +everybody is plucked; that all the cleverest fellows are plucked; +and that only stupid fellows are allowed to pass. When the +examiners find a clever man, they take a pleasure in plucking him. +A number of the cleverest men in England can easily put out a lad +of one-and-twenty. Then, shifting her ground, she declares the +examination was ridiculously easy: her son was rejected because he +could not tell what two and two amount to: because he did not know +the name of the river on which London is built: because he did not +(in his confusion) know his own name. She shows you the indignant +letter which the young man wrote to her, announcing the scandalous +injustice with which he was treated. You remark three words misspelt +in the first five lines; and you fancy you have fathomed the secret +of the plucking. + +I have sometimes tried, but in vain, to discover the law which +regulates the attainment of extreme popularity. Extreme popularity, +in this country and age, appears a very arbitrary thing. I defy any +person to predict a priori what book, or song, or play, or picture, +is to become the rage,--to utterly transcend all competition. I +believe, indeed, that there cannot be popularity for even a short +time, without some kind or degree of merit to deserve it; and in +any case there is no other standard to which one can appeal than +the deliberate judgment of the mass of educated persons. If you +are quite convinced that a thing is bad which all such think good, +why, of course you are wrong. If you honestly think Shakspeare +a fool, you are aware you must be mistaken. And so, if a book, +or a picture, or a play, or a song, be really good, and if it be +properly brought before the public notice, you may, as a general +rule, predict that it will attain a certain measure of success. +But the inexplicable thing--the thing of which I am quite unable to +trace the law--is extreme success. How is it that one thing shoots +ahead of everything else of the same class; and without being +materially better, or even materially different, leaves everything +else out of sight behind? Why is it that Eclipse is first and the +rest nowhere, while the legs and wind of Eclipse are no whit better +than the legs and wind of all the rest? If twenty novels of nearly +equal merit are published, it is not impossible that one shall dart +ahead of the remaining nineteen; that it shall be found in every +library; that Mr. Mudie may announce that he has 3250 copies of +it; that it shall be the talk of every circle; its incidents set to +music, its plot dramatized; that it shall count readers by thousands +while others count readers by scores; while yet one cannot really +see why any of the others might not have taken its place. Or of a +score of coarse comic songs, nineteen shall never get beyond the +walls of the Cyder Cellars (I understand there is a place of the +name), while the twentieth, no wise superior in any respect, comes to +be sung about the streets, known by everybody, turned into polkas +and quadrilles and in fact to become for the time one of the +institutions of this great and intelligent country. I remember +how, a year or two since, that contemptible Rat-catcher's Daughter, +without a thing to recommend it, with no music, no wit, no sentiment, +nothing but vulgar brutality, might be heard in every separate town +of England and Scotland, sung about the streets by every ragged +urchin; while the other songs of the vivacious Cowell fell dead +from his lips. The will of the sovereign people has decided that +so it shall be. And as likings and dislikings in most cases are +things strongly felt, but impossible to account for even by the +person who feels them, so is it ffith the enormous admiration, +regard, and success which fall to the lot of many to whom popularity +is success. Actors, statesmen, authors, preachers, have often in +England their day of quite undeserved popular ovation; and by and +bye their day of entire neglect. It is the rocket and the stick. +We are told that Bishop Butler, about the period of the great +excesses of the French Revolution, was walking in his garden with +his chaplain. After a long fit of musing, the Bishop turned to the +chaplain, and asked the question whether nations might not go mad, +as well as individuals? Classes of society, I think, may certainly +have attacks of temporary insanity on some one point. The Jenny +Lind fever was such an attack. Such was the popularity of the +boy-actor Betty. Such the popularity of the Small Coal Man some time +in the last century; such that of the hippopotamus at the Regent's +Park; such that of Uncle Tom's Cabin. + +But this essay must have an end. It is far too long already. I am +tired of it, and a fortiori my reader must be so. Let me try the +effect of an abrupt conclusion. + + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +CONCERNING SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS; + +SOME THOUGHTS UPON THE SWING OF THE PENDULUM. + + + + +[Footnote: For the suggestion of the subject of this essay, and +for many valuable hints as to its treatment, I am indebted to the +kindness of the Archbishop of Dublin. Indeed, in all that part of +the essay which treats of Secondary Vulgar Errwi, I have done little +more than expand and illustrate the skeleton of thought supplied +to me by Archbishop Whately.] + +I have eaten up all the grounds of my tea, said, many years since, +in my hearing, in modest yet triumphant tones, a little girl of +seven years old. I have but to close my eyes, and I see all that +scene again, almost as plainly as ever. Six or seven children (I +am one of them) are sitting round a tea-table; their father and +mother are there too; and an old gentleman, who is (in his own +judgment) one of the wisest of men. I see the dining-room, large and +low-ceilinged; the cheerful glow of the autumnal fire; the little +faces in the soft candle-light, for glaring gas was there unknown. +There had been much talk about the sinfulness of waste--of the +waste of even very little things. The old gentleman, so wise (in +his own judgment, and indeed in my judgment at that period), was +instilling into the children's minds some of those lessons which +are often impressed upon children by people (I am now aware) of +no great wisdom or cleverness. He had dwelt at considerable length +upon the sinfulness of wasting anything; likewise on the sinfulness +of children being saucy or particular as to what they should eat. +He enforced, with no small solemnity, the duty of children's eating +what was set before them without minding whether it was good or not, +or at least without minding whether they liked it or not. The poor +little girl listened to all that was said, and of course received +it all as indubitably true. Waste and sauciness, she saw, were +wrong, so she judged that the very opposite of waste and sauciness +must be right. Accordingly, she thought she would turn to use +something that was very small, but still something that ought not +to be wasted. Accordingly, she thought she would show the docility +of her taste by eating up something that was very disagreeable. +Here was an opportunity at once of acting out the great principles +to which she had been listening. And while a boy, evidently destined +to be a metaphysician, and evidently possessed of the spirit +of resistance to constituted authority whether in government or +doctrine, boldly argued that it could not be wicked in him to hate +onions, because God had made him so that he did hate onions, and +(going still deeper into things) insisted that to eat a thing when +you did not want it was wasting it much more truly than it would +be wasting it to leave it; the little girl ate up all the grounds +left in her teacup, and then announced the fact with considerable +complacency. + +Very, very natural. The little girl's act was a slight straw +showing how a great current sets. It was a fair exemplification +of a tendency which is woven into the make of our being. Tell the +average mortal that it is wrong to walk on the left side of the road, +and in nine cases out of ten he will conclude that the proper thing +must be to walk on the right side of the road; whereas in actual +life, and in almost all opinions, moral, political, and religious, +the proper thing is to walk neither on the left nor the right side, +but somewhere about the middle. Say to the ship-master, You are to +sail through a perilous strait; you will have the raging Scylla on +one hand as you go. His natural reply will be, Well, I will keep as +far away from it as possible; I will keep close by the other side. +But the rejoinder must be, No, you will be quite as ill off there; +you will be in equal peril on the other side: there is Charybdis. +What you have to do is to keep at a safe distance from each. In +avoiding the one, do not run into the other. + +It seems to be a great law of the universe, that Wrong lies upon +either side of the way, and that Right is the narrow path between. +There are the two ways of doing wrong--Too Much and Too Little. +Go to the extreme right hand, and you are wrong; go to the extreme +left hand, and you are wrong too. That you may be right, you have +to keep somewhere between these two extremes: but not necessarily +in the exact middle. All this, of course, is part of the great fact +that in this world Evil has the advantage of Good. It is easier to +go wrong than right. + +It is very natural to think that if one thing or course be wrong, +its reverse must be right. If it be wrong to walk towards the east, +surely it must be right to walk towards the west. If it be wrong to +dress in black, it must be right to dress in white. It is somewhat +hard to say, Dum vitant stulti vitia, in contraria currunt--to +declare, as if that were a statement of the whole truth, that +fools mistake reverse of wrong for right. Fools do so indeed, but +not fools only. The average Jiuman being, with the most honest +intentions, is prone to mistake reverse of wrong for right. We +are fond, by our natural constitution, of broad distinctions--of +classifications that put the whole interests and objects of this +world to iho Tight-hand and to the left. We long for Aye or No--for +Heads or Tails. We are impatient of limitations, qualifications, +restrictions. You remember how Mr. Micawber explained the philosophy +of income and expenditure, and urged people never to run in debt. +Income, said he, a hundred pounds a year; expenditure ninety-nine +pounds nineteen shillings: Happiness. Income, a hundred pounds a +year; expenditure a hundred pounds and one shilling: Misery. You +see the principle involved is, that if you are not happy, you must +be miserable--that if you are not miserable, you must be happy. +If you are not any particular thing, then you are its opposite. If +you are not For, then you are Against. If you are not black, many +men will jump to the conclusion that you are white: the fact probably +being that you are gray. If not a Whig, you must be a Tory: in +truth, you are a Liberal-Conservative. We desiderate in all things +the sharp decidedness of the verdict of a jury--Guilty or Not +Guilty. We like to conclude that if a man be not very good, then +he is very bad; if not very clever, then very stupid; if not very +wise, then a fool: whereas in fact, the man probably is a curious +mixture of good and evil, strength and weakness, wisdom and folly, +knowledge and ignorance, cleverness and stupidity. + +Let it be here remarked, that in speaking of it as an error to +take reverse of wrong for right, I use the words in their ordinary +sense, as generally understood. In common language the reverse +of a thing is taken to mean the thing at the opposite end of +the scale from it. Thus, black is the reverse of white, bigotry +of latitudinarianism, malevolence of benevolence, parsimony of +extravagance, and the like. Of course, in strictness, these things +are not the reverse of one another. In strictness, the reverse of +wrong always is right; for, to speak with severe precision, the +reverse of steering upon Scylla is simply not steering upon Scylla; +the reverse of being extravagant is not being parsimonious--it is +simply not being extravagant; the reverse of walking eastward is +not walking westward--it is simply not walking eastward. And that +may include standing still, or walking to any point of the compass +except the east. But I understand the reverse of a thing as meaning +the opposite extreme from it. And you see, the Latin words quoted +above are more precise than the English. It is severely true, that +while fools think to shun error on one side, they run into the +contrary error--i. e., the error that lies equi-distant, or nearly +equi-distant, on the other side of the line of right. + +One class of the errors into which men are prone to run under this +natural impulse are those which have been termed Secondary Vulgar +Errors. A vulgar error, you will understand, my reader, does not +by any means signify an error into which only the vulgar are likely +to fall. It does not by any means signify a mistaken belief which +will be taken up only by inferior and uneducated minds. A vulgar +error means an error either in conduct or belief into which man, +by the make of his being, is likely to fall. Now, people a degree +wiser and more thoughtful than the mass, discover that these vulgar +errors are errors. They conclude that their opposites (i. e., the +things at the other extremity of the scale) must be right; and by +running into the opposite extreme they run just as far wrong upon +the other side. There is too great a reaction. The twig was bent +to the right--they bend it to the left, forgetting that the right +thing was that the twig should be straight. If convinced that waste +and sauciness are wrong, they proceed to eat the grounds of their +tea; if convinced that self-indulgence is wrong, they conclude that +hair-shirts and midnight floggings are right; if convinced that +the Church of Rome has too many ceremonies, they resolve that they +will have no ceremonies at all; if convinced that it is unworthy to +grovel in the presence of a duke, they conclude that it will be a +fine thing to refuse the duke ordinary civility; if convinced that +monarehs are not much wiser or better than other human beings, they +run off into the belief that all kings have been little more than +incarnate demons; if convinced that representative government +often works very imperfectly, they raise a cry for imperialism; +if convinced that monarchy has its abuses, they call out for +republicanism; if convinced that Britain has many things which are +not so good as they ought to be, they keep constantly extolling +the perfection of the United States. + +Now, inasmuch as a rise of even one step in the scale of thought +elevates the man who has taken it above the vast host of men who +have never taken even that one step, the number of people who (at +least in matters of any moment) arrive at the Secondary Vulgar +Error is much less than the number of the people who stop at the +Primary Vulgar Error. Very great multitudes of human beings think +it a very fine thing, the very finest of all human things, to +be very rich. A much smaller number, either from the exercise of +their own reflective powers, or from the indoctrination of romantic +novels and overdrawn religious books, run to the opposite extreme: +undervalue wealth, deny that it adds anything to human comfort and +enjoyment, declare that it is an unmixed evil, profess to despise +it. I dare say that many readers of the Idylls of the King will +so misunderstand that exquisite song of 'Fortune and her Wheel,' +as to see in it only the charming and sublime embodiment of a +secondary vulgar error,--the error, to wit, that wealth and outward +circumstances are of no consequence at all. To me that song appears +rather to take the further step, and to reach the conclusion +in which is embodied the deliberate wisdom of humankind upon this +matter: the conclusion which shakes from itself on either hand +either vulgar error: the idolization of wealth on the one side, +the contempt of it on the other: and to convey the sobered judgment +that while the advantages and refinements of fortune are so great +that no thoughtful man can long despise it, the responsibilities +and temptations of it are so great that no thoughtful man will +much repine if he fail to reach it; and thus that we may genially +acquiesce in that which it pleases God to send. Midway between two +vulgar errors: steering a sure track between Scylla and Charybdis: +the grovelling multitude to the left, the romantic few to the +right; stand the words of inspired wisdom. The pendulum had probably +oscillated many times between the two errors, before it settled at +the central truth; 'Give me neither poverty nor riches; feed me +with food convenient for me: Lest I be full and deny Thee, and say, +Who is the Lord? Or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name +of my God in vain.' + +But although these errors of reaction are less common than the +primary vulgar errors, they are better worth noticing: inasmuch as +in many cases they are the errors of the well-intentioned. People +fall into the primary vulgar errors without ever thinking of right +or wrong: merely feeling an impulse to go there, or to think thus. +But worthy folk, for the most part, fall into the secondary vulgar +errors, while honestly endeavouring to escape what they have +discerned to be wrong. Not indeed that it is always in good faith +that men run to the opposite extreme. Sometimes they do it in pet +and perversity, being well aware that they are doing wrong. You hint +to some young friend, to whom you are nearly enough related to be +justified in doing so, that the dinner to which he has invited you, +with several others, is unnecessarily fine, is somewhat extravagant, +is beyond what he can afford. The young friend asks you back in +a week or two, and sets before you a feast of salt herrings and +potatoes. Now the fellow did not run into this extreme with the +honest intention of doing right. He knew perfectly well that this +was not what you meant. He did not go through this piece of folly +in the sincere desire to avoid the other error of extravagance. Or, +you are a country clergyman. You are annoyed, Sunday by Sunday, by +a village lad who, from enthusiasm or ostentation, sings so loud +in church as to disturb the whole congregation. You hint to him, +as kindly as you can, that there is something very pleasing about +the softer tones of his voice, and that you would like to hear +them more frequently. But the lad sees through your civil way of +putting the case. His vanity is touched. He sees you mean that you +don't like to hear him bellow: and next Sunday you will observe +that he shuts up his hymn-book in dudgeon, and will not sing at +all. Leave the blockhead to himself Do not set yourself to stroke +down his self-conceit: he knows quite well he is doing wrong: +there is neither sense nor honesty in what he does. You remark at +dinner, while staying with a silly old gentleman, that the plum-pudding, +though admirable, perhaps errs on the side of over-richness; next +day he sets before you a mass of stiff paste with no plums at +all, and says, with a look of sly stupidity, 'Well, I hope you are +satisfied now.' Politeness prevents your replying, 'No, you don't. +You know that is not what I meant. You are a fool.' You remember +the boy in Pickwick, who on his father finding fault with him for +something wrong he had done, offered to kill himself if that would +be any satisfaction to his parent. In this case you have a more +recondite instance of this peculiar folly. Here the primary course +is tacitly assumed, without being stated. The primary impulse of +the human being is to take care of himself; the opposite of that +of course is to kill himself. And the boy, being chidden for doing +something which might rank under the general head of taking care +of himself, proposed (as that course appeared unsatisfactory) to +take the opposite one. 'You don't take exercise enough,' said a +tutor to a wrong-headed boy who was under his care: 'you ought to +walk more.' Next morning the perverse fellow entered the breakfast +parlour in a fagged condition, and said, with the air of a martyr, +'Well, I trust I have taken exercise enough to-day: I have walked +twenty miles this morning.' As for all such manifestations of the +disposition to run into opposite extremes, let them be treated as +manifestations of pettedness, perversity, and dishonesty. In some +cases a high-spirited youth may be excused them; but, for the +most part, they come with doggedness, wrong-headedness, and dense +stupidity. And any pretext that they are exhibited with an honest +intention to do right, ought to be regarded as a transparently +false pretext. + +I have now before me a list (prepared by a much stronger hand +than mine) of honest cases in which men, avoiding Scylla, run into +Charybdis: in which men, thinking to bend the crooked twig straight, +bend it backwards. But before mentioning these, it may be remarked, +that there is often such a thing as a reaction from a natural +tendency, even when that natural tendency is not towards what may +be called a primary vulgar error. The law of reaction extends to +all that human beings can ever feel the disposition to think or do. +There are, doubtless, minds of great fixity of opinion and motive: +and there are certain things, in the case of almost all men, as +regards which their belief and their active bias never vary through +life: but with most human beings, with nations, with humankind, +as regards very many and very important matters, as surely and as +far as the pendulum has swung to the right, so surely and so far +will it swing to the left. I do not say that an opinion in favour +of monarchy is a primary vulgar error; or that an opinion in favour +of republicanism is a secondary: both may be equally right: but +assuredly each of these is a reaction from the other. America, for +instance, is one great reaction from Europe. The principle on which +these reactionary swings of the pendulum take place, is plain. +Whatever be your present position, you feel its evils and drawbacks +keenly. Your feeling of the present evil is much more vivid than +your imagination of the evil which is sure to be inherent in the +opposite system, whatever that may be. You live in a country where +the national Church is Presbyterian. You see, day by day, many +inconveniences and disadvantages inherent in that form of church +government. It is of the nature of evil to make its presence much +more keenly felt than the presence of good. So while keenly alive +to the drawbacks of presbytery, you are hardly conscious of its +advantages. You swing over, let us suppose, to the other end: you +swing over from Scotland into England, from presbytery to episcopacy. +For awhile you are quite delighted to find yourself free from the +little evils of which you had been wont to complain. But by and +bye the drawbacks of episcopacy begin to push themselves upon your +notice. You have escaped one set of disadvantages: you find that +you have got into the middle of another. Scylla no longer bellows +in your hearing; but Charybdis whirls you round. You begin to feel +that the country and the system yet remain to be sought, in which +some form of evil, of inconvenience, of worry, shall not press you. +Am I wrong in fancying, dear friends more than one or two, that +but for very shame the pendulum would swing back again to the point +from which it started: and you, kindly Scots, would find yourselves +more at home in kindly and homely Scotland, with her simple forms +and faith? So far as my experience has gone, I think that in all +matters not of vital moment, it is best that the pendulum should +stay at the end of the swing where it first found itself: it will +be in no more stable position at the other end: and it will somehow +feel stranger-like there. And you, my friend, though in your visits +to Anglican territory you heartily conform to the Anglican Church, +and enjoy as much as mortal san her noble cathedrals and her +stately worship; still I know that after all, you cannot shake off +the spell in which the old remembrances of your boyhood have bound +you. I know that your heart warms to the Burning Bush; [Footnote: +The scutcheon of the Church of Scotland.] and that it will, till +death chills it. + +A noteworthy fact in regard to the swing of the pendulum, is that +the secondary tendency is sometimes found in the ruder state of +society, and the less reflective man. Naturalness comes last. The +pendulum started from naturalness: it swung over into artificiality: +and with thoughtful people it has swung back to naturalness again. +Thus it is natural, when in danger, to be afraid. It is natural, +when you are possessed by any strong feeling, to show it. You see +all this in children: this is the point which the pendulum starts +from. It swings over, and we find a reaction from this. The reaction +is, to maintain and exhibit perfect coolness and indifference in +danger; to pretend to be incapable of fear. This state of things +we find in the Red Indian, a rude and uncivilized being. But +it is plain that with people who are able to think, there must be +a reaction from this. The pendulum cannot long stay in a position +which flies so completely in the face of the law of gravitation. It +is pure nonsense to talk about being incapable of fear. I remember +reading somewhere about Queen Elizabeth, that 'her soul was incapable +of fear.' That statement is false and absurd. You may regard fear +as unmanly and unworthy: you may repress the manifestations of +it; but the state of mind which (in beings not properly monstrous +or defective) follows the perception of being in danger, is fear. +As surely as the perception of light is sight, so surely is the +perception of danger fear. And for a man to say that his soul is +incapable of fear, is just as absurd as to say that from a peculiarity +of constitution, when dipped in water, he does not get wet. You, +human being, whoever you may be, when you are placed in danger, and +know you are placed in danger, and reflect on the fact, you feel +afraid. Don't vapour and say no; we know how the mental machine +must work, unless it be diseased. Now, the thoughtful man admits +all this: he admits that a bullet through his brain would be a very +serious thing for himself, and like-wise for his wife and children: +he admits that he shrinks from such a prospect; he will take pains +to protect himself from the risk; but he says that if duty requires +him to run the risk he will run it. This is the courage of the +civilized man as opposed to the blind, bull-dog insensibility of +the savage. This is courage--to know the existence of danger, but +to face it nevertheless. Here, under the influence of longer thought, +the pendulum has swung into common sense, though not quite back to +the point from which it started. Of course, it still keeps swinging +about in individual minds. The other day I read in a newspaper a +speech by a youthful rifleman, in which he boasted that no matter +to what danger exposed, his corps would never take shelter behind +trees and rocks, but would stand boldly out to the aim of the enemy. +I was very glad to find this speech answered in a letter to the +Times, written by a rifleman of great experience and proved bravery. +The experienced man pointed out that the inexperienced man was +talking nonsense: that true courage appeared in manfully facing risks +which were inevitable, but not in running into needless peril: and +that the business of a soldier was to be as useful to his country +and as destructive to the enemy as possible, and not to make needless +exhibitions of personal foolhardiness. Thus swings the pendulum as +to danger and fear. The point of departure, the primary impulse, +is, + +1. An impulse to avoid danger at all hazards: i. e., to run away, +and save yourself, however discreditably. + +The pendulum swings to the other extremity, and we have the secondary +impulse-- + +2. An impulse to disregard danger, and even to run into it, as if +it were of no consequence at all; i. e., young rifleman foolhardiness, +and Red Indian insensibility. + +The pendulum comes so far back, and rests at the point of wisdom: + +3. A determination to avoid all danger, the running into which would +do no good, and which may be avoided consistently with honour; but +manfully to face danger, however great, that comes in the way of +duty. + +But after all this deviation from the track, I return to my list of +Secondary Vulgar Errors, run into with good and honest intentions. +Here is the first-- + +Don't you know, my reader, that it is natural to think very bitterly +of the misconduct which affects yourself? If a man cheats your +friend, or cheats your slight acquaintance, or cheats some one who +is quite unknown to you, by selling him a lame horse, you disapprove +his conduct, indeed, but not nearly so much as if he had cheated +yourself. You learn that Miss Limejuice has been disseminating a +grossly untrue account of some remarks which you made in her hearing: +and your first impulse is to condemn her malicious falsehood, much +more severely than if she had merely told a few lies about some +one else. Yet it is quite evident that if we were to estimate the +doings of men with perfect justice, we should fix solely on the +moral element in their doings; and the accidental circumstance +of the offence or injury to ourselves would be neither here nor +there. The primary vulgar error, then, in this case is, undue and +excessive disapprobation of misconduct from which we have suffered. +No one but a very stupid person would, if it were fairly put to him, +maintain that this extreme disapprobation was right: but it cannot +be denied that this is the direction to which all human beings are +likely, at first, to feel an impulse to go. A man does you some +injury: you are much angrier than if he had done the like injury +to some one else. You are much angrier when your own servants are +guilty of little neglects and follies, than when the servants of +your next neighbour are guilty in a precisely similar degree. The +Prime Minister (or Chancellor) fails to make you a Queen's Counsel +or a Judge: you are much more angry than if he had overlooked +some other man, of precisely equal merit. And I do not mean merely +that the injury done to yourself comes more home to you, but that +positively you think it a worse thing. It seems as if there were +more of moral evil in it. The boy who steals your plums seems worse +than other boys stealing other plums. The servant who sells your +oats and starves your horses, seems worse than other servants who +do the like. It is not merely that you feel where the shoe pinches +yourself, more than where it pinches another: that is all quite +right. It is that you have a tendency to think it is a worse shoe +than another which gives an exactly equal amount of pain. You are +prone to dwell upon and brood over the misconduct which affected +yourself. + +Well, you begin to see that this is unworthy, that selfishness and +mortified conceit are at the foundation of it. You determine that +you will shake yourself free from this vulgar error. What more +magnanimous, you think, than to do the opposite of the wrong thing? +Surely it will be generous, and even heroic, to wholly acquit +the wrong-doer, and even to cherish him for a bosom friend. So +the pendulum swings over to the opposite extreme, and you land in +the secondary vulgar error. I do not mean to say that in practice +many persons are likely to thus bend the twig backwards; but it is +no small evil to think that it would be a right thing, and a fine +thing, to do even that which you never intend to do. So you write +an essay, or even a book, the gist of which is that it is a grand +thing to select for a friend and guide the human being who has done +you signal injustice and harm. Over that book, if it be a prettily +written tale, many young ladies will weep: and though without the +faintest intention of imitating your hero's behaviour, they will +think that it would be a fine thing if they did so. And it is a +great mischief to pervert the moral judgment and falsely to excite +the moral feelings. You forget that wrong is wrong, though it be +done against yourself, and that you have no right to acquit the +wrong to yourself as though it were no wrong at all. That lies +beyond your province. You may forgive the personal offence, but it +does not rest with you to acquit the guilt. You have no right to +confuse moral distinctions by practically saying that wrong is not +wrong, because it is done against you. All wrong is against very +many things and very grave things, besides being against you. It +is not for you to speak in the name of God and the universe. You +may not wish to say much about the injury done to yourself, but +there it is; and as to the choosing for your friend the man who has +greatly injured you, in most cases such a choice would be a very +unwise one, because in most cases it would amount to this--that +you should select a man for a certain post mainly because he has +shown himself possessed of qualities which unfit him for that post. +That surely would be very foolish. If you had to appoint a postman, +would you choose a man because he had no legs? And what is very +foolish can never be very magnanimous. + +The right course to follow lies between the two which have been +set out. The man who has done wrong to you is still a wrong-doer. +The question you have to consider is, What ought your conduct to be +towards a wrong-doer? Let there be no harbour given to any feeling +of personal revenge. But remember that it is your duty to disapprove +what is wrong, and that it is wisdom not too far to trust a man +who has proved himself unworthy to be trusted. I have no feeling of +selfish bitterness against the person who deceived me deliberately +and grossly, yet I cannot but judge that deliberate and gross +deceit is bad; and I cannot but judge that the person who deceived +me once might, if tempted, deceive me again: so he shall not have +the opportunity. I look at the horse which a friend offers me for +a short ride. I discern upon the knees of the animal a certain slight +but unmistakeable roughness of the hair. That horse has been down; +and if I mount that horse at all (which I shall not do except in +a case of necessity), I shall ride him with a tight rein, and with +a sharp look-out for rolling stones. + +Another matter in regard to which Scylla and Charybdis are very +discernible, is the fashion in which human beings think and speak +of the good or bad qualities of their friends. + +The primary tendency here is to blindness to the faults of a friend, +and over-estimate of his virtues and qualifications. Most people +are disposed extravagantly to over-value anything belonging to +or connected with themselves. A farmer tells you that there never +were such turnips as his turnips; a schoolboy thinks that the world +cannot show boys so clever as those with whom he is competing for +the first place in his class; a clever student at college tells +you what magnificent fellows are certain of his compeers--how sure +they are to become great men in life. Talk of Tennyson! You have +not read Smith's prize poem. Talk of Macaulay! Ah, if you could +see Brown's prize essay! A mother tells you (fathers are generally +less infatuated) how her boy was beyond comparison the most +distinguished and clever in his class--how he stood quite apart +from, any of the others. Your eye happens to fall a day or two +afterwards upon the prize-list advertised in the newspapers, and +you discover that (curiously) the most distinguished and clever +boy in that particular school is rewarded with the seventh prize. +I dare say you may have met with families in which there existed +the most absurd and preposterous belief as to their superiority, +social, intellectual, and moral, above other families which were +as good or better. And it is to be admitted, that if you are happy +enough to have a friend whose virtues and qualifications are really +high, your primary tendency will probably be to fancy him a great +deal cleverer, wiser, and better than, he really is, and to imagine +that he possesses no faults at all. The over-estimate of his good +qualities will be the result of your seeing them constantly, and +having their excellence much pressed on your attention, while from +not knowing so well other men who are quite as good, you are led to +think that those good qualities are more rare and excellent than +in fact they are. And you may possibly regard it as a duty to +shut your eyes to the faults of those who are dear to you, and to +persuade yourself, against your judgment, that they have no faults +or none worth thinking of. One can imagine a child painfully struggling +to be blind to a parent's errors, and thinking it undutiful and +wicked to admit the existence of that: which is too evident. And if +you know well a really good and able man, you will very naturally +think his goodness and his ability to be relatively much greater +than they are. For goodness and ability are in truth very noble +things: the more you look at them the more you will feel this: and +it is natural to judge that what is so noble cannot be very common; +whereas in fact there is much more good in this world than we are +ready to believe. If you find an intelligent person who believes +that some particular author is by far the best in the language, or +that some particular composer's music is by far the finest, or that +some particular preacher is by far the most eloquent and useful, or +that some particular river has by far the finest scenery, or that +some particular sea-side place has by far the most bracing and +exhilarating air, or that some particular magazine is ten thousand +miles ahead of all competitors, the simple explanation in ninety-nine +cases out of a hundred is this--that the honest individual who +holds these overstrained opinions knows a great deal better than +he knows any others, that author, that music, that preacher, that +river, that sea-side place, that magazine. He knows how good they +are: and not having much studied the merits of competing things, +he does not know that these are very nearly as good. + +But I do not think that there is any subject whatever in regard to +which it is so capricious and arbitrary whether you shall run it +into Scylla or into Charybdis. It depends entirely on how it strikes +the mind, whether you shall go off a thousand miles to the right or +a thousand miles to the lefn You know, if you fire a rifle-bullet +at an iron-coated ship, the bullet, if it impinge upon the iron +plate at A, may glance away to the west, while if it impinge upon +the iron plate at B, only an inch distant from A, it may glance off +towards the directly opposite point of the compass. A very little +thing makes all the difference. You stand in the engine-room of +a steamer; you admit the steam to the cylinders, and the paddles +turn ahead; a touch of a lever, you admit the selfsame steam to the +selfsame cylinders, and the paddles turn astern. It is so oftentimes +in the moral world. The turning of a straw decides whether the +engines shall work forward or backward. + +Now, given a friend, to whom you are very warmly attached: it is +a toss-up whether your affection for your friend shall make you, + +1. Quite blind to his faults; or, + +2. Acutely and painfully alive to his faults. + +Sincere affection may impel either way. Your friend, for instance, +makes a speech at a public dinner. He makes a tremendously bad +speech. Now, your love for him may lead you either + +1. To fancy that his speech is a remarkably good one; or, + +2. To feel acutely how bad his speech is, and to wish you could +sink through the floor for very shame. + +If you did not care for him at all, you would not mind a bit whether +he made a fool of himself or not. But if you really care for him, +and if the speech be really very bad, and if you are competent to +judge whether speeches in general be bad or not, I do not see how you +can escape falling either into Scylla or Charybdis. And accordingly, +while there are families in which there exists a preposterous +over-estimate of the talents and acquirements of their several +members, there are other families in which the rifle-bullet has +glanced off in the opposite direction, and in which there exists +a depressing and unreasonable under-estimate of the talents and +acquirements of their several members. I have known such a thing as +a family in which certain boys during their early education had it +ceaselessly drilled into them that they were the idlest, stupidest, +and most ignorant boys in the world. The poor little fellows grew +up under that gloomy belief: for conscience is a very artificial +thing, and you may bring up very good boys in the belief that +they are very bad. At length, happily, they went to a great public +school; and like rockets they went up forthwith to the top of their +classes, and never lost their places there. From school they went +to the university, and there won honours more eminent than had ever +been won before. It will not surprise people who know much of human +nature, to be told that through this brilliant career of school +and college work the home belief in their idleness and ignorance +continued unchanged, and that hardly at its end was the toil-worn +senior wrangler regarded as other than an idle and useless blockhead. +Now, the affection which prompts the under-estimate may be quite +as real and deep as that which prompts the over-estimate, but its +manifestation is certainly the less amiable and pleasing. I have +known a successful author whose relatives never believed, till the +reviews assured them of it, that his writings were anything but +contemptible and discreditable trash. + +I have been speaking of an honest though erroneous estimate of the +qualities of one's friends, rather than of any expression of that +estimate. The primary tendency is to an over-estimate; the secondary +tendency is to an under-estimate. A commonplace man thinks there +never was mortal so wise and good as the friend he values; a man +who is a thousandth part of a degree less common-place resolves +that he will keep clear of that error, and accordingly he feels +bound to exaggerate the failings of his friend and to extenuate his +good qualities. He thinks that a friend's judgment is very good and +sound, and that he may well rely upon it; but for fear of showing +it too much regard, he probably shows it too little. He thinks that +in some dispute his friend is right; but for fear of being partial +he decides that his friend is wrong. It is obvious that in any +instance in which a man, seeking to avoid the primary error of +over-estimating his friend, falls into the secondary of under-estimating +him, he will (if any importance be attached to his judgment) damage +his friend's character; for most people will conclude that he is +saying of his friend the best that can be said; and that if even he +admits that there is so little to approve about his friend, there +must be very little indeed to approve: whereas the truth may be, +that he is saying the worst that can be said--that no man could +with justice give a worse picture of the friend's character. + +Not very far removed from this pair of vulgar errors stand the +following: + +The primary vulgar error is, to set up as an infallible oracle one +whom we regard as wise--to regard any question as settled finally +if we know what is his opinion upon it. You remember the man in the +Spectator who was always quoting the sayings of Mr. Nisby. There +was a report in London that the Grand Vizier was dead. The good +man was uncertain whether to believe the report or not. He went and +talked with Mr. Nisby and returned with his mind reassured. Now, +he enters in his diary that 'the Grand Vizier was certainly dead.' +Considering the weakness of the reasoning powers of many people, +there is something pleasing after all in this tendency to look +round for somebody stronger upon whom they may lean. It is wise +and natural in a scarlet-runner to climb up something, for it could +not grow up by itself; and for practical purposes it is well that +in each household there should be a little Pope, whose dicta on +all topics shall be unquestionable. It saves what is to many people +the painful effort of making up their mind what they are to do or +to think. It enables them to think or act with much greater decision +and confidence. Most men have always a lurking distrust of their +own judgment, unless they find it confirmed by that of somebody +else. There are very many decent commonplace people who, if they +had been reading a book or article and had been thinking it very +fine, would, if you were resolutely and loudly to declare in their +hearing that it was wretched trash, begin to think that it was +wretched trash too. + +The primary vulgar error, then, is to regard as an oracle one whom +we esteem as wise; and the secondary, the Charybdis opposite to +this Scylla, is, to entertain an excessive dread of being too much +led by one whom we esteem as wise. I mean an honest candid dread. +I do not mean a petted, wrong-headed, pragmatical determination to +let him see that you can think for yourself. You see, rny friend, +I don't suppose you to be a self-conceited fool. You remember how +Presumption, in the Pilgrim's Progress, on being offered some good +advice, cut his kind adviser short by declaring that Every tub must +stand on its own bottom. We have all known men, young and old, who, +upon being advised to do something which they knew they ought to +do, would, out of pure perversity and a wrong-headed independence, +go and do just the opposite thing. The secondary error of which +I am now thinking is that of the man who honestly dreads making +too much of the judgment of any mortal: and who, acting from a +good intention, probably goes wrong in the same direction as the +wrong-headed conceited man. Now, don't you know that to such an +extent does this morbid fear of trusting too much to any mortal go +in some men, that in their practical belief you would think that +the fact of any man being very wise was a reason why his judgment +should be set aside as unworthy of consideration; and more particularly, +that the fact of any man being supposed to be a powerful reasoner, +was quite enough to show that all he says is to go for nothing? You +are quite aware how jauntily some people use this last consideration, +to sweep away at once all the reasons given by an able and ingenious +speaker or writer. And it cuts the ground effectually from under +his feet. You state an opinion, somewhat opposed to that commonly +received. An honest, stupid person meets it with a surprised stare. +You tell him (I am recording what I have myself witnessed) that +you have been reading a work on the subject by a certain prelate: +you state as well as you can the arguments which are set forth by +the distinguished prelate. These arguments seem of great weight. +They deserve at least to be carefully considered. They seem to +prove the novel opinion to be just: they assuredly call on candid +minds to ponder the whole matter well before relapsing into the +old current way of thinking. Do you expect that the honest, stupid +person will judge thus? If so, you are mistaken. He is not shaken +in the least by all these strong reasons. The man who has set +these reasons forth is known to be a master of logic: that is good +ground why all his reasons should count for nothing. Oh, says the +stupid, honest person, we all know that the Archbishop can prove +anything! And so the whole thing is finally settled. + +I have a considerable list of instances in which the reaction from +an error on one side of the line of right, lands in error equally +distant from the line of right on the other side: but it is needless +to go on to illustrate these at length; the mere mention of them +will suffice to suggest many thoughts to the intelligent reader. A +primary vulgar error, to which very powerful minds have frequently +shown a strong tendency, is bigoted intolerance: intolerance in +politics, in religion, in ecclesiastical affairs, in morals, in +anything. You may safely say that nothing but most unreasonable +bigotry would lead a Tory to say that all Whigs are scoundrels, +or a Whig to Bay that all Tories are bloated tyrants or crawling +sycophants. I must confess that, in severe reason, it is impossible +entirely to justify the Churchman who holds that all Dissenters +are extremely bad; though (so does inveterate prepossession warp +the intellect) I have also to admit that it appears to me that for +a Dissenter to hold that there is little or no good in the Church +is a great deal worse. There is something fine, however, about +a heartily intolerant man: you like him, though you disapprove of +him. Even if I were inclined to Whiggery, I should admire the downright +dictum of Dr. Johnson, that the devil was the first Whig. Even if +I were a Nonconformist, I should like Sydney Smith the better for +the singular proof of his declining strength which he once adduced: +'I do believe,' he said, 'that if you were to put a knife into my +hand, I should not have vigour enough to stick it into a Dissenter!' +The secondary error in this respect is a latitudinarian liberality +which regards truth and falsehood as matters of indifference. +Genuine liberality of sentiment is a good thing, and difficult as +it is good: but much liberality, political and religious, arises +really from the fact, that the liberal man does not care a rush +about the matter in debate. It is very easy to be tolerant in a +case in which you have no feeling whatever either way. The Churchman +who does not mind a bit whether the Church stands or falls, has no +difficulty in tolerating the enemies and assailants of the Church. +It is different with a man who holds the existence of a national +Establishment as a vital matter. And I have generally remarked +that when clergymen of the Church profess extreme catholicity of +spirit, and declare that they do not regard it as a thing of the +least consequence whether a man be Churchman or Dissenter, intelligent +Nonconformists receive such protestations with much contempt, and +(possibly with injustice) suspect their utterer of hypocrisy. If +you really care much about any principle; and if you regard it as +of essential importance; you cannot help feeling a strong impulse +to intolerance of those who decidedly and actively differ from you. + +Here are some further vulgar errors, primary and secondary: + +Primary--Idleness, and excessive self-indulgence; + +Secondary--Penances, and self-inflicted tortures. + +Primary--Swallowing whole all that is said or done by one's party; + +Secondary--Dread of quite agreeing, or quite disagreeing on any +point with any one; and trying to keep at exactly an equal distance +from each. + +Primary--Following the fashion with indiscriminate ardour; + +Secondary--Finding a merit in singularity, as such. + +Primary--Being quite captivated with thought which is striking and +showy, but not sound; + +Secondary--Concluding that whatever is sparkling must be unsound. + +I hardly know which tendency of the following is the primary, and +which the secondary; but I am sure that both exist. It may depend +upon the district of country, and the age of the thinker, which of +the two is the action and which the reaction: + +1. Thinking a clergyman a model of perfection, because he is a stout +dashing fellow who plays at cricket and goes out fox-hunting; and, +generally, who flies in the face of all conventionalism; + +2. Thinking a clergyman a model of perfection because he is of very +grave and decorous deportment; never plays at cricket, and never +goes out fox-hunting; and, generally, conforms carefully to all +the little proprieties. + +1. Thinking a bishop a model prelate because he has no stiffness +or ceremony about him, but talks frankly to everybody, and puts +all who approach him at their ease; + +2. Thinking a bishop a model prelate because he never descends from +his dignity; never forgets that he is a bishop, and keeps all who +approach him in their proper places. + +1. Thinking the Anglican Church service the best, because it is so +decorous, solemn, and dignified; + +2. Thinking the Scotch Church service the best, because it is so +simple and so capable of adaptation to all circumstances which may +arise. + +1. Thinking an artisan a sensible right-minded man, knowing his +station, because he is always very respectful in his demeanour to +the squire, and great folks generally; + +2. Thinking an artisan a fine, manly, independent fellow, because +he is always much less respectful in his demeanour to the squire +than he is to other people. + +1. Thinking it a fine thing to be a fast, reckless, swaggering, +drinking, swearing reprobate: Being ashamed of the imputation +of being a well-behaved and (above all) a pious and conscientious +young man: Thinking it manly to do wrong, and washy to do right; + +2. Thinking it a despicable thing to be a fast, reckless, swaggering, +drinking, swearing reprobate: Thinking it is manly to do right, +and shameful to do wrong. + +1. That a young man should begin his letters to his father +with HONOURED SIR; and treat the old gentleman with extraordinary +deference upon all occasions: + +2. That a young man should begin his remarks to his father on any +subject with, I SAY, GOVERNOR; and treat the old gentleman upon +all occasions with no deference at all. + +But indeed, intelligent reader, the swing of the pendulum is the +type of the greater amount of human opinion and human feeling. In +individuals, in communities, in parishes, in little country towns, +in great nations, from hour to hour, from week to week, from century +to century, the pendulum swings to and fro. From Yes on the one +side to No on the other side of almost all conceivable questions, +the pendulum swings. Sometimes it swings over from Yes to No in a +few hours or days; sometimes it takes centuries to pass from the one +extremity to the other. In feeling, in taste, in judgment, in the +grandest matters and the least, the pendulum swings. From Popery to +Puritanism; from Puritanism back towards Popery; from Imperialism +to Republicanism, and back towards Imperialism again; from Gothic +architecture to Palladian, and from Palladian back to Gothic; +from hooped petticoats to drapery of the scantiest, and from that +backwards to the multitudinous crinoline; from crying up the science +of arms to crying it down, and back; from the schoolboy telling you +that his companion Brown is the jolliest fellow, to the schoolboy +telling you that his companion Brown is a beast, and back again; +from very high carriages to very low ones and back; from very short +horsetails to very long ones and back again--the pendulum swings. +In matters of serious judgment it is comparatively easy to discern +the rationale of this oscillation from side to side. It is that +the evils of what is present are strongly felt, while the evils of +what is absent are forgotten; and so, when the pendulum has swung +over to A, the evils of A send it flying over to B, while when it +reaches B the evils of B repel it again to A. In matters of feeling +it is less easy to discover the how and why of the process: we +can do no more than take refuge in the general belief that nature +loves the swing of the pendulum. There are people who at one time +have an excessive affection for some friend, and at another take +a violent disgust at him: and who (though sometimes permanently +remaining at the latter point) oscillate between these positive +and negative poles. You, being a sensible man, would not feel very +happy if some men were loudly crying you up: for you would be very +sure that in a little while they would be loudly crying you dovvn. +If you should ever happen to feel for one day an extraordinary +lightness and exhilaration of spirits, you will know that you must +pay for all this the price of corresponding depression--the hot fit +must be counterbalanced by the cold. Let us thank God that there +are beliefs and sentiments as to which the pendulum does not swing, +though even in these I have known it do so. I have known the young +girl who appeared thoroughly good and pious, who devoted herself +to works of charity, and (with even an over-scrupulous spirit) +eschewed vain company: and who by and bye learned to laugh at all +serious things, and ran into the utmost extremes of giddiness and +extravagant gaiety. And not merely should all of us be thankful if +we feel that in regard to the gravest sentiments and beliefs our +mind and heart remain year after year at the same fixed point: +I think we should be thankful if we find that as regards our +favourite books and authors our taste remains unchanged; that the +calm judgment of our middle age approves the preferences of ten +years since, and that these gather strength as time gives them the +witchery of old remembrances and associations. You enthusiastically +admired Byron once, you estimate him very differently now. You once +thought Festus finer than Paradise Loft, but you have swung away +from that. But for a good many years you have held by Wordsworth, +Shakspeare, and Tennyson, and this taste you are not likely to +outgrow. It is very curious to look over a volume which we once +thought magnificent, enthralling, incomparable, and to wonder +how on earth we ever cared for that stilted rubbish. No doubt the +pendulum swings quite as decidedly to your estimate of yourself +as to your estimate of any one else. It would be nothing at all to +have other people attacking and depreciating your writings, sermons, +and the like, if you yourself had entire confidence in them. The +mortifying thing is when your own taste and judgment say worse of +your former productions than could be said by the most unfriendly +critic; and the dreadful thought occurs, that if you yourself to-day +think so badly of what you wrote ten years since, it is probable +enough that on this day ten years hence (if you live to see it) +you may think as badly of what you are writing to-day. Let us hope +not. Let us trust that at length a standard of taste and judgment +is reached from which we shall not ever materially swing away. Yet +the pendulum will never be quite arrested as to your estimate of +yourself. Now and then you will think yourself a block-head: by and +bye you will think yourself very clever; and your judgment will +oscillate between these opposite poles of belief. Sometimes you +will think that your house is remarkably comfortable, sometimes +that it is unendurably uncomfortable; sometimes you will think that +your place in life is a very dignified and important one, sometimes +that it is a very poor and insignificant one; sometimes you will +think that some misfortune or disappointment which has befallen you +is a very crushing one; sometimes you will think that it is better +as it is. Ah, my brother, it is a poor, weak, wayward thing, the +human heart! + +You know, of course, how the pendulum of public opinion swings +backwards and forwards. The truth lies somewhere about the middle +of the arc it describes, in most cases. You know how the popularity +of political men oscillates, from A, the point of greatest popularity, +to B, the point of no popularity at all. Think of Lord Brougham. +Once the pendulum swung far to the right: he was the most popular +man in Britain. Then, for many years, the pendulum swung far to +the left, into the cold regions of unpopularity, loss of influence, +and opposition benches. And now, in his last days, the pendulum +has come over to the right again. So with lesser men. When the +new clergyman comes to a country parish, how high his estimation! +Never was there preacher so impressive, pastor so diligent, man +so frank and agreeable. By and bye his sermons are middling, his +diligence middling; his manners rather stiff or rather too easy. +In a year or two the pendulum rests at its proper point: and from +that time onward the parson gets, in most cases, very nearly the +credit he deserves. The like oscillation of public opinion and feeling +exists in the case of unfavourable as of favourable judgments. A +man commits a great crime. His guilt is thought awful. There is a +general outcry for his condign punishment. He is sentenced to be +hanged. In a few days the tide begins to turn. His crime was not +so great. He had met great provocation. His education had been +neglected. He deserves pity rather than reprobation. Petitions +are got up that he should be let off; and largely signed by the +self-same folk who were loudest in the outcry against him. And +instead of this fact, that those folk were the keenest against the +criminal, being received (as it ought) as proof that their opinion +is worth nothing at all, many will receive it as proof that their +opinion is entitled to special consideration. The principle of the +pendulum in the matter of criminals is well understood by the Old +Bailey practitioners of New York and their worthy clients. When +a New Yorker is sentenced to be hanged, he remains as a cool as +cucumber; for the New York law is, that a year must pass between +the sentence and the execution. And long before the year passes, +the public sympathy has turned in the criminal's favour. Endless +petitions go up for his pardon. Of course he gets off. And indeed +it is not improbable that he may receive a public testimonial. It +cannot be denied that the natural transition in the popular feeling +is from applauding a man to hanging him, and from hanging a man to +applauding him. + +Even so does the pendulum swing, and the world run away! + + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +CONCERNING CHURCHYARDS. + + + + + + + + +Many persons do not like to go near a churchyard: some do not like +even to hear a churchyard mentioned. Many others feel an especial +interest in that quiet place--an interest which is quite unconnected +with any personal associations with it. A great deal depends upon +habit; and a great deals turns, too, on whether the churchyard +which we know best is a locked-up, deserted, neglected place, all +grown over with nettles; or a spot not too much retired, open to +all passers-by, with trimly-mown grass and neat gravelled walks. +I do not sympathize with the taste which converts a burying-place +into a flower-garden or a fashionable lounge for thoughtless people: +let it be the true 'country churchyard,' only with some appearance +of being remembered and cared for. For myself, though a very +commonplace person, and not at all sentimentally inclined, I have +a great liking for a churchyard. Hardly a day passes on which I do +not go and walk up and down for a little in that which surrounds +my church. Probably some people may regard me as extremely devoid +of occupation, when I confess that daily, after breakfast, and +before sitting down to my work (which is pretty hard, though they +may not think so), I walk slowly down to the churchyard, which +is a couple of hundred yards off, and there pace about for a few +minutes, looking at the old graves and the mossy stones. Nor is +this only in summer-time, when the sward is white with daisies, +when the ancient oaks around the gray wall are leafy and green, +when the passing river flashes bright through their openings and +runs chiming over the warm stones, and when the beautiful hills +that surround the quiet spot at a little distance are flecked with +summer light and shade; but in winter too, when the bare branches +look sharp against the frosty sky, and the graves look like wavelets +on a sea of snow. Now, if I were anxious to pass myself off upon +my readers as a great and thoughtful man, I might here give an +account of the profound thoughts which I think in my daily musings +in my pretty churchyard. But, being an essentially commonplace +person (as I have no doubt about nine hundred and ninety-nine out +of every thousand of my readers also are), I must here confess +that generally I walk about the churchyard, thinking and feeling +nothing very particular. I do not believe that ordinary people, +when worried by some little care, or pressed down by some little +sorrow, have only to go and muse in a churchyard in order to feel +how trivial and transient such cares and sorrows are, and how very +little they ought to vex us. To commonplace mortals, it is the +sunshine within the breast that does most to brighten; and the thing +that has most power to darken is the shadow there. And the scenes +and teachings of external nature have, practically, very little +effect indeed. And so, when musing in the churchyard, nothing grand, +heroical, philosophical, or tremendous ever suggests itself to me. +I look with pleasure at the neatly cut walks and grass. I peep in +at a window of the church, and think how I am to finish my sermon +for next Sunday. I read over the inscriptions on the stones which +mark where seven of my predecessors sleep. I look vacantly at the +lichens and moss which have overgrown certain tombstones three +or four centuries old. And occasionally I think of what and where +I shall be, when the village mason, whistling cheerfully at his +task, shall cut out my name and years on the stone which will mark +my last resting-place. But all these, of course, are commonplace +thoughts, just what would occur to anybody else, and really not +worth repeating. + +And yet, although 'death, and the house appointed for all living,' +form a topic which has been treated by innumerable writers, from +the author of the book of Job to Mr. Dickens; and although the +subject might well be vulgarized by having been, for many a day, +the stock resort of every commonplace aimer at the pathetic; still +the theme is one which never can grow old. And the experience and +the heart of most men convert into touching eloquence even the +poorest formula of set phrases about the tremendous Fact. Nor are +we able to repress a strong interest in any account of the multitude +of fashions in which the mortal part of man has been disposed of, +after the great change has passed upon it. In a volume entitled +God's Acre, written by a lady, one Mrs. Stone, and published a year +or two since, you may find a great amount of curious information +upon such points: and after thinking of the various ways of burial +described, I think you will return with a feeling of home and +of relief to the quiet English country churchyard. I should think +that the shocking and revolting description of the burning of the +remains of Shelley, published by Mr. Trelawney, in his Last Days +of Shelhy and Byron, will go far to destroy any probability of +the introduction of cremation in this country, notwithstanding the +ingenuity and the eloquence of the little treatise published about +two years ago by a Member of the College of Surgeons, whose gist +you will understand from its title, which is Burning the Dead; or, +Urn-Sepulture Religiously, Socially, and Generally considered; with +Suggestions for a Revival of the Practice, as a Sanitary Measure. +The choice lies between burning and burying: and the latter being +universally accepted in Britain, it remains that it be carried +out in the way most decorous as regards the deceased, and most +soothing to the feelings of surviving friends. Every one has seen +burying-places of all conceivable kinds, and every one knows how +prominent a feature they form in the English landscape. There is +the dismal corner in the great city, surrounded by blackened walls, +where scarce a blade of grass will grow, and where the whole thing +is foul and pestilential. There is the ideal country churchyard, +like that described by Gray, where the old elms and yews keep watch +over the graves where successive generations of simple rustics have +found their last resting-place, and where in the twilight the owls +hoot from the tower of the ivy-covered church. There is the bare +enclosure, surrounded by four walls, and without a tree, far up the +lonely Highland hill-side; and more lonely still, the little gray +stone, rising above the purple heather, where rude letters, touched +up by Old Mortality's hands, tell that one, probably two or three, +rest beneath, who were done to death for what they firmly believed +was their Redeemer's cause, by Claverhouse or Dalyell. There is +the churchyard by the bleak sea-shore, where coffins have been laid +bare by the encroaching waves; and the niche in cathedral crypt, +or the vault under the church's floor. I cannot conceive anything +more irreverent than the American fashion of burying in unconsecrated +earth, each family having its own place of interment in the corner +of its own garden: unless it be the crotchet of the silly old +peer, who spent the last years of his life in erecting near his +castle-door, a preposterous building, the progress of which he +watched day by day with the interest of a man who had worn out all +other interest, occasionally lying down in the stone coffin which +he had caused to be prepared, to make sure that it would fit him. +I feel sorry, too, for the poor old Pope, who when he dies is laid +on a shelf above a door in St. Peter's, where he remains till the +next Pope dies, and then is put out of the way to make room for +him; nor do I at all envy the noble who has his family vault filled +with coffins covered with velvet and gold, occupied exclusively by +corpses of good quality. It is better surely to be laid, as Allan +Cunningham wished, where we shall 'not be built over;' where 'the +wind shall blow and the daisy grow upon our grave.' Let it be +among our kindred, indeed, in accordance with the natural desire; +but not on dignified shelves, not in aristocratic vaults, but lowly +and humbly, where the Christian dead sleep for the Resurrection. +Most people will sympathize so far with Beattie, though his lines +show that he was a Scotchman, and lived where there are not many +trees:-- + + Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down, + Where a green grassy turf is all I crave, + With here and there a violet bestrown, + Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; + And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave! + +But it depends entirely upon individual associations and fancies +where one would wish to rest after life's fitful fever: and I have +hardly ever been more deeply impressed than by certain lines which +I cut out of an old newspaper when I was a boy, and which set out +a choice far different from that of The Minstrel. They are written +by Mr. Westwood, a true poet, though not known as he deserves to +be. Here they are:-- + + Not there, not there! + Not in that nook, that ye deem so fair;-- + Little reck I of the blue bright sky, + And the stream that floweth so murmuringly, + And the bending boughs, and the breezy air-- + Not there, good friends, not there! + + In the city churchyard, where the grass + Groweth rank and black, and where never a ray + Of that self-same sun doth find its way + Through the heaped-up houses' serried mass-- + Where the only sounds are the voice of the throng, + And the clatter of wheels as they rush along-- + Or the plash of the rain, or the wind's hoarse cry, + Or the busy tramp of the passer-by, + Or the toll of the bell on the heavy air-- + Good friends, let it be there! + + I am old, my friends--I am very old-- + Fourscore and five--and bitter cold + Were that air on the hill-side far away; + Eighty full years, content, I trow, + Have I lived in the home where ye see me now, + And trod those dark streets day by day, + Till my soul doth love them; I love them all, + Each battered pavement, and blackened wall, + Each court and corner. Good sooth! to me + They are all comely and fair to see-- + They have old faces--each one doth tell + A tale of its own, that doth like me well-- + Sad or merry, as it may be, + From the quaint old book of my history. + And, friends, when this weary pain is past, + Fain would I lay me to rest at last + In their very midst;--full sure am I, + How dark soever be earth and sky, + I shall sleep softly--I shall know + That the things I loved so here below + Are about me still--so never care + That my last home looketh all bleak and bare-- + Good friends, let it be there! + +Some persons appear to think that it argues strength of mind and +freedom from unworthy prejudice, to profess great indifference as +to what becomes of their mortal part after they die. I have met with +men who talked in a vapouring manner about leaving their bodies to +be dissected; and who evidently enjoyed the sensation which such +sentiments produced among simple folk. Whenever I hear any man +talk in this way, my politeness, of course, prevents my telling him +that he is an uncommonly silly person; but it does not prevent my +thinking him one. It is a mistake to imagine that the soul is the +entire man. Human nature, alike here and hereafter, consists of +soul and body in union; and the body is therefore justly entitled to +its own degree of thought and care. But the point, indeed, is not +one to be argued; it is, as it appears to me, a matter of intuitive +judgment and instinctive feeling; and I apprehend that this feeling +and judgment have never appeared more strongly than in the noblest +of our race. I hold by Burke, who wrote, 'I should like that my dust +should mingle with kindred dust; the good old expression, "family +burying-ground," has something pleasing in it, at least to me.' Mrs. +Stone quotes Lady Murray's account of the death of her mother, the +celebrated Grissell Baillie, which shows that that strong-minded +and noble-hearted woman felt the natural desire:-- + +The next day she called me: gave directions about some few things: +said she wished to be carried home to lie by my father, but that +perhaps it would be too much trouble and inconvenience to us at +that season, therefore left me to do as I pleased; but that, in a +black purse in her cabinet, I would find money sufficient to do it, +which she had kept by her for that use, that whenever it happened, +it might not straiten us. She added, 'I have now no more to say or +do:' tenderly embraced me, and laid down her head upon the pillow, +and spoke little after that. + +An instance, at once touching and awful, of care for the body +after the soul has gone, is furnished by certain well-known lines +written by a man not commonly regarded as weak-minded or prejudiced; +and engraved by his direction on the stone that marks his grave. +If I am wrong, I am content to go wrong with Shakspeare: + + Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear + To dig the dust enclosed here: + Blest be the man that spares these stones, + And curst be he that moves my bones. + +The most eloquent exposition I know of the religious aspect of the +question, is contained in the concluding sentences of Mr. Melvill's +noble sermon on the 'Dying Faith of Joseph.' I believe my readers +will thank me for quoting it:-- + +It is not a Christian thing to die manifesting indifference as to +what is done with the body. That body is redeemed: not a particle +of its dust but was bought with drops of Christ's precious blood. +That body is appointed to a glorious condition; not a particle of +the corruptible but what shall put on incorruption; of the mortal +that shall not assume immortality. The Christian knows this: it +is not the part of a Christian to seem unmindful of this. He may, +therefore, as he departs, speak of the place where he would wish to +be laid. 'Let me sleep,' he may say, 'with my father and my mother, +with my wife and my children; lay me not here, in this distant land, +where my dust cannot mingle with its kindred. I would he chimed to +my grave by my own village bell, and have my requiem sung where I +was baptized into Christ.' Marvel ye at such last words? Wonder ye +that one, whose spirit is just entering the separate state, should +have this care for the body which he is about to leave to the worms? +Nay, he is a believer in Jesus as 'the Resurrection and the Life:' +this belief prompts his dying words; and it shall have to be said +of him as of Joseph, that 'by faith,' yea, 'by faith,' he 'gave +commandment concerning his bones!' + +If you hold this belief, my reader, you will look at a neglected +churchyard with much regret; and you will highly approve of all +endeavours to make the burying-place of the parish as sweet though +solemn a spot as can be found within it. I have lately read a little +tract, by Mr. Hill, the Rural Dean of North Frome, in the Diocese +of Hereford, entitled Thoughts on Churches and Churchyards, which +is well worthy of the attentive perusal of the country clergy. Its +purpose is to furnish practical suggestions for the maintenance +of decent propriety about the church and churchyard. I am not, +at present, concerned with that part of the tract which relates +to churches; but I may remark, in passing, that Mr. Hill's views +upon that subject appear to me distinguished by great good sense, +moderation, and taste. He does not discourage country clergymen, +who have but limited means with which to set about ordering +and beautifying their churches, by suggesting arrangements on too +grand and expensive a scale: on the contrary, he enters with hearty +sympathy into all plans for attaining a simple and inexpensive +seemliness where more cannot be accomplished. And I think he hits +with remarkable felicity the just mean between an undue and excessive +regard to the mere externalities of worship, and a puritanical +bareness and contempt for material aids, desiring, in the words +of Archbishop Bramhall, that 'all be with due moderation, so as +neither to render religion sordid and sluttish, nor yet light and +garish, but comely and venerable.' + +Equally judicious, and equally practical, are Mr. Hill's hints as +to the ordering of churchyards. He laments that churchyards should +ever be found where long, rank grass, briers, and nettles abound, +and where neatly kept walks and graves are wanting. He goes on:-- + +And yet, how trifling an amount of care and attention would suffice +to render neat, pretty, and pleasant to look upon, that which has +oftentimes an unpleasing, desolate, and painful aspect. A few sheep +occasionally (or better still, the scythe and shears now and then +employed), with a trifling attention to the walks, once properly +formed and gravelled, will suffice, when the fences are duly kept, +to make any churchyard seemly and neat: a little more than this +will make it ornamental and instructive. + +It is possible that many persons might feel that flower-beds and +shrubberies are not what they would wish to see in a churchyard; +they might think they gave too garden-like and adorned a look to +so solemn and sacred a spot; persons will not all think alike on +such a matter: and yet something may be done in this direction with +an effect which would please everybody. A few trees of the arbor +vitae, the cypress, and the Irish yew, scattered here and there, with +tirs in the hedge-rows or boundary fences, would be unobjectionable; +while wooden baskets, or boxes, placed by the sides of the walks, +and filled in summer with the fuchsia or scarlet geranium, would give +our churchyards an exceedingly pretty, and perhaps not unsuitable +appearance. Little clumps of snowdrops and primroses might also +be planted here and there; for flowers may fitly spring up, bloom, +and fade away, in a spot which so impressively tells us of death +and resurrection: and where sheep even are never admitted, all +these methods for beautifying a churchyard may be adopted. Shrubs +and flowers on and near the graves, as is so universal in Wales; +independently of their pretty effect, show a kindly feeling for the +memory of those whose bodies rest beneath them; and how far to be +preferred to those enormous and frightful masses of brick or stone +which the country mason has, alas, so plentifully supplied! + +In the case of a clergyman, a taste for keeping his churchyard +in becoming order is just like a taste for keeping his garden and +shrubbery in order: only let him begin the work, and the taste +will grow. There is latent in the mind of every man, unless he be +the most untidy and unobservant of the species, a love for well-mown +grass and for sharply outlined gravel-walks. My brethren, credite +experto. I did not know that in my soul there was a chord that +vibrated responsive to trim gravel and grass, till I tried, and +lo! it was there. Try for yourselves: you do not know, perhaps, +the strange affinities that exist between material and immaterial +nature. If any youthful clergyman shall read these lines, who knows +in his conscience that his churchyard-walks are grown up with weeds, +and the graves covered with nettles, upon sight hereof let him summon +his man-servant, or get a labourer if he have no man-servant. Let +him provide a reaping-hook and a large new spade. These implements +will suffice in the meantime. Proceed to the churchyard: do not +get disheartened at its neglected look, and turn away. Begin at +the entrance-gate. Let all the nettles and long grass for six feet +on. either side of the path be carefully cut down and gathered +into heaps. Then mark out with a line the boundaries of the first +ten yards of the walk. Fall to work and cut the edges with the spade; +clear away the weeds and grass that have overspread the walk, also +with the spade. In a little time you will feel the fascination +of the sharp outline of the walk against the grass on each side. +And I repeat, that to the average human being there is something +inexpressibly pleasing in that sharp outline. By the time the ten +yards of walk are cut, you will find that you have discovered a new +pleasure and a new sensation; and from that day will date a love +of tidy walks and grass;--and what more is needed to make a pretty +churchyard? The fuchsias, geraniums, and so forth, are of the nature +of luxuries, and they will follow in due time: but grass and gravel +are the foundation of rustic neatness and tidiness. + +As for the treatise on Burning the Dead, it is interesting +and eloquent, though I am well convinced that its author has been +putting forih labour in vain. I remember the consternation with +which I read the advertisements announcing its publication. I made +sure that it must be the production of one of those wrong-headed +individuals who are always proposing preposterous things, without +end or meaning. Why on earth should we take to burning the dead? +What is to be gained by recurring to a heathen rite, repudiated by +the early Christians, who, as Sir Thomas Browne tells us, 'stickt +not to give their bodies to be burnt in their lives, but detested +that mode after death?' And wherefore do anything so horrible, and +so suggestive of cruelty and sacrilege, as to consign to devouring +flames even the unconscious remains of a departed friend? But after +reading the essay, I feel that the author has a great deal to say +in defence of his views. I am obliged to acknowledge that in many +cases important benefits would follow the adoption of urn-sepulture. +The question to be considered is, what is the best way to dispose +of the mortal part of man when the soul has left it? A first +suggestion might be to endeavour to preserve it in the form and +features of life; and, accordingly, in many countries and ages, +embalming in its various modifications has been resorted to. But +all attempts to prevent the human frame from obeying the Creator's +law of returning to the elements have miserably failed. And surely +it is better a thousand times to 'bury the dead from our sight,' +than to preserve a hideous and revolting mockery of the beloved +form. The Egyptian mummies every one has heard of; but the most +remarkable instance of embalming in recent times is that of the +wife of one Martin Van Butchell, who, by her husband's desire, was +embalmed in the year 1775, by Dr. William Hunter and Mr. Carpenter, +and who may be seen in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons +in London. She was a beautiful woman, and all that skill and science +could do were done to preserve her in the appearance of life; but +the result is nothing short of shocking and awful. Taking it, then, +as admitted, that the body must return to the dust from whence it +was taken, the next question is, How? How shall dissolution take +place with due respect to the dead, and with least harm to the +health and the feelings of the living? + +The two fashions which have been universally used are, burial and +burning. It has so happened that burial has been associated with +Christianity, and burning with heathenism; but I shall admit at once +that the association is not essential, though it would be hard, +without very weighty reason indeed, to deviate from the long-remembered +'earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.' But such weighty +reason the author of this treatise declares to exist. The system +of burial, he says, is productive of fearful and numberless evils +and dangers to the living. In the neighbourhood of any large +burying-place, the air which the living breathe, and the water +which they drink, are impregnated with poisons the most destructive +of health and life. Even where the damage done to air and water +is inappreciable by our senses, it is a predisposing cause of +headache, dysentery, sore throat, and low fever;' and it keeps all +the population around in a condition in which they are the ready prey +of all forms of disease. I shall not shock my readers by relating +a host of horrible facts, proved by indisputable evidence, which +are adduced by the surgeon to show the evils of burial: and all +these evils, he maintains, may be escaped by the revival of burning. +Four thousand human beings die every hour; and only by that swift +and certain method can the vast mass of decaying matter which, +while decaying, gives off the most subtle and searching poisons, +be resolved with the elements without injury or risk to any one. So +convinced has the French Government become of the evils of burial +that it has patronized and encouraged one M. Bonneau, who proposes +that instead of a great city having its neighbouring cemeteries, +it should be provided with a building called The Sarcophagus, +occupying an elevated situation, to which the bodies of rich and +poor should be conveyed, and there reduced to ashes by a powerful +furnace. And then M. Bonneau, Frenchman all over, suggests that +the ashes of our friends might be preserved in a tasteful manner; +the funeral urn, containing these ashes, 'replacing on our consoles +and mantelpieces the ornaments of bronze clocks and china vases now +found there.' Our author, having shown that burning would save us +from the dangers of burying, concludes his treatise by a careful +description of the manner in which he would carry out the burning +process. And certainly his plan contains as little to shock one as +may be, in carrying out a system necessarily suggestive of violence +and cruelty. There is nothing like the repulsiveness of the Hindoo +burning, only half carried out, or even of Mr. Trelawney's furnace +for burning poor Shelley. I do not remember to have lately read +anything more ghastly and revolting than the entire account of +Shelley's cremation. It says much for Mr. Trelawney's nerves, that +he was able to look on at it; and it was no wonder that it turned +Byron sick, and that Mr. Leigh Hunt kept beyond the sight of it. +I intended to have quoted the passage from Mr. Trelawney's book, +but I really cannot venture to do so. But it is right to say that +there were very good reasons for resorting to that melancholy mode +of disposing of the poet's remains, and that Mr. Trelawney did all +he could to accomplish the burning with efficiency and decency: +though the whole story makes one feel the great physical difficulties +that stand in the way of carrying out cremation successfully. The +advocate of urn-sepulture, however, is quite aware of this, and +he proposes to use an apparatus by which they would be entirely +overcome. It is only fair to let him speak for himself; and I think +the following passage will be read with interest:-- + +On a gentle eminence, surrounded by pleasant grounds, stands a +convenient, well-ventilated chapel, with a high spire or steeple. +At the entrance, where some of the mourners might prefer to take +leave of the body, are chambers for their accommodation. Within +the edifice are seats for those who follow the remains to the last: +there is also an organ, and a gallery for choristers. In the centre +of the chapel, embellished with appropriate emblems and devices, +is erected a shrine of marble, somewhat like those which cover the +ashes of the great and mighty in our old cathedrals, the openings +being filled with prepared plate glass. Within this--a sufficient +space intervening--is an inner shrine covered with bright non-radiating +metal, and within this again is a covered sarcophagus of tempered +fire-clay, with one or more longitudinal slits near the top, extending +its whole length. As soon as the body is deposited therein, sheets +of flame at an immensely high temperature rush through the long +apertures from end to end, and acting as a combination of a modified +oxy-hydrogen blowpipe, with the reverberatory furnace, utterly +and completely consume and decompose the body, in an incredibly +short space of time. Even the large quantity of water it contains +is decomposed by the extreme heat, and its elements, instead of +retarding, aid combustion, as is the case in fierce conflagrations. +The gaseous products of combustion are conveyed away by flues; and +means being adopted to consume anything like smoke, all that is +observed from the outside is occasionally a quivering transparent +ether floating away from the high steeple to mingle vith the +atmosphere. + +At either end of the sarcophagus is a closely-fitting fire-proof +door, that farthest from the chapel entrance communicating with a +chamber which projects into the chapel and adjoins the end of the +shrine. Here are the attendants, who, unseen, conduct the operation. +The door at the other end of the sarcophagus, with a corresponding +opening in the inner and outer shrine, is exactly opposite a slab +of marble on which the coffin is deposited when brought into the +chapel. The funeral service then commences according; to any form +decided on. At an appointed signal the end of the coffin, which is +placed just within the opening in the shrine, is removed, and the +body is drawn rapidly but gently and without exposure into the +sarcophagus: the sides of the coffin, constructed for the purpose, +collapse; and the wooden box is removed to be burned elsewhere. + +Meantime the body is committed to the flames to be consumed, and +the words 'ashes to ashes, dust to dust' may be appropriately used. +The organ peals forth a solemn strain, and a hymn or requiem for +the dead is sung. In a few minutes, or even seconds, and without +any perceptible noise or commotion, all is over, and nothing but a +few pounds or ounces of light ash remains. This is carefully collected +by the attendants of the adjoining chamber: a door communicating +with the chapel is thrown open; and the relic, enclosed in a vase +of glass or other material, is brought in and placed before the +mourners, to be finally enshrined in the funeral urn of marble, +alabaster, stone, or metal. + +Speaking for myself, I must say that I think it would cause a strange +feeling in most people to part at the chapel-door with the corpse +of one who had been very dear, and, after a few minutes of horrible +suspense, during which they should know that it was burning in a +fierce furnace, to see the vessel of white ashes brought back, and +be told that there was all that was mortal of the departed friend. +No doubt it may be weakness and prejudice, but I think that few +could divest themselves of the feeling of sacrilegious violence. +Better far to lay the brother or sister, tenderly as though still +they felt, in the last resting-place, so soft and trim. It soothes +us, if it does no good to them, and the sad change which we know +is soon to follow is wrought only by the gentle hand of Nature. +And only think of a man pointing to half-a-dozen vases on his +mantelpiece, and as many more on his cheffonier, and saying, 'There +the wicked cease from troubling, and there the weary are at rest!' + +No, no; the thing will never do! + +One of the latest examples of burning, in the case of a Christian, +is that of Henry Laurens, the first President of the American +Congress. In his will he solemnly enjoined upon his children that +they should cause his body to be given to the flames. The Emperor +Napoleon, when at St. Helena, expressed a similar desire; and said, +truly enough, that as for the Resurrection, that would be miraculous +at all events, and it would be just as easy for the Almighty +to accomplish that great end in the case of burning as in that of +burial. And, indeed, the doctrine of the Resurrection is one that +it is not wise to scrutinize too minutely--I mean as regards its +rationale. It is best to simply hold by the great truth, that 'this +corruptible shall put on incorruption, and this mortal shall put on +immortality.' I presume that it has been shown beyond doubt that +the material particles which make up our bodies are in a state +of constant flux, the entire physical nature being changed every +seven years, so that if all the particles which once entered into +the structure of a man of fourscore were reassembled, they would +suffice to make seven or eight bodies. And the manner in which it +is certain that the mortal part of man is dispersed and assimilated +to all the elements furnishes a very striking thought. Bryant has +said, truly and beautifully, + + All that tread + The globe, are but a handful to the tribes + That slumber in its bosom. + +And James Montgomery, in a poem of his which is little known, +and which is amplified and spoiled in the latest editions of his +works, has suggested to us whither the mortal vestiges of these +untold millions have gone. It is entitled Lines to a Molehill in +a Churchyard. + + Tell me, thou dust beneath my feet,-- + Thou dust that once hadst breath,-- + Tell me, how many mortals meet + In this small hill of death. + + The mole, that scoops with curious toil + Her subterranean bed, + Thinks not she plows a human soil, + And mines among the dead. + + Yet, whereso'er she turns the ground, + My kindred earth I see: + Once every atom of this mound + Lived, breathed, and felt, like me. + + Through all this hillock's crumbling mould + Once the warm lifeblood ran: + Here thine original behold, + And here thy ruins, man! + + By wafting winds and flooding rains, + From ocean, earth, and sky, + Collected here, the frail remains + Of slumbering millions lie. + + The towers and temples crushed by time, + Stupendous wrecks, appear + To me less mournfully sublime + Than this poor molehill here. + + Methinks this dust yet heaves with breath-- + Ten thousand pulses beat;-- + Tell me, in this small hill of death, + How many mortals meet! + +One idea, you see, beaten out rather thin, and expressed in a great +many words, as was the good man's wont. And in these days of the +misty and spasmodic school, I owe my readers an apology for presenting +them with poetry which they will have no difficulty in understanding. + +Amid a great number of particulars as to the burial customs of +various nations, we find mention made of an odd way in which the +natives of Thibet dignify their great people. They do not desecrate +such by giving them to the earth, but retain a number of sacred dogs +to devour them. Not less strange was the fancy of that Englishwoman, +a century or two back, who had her husband burnt to ashes, and +these ashes reduced to powder, of which she mixed some with all the +water she drank, thinking, poor heart-broken creature, that, thus +she was burying the dear form within her own. + +In rare cases I have known of the parson or the churchwarden turning +his cow to pasture in the churchyard, to the sad desecration of the +place. It appears, however, that worse than this has been done, if +we may judge from the following passage quoted by Mrs. Stone:-- + +1540. Proceedings in the Court of Archdeaconry of Colchester, Colne +Wake. Notatur per iconimos dicte ecclesie yt the parson mysusithe +the churche-yard, for hogis do wrote up graves, and besse lie in +the porche, and ther the pavements he broke up and soyle the porche; +and ther is so mych catell yt usithe the church-yarde, yt is more +liker a pasture than a halowed place. + +It is usual, it appears, in the southern parts of France, to erect +in the churchyard a lofty pillar, bearing a large lamp, which throws +its light upon the cemetery during the night. The custom began in +the twelfth or thirteenth century. Sometimes the lanterne des marts +was a highly ornamented chapel, built in a circular form, like the +Church of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem, in which the dead lay +exposed to view in the days which preceded their interment: sometimes +it was merely a hollow column, ascended by a winding stair inside, +or by projections left for the purpose within. It must have been +a striking sight when the traveller, through the dark night, saw +far away the lonely flame that marked the spot where so many of +his fellow-men had completed their journey. + +One of the oddest things ever introduced into Materia Medica was +the celebrated Mummy Powder. Egyptian mummies, being broken up +and ground into dust, were held of great value as medicine both +for external and internal application. Boyle and Bacon unite in +commending its virtues: the latter, indeed, venturing to suggest +that 'the mixture of balms that are glutinous' was the foundation +of its power, though common belief held that the virtue was 'more +in the Egyptian than in the spice.' Even in the seventeenth century +mummy was an important article of commerce, and was sold at a great +price. One Eastern traveller brought to the Turkey Company six +hundred weight of mummy broken into pieces. Adulteration came into +play in a manner which would have gratified the Lancet commission: +the Jews collecting the bodies of executed criminals, filling them +with common asphaltum, which cost little, and then drying them in +the sun, when they became undistinguishable from the genuine article. +And the maladies which mummy was held to cure are set forth in a +list which we commend to the notice of Professor Holloway. It was +'to be taken in decoctions of marjoram, thyme, elder-flower, barley, +roses, lentils, jujubes, cummin-seed, carraway, saffron, cassia, +parsley, with oxymel, wine, milk, butter, castor, and mulberries.' +Sir Thomas Browne, who was a good deal before his age, did not +approve of the use of mummy. He says: + +Were the efficacy thereof more clearly made out, we scarce conceive +the use thereof allowable in physic: exceeding the barbarities +of Cambyses, and turning old heroes into unworthy potions. Shall +Egypt lend out her ancients unto chirurgeons and apothecaries, and +Cheops and Psammeticus be weighed unto us for drugs? Shall we eat +of Chamnes and Amasis in electuaries and pills, and be cured by +cannibal mixtures? Surely such diet is miserable vampirism; and +exceeds in horror the black banquet of Domitian, not to be paralleled +except in those Arabian feasts wherein ghouls feed horribly. + +I need hardly add that the world has come round to the great +physician's way of thinking, and that mummy is not included in the +pharmacopoeia of modern days. + +The monumental inscriptions of this country, as a general rule, furnish +lamentable proof of the national bad taste. Somehow our peculiar +genius seems not to lie in that direction; and very eminent men, +who did most other things well, have signally failed when they tried +to produce an epitaph. What with stilted extravagance and bombast +on the one side, and profane and irreverent jesting on the other, +our epitaphs, for the most part, would be better away. It was well +said by Addison of the inscriptions in Westminster Abbey,--'Some +epitaphs are so extravagant that the dead person would blush; +and others so excessively modest that they deliver the character +of the person departed in Greek and Hebrew, and by that means are +not understood once in a twelve-month.' And Fuller has hit the +characteristics of a fitting epitaph when he said that 'the shortest, +plainest, and truest epitaphs are the best.' In most cases the safe +plan is to give no more than the name and age, and some brief text +of Scripture. + +Every one knows that epitaphs generally are expressed in such +complimentary terms as quite explain the question of the child, who +wonderingly inquired where they buried the bad people. Mrs. Stone, +however, quotes a remarkably out-spoken one, from a monument in +Horselydown Church, in Cumberland. It runs as follows:-- + + Here lie the bodies + Of Thomas Bond and Mary his wife. + She was temperate, chaste, and charitable; + But + She was proud, peevish, and passionate. + She was an affectionate wife and a tender mother; + But + Her husband and child, whom she loved, + Seldom saw her countenance without a disgusting frown; +While she received visitors whom she despised with an endearing smile. + Her behaviour was discreet towards strangers; + But + Imprudent in her family. + Abroad her conduct was influenced by good breeding; + But + At home by ill temper. + +And so the epitaph runs on to considerable length, acknowledging +the good qualities of the poor woman, but killing each by setting +against it some peculiarly unamiable trait. I confess that my +feeling is quite turned in her favour by the unmanly assault which +her brother (the author of the inscription) has thus made upon the +poor dead woman. If you cannot honestly say good of a human being +on his grave-stone, then say nothing at all. There are some cases +in which an exception may justly be made; and such a one, I think, +was that of the infamous Francis Chartres, who died in 1731. He was +buried in Scotland, and at his funeral the populace raised a riot, +almost tore his body from the coffin, and threw dead dogs into the +grave along with it. Dr. Arbuthnot wrote his epitaph, and here it +is:-- + + Here continueth to rot + The body of Francis Chartres: + Who, with an inflexible constancy, + and + Inimitable uniformity of life, + Persisted, + In spite of age and infirmities, + In the practice of every human vice, + Excepting prodigality and hypocrisy: + His insatiable avarice exempted him + from the first, + His matchless impudence from the + second. + Nor was he more singular + In the undeviating pravity of his + manners, + Than successful + In accumulating wealth: + For without trade or profession, + Without trust of public money, + And without bribeworthy service, + He acquired, or more properly created, + A Ministerial Estate: + He was the only person of his time + Who could cheat without the mask of + honesty, + Retain his primeval meanness + When possessed of ten thousand a year: + And having daily deserved the gibbet for + what he did, + Was at last condemned for what he + could not do. + Oh! indignant reader! + Think not his life useless to mankind! + Providence connived at his execrable designs, + To give to after ages + A conspicuous proof and example + Of how small estimation is exorbitant + wealth + In the sight of God, + By his bestowing it on the most + unworthy of all + mortals. + +If one does intend to make a verbal assault upon any man, it +is well to do so in words which will sting and cut; and assuredly +Arbuthnot has succeeded in his laudable intention. The character +is justly drawn; and with the change of a very few words, it might +correctly be inscribed on the monument of at least one Scotch and +one English peer, who have died within the last half-century. + +There are one or two extreme cases in which it is in good taste, +and the effect not without sublimity, to leave a monument with no +inscription at all. Of course this can only be when the monument +is that of a very great and illustrious man. The pillar erected +by Bernadotte at Frederickshall, in memory of Charles the Twelfth, +bears not a word; and I believe most people who visit the spot feel +that Bernadotte judged well. The rude mass of masonry, standing +in the solitary waste, that marks where Howard the philanthropist +sleeps, is likewise nameless. And when John Kyrle died in 1724, he +was buried in the chancel of the church of Ross in Herefordshire, +'without so much as an inscription.' But the Man of Ross had his +best monument in the lifted head and beaming eye of those he left +behind him at the mention of his name. He never knew, of course, that +the bitter little satirist of Twickenham would melt into unwonted +tenderness in telling of all he did, and apologize nobly for his +nameless grave:-- + + And what! no monument, inscription, stone? + His race, his form, his name almost, unknown? + Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, + Will never mark the marble with his name: + Go, search it there, where to be born and die, + Of rich and poor make all the history: + Enough, that virtue filled the space between, + Proved, by the ends of being, to have been! + +[Footnote: Pope's Moral Essays. Epistle III.] + +The two fine epitaphs written by Ben Jonson are well known. One is +on the Countess of Pembroke:-- + + Underneath this marble hearse, + Lies the subject of all verse: + Sidney's sister, Pembroke's'mother; + Death! ere thou hast slain another, + Learned and fair, and good as she, + Time shall throw a dart at thee. + +And the other is the epitaph of a certain unknown Elizabeth:-- + + Wouldst thou hear what man can say + In a little?--reader, stay. + Underneath this stone doth lie + As much beauty as could die; + Which in life did harbour give, + To more virtue than doth live. + If at all she had a fault, + Leave it buried in this vault: + One name was Elizabeth, + The other let it sleep with death: + Fitter, where it died, to tell, + Than that it lived at all. Farewell! + +Most people have heard of the brief epitaph inscribed on a tombstone +in the floor of Hereford Cathedral, which inspired one of the +sonnets of Wordsworth. There is no name, no date, but the single +word MISERRIMUS. The lines, written by herself, which are inscribed +on the gravestone of Mrs. Hemans, in St. Anne's Church at Dublin, +are very beautiful, but too well known to need quotation. And +Longfellow, in his charming little poem of Nuremburg, has preserved +the characteristic word in the epitaph of Albert Durer:-- + + Emigravit is the inscription on the tombstone where he lies; + Dead he is not,--but departed,--for the artist never dies. + +Perhaps some readers may be interested by the following epitaph, +written by no less a man than Sir Walter Scott, and inscribed on +the stone which covers the grave of a humble heroine whose name his +genius has made known over the world. The grave is in the churchyard +of Kirkpatrick-Irongray, a few miles from Dumfries:-- + + This stone was erected + By the Author of Waverley + To the memory of + Helen Walker + Who died in the year of God 1791. + This humble individual + practised in real life + the virtues + with which fiction has invested + the imaginary character + of + Jeanie Deans. + Refusing the slightest departure + from veracity + even to save the life of a sister, + she neverthless showed her + kindness and fortitude + by rescuing her from the severity of the law; + at the expense of personal exertions + which the time rendered as difficult + as the motive was laudable. + Respect the grave of poverty + when combined with love of truth + and dear affection. + +Although, of course, it is treasonable to say so, I confess I think +this inscription somewhat cumbrous and awkward. The antithesis +is not a good one, between the difficulty of Jeanie's 'personal +exertions' and the laudableness of the motive which led to them. +And there is something not metaphysically correct in the combination +described in the closing sentence--the combination of poverty, +an outward condition, with truthfulness and affection, two +inward characteristics. The only parallel phrase which I remember +in literature is one which was used by Mr. Stiggins when he was +explaining to Sam Weller what was meant by a moral pocket-handkerchief. +'It's them,' were Mr. Stiggins's words, 'as combines useful +instruction with wood-cuts.' Poverty might co-exist with, or be +associated with, any mental qualities you please, but assuredly it +cannot correctly be said to enter into combination with any. + +As for odd and ridiculous epitaphs, their number is great, and +every one has the chief of them at his fingers' ends. I shall be +content to give two or three, which I am quite sure hardly any of +my readers ever heard of before. The following, which may be read +on a tombstone in a country churchyard in Ayrshire, appears to +me to be unequalled for irreverence. And let critics observe the +skilful introduction of the dialogue form, giving the inscription +a dramatic effect:-- + + Wha is it that's lying here?-- + Robin Wood, ye needna speer. + Eh Robin, is this you? + Ou aye, but I'm deid noo! + +The following epitaph was composed by a village poet and wit, not +unknown to me in my youth, for a rival poet, one Syme, who had +published a volume of verses On the Times (not the newspaper). + + Beneath this thistle, + Skin, bone, and gristle, + In Sexton Goudie's keepin' lies, + Of poet Syme, + Who fell to rhyme, + (O bards beware!) a sacrifice. + + Ask not at all, + Where flew his saul, + When of the body death bereft her: + She, like his rhymes + Upon the Times, + Was never worth the speerin' after! + +Speerin', I should mention, for the benefit of those ignorant of +Lowland Scotch, means asking or inquiring. + +It is recorded in history that a certain Mr. Anderson, who filled +the dignified office of Provost of Dundee, died, as even provosts +must. It was resolved that a monument should be erected in his memory, +and that the inscription upon it should be the joint composition +of four of his surviving colleagues in the magistracy. They met to +prepare the epitaph; and after much consideration it was resolved +that the epitaph should be a rhymed stanza of four lines, of which +lines each magistrate should contribute one. The senior accordingly +began, and having deeply ruminated he produced the following:-- + + Here lies Anderson, Provost of Dundee. + +This formed a neat and striking introduction, going (so to speak) +to the heart of things at once, but leaving room for subsequent +amplification. The second magistrate perceived this, and felt that +the idea was such a good one that it ought to be followed up. He +therefore produced the line, + + Here lies Him, here lies He: + +thus repeating in different modifications the same grand thought, +after the style which has been adopted by Burke, Chalmers, Melvill, +and other great orators. The third magistrate, whose turn had now +arrived, felt that the foundation had thus been substantially laid +down, and that the time had come to erect upon it a superstructure +of reflection, inference, or exclamation. With the simplicity of +genius he wrote as follows, availing himself of a poet's license +to slightly alter the ordinary forms of language:-- + + Hallelujah, Hallelujee! + +The epitaph being thus, as it were, rounded and complete, the +fourth contributor to it found himself in a difficulty; wherefore +add anything to that which needed and in truth admitted nothing +more? Still the stanza must he completed. What should he do? +He would fall back on the earliest recollections of his youth--he +would recur to the very fount and origin of all human knowledge. +Seizing his pen, he wrote thus:-- + + + A. B. C. D. E. F. G.! + +Whoever shall piece together these valuable lines, thus fragmentarily +presented, will enter into the feelings of the Town Council, which +bestowed a vote of thanks upon their authors, and caused the stanza +to be engraven on the worthy provost's monument. I have not myself +read it, but am assured it is in existence. + +There was something of poor Thomas Hood's morbi taste for the +ghastly, and the physically repulsive, in his fancy of spending +some time during his last illness in drawing a picture of himself +dead in his shroud. In his memoirs, published by his children, +you may see the picture, grimly truthful: and bearing the legend, +He sang the Song of the Shirt. You may discover in what he drew, +as well as in what he wrote, many indications of the humourist's +perverted taste: and no doubt the knowledge that mortal disease +was for years doing its work within, led his thoughts oftentimes +to what was awaiting himself. He could not walk in an avenue +of elm-trees, without fancying that one of them might furnish +his coffin. When in his ear, as in Longfellow's, 'the green trees +whispered low and mild,' their sound did not carry him back to +boyhood, but onward to his grave. He listened, and there rose within + + A secret, vague, prophetic fear, + As though by certain mark, + I knew the fore-ordained tree, + Within whose rugged bark, + This warm and living form shall find + Its narrow house and dark. + +Not but that such thoughts are well in their due time and place. It +is very fit that we should all sometimes try to realize distinctly +what is meant when each of us repeats words four thousand years +old, and says, 'I know that Thou wilt bring me to death, and to the +house appointed for all living.' Even with all such remembrances +brought home to him by means to which we are not likely to resort, +the good priest and martyr Robert Southwell tells us how hard he +found it, while in buoyant life, to rightly consider his end. But +in perfect cheerfulness and healthfulness of spirit, the human +being who knows (so far as man can know) where he is to rest at +last, may oftentimes visit that peaceful spot. It will do him good: +it can do him no harm. The hard-wrought man may fitly look upon +the soft green turf, some day to be opened for him; and think to +himself, Not yet, I have more to do yet; but in a little while. +Somewhere there is a place appointed for each of us, a place that +is waiting for each of us, and that will not be complete till we +are there. Well, we rest in the humble trust, that 'through the +grave and gate of death, we shall pass to our joyful resurrection.' +And we turn away now from the churchyard, recalling Bryant's lines +as to its extent: + + Yet not to thy eternal resting-place + Shalt thou retire alone; nor couldst thou wish + Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down + With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, + The powerful of the earth, the wise and good, + Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past, + All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills, + Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales, + Stretching in pensive quietness between; + The venerable woods; rivers that move + In majesty, and the complaining brooks + That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, + Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,-- + Are but the solemn decorations all + Of the Great Tomb of Man! + + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +CONCERNING SUMMER DAYS. + + + + +There are some people whom all nature helps. They have somehow +got the material universe on their side. What they say and do, at +least upon important occasions, is so backed up by all the surroundings +that it never seems out of keeping with these, and still less ever +seems to be contradicted by these. When Mr. Midhurst [Footnote: See +the New Series of Friends in Council.] read his essay on the Miseries +of Human Life, he had all the advantage of a gloomy, overcast day. +And so the aspect of the external world was to the essay like the +accompaniment in music to a song. The accompaniment, of course, +has no specific meaning; it says nothing, but it appears to accord +and sympathize with the sense conveyed by the song's words. But +gloomy hills and skies and woods are to desponding views of life +and man, even more than the sympathetic chords, in themselves +meaningless. The gloomy world not merely accords with the desponding +views, but seems somehow to back them. You are conscious of a great +environing Presence standing by and looking on approvingly. From +all points in the horizon a voice, soft and undefined, seems to +whisper to your heart, All true, all too true. + +Now, there are human beings who, in the great things they say and +do, seldom fail of having this great, vague backing. There are +others whom the grand current for the most part sets against. It +is part of the great fact of Luck--the indubitable fact that there +are men, women, ships, horses, railway-engines, whole railways, +which are lucky, and others which are unlucky. I do not believe in +the common theory of Luck, but no thoughtful or observant man can +deny the fact of it. And in no fashion does it appear more certainly +than in this, that in the case of some men cross-accidents are always +marring them, and the effect they would fain produce. The system +of things is against them. They are not in every case unsuccessful, +but whatever success they attain is got by brave fighting against +wind and tide. At college they carried off many honours, but no +such luck ever befel them as that some wealthy person should offer +during their days some special medal for essay or examination, which +they would have gained as of course. There was no extra harvest +for them to reap: they could do no more than win all that was to +be won. They go to the bar, and they gradually make their way; but +the day never comes on which their leader is suddenly taken ill, +and they have the opportunity of earning a brilliant reputation +by conducting in his absence a case in which they are thoroughly +prepared. They go into the Church, and earn a fair character as +preachers; but Ihe living they would like never becomes vacant, and +when they are appointed to preach upon some important occasion, it +happens that the ground is a foot deep with snow. + +Several years since, on a Sunday in July, I went to afternoon service +at a certain church by the sea-shore. The incumbent of that church +was a young clergyman of no ordinary talent; he is a distinguished +professor now. It was a day of drenching rain and howling hurricane; +the sky was black, as in mid-winter; the waves were breaking angry +and loud upon the rocks hard by. The weather the previous week had +been beautiful; the weather became beautiful again the next morning. +There came just the one gloomy and stormy summer day. The young +parson could not forsee the weather. What more fitting subject for +a July Sunday than the teachings of the beautiful season which was +passing over? So the text was, Thou hast made summer: it was a sermon +on summer, and its moral and spiritual lessons. How inconsistent +the sermon seemed with everything around! The outward circumstances +reduced it to an absurdity. The congregation was diminished to a +sixth of its usual number; the atmosphere was charged with a muggy +vapour from sloppy garments and dripping umbrellas: and as the +preacher spoke, describing vividly (though with the chastened taste +of the scholar) blue skies, green leaves, and gentle breezes, ever +and anon the storm outside drove the rain in heavy plashes upon +the windows, and, looking through them, you could see the black sky +and the fast-drifting clouds. I thought to myself, as the preacher +went on under the cross influence of these surroundings, Now, I +am sure you are in small things an unlucky man. No doubt the like +happens to you frequently. You are the kind of man to whom the +Times fails to come on the morning you specially wish to see it. +Your horse falls lame on the morning when you have a long drive +before you. Your manservant catches a sore throat, and is unable +to go out, just when the visitor comes to whom you wish to show the +neighboring country. I felt for the preacher. I was younger then, +but I had seen enough to make me think how Mr. Snarling of the +next parish (a very dull preacher, with no power of description) +would chuckle over the tale of the summer sermon on the stormy +day. That youthful preacher (not Mr. Snarling) had been but a few +months in the church, and he probably had not another sermon to +give in the unexpected circumstances: he must preach what he had +prepared. He had fallen into error. I formed a resolution never to +do the like. I was looking forward then with great enthusiasm to +the work of my sacred, profession: with enthusiasm which has only +grown deeper and warmer through the experience of more than nine +years. I resolved that if ever I thought of preaching a summer +sermon, I would take care to have an alternative one ready for that +day in case of unfavourable weather. I resolved that I would give +my summer discourse only if external nature, in her soft luxuriant +beauty, looked summer-like: a sweet pervading accompaniment to my +poor words, giving them a force and meaning far beyond their own. +What talk concerning summer skies is like the sapphire radiance, +so distant and pure, looking in through the church windows? You +do not remember how blue and beautiful the sky is, unless when you +are looking at it: nature is better than our remembrance of her. +What description of a leafy tree equals that noble, soft, massive, +luxuriant object which I looked at for half-an-hour yesterday +through the window of a little country church, while listening to +the sermon of a friend? Do not think that I was inattentive. I heard +the sermon with the greater pleasure and profit for the sight. It +is characteristic of the preaching of a really able man, preaching +what he himself has felt, that all he says appears (as a general +rule) in harmony with all the universe; while the preaching of a +commonplace man, giving us from memory mere theological doctrine +which has been drilled into him, and which he repeats because he +supposes it must be all right, seems inconsistent with all the material +universe, or at least quite apart from it. Yet, even listening to +that excellent sermon (whose masculine thought was very superior to +its somewhat slovenly style), I thought, as I looked at the beautiful +tree rising in the silent churchyard,--the stately sycamore, +so bright green, with the blue sky all around it,--how truly John +Foster wrote, that when standing in January at the foot of a large +oak, and looking at its bare branches, he vainly tried to picture +to himself what that tree would be in June. The reality would be +far richer and finer than anything he could imagine on the winter +day. Who does not know this? The green grass and the bright leaves +in spring are far greener (you see when they come back) than you +had remembered or imagined; the sunshine is more golden, and the +sky more bright. God's works are better and more beautiful than +our poor idea of them. Though I have seen them and loved them now +for more than thirty summers, I have felt this year, with something +of almost surprise, how exquisitely beautiful are summer foliage +and summer grass. Here they are again, fresh from God! The summer +world is incomparably more beautiful than any imagination could +picture it on a dull December day. You did not know on New Year's +day, my reader, how fair a thing the sunshine is. And the commonest +things are the most beautiful. Flowers are beautiful: he must be +a blackguard who does not love them. Summer seas are beautiful, so +exquisitely blue under the blue summer sky. But what can surpass +the beauty of green grass and green trees! Amid such things let +me live; and when I am gone, let green grass grow over me. I would +not be buried beneath a stone pavement, not to sleep in the great +Abbey itself. + +My summer sermon has never been written, and so has never been +preached; I doubt whether I could make much of the subject, treated as +it ought to be treated there. But an essay is a different matter, +notwithstanding that a dear, though sarcastic friend says that +my essays are merely sermons played in polka time; the thought of +sermons, to wit, lightened somewhat by a somewhat lighter fashion +of phrase and illustration. And all that has hitherto been said +is introductory to remarking, that I stand in fear of what kind of +day it may be when my reader shall see this essay, which as yet +exists but vaguely in the writer's mind; and upon, four pieces +of paper, three large and one small. If your eye lights upon this +page on a cold, bleak day; if it be wet and plashy; above all, if +there be east wind, read no further. Keep this essay for a warm, +sunshiny day; it is only then that you will sympathize with its +author. For amid a dismal, rainy, stormy summer, we have reached +fair weather at last; and this is a lovely, sunny summer morning. +And what an indescribably beautiful thing is a summer day! I do not +mean merely the hours as they pass over; the long light; the sun +going up and going down; but all that one associates with summer +days, spent in sweet rural scenes. There is great variety in summer +days. There is the warm, bright, still summer day; when everything +seems asleep, and the topmost branches of the tall trees do not +stir in the azure air. There is the breezy summer day, when warm +breaths wave these topmost branches gently to and fro, and you stand +and look at them; when sportive winds bend the green corn as they +swiftly sweep over it; when the shadows of the clouds pass slowly +along the hills. Even the rainy day, if it come with soft summer-like +rain, is beautiful. People in town are apt to think of rain as a +mere nuisance; the chief good it does there is to water the streets +more generally and thoroughly than usual; a rainy day in town is +equivalent to a bad day; but in the country, if you possess even +the smallest portion of the earth, you learn to rejoice in the +rain. You go out in it; you walk about and enjoy the sight of the +grass momently growing greener; of the trees looking refreshed, +and the evergreens gleaming, the gravel walks so free from dust, +and the roads watered so as to render them beautifully compact, +but not at all sloppy or muddy; summer rain never renders well-made +country roads sloppy or muddy. There is a pleasure in thinking that +you have got far ahead of man or machine; and you heartily despise +a watering-cart, while enjoying a soft summer shower. And after +the shower is over, what fragrance is diffused through the country +air; every tree and shrub has an odour which a summer shower +brings out, and which senses trained to perception will perceive. +And then, how full the trees and woods are of the singing of birds! +But there is one feeling which, if you live in the country, is +common to all pleasant summer days, but particularly to sunshiny +ones; it is that you are doing injustice to nature, that you are +losing a great deal, if you do not stay almost constantly in the +open air. You come to grudge every half hour that you are within +doors, or busied with things that call you off from observing and +thinking of all the beauty that is around you everywhere. That +fair scene,--trees, grass, flowers, sky, sunshine, is there to be +looked at and enjoyed; it seems wrong, that with such a picture +passing on before your eyes, your eyes should be turned upon +anything else. Work, especially mental work, is always painful; +always a thing you would shrink from if you could; but how strongly +you shrink from it on a beautiful summer morning! On a gloomy +winter day you can walk with comparative willingness into your study +after breakfast, and spread out your paper, and begin to write your +sermon. For although writing the sermon is undoubtedly an effort; +and although all sustained effort partakes of the nature of pain; +and although pain can never be pleasant; still, after all, apart +from other reasons which impel you to your work, you cannot but +feel that really if you were to turn away from your task of writing, +there is nothing to which you could take that you would enjoy very +much more than itself. And even on the fairest summer morning, you +can, if you are living in town, take to your task with comparative +ease. Somehow, in town, the weather is farther off from you; +it does not pervade all the house, as it does in the country: you +have not windows that open into the garden: through which you see +green trees and grass every time you look up; and through which you +can in a minute, without the least change of dress, pass into the +verdant scene. There is all the difference in the world, between the +shadiest and greenest public garden or park even within a hundred +yards of your door; and the green shady little spot that comes up +to your very window. The former is no very great temptation to the +busy scholar of rural tastes; the latter is almost irresistible. +A hundred yards are a long way to go, with purpose prepense of +enjoying something so simple as the green earth. After having walked +even a hundred yards, you feel that you need a more definite aim. +And the grass and trees seem very far away, if you see them at the +end of a vista of washing your hands, and putting on another coat +and other boots, and still more of putting on gloves and a hat. +Give me the little patch of grass, the three or four shady trees, +the quiet corner of the shrubbery, that comes up to the study +window, and which you can reach without even the formality of passing +through the hall and out by the front door. If you wish to enjoy +nature in the summer-time, you must attend to all these little +things. What stout old gentleman but knows that when he is seated +snugly in his easy chair by the winter evening fireside, he would +take up and read many pages in a volume which lay within reach of +his arm, though he would do without the volume, if in order to get +it he had to take the slight trouble of rising from his chair and +walking to a table half a dozen yards off? Even so must nature be +brought within easy reach of even the true lover of nature; otherwise +on a hundred occasions, all sorts of little, fanciful hindrances +will stand between him and her habitual appreciation. A very small +thing may prevent your doing a thing which you even wish to do; +but which you do not wish with any special excitement, and which +you may do at any time. I daresay some reader would have written +months since to a friend in India to whom he promised faithfully to +write frequently, but that when he sat down once or twice to write, +and pulled out his paper-drawer, lie found that all the thin Indian +paper was done. And so the upshot is, that the friend has been a +year out; and you have never written to him at all. + +But to return to the point from which this deviation proceeded, I +repeat, that on a fine summer morning in the country it is excessively +difficult to take to your work. Apart from the repellent influence +which is in work itself, you think that you will miss so much. You +go out after breakfast (with a wide-awake hat, and no gloves) into +the fresh atmosphere. You walk round the garden. You look particularly +at the more eminent roses, and the largest trees. You go to the +stable-yard, and see what is doing there. There are twenty things +to think of: numberless little directions to give. You see a weedy +corner, and that must not be suffered: you see a long spray of a +climbing rose that needs training. You look into the corn-chest: +the corn is almost finished. You have the fact impressed upon you +that the old potatoes are nearly done, and the new ones hardly +ready for use. These things partake of the nature of care: if you +do not feel very well, you will regard them as worries. But it is +no care nor worry to walk down to your gate, to lean upon it, and +to look at the outline of the hills: nor to go out with your little +children, and walk slowly along the country lane outside your +gate, relating for the hundredth time the legend of the renowned +giant-killer, or the enchanted horse that flew through the air; to +walk on till you come to the bridge, and there sit down, and throw +in stones for your dog to dive after, while various shouts (very +loud to come from such little mouths) applaud his success. How +crystal-clear the water of the river! It is six feet deep, yet you +may see every pebble of its bed. An undefined laziness possesses +you. You would like to sit here, and look, and think, all day. +But of course you will not give in to the temptation. Slowly you +return to your door: unwillingly you enter it: reluctantly you take +to your work. Until you have got somewhat into the spirit of your +task, you cannot help looking sometimes at the roses which frame +your window, and the green hill you see through it, with white +sheep. And even when you have got your mind under control, and the +lines flow more willingly from your pen, you cannot but look out +occasionally into the sunshiny, shady corner in your view, and think +you should be there. And when the prescribed pages are at length +completed, how delightful to lock them up, and be off into the air +again! You are far happier now than you were in the morning. The +shadow of your work was upon you then: now you may with a pleased +conscience, and under no sense of pressure, saunter about, and +enjoy your little domain. Many things have been accomplished since +you went indoors. The weeds are gone from the corner: the spray +of the rose lias been trained. The potato-beds have been examined: +the potatoes will be all ready in two days more. Sit down in the +shade, warm yet cool, of a great tree. Now is the time to read the +Saturday Review, especially the article that pitches into you. What +do you care for it? I don't mean that you despise it: I mean that +it causes you no feeling but one of amusement and pleasure. You +feel that it is written by a clever man and a gentleman: you know +that there is not a vestige of malice in it. You would like to shake +hands with the writer, and to thank him for various useful hints. +As for reviewing which is truly malignant--that which deals in +intentional misrepresentation and coarse abuse--it is practically +unknown in respectable periodicals. And wherever you may find it +(as you sometimes may) you ought never to be angry with the man +who did it: you ought to be sorry for him. Depend upon it, the poor +fellow is in bad health or in low spirits: no one but a man who is +really unhappy himself will deliberately set himself to annoy any +one else. It is the misery, anxiety, poverty, which are wringing the +man's heart, that make their pitiful moan in that bitter article. +Make the poor man better off, and he will be better natured. + +And so, my friend, now that our task is finished, let us go out +in this kindly temper to enjoy the summer day. But you must first +assure your mind that your work is really finished. You cannot thus +simply enjoy the summer day, if you have a latent feeling rankling +at your heart that you are neglecting something that you ought to +do. The little jar of your moral being caused by such a feeling, +will be like the horse-hair shirt, will be like the peas in the +pilgrim's shoes. So, clerical reader, after you have written your +allotted pages of sermon, and answered your few letters, turn to +your tablet-diary, or whatever contrivance you have for suggesting +to your memory the work you have to do. If you have marked down +some mere call to make, that may fairly enough be postponed on this +hot day. But look at your list of sick, and see when you visited +each last, and consider whether there be any you ought to visit +to-day. And if there be, never mind though the heat be sweltering +and the roads dusty and shadeless: never mind though the poor old +man or woman lives five miles off, and though your horse is lame: +get ready, and walk away as slowly as you can, and do your duty. +You are not the reader I want: you are not the man with whom I +wish to think of summer days: if you could in the least enjoy the +afternoon, or have the faintest pleasure in your roses and your +grass, with the thought of that neglected work hanging over you. +And though you may return four hours hence, fagged and jaded, you +will sit with a pleased heart down to dinner, and you will welcome +the twilight when it comes, with the cheerful sense of duty done +and temptation resisted. But upon my ideal summer day, I suppose +that after looking over your sick-list, and all your memoranda, you +find that there is nothing to do that need take you to-day beyond +your own little realm. And so, with the delightful sense of leisure +to breathe and think, you walk forth into the green shade to spend +the summer afternoon. Bring with you two or three books: bring the +Times that came that morning: you will not read much, but it is +pleasant to know that you may read if you choose: and then sit down +upon a garden-seat, and think and feel. Do you not feel, my friend +of even five-and-thirty, that there is music yet in the mention of +summer days? Well, enjoy that music now, and the vague associations +which are summoned up by the name. Do not put off the enjoyment +of these things to some other day. You will never have more time, +nor better opportunity. The little worries of the present cease +to sting in the pensive languor of the season. Enjoy the sunshine +and the leaves while they last: they will not last long. Grasp the +day and hold it and rejoice in it: some time soon you will find of +a sudden that the summer time has passed away. You come to yourself, +and find it is December. The earth seems to pause in its orbit in +the dreary winter days: it hurries at express speed through summer. +You wish you could put on a break, and make time go on more slowly. +Well, watch the sandgrains as they pass. Remark the several minutes, +yet without making it a task to do so. As you sit there, you will +think of old summer days long ago: of green leaves long since faded: +of sunsets gone. Well, each had its turn: the present has nothing +more. And let us think of the past without being lackadaisical. +Look now at your own little children at play: that sight will +revive your flagging interest in life. Look at the soft turf, feel +the gentle air: these things are present now. What a contrast to the +Lard, repellent earth of winter! I think of it like the difference +between the man of sternly logical mind, and the genial, kindly +man with both head and heart! I take it for granted that you agree +with me in holding such to be the true type of man. Not but what +some people are proud of being all head and no heart. There is no +flummery about them. It is stern, severe sense and principle. Well, +my friends, say I to such, you are (in a moral sense) deficient +of a member. Fancy a mortal hopping through creation, and boasting +that he was born with only one leg! Or even if you have a little of +the kindly element, but very little when compared with the logical, +you have not much to boast of. Your case is analogous to that of +the man who has two legs indeed, but one of them a great deal longer +than the other. + +It is pleasanter to spend the summer days in an inland country +place, than by the seaside. The sea is too glaring in sunshiny +weather; the prospects are too extensive. It wearies eyes worn +by much writing and reading to look at distant hills across the +water. The true locality in which to enjoy the summer time is a +richly-wooded country, where you have hedges and hedge-rows, and +clumps of trees everywhere: where objects for the most part are +near to you; and, above all, are green. It is pleasant to live in +a district where the roads are not great broad highways, in whose +centre you feel as if you were condemned to traverse a strip of +arid desert stretching through the landscape; and where any carriage +short of a four-in-hand looks so insignificantly small. Give me +country lanes: so narrow that their glare does not pain the eye upon +even the sunniest day: so narrow that the eye without an effort +takes in the green hedges and fields on either side as you drive +or walk along. + +And now, looking away mentally from this cool shady verdure amid +which we are sitting, let us think of summer days elsewhere. Let +us think of them listlessly, that we may the more enjoy the quiet +here: as a child on a frosty winter night, snug in his little bed, +puts out a foot for a moment into the chilly expanse of sheet that +stretches away from the warm nest in which he lies, and then pulls +it swiftly back again, enjoying the cozy warmth the more for this +little reminder of the bitter chill. Here, where the air is cool, +pure, and soft, let us think of a hoarding round some old house +which the labourers are pulling down, amid clouds of the white, +blinding, parching dust of lime, on a sultry summer day. I can hardly +think of any human position as worse, if not intended directly as +a position of torture. I picture, too, a crowded wharf on a river +in a great town, with ships lying alongside. There is a roar +of passing drays, a cracking of draymen's whips, a howling of the +draymen. There is hot sunshine; there are clouds of dust; and I see +several poor fellows wheeling heavy casks in barrows up a narrow +plank into a ship. Their faces are red and puffy with the exertion: +their hair is dripping. Ah, the summer day is hard upon these poor +fellows! But it would be pleasant to-day to drive a locomotive engine +through a fine agricultural country, particularly if one were driving +an express train, and so were not worried by perpetual stoppages. +I have often thought that I should like to be an engine-driver. +Should any revolution or convulsion destroy the Church, it is to +that field of industry that I should devote my energies. I should +stipulate not to drive luggage-trains; and if I had to begin with +third-class passenger-trains, I have no doubt that in a few months, +by dint of great punctuality and carefulness, and by having my +engine always beautifully clean and bright, I should be promoted +to the express. There was a time when driving a locomotive was not +so pleasant as now. In departed days, when the writer was wont to +stand upon the foot-plates, through the kindness of engine-driving +friends now far away, there was a difficulty in looking out ahead: +the current of air was so tremendous, and particles of dust were +driven so viciously into one's eyes. But advancing civilization +has removed that disadvantage. A snug shelter is now provided for +the driver: an iron partition arises before him, with two panes of +glass through which to look out. The result is that he can maintain +a far more effectual look-out; and that he is in great measure +protected from wind and weather. Yes, it would be pleasant to be an +engine-driver, especially on such a day as this. Pleasant to look +at the great train of carriages standing in the station before +starting: to see the piles of luggage going up through the exertions +of hot porters: to see the numbers of passengers, old and young, +cool and flurried, with their wraps, their newspapers, their books, +at length arranged in the soft, roomy interiors; and then the sense +of power, when by the touch of a couple of fingers upon the lever, +you make the whole mass of luggage, of life, of human interests and +cares, start gently into motion; till, gathering speed as it goes, +it tears through the green stillness of the summer noon, amid +daisied fields, through little woody dells, through clumps of great +forest-trees, within sight of quiet old manor houses, across little +noisy brooks and fair broad rivers, beside churchyard walls and +grey ivied churches, alongside of roads where you see the pretty +phaeton, the lordly coach, the lumbering waggon, and get glimpses +that suggest a whole picture of the little life of numbers of your +fellow-men, each with heart and mind and concerns and fears very +like your own. Yes, my friend, if you rejoice in fair scenery, +if you sympathize with all modes of human life--if you have some +little turn for mechanics, for neatness and accuracy, for that +which faithfully does the work it was made to do, and neither less +nor more: retain it in your mind as an ultimate end, that you may +one day drive a locomotive engine. You need not of necessity become +greasy of aspect; neither need you become black. I never have known +more tidy, neat, accurate, intelligent, sharp, punctual, responsible, +God-fearing, and truly respectable men, than certain engine-drivers. + +Remember the engine must be a locomotive engine. Your taste for +scenery and life will not be gratified by employment on a stationary +one. And it is fearfully hot work on a summer day to take charge +of a stationary steam-engine; while (perhaps you would not think +it) to drive a locomotive is perfectly cool work. You never feel, +in that rapid motion, the raging flame that is doing its work so +near you. The driver of the express train may be a man of large +sympathies, of cheerful heart, of tolerant views; the man in charge +of the engine of a coal-pit or factory, even of a steam-ship, is +apt to acquire contracted ways of thinking, and to become somewhat +cynical and gloomy in his ideas as to the possible amelioration of +society. It cannot be a pleasing employment, one would think, on a +day like this, to sit and watch a great engine fire, and mend it +when needful. That occupation would not be healthful, either to +mind or body. I dare say you remember the striking and beautiful +description in Mr. Dickens's Old Curiosity Shop, of a man who +had watched and fed a furnace-fire for years, till he had come to +think of it as a living being. The fire was older than he was; it +had never gone out since before he was horn. I can imagine, perfectly +well, what kind of effect such a mode of life would have had on +myself. And very few readers are likely to have within themselves +an intellectual and moral fibre of bent and nature so determined, +that they are not what they are, mainly through the influence of +the external circumstances which have been acting upon them all +through life. Did you ever think to yourself that you would like +to make trial for a few days' space, of certain modes of life very +different from your own, and very different from each other? I have +done so many a time. And a lazy summer afternoon here in the green +shade is the time to try and picture out such. Think of being to-day +in a stifling counting-house in the hot bustling town. I have been +especially interested in a glazed closet which I have seen in a +certain immensely large and very crowded shop in a certain beautiful +city. It is a sort of little office partitioned off from the shop +it has a sloping table, with three or four huge books bound in +parchment. There is a ceaseless bustle, crush, and hum of talking +outside; and inside there are clerks Bitting writing, and receiving +money through little pigeonholes. I should like to sit for two or +three days in a corner of that little retreat; and to write a sermon +there. It would be curious to sit there to-day in the shadow, and +to see the warm sunbeams only outside through a distant window, +resting on sloping roofs. If one did not get seasick, there would +be something fresh in a summer day at sea. It is always cool and +breezy there, at least in these latitudes, on the warmest day. +Above all there is no dust. Think of the luxurious cabin of a fine +yacht to-day. Deep cushions; rich curtains; no tremor of machinery; +flowers, books, carpets inches thick; and through the windows, dim +hills and blue sea. Then, flying away in spirit, let us go to-day +(only in imagination) into the Courts of Law at Westminster. The +atmosphere on a summer day in these scenes is always hot and choky. +There is a suggestion of summer time in the sunshine through the +dusty lanterns in the roofs. Thinking of these courts, and all +their belongings and associations, here on this day, is like the +child already mentioned when he puts his foot into a very cold corner +of his bed, that he may pull it back with special sense of what a +blessing it is that he is not bodily in that very cold corner. Yes, +let us enjoy this spot where we are, the more keenly, for thinking +of the very last place in this world where we should like to-day to +be. I went lately (on a bright day in May) to revive old remembrances +of Westminster Hall. The judges of the present time are very able +and incorruptible men; but they are much uglier than the judges I +remember in my youth. Several of them, in their peculiar attire, +hardly looked like human beings. Almost all wrore wigs a great +deal too large for them; I mean much too thick and massive. The +Queen's Counsel, for the most part, seemed much younger than they +used to be; but I was aware that this phenomenon arose from the +fact that I myself was older. And various barristers, who fifteen +years since were handsome, smooth-faced young men, had now a +complexion rough as a nutmeg-grater, and red with that unhealthy +colour which is produced by long hours in a poisonous atmosphere. +The Courts at Westminster, for cramped space and utter absence of +ventilation, are nothing short of a disgrace to a civilized nation. +But the most painful reflection which they suggest to a man with +a little knowledge of the practical working of law, is, how vainly +human law strives to do justice. There, on the benches of the +various Courts, you have a number of the most able and honest men +in Britain: skilled by long practice to distinguish between right +and wrong, between truth and falsehood; and yet, in five cases out +of six that come before them, they signally fail of redressing the +wrongs brought before them. Unhappily, in the nature of things, much +delay must occur in all legal procedure; and further, the machinery +of the law cannot be set in motion unless at very considerable +expense. Now, every one knows that delay in gaining a legal decision +of a debated question, very often amounts to a decision against +both parties. What enjoyment of the summer days has the harassed +suitor, waiting in nervous anxiety for the judgment or the verdict +which may be his ruin? For very small things may be the ruin +of many men. A few pounds to be paid may dip an honest man's head +under water for years, or for life. But the great evil of the law, +after all, is, that it costs so much. I am aware that this may be +nobody's fault; it may be a vice inherent in the nature of things. +Still, where the matter in question is of no very great amount, it +is a fact that makes the wise man willing rather to take injustice than +to go to law. A man meets with an injury; he sustains some wrong. +He brings his action; the jury give him ten or twenty pounds damages. +The jury fancy that this sum will make him amends for what he has +lost or suffered; they fancy that of course he will get this sum. +What would the jury think if told that he will never get a penny +of it? It will all go (and probably a good deal more) for extra +costs; that is, the costs the winning party will have to pay his +own attorney, besides the costs in the cause which the losing party +has to pay. No one profits pecuniarily by that verdict or that +trial, except the lawyers on either side. And does it not reduce +the administration of justice to an absurdity, to think that in the +majority of cases, the decision, no matter on which side, does no +good to the man in whose favour it is given. + +Another thing which makes the courts of law a sad sight is, that +probably in no scene in human affairs are disappointment and success +set in so sharp contrast--brought so close together. There, on the +bench, dignified, keen, always kind and polite (for the days of +bullying have gone by), sits the Chief Justice--a peer (if he pleases +to be one)--a great, distinguished, successful man; his kindred +all proud of him. And there, only a few yards off, sharp-featured, +desponding, soured, sits poor Mr. Briefless, a disappointed man, +living in lonely chambers in the Temple: a hermit in the great +wilderness of London; in short, a total failure in life. Very +likely he absurdly over-estimates his talents, and what he could +have done if he had had the chance; but it is at least possible +that he may have in him the genius of another Follett, wasting +sadly and uselessly away. Now, of course, in all professions, and +all walks of life, there are success and failure; but there is +none, I think, in which poor failure must bear so keenly the trial +of being daily and closely set in contrast with flushed success. +Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown were rival suitors for the hand of Miss +Jones; Mr. Smith succeeded, and Mr. Brown failed; but though Mr. +Brown feels his mortification severely even as things are, it would +be a great deal worse if he were compelled to follow at a hundred +yards' distance Mr. Smith and Miss Jones in their moonlight walks, +and contemplate their happiness; to be present when they are married, +and daily to attend them throughout their marriage excursion. Or +some one else gets the bishopric you wished for; but you are not +obliged daily to contemplate the cathedral and the palace which you +had hoped to call your own. In most cases in this world failure may +look away from the success which makes its eyes sore and its heart +heavy. You try to have a kindly feeling towards the man who succeeded +where you failed, and in time you have it; but just at first +you would not have liked to have had ever before you the visible +manifestation of his success and your failure. You must have a very +sweet nature, and (let me say it) much help from a certain high +Quarter, if, without the least envy or jealousy, genially and +unsoured, you can daily look upon the man who, without deserving +to beat you, actually did beat you;--at least while the wound is +fresh. + +And while talking of disappointment and success in courts of law. +let me remark, that petty success sometimes produces, in vulgar +natures, manifestations which are inexpressibly disgusting. Did +you ever remark the exultation of some low attorney when he had +succeeded in snapping a verdict in some contemptible case which +he had taken up and carried en upon speculation? I have witnessed +such a thing, and cannot but say that it appeared to me one of +the most revolting and disgusting phases which it is possible that +human nature should assume. I think I see the dirty, oily-looking +animal, at once servile and insolent, with trickery and rascality +in every line of his countenance, rubbing his hands in the hour of +his triumph, and bustling about to make immediate preparation for +availing himself of it. And following him, also sneakily exulting, +I see an object more dirty, more oily-looking, than the low attorney; +it is the low attorney's clerk. And on such an occasion, glancing +at the bench, when the judgment-seat was occupied by a judge who +had not yet learned never to look as if he thought or felt anything +in particular, I have discerned upon the judicial countenance an +expression of disgust as deep as my own. + +Pleasanter scenes come up this afternoon with the mention of summer +days. I see depths of wood, where all the light is coolly green, +and the rippling brook is crystal clear. I see vistas through pines, +like cathedral vaults; the space enclosed looks on a sunshiny day +almost black, and a bit of bright blue sky at the end of each is +framed by the trees into the likeness of a Gothic window. I see +walls of gray rock on either side of a river, noisy and brawling +in winter time, but now quiet and low. For two or three miles the +walls of rock stretch onward; there are thick woods above them, +and here and there a sunny field: masses of ivy clothe the rock +in places; long sprays of ivy hang over. I walk on in thought till +I reach the opening of the glen; here a green bank slopes upward +from a dark pool below, and there is a fair stretch of champaign +country beyond the river; on the summit of the green bank, on +this side, mouldering, grey, ivied, lonely, stand the ruins of the +monastery, which has kept its place here for seven hundred years. +I see the sky-framing eastern window, its tracery gone. There are +masses of large daisies varying the sward, and the sweet fragrance +of young clover is diffused through all the air. I turn aside, and +walk through lines of rose-trees in their summer perfection. I hear +the drowsy hum of the laden bees. Suddenly it is the twilight, the +long twilight of Scotland, which would sometimes serve you to read +by at eleven o'clock at night. The crimson flush has faded from the +bosom of the river; if you are alone, its murmur begins to turn to +a moan; the white stones of the churchyard look spectral through the +trees. I think of poor Doctor Adam, the great Scotch schoolmaster +of the last century, the teacher of Sir Walter Scott, and his last +words, when the shadow of death was falling deeper--'It grows dark, +hoys; you may go.' Then, with the professional bias, I go to a +certain beautiful promise which the deepening twilight seldom fails +to suggest to me; a promise which tells us how the Christian's +day shall end, how the day of life might be somewhat overcast and +dreary, but light should come on the darkened way at last. 'It +shall come to pass in that day, that the light shall not be clear +nor dark. But it shall be one day which shall be known to the Lord, +not day, nor night; but it shall come to pass that at evening time +it shall be light.' I think of various senses in which it might be +shown that these words speak truly; in which its great principle +holds good, that signal blessing shall come when it is needed most +and expected least; but I think mainly how, sometimes, at the close +of the chequered and sober day, the Better Sun has broken through +the clouds, and made the naming west all purple and gold. I think +how always the purer light comes, if not in this world, then in a +better. Bowing his head to pass under the dark portal, the Christian +lifts it on the other side, in the presence and the light of God. +J think how you and I, my reader, may perhaps have stood in the +chamber of death, and seen in the horizon the summer sun in glory +going down. But it is only to us who remain that the evening +darkness is growing--only for us that the sun is going down. Look +on the sleeping features, and think, 'Thy sun shall no more go +down, neither shall thy moon withdraw herself; for the Lord shall +be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy mourning shall be +ended.' And then, my reader, tell me--as the evening falls on you, +but not on him; as the shadows deepen on you, but not on him; as +the darkness gathers on you, but not on him--if, in sober reality, +the glorious promise has not found its perfect fulfilment, that +'at the evening time there shall be light!' + +Every one knows that Summer Days dispose one to a certain listlessly +meditative mood. In cold weather, out of doors at least, you must +move about actively; it is only by the evening fireside, watching +the dancing shadows, that you have glimpses of this not wholly +unprofitable condition of mind. In summer-time you sometimes feel +disposed to stand and look for a good while at the top of a large +tree, gently waving about in the blue sky. You begin by thinking +it would be curious to be up there: but there is no thought or +speculation, moral, political, or religious, which may not come at +the end of the train started by the loftiest branches of the great +beech. You are able to sit for a considerable space in front of +an ivied wall, and think out your sermon for Sunday as you look at +the dark leaves in the sun. Above all, it is soothing and suggestive +to look from a height at the soft outline of distant hills of modest +elevation; and to see, between yourself and them, many farm-houses +and many little cottages dotted here and there. There, under your +eye, how much of life, and of the interests of life, is going on! +Looking at such things, you muse, in a vague, desultory way. I +wonder whether when ordinary folk profess to be thinking, musing, +or meditating, they are really thinking connectedly or to any purpose. +I daresay the truth is they have (so to speak) given the mind its +head; laid the reins of the will on the mind's neck; and are letting +it go on and about in a wayward, interrupted, odd, semi-conscious +way. They are not holding onward on any track of thought. I believe +that common-place human beings can only get their ideas upon any +subject into shape and order by writing them down, or (at least) +expressing them in words to some one besides themselves. You have +a walk of an hour, before you: you resolve that you will see your +way through some perplexed matter as you walk along; your mind is +really running upon it all the way: but when you have got within +a hundred yards of your journey's end, you find with a start that +you have made no progress at all: you are as far as ever from +seeing what to think or do. With most people, to meditate means +to approach to doing nothing at all as closely as in the nature of +humanity it is possible to do so. And in this sense of it, summer +days, after your work is over, are the time for meditation. So, +indeed, are quiet days of autumn: so the evening generally, when +it is not cold. 'Isaac went out to meditate in the field, at the +eventide.' Perhaps he thought of the progress of his crops, his +flocks, his affairs: perhaps he thought of his expected wife: most, +probably he thought of nothing in particular; for four thousand +years have left human nature in its essence the selfsame thing. It +would be miserable work to moon through life, never thinking except +in this listless, purposeless way: but after hard work, when you +feel the rest has been fairly earned, it is very delightful on +such a day and in such a scene as this, to sit down and muse. The +analogy which suggests itself to me is that of a carriage-horse, +long constrained to keep to the even track along hard dusty roads, +drawing a heavy burden; now turned free into a cool green field +to wander, and feed, and roll about untrammelled. Even so does +the mind, weary of consecutive thinking--of thinking in the track +and thinking with a purpose--expatiate in the license of aimless +meditation. + +There are various questions which may fitly be thought of in the +listlessness of this summer day. They are questions the consideration +of which does not much excite; questions to which you do not very +much mind whether you get an answer or no. I have been thinking +for a little while, since I finished the last paragraph, of this +point: Whether that clergyman, undertaking the charge of some +important church, is best equipped for his duty, who has a great +many sermons carefully written and laid up in a box, ready to come +out when needed: or that other clergyman, who has very few sermons +fully written out, but who has spent great pains in disciplining +his mind into that state in which it shall always be able to produce +good material. Which of these has made best progress towards the +end of being a good and efficient preacher? Give me, I should say, +on the whole, the solid material stock, rather than the trained +inind. I look with a curious feeling upon certain very popular +preachers, who preach entirely extempore: who make a few notes of +their skeleton of thought; but trust for the words and even for the +illustrations to the inspiration of the moment. They go on boldly: +but their path crumbles away behind them as they advance. Their +minds are in splendid working order: they turn off admirable work +Sunday by Sunday: and while mind and nervous system keep their +spring, that admirable work may be counted on almost with certainty. +They have Fortunio's purse: they can always put their hand upon +the sovereigns they need: but they have no hoard accumulated which +they might draw from, should the purse some day fail. And remembering +how much the success of the extempore speaker depends upon the +mood of the moment: remembering what little things, menial and +physical, may mar and warp the intellectual machine for the moment: +remembering how entirely successful extempore speaking founds on +perfect confidence and presence of mind: remembering how as one +grows older the nervous system may get shaken and even broken down: +remembering how the train of thought which your mind has produced +melts away from you unless you preserve a record of it (for I am +persuaded that to many men that which they themselves have written +looks before very long as strange and new as that produced by +another mind): remembering these things, I say to myself, and to +you if you choose to listen: Write sermons diligently: write them +week by week, and always do your very best: never make up your mind +that this one shall be a third-rate affair, just to get the Sunday +over; and thus accumulate material for use in days when thoughts +will not come so readily, and when the hand must write tremblingly +and slow. Don't be misled by any clap-trap about the finer thing +being to have the mental machine always equal to its task. You +cannot have that. The mind is a wayward, capricious thing. The +engine which did its sixty miles an hour to-day, may be depended on +(barring accident) to do as much to-morrow. But it is by no means +certain that because you wrote your ten or twenty pages to-day, +you will be able to do the like on another day. What educated man +does not know, that when he sits down to his desk after breakfast, +it is quite uncertain whether he will accomplish an ordinary task, +or a double task, or a quadruple one? Dogged determination may +make sure, on almost every day, of a decent amount of produced +material: but the quality varies vastly, and the quantity which the +same degree and continuance of strain will produce is not a priori +to be calculated. And a spinning-jenny will day by day produce +thread of uniform quality: but a very clever man, by very great +labour, will on some days write miserable rubbish. And no one will +feel that more bitterly than himself. + +I pass from thinking of these things to a matter somewhat connected +with them. Is it because preachers now-a-days shrink from the labour +of writing sermons for themselves, or is it because they distrust +the quality of what they can themselves produce, that shameless +plagiarism is becoming so common? One cannot but reflect, thus +lazily inclined upon a summer day, what an amount of painful labour +would be saved one if, instead of toiling to see the way through +a subject, and then to set out one's views in an interesting and +(if possible) an impressive manner, one had simply to go to the +volumes of Mr. Melvill or Bishop Wilberforce or Dean Trench; or, +if your taste be of a different order, to those of Mr. Spurgeon, +Mr. Punshon, or Mr. Stowell Brown--and copy out what you want. The +manual labour might be considerable--for one blessing of original +composition is, that it makes you insensible to the mere mechanical +labour of writing,--but the intellectual saving would be tremendous. +I say nothing of the moral deterioration. I say nothing as to +what a mean, contemptible pickpocket, what a jackdaw in peacock's +feathers, you will feel yourself. There is no kind of dishonesty +which ought to be exposed more unsparingly. Whenever I hear a sermon +preached which has been stolen, I shall make a point of informing +every one who knows the delinquent. Let him get the credit which +is his due. I have not read many published sermons, and I seldom +hear any one preach except myself; so that I do not speak from +personal knowledge of the fact alleged by many, that there never +was a period when this paltry lying and cheating was so prevalent. +But five or six times within the last nine years I have listened +to sermons in which there was not merely a manifest appropriation +of thoughts which the preacher had never digested or made his own, +but which were stolen word for word; and I have been told by friends +in whom I have implicit confidence of instances twice five or six. +Generally, this dishonesty is practised by frightful block-heads, +whose sole object perhaps is to get decently through a task for +which they feel themselves unfit; but it is much more irritating +to find men of considerable talent, and of more than considerable +popularity, practising it in a very gross degree. And it is curious +how such dishonest persons gain in hardihood as they go on. Either +because they really escape detection, or because no one tells +them that they have been detected, they come at length to parade +themselves in their swindled finery upon the most public occasions. +I do believe that, like the liar who has told his story so long +that he has come to believe it at last, there are persons who have +stolen the thoughts of others so often and so long, that they hardly +remember that they are thieves. And in two or three cases in which +I put the matter to the proof, by speaking to the thief of the +characteristics of the stolen composition, I found him quite prepared +to carry out his roguery to the utmost, by talking of the trouble +it had cost him to write Dr. Newman's or Mr. Logan's discourse. +'Quite a simple matter--no trouble; scribbled off on Saturday +afternoon,' said, in my hearing, a man who had preached an elaborate +sermon by an eminent Anglican divine. The reply was irresistible: +'Well, if it cost you little trouble, I am sure it cost Mr. Melvill +a great deal.' + +I am speaking, you remark, of those despicable individuals who +falsely pass off as their own composition what they have stolen +from some one else. I do not allude to such as follow the advice +of Southey, and preach sermons which they honestly declare are +not their own. I can see something that might be said in favour of +the young inexperienced divine availing himself of the experience +of others. Of course, you may take the ground that it is better +to give a good sermon by another man than a bad one of your own. +Well, then, say that it is not your own. Every one knows that when +a clergyman goes to the pulpit and gives out his text, and then +proceeds with his sermon, the understanding is that he wrote that +sermon for himself. If he did not write it, he is bound in common +honesty to say so. But besides this, I deny the principle on which +some justify the preaching of another man's sermon. I deny that +it is better to give the good sermon of another than the middling +one by yourself. Depend upon it, if you have those qualifications +of head and heart that fit you for being in the Church at all, +your own sermon, however inferior in literary merit, is the better +sermon for you to give and for your congregation to hear; it is +the better fitted to accomplish the end of all worthy preaching, +which, as you know, is not at all to get your hearers to think how +clever a man you are. The simple, unambitious instruction into +which you have thrown the teachings of your own little experience, +and which you give forth from your own heart, will do a hundred +times more good than any amount of ingenuity, brilliancy, or even +piety, which you may preach at second-hand, with the feeling that +somehow you stand to all this as an outsider. If you wish honestly +to do good, preach what you have felt, and neither less nor more. + +But in no way of regarding the case can any excuse be found for +persons who steal and stick into their discourses tawdry little bits +of bombast, purple patches of thought or sentiment, which cannot +be supposed to do any good to anybody, which stand merely instead +of a little stolen gilding for the gingerbread which is probably +stolen too. I happened the other day to turn over a volume of +discourses (not, I am thankful to say, by a clergyman of either +of the national churches), and I came upon a sermon or lecture on +Woman. You can imagine the kind of thing it was. It was by no means +devoid of talent. The writer is plainly a clever, flippant person, +with little sense, and no taste at all. The discourse sets out +with a request that the audience 'would kindly try to keep awake by +pinching one another in the leg, or giving some nodding neighbour +a friendly pull of the hair;' and then there is a good deal about +Woman, in the style of a Yankee after-dinner speech in proposing such +a toast. After a little we have a highly romantic description of +a battle-field after the battle, in which gasping steeds, midnight +ravens, spectral bats, moping owls, screeching vultures, howling +night wolves appear. These animals are suddenly startled by a figure +going about with a lantern 'to find the one she loves.' Of course +the figure is a woman; and the paragraph winds up with the following +passage:-- + +Shall we go to her? No! Let her weep on. Leave her, &c. Oh, woman! +God beloved in old Jerusalem! We need deal lightly with thy faults, +if only for the agony thy nature will endure, in bearing heavy +evidence against us on the day of judgment! + +Now, my friend, have you read Mr. Dickens' story of Martin Chuzzlewit? +Turn up the twenty-eighth chapter of that work, and in the closing +sentence you may read as follows:-- + +Oh woman, God-beloved in old Jerusalem! The best among us need deal +lightly with thy faults, if only for the punishment thy nature will +endure, in bearing heavy evidence against us on the Day of Judgment! + +I wonder whether the writer of the discourse imagined that by varying +one or two words, and adopting small letters instead of capitals +in alluding to the Last Day, he made this sentence so entirely his +own as to justify him in bagging it without one hint that it was a +quotation. As for the value of the property bagged, that is another +question. + +After thinking for a few minutes of the curious constitution of +mind which enables a man to feel his vanity flattered when he gets +credit to which he knows he is not entitled, as the plagiarist does, +I pass away into the. vast field of thought which is afforded by +the contemplation of human vanity in general. The Ettrick Shepherd +was wont to say that when he tried a new pen, instead of writing +his name, as most people do, he always wrote Solomon's famous +sentence, All is vanity. But he did not understand the words in +Solomon's sense: what he thought of was the limitless amount of +self-conceit which exists in human beings, and which hardly any +degree of mortification can (in many cases) cut down to a reasonable +quantity. I find it difficult to arrive at any fixed law in regard +to human self-conceit. It would be very pleasant if one could +conclude that monstrous vanity is confined to tremendous fools; but +although the greatest intellectual self-conceit I have ever seen +has been in blockheads of the greatest density and ignorance; and +although the greatest self-conceit of personal attractions has +been in men and women of unutterable silliness; still, it must +be admitted that very great and illustrious members of the human +race have been remarkable for their vanity. I have met very clever +men, as well as very great fools, who would willingly talk of no +other matters than themselves, and their own wonderful doings and +attainments. I have known men of real ability, who were always +anxious to impress you with the fact that they were the best riders, +the best shots, the best jumpers, in the world; who were always +telling stories of the sharp things they said on trying occasions, +and the extraordinary events which were constantly befalling them. +When a clever man evinces this weakness, we must remember that +human nature is a weak and imperfect thing, and try to excuse the +silliness for the sake of the real merit. But there are few things +more irritating to witness than a stupid, ignorant dunce, wrapped +up in impenetrable conceit of his own abilities and acquirements. +It requires all the beauty, and all the listlessness too, of this +sweet summer day, to think, without the pulse quickening to an +indignant speed, of the half-dozen such persons whom each of us has +known. It would soothe and comfort us if we could be assured that +the blockhead knew that he was a blockhead: if we could be assured +that now and then there penetrated into the dense skull and reached +the stolid brain, even the suspicion of what his intellectual +calibre really is. I greatly fear that such a suspicion never is +known. If you witness the perfect confidence with which the man is +ready to express his opinion upon any subject, you will be quite +sure that the man has not the faintest notion of what his opinion is +worth. I remember a blockhead saying that certain lines of poetry +were nonsense. He said that they were unintelligible: that they +were rubbish. I suggested that it did not follow that they were +unintelligible because he could not understand them. I told him +that various competent judges thought them very noble lines indeed. +The blockhead stuck to his opinion with the utmost firmness. What +was the use of talking to him? If a blind man tells you he does +not see the sun, and does not believe there is any sun, you ought +to be sorry for him rather than angry with him. And when the +blockhead declared that he saw only rubbish in verses which I trust +every reader knows, and which begin with the line-- + + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, + +his declaration merely showed that he lacked the power to appreciate +Mr. Tennyson. But I think, my thoughtful friend, you would have found +it hard to pity him when you saw plainly that the poor blockhead +despised and pitied you. + +The conceit of the stolid dunce is bad, but the conceit of the +brisk and lively dunce is worse. The stolid dunce is comparatively +quiet; his crass mind works slowly; his vacant face wears an aspect +of repose; his talk is merely dull and twaddling. But the talk of +the brisk dunce is ambitiously absurd: he lays down broad principles: +he announces important discoveries which lie has made: he has +heard able and thoughtful men talk, and he tries to do that kind +of thing. There is an indescribable jauntiness about him apparent +in every word and gesture. As for the stolid dunce, you would be +content if the usages of society permitted your telling him that +he is a dunce. As for the brisk dunce, you would like to take him +by the ears and shake him. + +It is wonderful how ordinary, sensjble persons, with nothing brilliant +about them, may live daily in a comfortable feeling that they are +great geniuses: if they live constantly amid a little circle of +even the most incompetent judges, who are always telling them that +they are great geniuses. For it is natural to conclude that the +opinion of the people whom you commonly see is a fair reflex of +the opinion of all the world; and it is wonderful how highly even +a very able man will estimate the value of the opinion of even a +very stupid man, provided the stupid man entertains and frequently +expresses an immensely high opinion of the very able man. I have +known a man, holding a somewhat important position for which he was +grossly unfit, and for which every one knew he was grossly unfit; +yet perfectly self-satisfied and comfortable under circumstances +which would have crushed many men, because he was kept up by two +or three individuals who frequently assured him that he was a very +eminent and useful person. These two or three individuals acted +as a buffer between him and the estimate of mankind at large. He +received their opinion as a fair sample of the general opinion. He +was indeed a man of very moderate ability; but I have known another +of very great talent, who by the laudations of one or two old +women was led to suppose that he possessed abilities of a totally +different nature from those which he actually possessed. I do not +mean higher abilities, but abilities extending into a field into +which his peculiar talents did not reach. Yet no one would have +been sharper at discerning the worthlessness of the judgment of +the old women had it been other than very flattering to himself. +Who is there that does not know that sometimes clever young men +are bolstered up into a self-conceit which does them much harm with +the outer world, by the violent admiration and flattery of their +mothers, sisters, and aunts at home? + +But not merely does the favourable estimate of the. little circle +in which he lives serve to keep a man on good terms with himself; +it goes some way towards influencing the estimation in which he +is held by mankind at large--so far, that is, as mankind at large +know anything about him. I have known such a thing as a family whose +several members were always informing everybody they met what noble +fellows the other members of the family were. And I am persuaded +that all this really had some result. They were fine fellows, no +doubt; but this tended to make sure that they should not be hid +under a bushel. I am persuaded that if half-a-dozen clever young +men were to form themselves into a little association, each member +of which should be pledged to lose no opportunity of crying up the +other five members in conversation, through the press, and in--every +other possible way, this would materially further their success in +life and the estimation in which they would be held wherever known. +The world would take them at the value so constantly dinned into +its ear. When you read on a silver coin the legend one shilling, +you readily take it for a shilling; and if a man walks about with +great genius painted upon him in large red letters, many people +will aecept the truth of the inscription. Every one has seen how +a knot of able young men hanging together at college and in after +life can help one another even in a material sense, and not less +valuably by keeping up one another's heart. All this is quite fair, +and so is even the mutual praise when it is hearty and sincere. +For several months past I have been possessed of an idea which has +been gradually growing into shape. I have thought of getting up an +association, whose members should always hold by one another, be +true to one another, and cry one another up. A friend to whom I +mentioned my plan highly approved it, and suggested the happy name +of the MUTUAL EXALTATION SOCIETY. The association would be limited +in number: not more than fifty members could be admitted. It would +include educated men in all walks of life; more particularly men +whose success in life depends in any measure upon the estimation +in which they are commonly held, as barristers, preachers, authors, +and the like. Its purposes and operations have already been indicated +with as much fulness as would be judicious at the present juncture. +Mr. Barnum and Messrs. Moses and Son would be consulted on the +details. Sir John Ellesmere, ex-solicitor-general and author of the +Essay on the Arts of Self-Advancement, would be the first president, +and the general guide, philosopher, and friend of the Mutual +Exaltation Society. The present writer will be secretary. The only +remuneration he would expect would be that all the members should +undertake, at least six times every day, to make favourable mention +of a recently published work. Six times a day would they be expected +to say promiscuously to any intelligent friend or stranger, 'Have +you read the Recreations of a Country Parson? Most wonderful book! +Not read it? Go to Mudie's and get it directly '--and the like. +For obvious reasons it would not do to make public the names of +the members of the association; the moral weight of their mutual +laudation would be much diminished. But clever young men in various +parts of the country who may desire to join the society, may make +application to the Editor of Eraser's Magazine, enclosing testimonials +of moral and intellectual character. Applications will be received +until the First of April, 1861. + +I wonder whether any real impression is produced by those puffing +paragraphs which appear in country newspapers about some men, and +which are written either by the men themselves or by their near +relatives and friends. I think no impression is ever produced upon +intelligent people, and no permanent impression upon any one. Still, +among a rural population, there may be found those who believe all +that is printed in a newspaper; and who think that the man who is +mentioned in a newspaper is a very great man. And if you live among +such, it is pleasant to be regarded by them as a hero. The Reverend +Mr. Smith receives from his parishioners the gift of a silver +salver: the county paper of the following Friday contains a lengthy +paragraph recording the fact, and giving the reverend gentleman's +feeling and appropriate reply. The same worthy clergy-man preaches +a charity sermon: and the circumstance is recorded very fully, the +eloquent peroration being given with an accuracy which says much +for the perfection of provincial reporting--given, indeed, word +for word. Now it is natural to think that Mr. Smith is a much more +eminent man than those other men whose salvers and charity sermons +find no place in the newspaper: and Mr. Smith's agricultural +parishioners no doubt think so. A different opinion is entertained +by such as know that Mr. Smith's uncle is a large proprietor in +the puffing newspaper; and that he wrote the articles in question +in a much warmer strain than that in which they appeared, the editor +having sadly curtailed and toned them down. In the long run, all +this quackery does no good. And indeed long accounts in provincial +journals of family matters, weddings and the like, serve only to make +the family in question laughed at. Still, they do harm to nobody. +They are very innocent. They please the family whose proceedings +are chronicled; and if the family are laughed at, why, they don't +know it. + +And, happily, that which we do not know does us no harm: at least, +gives us no pain. And it is a law, a kindly and a reasonable law, +of civilized life, that when it is not absolutely necessary that +a man should know that which would give him pain, he shall not be +told of it. Only the most malicious violate this law. Even they +cannot do it long: for they come to be excluded from society as +its common enemies. One great characteristic of educated society +is this: it is always under a certain degree of Restraint. Nohody, +in public, speaks out all his mind. Nobody tells the whole truth, +at least, in public speeches and writings. It is a terrible thing +when an inexperienced man in Parliament (for instance) blurts out +the awkward fact which everybody knows, but of which nobody is to +speak except in the confidence of friendship or private society. +How such a man is hounded down! He is every one's enemy. Every one +is afraid of him. No one knows what he may say next. And it is quite +fit that he should be stopped. Civilized life could not otherwise +go on. It is quite right (when you calmly reflect upon it) that the +county paper, speaking of the member of Parliament, should tell us +how this much-respected gentleman has been visiting his Constituents, +but should suppress a good deal of the speech he made, which the +editor (though of the same politics) tells you frankly was worthy +only of an escaped lunatic. Above all, it is fit and decent that +the very odd private life and character of the legislator should be +by tacit consent ignored even by the journals most opposed to him. +It is right that kings and nobles should be, for the most part, +spoken of in public as if they actually were what they ought to be. +It is something of a reminder and a rebuke to them: and it is just +as well that mankind at large should not know too much of the actual +fact as to those above them. I should never object to calling a +graceless duke Tour Grace: nor to praying for a villariously bad +monarch as our most religious and gracious King (I know quite well, +small critic, that religious is an absurd mistranslation: but let +us take the liturgy in the sense in which ninety-nine out of every +hundred who hear it understand it): for it seems to me that the +daily recurring phrases are something ever suggesting what mankind +have a right to expect from those in eminent station; and a kindly +determination to believe that such are at least endeavoring to be +what they ought. No doubt there is often most bitter rehuke in the +names! This law of Restraint extends to all the doings of civilized +men. No one does anything to the very utmost of his ability. No +one speaks the entire truth, unless in confidence. No one exerts +his whole bodily strength. No one ever spoke at the very top of +his voice, unless in mortal extremity. Unquestionably, the feeling +that you must work within limits curtails the result accomplished. +You may see this in cases in which the restraint of the civilized +man binds him no longer. A man delirious or mad needs four men to +hold him: there is no restraint keeping in his exertions; and you +see what physical energy can do when utterly unlimited. And a man +who always spoke out in public the entire truth about all men and +all things, would inspire I know not what of terror. He would be +like a mad Malay running a muck, dagger in hand. If the person who +in a deliberative assembly speaks of another person as his venerable +friend, were to speak of him there as he did half an hour before +in private, as an obstructive old idiot, how people would start! +It would be like the bare bones of the skeleton showing through +the fair covering of flesh and blood. + +The shadows are lengthening eastward now; the summer day will soon +be gone. And looking about on this beautiful world, I think of +a poem by Bryant, in which he tells us how, gazing on the sky and +the mountains in June, he wished that when his time should come, +the green turf of summer might be broken to make his grave. He could +not bear, he tells us, the idea of being borne to his resting-place +through sleety winds, and covered with icy clods. Of course, poets +give us fanciful views, gained by looking at one side of a picture: +arid De Quincey somewhere states the opposite opinion, that death +seems sadder in summer, because there is a feeling that in quitting +this world our friend is losing more. It will not matter much, +friendly reader, to you and me, what kind of weather there may be +on the day of our respective funerals; though one would wish for +a pleasant, sunshiny time. And let us humbly trust that when we +go, we may find admission to a Place so beautiful, that we shall +not miss the green fields and trees, the roses and honeysuckle of +June. You may think, perhaps, of another reason besides Bryant's, +for preferring to die in the summer time; you remember the quaint +old Scotch lady, dying on a night of rain and hurricane, who said +(in entire simplicity and with nothing of irreverence) to the +circle of relations round her bed, 'Eh, what a fearfu' nicht for +me to be fleein' through the air!' And perhaps it is natural to +think it would be pleasant for the parted spirit, passing away from +human ken and comfort, to mount upwards, angel-guided, through the +soft sunset air of June, towards the country where suns never set, +and where all the days are summer days. But all this is no better +than a wayward fancy; it founds on forgetfulness of the nature of +the immaterial soul, to think that there need be any lengthened +journey, or any flight through skies either stormy or calm. You have +not had the advantage, I dare say, of being taught in your childhood +the catechism which is drilled into all children in Scotland; +and which sketches out with admirable clearness and precision +the elements of Christian belief. If you had, you would have been +taught to repeat words which put away all uncertainty as to the +intermediate state of departed spirits. 'The souls of believers are +at their death made perfect in holiness, and do IMMEDIATELY pass +into glory.' Yes; IMMEDIATELY; there is to the departed spirit no +middle space at all between earth and heaven. The old lady need +not have looked with any apprehension to going out from the warm +chamber into the stormy winter night, and flying far away. Not but +that millions of miles may intervene; not but that the two worlds +may be parted by a still, breathless ocean, a fathomless abyss of +cold dead space; yet, swift as never light went, swift as never +thought went, flies the just man's spirit across the profound. +One moment the sick-room, the scaffold, the stake; the next, the +paradisal glory. One moment the sob of parting anguish; the next +the great deep swell of the angel's song. Never think, reader, +that the dear ones you have seen die, had far to go to meet God +after they parted from you. Never think, parents who have seen +your children die, that after they left you, they had to traverse +a dark solitary way, along which you would have liked (if it had +been possible) to lead them by the hand, and bear them company +till they came into the presence of God. You did so, if you stood +by them till the last breath was drawn. You did bear them company +into God's very presence, if you only stayed beside them till they +died. The moment they left you, they were with him. The slight +pressure of the cold fingers lingered with you yet; but the little +child was with his Saviour. + + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +CONCERNING SCREWS: + +BEING THOUGHTS ON THE PRACTICAL SERVICE OF IMPERFECT MEANS. + +A CONSOLATORY ESSAY. + + + + +Almost every man is what, if he were a horse, would be called a +screw. Almost every man is unsound. Indeed, my reader, I might well +say even more than this. It would be no more than truth, to say +that there does not breathe any human being who could satisfactorily +pass a thorough examination of his physical and moral nature by a +competent inspector. + +I do not here enter on the etymological question, why an unsound +horse is called a screw. Let that be discussed by abler hands. +Possibly the phrase set out at length originally ran, that an unsound +horse was an animal in whose constitution there was a screw loose. +And the jarring effect produced upon any machine by looseness +on the part of a screw which ought to be tight, is well known to +thoughtful and experienced minds. By a process of gradual abbreviation, +the phrase indicated passed into the simpler statement, that the +unsound steed was himself a screw. By a bold transition, by a subtle +intellectual process, the thing supposed to be wrong in the animal's +physical system was taken to mean the animal in whose physical +system the thing was wrong. Or, it is conceivable that the use of +the word screw implied that the animal, possibly in early youth, +had got some unlucky twist or wrench, which permanently damaged its +bodily nature, or warped its moral development. A tendon perhaps +received a tug which it never quite got over. A joint was suddenly +turned in a direction in which Nature had not contemplated its +ever turning: and the joint never played quite smoothly and sweetly +again. In this sense, we should discern in the use of the word screw, +something analogous to the expressive Scotticism, which says of a +perverse and impracticable man, that he is a thrown person; that +is, a person who has got a thraw or twist; or rather, a person the +machinery of whose mind works as machinery might be conceived to +work which had got a thraw or twist. The reflective reader will +easily discern that a complex piece of machinery, by receiving an +unlucky twist, even a slight twist, would be put into a state in +which it would not go sweetly, or would not go at all. + +After this excursus, which I regard as not unworthy the attention +of the eminent Dean of Westminster, who has for long been, through +his admirable works, my guide and philosopher in all matters relating +to the study of words, I recur to the grand principle laid down at +the beginning of the present dissertation, and say deliberately, +that ALMOST EVERY MAN THAT LIVES, IS WHAT, IF HE WERE A +HORSE, WOULD BE CALLED A + +SCREW. Almost every man is unsound. Every man (to use the language +of a veterinary surgeon) has in him the seeds of unsoundness. You +could not honestly give a warranty with almost any mortal. Alas! +my brother; in the highest and most solemn of all respects, if +soundness ascribed to a creature implies that it is what it ought +to be, who shall venture to warrant any man sound! + +I do not mean to make my readers uncomfortable, by suggesting that +every man is physically unsound: I speak of intellectual and moral +unsoundness. You know, the most important thing about a horse is. +his body; and accordingly when we speak of a horse's soundness or +unsoundness, we speak physically; we speak of his body. But the +most important thing about a man is his mind; and so, when we say +a man is sound or unsound, we are thinking of mental soundness or +unsoundness. In short, the man is mainly a soul; the horse is mainly +and essentially a body. And though the moral qualities even of a +horse are of great importance,--such qualities as vice (which in a +horse means malignity of temper), obstinacy, nervous shyness (which +carried out into its practical result becomes shying); still the +name of screw is chiefly suggestive of physical defects. Its main +reference is to wind and limb. The soundness of a horse is to the +philosophic and stable mind suggestive of good legs, shoulders, and +hoofs; of uncongested lungs and free air-passages; of efficient eyes +and entire freedom from staggers. It is the existence of something +wrong in these matters which constitutes the unsound horse, or +screw. + +But though the great thing about rational and immortal man is +the soul: and though accordingly the most important soundness or +unsoundness about him is that which has its seat THERE; still, let +it be said that even as regards physical soundness there are few +men whom a veterinary surgeon would pass, if they were horses. Most +educated men are physically in very poor condition. And particularly +the cleverest of our race, in whom intellect is most developed and +cultivated, are for the most part in a very unsatisfactory state as +regards bodily soundness. They rub on: they manage somehow to get +through their work in life; but they never feel brisk or buoyant. +They never know high health, with its attendant cheerfulness. It +is a rare case to find such a combination of muscle and intellect +as existed in Christopher North: the commoner type is the shambling +Wordsworth, whom even his partial sister thought so mean-looking +when she saw him walking with a handsome man. Let it be repeated, +most civilized men are physically unsound. For one thing, most +educated men are broken-winded. They could not trot a quarter of +a mile without great distress. I have been amused, when in church +I have heard a man beyond middle age singing very loud, and plainly +proud of his volume of voice, to see how the last note of the line +was cut short for want of wind. I say nothing of such grave signs +of physical unsoundness as little pangs shooting about the heart, +and little dizzinesses of the brain; these matters are too serious +for this page. But it is certain that educated men, for the most +part, have great portions of their muscular system hardly at all +developed, through want of exercise. The legs of even hard brain-workers +are generally exercised a good deal; for the constitutional exercise +of such is usually walking. But in large town such men give fair +play to no other thews and sinews. More especially the arms of such +men are very flabby. The muscle is soft, and slender. If the fore +legs of a horse were like that, you could not ride him but at the +risk of your neck. + +Still, the great thing about man is the mind; and when I set out +by declaring that almost every man is unsound, I was thinking of +mental unsoundness. Most minds are unsound. No horse is accepted +as sound in which the practised eye of the veterinarian can find +some physical defect, something, away from normal development +and action. And if the same rule be applied to us, my readers; +if every man is mentally a screw, in whose intellectual and moral +development a sharp eye can detect something not right in the play +of the machinery or the formation of it; then I fancy that we may +safely lay it down as an axiom, that there is not upon the face of +the earth a perfectly sane man. A sane mind means a healthy mind; +that is, a mind that is exactly what it ought to be. Where shall +we discover such a one? My reader, you have not got it. I have +not got it. Nobody has got it. No doubt, at the first glance, this +seems startling; but I intend this essay to be a consolatory one, +and I wish to show you that in this world it is well if means will +fairly and decently suffice for their ends, even though they be +very far from being all that we could wish. God intends not that +this world should go on upon a system of optimism. It is enough, +if things are so, that they will do. They might do far better. And +let us remember, that though a veterinary surgeon would tell you +that there is hardly such a thing as a perfectly sound horse in +Britain, still in Britain there is very much work done, and well +done, by horses. Even so, much work, fair work, passable work, +noble work, magnificent work, may be turned off, and day by day is +turned off, by minds which, in strict severity, are no better than +good, workable, or showy screws. + +Many minds, otherwise good and even noble, are unsound upon the +point of Vanity. Nor is the unsoundness one that requires any very +sharp observer to detect. It is very often extremely conspicuous; +and the merest block-head can discern, and can laugh at, the +unfortunate defect in one who is perhaps a great and excellent man. +Many minds are off the balance in the respect of Suspiciousness; +many in that of absurd Prejudice. Many are unsound in the matters +of Silliness, Pettiness, Pettedness, Perversity, or general Unpleasantness +and Thrawn-ness. Multitudes of men are what in Scotland is called +Cat-witted. I do not know whether the word is intelligible in +England. It implies a combination of littleness of nature, small +self-conceit, readiness to take offence, determination in little +things to have one's own way, and general impracticability. There +are men to whom even the members of their own families do not like +to talk about their plans and views: who will suddenly go off on +a long journey without telling anyone in the house till the minute +before they go; and concerning whom their nearest relatives think +it right to give you a hint that they are rather peculiar in temper, +and you must mind how you talk to them. There are human beings whom +to manage into doing the simplest and most obvious duty, needs, on +your part, the tact of a diplomatist combined with the skill of a +driver of refractory pigs. In short, there are in human beings all +kinds of mental twists and deformities. There are mental lameness +and broken-windedness. Mental and moral shying is extremely common. +As for biting, who does not know it? We have all seen human biters; +not merely backbiters, but creatures who like to leave the marks +of their teeth upon people present too. There are many kickers; men +who in running with others do (so to speak) kick over the traces, +and viciously lash out at their companions with little or no +provocation. There are men who are always getting into quarrels, +though in the main warm-hearted and well-meaning. There are human +jibbers: creatures that lie down in the shafts instead of manfully +(or horsefully) putting their neck to the collar, and going stoutly at +the work of life. There are multitudes of people who are constantly +suffering from depression of spirits, a malady which appears +in countless forms. There is not a human being in whose mental +constitution there is not something wrong; some weakness, some +perversion, some positive vice. And if you want further proof +of the truth of what I am saying, given by one whose testimony is +worth much more than mine, go and read that eloquent and kindly and +painfully fascinating book lately published by Dr. Forbes Winslow, +on Obscure Diseases of the Brain and Mind; and you will leave off +with the firmest conviction that every breathing mortal is mentally +a screw. + +And yet, my reader, if you have some knowledge of horse-flesh, and +if you have been accustomed in your progress through life (in the +words of Dr. Johnson) to practise observation, and to look about +you with extensive view, your survey must have convinced you that +great part of the coaching and other horse work of this country is +done, and fairly done, by screws. These poor creatures are out in +all kinds of weather, and it seems to do them little harm. Any one +who knows how snug, dry, and warm a gentleman's horses are kept, +and how often with all that they are unfit for their duty, will +wonder to see poor cab horses shivering on the stand hour after +hour on a winter day, and will feel something of respect mingle +with his pity for the thin, patient, serviceable screws. Horses +that are lame, broken-winded, and vicious, pull the great bulk of +all the weight that horses pull. And they get through their work +somehow. Not long since, sitling on the box of a highland coach of +most extraordinary shape, I travelled through Glenorchy and along +Loch Awe side. The horses were wretched to look at, yet they took +the coach at a good pace over that very up and down road, which +was divided into very long stages. At last, amid a thick wood of +dwarf oaks, the coach stopped to receive its final team. It was an +extraordinary place for a coach to change horses. There was not a +house near: the horses had walked three miles from their stable. +They were by far the best team that had drawn the coach that day. +Four tall greys, nearly white with age; but they looked well and went +well, checking the coach stoutly as they went down the precipitous +descents, and ascending the opposite hills at a tearing gallop. +No doubt you could see various things amiss. They were blowing a +little; one or two were rather blind; and all four a little stiff +at starting. They were all screws. The dearest of them had not cost +the coach proprietor seven pounds; yet how well they went over the +eleven-mile stage into Inverary! + +Now in like manner, a great part of the mental work that is done, +is done by men who mentally are screws. The practical every-day +work of life is done, and respectably done, by very silly, weak, +prejudiced people. Mr. Carlyle has stated, that the population of +Britain consists of 'seventeen millions of people, mostly fools.' +I shall endeavour by and bye to make some reservation upon the great +author's sweeping statement; but here it is enough to remark that +even Mr. Carlyle would admit that the very great majority of these +seventeen millions get very decently and creditably through the +task which God sets them in this world. Let it be admitted that they +are not so wise as they should be; yet surely it may be admitted +too, that they possess that in heart and head which makes them +good enough for the rough and homely wear of life. No doubt they +blow and occasionally stumble, they sometimes even bite and kick +a little; yet somehow they get the coach along. For it is to be +remembered that the essential characteristic of a screw is, that +though unsound, it can yet by management be got to go through a +great deal of work. The screw is not dead lame, nor only fit for +the knacker; it falls far short of the perfection of a horse, but +still it is a horse, after all, and it can fulfil in some measure +a horse's duty. You see, my friend, the moderation of my view. I +do not say that men in general are mad, but only that men in general +are screws. There is a little twist in their intellectual or moral +nature; there is something wanting or something wrong; they are +silly, conceited, egotistical, and the like; yet decently equal +to the work of this world. By judicious management you may get a +great deal of worthy work out of the unsound minds of other men; +and out of your own unsound mind. But always remember that you have +an imperfect and warped machine to get on with; do not expect too +much of it; and be ready to humour it and yield to it a little. +Just as a horse which is lame and broken-winded can yet by care +and skill be made to get creditably through a wonderful amount of +labour; so may a man, low-spirited, foolish, prejudiced, ill-tempered, +soured, and wretched, be enabled to turn off a great deal of work +for which the world may be the better. A human being who is really +very weak and silly, may write many pages which shall do good to +his fellow men, or which shall at the least amuse them. But as you +carefully drive an unsound horse, walking him at first starting, +not trotting him down hill, making play at parts of the road which +suit him; so you must manage many men, or they will break down or +bolt out of the path. Above all, so you must manage your own mind, +whose weaknesses and wrong impulses you know best, if you would +keep it cheerful, and keep it in working order. The showy, unsound +horse can go well perhaps, but it must be shod with leather, otherwise +it would be dead-lame in a mile. And just in that same fashion we +human beings, all more or less of screws mentally and morally, need +all kinds of management, on the part of our friends and on our own +part, or we should go all wrong. There is something truly fearful +when we find that clearest-headed and soberest-hearted of men, +the great Bishop Butler, telling us that all his life long he was +struggling with horrible morbid suggestions, devilish is what he +calls them, which, but for being constantly held in check with the +sternest effort of his nature, would have driven him mad. Oh, let +the uncertain, unsound, unfathomable human heart be wisely and +tenderly driven! And as there are things which with the unsound +horse you dare not venture on at all, so with the fallen mind. You +who know your own horse, know that you dare not trot him hard down +hill. And you who know your own mind and heart, know that there are +some things of which you dare not think; thoughts on which your +only safety is resolutely to turn your back. The management needful +here is the management of utter avoidance. How often we find poor +creatures who have passed through years of anxiety and misery, +and experienced savage and deliberate cruelty which it is best to +forget, lashing themselves up to wrath and bitterness by brooding +over these things, on which wisdom would bid them try to close +their eyes for ever! + +But not merely do screws daily draw cabs and stage-coaches: screws +have won the Derby and the St. Leger. A noble-looking thorough-bred +has galloped by the winning-post at Epsom at the rate of forty +miles an hour, with a white bandage tightly tied round one of +its fore-legs: and thus publicly confessing its unsoundness, and +testifying to its trainer's fears, it has beaten a score of steeds +which were not screws, and borne off from them the blue ribbon of +the turf. Yes, my reader: not only will skilful management succeed +in making unsound animals do decently the hum-drum and prosaic +task-work of the equine world; it will succeed occasionally in +making unsound animals do in magnificent style the grandest things +that horses ever do at all. Don't you see the analogy I mean to +trace? Even so, not merely do Mr. Carlyle's seventeen millions of +fools get somehow through the petty wrork of our modern life, but +minds which no man could warrant sound and free from vice, turn off +some of the noblest work that ever was done by mortal. Many of the +grandest things ever done by human minds, have been done by minds +that were incurable screws. Think of the magnificent service done +to humankind by James Watt. It is positively impossible to calculate +what we all owe to the man that gave us iho steam-engine. It is +sober truth that the inscription in Westminster Abbey tells, when +it speaks of him as among the 'best benefactors' of the race. Yet +what an unsound organization that great man had! Mentally, what a +screw! Through most of his life, he suffered the deepest misery +from desperate depression of spirits; he was always fancying that +his mind was breaking down: he has himself recorded that he often +thought of casting off, by suicide, the unendurable burden of life. +And Still, what work the rickety machine got through! With tearing +headaches, with a sunken chest, with the least muscular of limbs, +with the most melancholy of temperaments, worried and tormented by +piracies of his great inventions, yet doing so much and doing it +so nobly, was not James Watt like the lame race-horse that won the +Derby? As for Byron, he was unquestionably a very great man; and +as a poet, he is in his own school without a rival. Still, he was +a screw. There was something morbid and unsound about his entire +development. In many respects he was extremely silly. It was +extremely silly to take pains to represent that he was morally +much worse than he really was. The greatest blockheads I know are +distinguished by the same characteristic. Oh, empty-headed Noodle! +who have more than once dropped hints in my presence as to the awful +badness of your life, and the unhappy insight which your life has +given you into the moral rottenness of society, don't do it again. +I always thought you a contemptible fool: but next time I mean to +tell you so. Wordsworth was a screw. Though one of the greatest of +poets, he was dreadfully twisted by inordinate egotism and vanity: +the result partly of original constitution, and partly of living +a great deal too much alone in that damp and misty lake country. +lie was like a spavined horse. Coleridge, again, was a jibber. He +never would pull in the team of life. There is something unsound +in the mind of the man who fancies that because he is a genius, +he need not support his wife and children. Even the sensible and +exemplary Southey was a little unsound in the matter of a crotchety +temper, needlessly ready to take offence. He was always quarrelling +with his associates in the Quarterly Review: with the editor and +the publisher. Perhaps you remember how on one occasion he wrought +himself up into a fever of wrath with Mr. Murray, because that +gentleman suggested a subject on which he wished Southey to write +for the Quarterly, and begged him to put his whole strength to it, +the subject being one which was just then of great interest and +importance. 'Flagrant insolence,' exclaimed Southey. 'Think of +the fellow bidding me put my whole strength to an article in his +six-shilling Review!' Now, reader, there you see the evil consequence +of a man who is a little of a screw in point of temper, living in +the country. Most reasonable men would never have discerned any +insult in Mr. Murray's request: but even if such a one had thought +it a shade too authoritatively expressed, he would, if he had lived +in town, gone out to the crowded street, gone down to his club, +and in half an hour have entirely forgotten the little disagreeable +impression. But a touchy man, dwelling in the country, gets the +irritative letter by the morning's post, is worried by it all the +forenoon, and goes out and broods on the offence through all his +solitary afternoon walk,--a walk in which he does not see a face, +perhaps, and certainly does not exchange a sentence with any human +being whose presence is energetic enough to turn the current of +thought into a healthier direction. And so, by the evening he has +got the little offence into the point of view in which it looks +most offensive: he is in a rage at being asked to do his best in +writing anything for a six-shilling publication. Why on earth not +do so? Is not the mind unsoundly sensitive that finds an offence +in a request like that? My brilliant brethren who write for Fraser, +don't you put your whole strength to articles to be published in +a periodical that sells for half-a-crown? + +You could not have warranted manly Samuel Johnson sound, on the +points of prejudice and bigotry. There was something unsound in that +unreasoning hatred of everything Scotch. Rousseau was altogether +a screw. He was mentally lame, broken-winded, a shyer, a kicker, a +jibber, a biter: he would do anything but run right on and do his +duty. Shelley was a notorious screw. I should say, indeed, that +his unsoundness passed the limit of practical sanity, and that +on certain points he was unquestionably mad. You could not have +warranted Keats sound. You could not deny the presence of a little +perverse twist even in the noble mind and heart of the great +Sir Charles Napier. The great Emperor Napoleon was cracky, if not +cracked, on various points. There was unsoundness in his strange +belief in his Fate. Neither Bacon nor Newton was entirely sound. +But the mention of Newton suggests to me the single specimen of +human kind who might stand even before him: and reminds me that +Shakspeare was as sound as any mortal ean be. Any defect in him +extends no farther than to his taste: and possibly where we should +differ from him, he is right and we are wrong. You could not say +that Shakspeare was mentally a screw. The noblest of all genius +is sober and reasonable: it is among geniuses of the second order +that you find something so warped, so eccentric, so abnormal, as +to come up to our idea of a screw. Sir Walter Scott was sound: save +perhaps in the matter of his veneration for George IV., and of his +desire to take rank as one of the country gentlemen of Roxburghshire. + +To sum up: let it be admitted that very noble work has been turned +off by minds in so far unhinged. It is not merely that great wits +are to madness near allied, it is that great wits are sometimes +actually in part mad. Madness is a matter of degree. The slightest +departure from the normal and healthy action of the mind is an +approximation to it. Every mind is a little unsound; but you don't +talk of insanity till the un.-oundness becomes very glaring, and +unfits for the duty of life. Just as almost every horse is a little +lame: one leg steps a hair-breadth shorter than the other, or is +a thought less muscular, or the hoof is a shade too sensitive; but +you don't talk of lameness till the creature's head begins to go +up and down, or till it plainly shrinks from putting its foot to +the ground. Southey's wrath about the six-shilling Review, and his +brooding on Murray's slight offence, was a step in the direction +of marked delusion such as conveys a man to Harwell or Morningside. +And the sensitive, imaginative nature, which goes to the production +of some of the human mind's best productions, is prone to such +little deviations from that which is strictly sensible and right. +You do not think, gay young readers, what poor unhappy half-cracked +creatures may have written the pages which thrill you or amuse +you; or painted the picture before which you pause so long. I know +hardly any person who ever published anything; but I have sometimes +thought that I should like to see assembled in one chamber, on the +first of any month, all the men and women who wrote all the articles +in all the magazines for that month. Some of them doubtless would +be very much like other people; but many would certainly be very +odd-looking and odd-tempered samples of humankind. The history of +some would be commonplace enough, but that of many would be very +curious. A great many readers, I dare say, would like to stand +in a gallery, and look at the queer individuals assembled below. +Magazine articles, of course, are not (speaking generally) specimens +of the highest order of literature; but still, some experience, some +thought, some observation, have gone to produce even them. And it +is unquestionably out of deep sorrow, out of the travail of heart +and nature, that the finest and noblest of all human thoughts have +come. + +As for the ordinary task-work of life, it must, beyond all question, +be generally done by screws,--that is, by folk whose mental +organization is unsound on some point. Vain people, obstinate people, +silly people, evil-foreboding people, touchy people, twaddling +people, carry on the work-day world. Not that it would be giving a +fair account of them to describe them thus, and leave the impression +that such are their essential characteristics. They are all that +has been said; but there is in most a good substratum of practical +sense; and they do fairly, or even remarkably well, the particular +thing which it is their business in this life to do. When Mr. Carlyle +said that the population of Britain consists of so many millions, +'mostly fools,' he conveys a quite wrong impression. No doubt +there are some who are silly out and out, who are always fools, +and essentially fools. No doubt almost all, if you questioned them +on great matters of which they have hardly thought, would express +very foolish and absurd opinions. But then these absurd opinions +are not the staple production of their minds. These are not a fair +sample of their ordinary thoughts. Their ordinary thoughts are, +in the main, sensible and reasonable, no doubt. Once upon a time, +while a famous criminal trial was exciting vast interest, I heard +a man in a railway-carriage, with looks of vast slyness and of +special stores of information, tell several others that the judge +and the counsel on each side had met quietly the evening before +to arrange what the verdict should be; and that though the trial +would go on to its end to delude the public, still the whole thing +was already settled. Now, my first impulse was to regard the man +with no small interest, and to say to myself, There, unquestionably, +is a fool. But, on reflection, I felt I was wrong. No doubt he +talked like a fool on this point. No doubt he expressed himself in +terms worthy of an asylum for idiots. But the man may have been a +very shrewd and sensible man in matters with which he was accustomed +to deal: he was a horse-dealer, I believe, and I doubt not sharp +enough at market; and the idiotic appearance he made was the +result of his applying his understanding to a matter quite beyond +his experience and out of his province. But a man is not properly +to be called a fool, even though occasionally he says and does very +foolish things, if the great preponderance of the things he says +and does be reasonable. No doubt Mr. Carlyle is right in so far +as this: that in almost every man there is an element of the fool. +Almost all have a vein of folly running through them, and cropping +out at the surface now and then. But in most men that is not the +characteristic part of their nature. There is more of the sensible +man than of the fool. + +For the forms of unsoundness in those who are mental screws +of the commonplace order; they are endless. You sometimes meet an +intellectual defect like that of the conscientious blockhead James +II., who thought that to differ from him in opinion was to doubt his +word and call him a liar. An unsoundness common to all uneducated +people is, that they cannot argue any question without getting +into a rage and roaring at the top of their voice. This unsoundness +exists in a good many educated men too. A peculiar twist of some +minds is this--that instead of maintaining by argument the thesis +they are maintaining, which is probably that two and two make five, +they branch off and begin to adduce arguments which do not go to +prove that, but to prove that the man who maintains that two and two +make four is a fool, or even a ruffian. Some good men are subject +to this infirmity--that if you differ from them on any point +whatever, they regard the fact of your differing from them as +proof, not merely that you are intellectually stupid, but that you +are morally depraved. Some really good men and women cannot let +slip an opportunity of saying anything that may be disagreeable. +And this is an evil that tends to perpetuate itself; for when Mr. +Snarling comes and says to you something uncomplimentary of yourself +or your near relations, instead of your doing what you ought to +do, and pitying poor Snarling, and recommending him some wholesome +medicine, you are strongly tempted to retort in kind: and thus you +sink yourself to Snarling's level, and you carry on the row. Your +proper course is either to speak kindly to poor Snarling, or not +to speak to him at all. There is something unsound about the man +whom you never heard say a good word of any mortal, but whom you +have heard say a great many bad words of a great many mortals. There +is unsoundness verging on entire insanity in the man who is always +fancying that all about him are constantly plotting to thwart his +plans and damage his character. There is unsoundness in the man +who is constantly getting into furious altercations with his fellow +passengers in steamers and rail-ways, or getting into angry and +lengthy correspondence with anybody in the newspapers or otherwise. +There is unsoundness in the man who is ever telling you amazing +stories which he fancies prove himself to be the bravest, cleverest, +swiftest of mankind, but which (on his own showing) prove him to +be a vapouring goose. There is unsoundness in the man or woman who +turns green with envy as a handsome carriage drives past, and then +says with awful bitterness that he or she would not enter such a +shabby old conveyance. There is unsoundness in the mortal whose memory +is full to repletion of contemptible little stories going to prove +that all his neighbours are rogues or fools. There is unsoundness +in the unfortunate persons who are always bursting into tears and +bahooing out that nobody loves them. Nobody will, so long as they +bahoo. Let them stop bahooing. There is unsoundness in the mental +organization of the sneaky person who stays a few weeks in a +family, and sets each member of it against all the rest by secretly +repeating to each exaggerated and malicious accounts of what has +been paid as to him or her by the others. There is unsoundness in +the perverse person who resolutely docs the opposite of what you +wish and expect: who won't go the pleasure excursion you had arranged +on his account, or partake of the dish which has been cooked for his +special eating. There is unsoundness in the deluded and unamiable +person who, by a grim, repellent, Pharisaic demeanour and address +excites in the minds of young persons gloomy and repulsive ideas +of religion, which wiser and better folk find it very hard to rub +away. 'Will my father be there?' said a little Scotch boy to some +one who had been telling him of the Happiest Place in the universe, +and recounting its joys. 'Yes,' was the reply. Said the little +man, with prompt decision, 'Then I'll no gang!' He must have been +a wretched screw of a Christian who left that impression on a young +child's heart. There is unsoundness in the man who cannot listen to +the praises of another man's merit without feeling as though this +were something taken from himself. And it is amusing, though sad, +to gee how such folk take for granted in others the same pretty +enviousness which they feel in themselves. They will go to one +writer, painter, preacher, and begin warmly to praise the doings +of another man in the same vocation; and when I have seen the +man addressed listen to and add to the praises with the hearty, +self-forgetting sincerity of a generous mind, I have witnessed the +bitter disappointment of the petty malignants at the failure of +their poisoned dart. Generous honesty quite baffles such. If their +dart ever wounds you, reader, it is because you deserve that it +should. There is unsoundness in the kindly, loveable man, whose +opinions are preposterous, and whose conversation that of a jackass. +But still, who can help loving the man, occasionally to be met, +whose heart is right and whose talk is twaddle? Let me add, that +I have met with one or two cases in which conscience was quite +paralysed, but all the other intellectual faculties were right. +Surely there is no more deplorable instance of the mental screw. +Tou may find the notorious cheat who is never out of church, and who +fancies himself a most creditable man. You will find the malicious +tale-bearer and liar, who attends all the prayer-meetings within +her reach, and who thanks God (like an individual in former days) +that she is so much better than other women. + +In the case of commonplace screws, if they do their work well, it +is for the most part in spite of their being screws. It is because +they are sound in the main, in those portions of their mental +constitution which their daily work calls into play; and because +they are seldom required to do those things which their unsoundness +makes them unfit to do. You know, if a horse never fell lame except +when smartly trotted down a hill four miles long, you might say that +for practical purposes that horse was never lame at all. For the +single contingency to which its powers are unequal would hardly ever +occur. In like manner, if the mind of a tradesman is quite equal +to the management of his business and the respectable training of +his family, you may say that the tradesman's mind is for practical +purposes a sound and good one; although if called to consider some +important political question, such as that of the connexion of +Church and State, his judgment might be purely idiotical. You see, +he is hardly ever required to put his mind (so to speak) at a hill +at which it would break down. I have walked a mile along the road +with a respectable Scotch farmer, talking of country matters; and +I have concluded that I had hardly ever conversed with a shrewder +and more sensible man. But having accidentally chanced to speak of +a certain complicated political question, I found that quoad hoc +my friend's intellect was that of a baby. I had just come upon the +four-mile descent which would knock up the horse which for ordinary +work was sound. + +Yes, reader, in the case of commonplace screws, if hey do their +work well, it is in spite of their being screws. But in the case of +great geniuses who are screws, it is often because of their unsoundness +that they do the fine things they do. It is the hectic beauty which +his morbid mind cast upon his page, that made Byron the attractive +and fascinating poet that he is to young and inexperienced minds. +Had his views been sounder and his feeling healthier, he might +have been but a commonplace writer after all. In poetry, and in +all imaginative writing, we look for beauty, not for sense; and we +all know that what is properly disease and unsoundness sometimes +adds to beauty. You know the delicate flush, the bright eyes, the +long eyelashes, which we often see in a young girl on whom consumption +is doing its work. You know the peachy complexion which often goes +with undeveloped scrofula. And had Charles Lamb not been trembling +on the verge of insanity, the Essays of Elia would have wanted great +part of their strange, undefinable charm. Had Ford and Massinger led +more regular lives and written more reasonable sentiments, what a +caput mortuum their tragedies would be! Had Coleridge been a man +of homely common-sense, he would never have written Christabel. I +remember in my boyhood reading The Ancient Mariner to a hard-headed +lawyer of no literary taste. He listened to the poem, and merely +remarked that its author was a horrible fool. + +There is no doubt that physical unsoundness often is a cause of +mental excellence. Some of the best women on earth are the ugliest. +Their ugliness cut them off from the enjoyment of the gaieties of +life; they did not care to go to a ball-room and sit all the evening +without once being asked to dance; and so they learned to devote +themselves to better things. You have seen the pretty sister, a +frivolous, silly flirt; the homely sister, quietly devoting herself +to works of Christian charity. Ugly people, we often hear it said, +cry up the beauties of the mind. It may be added, that ugly people +possess a very large proportion of those beauties. And a great deal +of the best intellectual work is done by men who are physically +screws; by men who are nearly blind, broken-winded, lame, and +weakly. We all know what the Apostle Paul was physically; we know +too what the world owes to that dwarfish, bald, stammering man. I +never in my life read anything more touching than the story of that +poor weakly creature, Dr. George Wilson, the Professor of Technology +in the University of Edinburgh. Poor weakly creature, only in a +physical sense; what a noble intellectual and moral nature dwelt +within that slender frame! You remember how admirably he did his +work, though in a condition of almost ceaseless bodily weakness +and suffering; how he used to lecture often with a great blister +on his chest; how his lungs and his entire system were the very +poorest that could just retain his soul. I never saw him; but I +have seen his portrait. You see the intellectual kindly face; but +it is but the weakly shadow of a physical man. But it was only +physically that George Wilson was a poor type of humanity. What noble +health and excellence there were in that noble mind and heart! So +amiable, so patient, so unaffectedly pious, so able and industrious; +a beautiful example of a great, good, memorable and truly loveable +man. Let us thank God for George Wilson: for his life and his +example. Hundreds of poor souls ready to sink into morbid despair +of ever doing anything good, will get fresh hope and heart from +his story. It is well, indeed, that there have been some in whom +the physical system equals the moral; men like Christopher North +and Sydney Smith,--men in whom the play of the lungs was as good +as the play of the imagination, and whose literal heart was as +excellent as their metaphysical. We have all seen examples in which +the noblest intellect and kindest disposition were happily blended +with the stoutest limbs and the pleasantest face. And the sound mind +in the sound body is doubtless the perfection of the human being. +I have walked many miles and many hours over the heather, with one +of the ablest men in Britain: a man whom at fourscore his country +can heartily trust with perhaps the gravest charge which any British +subject can undertake. And I have witnessed with great delight +the combination of the keenest head and best heart, with physical +strength and activity which quite knock up men younger by forty +years. + +When I was reading Dr. Forbes Winslow's book, already named, a very +painful idea was impressed upon me. Dr. Winslow gives us to understand +that madness is for the most part a condition of most awful suffering. +I used to think that though there might be dreadful misery on the +way to madness, yet once reason was fairly overthrown, the suffering +was over. This appears not to be so. All the miserable depression +of spirits, all the incapacity to banish distressing fears +and suspicions, which paved the way to real insanity, exist in +even intensified degree when insanity has actually been reached. +The poor maniac fancies he is surrounded by burning fires, that +he is encircled by writhing snakes, that he is in hell, tormented +by devils; and we must remember that the misery caused by firmly +believing a thing which does not exist, is precisely the same as that +which would be occasioned to a sane person if the things imagined +were facts. It seems, too, that many insane people are quite aware +that they are insane, which of course aggravates what they have to +endure. It must be a dreadful thing when the mind passes the point +up to which it is still useful and serviceable, though unsound, and +enters upon the stage of recognized insanity. It must be dreadful +to feel that you are not quite yourself; that something is wrong; +that you cannot discard suspicions and fears which still you are +aware are foolish and groundless. This is a melancholy stage, and +if it last long a very perilous one. Great anxiety, if continued +for any length of time, is almost certain to lead to some measure +of insanity. The man who night and day is never free from the +thought of how he is to pay his way, to maintain his children, is +going mad. It is thoroughly evil when one single thought conies to +take entire possession of the mind. It shows the brain is going. +It is no wonder, my friendly reader, that so many men are mentally +screws! There is something perfectly awful in reading what are the +premonitory symptoms of true insanity. Read this, my friend, and +be afraid of yourself. Here are what Dr. Winslow says indicates +that insanity is drawing near. Have you never seen it? Have you +never felt it? + +The patient is irritable, and fractious, peevish, and pettish. He +is morbidly anxious about trifles: slight ruffles on the surface, +and trivial annoyances in the family circle or during the course +of business, worry, flurry, tease and fret him, nothing satisfying +or soothing his mind, and everything, to his distempered fancy, +going wrong within the sacred precincts of domestic life. He is +quick at fancying affronts, and greatly exaggerates the slightest +and most trifling acts of supposed inattention. The least irregularity +on the part of the domestics excites, angers, and vexes him. +He is suspicious of and quarrels with his nearest relations, and +mistrusts his best, kindest, and most faithful friends. While in +this premonitory stage of mental derangement, bordering closely +on an attack of acute insanity, he twists, distorts, misconceives, +misconstrues, and perverts in a most singular manner every look, +gesture, action, and word of those closely associated, and nearly +related to him. + +Considering that Dr. Winslow does really in that paragraph sketch +the moral characteristics of at least a score of people known to +every one of us, all this is alarming enough. And considering, too, +how common a thing sleeplessness is among men who go through hard +mental work, or who are pressed by many cares and anxieties, it is +even more alarming to read, that-- + +Wakefulness is one of the most constant concomitants of some types +of incipient brain disease, and in many cases a certain forerunner +of insanity. It is an admitted axiom in medicine, that the brain +cannot be in a healthy condition while a state of sleeplessness +exists. + +But I pass away from this part of my subject. I do not believe that +it is good for either my readers or myself to look from a medical +point of view at those defects or morbid manifestations in our mental +organization which stamp us screws. We accept the fact, generally; +without going into details. It is a bad thing for a man to be always +feeling his pulse after every little exertion, and fancying that +its acceleration or irregularity indicates that something is wrong. +Such a man is in the fair way to settled hypochondria. And I think +it is even worse to be always watching closely the play of the +mental machine, and thinking that this process or that emotion is +not as it ought to be. Let a man work his mind fairly and moderately, +and not worry himself as to its state. The mind can get no more +morbid habit than that of continually watching itself for a stumble. +Except in the case of metaphysicians, whose business it is to watch +and analyse the doings of the mind, the mind ought to be like the +stomach. You know that your stomach is right, because you never +feel that you have one; but the work intended for that organ is +somehow done. And common folk should know that they have minds, +only by finding the ends fairly attained, which are intended to be +attained by that most sensitive and ticklish piece of machinery. + +I think that it is a piece of practical wisdom in driving the +mental screw, to be careful how you allow it to dwell too constantly +upon any one topic. If you allow yourself to think too much of any +subject, you will get a partial craze upon that; you will come to +vastly overrate its importance. You will make yourself uncomfortable +about it. There once was a man who mused long upon the notorious +fact that almost all human beings stoop consider ably. Few hold +themselves as upright as they ought. And this notion took such +hold upon the poor man's mind, that, waking or sleeping, he could +not get rid of it; and he published volume after volume to prove the +vast extent of the evils which come of this bad habit of stooping, +and to show that to get fairly rid of this bad habit would be the +regeneration of the human race, physically and morally. We know how +authors exaggerate the claims of their subject; and I can quite +imagine a very earnest man feeling afraid to think too much and +long about any existing evil, for fear it should greaten on his view +into a thing so large and pernicious, that he should be constrained +to give all his life to wrestling with that one thing, and attach +to it an importance which would make his neighbours think him a +monomaniac. If you think long and deeply upon any subject, it grows +in apparent magnitude and weight; if you think of it too long, it +may grow big enough to exclude the thought of all things besides. +If it be an existing and prevalent evil you are thinking of, you +may come to fancy that if that one thing were done away, it would +be well with the human race: all evil would go with it. I can conceive +the process by which, without mania, without anything worse than +the workable unsoundness of the practically sound mind, one might +come to think as the man who wrote against stooping thought. For +myself, I feel the force of this law so deeply, that there are certain +evils of which I am afraid to think much, for fear I should come +to be able to think of nothing else and nothing more. I remember, +when I was a boy, there was a man in London who constantly advertised +himself in the newspapers as the Inventor of the only Rational +System of Writing in the Universe. His system was, I believe, to +move in writing, not the fingers merely, but the entire arm from +the shoulder. This may be an improvement perhaps: and that man had +brooded over the mischiefs of moving the fingers in writing till +these mischiefs shut out the view of the rest of creation, or at +least till he saw nothing but irrationality in writing otherwise. +All the millions who wrote by the fingers were cracked. The +writing-master, in short, though possibly a reasonable man on other +subjects, was certainly unsound upon this. You may allow yourself +to speculate on the chance of being bitten by a mad dog, or of +being maimed by a railway accident, till you grow morbid on these +points. If you live in the country, you may give in to the idea +that your house will be broken into at night by burglars, till, +every time you wake in the dark hours, you may fancy you hear the +centre-bit at work boring through the window-shutters down stairs. +A very clever woman once told me, that for a year she yielded so +much to the fear that she had left, a spark behind her in any room +into which she had gone with a lighted candle, which spark would set +the house on fire, that she could not be easy till she had groped +her way back in the dark to see that things were right. Now, ye +readers whose minds must be carefully driven (I mean all the readers +who will ever see this page), don't give in to these fancies. As +you would carefully train your horse to pass the corner he always +shies at, so break your mind of this bad habit. And in breaking +your mind of the smallest bad habit, I would counsel you to resort +to the same kindly Helper whose aid you would ask in breaking +your mind of the greatest and worst. It is not a small matter, +the existence in the mind of any tendency or characteristic which +is unsound. We know what lies in that direction. You are like the +railway-train which, with breaks unapplied, is stealing the first +yard down the incline at the rale of a mile in two hours; but if +that train be not pulled up, in ten minutes it may be tearing down +to destruction at sixty miles an hour. + +I have said that almost every human being is mentally a screw; +that all have some intellectual peculiarity, some moral twist, away +from the normal standard of Tightness. Let it, be added, that it +is little wonder that the fact should be as it is. I do not think +merely of a certain unhappy warping, of an old original wrench, +which human nature long ago received, and from which it never has +recovered. I am not writing as a theologian; and so I do not suggest +the grave consideration that human nature, being fallen, need not +be expected to be the right-working machinery that it may have +been before it fell. But I may at least say, look how most people +are educated; consider the kind of training they get, and the +incompetent hands that train them: what chance have they of being +anything but screws? Ah, my reader, if horses were broken by people +as unfit for their work as most of the people who form human minds, +there would not be a horse in the world that would not be dead lame. +You do not trust your thorough-bred colt, hitherto unhandled, to +any one who is not understood to have a thorough knowledge of the +characteristics and education of horses. But in numberless instances, +even in the better classes of society, a thing which needs to be +guarded against a thousand wrong tendencies, and trained up to a +thousand right things from which it is ready to shrink, the most +sensitive and complicated thing in nature, the human soul, is left +to have its character formed by hands as hopelessly unfit for the +task as the Lord Chancellor is to prepare the winner of the next +St. Leger. You find parents and guardians of children systematically +following a course of treatment calculated to bring out the very +worst tendencies of mind and heart that are latent in the little +things given to their care. If a young horse has a tendency to shy, +how carefully the trainer seeks to win him away from the habit. But +if a poor little boy has a hasty temper, you may find his mother +taking the greatest pains to irritate that temper. If the little +fellow have some physical or mental defect, you have seen parents +who never miss an opportunity of throwing it in the boy's face; +parents who seem to exult in the thought that they know the place +where a touch will always cause to wince,--the sensitive, unprotected +point where the dart of malignity will never fail to get home. If a +child has said or done some wrong or foolish thing, you will find +parents who are constantly raking up the remembrance of it, for +the pure pleasure of giving pain. Even so would a kindly man, who +knows that his horse has just come down and cut himself, take pains +whenever he came to a bit of road freshly macadamized to bring down +the poor horse on the sharp stones, again with his bleeding knees. +And even where you do not find positive malignity in those entrusted +with the training of human minds, you find hopeless incornpetcncy +exhibited in many other ways; outrageous silliness and vanity, +want of honesty, and utter want of sense. I say it deliberately, +instead of wondering that most minds are such screws, I wonder with +indescribable surprise that they are not a thousand times worse. +For they are like trees pruned and trained into ugliness and +barrenness. They are like horses carefully tutored to shy, kick, +rear, and bite. It says something hopeful as to what may yet be +made of human beings, that most of them are no worse than they are. +Some parents, fancying too that they are educating their children +on Christian principles, educate them in such fashion that Ihe only +wonder is that the children do not end at the gallows. + +Let us recognise the fact in all our treatment of others, that we +have to deal with screws. Let us not think, as some do, that by +ignoring a fact you make it cease to be a fact. I have seen a man +pulling his lame horse up tight, and flicking it with his whip, +and trying to drive it as if it were not lame. Now, that won't do. +The poor horse makes a desperate effort, and runs a step or two as +if sound. But in a little the heavy head falls upon the bit at each +step, and perhaps the creature comes down bodily with a tremendous +smash. If it were only his idiotic master that was smashed, I should +not mind. So have I seen parents refusing to see or allow for the +peculiarities of their children, insisting on driving the poor screw +as though it were perfect in wind and limb. So have I seen people +refusing to see or allow for the peculiarities of those around them; +ignoring the depressed spirits, the unhappy twist, the luckless +perversity of temper, in a servant, an acquaintance, a friend, +which, rightly managed, would still leave them most serviceable +screws; but which, determinedly ignored, will land in uselessness +and misery. I believe there are people who (in a moral sense), if +they have a crooked stick, fancy that by using it as if it were +straight, it will become straight. If you have got a rifle that +sends its ball somewhat to the left side, you (if you are not a +fool) allow for that in shooting. If you have a friend of sterling +value, but of crotchety temper, you (if you are not a fool) allow +for that. If you have a child who is weak, desponding, and early +old, you (if you are not a hopeless idiot) remember that, and allow +for it, and try to make the best of it. But if you be an idiot, you +will think it deep diplomacy, and adamantine firmness, and wisdom +beyond Solomon's, to shut your eyes to the state of facts; to tug +sharply the poor screw's mouth, to lash him violently, to drive him +as though he were sound. Probably you will come to a smash: alas! +that the smash will probably include more than you. + +Not, reader, that all human beings thus idiotically ignore the fact +that it is with screws they have to deal. It is very touching to +see, as we sometimes see, people trying to make the best of awful +screws. You are quite pleased if your lame horse trots four or five +miles without showing very gross unsoundness, though of course this +is but a poor achievement. And even so, I have been touched to see +the child quite happy at having coaxed a graceless father to come +for once to church; and the wife quite happy when the blackguard +bully, her husband, for once evinces a little kindness. It was not +much they did, you see: but remember what wretched screws did it, +and be thankful if they do even that little. I have heard a mother +repeat, with a pathetic pride, a connected sentence said by her +idiot boy. You remember how delighted Miss Trotwood was, in Mr. +Dickens's beautiful story, with Mr. Dick's good sense, when he said +something which in anybody else would have been rather silly. But +Mr. Dick, you see, was just out of the Asylum, and no more. How +pleased you are to find a relation, who is a terrific fool, merely +behaving like anybody else! + +Yes: there is a good deal of practical resignation in this world. +We get reconciled to having and to being screws. We grow reconciled +to the fact that our possessions, our relations, our friends, are +very far indeed from being what we could wish. We grow reconciled +to the fact, and we try to make the best of it, that we ourselves +are screws: that in temper, in judgment, in talent, in tact, we +are a thousand miles short of being what we ought; and that we can +hope for little more than decently, quietlv, sometimes wearily and +sadly, to plod along the path in life which God in his kindness +and wisdom has set us. We come to look with interest, but without +a vestige of envy, at those who are cleverer and better off than +ourselves. A great many good people are so accustomed to things going +against them, that they are rather startled when things go as they +could have desired: they can stand disappointment, but success puts +them out, it is so unwonted a thing. The lame horse, the battered +old gig,--they feel at home with these; but they would be confused if +presented with my friend Smith's drag, with its beautiful steeds, +all but thoroughbred, and perfectly sound. To struggle on with +a small income, manifold worries, and lowly estimation,--to these +things they have quietly reconciled themselves. But give them +wealth, and peace, and fame (if these things can be combined), and +they would hardly know what to do. Yesterday I walked up a very long +flight of steps in a very poor part of the most beautiful city in +Britain. Just before me, a feeble old woman, bent down apparently +by eighty years, was slowly ascending. She had a very large bundle +on her back, and she supported herself by a short stick in her +withered, trembling hand. If it had been in the country, I should +most assuredly have carried up the poor creature's bundle for her; +but I am sorry to say I had not moral courage to offer to do so +in town: for a parson with a great sackcloth bundle on his back, +would be greeted in that district with depreciatory observations. +But I kept close by her, to help her if she fell; and when I got +to the top of the steps I passed her and went on. I looked sharply +at the poor old face in passing; I see it yet. I see the look of cowed, +patient, quiet, hopeless submission: I saw she had quite reconciled +her mind to bearing her heavy burden, and to the far heavier load +of years, and infirmities, and poverty, she was bearing too. She +had accepted those for her portion in this life. She looked for +nothing better. She was like the man whose horse has been broken-winded +and lame so long, that he has come almost to think that every horse +is a screw. I see yet the quiet, wearied, surprised look she cast +up at me as I passed: a look merely of surprise to see an entire +coat in a place where my fellow-creatures (every one deserving as +much as me) for the most part wear rags. I do not think she even +wished to possess an equally entire garment: she looked at it with +interest merely as the possession of some one else. She did not +even herself (as we Scotch say) to anything better than the rags +she had worn so long. Long experience had subdued her to what she +is. + +But short experience does so too. We early learn to be content with +screws, and to make the best of imperfect means. As I have been +writing that last paragraph, I have been listening to a colloquy +outside my study door, which is partly open. The parties engaged +in the discussion were a certain little girl of five years old, +and her nurse. The little girl is going out to spend the day at +the house of a little companion; and she is going to take her doll +with her. I heard various sentences not quite distinctly, which +conveyed to me a general impression of perplexity; and at length, +in a cheerful, decided voice, the little girl said, 'The people will +never know it has got no legs!' The doll, you see, was unsound. +Accidents had brought it to an imperfect state. But that wise +little girl had done what you and I, my reader, must try to do very +frequently: she had made up her mind to make the best of a screw. + +I learn a lesson, as I close my essay, from the old woman of eighty, +and the little girl of five. Let us seek to reconcile our minds +both to possessing screws, and (harder still) to being screws. Let +us make the best of our imperfect possessions, and of our imperfect +selves. Let us remember that a great deal of good can be done by +means which fall very far short of perfection; that our moderate +abilities, honestly and wisely husbanded and directed, may serve +valuable ends in this world before we quit it,--ends which may +remain after we are gone. I do not suppose that judicious critics, +in pointing out an author's faults, mean that he ought to stop +writing altogether. There are hopeless cases in which he certainly +ought: cases in which the steed passes being a screw, and is fit +only for the hounds. But in most instances the critic would be +quite wrong, if he argued what because his author has many flaws +and defects, he should write no more. With all its errors, what he +writes may be much better than nothing; as the serviceable screw is +better than no horse at all. And if the critic's purpose is merely +to show the author that the author is a screw,--why, if the author +have any sense at all, he knows that already. He does not claim to +be wiser than other men; and still less to be better: yet he may +try to do his best. With many defects and errors, still fair work +may be turned off. I will not forget the lame horses that took the +coach so well to Inverary. And I remember certain words in which +one who is all but the greatest English poet declared that under +the heavy visitation of God he would do his utmost still. Here is +the resolution of a noble screw:-- + + I argue not + Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot + Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer + Right onward! + + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +CONCERNING SOLITARY DAYS. + + + + +Let me look back, this New Year's time, over nine years. Let me try +to revive again the pervading atmosphere of the days when I used +to live entirely alone. All days crush up into very little in the +perspective. The months and years which were long as they passed +over, are but a hand-breadth in remembrance. Five or ten years may +be packed away into a very little corner in your mind; and in the +case of a man brought up from childhood in a large family, who +spends no more than three or four years alone before he again sees +a household beginning to surround him, I think those lonely years +seem especially short in the retrospect. Yet possibly in these he +may have done some of the best work of his life; and possibly none, +of all the years he has seen, have produced so great an impression on +his character and on his temperament. And the impression left may +be most diverse in nature. I have known a man remarkably gentle, kind, +and sympathetic; always anxious to say a pleasant and encouraging +word; discerning by a wonderful intuition whenever he had presented +a view or made a remark that had caused pain to the most sensitive, +and eager to efface the painful feeling; and I have thought that +in all this I could trace the result of his having lived entirely +alone for many years. I have known a man insufferably arrogant, +conceited, and self-opinionated; another morbidly suspicious and +ever nervously anxious; another conspicuously devoid of common +Eense; and in each of these I have thought I could trace the result +of a lonely life. But indeed it depends so entirely on the nature +of the material subjected to the mill what the result turned off +shall be, that it is hard to say of any human being what shall be +the effect produced upon his character by almost any discipline you +can think of. And a solitary life may make a man either thoughtful +or vacant, either humble or conceited, either sympathetic or selfish, +either frank or shrinkingly shy. + +Great numbers of educated people in this country live solitary lives. +And by a solitary life I do not mean a life in a remote district +of country with hardly a neighbour near, but with your house well +filled and noisy with, children's voices. By a solitary life I +mean a life in which, day after day and week after week, you rise +in the morning in a silent dwelling, in which, save servants, +there are none but yourself; in which you sit down to breakfast by +yourself, perhaps set yourself to your day's work all alone, then +dine by yourself, and spend the evening by yourself. Barristers living +in chambers in some cases do this; young lads living in lodgings, +young clergymen in country parsonages, old bachelors in handsome +town houses and beautiful country mansions, old maids in quiet +streets of country towns, old ladies once the centre of cheerful +families, but whose husband and children are gone--even dukes +in palaces and castles, amid a lonely splendour which must, one +would think, seem dreary and ghastly. But you know, my reader, we +sympathize the most completely with that which we have ourselves +experienced. And when I hear people talk of a solitary life, the +picture called up before me is that of a young man who has always +lived as one of a household considerable in numbers, who gets a +living in the Church, and who, having no sister to keep house for +him, goes to it to live quite alone. How many of my friends have +done precisely that! Was it not a curious mode of life? A thing is +not made commonplace to your own feeling by the fact that hundreds +or thousands of human beings have experienced the very same. And +although fifty Smiths have done it (all very clever fellows), and +fifty Robinsons have done it (all very commonplace and ordinary +fellows), one does not feel a bit the less interest in recurring +to that experience which, hackneyed as it may be, is to you of +greater interest than all other experience, in that it is your own. +Draw up a thousand men in a row, all dressed in the same dark-green +uniform of the riflemen; and I do not think that their number, +or their likeness to one another, will cause any but the most +unthinking to forget that each is an individual man as much as if +he stood alone in the desert; that each has his own ties, cares, +and character, and that possibly each, like to all the rest as he +may appear to others, is to several hearts, or perhaps to one only, +the one man of all mankind. + +Most clergymen whom I have known divide their day very much in the +same fashion. After breakfast they go into their study and write +their sermon for two or three hours; then they go out and visit +their sick or make other calls of duty for several hours. If they +have a large parish, they probably came to it with the resolution +that before dinner they should always have an hour's smart walk at +least; but they soon find that duty encroaches on that hour, and +finally eats it entirely up, and their duty calls are continued +till it is time to return home to dinner. Don't you remember, my +friend, how short a time that lonely meal lasted, and how very far +from jovial the feast was? As for me, that I might rest my eyes +from reading between dinner and tea (a thing much to be desired in +the case of every scholar), I hardly ever, failed, save for a few +weeks of midwinter, to go out in the twilight and have a walk--a +solitary and very slow walk. My hours, you see, were highly +unfashionable. I walked from half-past five to half-past six: that +was my after-dinner walk. It was always the same. It looks somewhat +dismal to recall. Do you ever find, in looking back at some great +trial or mortification you have passed through, that you are +pitying yourself as if you were another person? I do not mean to +say that those walks were a trial. On the contrary, they were always +an enjoyment--a subdued quiet enjoyment, as are the enjoyments of +solitary folk. Still, now looking back, it seems to me as if I +were watching some one else going out in the cold February twilight, +and walking from half-past five to half-past six. I think I see +a human being, wearing a very thick and rough great-coat, got for +these walks, and never worn on any other occasion, walking very +slowly, bearing an extremely thick oak walking-stick (I have it +yet) by the shore of the bleak gray sea. Only on the beach did I +ever bear that stick; and by many touches of the sand it gradually +wore down till it became too short for use. I see the human being +issuing from the door of a little parsonage (not the one where there +are magnificent beeches and rich evergreens and climbing roses), +and always waiting at the door for him there was a friendly dog, +a terrier, with very short legs and a very long back, and shaggy +to that degree that at a cursory glance it was difficult to decide +which was his head and which his tail. Ah, poor old dog, you +are grown very stiff and lazy now, and time has not mellowed your +temper. Even then it was somewhat doubtful. Not that you ever offered +to bite me; but it was most unlucky, and it looked most invidious, +that occasion when you rushed out of the gate and severely tore +the garments of the dissenting minister! But he was a worthy man: +and I trust that he never supposed that upon that day you acted by +my instigation. You were very active then; and so few faces did you +see (though a considerable town was within a few hundred yards), +that the appearance of one made you rush about and bark tremendously. +Cross a field, pass through a hedgerow of very scrubby and stunted +trees, cross a railway by a path on the level, go on by a dirty +track on its further side; and you come upon the sea-shore. It is +a level, sandy beach; and for a mile or two inland the ground is +level, and the soil ungenial. There are sandy downs, thinly covered +with coarse grass. Trees will hardly grow; the few trees there are, +are cut down by the salt winds from the Atlantic. The land view, +in a raw twilight of early spring, is dreary beyond description; +but looking across the sea, there is a magnificent view of mountain +peaks. And if you turn in another direction, and look along the +shore, you will see a fine hill rising from the sea and running +inland, at whose base there flows a beautiful river, which pilgrims +come hundreds of miles to visit. How often, O sandy beach, have these +feet walked slowly along you! And in these years of such walks, I +did not meet or see in all six human beings. A good many years have +passed since I saw that dismal beach last; I dare say it would look +very strange now. The only excitement of those walks consisted in +sending the dog into the sea, and in making him run after stones. +How tremendously he ran; what tiger-like bounds he made, as he +overtook the missile! Just such walks, my friends, many of you have +taken. Homines estis. And then you have walked into your dwelling +again, walked into your study, had tea in solitude, spent the +evening alone in reading and writing. You have got on in life, let +it be hoped; but you remember well the aspect and arrangement of +the room; you remember where stood tables, chairs, candles; you +remember the pattern of the grate, often vacantly studied. I think +every one must look back with great interest upon such days. Life +was in great measure before you, what you might do with it. For +anything you knew then, you might be a great genius; whereas if +the world, even ten years later, has not yet recognized you as a +great genius, it is all but certain that it never will recognize +you as such at all. And through those long winter evenings, often +prolonged far into the night, not only did you muse on many problems, +social, philosophical, and religious, but you pictured out, I dare +say, your future life, and thought of many things which you hoped +to do and to be. + +A very subdued mood of thought and feeling, I think, creeps gradually +over a man living such a solitary life. I mean a man who has been +accustomed to a house with many inmates. There is something odd in +the look of an apartment in which hardly a word is ever spoken. If +you speak while by yourself, it is in a very low tone; and though +you may smile, I don't think any sane man could often laugh heartily +while by himself. Think of a life in which, while at home, there +is no talking and no laughing. Why, one distinctive characteristic +of rational man is cut off when laughing ceases. Man is the only +living creature that laughs with the sense of enjoyment. I have +heard, indeed, of the laughing hyena; but my information respecting it +is mainly drawn from Shakspeare, who was rather a great philosopher +and poet than a great naturalist. 'I will laugh like a hyen,' +says that great man; and as these words are spoken as a threat, +I apprehend the laughter in question is of an unpleasant and +umnirthful character. But to return from such deep thoughts, let +it be repeated, that the entire mood of the solitary man is likely +to be a sobered and subdued one. Even if hopeful and content, he +will never be in high spirits. The highest degree in the scale he +will ever reach, may be that of quiet lightheartedness; and that +will come seldom. Jollity, or exhilaration, is entirely a social +thing. I do not believe that even Sydney Smith could have got into +one of his rollicking veins when alone. He enjoyed his own jokes, +and laughed at them with extraordinary zest; but he enjoyed them +because he thought others were enjoying them too. Why, you would +be terrified that your friend's mind was going, if before entering +his room you heard such a peal of merriment from within, as would +seem a most natural thing were two or three cheerful companions +together. And gradually that chastened, subdued stage comes, in +which a man can sit for half an hour before the fire as motionless +as marble; even a man who in the society of others is in ceaseless +movement. It is an odd feeling, when you find that you yourself, +once the most restless of living creatures, have come to this. I +dare say Robinson Crusoe often sat for two or three hours together +in his cave, without stirring hand or foot. The vital principle +grows weak when isolated. You must have a number of embers together +to make a warm fire; separate them, and they will soon go out and +grow cold. And even so, to have brisk, conscious, vigorous life, +you must have a number of lives together. They keep each other warm. +They encourage and support each other. I dare say the solitary man, +sitting at the close of a long evening by his lonely fireside, has +sometimes felt as though the flame of life had sunk so low that a +very little thing would be enough to put it out altogether. From +the motionless limbs, from the unstrung hands, it seemed as though +vitality had ebbed away, and barely kept its home in the feeble +heart. At such a time some sudden blow, some not very violent shock, +would suffice to quench the spark for ever. Reading the accounts +in the newspapers of the cold, hunger, and misery which our poor +soldiers suffered in the Crimea, have you not thought at such a time +that a hundredth part of that would have been enough to extinguish +you? Have you not wondered at the tenacity of material life, and +at the desperate grasp with which even the most wretched cling to +it? Is it worth the beggar's while, in the snow-storm, to struggle +on through the drifting heaps towards the town eight miles off, +where he may find a morsel of food to half-appease his hunger, and +a stone stair to sleep in during the night? Have not you thought, +in hours when you were conscious of that shrinking of life into +its smallest compass--that retirement of it from the confines of +its territory, of which we have been thinking--that in that beggar's +place you would keep up the fight no longer, but creep into some +quiet corner, and there lay yourself down and sleep away into +forgetfulness? I do not say that the feeling is to be approved, or +that it can in any degree bear being reasoned upon; but I ask such +readers as have led solitary lives, whether they have not somelimes +felt it? It is but the subdued feeling which comes of loneliness +carried out to its last development. It is the highest degree of +that influence which manifests itself in slow steps, in subdued +tones of voice, in motionless musings beside the fire. + +Another consequence of a lonely life in the case of many men, is an +extreme sensitiveness to impressions from external nature. In the +absence of other companions of a more energetic character, the scenes +amid which you live produce an effect on you which they would fail +to produce if you were surrounded by human friends. It is the rule +in nature, that the stronger impression makes you unconscious of +the weaker. If you had charged with the Six Hundred, you would not +have remarked during the charge that one of your sleeves was too tight. +Perhaps in your boyhood, a companion of a turn at once thoughtful +and jocular, offered to pull a hair out of your head without your +feeling it. And this he accomplished, by taking hold of the doomed +hair, and then giving you a knock on the head that brought tears +to your eyes. For, in the more vivid sensation of that knock you +never felt the little twitch of the hair as it quitted its hold. +Yes, the stronger impression makes you unaware of the weaker. And +the impression produced either upon thought or feeling by outward +scenes, is so much weaker than that produced by the companionship +of our kind, that in the presence of the latter influence, the former +remains unfelt, even by men upon whom it would tell powerfully in +the absence of another. And so it is upon the lonely man that skies +and mountains, woods and fields and rivers, tell with their full +effect; it is to him that they become a part of life; it is in +him that they make the inner shade or sunshine, and originate and +direct the processes of the intellect. You go out to take a walk +with a friend: you get into a conversation that interests and +engrosses you. And thus engrossed, you hardly remark the hedges +between which you walk, or the soft outline of distant summer hills. +After the first half-mile, you are proof against the influence of +the dull December sky, or the still October woods. But when you go +out for your solitary walk, unless your mind be very much preoccupied +indeed, your feeling and mood are at the will of external nature. +And after a few hundred yards, unless the matter which was in your +mind at starting be of a very worrying and painful character, you +begin gradually to take your tone from the sky above you, and the +ground on which you tread. You hear the birds, which, walking with +a sympathetic companion, you would never have noticed. You feel +the whole spirit of the scene, whether cheerful or gloomy, gently +pervading you, and sinking into your heart. I do not know how far all +this, continued through months or years of comparative loneliness, +may permanently affect character; we can stand a great deal of +kneading without being lastingly affected, either for better or +worse; but there can be no question at all, that in a solitary life +nature rises into a real companion, producing upon our present mood +a real effect. As more articulate and louder voices die away upon +our ear, we begin to hear the whisper of trees, the murmur of +brooks, the song of birds, with a distinctness and a meaning not +known before. + +The influence of nature on most minds is likely to be a healthful +one; still, it is not desirable to allow that influence to become +too strong. And there is a further influence which is felt in a +solitary life, which ought never to be permitted to gain the upper +hand. I mean the influence of our own mental moods. It is not +expedient to lead too subjective a life. We look at all things, +doubtless, through our own atmosphere; our eyes, to a great extent, +make the world they see. And no doubt, too, it is the sunshine +within the breast that has most power to brighten; and the thing +that can do most to darken is the shadow there. Still, it is not +fit that these mental moods should be permitted to arise mainly +through the mind's own working. It is not fit that a man should +watch his mental moods as he marks the weather; and be always +chronicling that on such a day and such another he was in high or +low spirits, he was kindly-disposed or snappish, as the case may be. +The more stirring influence of intercourse with others, renders men +comparatively heedless of the ups and downs of their own feelings; +change of scenes and faces, conversation, business engagements, +may make the day a lively or a depressed one, though they rose at +morning with a tendency to just the opposite thing. But the solitary +man is apt to look too much inward; and to attach undue importance +to the fancies and emotions which arise spontaneously within his +own breast; many of them in great measure the result of material +causes. And as it is not a healthy thing for a man to be always +feeling his pulse, and fearing that it shows something amiss; it +is not a healthy thing to follow the analogous course as regards +our immaterial health and development. And I cannot but regard those +religious biographies which we sometimes read, in which worthy +people of little strength of character record particularly from +day to day all the shifting moods and fancies of their minds as +regards their religious concerns, as calculated to do a great deal +of mischief. It is founded upon a quite mistaken notion of the spirit +of true Christianity, that a human being should be ever watching +the play of his mind, as one might watch the rise and fall of the +barometer; and recording phases of thought and feeling which it +is easy to see are in some cases, and in some degree, at least, +the result of change of temperature, of dyspepsia, of deranged +circulation of the blood, as though these were the unquestionable +effects of spiritual influence, either supernal or infernal. Let us +try, in the matter of these most solemn of all interests, to look +more to great truths and facts which exist quite independently of +the impression they may for the time produce upon us; and less to +our own fanciful or morbid frames and feelings. + +It cannot be denied that, in some respects, most men are better men +alone than in the society of their fellows. They are kinder-hearted; +more thoughtful; more pious. I have heard a man say that he always +acted and felt a great deal more under the influence of religious +principle while living in a house all by himself for weeks and months, +than he did when the house was filled by a family. Of course this +is not saying much for the steadfastness of a man's Christian +principle. It is as much as to say that he feels less likely to go +wrong when he is not tempted to go wrong. It is as though you said +in praise of a horse, that he never shies when there is nothing to +shy at. No doubt, when there are no little vexatious realities to +worry you, you will not be worried by them. And little vexatious +realities are doubtless a trial of temper and of principle. Living +alone, your nerves are not jarred by discordant voices; you are to +a great degree free from annoying interruptions; and if you be of +an orderly turn of mind, you are not put about by seeing things +around you in untidy confusion. You do not find leaves torn out of +books; nor carpets strewn with fragments of biscuits; nor mantelpieces +getting heaped with accumulated rubbish. Sawdust, escaped from +maimed dolls, is never sprinkled upon your table-covers; nor ink +poured over your sermons; nor leaves from these compositions cut up +for patterns for dolls' dresses. There is an audible quiet which +pervades the house, which is favourable to thought. The first +evenings, indeed, which you spent alone in it, were almost awful +for their stillness; but that sort of nervous feeling soon wears +off. And then you have no more than the quiet in which the mind's +best work must be done, in the case of average men. + +And there can be little doubt, that when you gird up the mind, and +put it to its utmost stretch, it is best that you should be alone. +Even when the studious man comes to have a wife and children, he +finds it needful that he should have his chamber to which he may +retire when he is to grapple with his task of head-work; and he +finds it needful, as a general rule, to suffer no one to enter that +chamber while he is at work. It is not without meaning that this +solitary chamber is called a study: the word reminds us that hard +mental labour must generally be gone through when we are alone. +Any interruption by others breaks the train of thought; and the +broken end may never be caught again. You remember how Maturin, +the dramatist, when he felt himself getting into the full tide of +composition, used to stick a wafer on his forehead, to signify to +any member of his family who might enter his room, that he must +not on any account be spoken to. You remember the significant +arrangement of Sir Walter's library, or rather study, at Abbotsford; +it contained one chair, and no more. Yes, the mind's best work, at +the rate of writing, must be done alone. At the speed of talking, +the case is otherwise. The presence of others will then stimulate +the mind to do its best; I mean to do the best it can do at that rate +of speed. Talking with a clever man, on a subject which interests +you, your mind sometimes produces material which is (for you) so good, +that you are truly surprised at it. And a barrister, addressing a +judge or a jury, has to do hard mental work, to keep all his wits +awake, to strain his intellect to the top of its bent, in the +presence of many; but, at the rate of speed at which he does this, +he does it all the better for their presence. So with an extempore +preacher. The eager attention of some hundreds of his fellow-creatures +spurs him on (if he be mentally and physically in good trim) to do +perhaps the very best he ever does. I have heard more than two or +three clergymen who preach extempore (that is, who trust to the +moment for the words entirely, for the illustration mainly, and +for the thought in some degree), declare that they have sometimes +felt quite astonished at the fluency with which they were able +to express their thoughts, and at the freshness and fulness with +which thoughts crowded upon them, while actually addressing a great +assemblage of people. Of course, such extemporaneous speaking is +an uncertain thing. It is a hit or a miss. A little physical or +mental derangement, and the extempore speaker gets on lamely enough; +he flounders, stammers, perhaps breaks down entirely. But still, I +hold that though the extempore speaker may think and say that his +mind often produces extempore the best material it ever produces, +it is in truth only the best material which it can produce at the +rate of speaking: and though the freshly manufactured article, +warm from the mind that makes it, may interest and impress at the +moment, we all know how loose, wordy, and unsymmetrical such a +composition always is: and it is unquestionable that the very best +product of the human soul must be turned off, not at the rate of +speaking, but at the much slower rate of writing: yes, and oftentimes +of writing with many pauses between the sentences, and long musing +over individual phrases and words. Could Mr. Tennyson have spoken +off in half-an-hour any one of the Idylls of the Kingt Could he +have said in three minutes any one of the sections of In Memoriam? +And I am not thinking of the mechanical difficulty of composition +in verse: I am thinking of the simple product in thought. Could +Bacon have extemporized at the pace of talking, one of his Essays? +Or does not Ben Jonson sum up just those characteristics which +extempore composition (even the best) entirely wants, when he tells +us of Bacon that 'no man ever wrote more neatly, more pressly; nor +suffered less emptiness, less idleness, in that he uttered?' I take +it for granted, that the highest human composition is that which +embodies most thought, experience, and feeling; and that must be +produced slowly and alone. + +And if a man's whole heart be in his work, whether it be to write +a book, or to paint a picture, or to produce a poem, he will be +content to make his life such as may tend to make him do his work +best, even though that mode of life should not be the pleasantest +in itself. He may gay to himself, I would rather be a great poet +than a very cheerful and happy man; and if to lend a very retired +and lonely life be the likeliest discipline to make me a great poet, +I shall submit to that discipline. You must pay a price in labour +and self-denial to accomplish any great end. When Milton resolved +to write something 'which men should not willingly let die,' he knew +what it would cost him. It was to be 'by labour and intent study, +which I take to be my portion in this life.' When Mr. Dickens wrote +one of his Christmas Books, he shut himself up for six weeks to +do it; he 'put his whole heart into it, and came out again looking +as haggard as a murderer.' There is a substratum of philosophic +truth in Professor Aytoun's brilliant burlesque of Firmilian. That +gentleman wanted to be a poet. And being persuaded that the only +way to successfully describe tragic and awful feelings was to have +actually felt them, he got into all kinds of scrapes of set purpose, +that he might know what were the actual sensations of people +in like circumstances. Wishing to know what are the emotions of a +murderer, he goes and kills somebody. He finds, indeed, that feelings +sought experimentally prove not to be the genuine article: still, +you see the spirit of the true artist, content to make any sacrifice +to attain perfection in his art. The highest excellence, indeed, +in some one department of human exertion is not consistent with +decent goodness in all: you dwarf the remaining faculties when +you develop one to abnormal size and strength. Thus have men been +great preachers, but uncommonly neglectful parents. Thus have men +been great statesmen, but omitted to pay their tradesmen's bills. +Thus men have been great moral and social reformers, whose own lives +stood much in need of moral and social reformation. I should judge +from a portrait I have seen of Mr. Thomas Sayers, the champion of +England, that this eminent individual has attended to his physical +to the neglect of his intellectual development. His face appeared +deficient in intelligence, though his body seemed abundant in +muscle. And possibly it is better to seek to develop the entire +nature--intellectual, moral, and physical-than to push one part of +it into a prominence that stunts and kills the rest. It is better +to be a complete man than to be essentially a poet, a statesman, +a prize-fighter. It is better that a tree should be fairly grown +all round, than that it should send out one tremendous branch to +the south, and have only rotten twigs in every other direction; +better, even though that tremendous branch should be the very +biggest that ever was seen. Such an inordinate growth in a single +direction is truly morbid. It reminds one of the geese whose livers +go to form that regal dainty, the pate de foie gras. By subjecting +a goose to a certain manner of life, you dwarf its legs, wings, +and general muscular development; but you make its liver grow as +large as itself. I have known human beings who practised on their +mental powers a precisely analogous discipline. The power of +calculating in figures, of writing poetry, of chess-playing, of +preaching sermons, was tremendous; but all their other faculties +were like the legs and wings of the fattening goose. + +Let us try to be entire human beings, round and complete; and if +we wish to be so, it is best not to live too much alone. The best +that is in man's nature taken as a whole is brought out by the +society of his kind. In one or two respects he may be better in +solitude, but not as the complete man. And more especially a good +deal of the society of little children is much to be desired. You +will be the better for having them about you, for listening to their +stories, and watching their ways. They will sometimes interrupt you +at your work, indeed, but their effect upon your moral development +will be more valuable by a great deal than the pages you might have +written in the time you spent with them. Read over the following +verses, which are among the latest written by Longfellow. I do not +expect that men who have no children of their own will appreciate +them duly; but they seem to me among the most pleasing and touching +which that pleasing poet ever wrote. Miserable solitary beings, +see what improving and softening influences you miss! + + Between the dark and the daylight, + When the night is beginning to lower, + Comes a pause in the day's occupations + That is known as the Children's Hour. + + I hear in the chamber above me + The patter of little feet, + The sound of a door that is opened, + And voices soft and sweet. + + From my study I see in the lamplight, + Descending the broad hall-stair, + Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra, + And Edith with golden hair. + + A whisper, and then a silence: + Yet I know by their merry eyes + They are plotting and planning together + To take me by surprise. + + A sudden rush from the stairway, + A sudden raid from the hall! + By three doors left unguarded + They enter my castle wall! + + They climb up into my turret, + O'er the arms and back of my chair: + If I try to escape, they surround me; + They seem to be everywhere. + + They almost devour me with kisses, + Their arms about me entwine, + Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen + In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! + + Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti, + Because you have scaled the wall, + Such an old moustache as I am + Is not a match for you all? + + I have you fast in my fortress, + And will not let you depart, + But put you down into the dungeons, + In the round-tower of my heart. + + And there will I keep you forever, + Yes, forever and a day, + Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, + And moulder in dust away! + +What shall be said as to the effect which a solitary life will +produce upon a man's estimate of himself? Shall it lead him to fancy +himself a man of very great importance? Or shall it tend to make +him underrate himself, and allow inferior men of superior impudence +to take the wall of him? Possibly we have all seen each effect +follow from a too lonely mode of life. Each may follow naturally +enough. Perhaps it is natural to imagine your mental stature to +be higher than it is, when you have no one near with whom you may +compare yourself. It no doubt tends to take down a human being +from his self-conceit, to find himself no more than one of a large +circle, no member of which is disposed to pay any special regard +to his judgment, or in any way to yield him precedence. And the +young man who has come in his solitary dwelling to think that he +is no ordinary mortal, has that nonsense taken out of him when he +goes back to spend some days in his father's house among a lot of +brothers of nearly his own age, who are generally the very last of +the race to believe in any man. But sometimes the opposite effect +comes of the lonely life. You grow anxious, nervous, and timid; you +lose confidence in yourself, in the absence of any who may back up +your failing sense of your own importance. You would like to shrink +into a corner, and to slip quietly through life unnoticed. And all +this without affectation, without the least latent feeling that +perhaps you are not so very insignificant after all. Yet, even +where men have come well to understand how infinitely little they +are as regards the estimation of mankind, you will find them, if +they live alone, cherishing some vain fancy that some few people, +some distant friends, are sometimes thinking of them. You will +find them arranging their papers, as though fancying that surely +somebody would like some day to see them; and marshalling their +sermons, as though in the vague notion that at some future time +mortals would be found weak enough to read them. It is one of the +things slowly learnt by repeated lessons and lengthening experience, +that nobody minds very much about you, my reader. You remember the +sensitive test which Dr. Johnson suggested as to the depth of one +mortal's feeling for another. How does it affect his appetite? +Multitudes in London, he said, professed themselves extremely +distressed at the hanging of Dr. Dodd; but how many on the morning +he was hung took a materially worse breakfast than usual? Solitary +dreamer, fancying that your distant friends feel deep interest in +your goings-on, how many of them are there who would abridge their +dinner if the black-edged note arrived by post which will some day +chronicle the last fact in your worldly history? + +You get, living alone, into little particular ways of your own. +You know how, walking along a crowded street, you cannot keep a +straight line: at every step you have to yield a little to right or +left to avoid the passers by. This is no great trouble: you do it +almost unconsciously, and your journey is not appreciably lengthened. +Even so, living in a family, walking along the path of life in the +same track with many more, you find it needful scores of times each +day to give up your own fancies and wishes and ways, in deference +to those of others. You cannot divide the day in that precise +fashion which you would yourself like best. You must, in deciding +what shall be the dinner-hour, regard what will suit others as well +as you. You cannot sit always just in the corner or in the chair +you would prefer. Sometimes you must tell your children a story +when you are weary, or busy; but you cannot find it in your heart +to cast a shadow of disappointment on the eager little faces that +come and ask you. You have to stop writing many a time, in the +middle of a sentence, to open your study door at the request of a +little voice outside; and to admit a little visitor who can give +no more definite reason for her visit than that she has come to see +you, and tell you she has been a good girl. And all this is well +for you It breaks in hour by hour upon your native selfishness. And +it cosfs you not the slightest effort to give up your own wish to +that of your child. Even if to middle age you retain the innocent +taste for sweetmeats, would you not have infinitely greater pleasure +in seeing your little boy or girl eating up the contents of your +parcel, than in eating them yourself? It is to me a thoroughly +disgusting sight to see, as we sometimes do, the wife and children +of a family kept in constant terror of the selfish bashaw at the +head of the house, and ever on the watch to yield in every petty +matter to his whims and fancies. Sometimes, where he is a hard-wrought +and anxious man, whose hard work earns his children's bread, and +whose life is their sole stay, it is needful that he should be +deferred to in many things, lest the overtasked brain and overstrained +nervous system should break down or grow unequal to their task. But +I am not thinking of such cases. I mean cases in which the head +of the family is a great fat, bullying, selfish scoundrel; who +devours sullenly the choice dishes at dinner, and walks into all +the fruit at dessert, while his wife looks on in silence, and the +awe-stricken children dare not hint that they would like a little +of what the brutal hound is devouring. I mean cases in which the +contemptible dog is extremely well dressed, while his wife and +children's attire is thin and bare; in which he liberally tosses +about his money in the billiard-room, and goes off in autumn for +a tour on the Continent by himself, leaving them to the joyless +routine of their unvaried life. It is sad to see the sudden hush +that falls upon the little things when he enters the house; how +their sports are cut short, and they try to steal away from the +room. Would that I were the Emperor of Russia, and such a man my +subject! Should not he taste the knout? Should not I make him howl? +That would be his suitable punishment: for he will never feel what +worthier mortals would regard as the heavier penalty by far, the +utter absence of confidence or real affection between him and his +children when they grow up. He will not mind that there never was +a day when the toddling creatures set up a shout of delight at +his entrance, and rushed at him and scaled him and searched in his +pockets, and pulled him about; nor that the day will never come +when, growing into men and women, they will come to him for sympathy +and guidance in their little trials and perplexities. Oh, woful to +think that there are parents, held in general estimation too, to +whom their children would no more think of going for kindly sympathy, +than they would think of going to Nova Zembla for warmth! + +But this is an excursus: I would that my hand were wielding a +stout horsewhip rather than a pen! Let me return to the point of +deviation, and say that a human being, if he be true-hearted, by +living in a family, insensibly and constantly is gently turned from +his own stiff track; and goes through life sinuously, so to speak. +But the lonely man settles into his own little ways. He is like +the man who walks through the desert without a soul to elbow him +for miles. He fixes his own hours; he sits in his own corner, in +his peculiar chair; he arranges the lamp where it best suits himself +that it should stand; he reads his newspaper when he pleases, for +no one else wants to see it; he orders from the club the books +that suit his own taste. And all this quite fitly: like the Duke +of Argyle's attacks upon Lord Derby, these things please himself, +and do harm to nobody. It is not selfishness not to consult the +wishes of other people, if there be no other people whose wishes +you can consult. And, though with great suffering to himself, I +believe that many a kind-hearted, precise old bachelor, stiffened +into his own ways through thirty solitary years would yet make an +effort to give them up, if he fancied that to yield a little from +them was needful to the comfort of others. He would give up the corner +by the fire in which he Las sat through the life of a generation: +he would resign to another the peg on which his hat has hung through +that long time. Still, all this would cost a painful effort; and +one need hardly repeat the common-place, that if people intend ever +to get married, it is expedient that they should do so before they +have settled too rigidly into their own ways. + +It is a very touching thing, I think, to turn over the repositories +of a lonely man after he is dead. You come upon so many indications +of all his little ways and arrangements. In the case of men who +have been the heads of large families, this work is done by those +who have been most nearly connected with them, and who knew their +ways before; and such men, trained hourly to yield their own wishes +in things small and great, have comparatively few of those little +peculiar ways in which so much of their individuality seems to +make its touching appeal to us after they are gone. But lonely men +not merely have very many little arrangements of their own, but +have a particular reserve in exhibiting these: there is a strong +sensitiveness about them: you know how they would have shrunk in +life from allowing any one to turn over their papers, or even to +look into the arrangements of their wardrobe and their linen-press. +I remember once, after the sudden death of a reserved old gentleman, +being one of two or three who went over all his repositories. The +other people who did so with me were hard-headed lawyers, and did +not seem to mind much; but I remember that it appeared to me a +most touching sight we saw. All the little ways into which he had +grown in forty lonely years; all those details about his property +(a very large one), which in life he had kept entirely to himself--all +these we saw. I remember, lying on the top of the documents contained +in an iron chest, a little scrap of paper, the back of an ancient +letter, on which was written a note of the amount of all his wealth. +There you saw at once a secret which in life he would have confided +to no one. I remember the precise arrangement of all the little +piles of papers, so neatly tied up in separate parcels. I remember +the pocket-handkerchiefs, of several different kinds, each set +wrapped up by itself in a piece of paper. It was curious to think +that he had counted and sorted those, handkerchiefs; and now he +was so far away. What a contrast, the little cares of many little +matters like that, and the solemn realities of the unseen world! +I would not on any account have looked over these things alone. +I should have had an awe-stricken expectation that I should be +interrupted. I should have expected a sudden tap on the shoulder, +and to be asked what I was doing there. And doubtless, in many such +cases, when the repositories of the dead are first looked into by +strangers, some one far away would be present, if such things could +be. + +Solitary men, of the class which I have in my mind, are generally +very hard-wrought men, and are kept too busy to allow very much +time for reverie. Still, there is some. There are evening hours +after the task is done, when you sit by the fire, or walk up and +down your study, and think that you are missing a great deal in +this lonely life; and that much more might be made of your stay in +this world, while its best years are passing over. You think that +there are many pleasant people in the world, people whom you would +like to know, and who might like you if they knew you. But you and +they have never met; and if you go on in this solitary fashion, you +and they never will meet. No doubt here is your comfortable room; +there is the blazing fire and the mellow lamp and the warmly-curtained +windows; and pervading the silent chamber, there is the softened +murmur of the not distant sea. The backs of your books look out at +you like old friends; and after you are married, you won't be able +to afford to buy so many. Still, you recall the cheerful society +in which you have often spent such hours, and you think it might +be well if you were not so completely cut off from it. You fancy +you hear the hum of lively conversation, such as gently exhilarates +the mind without tasking it; and again you think what a loss it +is to live where you hardly ever hear music, whether good or bad. +You think of the awkward shyness and embarrassment of manner which +grows upon a man who is hardly ever called to join in general +conversation. Yes, He knew our nature best who said that it is +not good that man should be alone. We lean to our kind. There is +indeed a solitariness which is the condition of an individual soul's +being, which no association with others can do away; but there is +no reason why we should add to that burden of personality which the +Bishop of Oxford, in one of his most striking sermons, has shown to +be truly 'an awful gift.' And say, youthful recluse (I don't mean +you, middle-aged bachelor, I mean really young men of five or six +and twenty), have you not sometimes, sitting by the fireside in +the evening, looked at the opposite easy chair in the ruddy glow, +and imagined that easy chair occupied by a gentle companion--one who +would bring out into double strength all that is good in you--one +who would sympathize with you and encourage you in all your work--one +who would think you much wiser, cleverer, handsomer, and better +than any mortal has ever yet thought you--the Angel in the House, +in short, to use the strong expression of Mr. Coventry Patmore? +Probably you have imagined all that: possibly you have in some +degree realized it all. If not, in all likelihood the fault lies +chiefly with yourself. + +It must be a dismal thing for a solitary man to be taken ill: I mean +so seriously ill as to be confined to bed, yet not so dangerously +ill as to make some relation or friend come at all sacrifices to +be with you. The writer speaks merely from logical considerations: +happily he never experienced the case. But one can see that in +that lonely life, there can be none of those pleasant circumstances +which make days in bed, when acute pain is over, or the dangerous +turning-point of disease is happily past, as quietly enjoyable days +as any man is ever likely to know. No one should ever be seriously +ill (if he can help it) unless he be one of a considerable household. +Even then, indeed, it will be advisable to be ill as seldom as may +be. But to a person who when well is very hard-worked, and a good +deal worried, what restful days those are of which we are thinking! +You have such a feeling of peace and quietness. There you lie, +in lazy luxury, when you are suffering merely the weakness of a +serious illness, but the pain and danger are past. All your wants +are so thoughtfully and kindly anticipated. It is a very delightful +sensation to lift your head from the pillow, and instantly to find +yourself giddy and blind from loss of blood, and just drop your +head down again. It is not a question, even for the most uneasily +exacting conscience, whether you are to work or not: it is plain +you cannot. There is no difficulty on that score. And then you +are weakened to that degree that nothing worries you. Things going +wrong or remaining neglected about the garden or the stable, which +would have annoyed you when well, cannot touch you here. All you +want is to lie still and rest. Everything is still. You faintly +hear the door-bell ring; and though you live in a quiet country +house where that phenomenon rarely occurs, you feel not the least +curiosity to know who is there. You can look for a long time quite +contentedly at the glow of the fire on the curtains and on the +ceiling. You feel no anxiety about the coming in of the post; but +when your letters and newspapers arrive, you luxuriously read them, +a very little at a time, and you soon forget all you have read. +You turn over and fall asleep for a while; then you read a little +more. Your reviving appetite makes simple food a source of real +enjoyment. The children come in, and tell you wonderful stories of +all that has happened since you were ill. They are a little subdued +at first, but soon grow noisy as usual; and their noise does not +in the least disturb you. You hear it as though it were miles off. +After days and nights of great pain, you understand the blessing +of ease and rest: you are disposed to be pleased with everything, +and everybody wants to please you. The day passes away, and the +evening darkness comes before you are aware. Everything is strange, +and everything is soothing and pleasant. The only disadvantage is, +that you grow so fond of lying in bed, that you shrink extremely +from the prospect of ever getting up again. + +Having arrived at this point, at 10.45 on this Friday evening, I +gathered up all the pages which have been written, and carried them +to the fireside, and sitting there, I read them over; and I confess, +that on the whole, it struck me that the present essay was somewhat +heavy. A severe critic might possibly say that it was stupid. I +fancied it would have been rather good when it was sketched out; +but it has not come up to expectation. However, it is as good as +I could make it; and I trust the next essay may be better. It is +a chance, you see, what the quality of any composition shall be. +Give me a handle to turn, and I should undertake upon every day +to turn it equally well. But in the working of the mental machine, +the same pressure of steam, the same exertion of will, the same +strain of what powers you have, will not always produce the same +result. And if you, reader, feel some disappointment at looking +at a new work by an old friend, and finding it not up to the mark +you expected, think how much greater his disappointment must have +been as the texture rolled out from the loom, and he felt it was +not what he had wished. Here, to-night, the room and the house are +as still as in my remembrance of the Solitary Days which are gone. +But they will not be still to-morrow morning; and they are so now +because sleep has hushed two little voices, and stayed the ceaseless +movements of four little pattering feet. May those Solitary Days +never return. They are well enough when the great look-out is +onward; but, oh! how dreary such days must be to the old man whose +main prospect is of the past! I cannot imagine a lot more completely +beyond all earthly consolation, than that of a man from whom wife +and children have been taken away, and who lives now alone in the +dwelling once gladdened by their presence, but now haunted by their +memory. Let us humbly pray, my reader, that such a lot may never +be yours or mine. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +CONCERNING GLASGOW DOWN THE WATER. + + + + +Upon any day in the months of June, July, August, and September, the +stranger who should walk through the handsome streets, crescents, +and terraces which form the West End of Glasgow, might be led to +fancy that the plague was in the town, or that some fearful commercial +crash had brought ruin upon all its respectable families,--so +utterly deserted is the place. The windows are all done up with +brown paper: the door-plates and handles, ere-while of glittering +brass, are black with rust: the flights of steps which lead to the +front-doors of the houses have furnished a field for the chalked +cartoons of vagabond boys with a turn for drawing. The more fashionable +the terrace or crescent, the more completely is it deserted: our +feet waken dreary echoes as we pace the pavement. We naturally +inquire of the first policeman we meet, What is the matter with +Glasgow,--has anything dreadful happened? And we receive for answer +the highly intelligible explanation, that the people are all Down +the Water. + +We are enjoying (shall we suppose) our annual holiday from the +turmoil of Westminster Hall and the throng of London streets; and +we have taken Glasgow on our way to the Highlands. We have two or +three letters of introduction to two or three of the merchant-princes +of the city; and having heard a great deal of the splendid hospitalities +of the Western metropolis of the North, we have been anticipating +with considerable satisfaction stretching our limbs beneath their +mahogany, and comparing their cuisine and their cellar with the +descriptions of both which we have often heard from Mr. Allan +M'Collop, a Glasgow man who is getting on fairly at the bar. But +when we go to see our new acquaintances, or when they pay us a +hurried visit at our hotel, each of them expresses his deep regret +that he cannot ask us to his house, which he tells us is shut up, +his wife and family being Down the Water. No explanation is vouchsafed +of the meaning of the phrase, which is so familiar to Glasgow folk +that they forget how oddly it sounds on the ear of the stranger. Our +first hasty impression, perhaps, from the policeman's sad face (no +cold meat for him now, honest man), was that some sudden inundation +had swept away the entire wealthier portion of the population,--at +the same time curiously sparing the toiling masses. But the pleasant +and cheerful look of our mercantile friend, as he states what has +become of his domestic circle, shows us that nothing very serious +is amiss. At length, after much meditation, we conclude that the +people are at the sea-side; and as that lies down the Clyde from +Glasgow, when a Glasgow man means to tell us that his family and +himself are enjoying the fresh breezes and the glorious scenery of +the Frith of Clyde, he says they are Down the Water. + +Everybody everywhere of course longs for the country, the sea-side, +change of air and scene, at some period during the year. Almost every +man of the wealthier and more cultivated class in this country has +a vacation, longer or shorter. But there never was a city whence the +annual migration to the sea-side is so universal or so protracted +as it is from Glasgow. By the month of March in each year, every +house along the coast within forty miles of Glasgow is let for the +season at a rent which we should say must be highly remunerative. +Many families go to the coast early in May, and every one is down +the water by the first of June. Most people now stay till the end +of September. The months of June and July form what is called 'the +first season;' August and September are 'the second season.' Until +within the last few years, one of these 'seasons' was thought to +furnish a Glasgow family with vigour and buoyancy sufficient to +face the winter, but now almost all who can afford it stay at the +sea-side during both. And from the little we have seen of Glasgow, +we do not wonder that such should be the case. No doubt Glasgow is +a fine city on the whole. The Trongate is a noble street; the park +on the banks of the Kelvin, laid out by Sir Joseph Paxton, furnishes +some pleasant walks; the Sauchyhall-road is an agreeable promenade; +Claremont, Crescent and Park Gardens consist of houses which would +be of the first class even in Belgravia or Tyburnia; and from the +West-end streets, there are prospects of valley and mountain which +are worth going some distance to see. But the atmosphere, though +comparatively free from smoke, wants the exhilarating freshness of +breezes just arrived from the Atlantic. The sun does not set in +such glory beyond Gilmore-hill, as behind the glowing granite of +Goatfell; and the trunks of the trees round Glasgow are (if truth +must be spoken) a good deal blacker than might be desired, while +their leaves are somewhat shrivelled up by the chemical gales of +St. Rollox. No wonder, then, that the purest of pure air, the bluest +of blue waves, the most picturesque of noble hills, the most purple +of heather, the greenest of ivy, the thickest of oak-leaves, the +most fragrant of roses and honeysuckle, should fairly smash poor +old Glasgow during the summer months, and leave her not a leg to +stand on. + +The ladies and children of the multitudinous families that go down +the water, remain there permanently, of course: most of the men +go up to business every morning and return to the sea-side every +night. This implies a journey of from sixty to eighty miles daily; +but the rapidity and the cheapness of the communication, render +the journey a comparatively easy one. Still, it occupies three or +four hours of the day; and many persons remain in town two or three +nights weekly, smuggling themselves away in some little back parlour +of their dismantled dwellings. But let us accept our friend's +invitation to spend a few days at his place down the water, and +gather up some particulars of the mode of life there. + +There are two ways of reaching the coast from Glasgow. We may +sail all the way down the Clyde, in steamers generally remarkably +well-appointed and managed; or we may go by railway to Greenock, +twenty-three miles off, and catch the steamer there. By going +by railway we save an hour,--a great deal among people with whom +emphatically time is money,--and we escape a somewhat tedious sail +down the river. The steamer takes two hours to reach Greenock, +while some express trains which run all the way without stopping, +accomplish the distance in little more than half an hour. The sail +down the Clyde to Greenock is in parts very interesting. The banks +of the river are in some places richly wooded: on the north side +there are picturesque hills; and the huge rock on which stands the +ancient castle of Dumbarton, is a striking feature. But we have +never met any Glasgow man or woman who did not speak of the sail +between Glasgow and Greenock as desperately tedious, and by all means +to be avoided. Then in warm summer weather the Clyde is nearly as +filthy as the Thames; and sailing over a sewer, even through fine +scenery, has its disadvantages. So we resolve to go with our friend +by railway to Greenock, and thus come upon the Clyde where it has +almost opened into the sea. Quite opened into the sea, we might say: +for at Greenock the river is three miles broad, while at Glasgow +it is only some three hundred yards. + +'Meet me at Bridge-street station at five minutes to four,' says +Mr. B--, after we have agreed to spend a few days on the Clyde. +There are a couple of hours to spare, which we give to a basin of +very middling soup at McLerie's, and to a visit to the cathedral, +which is a magnificent specimen of the severest style of Gothic +architecture. We are living at the Royal Hotel in George Square, +which we can heartily recommend to tourists; and when our hour +approaches, Boots brings us a cab. We are not aware whether there +is any police regulation requiring the cabs of Glasgow to be extremely +dirty, and the horses that draw them to be broken-winded, and lame +of not more than four nor less than two legs. Perhaps it is merely +the general wish of the inhabitants that has brought about the +present state of things. However this may be, the unhappy animal +that draws us reaches Bridge-street station at last. As our carriage +draws up we catch a glimpse of half-a-dozen men, in that peculiar +green dress which railway servants affect, hastening to conceal +themselves behind the pillars which decorate the front of the building, +while two or three excited ticket-porters seize our baggage, and +offer to carry it up-stairs. But our friend with Scotch foresight +and economy, has told us to make the servants of the Company do +thein work. 'Hands off,' we say to the ticket-porters; and walking +up the steps we round a pillar, and smartly tapping on the shoulder +one of the green-dressed gentlemen lurking there, we indicate +to him the locality of our port-manteau. Sulkily he shoulders it, +and precedes us to the booking-office. The fares are moderate; +eighteen-pence to Greenock, first class: and we understand that +persona who go daily, by taking season tickets, travel for much +less. The steamers afford a still cheaper access to the sea-side, +conveying passengers from Glasgow to Rothesay, about forty-five +miles, for sixpence cabin and three-pence deck. The trains start +from a light and spacious shed, which has the very great disadvantage +of being at an elevation of thirty or forty feet above the ground +level. Railway companies have sometimes spent thousands of pounds +to accomplish ends not a tenth part so desirable as is the arranging +their stations in such a manner as that people in departing, and +still more in arriving, shall be spared the annoyance and peril of +a break-neck staircase like that at the Glasgow railway station. It +is a vast comfort when cabs can draw up alongside the train, under +cover, so that people can get into them at once, as at Euston-square. + +The railway carriages that run between Glasgow and Greenock have a +rather peculiar appearance. The first-class carriages are of twice +the usual length, having six compartments instead of three. Each +compartment holds eight passengers; and as this accommodation is +gained by increasing the breadth of the carriages, brass bars are +placed across the windows, to prevent any one from putting out his +head. Should any one do so, his head would run some risk of coming +in collision with the other train; and although, from physiological +reasons, tome heads might receive no injury in such a case, the +carriage with which they came in contact would probably suffer. +The expense of painting is saved by the carriages being built of +teak, which when varnished has a cheerful light-oak colour. There +is a great crowd of men on the platform, for the four o'clock train +is the chief down-train of the day. The bustle of the business-day +is over; there is a general air of relief and enjoyment. We meet our +friend punctual to the minute; we take our seat on the comfortable +blue cushions; the bell rings; the engine pants and tugs; and we +are off 'down the water.' + +We pass through a level country on leaving Glasgow: there are the +rich fields which tell of Scotch agricultural industry. It is a +bright August afternoon: the fields are growing yellow; the trees +and hedges still wear their summer green. In a quarter of an hour +the sky suddenly becomes overcast. It is not a cloud: don't be afraid +of an unfavourable change of weather; we have merely plunged into +the usual atmosphere of dirty and ugly Paisley. Without a pause, +we sweep by, and here turn off to the right. That line of railway +from which we have turned aside runs on to Dumfries and Carlisle; +a branch of it keeps along the Ayrshire coast to Ardrossan and Ayr. +In a little while we are skimming the surface of a bleak, black +moor; it is a dead level, and not in the least interesting: but, +after a plunge into the mirk darkness of a long tunnel, we emerge +into daylight again; and there, sure enough, are the bright waters +of the Clyde. We are on its south side; it has spread out to the +breadth of perhaps a couple of miles. That rocky height on its north +shore is Dumbarton Castle; that great mass beyond is Ben Lomond, +at whose base lies Loch Lomond, the queen of Scottish lakes, now +almost as familiar to many a cockney tourist as a hundred years since +to Rob Roy Macgregor. We keep close by the water's edge, skirting +a range of hills on which grow the finest strawberries in Scotland. +Soon, to the right, we see many masts, many great rafts of timber, +many funnels of steamers; and there, creeping along out in the middle +of the river, is the steamer we are to join, which left Glasgow +an hour before us. We have not stopped since we left Glasgow; +thirty-five minutes have elapsed, and now we sweep into a remarkably +tasteless and inconvenient station. This is Greenock at last; but, +as at Glasgow, the station is some forty feet above the ground. A +railway cart at the foot of a long stair receives the luggage of +passengers, and then sets off at a gallop down a dirty little lane. +We follow at a run; and, a hundred and fifty yards off, we come +on a long range of wharf, beside which lie half-a-dozen steamers, +sputtering out their white steam with a roar, as though calling +impatiently for their passengers to come faster. Our train has +brought passengers for a score of places on the Frith; and in the +course of the next hour and a half, these vessels will disperse +them to their various destinations. By way of guidance to the +inexperienced, a post is erected on the wharf, from which arms +project, pointing to the places of the different steamers. The idea +is a good one, and if carried out with the boldness with which it +was conceived, much advantage might be derived by strangers. But a +serious drawback about these indicators is, that they are invariably +pointed in the wrong direction, which renders them considerably less +useful than they might otherwise be. Fortunately we have a guide, +for there is not a moment to lose. We hasten on board, over an +awkward little gangway, kept by a policeman of rueful countenance, +who punches the heads of several little boys who look on with awe. +Bareheaded and bare-footed girls offer baskets of gooseberries +and plums of no tempting appearance. Ragged urchins bellow 'Day's +Penny Paper! Glasgow Daily News!' In a minute or two, the ropes +are cast off, and the steamers diverge as from a centre to their +various ports. + +We are going to Dunoon. Leaving the ship-yards of Greenock echoing +with multitudinous hammerings, and rounding a point covered with +houses, we see before us Gourock, the nearest to Greenock of the +places 'down the water.' It is a dirty little village on the left +side of the Frith. A row of neat houses, quite distinct from the +dirty village, stretches for two miles along the water's edge. +The hills rise immediately behind these. The Frith is here about +three miles in breadth. It is Renfrewshire on the left hand; a few +miles on, and it will be Ayrshire. On the right are the hills of +Argyleshire. And now, for many miles on either side, the shores of +the Frith, and the shores of the long arms of the sea that run up +among those Argyleshire mountains, are fringed with villas, castles, +and cottages--the retreats of Glasgow men and their families. It +is not, perhaps, saying much for Glasgow to state that one of its +greatest advantages is the facility with which one can get away +from it, and the beauty of the places to which one can get. But +true it is, that there is hardly a great city in the world which +is so well off in this respect. For six-pence, the artisan of +Bridgeton or Calton can travel forty miles in the purest air, over +as blue a sea, and amid as noble hills, as can be found in Britain. +The Clyde is a great highway: a highway traversed, indeed, by a +merchant navy scarcely anywhere surpassed in extent; but a highway, +too, whose gracious breezes, through the summer and autumn time, +are ever ready to revive the heart of the pale weaver, with his +thin wife and child, arid to fan the cheek of the poor consumptive +needlewoman into the glow of something like country health and +strength. + +After Greenock is passed, and the river has grown into the Frith, +the general features of the scene'remain very much the same for +upwards of twenty miles. The water varies from three to seven or +eight miles in breadth; and then suddenly opens out to a breadth +of twenty or thirty miles. Hills, fringed with wood along their +base, and gradually passing into moorland as they ascend, form, the +shores on either side. The rocky islands of the Great and Little +Cumbrae occupy the middle of the Frith, about fourteen or fifteen +miles below Greenock: to the right lies the larger island of Bute; +and further on the still larger island of Arran. The hills on the +Argyleshire side of the Frith are generally bold and precipitous: +those on the Ayrshire side are of much less elevation. The character +of all the places'down the water' is almost identical: they consist +of a row of houses, generally detached villas or cottages, reaching +along the shore, at only a few yards' distance from the water, +with the hills arising immediately behind. The beach is not very +convenient for bathing, being generally rocky; though here and +there we find a Btrip of yellow sand. Trees and shrubs grow in the +richest way down to the water's edge. The trees are numerous, and +luxuriant rather than large; oaks predominate; we should say few of +them are a hundred years old. Ivy and honeysuckle grow in profusion; +for several miles along the coast, near Largs, there is a perpendicular +wall of rock from fifty to one hundred feet in height, which follows +the windings of the shore at a distance of one hundred and fifty +yards from the water, enclosing between itself and the sea a long +ribbon of fine soil, on which shrubs, flowers, and fruit grow +luxuriantly; and this natural rampart, which advances and retreats +as we pursue the road at its base, like the bastions and curtains +of some magnificent feudal castle, is in many places clad with ivy, +so fresh and green that we can hardly believe that for months in +the year it is wet with the salt spray of the Atlantic. Here and +there, along the coast, are places where the land is capable of +cultivation for a mile or two inland; but, as the rule, the hill +ascends almost from the water's edge, into granite and heather. + +Let us try to remember the names of the places which reach along +the Frith upon either hand: we believe that a list of them will +show that not without reason it is said that Glasgow is unrivalled +in the number of her sea-side retreats. On the right hand, as we +go down the Frith, there are Helensburgh, Row, Roseneath, Shandon, +Gareloch-head, Cove, Kilcreggan, Lochgoil-head, Arrochar, Ardentinny, +Strone, Kilmun, Kirn, Dunoon, Inellan, Toward, Port Bonnatyne, +Rothesay, Askog, Colintrave, Tynabruach. Sometimes these places +form for miles one long range of villas. Indeed, from Strone to +Toward, ten or twelve miles, the coast is one continuous street. +On the left hand of the Frith are Gourock, Ashton, Inverkip, Wemyss +Bay, Skelmorlie, Largs, Fairlie: then comes a bleak range of sandy +coast, along which stand Ardrossan, Troon, and Ayr. In the island +of Cumbrae is Millport, conspicuously by the tall spire which marks +the site of an Episcopal chapel and college of great architectural +beauty, built within the last few years. And in Arran are the +villages of Lamlash and Brodick. The two Cumbrae islands constitute +a parish. A simple-minded clergyman, not long deceased, who held +the cure for many years, was wont, Sunday by Sunday, to pray (in the +church service) for 'the islands of the Great and Little Cumbrae, +and also for the adjacent islands of Great Britain and Ireland.' + +But all this while the steam has been fiercely chafing through the +funnel as we have been stopping at Gourock quay. We are away at +last, and are now crossing the Frith towards the Argyleshire side. +A mile or two down, along the Ayrshire side, backed by the rich woods +of Ardgowan, tall and spectral-white, stands the Cloch lighthouse. +We never have looked at it without thinking how many a heart-broken +emigrant must be remembering that severely simple white tower as +almost the last thing he saw in Scotland when he was leaving it +for ever. The Frith opens before us as we advance: we are running +at the rate (quite usual among Clyde steamers) of sixteen or +seventeen miles an hour. There, before us, is Cumbrae: over Bute +and over Cumbrae look the majestic mountains of Arran; that great +granite peak is Goat-fell. And on a clear day, far out, guarding +the entrance to the Frith, rising sheer up from the deep sea, at +ten miles' distance from the nearest land, looms Ailsa, white with +sea-birds, towering to the height of twelve or thirteen hundred +feet. It is a rocky islet of about a mile in circumference, and +must have been thrown up by volcanic agency; for the water around +it is hundreds of feet in depth. + +Out in the middle of the Frith we can see the long, low, white +line of buildings on either side of it, nestling at the foot of +the hills. We are drawing near Dunoon. That opening on the right +is the entrance to Loch Long and Loch Goyle; and a little further +on we pass the entrance to the Holy Loch, on whose shore is +the ancient burying-place of the family of Argyle. How remarkably +tasteful many of these villas are! They are generally built in the +Elizabethan style: they stand in grounds varying from half an acre +up to twenty or thirty acres, very prettily laid out with shrubbery +and flowers; a number (we can see, for we are now skirting the +Argyleshire coast at the distance of only a few hundred yards) have +conservatories and hot-houses of more or less extent: flagstaffs +appear to be much affected (for send a landsman to the coast, and +he is sure to become much more marine than a sailor): and those +pretty bow-windows, with the crimson fuchsias climbing up them--those +fantastic gables and twisted chimneys--those shining evergreens +and cheerful gravel walks--with no lack of pretty girls in round +hats, and sportive children rolling about the trimly-kept grass +plots--all seen in this bright August sunshine--all set off against +this blue smiling expanse of sea--make a picture so gay and inviting, +that we really do not wonder any more that Glasgow people should +like to 'go down the water.' + +Here is Dunoon pier. Several of the coast places have, like Dunoon, +a long jetty of wood running out a considerable distance into the +water, for the accommodation of the steamers, which call every +hour or two throughout the day. Other places have deep water close +in-shore, and are provided with a wharf of stone. And several of +the recently founded villages (and half of those we have enumerated +have sprung up within the last ten years) have no landing-place +at which steamers can touch; and their passengers have to land +and embark by the aid of a ferry-boat. We touch the pier at last: +a gangway is hastily thrown from the pier to the steamer, and in +company with many others we go ashore. At the landward end of the +jetty, detained there by a barrier of twopence each of toll, in +round hats and alpaca dresses, are waiting our friend's wife and +children, from whom we receive a welcome distinguished by that +frankness which is characteristic of Glasgow people. But we do not +intend so far to imitate the fashion of some modern tourists and +biographers, as to give our readers a description of our friend's +house and family, his appearance and manners. We shall only say of +him what will never single him out--for it may be said of hundreds +more--that he is a wealthy, intelligent, well-informed, kind-hearted +Glasgow merchant. And if his daughters did rather bore us by +their enthusiastic descriptions of the sermons of 'our minister,' +Mr. Macduff, the still grander orations of Mr. Caird, and the +altogether unexampled eloquence of Dr. Gumming, why, they were only +showing us a thoroughly Glasgow feature; for nowhere in Britain, +we should fancy, is there so much talk about preaching and preachers. + +In sailing down the Frith, one gets no just idea of the richness +and beauty of its shores. We have said that a little strip of fine +soil,--in some places only fifty or sixty yards in breadth,--runs +like a ribbon, occasionally broadening out to three or four times +that extent, along the sea-margin; beyond this ribbon of ground come +the wild moor and mountain. In sailing down the Frith, our eye is +caught by the large expanse of moorland, and we do not give due +importance to the rich strip which bounds it, like an edging of +gold lace (to use King James's comparison) round a russet petticoat. +When we land we understand things better. We find next the sea, +at almost any point along the Frith, the turnpike road, generally +nearly level, and beautifully smooth. Here and there, in the +places of older date, we find quite a street of contiguous houses; +but the general rule is of detached dwellings of all grades, from +the humblest cottage to the most luxurious villa. At considerable +intervals, there are residences of a much higher class than even +this last, whose grounds stretch for long distances along the shore. +Such places are Ardgovvan, Kelly, Skelmorlie Castle, and Kelburne, +on the Ayrshire side; and on the other shore of the Frith, Roseneath +Castle, Toward Castle, and Mountstuart. [Footnote: Ardgowan, residence +of Sir Michael Shaw Stewart; Kelly, Mr. Scott; Skelmorlie, the Earl +of Eglinton; Kelburne, the Earl of Glasgow; Roseneath, the Duke of +Argyle; Toward, Mr. Kirkwall Finlay Mountstuart, the Marquis of +Bute.] And of dwellings of a less ambitious standing than these +really grand abodes, yet of a mark much above that suggested by +the word villa, we may name the very showy house of Mr. Napier, the +eminent maker of marine steam-engines, on the Gareloch, a building +in the Saracenic style, which cost we are afraid to say how many +thousand pounds; the finely-placed castle of Wemyss, built from +the design of Billings; and the very striking piece of baronial +architecture called Knock Castle, the residence of Mr. Steel, a +wealthy shipbuilder of Greenock. The houses along the Frith are, +in Scotch fashion, built exclusively of stone, which is obtained +with great facility. Along the Ayrshire coast, the warm-looking +red sandstone of the district is to be had everywhere, almost on +the surface. One sometimes sees a house rising, the stone being +taken from a deep quarry close to it: the same crane often serving +to lift a block from the quarry, and to place it in its permanent +position upon the advancing wall. We have said how rich is vegetation +all along the Frith, until we reach the sandy downs from Ardrossan +to Ayr. All evergreens grow with great rapidity: ivy covers dead +walls very soon. To understand in what luxuriance vegetable life +may be maintained close to the sea-margin, one must walk along the +road which leads from the West Bay at Dunoon towards Toward. We +never saw trees so covered with honeysuckle; and fuchsias a dozen +feet in height are quite common. In this sweet spot, in an Elizabethan +house of exquisite design, retired within grounds where fine taste +has done its utmost, resides, during the summer vacation (and the +summer vacation is six months!), Mr. Buchanan, the Professor of +Logic in the University of Glasgow. It must be a very fair thing +to teach logic at Glasgow, if the revenue of that chair maintains +the groves and flowers, and (we may add) the liberal hospitalities, +of Ardflllane. + +One pleasing circumstance about the Frith of Clyde, which we remark +the more from its being unhappily the exception to the general rule +in Scotland, is the general neatness and ecclesiastical character +of the churches. The parish church of Dunoon, standing on a wooded +height, rising from the water, with its grey tower looking over +the trees, is a dignified and commanding object. The churches of +Roseneath and Row, which have been built within a year or two, are +correct and elegant specimens of ecclesiastical Gothic: indeed they +are so thoroughly like churches, that John Knox would assuredly have +pulled them down had they been standing in his day. And here and +there along the coast the rich Glasgow merchants and the neighbouring +proprietors have built pretty little chapels, whose cross-crowned +gables, steep-pitched roofs, dark oak wood-work, and stained windows, +are pleasant indications that old prejudice lias given way among +cultivated Scotchmen; and that it has come to be understood that +it is false religion as well as bad taste and sense to make God's +house the shabbiest, dirtiest, and most uncomfortable house in the +parish. Some of these sea-side places of worship are crowded in +summer by a fashionable congregation, and comparatively deserted +in winter when the Glasgow folks are gone. + +A very considerable number of the families that go 'down the +water' occupy houses which are their own property. There must be, +one would think, a special interest about a house which is one's +own. A man must become attached to a spot where he himself planted +the hollies and yews, and his children have marked their growth year +by year. Still, many people do not like to be tied to one place, +and prefer varying their quarters each season. Very high rents are +paid for good houses on the Frith of Clyde. From thirty to fifty +pounds a month is a common charge for a neat villa at one of the +last founded and most fashionable places. A little less is charged +for the months of August and September than for June and July; and +if a visitor takes a house for the four months which constitute +the season, he may generally have it for May and October without +further cost, Decent houses or parts of houses (flats as they are +called), may be had for about ten pounds a month; and at those places +which approach to the character of a town, as Largs, Eothesay, and +Dunoon, lodgings may be obtained where attendance is provided by +the people of the house. + +A decided drawback about the sea-side places within twenty miles +from Greenock, is their total want of that fine sandy beach, so firm +and dry and inviting when the tide is out, which forms so great an +attraction at Ardrossan, Troon, and Ayr. At a few points, as for +instance the West Bay at Dunoon, there is a beautiful expanse of +yellow sand: but as a rule, where the shore does not consist of +precipitous rocks, sinking at once into deep water, it is made of +great rough stones, which form a most unpleasant footing for bathers. +In front of most villas a bathing place is formed by clearing the +stones away. Bathing machines, we should mention, are quite unknown +upon the Frith of Clyde. + +So much for the locality which is designated by the phrase, Down +the Water: and now we can imagine our readers asking what kind of +life Glasgow people lead there. Of course there must be a complete +breaking up of all city ways and habits, and a general return to +a simpler and more natural mode of living. Our few days at Dunoon, +and a few days more at two other places on the Frith, were enough +to give us some insight into the usual order of things. By seven +or half-past seven o'clock in the morning the steam is heard by +us, as we are snug in bed, fretting through the waste-pipe of the +early boat for Glasgow; and with great complacency we picture to +ourselves the unfortunate business-men, with whom we had a fishing +excursion last night, already up, and breakfasted, and hurrying +along the shore towards the vessel which is to bear them back to +the counting-house and the Exchange. Poor fellows! They sacrifice +a good deal to grow rich. At each village along the shore the +steamer gets an accession to the number of her passengers; for the +most part of trim, close-shaved, well-dressed gentlemen, of sober +aspect and not many words; though here and there comes some whiskered +and moustached personage, with a shirt displaying a pattern of +ballet-dancers, a shooting coat of countless pockets, and trousers +of that style which, in our college days, we used to call loud. A +shrewd bank-manager told us that he always made a mental memorandum +of such individuals, in case they should ever come to him to borrow +money. Don't they wish they may get it! The steamer parts with her +entire freight at Greenock, whence an express train rapidly conveys +our friends into the heat and smoke of Glasgow. Before ten o'clock +all of them are at their work. For us, who have the day at our +own disposal, we have a refreshing dip in the sea at rising, then +a short walk, and come in to breakfast with an appetite foreign +to Paper Buildings. It is quite a strong sensation when the post +appears about ten o'clock, bearing tidings from the toiling world +we have left behind. Those families who have their choice dine at +two o'clock--an excellent dinner hour when the day is not a working +one: the families whose male members are in town, sometimes postpone +the most important engagement of the day till their return at six +or half-past six o'clock. As for the occupations of the day, there +are boating and yachting, wandering along the beach, lying on the +heather looking at Arran through the sun-mist, lounging into the +reading-room, dipping into any portion of The Times except the +leading articles, turning over the magazines, and generally enjoying +the blessing of rest. Fishing is in high favour, especially among +the ladies. Hooks baited with muscles are sunk to the ground by +leaden weights (the fishers are in a boat), and abundance of whitings +are caught when the weather is favourable. We confess we don't +think the employment ladylike. Sticking the muscles upon the hooks +is no work for fair fingers; neither is the pulling the captured +fish off the hooks. And, even in the pleasantest company, we cannot +see anything very desirable in sitting in a boat, all the floor of +which is covered by unhappy whitings and codlings flapping about +in their last agony. Many young ladies row with great vigour and +adroitness. And as we walk along the shore in the fading twilight, +we often hear, from boats invisible in the gathering shadows, music +mellowed by the distance into something very soft and sweet. The +lords of the creation have come back by the late boats; and we +meet Pater-familias enjoying his evening walk, surrounded by his +children, shouting with delight at having their governor among them +once more. No wonder that, after a day amid the hard matter-of-fact +of business life, he should like to hasten away to the quiet fireside +and the loving hearts by the sea. + +Few are the hard-wrought men who cannot snatch an entire day from +business sometimes: and then there is a pic-nic. Glasgow folk +have even more, we believe, than the average share of stiff dinner +parties when in town: we never saw people who seemed so completely +to enjoy the freshness and absence of formality which characterize +the well-assorted entertainment al fresco. We were at one +or two of these; and we cannot describe the universal gaiety and +light-heartedness, extending to grave Presbyterian divines and +learned Glasgow professors; the blue sea and the smiling sky; the +rocky promontory where our feast was spread; its abundance and +variety; the champagne which flowed like water; the joviality and +cleverness of many of the men; the frankness and pretty faces of +all of the women. [Footnote: We do not think, from what we hare +seen, that Glasgow is rich in beauties; though pretty faces are +very common. Times are improved, however, since the days of the lady +who said, on being asked if there were many beauties in Glasgow, +'Oh no; very few; there are only THREE OF US.'] We had a pleasant +yachting excursion one day; and the delight of a new sensation was +well exemplified in the intense enjoyment of dinner in the cramped +little cabin where one could hardly turn, And great was the sight +when our host, with irrepressible pride, produced his preserved +meats and vegetables, as for an Arctic voyage, although a messenger +sent in the boat which was towing behind could have procured them +fresh in ten minutes. + +A Sunday at the sea-side, or as Scotch people prefer calling +it, a Sabbath, is an enjoyable thing. The steamers that come down +on Saturday evening are crammed to the last degree. Houses which +are already fuller than they can hold, receive half-a-dozen new +inmates,--how stowed away we cannot even imagine. We cannot but +reject as apocryphal the explanation of a Glasgow tout, that on +such occasions poles are projected from the upper windows, upon +which young men of business roost until the morning. Late walks, +and the spooniest of flirtations characterize the Saturday evening. +Every one, of course, goes to church on Sunday morning; no Glasgow +man who values his character durst stop away. We shall not soon +forget the beauty of the calm Sunday on that beautiful shore: the +shadows of the distant mountains; the smooth sea; the church-bells, +faintly heard from across the water; the universal turning-out of +the population to the house of prayer, or rather of preaching. It +was almost too much for us to find Dr. Gumming here before us, giving +all his old brilliancies to enraptured multitudes. We had hoped +he was four hundred and odd miles off; but we resigned ourselves, +like the Turk, to what appears an inevitable destiny. This gentleman, +we felt, is really one of the institutions of the country, and no +more to be escaped than the income-tax. + +Morning service over, most people take a walk. This would have been +regarded in Scotland a few years since as a profanation of the day. +But there is a general air of quiet; people speak in lower tones; +there are no joking and laughing. And the Frith, so covered with +steamers on week-days, is to-day unruffled by a single paddle-wheel. +Still it is a mistake to fancy that a Scotch Sunday is necessarily +a gloomy thing. There are no excursion trains, no pleasure trips +in steamers, no tea-gardens open: but it is a day of quiet domestic +enjoyment, not saddened but hallowed by the recognized sacredness +of the day. The truth is, the feeling of the sanctity of the Sabbath +is so ingrained into the nature of most Scotchmen by their early +training, that they could not enjoy Sunday pleasuring. Their +religious sense, their superstition if you choose, would make them +miserable on a Sunday excursion. + +The Sunday morning service is attended by a crowded congregation: +the church is not so full in the afternoon. In some places there +is evening service, which is well attended. We shall not forget +one pleasant walk, along a quiet road bounded by trees as rich and +green as though they grew in Surrey, though the waves were lapping +on the rocks twenty yards off, and the sun was going down behind +the mountains of Cowal, to a pretty little chapel where we attended +evening worship upon our last Sunday on the Clyde. + +Every now and then, as we are taking our saunter by the shore after +breakfast, we perceive, well out in the Frith, a steamer, decked +with as many flags as can possibly be displayed about her rigging. +The strains of a band of music come by starts upon the breeze; a +big drum is heard beating away when we can hear nothing else; and a +sound of howling springs up at intervals. Do not fancy that these +yells imply that anything is wrong; t/tat is merely the way in +which working folk enjoy themselves in this country. That steamer +has been hired for the day by some wealthy manufacturer, who is +giving his 'hands' a day's pleasure-sailing. They left Glasgow at +seven or eight o'clock: they will be taken probably to Arran, and +there feasted to a moderate extent; and at dusk they will be landed +at the Broomielaw again. We lament to say that very many Scotch +people of the working class seem incapable of enjoying a holiday +without getting drunk and uproarious. We do not speak from hearsay, +but from what we have ourselves seen. Once or twice we found +ourselves on board a steamer crowded with a most disagreeable mob +of intoxicated persons, among whom, we grieve to say, we saw many +women. The authorities of the vessel appeared entirely to lack +both the power and the will to save respectable passengers from +the insolence of the 'roughs.' The Highland fling may be a very +picturesque and national dance, but when executed on a crowded +deck by a maniacal individual, with puffy face and blood-shot eyes, +swearing, yelling, dashing up against peaceable people, and mortally +drunk, we should think it should be matter less of assthetical than +of police consideration. Unless the owners of the Clyde steamers +wish to drive all decent persons from their boats, they must take +vigorous steps to repress such scandalous goings-on as we have +witnessed more than once or twice. And we also take the liberty +to suggest that the infusion of a little civility into the manner +and conversation of some of the steam-boat officials on the quay +at Greenock, would be very agreeable to passengers, and could not +seriously injure those individuals themselves. + +What sort of men are the Glasgow merchants? Why, courteous reader, +there are great diversities among them. Almost all we have met +give us an impression of shrewdness and strong sense; some, of +extraordinary tact and cleverness--though these last are by no means +among the richest men. In some cases we found extremely unaffected +and pleasing address, great information upon general topics--in +short, all the characteristics of the cultivated gentleman. In +others there certainly was a good deal of boorishness; and in one +or two instances, a tendency to the use of oaths which in this +country have long been unknown in good society. The reputed wealth +of some Glasgow men is enormous, though we think it not unlikely +that there is a great deal of exaggeration as to that subject. We +did, however, hear it said that one firm of iron merchants realized +for some time profits to the extent of nearly four hundred thousand +a year. We were told of an individual who died worth a million, all +the produce of his own industry and skill; and one hears incidentally +of such things as five-hundred-pound bracelets, thousand-guinea +necklaces, and other appliances of extreme luxury, as not unknown +among the fair dames of Glasgow. + +And so, in idle occupations, and in gleaning up particulars as to +Glasgow matters according to our taste wherever we go, our sojourn upon +the Frith of Clyde pleasantly passed away. We left our hospitable +friends, not without a promise that when the Christmas holidays +come we should visit them once more, and see what kind of thing is +the town life of the winter time in that warm-hearted city. And +meanwhile, as the days shorten to chill November,--as the clouds +of London smoke drift by our windows,--as the Thames runs muddy +through this mighty hum and bustle away to the solitudes of its +last level,--we recall that cheerful time with a most agreeable +recollection of the kindness of Glasgow friends,--and of all that +is implied in Glasgow Down the Water. + + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +CONCERNING MAN AND HIS DWELLING-PLACE + + + + +When my friend Smith's drag comes round to his door, as he and I +are standing on the steps ready to go out for a drive, how cheerful +and frisky the horses look! I think I see them, as I saw them +yesterday, coming round from the stable-yard, with their glossy +coats and the silver of their harness glancing in the May sunshine, +the May sunshine mellowed somewhat by the green reflection of two +great leafy trees. They were going out for a journey of twenty +miles. They were, in fact, about to begin their day's work, and +they knew they were; yet how buoyant and willing they looked! There +was not the faintest appearance of any disposition to shrink from +their task, as if it were a hard and painful one. No; they were +eager to be at it: they were manifestly enjoying the anticipation +of the brisk exertion in the midst of which they would be in five +minutes longer. And by the time we have got into our places, and +have wrapped those great fur robes comfortably about our limbs, +the chafing animals have their heads given them; and instantly they +fling themselves at their collars, and can hardly be restrained +from breaking into a furious gallop. Happy creatures, you enjoy +your work; you wish nothing better than to get at it! + +And when I have occasionally beheld a ploughman, bricklayer, +gardener, weaver, or blacksmith, begin his work in the morning, I +have envied him the readiness and willingness with which he took +to it. The plough-man, after he has got his horses harnessed to the +plough, does not delay a minute: into the turf the shining share +enters, and away go horses, plough and man. It costs the ploughman +no effort to make up his mind to begin. He does not stand irresolute, +as you and I in childish days have often done when taken down to +the sea for our morning dip, and when trying to get courage to take +the first plunge under water. And the bricklayer lifts and places +the first brick of his daily task just as easily as the last one. +The weaver, too, sits down without mental struggle at his loom, +and sets off at once. How different is the case with most men whose +work is mental; more particularly how different is the case with +most men whose work is to write--to spin out their thoughts into +compositions for other people to read or to listen to! How such +men, for the most part, shrink from their work--put it off as long +as may be; and even when the paper is spread out and the pen all +right, and the ink within easy reach, how they keep back from the +final plunge! And after they have begun to write, how they dally +with their subject; shrink back as long as possible from grappling +with its difficulties; twist about and about, talking of many +irrelevant matters, before they can summon up resolution to go at +the real point they have got to write about! How much unwillingness +there is fairly to put the neck to the collar! + +Such are my natural reflections, suggested by my personal feelings +at this present time. I know perfectly well what I have got to do. +I have to write some account, and attempt some appreciation, of +a most original, acute, well-expressed, and altogether remarkable +book--the book, to wit, which bears the comprehensive title of Man +and his Dwelling-Place. It is a metaphysical book; it is a startling +book; it is a very clever book; and though it is published anonymously, +I have heard several acquaintances say, with looks expressive of +unheard-of stores of recondite knowledge, that they have reason to +believe that it is written by, this and that author, whose name is +already well known to fame. It may be so, but I did not credit it +a bit the more because thus assured of it. In most cases the people +who go about dropping hints of how much they know on such subjects, +know nothing earthly about the matter; but still the premises (as +lawyers would say) make it be felt that the book is a serious one to +meddle with. Not that in treating such a volume, plainly containing +the careful and deliberate views and reflections of an able and +well-informed man, I should venture to assume the dignified tone +of superiority peculiar to some reviewers in dissecting works which +they could not have written for their lives. There are not a score +of men in Britain who would be justified in reviewing such a book +as this de haut en has. I intend the humbler task of giving my +readers some description of the work, stating its great principle, +and arguing certain points with its eminently clever author; and +under the circumstances in which this article is written, it discards +the dignified and undefined We, and adopts the easier and less +authoritative first person singular. The work to be done, therefore, +is quite apparent: there is no doubt about that. But the writer is +most unwilling to begin it. Slowly was the pen taken up; oftentimes +was the window looked out of. I am well aware that I shall not settle +steadily to my task till I shall have had a preliminary canter, so +to speak. Thus have I seen school-hoys, on a warm July day, about +to jump from a sea-wall into the azure depths of ocean. But after +their garments were laid aside, and all was ready for the plunge, +long time sat they upon the tepid stones, and paddled with idle +feet in the water. + +How shall I better have that preliminary and moderate exercitation +which serves to get up the steam, than by talking for a little +about the scene around me? Through diamond-shaped panes the sunshine +falls into this little chamber; and going to the window you look +down upon the tops of tall trees. And it is pleasant to look down +upon the tops of tall trees. The usual way of looking at trees, +it may be remarked, is from below. But this chamber is high up in +the tower of a parish church far in the country. Its furniture is +simple as that of the chamber of a certain prophet, who lived long +ago. There are some things here, indeed, which he had not; for +yesterday's Times lies upon the floor drying in the morning sunbeams, +and Fraser's Magazine for May is on a chair by the window. Why +does that incomparable monthly act blisteringly upon the writer's +mind? It never did so till May, 1859. Why does he put it for the +time out of sight? Why, but because, for once, he has read in that +Magazine an article--by a very eminent man, too--written in what +he thinks a thoroughly mistaken spirit, and setting out views which +he thinks to be utterly false and mischievous. Not such, the writer +knows well, are the views of his dear friend the Editor; not such +are the doctrines which Fraser teaches to a grateful world. In the +latter pages of his review of Mill on Liberty, Mr. Buckle spoke +golely for himself; he did not express the opinions which this +Magazine upholds, nor commit for one moment the staff of men who +write in it; and, as one insignificant individual who has penned a +good many pages of Fraser, I beg to express my keen disapprobation +of Mr. Buckle's views upon the subject of Christianity. They may +be right, but I firmly believe they are wrong; they may be true, +but I think them false. I repudiate any share in them: let their +author bear their responsibility for himself. Alas, say I, that +so able a man should sincerely think (I give him credit for entire +sincerity) that man's best refuge and most precious hope is vain +delusion! Very jarringly to my mind sound those eloquent periods, +so inexpressibly sad and dreary, amid pages penned in many quiet +parsonages, by many men who for the truth of Christianity would, +God helping them, lay down their lives. So, you May magazine, get +meanwhile out of sight: I don't want to think of you. Rather let +me stay this impatient throbbing of heart by looking down on the +green tops of those great silent trees. + +Thick ivy frames this mullioned window, with its three lance-shaped +lights. Seventy feet below, the grassy graves of the churchyard swell +like green waves. The white headstones gleam in the sun. Ancient +oaks line the lichened wall of the churchyard: their leaves not +yet to thick as they will be a month hereafter. Beyond the wall, +I see a very verdant field, between two oaks; six or seven white +lambs are lying there, or frisking about. The silver gleam of +a river bounds the field; and beyond are thick hedges, white with +hawthorn blossoms. In the distance there is a great rocky hill, +which bounds the horizon. There is not a sound, save when a little +flaw of air brushes a twig against the wall some feet below me. +The smoke of two or three scattered cottages rises here and there. +The sky is very bright blue, with many fleecy clouds. Quiet, quiet! +And all this while the omnibuses, cabs, carriages, drays, horses, +men, are hurrying, sweltering, and fretting along Cheapside! + +Man and his Dwetting-Place! Truly a comprehensive subject. For man's +dwelling-place is the universe; and remembering this, it is plain +that there is not much to be said which might not be said under +that title. But, of course, there are sweeping views and opinions +which include man and the universe, and which colour all beliefs +as to details. And the author of this remarkable book has arrived +at such a sweeping view. He holds, that where-as we fancy that we +are living creatures, and that inanimate nature is inert, or without +life, the truth is just the opposite of this fancy. He holds that +man wants life, and that his dwelling-place possesses life. We are +dead, and the world is living. No doubt it would be easy to laugh +at all this; but I can promise the thoughtful reader that, though +after reading the book he may still differ from its author, he will +not laugh at him. Very moderately informed folk are quite aware of +this--that the fact of any doctrine seeming startling at the first +mention of it, is no argument whatever against its truth. Some +centuries since you could hardly have startled men more than by +saying that the earth moves, and the sun stands still. Nay, it is not +yet forty years since practical engineers judged George Stephenson +mad, for saying that a steam-engine could draw a train of carriages +along a rail-way at the rate of fourteen miles an hour. It is +certainly a startling thing to be told that I am dead, and that the +distant hill out there is living. The burden of proof rests with +the man who propounds the theory; the prima facie case is against +him. Trees do not read newspapers; hills do not write articles. +We must try to fix the author's precise meaning when he speaks of +life; perhaps he may intend by it something quite different from +that which we understand. And then we must see what he has to say +in support of a doctrine which at the first glance seems nothing +short of monstrous and absurd. + +No: I cannot get on. I cannot forget that May magazine that is lying +in the corner. I must be thoroughly done with it before I can fix +my thoughts upon the work which is to be considered. Mr. Buckle has +done a service to my mind, entirely analogous to that which would +be done to a locomotive engine by a man who should throw a handful +of sand into its polished machinery. I am prepared, from personal +experience, to meet with a flat contradiction his statement that +a man does you no harm by trying to cast doubt and discredit upon +the doctrines you hold most dear. Mr. Buckle, by his article, has +done me an injury. It is an injury, irritating but not dangerous. +For the large assertions, which if they stated truths, would show +that the religion of Christ is a miserable delusion, are unsupported +by a tittle of proof: and the general tone in regard to Christianity, +though sufficiently hostile, and very eloquently expressed, appears +to me uncommonly weak in logic. But as Mr. Buckle's views have +been given to the world, with whatever weight may be derived from +their publication in this magazine, it is no more than just and +necessary that through the same channel there should be conveyed +another contributor's strong disavowal of them, and keen protest +against them. I do not intend to argue against Mr. Buckle's +opinions. This is not the time or place for such an undertaking. +And Mr. Buckle, in his article, has not argued but dogmatically +asserted, and then called hard names at those who may conscientiously +differ from him. Let me suggest to Mr. Buckle that such names can +very easily be retorted. Any man who would use them, very easily +could. Mr. Buckle says that any man who would punish by legal means +the publication of blasphemous sentiments, should be regarded as +a noxious animal. It is quite easy for me to say, and possibly to +prove, that the man who advocates the free publication of blasphemous +sentiments, is a noxious animal. So there we are placed on an +equal footing; and what progress has been made in the argument of +the question in debate? Then Mr. Buckle very strongly disapproves +a certain judgment of, as I believe, one of the best judges who +ever sat on the English Bench: I mean Mr. Justice Coleridge. That +judge on one occasion sentenced to imprisonment a poor, ignorant +man, convicted of having written certain blasphemous words upon +a gate. I am prepared to justify every step that was taken in the +prosecution and punishment of that individual. That, however, is +not the point at issue. Even supposing that the magistrates who +committed, and the judge who sentenced, that miserable wretch, +had acted wrongly and unjustly, could not Mr. Buckle suppose that +they had acled conscientiously? What right had he to speak of Mr. +Justice Coleridge as a 'stony-hearted man?' What right had he to +say that the judge and the magistrates, in doing what they honestly +believed to be right, were 'criminals,' who had 'committed a great +crime?' What right had he to say that their motives were 'the pride +of their power and the wickedness of their hearts?' What right had +he to call one of the most admirable men in Britain 'this unjust +and unrighteous judge?' And where did Mr. Buckle ever see anything +to match the statement, that Mr. Justice Coleridge grasped at the +opportunity of persecuting a poor blasphemer in a remote county, +where his own wickedness was likely to be overlooked, while he durst +not have done as much in the face of the London press? Who will +believe that Mr. Justice Coleridge is distinguished for his 'cold +heart and shallow understanding?' But I feel much more comfortable +now, when I have written upon this page that I, as one humble +contributor to this Magazine, utterly repudiate Mr. Buckle's +sentiments with regard to Sir J. T. Coleridge, and heartily condemn +the manner in which he has expressed them. + +If there be any question which ought to be debated with scrupulous +calmness and fairness, it is the question whether it is just that +human laws should prevent and punish the publication of views +commonly regarded as blasphemous. I deny Mr. Buckle's statement, +that all belief is involuntary. I say that in a country like this, +every man of education is responsible for his religious belief; but +of course responsible only to his Maker. Thus, on totally different +grounds from Mr. Buckle, I agree with him in thinking that no +human law should interfere with a man's belief. I am not prepared, +without much longer thought than I have yet given to the subject, +to agree with Mr. Buckle and Mr. Mill, that human law should never +interfere with the publication of opinions, no matter how blasphemous +they may be esteemed by the great majority of the nation to which +they are published. I might probably say that I should not interfere +with the publication of any book, however false and mischievous +I might regard the religious doctrines it taught, provided the +book were written in the interest of truth--provided its author +manifestly desired to set out doctrines which he regarded as true +and important. But if the book set out blasphemous doctrine in +such a tone and temper as made it evident that the writer's main +intention was to irritate and distress those who held the belief +regarded as orthodox, I should probably suppress or punish the +publication of such a book. Sincere infidelity is a sad thing, with +little of the propagandist spirit. Even if it should think that +those Christian doctrines which afford so much comfort and support +to men are fond delusions, I think its humane feeling would be,--Well, +I shall not seek to shatter hopes which I cannot replace. I know +that such was the feeling of the most amiable of unbelievers--David +Hume. I know how he regularly attended church, anxious that he might +not by his example dash in humble minds the belief which tended +to make them good and happy, though it was a belief which he could +not share. My present nolion is, that laws ought to punish coarse +and abusive blasphemy. They may let thoughtful and philosophic +scepticism alone. It will hardly reach, it will never distress, +the masses. But if a blackguard goes up to a parsonage door, and +bellows out blasphemous remarks about the Trinity; or if a man who +is a blockhead as well as a malicious wretch writes blasphemous +words upon a parsonage gate, I cannot for an instant recognize in +these men the champions of freedom of religious thought and speech. +Even Mr. Buckle cannot think that their purpose is to teach the +clergymen important truth. They don't intend to proselytize. Their +object is to insult and annoy and shock. And I think it is right to +punish them. They are not punished for setting out their peculiar +opinions. They are punished for designedly and maliciously injuring +their neighbours. Mr. Justice Coleridge punished the blasphemer in +Cornwall, not because he held wrong views, not because he expressed +wrong views. He might have expressed them in a decent way as long +as he liked, and no one would have interfered with him. He was +punished because, with malicious and insulting intention, he wrote +blasphemous words where he thought they would cause pain and horror. +He was punished for that: and rightly. Mr. Buckle seeks to excite +sympathy for the man, by mixing up with the question whether or +no his crime deserved punishment, the wholly distinct question, +whether or no the man was so far sane as to deserve punishment +for any crime whatever. These two questions have no connexion; and +it is unfair to mingle them. The question of the man's sanity or +insanity was for the jury to decide. The jury decided that he was +so sane as to be responsible. Mr. Buckle's real point is, that +however sane the man might have been, it was wicked to punish +him; and I do not hesitate to say, for myself, that looking to the +entire circumstances of the case, the magistrates who committed +that nuisanee of his neighbourhood, and the judge who sent him to +jail, did no more than their duty. + +There are several statements made by Mr. Buckle which must not be +regarded as setting forth the teaching of the Magazine in which +they were made. Mr. Buckle says that no man can be sure that any +doctrine is divinely revealed: that whoever says so must be 'absurdly +and immodestly confident in his own powers.' I deny that. Mr. Buckle +says that it is part of Christian doctrine that rich men cannot be +saved. I deny that. Christ's statement as to the power of worldly +possessions to concentrate the affections upon this world, went +not an inch further than daily experience goes. What said Samuel +Johnson when Garrick showed him his grand house? 'Ah, David, these +are the things that make death terrible!' Mr. Buckle says that +Christianity gained ground in early ages because its doctrines were +combated. They were not combated. Its professors were persecuted, +which is quite another thing. Mr. Buckle says that the doctrine of +Immortality was known to the world before Christianity was heard +of, or any other revealed religion. I deny that. Greek and Roman +philosophers of the highest class regarded that doctrine as a delusion +of the vulgar. Did Mr. Buckle ever read the letter of condolence +which Sulpicius wrote to Cicero after the death of Cicero's daughter? +A beautiful letter, beautifully expressed; stating many flimsy and +wretched reasons for drying one's tears; but containing not a hint +of any hope of meeting in another world. And the same may be said +of Cicero's reply. As for Mr. Buckle's argument for Immortality, +I think it extremely weak and inconclusive. It certainly goes to +prove, if it proves anything, that my cousin Tom, who lately was +called to the bar, is quite sure to be Lord Chancellor; and that +Sam Lloyd, who went up from our village last week to a merchant's +counting-house in Liverpool, is safe to rival his eminent namesake +in wealth. Mr. Buckle's argument is just this: that if your heart +is very much set upon a thing, you are perfectly sure to get it. +Of course everybody has read the soliloquy in Addison's Cato, where +Mr. Buckle's argument is set forth. I deem it not worth a rush. +Does any man's experience of this life tend to assure him, that +because some people (and not all people) would like to see their +friends again after they die, therefore they shall? Do things +usually turn out just as we particularly wish that they should turn +out? Has not many a young girl felt, like Cato, a 'secret dread +and inward horror' lest the pic-nic day should be rainy? Did that +ensure its being fine? Was not I extremely anxious to catch the +express train yesterday, and did not I miss it? Does not every +child of ten years old know, that this is a world in which things +have a wonderful knack of falling out just in the way least wished +for? If I were an infidel, I should believe that some spiteful imp +of the perverse had the guidance of the affairs of humanity. I know +better than that: but for my knowledge I have to thank Revelation. +But is it philosophical, is it common sense, in a man who rejects +Revelation, and who must be guided in his opinions of a future +life by the analogy of the present, to argue that because here the +issue all but constantly defeats our wishes and hopes, therefore an +end on which (as he says) human hearts are very much set shallcertainly +be attained hereafter? 'If the separation were final,' says Mr. +Buckle, in a most eloquent and pathetic passage, 'how could we +stand up and live?' Fine feeling, indeed, but impotent logic. When +a man has worked hard and accumulated a little competence, and then +in age loses it all in some swindling bank, and sees his daughters, +tenderly reared, reduced to starvation, I doubt not he may think +'How can I live?' but will all this give him his fortune back again? +Has not many a youthful heart, crushed down by bitter disappointment, +taken up the fancy that surely life would now be impossible; but did +the fancy, by the weight of a feather, affect the fact? I remember, +indeed, seeing Mr. Buckle's question put with a wider reach of +meaning. Poor Uncle Tom, torn from his family, is sailing down the +Mississippi, and finding comfort as he reads his well-worn Bible. +How could that poor negro weigh the arguments on either side, and +be sure that the blessed Faith, which was then his only support, +was true? With better logic than Mr. Buckle's, he drew his best +evidence from his own consciousness. 'It fitted him so well: it was +so exactly what he needed. It must be true, or how could he live?' + +Having written all this, I feel that I can now think without +distraction of Man and his Dwelling-Place, I have mildly vented +my indignation; and I now, in a moral sense, extend my hand to Mr. +Buckle. Had he come up that corkscrew stair an hour or two ago, +I am not entirely certain that I might not have taken him by the +collar and shaken him. And had I found him standing on a chair in +the green behind the church, and indoctrinating my simple parishioners +with his peculiar notions, I have an entire conviction that I should +have forgotten my theoretical assent to the doctrine of religious +toleration, and by a gentle hint to my sturdy friends, procured +him an invigorating bath in that gleaming river. I have got rid of +that feeling now. And although Mr. Buckle is the last man who would +find fault with any honest opposition, I yet desire to express my +regret if I have written any word that passes the limit of goodnatured +though sturdy conflict. I respect Mr. Buckle's earnestness and +moral courage: I heartily admire his eloquence: I give him credit +for entire sincerity in the opinions he holds, though I think them +sadly mistaken. + +So now for Man and his Dwelling-Place. Twice already has the writer +put his mind at that book, but it has each time swerved, like a +middling hunter from a very stiff fence, and taken a circle round +the field. Now at last the thing matt really be done. + +If you, my reader, are desirous of discovering a book which shall +entirely knock up your previous views upon all possible subjects, +read this Essay Towards the Interpretation of Nature. It does, +indeed, interpret Nature, and Man too, in a fashion which, to the +best of my knowledge, is thoroughly original. And the book is dis +tinguished not more by originality than by piety, earnestness, and +eloquence. Its author is an enthusiastic Christian; and indeed his +peculiar views in metaphysics and science are founded upon his +interpretation of certain passages in the New Testament. It is +from the sacred volume that he derives his theory that man is at +present dead. The work appears likely to appeal to a limited circle +of readers; it will be understood and appreciated by few. Though +its style is clear, the abstruseness of the subjects discussed and +the transcendental scope of its author, make the train of thought +often difficult to follow. Possibly the fault is not in the book, +but in the reader: possibly it may result from the book having been +read rapidly and while pressed by many other concerns; but there +seems to me a certain want of clearness and sharpness of presentment +about it. The great principle maintained is indeed set forth with +unmistakable force; but, it is hard to say how, there appears in +details a certain absence of method, and what in Scotland is called +a drumliness of style. There is a good deal of repetition too; but +for that one is rather thankful than otherwise; for the great idea +of the deadness of man and the life and spirituality of nature grows +much better defined, and is grasped more completely and intelligently, +as we come upon it over and over again, put in many different +ways and with great variety of illustration. It is a humiliating +confession for a reviewer to make, but, to say the truth, I do not +know what to make of this book. If its author should succeed in +indoctrinating the race with his views, he will produce an intellectual +revolution. Every man who thinks at all will be constrained for the +remainder of his days (I must not say of his life) to think upon +all subjects quite differently from what he has ever hitherto +thought. As for readers for amusement, and for all readers who do +not choose to read what cannot be read without some mental effort, +they will certainly find the first half-dozen pages of this work +quite sufficient for them. Without pretending to follow the author's +views into the vast number of details into which they reach, I +shall endeavour in a short compass to draw the great lines of them. + +There is an interesting introduction, which gradually prepares us +for the announcement of the startling fact, that all men hitherto +have been entirely mistaken in their belief both as to themselves +and the universe which surrounds them. It is first impressed upon +us that things may be in themselves very different indeed from +that which they appear to us: that phenomenon may be something far +apart from actual being. Yet though our conceptions, whether given +by sense or intellect, do not correspond with the truth of things, +still they are the elements from which truth is to be gathered. +The following passage, which occurs near the beginning of the +introduction, is the sharp end of the wedge:-- + +All advance in knowledge is a deliverance of man from himself. +Slowly and painfully we learn that he is not the measure of truth, +that the fact may be very different from the appearance to him. +The lesson is hard, but the reward is great. So he escapes from +illusion and error, from ignorance and failure. Directing his +thoughts and energies no longer according to his own impressions, +but according to the truth of things, he finds himself in possession +of an unimaginable power alike of understanding and of acting. To +a truly marvellous extent he is the lord of nature. + +But the conditions of this lordship are inexorable. They are the +surrender of prepossessions, the abandonment of assumption, the +confession of ignorance: the open eye and the humble heart. Hence +in all passing from error to truth we learn something respecting +ourselves, as well as something respecting the object of our study. +Simultaneously with our better knowledge we recognize the reason +of our ignorance, and perceive what defect on our part has caused +us to think wrongly. + +Either the world is such as it appears to us, or it is not. If +it be not, there must be some condition affecting ourselves which +modifies the impression we receive ffom it. And this condition must +be operative upon all mankind: it must relate to man as a whole +rather than to individual men. + +Thus does the author lay down the simple, general principle from +which he is speedily to draw conclusions so startling. Nothing can +be more innocuous than all this. Every one must agree in it. Now +come the further steps. + +The study of nature leads to the conclusion that there is a +defectiveness in man which modifies his perception of all external +things; and that thus in so far as the actual fact of the universe +differs from our impression of it, the actual fact is better, higher, +more complete, than our impression of it. There are qualities, +there is a glory about the universe, which our defective condition +prevents our seeing or discerning. The universe, or nature, is not +in itself such as it is to man's feeling; and man's feeling of it +differs from the fact liy defect. All that we discern in the universe +is there: and a great deal besides. + +Now, we think of nature as existing in a certain way which we +call physical. We call the world the physical world. This mode of +existence involves inertness. That which is physical does not act, +except passively, as it is acted upon. Inertness is inaction. That +which is inert, therefore, differs from that which is not inert by +defect. The inert wants something of being active. + +Next, we have a conception of another mode of being besides +the inert. We conceive of being which possesses a spontaneous and +primary activity. This kind of being is called spiritual. This +kind of being has shaken off the reproach of inertness. It can act, +and originate action. The physical thus differs from the spiritual +(as regards inertness) by defect. The physical wants something of +being spiritual. + +So far, my reader, we do not of necessity start back from anything +our author teaches us. Quite true, we think of matter, a kind +of being which can do nothing of itself. Quite true, we think of +spirit, a kind of being which can do. And no doubt that which is +able to do is (quoad hoc) a higher and more noble kind of being +than that which cannot do, but only be done to. But remember here, +I do not admit that in this point lies the differentia between +matter and spirit. I do not grant that by taking from matter the +reproach of inertness, you would make it spirit. The essential +difference seems to me not to lie there. We could conceive of +matter as capable of originating action, and yet as material. This +is by the bye--but now be on your guard. Here is our author's great +discovery-- + +It is man's defectiveness which makes him feel the world as thus +defective. Nature is really not inert, though it appears so to man. +We have been wont to think that nature, the universe, is inert or +physical; that man is not-inert, or spiritual. Now, there is no +doubt at all that there is inertness somewhere. Here are the two +things, Man and Nature; with which thing does the inertness lie? +Our author maintains that it lies with man, not with nature. Science +has proved to us that nature is not-inert. As there is inertness +somewhere, and as it is not in nature, of course the conclusion +is that it is in man. Inertness is in the phenomenon; that is, +in nature as it. appears to us. There cannot be any question that +nature seems to us to be inert. But the author of this book declares +that this inertness, though in the phenomenon, is not in the fact. +Nature LOOKS inert; it is not-inert. How does the notion of inertness +come at all, then? Now comes the very essence of the new theory; +I give it in its author's words:-- + +The inertness is introduced by man. He perceives defect without +him, only because there is defect within him. + +To be inert has the same meaning as to be dead. So we speak of +nature, thinking it to be inert, as 'dead matter.' To say that man +introduces inertness into nature implies a deadness in him: it is +to say that he wants life. This is the proposition which is affirmed. +This condition which we call our life, is not the true life of man. + +The Book that has had greater influence upon the world than all +others, differs from all others, in affirming that man wants life, +and in making that statement the basis of all that it contains +respecting the past and present and future of mankind. + +Science thus pays homage to the Bible. What that book has declared +as if with authority, so long ago, she has at last decyphered on +the page of nature. This is not man's true life. + +And who is there who can doubt, looking at man as lie is now, and +then thinking of what he is to be in another world, that there is +about him, now, great defect? There is truly much wanting which it +is hoped will one day be supplied. What shall we call this lacking +thing--this one thing lacking whose absence is felt in every fibre +of our being? Our author chooses to call it life; I am doubtful with +how much felicity or naturalness of expression. Of course we all +know that in the New Testament life does not mean merely existence +continued; eternal life does not mean merely existence continued for +ever: it means the highest and purest form of our being continued +for ever;--happiness and holiness continued for ever. We know, too, +that holy Scripture describes the step taken by any man in becoming +an earnest believer in Christ, as 'passing from death to life;' we +remember such a text as 'This is life eternal, that they may know +Thee, the only true God, and-Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent.' +We know that a general name for the Gospel, which grasps its grand +characteristics, is 'The Word of Life;' and that, in religious phrase, +Christianity is concerned with the revealing, the implanting, the +sustaining, the crowning, of a certain better life. Nor is it +difficult to trace out such analogies between natural and spiritual +death, between natural and spiritual life, as tend to prove that +spiritual life and death are not spoken of in Scripture merely +as the strongest words which could be employed, but that there is +a further and deeper meaning in their constant use. But I do not +see any gain in forcing figurative language into a literal use. +Everybody knows what life and death, in ordinary language, imply. +Life means sensibility, consciousness, capacity of acting, union with +the living. Death means senselessness, helplessness, separation. +No doubt we may trace analogies, very close and real, between +the natural and the spiritual life and death. But still they are +no more than analogies. You do not identify the physical with the +spiritual. And it is felt by all that the use of the words in a +spiritual sense is a figurative use. To the common understanding, +a man is living, when he breathes and feels and moves. He is dead +when he ceases to do all that. And it is a mere twisting of words +from their understood sense to say that in reality, and without a +figure, a breathing, feeling, moving man is dead, because he lacks +some spiritual quality, however great its value may be. It may be +a very valuable quality; it may be worth more than life; but it +is not life, as men understand it; and as words have no meaning at +all except that which men agree to give these arbitrary sounds, it +matters not at all that this higher quality is what you may call +true life, better life, real life. If you enlarge the meaning of the +word life to include, in addition to what is generally understood +by it, a higher power of spiritual action and discernment, why, all +that can be said is, that you understand by life something quite +different from men in general. If I choose to enlarge the meaning +of the word black to include white, of course I might say with +truth (relatively to myself) that white forms the usual clothing +of clergymen. If I extend the meaning of the word fast to include +slow, I might boldly declare that the Great Northern express is +a slow train. And the entire result of such use of language would +be, that no mortal would understand what I meant. + +Thus it is that I demur to any author's right to tell me that such +and such a thing is, or is not, 'the true life of man.' And when +he says 'that man wants life, means that the true life of man is +of another kind from this,' I reply to him, Tell me what is the +blessing man needs; Tell me, above all, where and how he is to get +it: but as to its name, I really do not care what you call it, so +you call it by some name that people will understand. Call it so +that people will know what you mean--Salvation, Glory, Happiness, +Holiness, Redemption, or what else you please. Do not mystify +us by saying we want life, and then, when we are startled by the +perfectly intelligible assertion, edge off by explaining that by +life you mean something quite different from what we do. There is +no good in that. If I were to declare that this evening, before +I sleep, I shall cross the Atlantic and go to America, my readers +would think the statement a sufficiently extraordinary one; but if, +after thus surprising them, I went on to explain that by the Atlantic +I did not mean the ocean, nor by America the western continent, but +that the Atlantic meant the village green, and America the squire's +house on the other side of it, I should justly gain credit for a +very silly mystification. As Nicholas Nickleby very justly remarked, +If Dotheboy's Hall is not a hall, why call it one? Mr. Squeers, in +his reply, no doubt stated the law of the case: If a man chooses +to call his house an island, what is to hinder him? If the author +of Man and his Dwelling-Place means to tell us only that we want +some spiritual capacity, which it pleases him to call life, but +which not one man in a million understands by that word, is he +not amusing himself at our expense by telling us we want life? We +know what we mean by being dead: our author means something quite +different. Let him speak for himself: + +That man wants life means that the true life of man is of another +kind from this. It corresponds to that true, absolute Being which +he as he now is cannot know. + +He cannot know it because he is out of relation with it. THIS IS +HIS DEADNESS. To know it is to have life. + +Yes, reader--this is his deadness! Something, that is, which no +plain mortal would ever understand by the word. When I told you, +a long time ago, that this book taught that man is dead and nature +living, was this what the words conveyed to you? + +Still, though there may be something not natural in the word, the +author's meaning is a broad and explicit one. For the want of that +which he calls our true life (he maintains) utterly distorts and +deforms this world to our view. Here is his statement as to the +things which surround us: + +There is not a physical world and a spiritual world besides; but +the spiritual world which alone is is physical to man, the physical +being the mode in which man, by his defectiveness, perceives the +spiritual. We feel a physical world to be: that which is is the +spiritual world. + +The phenomenon, that is, is physical: the fact is spiritual. A +tree looks to us material, because we want life: if we had life, +we should see that it is spiritual. Really, there is no such thing +as matter. Our own defectiveness makes us fancy that to be material +which in truth is spirilual. So I was misinterpreting the author, +when I said that all that we see in nature is there, and a great +deal more. The defect in us, it appears, not only subtracts from +nature, it transforms it. Not merely do we fail to discern that +which is in nature, we do actually discern that which is not in +nature. + +And to be delivered from all this deadness and delusion, what we +have to do is to betake ourselves to the Saviour. Christianity is +a system which starts from the fundamental principle that man is +dead, and proposes to make him alive. Under its working man gains +true life, otherwise called eternal life; and in gaining that life +he finds himself ipso facto conveyed into a spiritual world. This +world ceases to be physical to him, and becomes spiritual. + +Such are the great lines of the new theory as to Man and his +Dwelling-Place. Thus does our author interpret Nature. I trust and +believe that I have not in any way misrepresented or caricatured +his opinions. His Introduction sets out in outline the purport of +the entire book. The remainder of the volume is given to carrying +out these opinions into detail, as they are suggested by or as they +affect the entire system of things. It is divided into four Hooks. +Book I. treats Of Science; Book II. Of Philosophy; Book III. +Of Religion; Book IV. Of Ethics; and the volume is closed by four +dialogues between the Writer and Reader, in which, in a desultory +manner, the principles already set forth are further explained and +enforced. + +Early in the first chapter of the Book Of Science, the author +anticipates the obvious objection to his use of the terms Life +and Death. I do not think he succeeds in justifying the fashion in +which he employs them. But let him speak for himself: + +It may seem unnatural to speak of a conscious existence as a state +of death. But what is affirmed is, that a sensational existence such +as ours is not the life of MAN; that a consciousness of physical +life does itself imply a deadness. The affirmations that we are +living men, and that man has not true and absolute life, are not +opposed. Life is a relative term. Our possession of a conscious +life in relation to the things that we feel around us, is itself +the evidence of man's defect of life in a higher and truer sense. + +Let a similitude make the thought more clear. Are not we, as +individuals, at rest, steadfast in space; evidently so to our own +consciousness, demonstrably so in relation to the objects around +us? But is man at rest in space? By no means. We are all partakers +of a motion. Nay, if we were truly at rest, we could not have +this relative steadfastness, we should not beat rest to the things +around us: they would fleet and slip away. Our relative rest, and +consciousness of steadfastness, depend upon our being not at rest. +There are moving things, to which he only can be steadfast who is +moving too. Even Buch is the life of which we have consciousness. +We have a life in relation to these physical things, because man +wants life. True life in man would alter his relation to them. They +could not be the realities any more: he could not have a life in +them. As rest to moving things is not truly rest, but motion; so +life to inert things is not truly life, but deadness. + +Very ingeniously thought out: very skilfully put, with probably the +only illustration which would go on all fours. But to me all this +is extremely unsatisfactory: and unsatisfactory in a much farther +sense than merely that it is using terms in a non-natural sense. +I know, of course, that to look at Nature through blue spectacles +will make Nature blue: but I cannot see that to look at Nature through +dead eyes should make Nature dead. I see no proof that Nature, in +fact, is living and active, though it admittedly looks inert and +dead. And I can discover nothing more than a daring assertion, +in the statement that we are dead, and that we project our own +deadness upon living nature. I cannot see how to the purest and most +elevated of beings, a tree should look less solid than it does to +me. I cannot discover how greater purity of heart, and more entire +faith in Christ, should turn this material world into a world +of spirit. I doubt the doctrine that spirit in itself, as usually +understood (apart from its power of originating action) is a higher +and holier existence than matter. It seems to me that very much +from a wrong idea that it is, come those vague, unreal, intangible +notions as to the Christian Heaven, which do so much to make it a +chilly, unattractive thing, to human wishes and hopes. It is hard +enough for us to feel the reality of the things beyond the grave, +without having the additional stumbling-block cast in our way, of +being told that truly there is nothing real there for us to feel. +As for the following eloquent passage, in which our author subsequently +returns to the justification of his great doctrine, no more need +be said than that it is rhetoric, not logic:-- + +That man has not his true life, must have taken him long to learn. +All our prepossessions, all our natural convictions, are opposed +to that belief. If these activities, these powers, these capacities +of enjoyment and suffering, this consciousness of free will, this +command of the material world, be not life, what is life? What more +do we want to make us truly man? This is the feeling that has held +men captive, and biased all their thoughts so that they could not +perceive what they themselves were saying. + +Yet the sad undercurrent has belied the boast. From all ages and +all lands the cry of anguish, the prayer for life unconscious of +itself, has gone up to heaven. In groans and curses, in despair +and cruel rage, man pours out his secret to the universe; writing +it in blood, and lust, and savage wrong, upon the fair bosom of +the earth; he alone not knowing what he does. If this be the life +of man, what is his death? + +No doubt this would form a very eloquent and effective paragraph +in a popular sermon. But in a philosophic treatise, where an author +is tied to the severely precise use of terms, and where it will +not do to call a thing death merely because it is very bad, nor +to call a thing life merely because it is vry good, the argument +appears to have but little weight. + +You must see, intelligent reader, that one thing which we are +entitled to require our author to satisfactorily prove, is the fact +that Nature is not inert, as it appears to man. If you can make +it certain that Nature is living and active, then, no doubt, some +explanation will be needful as to how it comes to look so different +to us; though, even then, I do not see that it necessarily follows +that the inertness is to be supposed to exist in ourselves. But +unless the author can prove that Nature is not inert, he has no +foundation to build on. He states three arguments, from which he +derives the grand principle:-- + +1. Inertness necessarily belongs to all phenomena. That which is +only felt to be, and does not truly or absolutely exist, must have +the character of inaction. It must be felt as passive A phenomenon +must be inert because it is a phenomenon. We cannot argue from +inertness in that which appears to us, to inertness in that which +is. Of whatsoever kind the essence of nature may be, if it be +unknown, the phenomenon must be equally inert. We have no ground, +therefore, in the inertness which we feel, for affirming of nature +that it is inert. We must feel it so, by virtue of our known relation +to it, as not perceiving its essence. + +2. The question, therefore, rests entirely upon its own evidence. +Since we have no reason, from the inertness of the phenomenal, for +inferring the inertness of the essential, can we know whether that +essential be inert or not? We can know. Inertness, as being absolute +inaction, cannot belong to that which truly is. Being and absolute +inaction are contraries. Inertness, therefore, must be a property +by which the phenomenal differs from the essential or absolute. + +3. Again, nature does act: it acts upon us, or we could not perceive +it at all. The true being of nature is active therefore. That we +feel it otherwise shows that we do not feel it as it is. We must +look for the source of nature's apparent or felt inertness in +man's condition. Never should man have thought to judge of nature +without remembering his own defectiveness. + +Such are the grounds upon which rests the belief, that nature is +not inert. It appears to me that there is little force in them. +To a great extent they are mere assumptions and assertions; and +anything they contain in the nature of argument is easily answered. + +First: Why must every phenomenon be felt as inert? Why must a +'phenomenon be inert because it is a phenomenon?' I cannot see why. +We know nothing but phenomena; that is, things as they appear to +us. Where did we get the ideas of life and activity, if not from +phenomena? Many things appear to us to have life and activity. That +is, there are phenomena which are not inert. + +Secondly: Wherefore should we conclude that the phenomenon differs +essentially from the fact? The phenomenon is the fact-as-discerned-by-us. +And granting that our defectiveness forbids our having a full and +complete discernment of the fact, why should we doubt that our +discernment is right so far as it goes? It is incomparably more +likely that things (not individual things, but the entire system, +I mean) are what they seem, than that they are not. Why believe +that we are gratuitously and needlessly deluded? God made the +universe; he placed us in it; he gave us powers whereby to discern +it. Is it reasonable to think that he did so in a fashion so +blundering or so deceitful that we can only discern it wrong? And +if nature seems inert, is not the rational conclusion that it is +so? + +Thirdly: Why cannot 'inertness, as being absolute inaction, belong +to that which truly is?' Why cannot a thing exist without doing +anything? Is not that just what millions of things actually do? Or +if you intend to twist the meaning of the substantive verb, and to +say that merely to be is to do something,--that simply to exist is +a certain form of exertion and action,--I shall grant, of course, +that nothing whatever that exists is in that sense inert; but I shall +affirm that you use the word inert in quite a different sense from +the usual one. And in that extreme and non-natural sense of the +word, the phenomenon is no more inert than is the essence. Certainly +things seem to us to be: and if just to be is to be active, then +no phenomenon is inert; no single thing discerned by us appears to +be inert. + +Fourthly: I grant that 'nature does act upon us, or we could not +perceive it at all.' But then I maintain that this kind of action +is not action as men understand the word. This kind of action is +quite consistent with the general notion of inertness. A thing may +be inert, as mankind understand the word; and also active, as the +author of this book understands the word. To discern this sort of +activity and life in nature we have no need to 'pass from death to +life' ourselves. We simply need to have the thing pointed out to +us, and it is seen at once. It is playing with words to say that +nature acts upon us, or we could not perceive it. No doubt, when +you stand before a tree, and look at it, it does act in so far as +that it depicts itself upon your retina; but that action is quite +consistent with what we understand by inertness. It does not +matter whether you say that your eye takes hold of the tree, or +that the tree takes hold of your eye. When you hook a trout, you +may say either that you catch the fish, or that the fish catches +you. Is the alternative worth fighting about? Which is the natural +way of speaking: to say that the man sees the tree, or that the tree +shows itself to the man? All the activity which our author claims +for nature goes no farther than that. Our reply is that that is +not activity at all. If that is all he contends for, we grant it at +once; and we say that it is not in the faintest degree inconsistent +with the fact of nature's being inert, as that word is understood. +You come and tell me that Mr. Smith has just passed your window +flying. I say no; I saw him; he was not flying, but walking. Ah, you +reply, I hold that walking is an indicate flying; it is a rudimentary +flying, the lowest form of flying; and therefore I maintain that he +flew past the window. My friend, I answer, if it be any satisfaction +to you to use words in that way, do so and rejoice; only do not +expect any human being to understand what you mean; and beware of +the lunatic asylum. + +Why, I ask again, are we to cry down man for the sake of crying up +nature? Why are we to depreciate the dweller that we may magnify the +dwelling-place? Is not, man (to say the least) one of the works of +God? Did not God make, both man and nature? And does not Revelation +(which our author holds in so deep reverence) teach that man was +the last and noblest of the handiworks of the Creator? And thus it +is that I do not hesitate to answer such a question as that which +follows, and to answer it contrariwise to what the author expects. +It is from the human soul that glory and meaning are projected +upon inanimate nature. To Newton, and to Newton's dog, the outward +creation was physically the same; to the apprehension of Newton +and of Newton's dog, how different! Hear the author:-- + +To this clear issue the case is brought: Man does introduce into +nature something from himself: either the inertness, the negative +qualily, the defect, or the beauty, the meaning, the glory. Either +that whereby the world is noble comes from ourselves, or that +whereby it is mean; that which it has, or that which it wants. Can +it be doubtful which it is? + +Not in the least! Give me the rational and immortal man, made in +God's image, rather than the grandest oak which the June sunbeams +will be warming when you read this, my friend--rather than the most +majestic mountain which by and bye will be purple with the heather. +Reason, immortality, love, and faith, are things liker God than ever +so many cubic feet of granite, than ever so many loads of timber. +'Behold,' says Archer Butler, 'we stand alone in the universe! +Earth, air, and ocean can show us nothing so awful as we!' + +You fancy, says our author, that Nature is inert, because it goes +on in so constant and unvarying a course. You know, says he, what +conscious exertion it costs you to produce physical changes; you can +trace no such exertion in Nature. You would believe, says he, that +Nature is active, but for the fact that her doings are all conformed +to laws that you can trace. But invariableness, he maintains, is +no proof of inaction. RIGHT ACTION is invariable; RIGHT ACTION is +absolutely conformed to law. Why, therefore, should not the secret +of nature's invariableness be, not passiveness, but rightness?' The +unchanging uniformity of Nature's course proves her holiness--her +willing, unvarying obedience to the Divine law. 'The invariableness +of Nature bespeaks Holiness as its cause.' + +May we not think upon all this (not dogmatically) in some such +fashion as this? + +Which is likelier: + +1. That Nature has it in her power to vary from the well-known laws +of Nature; that she could disobey God if she pleased; but that she +is so holy that she could not think of such a thing, and so through +all ages has never swerved once. Or, + +2. That Nature is bound by laws which she has not the power to +disobey; that she is what she looks, an inanimate, passive, inert +thing, actuated, as her soul and will, by the will of the Creator? + +And to aid in considering which alternative is the likelier, let it +be remembered that Revelation teaches that this is a fallen world; +that experience proves that this world is not managed upon any +system of optimism; that in this creation things are constantly +going wrong; and especially, that all history gives no account of +any mere creature whose will was free to do either good or ill; and +yet who did not do ill frequently. Is it likely that to all this +there is one entire exception; one thing, and that so large a +thing as all inanimate nature, perfectly obedient, perfectly holy, +perfectly right-and all by its own free will? I grant there is +something touching in the author's eloquent words:-- + +Because she is right, Nature is ours: more truly ours than we +ourselves. We turn from the inward ruin to the outward glory, and +marvel at the contrast. But we need not marvel: it is the difference +of life and death: piercing the dimness even of man's darkened +sense, jarring upon his fond illusion like waking realities upon +a dream. Without is living holiness, within is deathly wrong. + +Let the reader, ever remembering that in such cases analogy is not +argument but illustration--that it makes a doctrine clearer, but +does not in any degree confirm it--read the chapter entitled 'Of +the illustration from Astronomy.' It will tend to make the great +doctrine of Man and his Dwelling-Place comprehensible; you will +see exactly what it is, although you may not think it true. As +astronomy has transferred the apparent movements of the planets +from them to ourselves, so, says our author, has science transferred +the seeming inertness of Nature from it to us. The phenomenon of +Nature is physical and inert: the being is spiritual and active +and holy. And if we now seem to have an insuperable conviction that +Man is not inert and that Nature is inert, it is not stronger than +our apparent consciousness that the earth is unmoving. Man lives +under illusion as to himself and as to the universe. Reason, indeed, +furnishes him with the means of correcting that illusion; but in +that illusion is his want of life. + +Strong in his conviction of the grand principle which he has +established, as he conceives, in his first book, the author, in +his second book, goes crashing through all systems of philosophy. +His great doctrine makes havock of them all. All are wrong; though +each may have some grain of truth in it. The Idealists are right +in so far as that there is no such thing as Matter. Matter is the +vain imagination of man through his wrong idea of Nature's inertness. +But the Idealists are wrong if they fancy that because there is +no Matter, there is nothing but Mind, and ideas in Mind. Nature, +though spiritual, has a most real and separate existence. Then the +sceptics are right in so far as they doubt what our author thinks +wrong; but they are wrong in so far as they doubt what our author +thinks right. Positivism is right in so far as it teaches that we +see all things relatively to ourselves, and so wrongly; but it is +wrong in teaching that what things are in themselves is no concern +of ours, and that we should live on as though things were what they +seem. + +If it were not that the reader of Man and his Dwelling-Place is +likely, after the shock of the first grand theory, that Man is dead +and the Universe living, to receive with comparative coolness any +further views set out in the book, however strange, I should say +that probably, the third Book, 'Of Religion,' would startle him more +than anything else in the work. Although this Book stands third in +the volume, it is first both in importance and in chronology. For +the author tells us that his views Of Religion are not deduced from +the theoretical conceptions already stated, but have been drawn +immediately from the study of Scripture, and that from them the +philosophical ideas are mainly derived. And indeed it is perfectly +marvellous what doctrines men will find in Scripture, or deduce +from Scripture. Is there not something curious in the capacity of +the human mind, while glancing along the sacred volume, to find +upon its pages both what suits its prevailing mood and its firm +conviction at the time? You feel buoyant and cheerful: you open +your Bible and read it; what a cheerful, hopeful book it is! You are +depressed and anxious: you open your Bible; surely it was written +for people in your present frame of mind! It is wonderful to what +a degree the Psalms especially suit the mood and temper of all +kinds of readers in every conceivable position. I can imagine the +poor suicide, stealing towards the peaceful river, and musing on a +verse of a psalm. I can imagine the joyful man, on the morning of +a marriage day which no malignant relatives have embittered, finding +a verse which will seem like the echo of his cheerful temper. And +passing from feeling to understanding, it is remarkable how, when +a man is possessed with any strong belief, he will find, as he +reads the Bible, not only many things which appear to him expressly +to confirm his view, but something in the entire tenor of what he +reads that appears to harmonize with it. I doubt not the author +of Man and his Dwelling-Place can hardly open the Bible at random +without chancing upon some passage which he regards as confirmatory +of his opinions. I am quite sure that to ordinary men his opinions +will appear flally to conflict with the Bible's fundamental +teaching. It has already been indicated in this essay in what sense +the statements of the New Testament to the following effect are to +be understood:-- + +The writers of the New Testament declare man to be dead. They speak +of men as not having life, and tell of a life to be given them. If, +therefore, our thoughts were truly conformed to the New Testament, +how could it seem a strange thing to us that this state of man should +be found a state of death; how should its very words, reaffirmed +by science, excite our surprise? Would it not have appeared to us +a natural result of the study of nature to prove man dead? Might +we not, if we had truly accepted the words of Scripture, have +anticipated that it should be so? For, if man be rightly called +dead, should not that condition have affected his experience, and +ought not a discovery of that fact to be the issue of his labours +to ascertain his true relation to the universe? Why does it seem +a thing incredible to us that man should be really, actually dead: +dead in such a sense as truly to affect his being, and determine +his whole state? Why have we been using words which affirm him dead +in our religious speech, and feel startled at finding them proved +true in another sphere of inquiry? + +It is indeed true--it is a thing to be taken as a fundamental truth +in reading the Bible--that in a certain sense man is dead, and is +to be made alive; and the analogy which obtains between natural +death and what in theological language is called spiritual death, +is in several respects so close and accurate that we feel that it +is something more than a strong figure when the New Testament says +such things as 'You hath he quickened who were dead in trespasses +and sins.' But it tends only to confusion to seek to identify +things so thoroughly different as natural and spiritual death. It +is trifling with a man to say to him 'You are dead!' and having +thus startled him, to go on to explain that you mean spiritually +dead. 'Oh,' he will reply, 'I grant you that I may be dead in that +sense, and possibly that is the more important sense, but it is +not the sense in which words are commonly understood.' I can see, +of course, various points of analogy between ordinary death and +spiritual death. Does ordinary death render a man insensible to +the presence of material things? Then spiritual death renders him +heedless of spiritual realities, of the presence of God, of the +value of salvation, of the closeness of eternity. Does natural death +appear in utter helplessness and powerlessness? So does spiritual +death render a man incapable of spiritual action and exertion. Has +natural death its essence in the entire separation it makes between +dead and living? So has spiritual death its essence in the separation +of the soul from God. But, after all, these things do but show an +analogy between natural death and spiritual: they do not show that +the things are one; they do not show that in the strict unfigurative +use of terms man's spiritual condition is one of death. They show +that man's spiritual condition is very like death; that is all. It +is so like as quite to justify the assertion in Scripture: it is not +so identical as to justify the introduction of a new philosophical +phrase. It is perfectly true that Christianity is described in +Scripture as a means for bringing men from death to life; but it +is also described, with equal meaning, as a means for bringing men +from darkness to light. And it is easy to trace the analogy between +man's spiritual condition and the condition of one in darkness--between +man's redeemed condition and the condition of one in light; but surely +it would be childish to announce, as a philosophical discovery, +that all men are blind, because they cannot see their true interests +and the things that most concern them. They are not blind in the +ordinary sense, though they may be blind in a higher; neither are +they dead in the ordinary sense, though they may be in a higher. +And only confusion, and a sense of being misled and trifled with, +can follow from the pushing figure into fact and trying to identify +the two. + +Stripping our author's views of the unusual phraseology in which +they are disguised, they do, so far as regards the essential fact +of man's loss and redemption, coincide exactly with the orthodox +teaching of the Church of England. Man is by nature and sinfulness +in a spiritual sense dead; dead now, and doomed to a worse death +hereafter. By believing in Christ he at once obtains some share of +a better spiritual life, and the hope of a future life which shall +be perfectly holy and happy. Surely this is no new discovery. It +is the type of Christianity implied in the Liturgy of the Church, +and weekly set out from her thousands of pulpits. The startling +novelties of Man and his Dwelling-Place are in matters of detail. +He holds that fearful thing, Damnation, which orthodox views push +off into a future world, to be a present thing. It is now men are +damned. It is now men are in hell. Wicked men are now in a state +of damnation: they are now in hell. The common error arises from +our thinking damnation a state of suffering. It is not. It is a +state of something worse than suffering, viz., of sin:-- + +We find it hard to believe that damnation can he a thing men +like. But does not--what every being likes depend on what it is? +Is corruption less corruption, in man's view, because worms like +it? Is damnation less damnation, in God's view, because men like +it? And God's view is simply the truth. Surely one object of a +revelation must be to show us things from God's view of them, that +is. as they truly are. Sin truly is damnation, though to us it is +pleasure. That sin is pleasure to us, surely is the evil part of +our condition. + +And indeed it is to be admitted that there is a great and +much-forgotten truth implied here. It is a very poor, and low, and +inadequate idea of Christianity, to think of it merely as something +which saves from suffering--as something which saves us from hell, +regarded merely as a place of misery. The Christian salvation is +mainly a deliverance from sin. The deliverance is primarily from +moral evil; and only secondarily from physical or moral pain. 'Thou +shalt call His name Jesus, for He shall save His people from their +sins.' No doubt this is very commonly forgotten. No doubt the vulgar +idea of salvation and perdition founds on the vulgar belief that +pain is the worst of all things, and happiness the best of all +things. It is well that the coarse and selfish type of religion +which founds on the mere desire to escape from burning and to lay +hold of bliss, should be corrected by the diligent instilling of +the belief, that sin is worse than sorrow. The Saviour's compassion, +though ever ready to well out at the sight of suffering, went forth +most warmly at the sight of sin. + +Here I close the book, not because there is not much more in it +that well deserves notice, but because I hope that what has here +been said of it will induce the thoughtful reader to study it for +himself, and because I have space to write no more. It is a May +afternoon; not that on which the earliest pages of my article were +written, but a week after it. I have gone at the ox-fence at last, +and got over it with several contusions. Pardon me, unknown author, +much admired for your ingenuity, your earnestness, your originality, +your eloquence, if I have written with some show of lightness +concerning your grave book. Very far, if you could know it, was +any reality of lightness from your reviewer's feeling. He is non +ignarus mali: he has had his full allotment of anxiety and care; +and he hails with you the prospect of a day when human nature shall +cast off its load of death, and when sinful and sorrowful man shall +be brought into a beautiful conformity to external nature. Would +that Man were worthy of his Dwelling-place as it looks upon this +summer-like day! Open, you latticed window: let the cool breeze +come into this somewhat feverish room. Again, the tree-tops; again +the white stones and green graves; again the lambs, somewhat larger; +again the distant hill. Again I think of Cheapside, far away. Yet +there is trouble here. Not a yard of any of those hedges but has +worried its owner in watching that it be kept tight, that sheep or +cattle may not break through. Not a gate I see but screwed a few +shillings out of the anxious farmer's pocket, and is always going +wrong. Not a field but either the landlord squeezed the tenant in +the matter of rent, or the tenant cheated the landlord. Not the +smoke of a cottage but marks where pass lives weighted down with +constant care, and with little end save the sore struggle to keep +the wolf from the door. Not one of these graves, save perhaps the +poor friendless tramp's in the corner, but was opened and closed to +the saddening of certain hearts. Here are lives of error, sleepless +nights, over-driven brains; wayward children, unnatural parents, +though of these last, God be thanked, very few. Yes, says Adam +Bede, 'there's a sort of wrong that can never be made up for.' No +doubt we are dead: when shall we be quickened to a better life? +Surely, as it is, the world is too good for man. And I agree, most +cordially and entirely, with the author of this book, that there +is but one agency in the universe that can repress evil here, and +extinguish it hereafter. + + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +LIFE AT THE WATER CURE + + + + +[Footnote: A Month at Malvern, under the Water Cure. By R. J. Lane, +A. E. R. A. Third Edition. Reconsidered--Rewritten, London: John +Mitchell. 1855. + +Spirits and Water. By R. J. L. London: John Mitchell. 1855. + +Confessions of a Water-Patient. By Sir E. B. Lytton, Bart. + +Hints to the Side, the Lame, and the Lazy: or, Passages in the Life +of a Hydropathist. By a Veteran. London: John Ollivier. 1848.] + +All our readers, of course, have heard of the Water Cure; and many +of them, we doubt not, have in their own minds ranked it among +those eccentric medical systems which now and then spring up. are +much talked of for a while, and finally sink into oblivion. The +mention of the Water Cure is suggestive of galvanism, homoepathy, +mesmerism, the grape cure, the bread cure, the mud-bath cure, and +of the views of that gentleman who maintained that almost all the +evils, physical and moral, which assail the constitution of man, +are the result of the use of salt as an article of food, and may be +avoided by ceasing to employ that poisonous and immoral ingredient. +Perhaps there is a still more unlucky association with life pills, +universal vegetable medicines, and the other appliances of that +coarser quackery which yearly brings hundreds of gullible Britons +to their graves, and contributes thousands of pounds in the form +of stamp-duty to the revenue of this great and enlightened country. + +It is a curious phase of life that is presented at a Water +Cure establishment. The Water Cure system cannot be carried out +satisfactorily except at an establishment prepared for the purpose. +An expensive array of baths is necessary; so are well-trained bath +servants, and an experienced medical man to watch the process of +cure: the mode of life does not suit the arrangements of a family, +and the listlessness of mind attendant on the water-system quite +unfits a man for any active employment. There must be pure country +air to breathe, a plentiful supply of the best water, abundant means +of taking exercise--Sir E. B. Lytton goes the length of maintaining +that mountains to climb are indispensable;--and to enjoy all these +advantages one must go to a hydropathic establishment. It may +be supposed that many odd people are to be met at such a place; +strong-minded women who have broken through the trammels of the +Faculty, and gone to the Water Cure in spite of the warnings of +their medical men, and their friends' kind predictions that they +would never live to come back; and hypochondriac men, who have tried +all quack remedies in vain, and who have come despairingly to try +one which, before trying it, they probably looked to as the most +violent and perilous of all. And the change of life is total. You +may have finished your bottle of port daily for twenty years, but +at the Water Cure you must perforce practise total abstinence. For +years you may never have tasted fair water, but here you will get +nothing else to drink, and you will have to dispose of your seven +or eight tumblers a day. You may have been accustomed to loll in +bed of a morning till nine or ten o'clock; but here you must imitate +those who would thrive, and 'rise at five:' while the exertion is +compensated by your having to bundle off to your chamber at 9.30 p. +M. You may long at breakfast for your hot tea, and if a Scotchman, +for your grouse pie or devilled kidneys; but you will be obliged +to make up with the simpler refreshment of bread and milk, with the +accompaniment of stewed Normandy pippins. You may have been wont +to spend your days in a fever of business, in a breathless hurry +and worry of engagements to be met and matters to be seen to; but +after a week under the Water Cure, you will find yourself stretched +listlessly upon grassy banks in the summer noon, or sauntering +all day beneath the horse-chestnuts of Sudbrook, with a mind as +free from business cares as if you were numbered among Tennyson's +lotos-eaters, or the denizens of Thomson's Castle of Indolence. And +with God's blessing upon the pure element He has given us in such +abundance, you will shortly (testibus Mr. Lane and Sir E. B. Lytton) +experience other changes as complete, and more agreeable. You will +find that the appetite which no dainty could tempt, now discovers +in the simplest fare a relish unknown since childhood. You will +find the broken rest and the troubled dreams which for years have +made the midnight watches terrible, exchanged for the long refreshful +sleep that makes one mouthful of the night. You will find the +gloom and depression and anxiety which were growing your habitual +temper, succeeded by a lightness of heart and buoyancy of spirit +which you cannot account for, but which you thankfully enjoy. We +doubt not that some of our readers, filled with terrible ideas as +to the violent and perilous nature of the Water Cure, will give +us credit for some strength of mind when we tell them that we have +proved for ourselves the entire mode of life; we can assure them +that there is nothing so very dreadful about it; and we trust they +may not smile at us as harmlessly monomaniacal when we say that, +without going the lengths its out-and-out advocates do, we believe +that in certain states of health much benefit may really be +derived from the system, Sir E. B. Lytton's eloquent Confessions +of a Water-Patient have been before the public for some years. The +Hints to the Sick, the Lame, and the Lazy, give us an account of +the ailments and recovery of an old military officer, who, after +suffering severety from gout, was quite set up by a few weeks at a +hydropathic establishment at Marienberg on the Rhine; and who, by +occasional recurrence to the same remedy, is kept in such a state +of preservation that, though advanced in years, he 'is able to go +eight miles within two hours, and can go up hill with most young +fellows.' The old gentleman's book, with its odd woodcuts, and a +certain freshness and incorrectness of style--we speak grammatically--in +keeping with the character of an old soldier, is readable enough. +Mr. Lane's books are far from being well written; the Spirits and +Water, especially, is extremely poor stuff. The Month at Malvern +is disfigured by similar faults of style; but Mr. Lane has really +something to tell us in that work: and there is a good deal +of interest at once in knowing how a man who had been reduced to +the last degree of debility of body and mind, was so effectually +restored, that now for years he has, on occasion, proved himself +equal to a forty-miles' walk among the Welsh mountains on a warm +summer day; and also in remarking the boyish exhilaration of spirits +in which Mr. Lane writes, which he tells us is quite a characteristic +result of 'initiation into the excitements of the Water Cure.' + +Mr. Lane seems to have been in a very bad way. He gives an appalling +account of the medical treatment under which he had suffered for +nearly thirty years. In spite of it all he found, at the age of +forty-five, that his entire system was showing signs of breaking up. +He was suffering from neuralgia, which we believe means something +like tic-douloureux extending over the whole body; he was threatened +with paralysis, which had advanced so far as to have benumbed his +right side; his memory was going; his mind was weakened; he was, +in his own words, 'no use to anybody:' there were deep cracks +round the edge of his tongue; his throat was ulcerated; in short, +he was in a shocking state, and never likely to be better. Like many +people in such sad circumstances, lie had tried all other remedies +before thinking of the Water Cure; he had resorted to galvanism, +and so forth, but always got worse. At length, on the 13th of May, +1845, Mr. Lane betook himself to Malvern, where Dr. Wilson presides +over one of the largest cold-water establishments in the kingdom. +In those days there were some seventy patients in residence, but +the new-comer was pleased to find that there was nothing repulsive +in the appearance of any of his confreres,--a consideration +of material importance, inasmuch as the patients breakfast, dine, +and sup together. Nothing could have a more depressing effect upon +any invalid, than to be constantly surrounded by a crowd of people +manifestly dying, or afflicted with visible and disagreeable disease. +The fact is, judging from our own experience, that the people who +go to the Water Cure are for the most part not suffering from real +and tangible ailments, but from maladies of a comparatively fanciful +kind,--such as low spirits, shattered nerves, and lassitude, the +result of overwork. And our readers may be disposed to think, with +ourselves, that the change of air and scene, the return to a simple +and natural mode of life, and the breaking off from the cares +and engagements of business, have quite as much to do with their +restoration as the water-system, properly so called. + +The situation of Malvern is well adapted to the successful use of +the water system. Sir E. B. Lytton tells us that 'the air of Malvern +is in itself hygeian: the water is immemorially celebrated for its +purity: the landscape is a perpetual pleasure to the eye.' The +neighbouring hills offer the exercise most suited to the cure: +Priessnitz said 'One must have mountains:' and Dr. Wilson told Mr. +Lane, in answer to a remark that the Water Cure had failed at Bath +and Cheltenham, that 'no good and difficult cures can be made in low +or damp situations, by swampy grounds, or near the beds of rivers.' + +The morning after his arrival, Mr. Lane fairly entered upon the +Water System: and his diary for the following month shows us that +his time was fully occupied by baths of one sort or another, and +by the needful exercise before and after these. The patient is +gradually brought under the full force of hydropathy: some of the +severer appliances--such as the plunge-bath after packing, and the +douche--not being employed till he has been in some degree seasoned +and strung up for them. A very short time sufficed to dissipate +the notion that there is anything violent or alarming about the +Water Cure; and to convince the patient that every part of it is +positively enjoyable. There was no shock to the system: there was +nothing painful: no nauseous medicines to swallow; no vile bleeding +and blistering. Sitz-baths, foot-baths, plunge-baths, douches, and +wet-sheet packings, speedily began to do their work upon Mr. Lane; +and what with bathing, walking, hill-climbing, eating and drinking, +and making up fast friendships with some of his brethren of the +Water Cure, he appears to have had a very pleasant time of it. He +tells us that he found that-- + +The palliative and soothing effects of the water treatment are +established immediately; and the absence of all irritation begets +a lull, as instantaneous in its effects upon the frame as that +experienced in shelter from the storm. + +A sense of present happiness, of joyous spirits, of confidence in +my proceedings, possesses me on this, the third day of my stay. I +do nut say that it is reasonable to experience this sudden accession, +or that everybody is expected to attribute it to the course of +treatment so recently commenced. I only say, so it is; and I look +for a confirmation of this happy frame of mind, when supported by +renewed strength of body. + +To the same effect Sir E. B. Lytton: + +Cares and griefs are forgotten: the sense of the present absorbs +the past and future: there is a certain freshness and youth which +pervade the spirits, and live upon the enjoyment of the actual +hour. + +And the author of the Hints to the Sick, &c.: + +Should my readers find me prosy, I hope that they will pardon an +old fellow, who looks back to his Water Cure course as one of the +most delightful portions of a tolerably prosperous life. + +When shall we find the subjects of the established system of medical +treatment growing eloquent on the sudden accession of spirits +consequent on a blister applied to the chest; the buoyancy of heart +which attends the operation of six dozen leeches; the youthful +gaiety which results from the 'exhibition' of a dose of castor oil? +It is no small recommendation of the water system, that it makes +people so jolly while under it. + +But it was not merely present cheerfulness that Mr. Lane experienced: +day by day his ailments were melting away. When he reached Malvern +he limped painfully, and found it impossible to straighten his +right leg, from a strain in the knee. In a week he 'did not know +that he had a knee.' We are not going to follow the detail of his +symptoms: suffice it to say that the distressing circumstances +already mentioned gradually disappeared; every day he felt stronger +and better; the half-paralysed side got all right again; mind and +body alike recovered their tone: the 'month at Malvern' was followed +up by a course of hydropathic treatment at home, such as the +exigencies of home-life will permit; and the upshot of the whole +was, lhat from being a wretched invalid, incapable of the least +exertion, mental or physical, Mr. Lane was permanently brought to +a state of health and strength, activity and cheerfulness. All this +improvement he has not the least hesitation in ascribing to the +virtue of the Water Cure; and after eight or ten years' experience +of the system and its results, his faith in it is stronger than +ever. + +In quitting Malvern, the following is his review of the sensations +of the past month:-- + +I look back with astonishment at the temper of mind which has +prevailed over the great anxieties that, heavier than my illness, +had been bearing their weight upon me. Weakness of body had been +chiefly oppressive, because by it I was deprived of the power of +alleviating those anxieties; and now, with all that accumulation +of mental pressure, with my burden in full cry, and even gaining +upon me during the space thus occupied, I have to reflect upon time +passed in merriment, and attended by never-failing joyous spirits. + +To the distress of mind occasioned by gathering ailments, was added +the pain of banishment from home; and yet I have been translated +to a life of careless ease. Any one whose knowledge of the solid +weight that I carried to this place would qualify him to estimate +the state of mind in which I left my home, might well be at a +loss to appreciate the influences which had suddenly soothed and +exhilarated my whole nature, until alacrity of mind and healthful +gaiety became expansive, and the buoyant spirit on the surface was +stretched to unbecoming mirth and lightness of heart. + +So much for Mr. Lane's experience of the Water Cure. As to its +power in acute disease we shall speak hereafter; but its great +recommendations in all cases where the system has been broken down +by overwork, are (if we are to credit its advocates) two: first, it +braces up body and mind, and restores their healthy tone, in a way +that nothing else can; and next, the entire operation by which all +this is accomplished, is a course of physical and mental enjoyment. + +But by this time we can imagine our readers asking with some +impatience, what is the Water Cure? What is the precise nature of +all those oddly-named appliances by which it produces its results? +Now this is just what we are going to explain; but we have artfully +and deeply sought to set out the benefits ascribed to the system +before doing so, in the hope that that large portion of the human +race which reads Fraser may feel the greater interest in the +details which follow, when each of the individuals who compose it +remembers, that these sitzes and douches are not merely the things +which set up Sir E. B. Lytton, Mr. Lane, and our old military +friend, but are the things which may some day be called on to revive +his own sinking strength and his own drooping spirits. And as the +treatment to which all water patients are subjected appears to +be much the same, we shall best explain the nature of the various +baths by describing them as we ourselves found them. + +Our story is a very simple one. Some years since, after many terms +of hard College work, we found our strength completely break down. +We were languid and dispirited; everything was an effort: we felt +that whether study in our case had 'made the mind' or not, it had +certainly accomplished the other result which Festus ascribes to +it, and 'unmade the body.' We tried sea-bathing, cod-liver oil, +and everything else that medical men prescribe to people done up +by over study; but nothing did much good. Finally, we determined +to throw physic to the dogs, and to try a couple of months at +the Water Cure. It does cost an effort to make up one's mind to +go there, not only because the inexperienced in the matter fancy +the water system a very perilous one, but also because one's +steady-going friends, on hearing of our purpose, are apt to shake +their heads,--perhaps even to tap their foreheads,--to speak +doubtfully of our common sense, and express a kind hope--behind +our backs, especially--that we are not growing fanciful and +hypochondriac, and that we may not end in writing testimonials in +favour of Professor Holloway. We have already said that to have +the full benefit of the Water Cure, one must go to a hydropathic +establishment. There are numbers of these in Germany, and all along +the Rhine; and there are several in England, which are conducted in +a way more accordant with our English ideas. At Malvern we believe +there are two; there is a large one at Ben Rhydding, in Yorkshire; +one at Sudbrook Park, between Richmond and Ham; and another at Moor +Park, near Farnham. Its vicinity to London led us to prefer the +one at Sudbrook; and on a beautiful evening in the middle of May +we found our way down through that garden-like country, so green +and rich to our eyes, long accustomed to the colder landscapes of +the north. Sudbrook Park is a noble place. The grounds stretch for +a mile or more along Richmond Park, from which they are separated +only by a wire fence; the trees are magnificent, the growth of centuries, +and among them are enormous hickories, acacias, and tulip-trees; +while horse-chestnuts without number make a very blaze of floral +illumination through the leafy month of June. Richmond-hill, with +its unrivalled views, rises from Sudbrook Park; and that eerie-looking +Ham House, the very ideal of the old English manor-house, with +its noble avenues which make twilight walks all the summer day, is +within a quarter of a mile. As for the house itself, it is situated +at the foot of the slope on whose summit Lord John Russell's house +stands; it is of great extent, and can accommodate a host of +patients, though when we were there, the number of inmates was less +than twenty. It is very imposing externally; but the only striking +feature of its interior is the dining-room, a noble hall of forty +feet in length, breadth, and height. It is wainscoted with black +oak, which some vile wretch of a water doctor painted white, on +the ground that it darkened the room. As for the remainder of the +house, it is divided into commonplace bed-rooms and sitting-rooms, +and provided with bathing appliances of every conceivable kind. +On arriving at a water establishment, the patient is carefully +examined, chiefly to discover if anything be wrong about the heart, +as certain baths would have a most injurious effect should that +be so. The doctor gives his directions to the bath attendant as +to the treatment to be followed, which, however, is much the same +with almost all patients. The newcomer finds a long table in the +dining-hall, covered with bread and milk, between six and seven +in the evening; and here he makes his evening meal with some wry +faces. At half-past nine p. m. he is conducted to his chamber, a +bare little apartment, very plainly furnished. The bed is a narrow +little thing, with no curtains of any kind. One sleeps on a mattress, +which feels pretty hard at first. The jolly and contented looks +of the patients had tended somewhat to reassure us; still, we had +a nervous feeling that we were fairly in for it, and could not +divest ourselves of some alarm as to the ordeal before us; so we +heard the nightingale sing for many hours before we closed our eyes +on that first night at Sudbrook Park. + +It did not seem a minute since we had fallen asleep, when we were +awakened by some one entering our room, and by a voice which said, +'I hef come tu pack yew.' It was the bath-man, William, to whose +charge we had been given, and whom we soon came to like exceedingly; +a most good-tempered, active, and attentive little German. We were +very sleepy, and inquired as to the hour; it was five a.m. There +was no help for it, so we scrambled out of bed and sat on a chair, +wrapped in the bed-clothes, watching William with sleepy eyes. He +spread upon our little bed a very thick and coarse double blanket; +he then produced from a tub what looked like a thick twisted cable, +which he proceeded to unroll. It was a sheet of coarse linen, wrung +out of the coldest water. And so here was the terrible wet sheet +of which we had heard so much. We shuddered with terror. William +saw our trepidation, and said, benevolently, 'Yew vill soon like +him mosh.' He spread out the wet sheet upon the thick blanket, +and told us to strip and lie down upon it. Oh! it was cold as ice! +William speedily wrapped it around us. Awfully comfortless was the +first sensation. We tried to touch the cold damp thing at as few +points as possible. It would not do. William relentlessly drew +the blanket tight round us; every inch of our superficies felt the +chill of the sheet. Then he placed above us a feather bed, cut out +to fit about the head, and stretched no end of blankets over all. +'How long are we to be here?' was our inquiry. 'Fifty minutes,' +said William, and disappeared. So there we were, packed in the wet +sheet, stretched on our back, our hands pinioned by our sides, as +incapable of moving as an Egyptian mummy in its swathes. 'What on +earth shall we do,' we remember thinking, 'if a fire breaks out?' +Had a robber entered and walked off with our watch and money, we +must have lain and looked at him, for we could not move a finger. +By the time we had thought all this, the chilly, comfortless feeling +was gone; in ten minutes or less, a sensation of delicious languor +stole over us: in a little longer we were fast asleep. We have +had many a pack since, and we may say that the feeling is most +agreeable when one keeps awake; body and mind are soothed into an +indescribable tranquillity; the sensation is one of calm, solid +enjoyment. In fifty minutes William returned. He removed the blankets +and bed which covered us, but left us enveloped in the sheet and +coarse blanket. By this time the patient is generally in a profuse +perspiration. William turned us round, and made us slip out of bed +upon our feet; then slightly loosing the lower part of our cerements +so that we could walk with difficulty, he took us by the shoulders +and guided our unsteady steps out of our chamber, along a little +passage, into an apartment containing a plunge bath. The bath was +about twelve feet square; its floor and sides covered with white +encaustic tiles; the water, clear as crystal against that light +background, was five feet deep. In a trice we were denuded of our +remaining apparel, and desired to plunge into the bath, head first. +The whole thing was done in less time than it has taken to describe +it: no caloric had escaped: we were steaming like a coach horse +that has done its ten miles within the hour on a summer-day; and +it certainly struck us that the Water Cure had some rather violent +measures in its repertory. We went a step or two down the ladder, +and then plunged in overhead. 'One plunge more and out,' exclaimed +the faithful William; and we obeyed. We were so thoroughly heated +beforehand, that we never felt the bath to be cold. On coming +out, a coarse linen sheet was thrown over us, large enough to have +covered half-a-dozen men, and the bath-man rubbed us, ourselves +aiding in the operation, till we were all in a glow of warmth. We +then dressed as fast as possible, postponing for the present the +operation of shaving, drank two tumblers of cold water, and took a +rapid walk round the wilderness (an expanse of shrubbery near the +house is so called), in the crisp, fresh morning air. The sunshine +was of the brightest; the dew was on the grass; everybody was early +there; fresh-looking patients were walking in all directions at +the rate of five miles an hour; the gardeners were astir; we heard +the cheerful sound of the mower whetting his scythe; the air was +filled with the freshness of the newly-cut grass, and with the +fragrance of lilac and hawthorn blossom; and all this by half-past +six a.m.! How we pitied the dullards that were lagging a-bed on +that bright summer morning! One turn round the wilderness occupies +ten minutes: we then drank two more tumblers of water, and took a +second turn of ten minutes. Two tumblers more, and another turn; +and then, in a glow of health and good humour, into our chamber +to dress for the day. The main supply of water is drunk before +breakfast; we took six tumblers daily at that time, and did not take +more than two or three additional in the remainder of the day. By +eight o'clock breakfast was on the table in the large hall, where +it remained till half-past nine. Bread, milk, water, and stewed +pippins (cold), formed the morning meal. And didn't we polish it +off! The accession of appetite is immediate. + +Such is the process entitled the Pack and Plunge. It was the +beginning of the day's proceedings during the two months we spent +at Sudbrook. We believe it forms the morning treatment of almost +every patient; a shallow bath after packing being substituted for the +plunge in the case of the more nervous. With whatever apprehension +people may have looked forward to being packed before having +experienced the process, they generally take to it kindly after +a single trial. The pack is perhaps the most popular part of the +entire cold water treatment. + +Mr. Lane says of it:-- + +What occurred during a full hour after this operation (being packed) +I am not in a condition to depose, beyond the fact that the sound, +sweet, soothing sleep which I enjoyed, was a matter of surprise +and delight. I was detected by Mr. Bardon, who came to awake me, +smiling, like a great fool, at nothing; if not at the fancies which +had played about my slumbers. Of the heat in which I found myself, +I must remark, that it is as distinct from perspiration, as from +the parched and throbbing glow of fever. The pores are open, and +the warmth of the body is soon communicated to the sheet; until--as +in this my first experience of the luxury--a breathing, steaming +heat is engendered, which fills the whole of the wrappers, and is +plentifully shown in the smoking state which they exhibit as they +are removed. I shall never forget the luxurious ease in which +I awoke on this morning, and looked forward with pleasure to the +daily repetition of what had been quoted to me by the uninitiated +with disgust and shuddering. + +Sir E. B. Lytton says of the pack:-- + +Of all the curatives adopted by hydropathists, it is unquestionably +the safest--the one that can be applied without danger to the +greatest variety of cases; and which, I do not hesitate to aver, +can rarely, if ever, be misapplied in any case where the pulse is +hard and high, and the skin dry and burning. Its theory is that +of warmth and moisture, those friendliest agents to inflammatory +disorders. + +I have been told, or have read (says Mr. Lane), put a man into the +wet sheet who had contemplated suicide, and it would turn him from +his purpose. At least I will say, let me get hold of a man who has +a pet enmity, who cherishes a vindictive feeling, and let me introduce +him to the soothing process. I believe that his bad passion would +not linger in its old quarters three days, and that after a week +his leading desire would be to hold out the hand to his late enemy. + +Of the sensation in the pack, Sir E. B. Lytton tells us:-- + +The momentary chill is promptly succeeded by a gradual and vivifying +warmth, perfectly free from the irritation of dry heat; a delicious +sense of ease is usually followed by a sleep more agreeable than +anodynes ever produced. It seems a positive cruelty to be relieved +from this magic girdle, in which pain is lulled, and fever cooled, +and watchfulness lapped in slumber. + +The hydropathic breakfast at Sudbrook being over, at nine o'clock +we had a foot-bath. This is a very simple matter. The feet are +placed in a tub of cold water, and rubbed for four or five minutes +by the bath-man. The philosophy of this bath is thus explained:-- + +The soles of the feet and the palms of the hands are extremely +sensitive, having abundance of nerves, as we find if we tickle +them. If the feet are put often into hot water, they will become +habitually cold, and make one more or less delicate and nervous. +On the other hand, by rubbing the feet often in cold water, they +will become permanently warm. A cold foot-bath will stop a violent +fit of hysterics. Cold feet show defective circulation. + +At half-past ten in the forenoon we were subjected to by far the +most trying agent in the water system--the often-mentioned douche. +No patient is allowed to have the douche till he has been acclimated +by at least a fortnight's treatment. Our readers will understand +that from this hour onward we are describing not our first Sudbrook +day, but a representative day, such as our days were when we had got +into the full play of the system. The douche consists of a stream +of water, as thick as one's arm, falling from a height of twenty-four +feet. A pipe, narrowing to the end, conducts the stream for the first +six feet of its fall, and gives it a somewhat slanting direction. +The water falls, we need hardly say, with a tremendous rush, and +is beaten to foam on the open wooden floor. There were two douches +at Sudbrook: one, of a somewhat milder nature, being intended for +the lady patients. Every one is a little nervous at first taking +this bath. One cannot be too warm before having it: we always took +a rapid walk of half an hour, and came up to the ordeal glowing +like a furnace. The faithful William was waiting our arrival, and +ushered us into a little dressing-room, where we disrobed. William +then pulled a cord, which let loose the formidable torrent, and +we hastened to place ourselves under it. The course is to back +gradually till it falls upon the shoulders, then to sway about till +every part of the back and limbs has been played upon: but great +care must be taken not to let the stream fall upon the head, where +its force would probably be dangerous. The patient takes this bath +at first for one-minute; the time is lengthened daily till it +reaches four minutes, and there it stops. The sensation is that +of a violent continuous force assailing one; we are persuaded that +were a man blindfolded, and so deaf as not to hear the splash of the +falling stream, he could not for his life tell what was the cause +of the terrible shock he was enduring. It is not in the least like +the result of water: indeed it is unlike any sensation we ever +experienced elsewhere. At the end of our four minutes the current +ceases; we enter the dressing-room, and are rubbed as after the +plunge-bath. The reaction is instantaneous: the blood is at once +called to the surface. 'Red as a rose were we:' we were more than +warm; we were absolutely hot. + +Mr. Lane records some proofs of the force with which the douche +falls:-- + +In a corner of one dressing-room is a broken chair. What does it +mean? A stout lady, being alarmed at the fall from the cistern, +to reduce the height, carefully placed what was a chair, and stood +upon it. Down came the column of water--smash went the chair to +bits--and down fell the poor lady prostrate. She did not douche +again for a fortnight. + +Last winter a man was being douched, when an icicle that had been +formed in the night was dislodged by the first rush of water, and +fell on his back. Bardon, seeing the bleeding, stopped the douche, +but the douchee had not felt the blow as anything unusual. He had +been douched daily, and calculated on such a force as he experienced. + +Although most patients come to like the douche, it is always to be +taken with caution. That it is dangerous in certain conditions of +the body, there is no doubt. Sir E. B. Lytton speaks strongly on +this point:-- + +Never let the eulogies which many will pass upon the douche tempt +you to take it on the sly, unknown to your adviser. The douche is +dangerous when the body is unprepared--when the heart is affected--when +apoplexy may be feared. + +After having douched, which process was over by eleven, we had till +one o'clock without further treatment. We soon came to feel that +indisposition to active employment which is characteristic of the +system; and these two hours were given to sauntering, generally alone, +in the green avenues and country lanes about Ham and Twickenham; +but as we have already said something of the charming and thoroughly +English scenes which surround Sudbrook, we shall add nothing further +upon that subject now--though the blossoming horse chestnuts and +the sombre cedars of Richmond Park, the bright stretches of the +Thames, and the quaint gateways and terraces of Ham House, the +startled deer and the gorse-covered common, all picture themselves +before our mind at the mention of those walks, and tempt us sorely. + +At one o'clock we returned to our chamber, and had a head-bath. We +lay upon the ground for six minutes, if we remember rightly, with +the back of our head in a shallow vessel of water. + +Half-past one was the dinner hour. All the patients were punctually +present; those who had been longest in the house occupying the +seats next those of Dr. and Mrs. Ellis, who presided at either end +of the table. The dinners were plain, but abundant; and the guests +brought with them noble appetites, so that it was agreed on all +hands that there never was such beef or mutton as that of Sudbrook. +Soup was seldom permitted: plain joints were the order of the day, +and the abundant use of fresh vegetables was encouraged. Plain +puddings, such as lice and sago, followed; there was plenty of water +to drink. A number of men-servants waited, among whom we recognized +our friend William, disguised in a white stock. The entertainment +did not last long. In half an hour the ladies withdrew to their +drawing-room, and the gentlemen dispersed themselves about the +place once more. + +Of the Malvern dinners, Mr. Lane writes as follows:-- + +At the head of the table, where the doctor presides, was the leg of +mutton, which, I believe, is even' day's head dish. I forget what +Mr. Wilson dispensed, but it was something savoury of fish. I +saw veal cutlets with bacon, and a companion dish; maccaroni with +gravy, potatoes plain boiled, or mashed and browned, spinach, and +other green vegetables. Then followed rich pudding, tapioca, and +some other farinaceous ditto, rhubarb tarts, &c. So much for what +I have heard of the miserable diet of water patients. + +Dinner being dispatched, there came the same listless sauntering +about till four o'clock, when the pack and plunge of the morning were +repeated. At half-past six we had another head-bath. Immediately +after it there was supper, which was a fac simile of breakfast. +Then, more sauntering in the fading twilight, and at half-past Bine +we paced the long corridor leading to our chamber, and speedily +were sound asleep. No midnight tossings, no troubled dreams; one +long deep slumber till William appeared next morning at five, to +begin the round again. + +Such was our life at the Water Cure: a contrast as complete as +might be to the life which preceded and followed it. Speaking for +ourselves, we should say that there is a great deal of exaggeration +in the accounts we have sometimes read of the restorative influence of +the system. It wrought no miracle in our case. A couple of months +at the sea-side would probably have produced much the same effect. +We did not experience that extreme exhilaration of spirits which +Mr. Lane speaks of. Perhaps the soft summer climate of Surrey, +in a district rather over-wooded, wanted something of the bracing +quality which dwells in the keener air of the Malvern hills. Yet +the system strung us up wonderfully, and sent us home with much +improved strength and heart. And since that time, few mornings have +dawned on which we have not tumbled into the cold bath on first +rising, and, following the process by a vigorous rubbing with +towels of extreme roughness, experienced the bracing influence of +cold water alike on the body and the mind. + +We must give some account of certain other baths, which have +not come within our course latterly, though we have at different +times tried them all. We have mentioned the sitz-bath; here is its +nature:-- + +It is not disagreeable, but very odd: and exhibits the patient in +by no means an elegant or dignified attitude. For this bath it is +not necessary to undress, the coat only being taken off, and the +shirt gathered under the waistcoat, which is buttoned upon it; and +when seated in the water, which rises to the waist, a blanket is +drawn round and over the shoulders. Having remained ten minutes in +this condition, we dried and rubbed ourselves with coarse towels, and +after tea minutes' walk, proceeded to supper with a good appetite. + +The soothing and tranquillizing effect of the sitz is described as +extraordinary:-- + +In sultry weather, when indolence seems the only resource, a sitz +of ten minutes at noon will suffice to protect against the enervating +effect of heat, and to rouse from listlessness and inactivity. + +If two or three hours have been occupied by anxious conversation, +by many visitors, or by any of the perplexities of daily occurrence, +a sitz will effectually relieve the throbbing head, anil fit one +for a return (if it must be so) to the turmoil and bustle. + +If an anxious letter is to be mentally weighed, or an important +letter to be answered, the matter and the manner can he under +no circumstances so adequately pondered as in the sitz. How this +quickening of the faculties is engendered, and by what immediate +action it is produced, I cannot explain, and invite others to test +it by practice. + +I have in my own experience proved the sitz to be cogitatory, +consolatory, quiescent, refrigeratory, revivificatory, or all these +together. + +Thus far Mr. Lane. The Brause-bad is thus described by our old +military friend:-- + +At eleven o'clock I went to the Brause-bad. This is too delightful: +it requires a day or two of practice to enable the patient to enjoy +it thoroughly. The water at Marienberg is all very cold, and one +must never stand still for above a few seconds at a time, and must +be ever employed in rubbing the parts of the body which are exposed +to the silvery element. The bath is a square room, eight feet by +six. The shower above consists of a treble row of holes, drilled in +a metal vessel, about one foot long, and at an elevation of eight +feet from the floor. There is, besides, a lateral gush of water, in +bulk about equal to three ordinary pumps, which bathes the middle +man. When I entered the bath, I held my hands over my head, to break +the force of the water; and having thus seasoned my knowledge-box, +I allowed the water to fall on my back and breast alternately, +rubbing most vigorously with both hands: the allotted time for +this aquatic sport is four minutes, but I frequently begged the +bademeister to allow me a minute or two more. At my sortie, the +bademeister threw over me the dry sheet, and he and his assistants +rubbed me dry to the bone, and left me in full scarlet uniform. +After this bath I took at least three glasses of water, and a most +vigorous walk. + +One of the least agreeable processes in the water system is being +sweated. Mr. Lane describes his sensations as follows:-- + +At five o'clock in walked the executioner who was to initiate me into +the sweating process. There was nothing awful in the commencement. +Two dry blankets were spread upon the mattress, and I was enveloped +in them as in the wet sheet, being well and closely tucked in +round the neck, and the head raised on two pillows. Then came my +old friend the down bed, and a counterpane. + +At first I felt very comfortable, but in ten minutes the irritation +of the blanket was disagreeable, and endurance was nly only resource; +thought upon other subjects out of the question. In half-an-hour +I wondered when it would begin to act. At six, in came Bardon to +give me water to drink. Another hour, and I was getting into a state. +I had for ten minutes followed Bardon's directions by slightly +moving my hands and legs, and the profuse perspiration was a relief; +besides, I knew that I should be soon fit to be bathed, and what a +tenfold treat! He gave me more water; and in a quarter of an hour +he returned, when. I stepped, in a precious condition, into the +cold bath, Bardon using more water on my head and shoulders than +usual, more rubbing and spunging, and afterwards more vigorous dry +rubbing. I was more than pink, and hastened to get out and compare +notes with Sterling. + +By the sweating process, the twenty-eight miles of tubing which +exist in the pores of the skin are effectually relieved; and--in +Dr. Wilson's words--'you lose a little water, and put yourself +in a state to make flesh.' The sweating process is known at water +establishments as the 'blanket-pack.' + +We believe we have mentioned every hydropathic appliance that is +in common use, with the exception of what is called the 'rub in a +wet sheet.' This consists in having a sheet, dripping wet, thrown +round one, and in being vehemently rubbed by the bath-man, the +patient assisting. The effect is very bracing and exhilarating on a +sultry summer day; and this treatment has the recommendation that +it is applied and done with in the course of a few minutes; nor +does it need any preliminary process. It is just the thing to get +the bath-man to administer to a friend who has come down to visit +one, as a slight taste of the quality of the Water Cure. + +One pleasing result of the treatment is, that the skin is made +beautifully soft and white. Another less pleasing circumstance +is, that when there is any impurity lurking in the constitution, a +fortnight's treatment brings on what is called a crisis, in which +the evil is driven off in the form of an eruption all over the +body. This result never follows unless where the patient has been +in a most unhealthy state. People who merely need a little bracing +up need not have the least fear of it. Our own two months of water +never produced the faintest appearance of such a thing. + +Let us sum up the characteristics of the entire system. In the +words of Sir E. B. Lytton:-- + +The first point which impressed me was the extreme and utter +innocence of the water-cure in skilful hands--in any hands, indeed, +not thoroughly new to the system. + +The next thing that struck me was the extraordinary ease with +which, under this system, good habits are acquired and bad habits +are relinquished. + +That which, thirdly, impressed me, was no less contrary to all my +preconceived opinions. I had fancied that, whether good or bad, +the system must be one of great hardship, extremely repugnant and +disagreeable. I wondered at myself to find how soon it became so +associated with pleasurable and grateful feelings as to dwell upon +the mind as one of the happiest passages of existence. + +We have left ourselves no space to say anything of the effect of +the Water Cure in acute disease. It is said to work wonders in the +case of gout, and all rheumatic complaints: the severe suffering +occasioned by the former vexatious malady is immediately subdued, +and the necessity of colchicum and other deleterious drugs is +obviated. Fever and inflammation, too, are drawn off by constant +packing, without being allowed to run their usual course. Our readers +may find remarkable cures of heart arid other diseases recorded at +pages 24, 72, 114, and 172, of the Month at Malvern. We quote the +account of one case:-- + +I was introduced to a lady, that I might receive her own report +of her cure. She had been for nine years paralysed, from the waist +downwards; pale and emaciated; and coming to Malvern, she had no +idea of recovering the use of her limbs, but merely bodily health. +In five months she became ruddy, and then her perseverance in being +packed twice every day was rewarded. The returning muscular power +was advanced to perfect recovery of the free use of her limits. +She grew stout and strong, and now walks ten miles daily. + +We confess we should like to have this story confirmed by some +competent authority. It appears to verge on the impossible: unless, +indeed, the fact was that the lady was some nervous, fanciful +person, who took up a hypochondriac idea that she was paralysed, +and got rid of the notion by having her constitution braced up. + +We have already said a good deal of the enjoyable nature of the +water system; we make a final quotation from our military friend:-- + +I have given some account of my daily baths, and on reading over +what I have written, I feel quite ashamed of the coldness of the +recital of all my delight, the recollection of which makes my mouth +water. The reader will observe that I am a Scotchman (proverbially +a matter-of-fact race), an old fellow, my enemy would say a slow +coach. I might enlarge on my ecstatic delight in my baths, my healthy +glow, my light-heartedness, my feelings of elasticity, which made +me fancy I could trip along the sward like a patent Vestris. I might +go much farther, I might indulge in poetic rapture--most unbecoming +my mature age--and after all, fall far short of the reality. The +reader will do well to allow a large percentage of omitted ecstatic +delineation in consequence of want of ardour on the part of the +writer. This is in fact due to justice. + +See how old patients describe the Water Cure! This is, at all events, +a different strain from that of people who have been victimized by +ordinary quacks and quack medicines, and who bestow their imprecations +on the credulity which has at once ruined their constitutions and +emptied their pockets. + +We trust we have succeeded in persuading those who have glanced +over these pages, that the Water Cure is by no means the violent +thing which they have in all probability been accustomed to consider +it. There is no need for being nervous about going to it. There +is nothing about it that is half such a shock to the system as are +blue pill and mercury, purgatives and drastics, leeches and the +lancet. Almost every appliance within its range is a source of +positive enjoyment; the time spent under it is a cheerful holiday +to body and mind. We take it to be quackery and absurdity to maintain +that all possible diseases can be cured by the cold water system; +but, from our own experience, we believe that the system and its +concomitants do tend powerfully to brace and re-invigorate, when +mental exertion has told upon the system, and even threatened to +break it down. But really it is no new discovery that fresh air +and water, simple food and abundant exercise, change of scene and +intermission of toil and excitement, tend to brace the nerves and +give fresh vigour to the limbs. In the only respect in which we +have any confidence in the Water Cure, it is truly no new system +at all. We did not need Priessnitz to tell us that the fair element +which, in a hundred forms, makes so great a part of Creation's +beauty--trembling, crystal-clear, upon the rosebud; gleaming in the +sunset river; spreading, as we see it to-day, in the bright blue +summer sea; fleecy-white in the silent clouds, and gay in the +evening rainbow,--is the true elixir of health and life, the most +exhilarating draught, the most soothing anodyne; the secret of +physical enjoyment, and mental buoyancy and vigour. + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +CONCERNING FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. + + + + +[Footnote: Friends in Council: a Series of Readings and Discourse +thereon. A. New Series. Two Volumes. London: John W. Parker and +Son, West Strand, 1859.] + +There is a peculiar pleasure in paying a visit to a friend whom you +never saw in his own house before. Let it not be believed that in +this world there is much difficulty in finding a new sensation. The +genial, unaffected, hard-wrought man, who does not think it fine +to appear to care nothing for anything, will find a new sensation +in many quiet places, and in many simple ways. There is something +fresh and pleasant in arriving at an entirely new railway station, +in getting out upon a platform on which you never before stood; +in finding your friend standing there looking quite at home in a +place quite strange to you; in taking in at a glance the expression +of the porter who takes your luggage and the clerk who receives +your ticket, and reading there something of their character and +their life; in going outside, and seeing for the first time your +friend's carriage, whether the stately drag or the humbler dog-cart, +and beholding horses you never saw before, caparisoned in harness +heretofore unseen; in taking your seat upon cushions hitherto +impressed by you, in seeing your friend take the reins, and then +in rolling away over a new road, under new trees, over new bridges, +beside new hedges, looking upon new landscapes stretching far away, +and breaking in upon that latent idea common to all people who have +seen very little, that they have seen almost all the world. Then +there is something fresh and pleasant in driving for the first time +up the avenue, in catching the first view of the dwelling which is +to your friend the centre of all the world, in walking up for the +first time to your chamber (you ought always to arrive at a country +house for a visit about three quarters of an hour before dinner), +and then in coming down and finding yourself in the heart of +his belongings; seeing his wife and children, never seen before; +finding out his favourite books, and coming to know something of +his friends, horses, dogs, pigs, and general way of life; and then +after ten days, in going away, feeling that you have occupied a new +place and seen a new phase of life, henceforward to be a possession +for ever. + +But it is pleasanter by a great deal to go and pay a visit to a +friend visited several times (not too frequently) before: to arrive +at the old railway station, quiet and country-like, with trees +growing out of the very platform on which you step; to see your +friend's old face not seen for two years; to go out and discern +the old drag standing just where you remember it, and to smooth +down the horses' noses as an old acquaintance; to discover a look +of recognition on the man-servant's impassive face, which at your +greeting expands into a pleased smile; to drive away along the +old road, recognizing cottages and trees; to come in sight of the +house again, your friend's conversation and the entire aspect of +things bringing up many little remembrances of the past; to look +out of your chamber window before dinner and to recognize a large +beech or oak which you had often remembered when you were far away, +and the field beyond, and the hills in the distance, and to know +again even the pattern of the carpet and the bed curtains; to go +down to dinner, and meet the old greeting; to recognize the taste +of the claret; to find the children a little bigger, a little shy +at first, but gradually acknowledging an old acquaintance; and then, +when your friend and you are left by yourselves, to draw round the +fire (such visits are generally in September), and enjoy the warm, +hearty look of the crimson curtains hanging in the self-same folds +as twenty-four months since, and talk over many old things. + +We feel, in opening the new volumes of Friends in Council, as we +should in going to pay a visit to an old friend living in the same +pleasant home, and at the same pleasant autumnal season in which +we visited him before. We know what to expect. We know that there +may be little variations from what we have already found, little +changes wrought by time; but, barring great accident or disappointment, +we know what kind of thing the visit will be. And we believe that +to many who have read with delight the previous volumes of this +work, there can hardly be any pleasanter anticipation than that +of more of the same wise, kindly, interesting material which they +remember. A good many years have passed since the first volume of +Friends in Council was published; a good many years even since the +second: for, the essays and discourses now given to the public form +the third published portion of the work. Continuations of successful +works have proverbially proved failures; the author was his own +too successful rival; and intelligent readers, trained to expect +much, have generally declared that the new production was, if not +inferior to its predecessor, at all events inferior to what its +predecessor had taught them to look for. But there is no falling off +here. The writing of essays and conversations, set in a framework +of scenery and incident, and delineating character admirably though +only incidentally, is the field of literature in which the author +stands without a rival. No one in modern days can discuss a grave +subject in a style so attractive; no one can convey so much wisdom +with so much playfulness and kindliness; no one can evince so much +earnestness unalloyed by the least tinge of exaggeration. The order +of thought which is contained in Friends in Council, is quarried +from its authors best vein. Here, he has come upon what gold-diggers +call a pocket: and he appears to work it with little effort. However +difficult it might be for others to write an essay and discourse +on it in the fashion of this book, we should judge that its author +does so quite easily. It is no task for suns to shine. And it will +bring back many pleasant remembrances to the minds of many readers, +to open these new volumes, and find themselves at once in the same +kindly atmosphere as ever; to find that the old spring is flowing +yet. The new series of Friends in Council is precisely what the +intelligent reader must have expected. A thoroughly good writer +can never surprise us. A writer whom we have studied, mused over, +sympathized with, can surprise us only by doing something eccentric, +affected, unworthy of himself. The more thoroughly we have +sympathized with him; the more closely we have marked not only the +strong characteristics which are already present in what he writes, +but those little matters which may be the germs of possible new +characteristics; the less likely is it that we shall be surprised +by anything he does or says. It is so with the author of Friends +in Council. We know precisely what to expect from him. We should +feel aggrieved if he gave us anything else. Of course there will +be much wisdom and depth of insight; much strong practical sense: +there will be playfulness, pensiveness, pathos; great fairness and +justice; much kindness of heart; something of the romantic element; +and as for Style, there will be language always free from the +least trace of affectation; always clear and comprehensible; never +slovenly; sometimes remarkable for a certain simple felicity; +sometimes rising into force and eloquence of a very high order: +a style, in short, not to be parodied, not to be caricatured, not +to be imitated except by writing as well. The author cannot sink +below our expectations; cannot rise above them. He has already +written so much, and so many thoughtful readers have so carefully +studied what he has written, that we know the exact length of his +tether, and he can say nothing for which we are not prepared. You +know exactly what to expect in this new work. You could not, indeed, +produce it; you could not describe it, you could not say beforehand +what it will be; but when you come upon it, you will feel that it +is just what you were sure it would be. You were sure, as you are +sure what will be the flavour of the fruit on your pet apple-tree, +which you have tasted a hundred times. The tree is quite certain +to produce that fruit which you remember and like so well; it is +its nature to do so. And the analogy holds further. For, as little +variations in weather or in the treatment of the tree--a dry season, +or some special application to the roots--may somewhat alter the +fruit, though all within narrow limits; so may change of circumstances +a little affect an author's writings, but only within a certain +range. The apple-tree may produce a somewhat different apple; but +it will never producn an orange, neither will it yield a crab. + +So here we are again among our old friends. We should have good +reason to complain had Dunsford, Ellesmere, or Milverton been absent; +and here they are again just as before. Possibly they are even +less changed than they'should have been after thirteen or fourteen +years, considering what their age was at our first introduction to +them. Dunsford, the elderly country parson, once fellow and tutor +of his college, still reports the conversations of the friends; +Milverton and Ellesmere are, in their own way, as fond of one +another as ever; Dunsford is still judicious, kind, good, somewhat +slow, as country parsons not unnaturally become; Ellesmere is +still sarcastic, keen, clever, with much real worldly wisdom and +much affected cynicism overlying a kind and honest heart. As for +Milverton, we should judge that in him the author of the work has +unconsciously shown us himself; for assuredly the great characteristics +of the author of Friends in Council must be that he is laborious, +thoughtful, generous, well-read, much in earnest, eager for +the welfare of his fellow-men, deeply interested in politics and +in history, impatient of puritanical restraints, convinced of the +substantial importance of amusement. Milverton, we gather, still +lives at his country-seat in Hampshire, and takes some interest +in rustic concerns. Ellesmere continues to rise at the bar; since +we last met him has been Solicitor-General, and is now Sir John, +a member of the House of Commons, and in the fair way to a Chief +Justiceship. The clergyman's quiet life is going on as before. But +in addition to our three old friends we find an elderly man, one +Mr. Midhurst, whose days have been spent in diplomacy, who is of a +melancholy disposition, and takes gloomy views of life, but who is +much skilled in cookery, very fat, and very fond of a good dinner. +Also Mildred and Blanche, Milverton's cousins, two sisters, have +grown up into young women of very different character: and they +take some share in the conversations, and, as we shall hereafter +see, a still more important part in the action of the story. +We feel that we are in the midst of a real group of actual human +beings:--just what third-rate historians fail to make us feel when +telling us of men and women who have actually lived. The time and +place are very varied; hut through the greater portion of the book +the party are travelling over the Continent. A further variation +from the plan of the former volumes, besides the introduction of new +characters, is, that while all the essays in the preceding series +were written by Milverton, we have now one by Ellesmere, one by +Dunsford, and one by Mr. Midhurst, each being in theme and manner +very characteristic of its author. But, as heretofore, the writer +of the book holds to his principle of the impolicy of 'jading anything +too far,' and thinks with Bacon that 'it is good, in discourse +and speech of conversation, to vary and intermingle speech of the +present occasion with arguments, tales with reasons, asking of +questions with telling of opinions, and jest with earnest.' The +writer likewise holds by that system which his own practice has done +so much to recommend--of giving locality and time to all abstract +thought, and thus securing in the case of the majority of readers +an interest and a reality in no other way to be attained. Admirable +as are the essays contained in the work, but for their setting in +something of a story, and their vivification by being ascribed to +various characters, and described as read and discussed in various +scenes, they would interest a very much smaller class of readers +than now they do. No doubt much of the skill of tho dramatist is +needed to secure this souce of interest. It can be secured only +where we feel that the characters are living men and women, and the +attempt to secure it has often proved a miserable failure. But it +is here that the author of Friends in Council succeeds so well. Not +only do we know precisely what Dunsford, Milverton, and Ellesmere +are like; we know exactly what they ought and what they ought not +to say. The author ran a risk in reproducing those old friends. We +had a right to expect in each of them a certain idiosyncrasy; and +it is not easy to maintain an individuality which does not dwell +in mere caricature and exaggeration, but in the truthful traits of +actual life. We feel we have a vested interest in the characters of +the three friends: not even their author has the right essentially +to alter them; we should feel it an injury if he did. But he has +done what he intended. Here we have the selfsame men. Not a word +is said by one of them that ought to have been said by another. +And here it may be remarked, that any one who is well read in the +author's writings, will not fail here and there to come upon what +will appear familiar to him. Various thoughts, views, and even +expressions, occur which the author has borrowed from himself. It +is easy to be seen that in all this there is no conscious repetition, +but that veins of thought and feeling long entertained have cropped +out to the surface again. + +We do not know whether or not the readers of Friends in Council +will be startled at finding that these volumes show us the grave +Milverton and the sarcastic Ellesmere in the capacity of lovers, +and leave them in the near prospect of being married--Ellesmere to +the bold and dashing Mildred; Milverton to the quiet Blanche. The +gradual tending of things to this conclusion forms the main action +of the book. The incidents are of the simplest character: there +is a plan but no plot, except as regards these marriages. Wearied +and jaded with work at home, the three friends of the former +volumes resolve on going abroad for awhile. Midhurst and the girls +accompany them: and the story is simply that at various places to +which they came, one friend read an essay or uttered a discourse +(for sometimes the essays are supposed to have been given extempore), +and the others talked about it. But the gradual progress of matters +towards the weddings (it may be supposed that the happy couples are +this September on their wedding tours) is traced with much skill +and much knowledge of the fashion in which such things go; and it +supplies a peculiar interest to the work, which will probably tide +many young ladies over essays on such grave subjects as Government +and Despotism. Still, we confess that we had hardly regarded Ellesmere +and Milverton as marrying men. We had set them down as too old, +grave, and wise, for at least the preliminary stages. We have not +forgotten that Dunsford told us [Footnote: Friends in Council, +Introduction to Book II.] that in the summer of 1847 he supposed +no one but himself would speak of Milverton and Ellesmere as young +men; and now of course they are twelve years older, and yet about +to be married to girls whom we should judge to be about two or three +and twenty. And although it is not an unnatural thing that Ellesmere +should have got over his affection for the German Gretchen, whose +story is so exquisitely told in the Companions of my Solitude, we +find it harder to reconcile Milverton's marriage with our previous +impression of him. Yet perhaps all this is truthful to life. It is +not an unnatural thing that a man who for years has settled down +into the belief that he has faded, and that for him the romantic +interest has gone from life, should upon some fresh stimulus gather +himself up from that idea, and think that life is not so far gone +after all. Who has not on a beautiful September day sometimes chidden +himself for having given in to the impression that the season was +so far advanced, and clung to the belief that it is almost summer +still? + +In a preliminary Address to the Reader, the author explains that +the essay on War, which occupies a considerable portion of the +first volume, was written some time ago, and intends no allusion +to recent events in Europe. The Address contains an earnest protest +against the maintenance of large standing armies; it is eloquent +and forcible, and it affords additional proof how much the author +has thought upon the subject of war, and how deeply he feels upon +it. Then comes the Introduction proper, written, of course, by +Dunsford. It sets out with the praise of conversation, and then it +sums up what the 'Friends' have learned in their longer experience +of life:-- + +We 'Friends in Council' are of course somewhat older men than when +we first began to meet in friendly conclave; and I have observed as +men go on in life they are less and less inclined to be didactic. +They have found out that nothing is, didactically speaking, true. +They long for exceptions, modifications, allowances. A boy is clear, +sharp, decisive in his talk. He would have this. He would do that. +He hates this; he loves that: and his loves or his hatreds admit +of no exception. He is sure that the one thing is quite right, and +the other quite wrong. He is not troubled with doubts. He knows. + +I see now why, as men go on in life, they delight, in anecdotes. +These tell so much, and argue, or pronounce directly, so little. + +The three friends were sauntering one day in Milverton's garden, +all feeling much overwrought and very stupid. Ellesmere proposed +that for a little recreation they should go abroad. Milverton pleads +his old horror of picture-galleries, and declares himself content +with the unpainted pictures he has in his mind:-- + +It is curious, but I have been painting two companion pictures +ever since we have been walking about in the garden. One consists +of some dilapidated garden architecture, with overgrown foliage of +all kinds, not forest foliage, but that of rare trees such as the +Sumach and Japan-cedar, which should have been neglected for thirty +years. Here and there, instead of the exquisite parterre, there +should be some miserable patches of potatoes and beans, and some +squalid clothes hung out to dry. Two ill-dressed children, but of +delicate features, should be playing about an ugly neglected pool +that had once been the basin to the fountain. But the foliage +should be the chief thing, gaunt, grotesque, rare, beautiful, like +an unkempt, uncared-for, lovely mountain girl. Underneath this +picture:--'Property in the country, in chancery.' + +The companion picture, of course, should be:--'Property in town, +in chancery.' It should consist of two orthree hideous, sordid, +window-broken, rat-deserted, paintless, blackened houses, that +should look as if they had once been too good company for the +neighbourhood, and had met with a fall in life, not deplored by any +one. At the opposite corner should be a flaunting new gin-palace. +I do not know whether I should have the heart to bring any children +there, but I would if I could. + +The reader will discern that the author of Friends in Council has +lost nothing of his power of picturesque description, and nothing +of his horror of the abuses and cruelties of the law. And the +passage may serve to remind of the touching, graphic account of +the country residence of a reduced family in the Companions of my +Solitude. [Footnote: Chap. iv.] Ellesmere assures Milverton that +he shall not be asked to see a single picture; and that if Milverton +will bring Blanche and Mildred with him, he will himself go and see +seven of the chief sewers in seven of the chief towns. The appeal +to the sanitarian's feelings is successful; the bargain is struck; +and we next find the entire party sauntering, after an early German +dinner, on the terrace of some small town on the Rhine,--Dunsford +forgets which. Milverton, Ellesmere, and Mr. Midhurst arc smoking, +and we commend their conversation on the soothing power of tobacco +to the attention of the Dean of Carlisle. Dean Close, by a bold +figure, calls tobacco a 'gorging fiend.' Milverton holds that smoking +is perhaps the greatest blessing that we owe to the discovery of +America. He regards its value as abiding in its power to soothe +under the vexations and troubles of life. While smoking, you cease +to live almost wholly in the future, which miserable men for the +most part do. The question arises, whether the sorrows of the old +or the young are the most acute? It is admitted that the sorrows +of children are very overwhelming for the time, but they are not +of that varied, perplexed, and bewildering nature which derives +much consolation from smoke. Ellesmere suggests, very truthfully, +that the feeling of shame for having done anything wrong, or even +ridiculous, causes most acute misery to the young. And, indeed, +who does not know, from personal experience, that the sufferings of +children of even four or five years old are often quite as dreadful +as those which come as the sad heritage of after years? We look +back on them now, and smile at them as we think how small were +their causes. Well, they were great to us. We were little creatures +then, and little things were relatively very great. 'The sports of +childhood satisfy the child:' the sorrows of childhood overwhelm +the poor little thing. We think a sympathetic reader would hardly +read without a tear as well as a smile, an incident in the early +life of Patrick Fraser Tytler, recorded in his recently published +biography. When five years old he got hold of the gun of an elder +brother, and broke the spring of its lock. What anguish the little +boy must have endured, what a crushing sense of having caused an +irremediable evil, before he sat down and printed in great letters +the following epistle to his brother, the owner of the gun--'Oh, +Jamie, think no more of guns, for the main-spring of that is broken, +and my heart is broken!' Doubtless the poor little fellow fancied +that for all the remainder of his life he would never feel as +he had felt before he touched the unlucky weapon. Doubtless the +little heart was just as full of anguish as it could hold. Looking +back over many years, most of us can remember a child crushed and +overwhelmed by some sorrow which it thought could never be got +over, and can feel for our early self as though sympathizing with +another personality. + +The upshot of the talk which began with tobacco was, that Milverton +was prevailed upon to write an essay on a subject of universal interest +to all civilized beings, an essay on Worry. He felt, indeed, that +he. should be writing it at a disadvantage; for an essay on worry +can be written with full effect only by a thoroughly worried man. +There was no worry at all in that quiet little town on the Rhine; +they had come there to rest, and there was no intruding duty that +demanded that it should be attended to. And probably there is no +respect in which that great law of the association of ideas, that +like suggests like, holds more strikingly true than in the power of +a present state of mind, or a present state of outward circumstances, +to bring up vividly before us all such states in our past history. +We are depressed, we are worried: and when we look back, all our +departed days of worry and depression appear to start up and press +themselves upon our view to the exclusion of anything else, so +that we are ready to think that we have never been otherwise than +depressed and worried all our life. But when more cheerful times +come, they suggest only such times of cheerfulness, and no effort +will bring back the worry vividly as when we felt it. It is not +selfishness or heartlessness; it is the result of an inevitable +law of mind that people in happy circumstances should resolutely +believe that it is a happy world after all; for looking back, and +looking around, the mind refuses to take distinct note of anything +that is not somewhat akin to its present state. Milverton wrote an +excellent essay on Worry on the evening of that day; but he might +possibly have written a better one at Worth-Ashton on the evening +of a day on which he had discovered that his coachman was stealing +the corn provided for the carriage horses, or galloping these +animals about the country at the dead of night to see his friends. +We must have a score of little annoyances stinging us at once +to have the undiluted sense of being worried. And probably a not +wealthy man, residing in the country, and farming a few acres of +ground by means of somewhat unfaithful and neglectful servants, may +occasionally find so many things going wrong at once, and so many +little things demanding to be attended to at once, that he shall +experience worry in as high a degree as it can be felt by mortal. +Thus truthfully does Milverton's essay begin:-- + +The great characteristic of modern life is Worry. + +If the Pagan religion still prevailed, the new goddess, in whose +honour temples would be raised and to whom statues would be erected in +all the capitals of the world, would he the goddess Worry. London +would be the chief seat and centre of her sway. A gorgeous statue, +painted and enriched after the manner of the ancients (for there +is no doubt that they adopted this practice, however barbarous it +may seem to us), would he set up to the goddess in the West-end of +the town: another at Temple Bar, of less ample dimensions and less +elaborate decoration, would receive the devout homage of worshippers +who came to attend their lawyers in that quarter of the town: while +a statue, on which the cunning sculptor should have impressed the +marks of haste, anxiety, and agitation, would be sharply glanced +up at, with as much veneration as they could afford to give to it, +by the eager men of business in the City. + +The goddess Worry, however, would be no local deity, worshipped +merely in some great town, like Diana of the Ephesians; but, in the +market-places of small rural communities, her statue, made somewhat +like a vane, and shitting with every turn of the wind, would be +regarded with stolid awe by anxious votaries belonging to what is +called the farming interest. Familiar too and household would be +her worship: and in many a snug home, where she might be imagined +to have little potency, small and ugly images of her would be found +as household gods--the Lares and Penates--near to the threshold, +and ensconced above the glowing hearth. + +The poet, always somewhat inclined to fable, speaks of Love as +ruling + + The court, the camp, the grove, + And men below, and heaven above; + +but the dominion of Love, as compared with that of Worry, would +be found, in the number of subjects, as the Macedonian to the +Persian--in extent of territory, as the county of Rutland to the +empire of Russia. + +Not verbally accurate is the quotation from the Lay of the Last +Minstrel, we may remark; but we may take it for granted that no +reader who has exceeded the age of twenty-five will fail to recognize +in this half-playful and half-earnest passage the statement of a +sorrowful fact. And the essay goes on to set forth many of the causes +of modern worry with all the knowledge and earnestness of a man +who has seen much of life, and thought much upon what he has seen. +The author's sympathies are not so much with the grand trials of +historical personages, such as Charles V., Columbus, and Napoleon, +as with the lesser trials and cares of ordinary men; and in the +following paragraph we discern at once the conviction of a clear +head and the feeling of a kind heart:-- + +And the ordinary citizen, even of a well-settled state, who, with +narrow means, increasing taxation, approaching age, failing health, +and augmenting cares, goes plodding about his daily work thickly +bestrewed with trouble and worry (all the while, perhaps, the thought +of a sick child at home being in the background of his mind), may +also, like any hero of renown in the midst of his world-wide and +world-attracting fortune, be a beautiful object for our sympathy. + +There is indeed no more common error, than to estimate the extent +of suffering by the greatness of the causes which have produced +it; we mean their greatness as regards the amount of notice which +they attract. The anguish of an emperor who has lost his empire, +is probably not one whit greater than that of a poor lady who loses +her little means in a swindling Bank, and is obliged to take away +her daughter from school and to move into an inferior dwelling. +Nor is it unworthy of remark, in thinking of sympathy with human +beings in suffering, that scrubby-looking little men, with weak hair +and awkward demeanour, and not in the least degree gentleman-like, +may through domestic worry and bereavement undergo distress quite +as great as heroic individuals six feet four inches in height, with +a large quantity of raven hair, and with eyes of remarkable depth +of expression. It is probable, too, that in the lot of ordinary +men a ceaseless and countless succession of little worries does +a great deal more to fret away the happiness of life than is done +by the few great and overwhelming misfortunes which happen at long +intervals. You lose your child, and your sorrow is overwhelming; +but it is a sorrow on which before many months you look back with +a sad yet pleasing interest, and it is a sorrow which you know +you are the better for having felt. But petty unfaithfulness, +carelessness, and stupidity on the part of your servants; little +vexations and cross-accidents in your daily life; the ceaseless +cares of managing a household and family, and possibly of making +an effort to maintain appearances with very inadequate means;--all +those little annoying things which are not misfortune but worry, +effectually blister away the enjoyment of life while they last, +and serve no good end in respect to mental and moral discipline. +'Much tribulation,' deep and dignified sorrow, may prepare men for +'the kingdom of God;' but ceaseless worry, for the most part, does +but sour the temper, jaundice the views, and embitter and harden +the heart. + +'The grand source of worry,' says our author, 'compared with which +perhaps all others are trivial, lies in the complexity of human +affairs, especially in such an era of civilization as our own.' +There can be no doubt of it. In these modern days, we are encumbered +and weighed down with the appliances, physical and moral, which +have come to be regarded as essential to the carry lag forward of +our life. We forget how many thousands of separate items and articles +were counted up, as having been used, some time within the last +few years, by a dinner-party of eighteen persons, at a single +entertainment. What incalculable worry in the procuring, the keeping +in order, the using, the damage, the storing up, of that enormous +complication of china, glass, silver, and steel! We can well imagine +how a man of simple tastes arid quiet disposition, worried even +to death by his large house, his numerous servants and horses, his +quantities of furniture and domestic appliances, all of a perishable +nature, and all constantly wearing out and going wrong in various +degrees, might sigh a wearied sigh for the simplicity of a hermit's +cave and a hermit's fare, and for 'one perennial suit of leather.' +Such a man as the Duke of Buccleuch, possessing enormous estates, +oppressed by a deep feeling of responsibility, and struggling to +maintain a personal supervision of all his intricate and multitudinous +belongings, must day by day undergo an amount of worry which the +philosopher would probably regard as poorly compensated by a dukedom +and three hundred thousand a year. He would be a noble benefactor +of the human race who should teach men how to combine the simplicity +of the savage life with the refinement and the cleanliness of the +civilized. We fear it must be accepted as an unquestionable fact, +that the many advantages of civilization are to be obtained only +at the price of countless and ceaseless worry. Of course, we must +all sometimes sigh for the woods and the wigwam; but the feeling +is as vain as that of the psalmist's wearied aspiration, 'Oh that +I had wings like a dove: then would I flee away and be at rest!' +Our author says, + +The great Von Humboldt went into the cottages of South American +Indiana, and, amongst an unwrinkled people, could with difficulty +discern who was the father and who was the son, when he saw the +family assembled together. + +And how plainly the smooth, cheerful face of the savage testified to +the healthfulness, in a physical sense; of a life devoid of worry! +If you would see the reverse of the medal, look at the anxious +faces, the knit brows, and the bald heads, of the twenty or thirty +greatest merchants whom you will see on the Exchange of Glasgow or +of Manchester. Or you may find more touching proof of the ageing +effect of worry, in the careworn face of the man of thirty with +a growing family and an uncertain income; or the thin figure and +bloodless cheek which testify to the dull weight ever resting on +the heart of the poor widow who goes out washing, and leaves her +little children in her poor garret under the care of one of eight +years old. But still, the cottages of Humboldt's 'unwrinkled +people' were, we have little doubt, much infested with vermin, and +possessed a pestilential atmosphere; and the people's freedom from +care did but testify to their ignorance, and to their lack of moral +sensibility. We must take worry, it is to be feared, along with +civilization. As you go down in the scale of civilization, you +throw off worry by throwing off the things to which it can adhere. +And in these days, in which no man would seriously think of preferring +the savage life, with its dirt, its stupidity, its listlessness, +its cruelty, the good we may derive from that life, or any life +approximating to it, is mainly that of a sort of moral alterative +and tonic. The thing itself would not suit us, and would do us no +good; but we may be the better for musing upon it. It is like a +refreshing shower-bath, it is like breathing a cool breeze after the +atmosphere of a hot-house, to dwell for a little, with half-closed +eyes, upon pictures which show us all the good of the unworried +life, and which say nothing of all the evil. We know the thing is +vain: we know it is but an idle fancy; but still it is pleasant +and refreshful to think of such a life as Byron has sketched as +the life of Daniel Boone. Not in misanthropy, but from the strong +preference of a forest life, did the Kentucky backwoodsman keep +many scores of miles ahead of the current of European population +setting onwards to the West. We shall feel much indebted to any +reader who will tell us where to find anything more delightful than +the following stanzas, to read after an essay on modern worry:-- + + He was not all alone: around him grew + A sylvan tribe of children of the chase; + Whose young, unwakened world was ever new, + Nor sin, nor sorrow, yet had left a trace + On her unwrinkled brow; nor could you view + A frown on Nature's or on human face: + The free-born forest found and kept them free, + And fresh as is a torrent or a tree. + + And tall, and strong, and swift of foot were they, + Beyond the dwarfing city's pale abortions: + Because their thoughts had never been the prey + Of care or gain: the green woods were their portions. + No sinking spirits told them they grew grey, + No fashion made them apes of her distortions; + Simple they were, not savage, and their rifles, + Though very true, were yet not used for trifles. + + Motion was in their days, rest in their slumbers, + And cheerfulness the handmaid of their toil: + Nor yet too many, nor too few their numbers, + Corruption could not make their hearts her soil: + The lust which stings, the splendour which encumbers, + With the free foresters divide no spoil: + Serene, not sullen, were the solitudes, + Of this unsighing people of the woods. + +The essay on Worry is followed by an interesting conversation on +the same subject, at the close of which we are heartily obliged to +Blanche for suggesting one pleasant thought; to wit, that children +for the most part escape that sad infliction; it is the special +heritage of comparatively mature years. And Milverton replies:-- + +Yes; I have never been more struck with that than when observing +a family in the middle class of life going to the sea-side. There +is the anxious mother wondering how they shall manage to stow away +all the children when they get down. Visions of damp sheets oppress +her. The cares of packing sit upon her soul. Doubts of what will +become of the house when it is left, are a constant drawback from +her thoughts of enjoyment; and she confides to the partner of her +cares how willingly, if it were not for the dear children, she +would stay at tome. He, poor man, has not an easy time of it. He +is meditating over the expense, and how it is to be provided for. +He knows, if he has any knowledge of the world, that the said +expense will somehow or other exceed any estimate he and his wife +have made of it. He is studying the route of the journey, and is +perplexed by the various modes of going. This one would be less +expensive, but would take more time; and then time always turns +into expense on a journey. In a word, the old birds are as full +of care and trouble as a hen with ducklings; but the young birds! +Some of them have never seen the sea before, and visions of unspeakable +delight fill their souls--visions that will almost be fulfilled. +The journey, and the cramped accommodation, and the packing, and +the everything out of place, are matters of pure fun and anticipated +joy to them. + +We have lingered all this while upon the first chapter of the +work: the second contains an essay and conversation on War. Of this +chapter we shall say no more than that it is earnest and sound in +its views, and especially worthy of attentive consideration at the +present time. The third chapter is one which will probably be turned +to with interest by many readers; it bears the taking title of A +Love Story. Dunsford, a keen though quiet observer, has discovered +that Ellesmere has grown fond of Mildred, though the lawyer was +not likely to disclose his love. Dunsford suspects that Mildred's +affections are get on Milverton, as he has little doubt those +of Blanche are. Both girls are very loving to Dunsford, whom they +call their uncle, though he is no relation, and the old clergyman +determines to have an explanation with Mildred. He manages to walk +alone with her through the unguarded orchards which lie along the +Rhine; and there, somewhat abruptly, he begins to moralize on the +grand passion. Mildred remarks what a happy woman she would have +been whom Dunsford had loved; when the lucky thought strikes him +that he would tell her his own story, never yet told to any one. +And then he tells it, very simply and very touchingly. Like most +true stories of the kind, it has little incident; but it constituted +the romance, not yet outlived, of the old--gentleman's existence. +He and a certain Alice were brought up together. Like many of the +most successful students, Dunsford hated study, and was devoted to +music and poetry, to nature and art. But he knew his only chance +of winning Alice was to obtain some success in life, and he devoted +himself to study. Who does not feel for the old man recalling the +past, and, as he remembered those laborious days, saying to the +girl by his side, "Always reverence a scholar, my dear; if not for +the scholarship, at least for the suffering and the self-denial +which have been endured to gain the scholar's proficiency." His +only pleasure was in correspondence with Alice. He succeeded at +last. He took his degree, being nearly the first man of his year +in both of the great subjects of examination; and he might now come +home with some hope of having made a beginning of fortune. A gay +young fellow, a cousin of Alice, came to spend a few days; and of +course this lively, thoughtless youth, without an effort, carried +off the prize of all poor Dunsford's toils. You never win the thing +on which your heart is set and your life staked; it falls to some +one else who cares very little about it. It is poor compensation +that you get something you care little for which would have made +the happiness of another man. Dunsford discovers one evening, in +a walk with Alice, the frustration of all his hopes:-- + +Alice and I were alone again, and we walked out together in the +evening. We spoke of my future hopes and prospects. I remember that +I was emboldened to press her arm. She returned the pressure, and +for a moment there never was, perhaps, a happier man. Had I known +more of love, I should have known that this evident return of +affection was anything but a good sign; "and," continued she, in +the unconnected manner that you women sometimes speak, "I am so +glad that you love dear Henry. Oh, if we could but come and live +near you when you get a curacy, how happy we should all be." This +short sentence was sufficient. There was no need of more explanation. +I knew all that had happened, and felt as if I no longer trod upon +the firm earth, for it seemed a quicksand under me. + +The agony of that dull evening, the misery of that long night! I +have sometimes thought that unsuccessful love is almost too great +a burden to be put upnn such a poor creature as man. But He knows +best; and it must have been intended, for it is so common. + +The next day I remember I borrowed Henry's horse, and rode madly +about, bounding through woods (I who had long forgotten to ride) +and galloping over open downs. If the animal had not been wiser +and more sane than I was, we should have been dashed to pieces many +times. And so by sheer exhaustion of body I deadened the misery +of my mind, and looked upon their happy state with a kind of +stupefaction. In a few days I found a pretext for quitting my home, +and I never saw your mother again, for it was your mother, Mildred, +and you are not like her, but like your father, and still I love +you. But the great wound has never been healed. It is a foolish +thing, perhaps, that any man should so doat upon a woman, that +he should never afterwards care for any other, but so it has been +with me; and you cannot wonder that a sort of terror should come +over me when I see anybody in love, and when I think that his or +her love is not likely to be returned. + +Who would have thought that Dunsford, with his gaiters, lying on the +grass listening cheerfully to the lively talk of his two friends, +or sitting among his bees repeating Virgil to himself, or going +about among his parishioners, the ideal of prosaic content and +usefulness, had still in him this store of old romance? In asking +the question, all we mean is to remark an apparent inconsistency: +we have no doubt at all of the philosophic truth of the representation. +Probably it is only in the finer natures that such early fancies +linger with appreciable effect. We do not forget the perpetually +repeated declarations of Mr. Thackeray; we did not read Mr. Gilfits +Love Story for nothing; we remember the very absurd incident +which is told of Dr. Chalmers, who in his last years testified +his remembrance of an early sweet-heart by sticking his card with +two wafers behind a wretched little silhouette of her. And it is +conceivable that the tenderest and most beautiful reminiscences of +a love of departed days may linger with a man who has grown grey, +fat, and even snuffy. But it is only in the case of remarkably +tidy, neat, and clever old gentlemen that such feelings are likely +to attract much sympathy from their juniors. Possibly this world +has more of such lingering romance than is generally credited. +Possibly with all but very stolid and narrow natures, no very strong +feeling goes without leaving some trace. + + Pain and grief + Are transitory things no less than joy; + And though they leave us not the men we were, + Yet they do leave us. + +Possibly it is not without some little stir of heart that most +thoughtful aged persons can revisit certain spots, or see certain +days return. And the affection which would have worn itself +down into dull common-place in success, by being disappointed and +frustrated, lives on in memory with diminished vividness but with +increasing beauty, which the test of actual fact can never make +prosaic. Dunsford tells Mildred what was his great inducement to +make this continental tour. Not the Rhine; not the essays nor the +conversations of his friends. At the Palace of the Luxemburg there +is a fine picture, called Les illusions perdues. It is one of the +most affecting pictures Dunsford ever saw. But that is not its +peculiar merit. One girl in the picture is the image of what Alice +was. + +The chief thing I had to look forward to in this journey we are +making was, thsit we might return by way of Paris, and that I might +see that picture again. You must contrive that we do return that +way. Ellesmere will do anything to please you, and Milverton is +always perfectly indifferent as to where he goes, so that he is not +asked to see works of art, or to accompany a party of sight-seers +to a cathedral. We will go and see this picture together once; and +once I must see it alone. + +And a very touching sight it would be to one who knew the story, +the grey-haired old clergyman looking, for a long while, at that +young face. It would be indeed a contrast, the aged man, and the +youthful figure in the picture. Dunsford never saw Alice again after +his early disappointment: he never saw her as she grew matronly +and then old; and so, though now in her grave, she remained in his +memory the same young thing forever. The years which had made him +grow old, had wrought not the slightest change upon her. And Alice, +old and dead, was the same on the canvas still. + +Dunsford's purpose in telling his love-story, was to caution Mildred +against falling in love with Milverton. She told him there was no +danger. Once, she frankly said, she had long struggled with her +feelings, not only from natural pride, but for the sake of Blanche, +who loved Milverton better and would be less able to control +her love. But she had quite got over the struggle; and though now +intensely sympathizing with her cousin, she felt she never could +resolve to marry him. So the conversation ended satisfactorily; +and then a short sentence shows us a scene, beautiful, vivid, and +complete:-- + +We walked home silently amidst the mellow orchards glowing ruddily +in the rays of the setting sun. + +The next chapter contains an Essay and conversation on Criticism: +but its commencement shows us Dunsford still employed in the interests +of his friends. He tells Milverton that Blanche is growing fond of +him. We can hardly give Milverton credit for sincerity or judgment +in being "greatly distressed and vexed." For once, he was shamming. All +middle-aged men are much flattered and pleased with the admiration +of young girls. Milverton declared that the thing must be put a +stop to; that "the idea of a young and beautiful girl throwing her +affections away upon a faded widower like himself, was absurd." +However, as the days went on, Milverton began to be extremely +attentive to Blanche; asked her opinion about things quite beyond +her comprehension; took long walks with her, and assured Dunsford +privately that "Blanche had a great deal more in her than most +people supposed, and that she was becoming an excellent companion." +Who does not recognize the process by which clever men persuade +themselves into the belief that they are doing a judicious thing +in marrying stupid women? + +The chapter which follows that on Criticism, contains a conversation +on Biography, full of interesting suggestions which our space renders +it impossible for us to quote; but we cannot forego the pleasure +of extracting the following paragraphs. It is Milverton who speaks:-- + +During Walter's last holidays, one morning after breakfast he took +a walk with me. I saw something was on the boy's mind. At last he +suddenly asked me, "Do sons often write the lives of fathers?"--"Often," +I replied, "but I do not think they are the best kind of biographers, +for you see, Walter, sons cannot well tell the faults and weaknesses +of their fathers, and so filial biographies are often rather insipid +performances."--"I don't know about that," he said, "I think I could +write yours. I have made it already into chapters." "Now then, my +boy," I said, "begin it: let us have the outline at least." Walter +then commenced his biography. + +"The first chapter," he said, "should be you and I and Henry walking +amongst the trees and settling which should be cut down, and which +should be transplanted." "A very pretty chapter," I said, "and a +great deal might be made of it." "The second chapter," he continued, +"should be your going to the farm, and talking to the pigs." "Also +a very good chapter, my dear." "The third chapter," he said, after +a little thought, "should be your friends. I would describe them +all, and what they could do." There, you see, Ellesmere, you would +come in largely, especially as to what you could do. "An excellent +chapter," I exclaimed, and then of course I broke out into some +paternal admonition about the choice of friends, which I know will +have no effect whatever, but still one cannot help uttering these +paternal admonitions. + +"Now then," I said, "for chapter four." Here Walter paused, and +looked about him vaguely for a minute or two. At length he seemed +to have got hold of the right idea, for he burst out with the words, +"My going back to school;" and that, it seemed, was to be the end +of the biography. + +Now, was there ever so honest a biographer? His going hack to +school was the "be-all and end-all here" with him, and he resolved +it should be the same with his hero, and with everybody concerned +in the story. + +Then see what a pleasant biographer the boy is! He does not drag +his hero down through the vale of life, amidst declining fortune, +breaking health, dwindling away of friends, and the usual dreariness +of the last few stages. Neither does the biography end with the +death of his hero; and by the way, it is not very pleasant to have +one's children contemplating one's death, even for the sake of +writing one's life; but the biographer brings the adventures of his +hero to an end by his own going back to school. How delightful it +would be if most biographers planned their works after Walter's +fashion: just gave a picture of their hero at his farm, or +his business; then at his pleasure, as Walter brought me amongst +my trees; then, to show what manner of man he was, gave some +description of his friends; and concluded by giving an account of +their own going back to school--a conclusion that is greatly to be +desired for many of them. + +When we begin to copy a passage from this work, we find it very +difficult to stop. But the thoughtful reader will not need to have +it pointed out to him how much sound wisdom is conveyed in that +playful form. And here is excellent advice as to the fashion in +which men may hope to get through great intellectual labour: says +Ellesmere,-- + +I can tell you in a--very few words how all work is done. Getting +up early, eating vigorously, saying "No" to intruders resolutely, +doing one thing at a time, thinking over difficulties at odd times, +that is, when stupid people are talking in the House of Commons, +or speaking at the Bar, not indulging too much in affections of +any kind which waste the time and energies, carefully changing the +current of your thoughts before you go to bed, planning the work of +the day in the quarter of an hour before you get up, playing with +children occasionally, and avoiding fools as much as possible: that +is the way to do a great deal of work. + +Milverton remarks, with justice, that some practical advices as +to the way in which a working man might succeed in avoiding fools +were very much to be desired, inasmuch as that brief direction +contains the whole art of life; and suggests with equal justice +that the taking of a daily bath should be added to Ellesmere's +catalogue of appliances which aid in working. + +We cannot linger upon the remaining pages which treat of Biography, +nor upon two interesting chapters concerning Proverbs. It may be +noticed, however, that Ellesmere insists that the best proverb in +the world is the familiar English, one, 'Nobody knows where the +shoe pinches hut the wearer;' while Milverton tells us that the +Spanish language is far richer in proverbs than that of any other +nation. But we hasten to an essay which will be extremely fresh and +interesting to all readers. We have had many essays by Milverton: +here is one by Ellesmere. He had announced some time before his +purpose of writing an essay on The Arts of Self-Advancement, and +Mildred, whom Ellesmere took a pleasure in annoying by making a +parade of mean, selfish, and cynical views, discerned at once that +in such an essay he would have an opportunity of bringing together +a crowd of these, and declared before Ellesmere began to write +it that it would be a nauseous essay.' The essay is finished at +length. The friends are now at Salzburg; and on a very warm day +they assembled in a sequestered spot whence they could see the +snowy peaks of the Tyrolese Alps. Ellesmere begins by deprecating +criticism of his style, declaring that anything inaccurate or +ungrammatical is put in on purpose. Then he begins to read:-- + +In the first place, it is desirable to be born north of the Tweed +(I like to begin at the beginning of things); and if that cannot be +managed, you must at least contrive to be born in a moderately-sized +town--somewhere. You thus get the advantage of being favoured by +a small community without losing any individual force. If I had +been born in Affpuddle--Milverton in Tolpuddle--and Dunsford in +Tollerporcorum (there are such places, at least I saw them once +arranged together in a petition to the House of Commons), the men +of Affpuddle, Tolpuddle, and Tollerporcorum would have been proud +of us, would have been true to us, and would have helped to push +our fortunes. I see, with my mind's eye, a statue of Dunsford raised +in Tollerporcorum. You smile, I observe; but it is the smile of +ignorance, for let me tell you, it is of the first importance not +to be born vaguely, as in London, or in some remote country-house. +If you cannot, however, be born properly, contrive at least to be +connected with some small sect or community, who may consider your +renown as part of their renown, and be always ready to favour and +defend you. + +After this promising introduction Ellesmere goes on to propound +views which in an extraordinary way combine real good sense and +sharp worldly wisdom with a parade of all sorts of mean shifts and +contemptible tricks where-by to take advantage of the weakness, +folly, and wickedness of human nature. Very characteristically he +delights in thinking how he is shocking and disgusting poor Mildred: +of course Dunsford and Milverton understand him. And the style is +as characteristic as the thought. It is unquestionably Ellesmere +to whose essay we are listening; Milverton could not and would +not have produced such a discourse. We remember to have read in +a review, published several years since, of the former series of +Friends in Council, that it was judicious in the author of that +work, though introducing several friends as talking together, to +represent all the essays as written by one individual; because, +although he could keep up the individuality of the speakers through +a conversation, it was doubtful whether he could have succeeded in +doing so through essays purporting to. be written by each of them. +We do not know whether the author ever saw the challenge thus thrown +down to him: but it is certain that in the present series he has +boldly attempted the thing, and thoroughly succeeded. And it may be +remarked that not one of Ellesmere's propositions can be regarded +as mere vagaries--every one of them contains truth, though truth +put carefully in the most disagreeable and degrading way. Who does +not know how great an element of success it is to belong to a sect +or class which regard your reputation as identified with their own, +and cry you up accordingly? It is to be admitted that there is the +preliminary difficulty of so far overcoming individual envies and +jealousies as to get your class to accept you as their representative; +but once that end is accomplished the thing is done. As to being +born north of the Tweed, a Scotch Lord Chancellor and a Scotch Bishop +of London are instructive instances. And however much Scotchmen may +abuse one another at home, it cannot be denied that all Scotchmen +feel it a sacred duty to stand up for every Scotchman who has +attained to eminence oeyond the boundaries of his native land. +Scotland, indeed, in the sense in which Ellesmere uses the phrase, +is a small community; and a community of very energetic, self-denying, +laborious, and determined men, with very many feelings in common +which they have in common only with their countrymen, and with an +invincible tendency in all times of trouble to remember the old +cry of Highlandmen, shoulder to shoulder! Let the ambitious reader +muse on what follows:-- + +Let your position be commonplace, whatever you are yourself. If you +are a genius, and contrive to conceal the fact, you really deserve +to get on in the world, and you will do so, if only you keep on +the level road. Remember always that the world is a place where +second-rate people mostly succeed: not fools, nor first-rate people. + +Cynically put, no doubt, but admirably true. A great blockhead will +never be made an archbishop; but in ordinary times a great genius +stands next to him in the badness of his chance. After all, good +sense and sound judgment are the essentially needful things in all +but very exceptional situations in life--and for these commend us +to the safe, steady-going, commonplace man. It cannot be denied +that the great mass of mankind stand in doubt and fear of people who +are wonderfully clever. What an amount of stolid, self-complacent, +ignorant, stupid, conceited respectability, is wrapped up in +the declaration concerning any person, that he is "too clever by +half!" How plainly it teaches that the general belief is that too +ingenious machinery will break down in practical working, and that +most men will do wrong who have the power to do it! + +The following propositions are true in very large communities, but +they will not hold good in the country or in little towns:-- + +Remember always that what is real and substantive ultimately has +its way in this world. + +You make good bricks for instance: it is in vain that your enemies +prove that you are a heretic in morals, politics, and religion; +insinuate that you beat your wife; and dwell loudly on the fact that +you failed in making picture-frames. In so far as you are a good +brick-maker, you have all the power that depends on good brick-making; +and the world will mainly look to j-our positive qualities as a +brick-maker. + +After having gone on with a number of maxims of a very base, selfish, +and suspicious nature, to the increasing horror of the girls who +are listening, Ellesmere passes from the consideration of modes of +action to a much more important matter:-- + +Those who wish for self-advancement should remember, that the art +in life is not so much to do a thing well, as to get a thing that +has been moderately well done largely talked about. Some foolish +people, who should have belonged to another planet, give all their +minds to doing their work well. This is an entire mistake. This is +a grievous loss of power. Such a method of proceeding may be very +well in Jupiter, Mars, or Saturn, but is totally out of place in +this puffing, advertising, bill-sticking part of creation. To rush +into the battle of life without an abundance of kettle-drums and +trumpets is a weak and ill-advised adventure, however well-armed +and well-accoutred you may be. As I hate vague maxims, I will at +once lay down the proportions in which force of any kind should be +used in this world. Suppose you have a force which may be represented +by the number one hundred: seventy-three parts at least of that +force should be given to the trumpet; the remaining twenty-seven +parts may not disadvantageously be spent in doing the thing which +is to be trumpeted. This is a rule unlike some rules in grammar, +which are entangled and controlled by a multitude of vexatious +exceptions; but it applies equally to the conduct of all matters +upon earth, whether social, moral, artistic, literary, political, +or religious. + +Ellesmere goes on to sum up the personal qualities needful to +success; and having sketched out the character of a mean, crafty, +sharp, energetic rascal, he concludes by saying that such a one will +not fail to succeed in any department of life--provided always he +keeps for the most part to one department, and does not attempt +to conquer in many directions at once. I only hope that, having +protited by this wisdom of mine, he will give me a share of the +spoil. + +Thus the essay ends; and then the discourse thereon begins-- + +MILVERTON. Well, of all the intolerable wretches and black-guards--' + +MR. MIDHURST. A conceited prig, too! + +UUNSFORD. A wicked, designing villain! + +ELLESMERE. Any more: any more? Pray go on, gentlemen; and have +you, ladies, nothing to say against the wise man of the world that +I have depicted? + +And yet the upshot of the conversation was, that though given in +a highly disagreeable and obtrusively base form, there was much +truth in what Ellesmere had said. It is to be remembered that he +did not pretend to describe a good man, but only a successful one. +And it is to be remembered likewise that prudence verges toward +baseness: and that the difference between the suggestions of each +lies very much in the fashion in which these suggestions are put +and enforced. As to the use of the trumpet, how many advertising +tailors and pill-makers could testify to the soundness of Ellesmere's +principle? And beyond the Atlantic it finds special favor. When +Barnum exhibited his mermaid, and stuck up outside his show-room +a picture of three beautiful mermaids, of human size, with flowing +hair, basking upon a summer sea, while inside the show-room he had +the hideous little contorted figure made of a monkey with a fish's +tail attached to it, probably the proportion of the trumpet to the +thing trumpeted was even greater than seventy-three to twenty-seven. +Dunsford suggests, for the comfort of those who will not stoop to +unworthy means for obtaining success, the beautiful saying, that +"Heaven is probably a place for those who have failed on earth." +And Ellesmere, adhering to his expressed views, declares-- + +If you had attended to them earlier in life, Dunsford would now be +Mr. Dean; Milverton would be the Right Honorable Leonard Milverton, +and the leader of a party; Mr. Midhurst would be chief cook +to the Emperor Napoleon; the bull-dog would have been promoted to +the parlor; I, but no man is wise for himself, should have been +Lord Chancellor; Walter would be at the head of his class without +having any more knowledge than he has at present; and as for you +two girls, one. would be a Maid of Honor to the Queen, and the +other would have married the richest man in the county. + +We have not space to tell how Ellesmere planned to get Mr. Midhurst +to write an essay on the Miseries of Human Life; nor how at Treves, +upon a lowering day, the party, seated in the ancient amphitheatre, +heard it read; nor how fully, eloquently, and not unfairly, the +gloomy man, not without a certain solemn enjoyment, summed up his +sad catalogue of the ills that flesh is heir to; nor how Milverton +agreed in the evening to speak an answer to the essay, and show +that life was not so miserable after all; nor how Ellesmere, eager +to have it answered effectively, determined that Milverton should +have the little accessories in his favor, the red curtains drawn, +a blazing wood-fire, and plenty of light; nor how before the answer +began, he brought Milverton a glass of wine to cheer him; nor how +Milverton endeavored to show that in the present system misery was +not quite predominant, and that much good in many ways came out +of ill. Then we have some talk about Pleasantness; and Dunsford is +persuaded to write and read an essay on that subject, which he read +one morning, 'while we were sitting in the balcony of an hotel, in +one of the small towns that overlook the Moselle, which was flowing +beneath in a reddish turbid stream.' In the conversation which +follows Milverton says, + +It is a fault certainly to which writers are liable, that of +exaggerating the claims of their subject. + +And how truly is that said! Indeed we can quite imagine a very +earnest man feeling afraid to think too much and long about any +existing evil, for fear it should greaten on his view into a thing +so large and pernicious, that he should be constrained to give all +his life to the wrestling with that one thing; and attach to it an +importance which would make his neighbors think him a monomaniac. +If you think long and deeply upon any subject, it grows in magnitude +and weight: if you think of it too long, it may grow big enough +to exclude the thought of all things beside. If it be an existing +and prevalent evil you are thinking of, you may come to fancy that +if that one thing could be done away, it would be well with the +human race,--all evil would go with it. We can sympathize deeply +with that man who died a short while since, who wrote volume after +volume to prove that if men would only leave off stooping, and learn +to hold themselves upright, it would be the grandest blessing that +ever came to humanity. We can quite conceive the process by which +a man might come to think so, without admitting mania as a cause. +We confess, for ourselves, that so deeply do we feel the force of +the law Milverton mentions, there are certain evils of which we are +afraid to think much, for fear we should come to be able to think +of nothing else, and of nothing more. + +Then a pleasant chapter, entitled Lovers' Quarrels, tells us how +matters are progressing with the two pairs. Milverton and Blanche +are going on most satisfactorily; but Ellesmere and Mildred are +wayward and hard to keep right. Ellesmere sadly disappointed Mildred +by the sordid views he advanced in his essay, and kept advancing +in his talk; and like a proud and shy man of middle age when in +love, he was ever watching for distant slight indications of how his +suit might be received, and rendered fractious by the uncertainty +of Mildred's conduct and bearing. And probably women have little +notion by what slight and hardly thought-of sayings and doings +they may have repressed the declaration and the offer which might +perhaps have made them happy. Day by day Dunsfbrd was vexed by +the growing estrangement between two persons who were really much +attached; and this unhappy state of matters might have ended in a +final separation but for the happy incident recorded in the chapter +called Rowing down the River Moselle. The party had rowed down the +river, talking as usual of many things:-- + +It was just at this point of the conversation that we pulled in +nearer to the land, as Walter had made signs that he wished now to +get into the boat. It was a weedy rushy part of the river that we +entered. Fixer saw a rat or some other creature, which he was wild +to get at. Eliesmere excited him to do so, and the dog sprang out +of the boat. In a minute or two Fixer became entangled in the weeds, +and seemed to be in danger of sinking. Ellesmere, without thinking +what he was about, made a hasty effort to save the dog, seized +hold of him, but lost his own balance and fell out of the boat. In +another moment Mildred gave me the end of her shawl to hold, which +she had wound round herself, and sprang out too. The sensible +diplomatist lost no time in throwing his weighty person to the other +side of the boat. The two boatmen did the same. But for this move, +the boat would, in all probability, have capsized, and we should +all have been lost. Mildred was successful in clutching hold +of Ellesmere; and Milverton and I managed to haul them close to +the boat and to pull them in. Ellesmere had uot relinquished hold +of Fixer. All this happened, as such accidents do, in almost less +time than it takes to describe them. And now came another dripping +creature splashing into the boat; for Master Walter, who can swim +like a duck, had plunged in directly he saw the accident, but too +late to be of any assistance. + +Things are now all right; and Ellesmere next day announces to his +friends that Mildred and he are engaged. Two chapters, on Government +and Despotism respectively, give us the last thoughts of the Friends +abroad; then we have a pleasant picture of them all in Milverton's +farmyard, under a great sycamore, discoursing cheerfully of country +cares. The closing chapter of the book is on The Need for Tolerance. +It contains a host of thoughts which we should be glad to extract; +but we must be content with a wise saying of Milverton's:-- + +For a man who has been rigidly good to be supremely tolerant, +would require an amount of insight which seems to belong only to +the greatest genius. + +For we hardly sympathize with that which we have not in some +measure experienced; and the great thing, after all, which makes +us tolerant of the errors of other men, is the feeling that under +like circumstances we should have ourselves erred in like manner; +or, at all events, the being able to see the error in such a light +as to feel that there is that within ourselves which enables us at +least to understand how men should in such a way have erred. The +sins on which we are most severe are those concerning which our +feeling is, that we cannot conceive how any man could possibly have +done them. And probably such would be the feeling of a rigidly +good man concerning every sin. + +So we part, for the present, from our Friends, not without the hope +of again meeting them. We have been listening to the conversation +of living men; and, in parting, we feel the regret that we should +feel in quitting a kind friend's house after a pleasant visit, +not, perhaps, to be renewed for many a day. And this is a changing +world. We have been breathing the old atmosphere, and listening +to the old voices talking in the old way. We have had new thought +and new truth, but presented in the fashion we have known and enjoyed +for years. Happily we can repeat our visit as often as we please, +without the fear of worrying or wearying; for we may open the book +at will. And we shall hope for new visits likewise. Milverton will +be as earnest and more hopeful, Ellesmere will retain all that +is good, and that which is provoking will now be softened down. +No doubt by this time they are married. Where have they gone? The +continent is unsettled, and they have often already been there. +Perhaps they have gone to Scotland? No doubt they have. And perhaps +before the leaves are sere we may find them out among the sea lochs +of the beautiful Frith of Clyde, or under the shadow of Ben Nevis. + + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +CONCERNING THE PULPIT IN SCOTLAND. + + + + +Nearly forty years since, Dr. Chalmers, one of the parish ministers +of Glasgow, preached several times in London. He was then in the +zenith of his popularity as a pulpit orator. Canning and Wilberforce +went together to hear him upon one occasion; and after sitting +spell-bound under his eloquence, Canning said to Wilberforce when +the sermon was done, 'The tarlan beats us; we have no preaching +like that in England.' + +In October 1855, the Rev. John Caird, incumbent of the parish of +Errol, in Perthshire, preached before the Queen and Court at the +church of Crathie. Her Majesty was so impressed by the discourse +that she commanded its publication; and the Prince Consort, no mean +authority, expressed his admiration of the ability of the preacher, +saying that 'he had not heard a preacher like him for ssven years, +and did not expect to enjoy a like pleasure for as long a period to +come.' So, at all events, says a paragraph in The Times of December +12th, 1855. + +It is somewhat startling to find men of cultivated taste, who are +familiar with the highest class preaching of the English Church, +expressing their sense of the superior effect of pulpit oratory +of a very different kind. No doubt Caird and Chalmers are the best +of their class; and the overwhelming effect which they and a few +other Scotch preachers have often produced, is in a great degree +owing to the individual genius of the men, and not to the school +of preaching they belong to. Yet both are representatives of what +may be called the Scotch school of preaching: and with all their +genius, they never could have carried away their audience as they +have done, had they been trammelled by those canons of taste to +which English preachers almost invariably conform. Their manner +is just the regular Scotch manner, vivified into tenfold effect +by their own peculiar genius. Preaching in Scotland is a totally +different thing from what it is in England. In the former country +it is generally characterized by an amount of excitement in delivery +and matter, which in England is only found among the most fanatical +Dissenters, and is practically unknown in the pulpits of the national +church. No doubt English and Scotch preaching differ in substance to +a certain 'extent.' Scotch sermons are generally longer, averaging +from forty minutes to an hour in the delivery. There is a more +prominent and constant pressing of what is called evangelical +doctrine. The treatment of the subject is more formal. There is an +introduction; two or three heads of discourse, formally announced; +and a practical conclusion; and generally the entire Calvinistic +system is set forth in every sermon. But the main difference +lies in the manner in which the discourses of the two schools are +delivered. While English sermons are generally read with quiet +dignity, in Scotland they are very commonly repeated from memory, +and given with great vehemence and oratorical effect, and abundant +gesticulation. Nor is it to be supposed that when we say the +difference is main ly in manner, we think it a small one. There +is only one account given by all who have heard the most striking +Scotch preachers, as to the proportion which their manner bears +in the effect produced. Lockhart, late of The Quarterly, says of +Chalmers, 'Never did the world possess any orator whose minutest +peculiarities of gesture and voice have more power in increasing +the effect of what he says; whose delivery, in other words, is the +first, and the second, and the third excellence in his oratory, +more truly than is that of Dr. Chalmers.' The same words might be +repeated of Caird, who has succeeded to Chalmers's fame. A hundred +little circumstances of voice and manner--even of appearance and +dress--combine to give his oratory its overwhelming power. And where +manner is everything, difference in manner is a total difference. +Nor does manner affect only the less educated and intelligent class +of hearers. It cannot be doubted that the unparalleled impression +produced, even on such men as Wilberforce, Canning, Lockhart, +Lord Jeffrey, and Prince Albert, was mainly the result of manner. +In point of substance and style, many English preachers are quite +superior to the best of the Scotch. In these respects, there are no +preachers in Scotland who come near the mark of Melvill, Manning, +Arnold, or Bishop Wilberforce. Lockhart says of Chalmers, + +I have heard many men deliver sermons far better arranged in point +of argument; and I have heard very many deliver sermons far more +uniform in elegance, both of conception and of style; but most +unquestionably, I have never heard, either in England or Scotland, +or in any other country, a preacher whose eloquence is capable of +producing an effect so strong and irresistible as his. + +[Footnote: Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk, vol. iii. p. 267.] + +The best proof how much Chalmers owed to his manner, is, that in +his latter days, when he was no longer able to give them with his +wonted animation and feeling, the very same discourses fell quite +flat on his congregation. + +It is long since Sydney Smith expressed his views as to the chilliness +which is the general characteristic of the Anglican pulpit. In the +preface to his published sermons, he says: + +The English, generally remarkable for doing very good things in a +very bad manner, seem to have reserved the maturity and plenitude +of their awkwardness for the pulpit. A clergyman clings to his +velvet cushion with either hand, keeps his eye rivetted on his +book, speaks of the ecstacies of joy and fear with a voice and a +face which indicates neither; and pinions his body and soul into +the same attitude of limb and thought, for fear of being thought +theatrical and affected. The most intrepid veteran of us all +dares no more than wipe his face with his cambric sudarium; if by +mischance his hand slip from its orthodox gripe of the velvet, he +draws it back as from liquid brimstone, and atones for the indecorum +by fresh inflexibility and more rigorous sameness. Is it wonder, +then, that every semi-delirious sectary who pours forth his animated +nonsense with the genuine look and voice of passion, should +gesticulate away the congregation of the most profound and learned +divine of the established church, and in two Sundays preach him +bare to the very sexton? Why are we natural everywhere but in the +pulpit? No man expresses warm and animated feelings anywhere else, +with his mouth only, but with his whole body; he articulates with +every limb, and talks from head to foot with a thousand voices. +Why this holoplexia on sacred occasions only? Why call in the aid +of paralysis to piety? Is sin to be taken from men, as Eve was from +Adam, by casting them into a deep slumber? Or from what possible +perversion of common sense are we all to look like field preachers +in Zembla, holy lumps of ice, numbed into quiescence and stagnation +and mumbling? + +Now in Scotland, for very many years past, the standard style of +preaching has been that which the lively yet gentle satirist wished +to see more common in England. Whether successfully or not, Scotch +preachers aim at what Sydney Smith regarded as the right way of +preaching--'to rouse, to appeal, to inflame, to break through every +barrier, up to the very haunts and chambers of the soul.' Whether +this end be a safe one to propose to each one of some hundreds of +men of ordinary ability and taste, may be a question. An unsuccessful +attempt at it is very likely to land a man in gross offence against +common taste and common sense, from which he whose aim is less +ambitious is almost certainly safe. The preacher whose purpose is +to preach plain sense in such a style and manner as not to offend +people of education and refinement, if he fail in doing what he +wishes, may indeed be dull, but will not be absurd and offensive. +But however this may be, it is curious that this impassioned +and highly oratorical school of preaching should be found among a +cautious, cool-headed race like the Scotch. The Scotch are proverbial +for long heads, and no great capacity of emotion. Sir Walter Scott, +in Rob Roy, in describing the preacher whom the hero heard in the +crypt of Glasgow Cathedral, says that his countrymen are much more +accessible to logic than rhetoric; and that this fact determines +the character of the preaching which is most acceptable to them. +If the case was such in those times, matters are assuredly quite +altered now. Logic is indeed not overlooked: but it is brilliancy +of illustration, and, above all, great feeling and earnestness, which +go down. Mr. Caird, the most popular of modern Scotch preachers, +though possessing a very powerful and logical mind, yet owes his +popularity with the mass of hearers almost entirely to his tremendous +power of feeling and producing emotion. By way of contrast to +Sydney Smith's picture of the English pulpit manner, let us look +at one of Chalmers's great appearances. Look on that picture, and +then on this: + +The Doctor's manner during the whole delivery of that magnificent +discourse was strikingly animated: while the enthusiasm and energy +he threw into some of his bursts rendered them quite overpowering. +One expression which he used, together with his action, his look, and +the tones of his voice, made a most vivid and indelible impression +on my memory... While uttering these words, which he did with peculiar +emphasis, accompanying them with a flash from his eye and a slump +of his foot, he threw his right arm with clenched fist right across +the book-board, and brandished it full in the face of the Town +Council, sitting in state before him. The words seem to startle, +like an electric shock, the whole audience. + +Very likely they did: but we should regret to see a bishop, or even +a dean, have recourse to such means of producing an impression. We +shall give one other extract descriptive of Chalmers's manner: + +It was a transcendently grand, a glorious burst. The energy of his +action corresponded. Intense emotion beamed from his countenance. +I cannot describe the appearance of his face better than by saving +it was lighted up almost into a glare. The congregation were intensely +excited, leaning forward in the pews like a forest bending under +the power of the hurricane,--looking steadfastly at the preacher, +and listening in breathless wonderment. So soon as it was concluded, +there was (as invariably was the case at the close of the Doctor's +bursts) a deep sigh, or rather gasp for breath, accompanied by a +movement throughout the whole audience. + +[Footnote: Life of Chalmers, vol. i. pp. 462, 3, and 467, 8. It +should be mentioned that Chahners, notwithstanding this tremendous +vehemence, always read his sermons.] + +There is indeed in the Scotch Church a considerable class of most +respectable preachers who read their sermons, and who, both for +matter and manner, might be transplanted without remark into the +pulpit of any cathedral in England. There is a school, also, of +high standing and no small popularity, whose manner and style are +calm and beautiful; but who, through deficiency of that vehemence +which is at such a premium in Scotland at present, will never draw +crowds such as hang upon the lips of more excited orators. Foremost +among such stands Mr. Robertson, minister of Strathmartin, in +Forfarshire. Dr. McCulloch, of Greenock, and Dr. Veitch, of St. +Cuthbert's, Edinburgh, are among the best specimens of the class. +But that preaching which interests, leads onward, and instructs, +has few admirers compared with that which thrills, overwhelms, +and sweeps away. And from the impression made on individuals so +competent to judge as those already mentioned, it would certainly +seem that, whether suited to the dignity of the pulpit or not, the +deepest oratorical effect is made by the latter, even on cultivated +minds. Some of the most popular preachers in England have formed +themselves on the Scotch model. Melvill and M'Neile are examples: +so, in a different walk, is Ryle, so well known by his tracts. +We believe that Melvill in his early days delivered his sermons +from memory, and of late years only has taken to reading, to the +considerable diminution of the effect he produces. We may here +remark, that in some country districts the prejudice of the people +against clergymen reading their sermons is excessive. It is indeed to +be admitted that it is a more natural thing that a speaker should +look at the audience he is addressing, and appear to speak from +the feeling of the moment, than that he should read to them what +he has to say; but it is hard to impose upon a parish minister, +burdened with pastoral duty, the irksome school-boy task of committing +to memory a long sermon, and perhaps two, every week. The system +of reading is spreading rapidly in the Scotch Church, and seems +likely in a few years to become all but universal. Caird reads his +sermons closely on ordinary Sundays, but delivers entirely from +memory in preaching on any particular occasion. + +It may easily be imagined that when every one of fourteen or +fifteen hundred preachers understands on entering the church that +his manner must be animated if he looks for preferment, very many +will have a very bad manner. It is wonderful, indeed, when we look +to the average run of respectable Scotch preachers, to find how +many take kindly to the emotional style. Often, of course, such +a style is thoroughly contrary to the man's idiosyncracy. Still, +he must seem warm and animated; and the consequence is frequently +loud speaking without a vestige of feeling, and much roaring when +there is nothing whatever in what is said to demand it. Noise +is mistaken for animation. We have been startled on going into a +little country kirk, in which any speaking above a whisper would +have been audible, to find the minister from the very beginning of +the service, roaring as if speaking to people a quarter of a mile +off. Yet the rustics were still, and appeared attentive. They +regarded their clergyman as 'a powerfu' preacher;' while the most +nervous thought, uttered in more civilized tones, would have been +esteemed 'unco weak.' We are speaking, of course, of very plain +congregations; but among such 'a powerful preacher' means a preacher +with a powerful voice and great physical energy. + +Let not English readers imagine, when we speak of the vehemence of +the Scotch pulpit, that we mean only a gentlemanly degree of warmth +and energy. It often amounts to the most violent melo-dramatic +acting. Sheil's Irish speeches would have been immensely popular +Scotch sermons, so far as their style and delivery are concerned. +The physical energy is tremendous. It is said that when Chalmers +preached in St. George's, Edinburgh, the massive chandeliers, many +feet off, were all vibrating. He had often to stop, exhausted, in +the midst of his sermon, and have a psalm sung till he recovered +breath. Caird begins quietly, but frequently works himself up to +a frantic excitement, in which his gestulation is of the wildest, +and his voice an absolute howl. One feels afraid that he may burst +a bloodvessel. Were his hearers cool enough to criticise him, the +impression would be at an end; but he has wound them up to such +a pitch that criticism is impossible. They must sit absolutely +passive, with nerves tingling and blood pausing: frequently many +of the congregation have started to their feet. It may be imagined +how heavily the physical energies of the preacher are drawn upon by +this mode of speaking. Dr. Bennie, one of the ministers of Edinburgh, +and one of the most eloquent and effective of Scotch pulpit +orators, is said to have died at an age much short of fifty, worn +out by the enthusiastic animation of his style. There are some little +accessories of the Scotch pulpit, which in England are unknown: such +as thrashing the large Bible which lies before the minister--long +pauses to recover breath--much wiping of the face--sodorific results +to an unpleasant degree, necessitating an entire change of apparel +after preaching. + +The secret of the superior power over a mixed congregation of the +best Scotch, as compared with most English preachers, is that the +former are not deterred by any considerations of the dignity of +the pulpit, from any oratorical art which is likely to produce an +effect. Some times indeed, where better things might be expected, +the most reprehensible clap-trap is resorted to. An English preacher +is fettered and trammelled by fear of being thought fanatical and +methodistical,--and still worse, ungentlemanlike. He knows, too, +that a reputation as a 'popular preacher' is not the thing which +will conduce much to his preferment in his profession. The Scotch +preacher, on the other hand, throws himself heart and soul into his +subject. Chalmers overcame the notion that vehemence in the pulpit +was indicative of either fanaticism or weakness of intellect: +he made ultra-animation respectable: and earnestness, even in an +excessive degree, is all in favour of a young preacher's popularity; +while a man's chance of the most valuable preferments (in the way +of parochial livings) of the Scotch church, is in exact proportion +to his popularity as a preacher. The spell of the greatest preachers +is in their capacity of intense feeling. This is reflected on the +congregation. A congregation will in most cases feel but a very +inferior degree of the emotion which the preacher feels. But intense +feeling is contagious. There is much in common between the tragic +actor and the popular preacher; but while the actor's power +is generally the result of a studied elocution, the preacher's is +almost always native. A teacher of elocution would probably say +that the manner of Chalmers, Guthrie, or Caird was a very bad one; +but it suits the man, and no other would produce a like impression. +In reading the most effective discourses of the greatest preachers, +we are invariably disappointed. We can see nothing very particular +in those quotations from Chalmers which are recorded as having so +overwhelmingly impressed those who heard them. It was manner that +did it all. In short, an accessory which in England is almost +entirely neglected, is the secret of Scotch effect. Nor is it any +derogation from an orator's genius to say that his power lies much +less in what he says than in how he says it. It is but saying that +his weapon can be wielded by no other hand than his own. Manner +makes the entire difference between Macready and the poorest stroller +that murders Shakspeare. The matter is the Baine in the case of +each. Each has the same thing to say; the enormous difference lies +in the manner in which each says it. The greatest effects recorded +to have been produced by human language, have been produced by +things which, in merely reading them, would not have appeared so +very remarkable. Hazlitt tells us that nothing so lingered on his +ear as a line from Home's Douglas, as spoken by young Betty:-- + +And happy, in my mind, was he that died. + +We have heard it said that Macready never produced a greater effect +than by the very simple words 'Who said that?' It is perhaps a +burlesque of an acknowledged fact, to record that Whitfield could +thrill an audience by saying 'Mesopotamia!' Hugh Miller tells us +that he heard Chahners read a piece which he (Miller) had himself +written. It produced the effect of the most telling acting; and +its author never knew how fine it was till then. We remember well +the feeling which ran through us when we heard Caird say, 'As we +bend over the grave, where the dying are burying the dead.' All +this is the result of that gift of genius; to feel with the whole +soul and utter with the whole soul. The case of Gavazzi shows +that tremendous energy can carry an audience away, without its +understanding a syllable of what is said. Inferior men think by +loud roaring and frantic gesticulation to produce that impression +which genius alone can produce. But the counterfeit is wretched; +and with all intelligent people the result is derision and disgust. + +Many of our readers, we daresay, have never witnessed the service +of the Scotch Church. Its order is the simplest possible. A psalm +is sung, the congregation sitting. A prayer of about a quarter of +an hour in length is offered, the congregation standing. A chapter +of the Bible is read; another psalm sung; then comes the sermon. A +short prayer and a psalm follow; and the service is terminated by +the benediction. The entire service lasts about an hour and a half. +It is almost invariably conducted by a single clergyman. In towns, +the churches now approximate pretty much to the English, as regards +architecture. It is only in country places that one finds the true +bareness of Presbytery. The main difference is that there is no +altar; the communion table being placed in the body of the church. +The pulpit occupies the altar end, and forms the most prominent +object; symbolizing very accurately the relative estimation of the +sermon in the Scotch service. Whenever a new church is built, the +recurrence to a true ecclesiastical style is marked; and vaulted +roofs, stained glass, and dark oak, have, in large towns, in a +great degree, supplanted the flat-roofed meetinghouses which were +the Presbyterian ideal. The preacher generally wears the English +preaching gown. The old Geneva gown covered with frogs is hardly +ever seen; but the surplice would still stir up a revolution. The +service is performed with much propriety of demeanour; the singing +is often so well done by a good choir, that the absence of the +organ is hardly felt. Educated Scotchmen have come to lament the +intolerant zeal which led the first Reformers in their country to +such extremes. But in the country we still see the true genius of +the Presbytery. The rustics walk into church with their hats on; +and replace them and hurry out the instant the service is over. The +decorous prayer before and after worship is unknown. The minister, +in many churches wears no gown. The stupid bigotry of the people +in some of the most covenanting districts is almost incredible. +There are parishes in which the people boast that they have never +suffered so Romish a thing as a gown to appear in their pulpit; and +the country people of Scotland generally regard Episcopacy as not +a whit better than Popery. It has sometimes struck us as curious, +that the Scotch have always made such endeavours to have a voice in +the selection of their clergy. Almost all the dissenters from the +Church of Scotland hold precisely the same views both of doctrine +and church government as the Church, and have seceded on points +connected with the existence of lay patronage. In England much +discontent may sometimes be excited by an arbitrary appointment to +a living; but it would be vain to endeavour to excite a movement +throughout the whole country to prevent the recurrence of such +appointments. Yet upon precisely this point did some three or +four hundred ministers secede from the Scotch Church in 1843; and +to maintain the abstract right of congregations to a share in the +appointment of their minister, has the 'Free Church' drawn from the +humbler classes of a poor country many hundred thousand pounds. No +doubt all this results in some measure from the self-sufficiency +of the Scotch character; but besides this, it should be remembered +that to a Scotchman it is a matter of much graver importance who +shall be his clergyman than it is to an Englishman. In England, +if the clergyman can but read decently, the congregation may find +edification in listening to and joining in the beautiful prayers +provided by the Church, even though the sermon should be poor +enough. But in Scotland everything depends on the minister. If he +be a fool, he can make the entire service as foolish as himself. +For prayers, sermon, choice of passages of Scripture which are +read, everything, the congregation is dependent on the preacher. +The question, whether the worship to which the people of a parish +are invited weekly shall be interesting and improving, or shall +be absurd and revolting, is decided by the piety, good sense, and +ability of the parish priest. Coleridge said he never knew the value +of the Liturgy till he had heard the prayers which were offered in +some remote country churches in Scotland. + +We have not space to inquire into the circumstances which have given +Scotch preaching its peculiar character. We may remark, however, +that the sermon is the great feature of the Scotch service; it is +the only attraction; and pains must be taken with it. The prayers +are held in very secondary estimation. The preacher who aims +at interesting his congregation, racks his brain to find what +will startle and strike; and then the warmth of his delivery adds +to his chance of keeping up attention. Then the Scotch are not a +theatre-going people; they have not, thus, those stage-associations +with a dramatic manner which would suggest themselves to many minds. +Many likewise expect that excitement in the church, which is more +suited to the atmosphere of the play-house. Patrons of late years +not unfrequently allow a congregation to choose its own minister; +the Crown almost invariably consults the people; the decided taste +of almost all songregations is for great warmth of manner; and the +supply is made to suit the demand. + +As for the solemn question, how far Scotch preaching answers the +great end of all right preaching, it is hard to speak. No doubt +it is a great thing to arouse the somewhat comatose attention of +any audience to a discourse upon religion, and any means short of +clap-trap and indecorum are justified if they succeed in doing so. +No man will be informed or improved by a sermon which sets him +asleep. Yet it is to be feared that, in the prevailing rage for what +is striking and new, some eminent preachers sacrifice usefulness +to glitter. We have heard discourses concerning which, had we been +asked when they were over, What is the tendency and result of all +this?--what is the conclusion it all leads to?--we should have been +obliged to reply, Only that Mr. Such-a-one is an uncommonly clever +man. The intellectual treat, likewise, of listening to first-class +pulpit oratory, tends to draw many to church merely to enjojr it. +Many go, not to be the better for the truth set forth, but to be +delighted by the preacher's eloquence. And it is certain that many +persons whose daily life exhibits no trace of religion, have been +most regular and attentive hearers of the most striking preachers. +We may mention an instance in point. When Mr. Caird was one of the +ministers of Edinburgh, he preached in a church, one gallery of +which is allotted to students of the University. A friend of ours +was one Sunday afternoon in that gallery, when he observed in the +pew before him two very rough-looking fellows, with huge walking-sticks +projecting from their great-coat pockets, and all the unmistakable +marks of medical students. It was evident they were little accustomed +to attend any place of worship. The church, as usual, was crammed +to suffocation, and Mr. Caird preached a most stirring sermon. +As he wound up one paragraph to an overwhelming climax, the whole +congregation bent forward in eager and breathless silence. The +medical students were under the general spell. Half rising from their +seats they gazed at the preacher with open mouths. At length the +burst was over, and a long sigh relieved the wrought-up multitude. +The two students sank upon their seat, and looked at one another +fixedly: and the first expressed his appreciation of the eloquence +of what he had heard by exclaiming half aloud to his companion, +'Damn it, that's it.' + +The doctrine preached in Scotch pulpits is now almost invariably +what is termed evangelical. For a long time, now long gone by, +many of the clergy preached morality, with very inadequate views +of Christian doctrine. We cannot but notice a misrepresentation of +Dr. Hanna, in his Life of Chalmers. Without saying so, he leaves +an impression that all the clergy of the Moderate or Conservative +party in the Church held those semi-infidel views which Chalmers +entertained in his early days. The case is by no means so. Very +many ministers, not belonging to the movement party, held truly +orthodox opinions, and did their pastoral work as faithfully as ever +Chalmers did after his great change of sentiment. It is curious to +know that while party feeling ran high in the Scotch Church, it was +a shibboleth of the Moderate party to use the Lord's Prayer in the +Church service. The other party rejected that beautiful compendium +of all supplication, on the ground that, it was not a Christian +prayer, no mention being made in it of the doctrine of the atonement. +It is recorded that on one occasion a minister of what was termed +the 'High-fiying' party was to preach for Dr. Gilchrist, of the +Canongate Church in Edinburgh. That venerable clergyman told his +friend before service that it was usual in the Canongate Church +to make use of the Lord's Prayer at every celebration of worship. +The friend looked somewhat disconcerted, and said, 'Is it absolutely +necessary that I should give the Lord's Prayer?' 'Not at all,' was +Dr. Gilchrist's reply, 'not at all, if you can give us anything +better!' + +Mr. Caird's sermon preached at Crathie has been published by royal +command. It is no secret that the Queen arid Prince, after hearing +it, read it in manuscript, and expressed themselves no less impressed +in reading it by the soundness of its views, than they had been in +listening to it by its extraordinary eloquence. Our perusal of it +has strongly confirmed us in the views we have expressed as to the +share which Mr. Caird's manner has in producing the effect with +which his discourses tell upon any audience. The sermon is indeed +an admirable one; accurate, and sometimes original in thought: +illustrated with rare profusion of imagery, all in exquisite taste, +and expressed in words scarcely one of which could be allered +or displaced but for the worse. But Mr. Caird could not publish +his voice and manner, and in warning these, the sermon wants the +first, second, and third things which conduced to its effect when +delivered. In May, 1854, Mr. Caird preached this discourse in the +High Church, Edinburgh, before the Commissioner who represents +her Majesty at the meetings of the General Assembly of the Scotch +Church, and an exceedingly crowded and brilliant audience. Given +there, with all the fkill of the most accomplished actor, yet with +a simple earnestness which prevented the least suspicion of anything +like acting, the impression it produced is described as something +marvellous. Hard-headed Scotch lawyers, the last men in the world +to be carried into superlatives, declared that never till then did +they understand what effect could be produced by human speech. But +we confess that now we have these magic words to read quietly at +home, we find it something of a task to get through them. A volume +just published by Dr. Guthrie of Edinburgh, the greatest pulpit +orator of the 'Free Church,' contains many sermons much more likely +to interest a reader. + +The sermon is from the text, 'Not slothful in business; fervent +in spirit, serving the Lord.' [Footnote: Romans xii. 11.] It sets +out thus:-- + +To combine business with religion, to keep up a spirit of serious +piety amid the stir and distraction of a busy and active life,--this +is one of the most difficult parts of a Christian's trial in this +world. It is comparatively easy to be religious in the church--to +collect our thoughts and compose our feelings, and enter, with an +appearance of propriety and decorum, into the offices of religious +worship, amidst the quietude of the Sabbath, and within the still +and sacred precincts of the house of prayer. But to be religious +in the world--to be pious and holy and earnest-minded in the +counting-room, the manufactory, the market-place, the field, the +farm--to cany our good and solemn thoughts and feelings into the +throng and thoroughfare of daily life,--this is the great difficulty +of our Christian calling. No man not lost to all moral influence +can help feeling his worldly passions calmed, and some measure of +seriousness stealing over his mind, when engaged in the performance +of the more awful and serious rites of religion; but the atmosphere of +the domestic circle, the exchange, the street, the city's throng, +amidst coarse work and cankering cares and toils, is a very different +atmosphere from that of a communion-table. Passing from one to the +other has often seemed as the sudden transition from a tropical to +a polar climate--from balmy warmth and sunshine to murky mist and +freezing cold. And it appears sometimes as difficult to maintain +the strength and steadfastness of religious principle and feeling +when we go forth from the church to the world, as it would be to +preserve an exotic alive in the open air in winter, or to keep the +lamp that burns steadily within doors from being blown out if you +take it abroad unsheltered from the wind. + +The preacher then speaks of the shifts by which men have evaded +the task of being holy, at once in the church and in the world; in +ancient times by flying from the world altogether, in modern times +by making religion altogether a Sunday thing. In opposition to +either notion the text suggests,-- + + +That piety is not for Sundays only, but for all days; that +spirituality of mind is not appropriate to one set of actions, and +an impertinence and intrusion with reference to others; but like +the act of breathing, like the circulation of the blood, like +the silent growth of the stature, a process that may be going on +simultaneously with all our actions--when we are busiest as when we +are idlest; in the church, in the world; in solitude, in society; +in our grief and in our gladness; in our toil and in our rest; +sleeping, waking; by day, by night; amidst all the engagements and +exigencies of life. + +The burden of the discourse is to prove that this is so; that +religion is compatible with the business of Common Life. This +appears, first, because religion, as a science, sets out doctrines +easy to be understood by the humblest intellects; and as an art, +sets out duties which may be practised simultaneously with all +other work. It is the art of being and of doing good: and for this +art every profession and calling affords scope and discipline. + +When a child is learning to write, it matters not of what words the +copy set to him is composed, the thing desired being that, whatever +he writes, he learns to write well. When a man is learning to be +a Christian, it matters not what his particular work in life may +be, the work he does is but the copy-line set to him; the main +thing to be considered is that he learn to live well. + +The second consideration by which Mr. Caird supports his thesis is, +that religion consists, not so much in doing spiritual or sacred +acts, as in doing secular acts from a sacred or spiritual motive. +'A man may be a Christian thinker and writer as much when giving +to science, or history, or biography, or poetry a Christian tone +and spirit, as when composing sermons or writing hymns.' + +The third and most eloquent division of the discourse illustrates +the thesis from the Mind's Power of acting on Lattat Principles. +Though we cannot, in our worldly work, be always consciously thinking +of religion, yet unconsciously, insensibly, we may be acting under +its ever present control. For example, the preacher, amidst all +his mental exertions, has underneath the outward workings of his +mind, the latent thought of the presence of his auditory. + +Like a secret atmosphere it surrounds and bathes his spirit as he +goes on with the external work. And have not yon, too, my friends, +an Auditor--it may he, a 'great cloud of witnesses'--but at least +one all glorious Witness and Listener ever present, ever watchful, +as the discourse of life proceeds? Why, then, in this case too, +while the outward business is diligently prosecuted, may there not +be on your spirit a latent and constant impression of that awful +inspection? What worldly work so absorbing as to leave no room +in a believer's spirit for the hallowing thought of that glorious +Presence ever near? + +We shall give but one extract more, the final illustration of +this third head of discourse. It is a very good specimen of one of +those exciting and irresistible bursts by which Caird sweeps away +his audience. Imagine the following sentences given, at first +quietly, but with great feeling, gradually waxing in energy and +rapidity; and at length, amid dead stillness and hushed breaths, +concluded as with a torrent's rush:-- + +Or, have we not all felt that the thought of anticipated happiness +may blend itself with the work of our busiest hours? The labourer's +coming, released from toil--the schoolboy's coming holiday, or the +hard-wrought business man's approaching season of relaxation--the +expected return of a long absent and much loved friend; is not +the thought of these, or similar joyous events, one which often +intermingles with, without interrupting, our common work? When a +father goes forth to his 'labour till the evening,' perhaps often, +very often, in the thick of his toils the thought of home may start +up to cheer him. The smile that is to welcome him, as he crosses his +lowly threshold when the work of the day is over, the glad faces, +and merry voices, arid sweet caresses of little ones, as they +shall gather round him in the quiet evening hours, the thought of +all this may dwell, a latent joy, a hidden motive, deep down in +his heart of hearts, may come rushing in a sweet solace at every +pause of exertion, and act like a secret oil to smooth the wheels +of labour. The heart has a secret treasury, where our hopes and +joys are often garnered, too precious to be parted with, even for +a moment. + +And why may not the highest of all hopes and joys possess the same +all-pervading influence? Have we, if our religion is real, no +anticipation of happiness in the glorious future? Is there no 'rest +that remaineth for the people of God,' no home and loving heart +awaiting us when the toils of our hurried day of life are ended? +What is earthly rest or relaxation, what the release from toil +after which we so often sigh, but the faint shadow of the saint's +everlasting rest, the rest of the soul in God? What visions of earthly +bliss can ever, if our Christian faith be not a form, compare with +'the glory soon to be revealed?' What glory of earthly reunion with +the rapture of that hour when the heavens shall yield an absent +Lord to our embrace, to be parted from us no more for ever! And if +all this be most sober truth, what is there to except this joyful +hope from that law to which, in all other deep joys, our minds are +subject? Why may we not, in this case too, think often, amidst our +worldly work, of the House to which we are going, of the true and +loving heart that heats for us, and of the sweet and joyous welcome +that awaits us there? And even when we make them not, of set purpose, +the subject of our thoughts, is there not enough of grandeur in +the objects of a believer's hope to pervade his spirit at all times +with a calm and reverential joy? Do not think all this strange, +fanatical, impossible. If it do seem so, it can only be because your +heart is in the earthly, but not in the higher and holier hopes. +No, my friends! the strange thing is, not that amidst the world's +work we should be able to think of our House, but that we should +ever be able to forget it; and the stranger, sadder still, that while +the little day of life is passing--morning, noontide, evening--each +stage more rapid than the last; while to many the shadows are already +fast lengthening, and the declining sun warns them that 'the night +is at hand, wherein no man can work,' there should be those amongst +us whose whole thoughts are absorbed in the business of the world, +and to whom the reflection never occurs, that soon they must go +out into eternity, without a friend, without a home! + +The discourse thus ends in orthodox Scotch fashion, with a practical +conclusion. + +We think it not unlikely that the sermon has been toned down a good +deal before publication, in anticipation of severe criticism. Some +passages which were very effective when delivered, hate probably +been modified so as to bring them more thoroughly within the limits +of severe good taste. We think Mr. Caird has deserved the honours +done him by royalty; and we willingly accord him his meed, as a man +of no small force of intellect, of great power of illustration by +happy analogies, of sincere piety, and of much earnestness to do +good. He is still young--we believe considerably under forty--and +much may be expected of him. + +But we have rambled on into an unduly long gossip about Scotch +preaching, and must abruptly conclude. We confess that it would +please us to see, especially in the pulpits of our country churches, a +little infusion of its warmth, rejecting anything of its extravagance. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +CONCERNING FUTURE YEARS. + + + + +Does it ever come across you, my friend, with something of a start, +that things cannot always go on in your lot as they are going now? +Does not a sudden thought sometimes flash upon you, a hasty, vivid +glimpse, of what you will be long hereafter, if you are spared in +this world? Our common way is too much to think that things will +always go on as they are going. Not that we clearly think so: not +that we ever put that opinion in a definite shape, and avow to +ourselves that we hold it: but we live very much under that vague, +general impression. We can hardly help it. When a man of middle +age inherits a pretty country seat, and makes up his mind that he +cannot yet afford to give up business and go to live at it, but +concludes that in six or eight years he will be able with justice +to his children to do so, do you think he brings plainly before +him the changes which must be wrought on himself and those around +him by these years? I do not speak of the greatest change of all, +which may come to any of us so very soon: I do not think of what +may be done by unlooked-for accident: I think merely of what must +be done by the passing on of time. I think of possible changes +in taste and feeling, of possible loss of liking for that mode of +life. I think of lungs that will play less freely, and of limbs +that will suggest shortened walks, and dissuade from climbing hills. +I think how the children will have outgrown daisy-chains, or even +got beyond the season of climbing trees. The middle-aged man enjoys +the prospect of the time when he shall go to his country house; +and the vague, undefined belief surrounds him, like an atmosphere, +that he and his children, his views and likings, will be then just +such as they are now. He cannot bring it home to him at how many +points change will be cutting into him, and hedging him in, and paring +him down. And we all live very much under that vague impression. +Yet it is in many ways good for us to feel that we are going +on--passing from the things which surround us--advancing into the +undefined future, into the unknown land. And I think that sometimes +we all have vivid flashes of such a conviction. I dare say, my +friend, you have seen an old man, frail, soured, and shabby, and +you have thought, with a start, Perhaps there is Myself of Future +Years. + +We human beings can stand a great deal. There is great margin +allowed by our constitution, physical and moral. I suppose there +is no doubt that a man may daily for years eat what is unwholesome, +breathe air which is bad, or go through a round of life which is +not the best or the right one for either body or mind, and yet be +little the worse. And so men pass through great trials and through +long years, and yet are not altered so very much. The other day, +walking along the street, I saw a man whom I had not seen for ten +years. I knew that since I saw him last he had gone through very +heavy troubles, and that these had sat very heavily upon him. I +remembered how he had lost that friend who was the dearest to him +of all human beings, and I knew how broken down he had been for many +months after that great sorrow carne. Yet there he was, walking +along, an unnoticed unit, just like any one else; and he was looking +wonderfully well. No doubt he seemed pale, worn, and anxious: but +he was very well and carefully dressed; he was walking with a brisk, +active step; and I dare say in feeling pretty well reconciled to +being what he is, and to the circumstances amid which he is living. +Still, one felt that somehow a tremendous change had passed over +him. I felt sorry for him, and all the more that he did not seem +to feel sorry for himself. It made me sad to think that some day I +should be like him; that perhaps in the eyes of my juniors I look +like him already, careworn and ageing. I dare say in his feeling +there was no such sense of falling off. Perhaps he was tolerably +content. He was walking so fast, and looking so sharp, that I am +sure ho had no desponding feeling at the time. Despondency goes with +slow movements and with vague looks. The sense of having materially +fallen off is destructive to the eagle-eye. Yes, he was tolerably +content. We can go down-hill cheerfully, save at the points where it +is sharply brought home to us that we are going down-hill. Lately +I sat at dinner opposite an old lady who had the remains of striking +beauty. I remember how much she interested me. Her hair was false, +her teeth were false, her complexion was shrivelled, her form had +lost the round symmetry of earlier years, and was angular and stiff; +yet how cheerful and lively she was! She had gone far down-hill +physically; but either she did not feel her decadence, or she had +grown quite reconciled to it. Her daughter, a blooming matron, +was there, happy, wealthy, good; yet not apparently a whit more +reconciled to life than the aged grandame. It was pleasing, and +yet it was sad, to see how well we can make up our mind to what is +inevitable. And such a sight brings up to one a glimpse of Future +Years. The cloud seems to part before one, and through the rift you +discern your earthly track far away, and a jaded pilgrim plodding +along it with weary step; and though the pilgrim does not look like +you, yet you know the pilgrim is yourself. + +This cannot always go on. To what is it all tending? I am not +thinking now of an out-look so grave, that this is not the place to +discuss it. But I am thinking how everything is going on. In this +world there is no standing still. And everything that belongs +entirely to this world, its interests and occupations, is going on +towards a conclusion. It will all come to an end. It cannot go on +forever. I cannot always be writing sermons as I do now, and going +on in this regular course of life. I cannot always be writing +essays. The day will come when I shall have no more to say, or when +the readers of the Magazine will no longer have patience to listen +to me in that kind fashion in which they have listened so long. +I foresee it plainly, this evening.--even while writing my first +essay for the Atlantic Monthly, the time when the reader shall +open the familiar cover, and glance at the table of contents, and +exclaim indignantly, 'Here is that tiresome person again with the +four initials: why will he not cease to weary us?' I write in sober +sadness, my friend: I do not intend any jest. If you do not know +that what I have written is certainly true, you have not lived very +long. You have not learned the sorrowful lesson, that all worldly +occupations and interests are wearing to their close. You cannot +keep up the old thing, however much you may wish to do so. You +know how vain anniversaries for the most part are. You meet with +certain old friends, to try to revive the old days; but the spirit +of the old time will not come over you. It is not a spirit that +can be raised at will. It cannot go on forever, that walking down +to church on Sundays, and ascending those pulpit steps; it will +change to feeling, though I humbly trust it may be long before it +shall change in fact. Don't you all sometimes feel something like +that? Don't you sometimes look about you and say to yourself, That +furniture will wear out: those window-curtains are getting sadly +faded; they will not last a lifetime? Those carpets must be replaced +some day; and the old patterns which looked at you with a kindly, +familiar expression, through these long years, must be among the +old familiar faces that are gone. These are little things, indeed, +but they are among the vague recollections that bewilder our memory; +they are among the things which come up in the strange, confused +remembrance of the dying man in the last days of life. There is an +old fir-tree, a twisted, strange-looking fir-tree, which will be +among my last recollections, I know, as it was among my first. It +was always before my eyes when I was three, four, five years old: +I see the pyramidal top, rising over a mass of shrubbery; I see +it always against a sunset-sky; always in the subdued twilight in +which we seem to see things in distant years. These old friends +will die, you think; who will take their place? You will be an old +gentleman, a frail old gentleman, wondered at by younger men, and +telling them long stories about the days when Lincoln was President, +like those which weary you now about the Declaration of Independence. +It will not be the same world then. Your children will not be always +children. Enjoy their fresh, youth while it lasts, for it will not +last long. Do not skim over the present too fast, through a constant +habit of onward-looking. Many men of an anxious turn are so eagerly +concerned in providing for the future, that they hardly remark the +blessings of the present. Yet it is only because the future will +some day be present, that it deserves any thought at all. And many +men, instead of heartily enjoying present blessings while they are +present, train themselves to a habit of regarding these things as +merely the foundation on which they are to build some vague fabric +of they know not what. I have known a clergyman, who was very fond +of music, and in whose church the music was very fine, who seemed +incapable of enjoying its solemn beauty as a tiling to be enjoyed +while passing, but who persisted in regarding each beautiful strain +merely as a promising indication of what his choir would come at +some future time to be. It is a very bad habit, and one which grows +unless repressed. You, my reader, when you see your children racing +on the green, train yourself to regard all that as a happy end in +itself. Do not grow to think merely that those sturdy young limbs +promise to be stout and serviceable when they are those of a +grown-up man; and rejoice in the smooth little forehead with its +curly hair, without any forethought of how it is to look some day +when over-shadowed (as it is sure to be) by the great wig of the +Lord Chancellor. Good advice: let us all try to take it. Let all +happy things be enjoyed as ends, as well as regarded as means. Yet +it is in the make of our nature to be ever onward-looking; and we +cannot help it. When you get the first number for the year of the. +Magazine which you take in, you instinctively think of it as the +first portion of a new volume; and you are conscious of a certain +though slight restlessness in the thought of a thing incomplete, +and of a wish that you had the volume completed. And sometimes, +thus locking onward into the future, you worry yourself with litile +thoughts and cares. There is that old dog: you Lave had him for +many years; he is growing stiff and frail; what arc you to do when +he dies? When he is gone, the new dog you get will never be like +him; he may be, indeed, a far handsomer and more amiable animal, +but he will not be your old companion; he will not be surrounded +with all those old associations, not merely with your own by-past +life, but with the lives, the faces, and the voices of those who +have left you, which invest with a certain saeredness even that +humble but faithful friend. He will not have been the companion of +your youthful walks, when you went, at a pace which now you cannot +attain. He will just be a common dog; and who that has reached your +years cares for that? The other indeed was a dog too, but that was +merely the substratum on which was accumulated a host of recollections: +it is Auld Lang syne that walks into your study when your shaggy +friend of ten summers comes stiffly in, and after many querulous +turnings lays himself down on the rug before the fire. Do you not +feel the like when you look at many little matters, and then look +into the Future Years? That harness--how will you replace it? It +will be a pang to throw it by, and it will be a considerable expense +too to get a new suit. Then you think how long harness may continue +to be serviceable. I once saw, on a pair of horses drawing a +stage-coach among the hills, a set of harness which was thirty-five +years old. It had been very costly and grand when new; it had belonged +for some of its earliest years to a certain wealthy nobleman. The +nobleman had been for many years in his grave, but there was his +harness still. It was tremendously patched, and the blinkers were +of extraordinary aspect; but it was quite serviceable. There is +comfort for you, poor country parsons! How thoroughly I understand +your feeling about such little things. I know how you sometimes +look at your phaeton or your dog-cart; and even while the morocco +is fresh, and the wheels still are running with their first tires, +how you think you see it after it has grown shabby and old-fashioned. +Yes, you remember, not without a dull kind of pang, that it is +wearing out. You have a neighbour, perhaps, a few miles off, whose +conveyance, through the wear of many years, has become remarkably +seedy; and every time you meet it you think that there you see +your own, as it will some day be. Every dog has his day: but the +day of the rational dog is over-clouded in a fashion unknown to his +inferior fellow-creature; it is overclouded by the anticipation of +the coming day which will not be his. You remember how that great +though morbid man, John Foster, could not heartily enjoy the summer +weather, for thinking how every sunny day that shone upon him was +a downward step towards the winter gloom. Each indication that +the season was progressing, even though progressing as yet only to +greater beauty, filled him with great grief. 'I have seen a fearful +sight to-day,' he would say, 'I have seen a buttercup.' And we know, +of course, that in his case there was nothing like affectation; +it was only that, unhappily for himself, the bent of his mind was +so onward-looking, that he saw only a premonition of the snows of +December in the roses of June. It would be a blessing if we could +quite discard the tendency. And while your trap runs smoothly and +noiselessly, while the leather is fresh and the paint unscratched, +do not worry yourself with visions of the day when it will rattle +and crack, and when you will make it wait for you at the corner +of back-streets when you drive into town. Do not vex yourself by +fancying that you will never have heart to send off the old carriage, +nor by wondering where you shall find the money to buy a new one. + +Have you ever read the Life of Mansie Wauch, Tailor in Dalkeith, +by that pleasing poet and most amiable man, the late David Macbeth +Moir? I have been looking into it lately; and I have regretted +much that the Lowland Scotch dialect is so imperfectly understood +in England, and that even where so far understood its raciness is +so little felt; for great as is the popularity of that work, it +is much less known than it deserves to be. Only a Scotchman can +thoroughly appreciate it. It is curious, and yet it is not curious, +to find the pathos and the polish of one of the most touching and +elegant of poets in the man who has with such irresistible humour, +sometimes approaching to the farcical, delineated humble Scotch life. +One passage in the book always struck me very much. We have in it +the poet as well as the humorist; and it is a perfect example of +what I have been trying to describe in the pages which you have +rend. I mean the passage in which Mansie tells us of a sudden +glimpse which, in circumstances of mortal terror, he once had of +the future. On a certain 'awful night' the tailor was awakened by +cries of alarm, and, looking out, he saw the next house to his own +was on fire from cellar to garret. The earnings of poor Mansie's +whole life were laid out on his stock in trade and his furniture, +and it appeared likely that these would be at once destroyed. + +"Then," says he, "the darkness of the latter days came over my +spirit like a vision before the prophet Isaiah; and I could see +nothing in the years to come but beggary and starvation,--myself a +fallen-back old man. with an out-at-the-elbows coat, a greasy hat, +and a bald brow, hirpling over a staff, requeeshting an awmous: +Nanse a broken-hearted beggar-wife, torn down to tatters, and +weeping like Eachel when she thought on better days; and poor wee +Benjie going from door to door with a meal-pock on his back." + +Ah, there is exquisite pathos there, as well as humour; but +the thing for which I have quoted that sentence is its startling +truthfulness. You have all done what Mansie Wauch did, I know. +Every one has his own way of doing it, and it is his own especial +picture which each sees; but there has appeared to us, as to +Mansie, (I must recur to my old figure,) as it were a sudden rift +in the clouds that conceal the future, and we have seen the way, +far ahead--the dusty way--and an aged pilgrim pacing slowly along +it; and in that aged figure we have each recognized our own young +self. How often have I sat down on the mossy wall that surrounded +my churchyard, when I had more time for reverie than I have now--sat +upon the mossy wall, under a great oak, whose brandies came low +down and projected far out--and looked at the rough gnarled bark, +and at the passing river, and at the belfry of the little church, +and there and then thought of Mansie Wauch and of his vision of +Future Years! How often in these hours, or in long solitary walks +and rides among the hills, have I had visions clear as that of +Mansie Wauch, of how I should grow old in my country parish! Do not +think that I wish or intend to be egotistical, my friendly reader. +I describe these feelings and fancies because I think this is the +likeliest way in which to reach and describe your own. There was +a rapid little stream that flowed, in a very lonely place, between +the highway and a cottage to which I often went to see a poor old +woman; and when I came out of the cottage, having made sure that +no one saw me, I always took a great leap over the little stream, +which saved going round a little way. And never once, for several +years, did I thus cross it without seeing a picture as clear to the +mind's eye as Mansie Wauch's--a picture which made me walk very +thoughtfully along for the next mile or two. It was curious to +think how one was to get through the accustomed duty after having +grown old and frail. The day would come when the brook could be +crossed in that brisk fashion no more. It must be an odd thing for +the parson to walk as an old man into the pulpit, still his own, +which was his own when he was a young man of six-and-twenty. What +a crowd of old remembrances must be present each Sunday to the +clergyman's mind, who has served the same parish and preached in the +same church for fifty years! Personal identity, continued through +the successive stages of life, is a common-place thing to think +of; but when it is brought home to your own case and feeling, it +is a very touching and a very bewildering thing. There are the same +trees and hills as when you were a boy; and when each of us comes +to his last days in this world, how short a space it will seem +since we were little children! Let us humbly hope, that, in that +brief space parting the cradle from the grave, we may (by help +from above) have accomplished a certain work which will cast its +blessed influence over all the years and all the ages before us. +Yet it remains a strange thing to look forward and to see yourself +with grey hair, and not much even of that; to see your wife an +old woman, and your little boy or girl grown up into manhood or +womanhood. It is more strange still to fancy you see them all going +on as usual in the round of life, and you no longer among them. +You see your empty chair. There is your writing-table and your +inkstand; there are your books, not so carefully arranged as they +used to be; perhaps,--on the whole, less indication than you might +have hoped that they miss you. All this is strange when you bring +it home to your own case; and that hundreds of millions have felt +the like makes it none the less strange to you. The commonplaces +of life and death are not commonplace when they befall ourselves. +It was in desperate hurry and agitation that Mansie Waueh saw his +vision; and in like circumstances you may have yours too. But for +the most part such moods come in leisure--in saunterings through +the autumn woods--in reveries by the winter fire. + +I do not think, thus musing upon our occasional glimpses of +the Future, of such fancies as those of early youth--fancies and +anticipations of greatness, of felicity, of fame; I think of the +onward views of men approaching middle-age, who have found their +place and their work in life, and who may reasonably believe that, +save for great unexpected accidents, there will be no very material +change in their lot till that "change come" to which Job looked +forward four thousand years since. There are great numbers of +educated folk who are likely always to live in the same kind of +house, to have the same establishment, to associate with the same +class of people, to walk along the same streets, to look upon +the same hills, as Iong as they live. The only change will be the +gradual one which will be wrought by advancing years. + +And the onward view of such people in such circumstances is generally +a very vague one. It is only now and then that there comes the +startling clearness of prospect so well set forth by Mansie Wauch. +Yet sometimes, when such a vivid view comes, it remains for days +and is a painful companion of your solilude. Don't you remember, +clerical reader of thirty-two, having seen a good deal of an old +parson, rather sour in aspect, rather shabby-looking, sadly pinched +for means, and with powers dwarfed by the sore struggle with the +world to maintain his family and to keep up a respectable appearance +upon his limited resources; perhaps with his mind made petty and his +temper spoiled by the little worries, the petty malignant tattle +and gossip and occasional insolence of a little backbiting village? +and don't you remember how for days you felt haunted by a sort of +nightmare that there was what you would be, if you lived so long? +Yes; you know how there have been times when for ten days together +that jarring thought would intrude, whenever your mind was disengaged +from work; and sometimes, when you went to bed, that thought kept +you awake for hours. You knew the impression was morbid, and you +were angry with yourself for your silliness; but you could not +drive it away. + +It makes a great difference in the prospect of Future Years, if +you are one of those people who, even after middle age, may still +make a great rise in life. This will prolong the restlessness which +in others is sobered down at forty: it will extend the period during +which you will every now and then have brief seasons of feverish +anxiety, hope, and fear, followed by longer stretches of blank +disappointment. And it will afford the opportunity of experiencing +a vividly new sensation, and of turning over a quite new leaf, after +most people have settled to the jog-trot at which the remainder +of the pilgrimage is to be covered. A clergyman of the Church of +England may be made a bishop, and exchange a quiet rectory for a +palace. No doubt the increase of responsibility is to a conscientious +man almost appalling; but surely the rise in life is great. There +you are, one of four-and-twenty,--selected out of near twenty +thousand. It is possible, indeed, that you may feel more reason +for shame than for elation at the thought. A barrister unknown to +fame, but of respectable stantling, may be made a judge. Such a +man may even, if he gets into the groove, be gradually pushed on +till he reaches an eminence which probably surprises himself as +much as any one else. A good speaker in Parliament may at sixty +or seventy be made a Cabinet Minister. And we can all imagine what +indescribable pride and elation must in such cases possess the +wife and daughters of the man who has attained this decided step +in advance. I can say sincerely that I never saw human beings walk +with so airy tread, and evince so fussily their sense of a greatness +more than mortal, as the wife and the daughter of an amiable but +not able bishop I knew in my youth, when they came to church on the +Sunday morning on which the good man preached for the first time +in his lawn sleeves. Their heads were turned for the time; but they +gradually came right again, as the ladies became accustomed to the +summits of human affairs. Let it be said for the bishop himself, +that there was not a vestige of that sense of elevation about him. +He looked perfectly modest and unaffected. His dress was remarkably +ill put on, and his sleeves stuck out in the most awkward fashion +ever assumed by drapery. I suppose that sometimes these rises in +life come very unexpectedly. I have heard of a man who, when he +received a letter from the Prime Minister of the day offering him +a place of great dignity, thought the letter was a hoax, and did +not notice it for several days. You could not certainly infer from +his modesty what has proved to be the fact, that he has filled his +place admirably well. The possibility of such material changes must +no doubt tend to prolong the interest in life, which is ready to +flag as years go on. But perhaps with the majority of men the level +is found before middle age, and no very great worldly change awaits +them. The path stretches on, with its ups and downs; and they only +hope for strength for the day. But in such men's lot of humble +duty and quiet content there remains room for many fears. All human +beings who are as well off as they can ever be, and so who have +little room for hope, seem to be liable to the invasion of great +fear as they look into the future. It seems to be so with kings, +and with great nobles. Many such have lived in a nervous dread of +change, and have ever been watching the signs of the times with +apprehensive eyes. Nothing that can happen can well make such +better; and so they suffer from the vague foreboding of something +which will make them worse. And the same law readies to those in +whom hope is narrowed down, not by the limit of grand possibility, +but of little,--not by the fact that they have got all that mortal +can get, but by the fact that they have got the little which is +all that Providence seems to intend to give to them. And, indeed, +there is something that is almost awful, when your affairs are all +going happily, when your mind is clear and equal to its work, when +your bodily health is unbroken, when your home is pleasant, when +your income is ample, when your children are healthy and merry and +hopeful,--in looking on to Future Years. The more happy you are, the +more there is of awe in the thought how frail are the foundations +of your earthly happiness,--what havoc may be made of them by the +chances of even a single day. It is no wonder that the solemnity and +awfuluess of the Future have been felt so much, that the languages +of Northern Europe have, as I dare say you know, no word which +expresses the essential notion of Futurity. You think, perhaps, +of shall and will. Well, these words have come now to convey the +notion of Futurity; but they do so only in a secondary fashion. +Look to their etymology, and you will see that they imply Futurity, +but do not express it. I shall do such a thing means I am bound to +do it, I am under an obligation to do it. I will do such a thing +means I intend to do it, It is my present purpose to do it. Of +course, if you are under an obligation to do anything, or if it be +your intention to do anything, the probability is that the thing +will be done; but the Northern family of languages ventures no +nearer than that towards the expression of the bare, awful idea +of Future Time. It was no wonder that Mr. Croaker was able to cast +a gloom upon the gayest circle, and the happiest conjuncture of +circumstances, by wishing that all might be as well that day six +months. Six months! What might that time not do? Perhaps you have +not read a little poem of Barry Cornwall's, the idea of which must +come home to the heart of most of us:-- + + Touch us gently, Time! + Let us glide adown thy stream + Gently,--as we sometimes glide + Through a quiet dream. + Humble voyagers are we, + Husband, wife, and children three-- + One is lost,--an angel, fled + To the azure overhead. + Touch us gently, Time! + We've not proud nor soaring wings: + Our ambition, our content, + Lies in simple things. + Humble voyagers are we, + O'er life's dim, unsounded sea, + Seeking only some calm clime:-- + Touch us gently, gentle Time! + +I know that sometimes, my friend, you will not have much sleep, +if, when you lay your head on your pillow, you begin to think how +much depends upon your health and life. You have reached now that +time at which you value life and health not so much for their +service to yourself, as for their needfulness to others. There is +a petition familiar to me in this Scotch country, where people make +their prayers for themselves, which seems to me to possess great +solemnity and force, when we think of all that is implied in it. +It is, Spare useful lives! One life, the slender line of blood +passing into and passing out of one human heart, may decide the +question, whether wife and children shall grow up affluent, refined, +happy, yes, and good, or be reduced to hard straits, with all the +manifold evils which grow of poverty in the case of those who have +been reduced to it after knowing other things. You often think, I +doubt not, in quiet hours, what would become of your children, if +you were gone. You have done, I trust, what you can to care for +them, even from your grave: you think sometimes of a poetical figure +of speech amid the dry technical phrases of English law: you know +what is meant by the law of Mortmain; and you like to think that +even your dead hand may be felt to be kindly intermeddling yet in +the affairs of those who were your dearest: that some little sum, +slender, perhaps, but as liberal as you could make it, may come +in periodically when it is wanted, and seem like the gift of a +thoughtful, heart and a kindly hand which are far away. Yes, cut +down your present income to any extent, that you may make some +provision for your children after you are dead. You do not wish +that they should have the saddest of all reasons for taking care +of you, and trying to lengthen out your life. But even after you +have done everything which your small means permit, you will still +think, with an anxious heart, of the possibilities of Future Years. +A man or woman who has children has very strong reason for wishing +to live as long as may be, and has no right to trifle with, health +or life. And sometimes, looking out into days to come, you think +of the little things, hitherto so free from man's heritage of care, +as they may some day be. You see them shabby, and early anxious: +can that be the little boy's rosy face, now so pale and thin? You +see them in a poor room, in which you recognize your study chairs, +with the hair coming out of the cushions, and a carpet which you +remember now threadbare and in holes. + +It is no wonder at all that people are so anxious about money. Money +means every desirable material thing on earth, and the manifold +immaterial things which come of material possessions. Poverty is the +most comprehensive earthly evil; all conceivable evils, temporal, +spiritual, and eternal, may come of that. Of course, great temptations +attend its opposite; and the wise man's prayer will be what it was +long ago--'Give me neither poverty nor riches.' But let us have no +nonsense talked about money being of no consequence. The want of +it has made many a father and mother tremble at the prospect of +being taken from their children; the want of it has embittered many +a parent's dying hours. You hear selfish persons talking vaguely +about faith. You find such heartless persons jauntily spending all +they get on themselves, and then leaving their poor children to +beggary, with the miserable pretext that they are doing all this +through their abundant trust in God. Now this is not faith; it is +insolent presumption. It is exactly as if a man should jump from +the top of St. Paul's, and say that he had faith that the Almighty +would keep him from being dashed to pieces on the pavement. There +is a high authority as to such cases--'Thou shalt not tempt the Lord +thy God.' If God had promised that people should never fall into +the miseries of penury under any circumstances, it would be faith +to trust that promise, however unlikely of fulfilment it might seem +in any particular case. But God has made no such promise; and if +you leave your children without provision, you have no right to +expect that they shall not suffer the natural consequences of your +heartlessness and thoughtlessness. True faith lies in your doing +everything you possibly can, and then humbly trusting in God, And +if, after you have done your very best, you must still go, with +but a blank outlook for those you leave, why, then, you may trust +them to the Husband of the widow and Father of the fatherless. +Faith, as regards such matters, means firm belief that God will do +all he has promised to do, however difficult or unlikely. But some +people seem to think that faith means firm belief that God will +do whatever they think would suit them, however unreasonable, +and however flatly in the face of all the established laws of His +government. + +We all have it in our power to make ourselves miserable, if we look +far into future years and calculate their probabilities of evil, +and steadily anticipate the worst. It is not expedient to calculate +too far a-head. Of course, the right way in this, as in other things, +is the middle way: we are not to run either into the extreme of +over-carefulness and anxiety on the one hand, or of recklessness +and imprudence on the other. But as mention has been made of faith, +it may safely be said that we are forgetful of that rational trust +in God which is at once our duty and our inestimable privilege, +if we are always looking out into the future, and vexing ourselves +with endless fears as to how things are to go then. There is no +divine promise, that, if a reckless blockhead leaves his children +to starve, they shall not starve. And a certain inspired volume +speaks with extreme severity of the man who fails to provide for +them of his own house. But there is a divine promise which says to +the humble Christian,--'As thy days, so shall thy strength be.' If +your affairs are going on fairly now, be thankful, and try to do +your duty, and to do your best, as a Christian man and a prudent +man, and then leave the rest to God. Your children are about you; +no doubt they may die, and it is fit enough that you should not forget +the fragility of your most prized possessions; it is fit enough +that you should sometimes sit by the fire and look at the merry +faces and listen to the little voices, and think what it would be +to lose them. But it is not needful, or rational, or Christian-like, +to be always brooding on that thought. And when they grow up, it +may be hard to provide for them. The little thing that is sitting +on your knee may before many years be alone in life, thousands of +miles from you and from his early home, an insignificant item in +the bitter price which Britain pays for her Indian Empire. It is +even possible, though you hardly for a moment admit that thought, +that the child may turn out a heartless and wicked man, and prove +your shame and heart-break; all wicked and heartless men have been +the children of somebody; and many of them, doubtless, the children +of those who surmised the future as little as Eve did when she +smiled upon the infant Cain. And the fireside by which you sit, now +merry and noisy enough, may grow lonely,--lonely with the second +loneliness, not the hopeful solitude of youth looking forward, but +the desponding loneliness of age looking back. And it is so with +everything else. Your health may break down. Some fearful accident +may befall you. The readers of the magazine may cease to care for +your articles. People may get tired of your sermons. People may +stop buying your books, your wine, your groceries, your milk and +cream. Younger men may take away your legal business. Yet how often +these fears prove utterly groundless! It was good and wise advice +given by one who had managed, with a cheerful and hopeful spirit, +to pass through many trying and anxious years, to 'take short +views:'--not to vex and worry yourself by planning too far a-head. +And a wiser than the wise and cheerful Sydney Smith had anticipated +his philosophy. You remember Who said, 'Take no thought,'--that is, +no over-anxious and over-careful thought--'for the morrow; for the +morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.' Did you ever +sail over a blue summer sea towards a mountainous coast, frowning, +sullen, gloomy: and have you not seen the gloom retire before you +as you advanced; the hills, grim in the distance, stretch into +sunny slopes when you neared them; and the waters smile in cheerful +light that looked so black when they were far away? And who is +there that has not seen the parallel in actual life? We have all +known the anticipated ills of life--the danger that looked so big, +the duty that looked so arduous, the entanglement that we could not +see our way through--prove to have been nothing more than spectres +on the far horizon; and when at length we reached them, all their +difficulty had vanished into air, leaving us to think what fools we +had been for having so needlessly conjured up phantoms to disturb +our quiet. Yes, there is no doubt of it, a Very great part of all +we suffer in this world is from the apprehension of things that +never come. I remember well how a dear friend, whom I (and many +more) lately lost, told me many times of his fears as to what he +would do in a certain contingency which both he and I thought was +quite sure to come sooner or later. I know that the anticipation +of it caused him some of the most anxious hours of a very anxious, +though useful and honoured life. How vain his fears proved! He was +taken from this world before what he had dreaded had cast its most +distant shadow. Well, let me try to discard the notion which has +been sometimes worrying me of late, that perhaps I have written +nearly as many essays as any one will care to read. Don't let any of +us give way to fears which may prove to have been entirely groundless. + +And then, if we are really spared to see those trials we Bometimes +think of, and which it is right that we should sometimes think of, +the strength for them will come at the time. They will not look +nearly so black, and we shall be enabled to bear them bravely. +There is in human nature a marvellous power of accommodation to +circumstances. We can gradually make up our mind to almost anything. +If this were a sermon instead of an essay, I should explain my +theory of how this comes to be. I see in all this something beyond +the mere natural instinct of acquiescence in what is inevitable; +something beyond the benevolent law in the human mind, that it +shall adapt itself to whatever circumstances it may be placed in; +something beyond the doing of the gentle comforter Time. Yes, it +is wonderful what people can go through, wonderful what people can +get reconciled to. I dare say my friend Smith, when his hair began +to fall off, made frantic efforts to keep it on. I have no doubt he +anxiously tried all the vile concoctions which quackery advertises +in the newspapers, for the advantage of those who wish for luxuriant +locks. I dare say for a while it really weighed upon his mind, +and disturbed his quiet, that he was getting bald. But now he has +quite reconciled himself to his lot; and with a head smooth and +sheeny as the egg of the ostrich, Smith goes on through life, and +feels no pang at the remembrance of the ambrosial curls of his +youth. Most young people, I dare say, think it will be a dreadful +thing to grow old: a girl of eighteen thinks it must be an awful +sensation to be thirty. Believe me, not at all. You are brought +to it bit by bit; and when you reach the spot, you rather like the +view. And it is so with graver things. We grow able to do and to +bear that which it is needful that we should do and bear. As is the +day, so the strength proves to be. And you have heard people tell +you truly, that they have been enabled to bear what they never +thought they could have come through with their reason or their +life. I have no fear for the Christian man, so he keeps to the path +of duty. Straining up the steep hill, his heart will grow stout in +just proportion to its steepness. Yes, and if the call to martyrdom +came, I should not despair of finding men who would show themselves +equal to it, even in this commonplace age, and among people who +wear Highland cloaks and knickerbockers. The martyr's strength would +come with the martyr's day. It is because there is no call for it +now, that people look so little like it. + +It is very difficult, in this world, to strongly enforce a truth, +without seeming to push it into an extreme. You are very apt, in +avoiding one error, to run into the opposite error; forgetting that +truth and right lie generally between two extremes. And in agreeing +with Sydney Smith, as to the wisdom and the duty of 'taking short +views,' let us take care of appearing to approve the doings of those +foolish and unprincipled people who will keep no out-look into the +future time at all. A bee, you know, cannot see more than a single +inch before it; and there are many men, and perhaps more women, +who appear, as regards their domestic concerns, to be very much +of bees. Not bees in the respect of being busy; but bees in the +respect of being blind. You see this in all ranks of life. You see +it in the artisan, earning good wages, yet with every prospect of +being weeks out of work next summer or winter, who yet will not be +persuaded to lay by a little in preparation for a rainy day. You +see it in the country gentleman, who, having five thousand a year, +spends ten thousand a year; resolutely shutting his eyes to the +certain and not very remote consequences. You see it in the man +who walks into a shop and buys a lot of things which he has not +the money to pay for, in the vague hope that something will turn +up. It is a comparatively thoughtful and anxious class of men who +systematically overcloud the present by anticipations of the future. +The more usual thing is to sacrifice the future to the present; to +grasp at what in the way of present gratification or gain can be +got, with very little thought of the consequences. You see silly +women, the wives of men whose families are mainly dependent on +their lives, constantly urging on their husbands to extravagances +which eat up the little provision which might have been made for +themselves and their children when he is gone who earned their +bread. There is no sadder sight, I think, than that which is not +a very uncommon sight, the care-worn, anxious husband, labouring +beyond his strength, often sorrowfully calculating how he may make +the ends to meet, denying himself in every way; and the extravagant +idiot of a wife, bedizened with jewellery and arrayed in velvet and +lace, who tosses away his hard earnings in reckless extravagance; +in entertainments which he cannot afford, given to people who do not +care a rush for him; in preposterous dress; in absurd furniture; in +needless men-servants; in green-grocers above measure; in resolute +aping of the way of living of people with twice or three times the +means. It is sad to see all the forethought, prudence, and moderation +of the wedded pair confined to one of them. You would say that it +will not be any solid consolation to the widow, when the husband +is fairly worried into his grave at last,--when his daughters have +to go out as governesses, and she has to let lodgings,--to reflect +that while he lived they never failed to have champagne at their +dinner parties; and that they had three men to wait at table on +such occasions, while Mr. Smith, next door, had never more than one +and a maidservant. If such idiotic women would but look forward, +and consider how all this must end! If the professional man spends +all he earns, what remains when the supply is cut off; when the +toiling head and hand can toil no more? Ah, a little of the economy +and management which must perforce be practised after that might +have tended powerfully to pirt off the evil day. Sometimes the +husband is merely the care-worn drudge who provides what the wife +squanders. Have you not known such a thing as that a man should +be labouring under an Indian sun, and cutting down every personal +expense to the last shilling, that he might send a liberal allowance +to his wife in England; while she meanwhile was recklessly spending +twice what was thus sent her; running up overwhelming accounts, +dashing about to public balls, paying for a bouquet what cost the +poor fellow far away much thought to save, giving costly entertainments +at home, filling her house with idle and empty-headed scapegraces, +carrying on scandalous flirtations; till it becomes a happy thing, +if the certain ruin she is bringing on her husband's head is cut +short by the needful interference of Sir Cresswell Cresswell? There +are cases in which tarring and feathering would soothe the moral +sense of the right-minded onlooker. And even where things are not +so bad as in the case of which we have been thinking, it remains +the social curse of this age, that people with a few hundreds a +year determinedly act in various respects as if they had as many +thousands. The dinner given by a man with eight hundred a year, in +certain regions of the earth which I could easily point out, is, +as regards food, wine, and attendance, precisely the same as the +dinner given by another man who has five thousand a year. When will +this end? When will people see its silliness? In truth, you do not +really, as things are in this country, make many people better off +by adding a little or a good deal to their yearly income. For in +all probability they were living up to the very extremity of their +means before they got the addition; and in all probability the +first thing they do, on getting the addition, is so far to increase +their establishment and their expense that it is just as hard a +struggle as ever to make the ends meet. It would not be a pleasant +arrangement, that a man who was to be carried across the straits +from England to France, should be fixed on a board so weighted +that his mouth and nostrils should be at the level of the water, +and thus that he should be struggling for life, and barely escaping +drowning all the way. Yet hosts of people, whom no one proposes to +put under restraint, do as regards their income and expenditure a +precisely analogous thing. They deliberately weight themselves to +that degree that their heads are barely above water, and that any +unforeseen emergency dips their heads under. They rent a house a +good deal dearer than they can justly afford; and they have servants +more and more expensive than they ought; and by many such things +they make sure that their progress through life shall be a drowning +struggle; while, if they would rationally resolve and manfully +confess that they cannot afford to have things as richer folk have +them, and arrange their way of living in accordance with what they +can afford, they would enjoy the feeling of ease and comfort; they +would not be ever on the wretched stretch on which they are now, +nor keeping up the jollow appearance of what is not the fact. But +there are folk who make it a point of honour never to admit that +in doing or not doing anything, they are actuated for an instant by +so despicable a consideration as the question whether or not they +can afford it. And who shall reckon up the brains which this social +calamity has driven into disease, or the early paralytic shocks +which it has brought on? + +When you were very young, and looked forward to Future Years, did +you ever feel a painful fear that you might outgrow your early home +affections, and your associations with your native scenes? Did you +ever think to yourself,--Will the day come when I have been years +away from that river's side, and yet not care? I think we have all +known the feeling. O plain church to which I used to go when I was +a child, and where I used to think the singing so very splendid! +O little room where I used to sleep! and you, tall tree,--on whose +topmost branch I cut the initials which perhaps the reader knows, +did I not even then wonder to myself if the time would ever come +when I should be far away from-you,--far away, as now, for many +years, and not likely to go back,--and yet feel entirely indifferent +to the matter? and did not I even then feel a strange pain in the +fear that very likely it might? These things come across the mind +of a little boy with a curious grief and bewilderment. Ah, there is +something strange in the inner life of a thoughtful child of eight +years old! I would rather see a faithful record of his thoughts, +feelings, fancies, and sorrows, for a single week, than know all +the political events that have happened during that space in Spain, +Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Russia, and Turkey. Even amid the great +grief at leaving home for school in your early days, did you not +feel a greater grief to think that the day might come when you +would not care at all; when your home ties and affections would be +outgrown; when you would be quite content to live on, month after +month, far from parents, sisters, brothers, and feel hardly a +perceptible blank when you remembered that they were far away? But +it is of the essence of such fears, that, when the thing comes that +you were afraid of, it has ceased to be fearful; still it is with +a little pang that you sometimes call to remembrance how much you +feared it once. It is a daily regret, though not a very acute one, +(more's the pity,) to be thrown much, in middle life, into the +society of an old friend whom as a boy you had regarded as very +wise, and to be compelled to observe that he is a tremendous fool. +You struggle with the conviction; you think it wrong to give in to +it; but you cannot help it. But it would have been a sharper pang +to the child's heart, to have impressed upon the child the fact, +that 'Good Mr. Goose is a fool, and some day you will understand +that he is.' In those days one admits no imperfection in the people +and the things one likes. Tou like a person; and he is good. That +seems the whole case. You do not go into exceptions and reservations. +I remember how indignant I felt, as a boy, at reading some depreciatory +criticism of the Waverley Novels. The criticism was to the effect +that the plots generally dragged at first, and were huddled up at +the end. But to me the novels were enchaining, enthralling; and +to hint a defect in them stunned one. In the boy's feeling, if a +thing be good, why, there cannot be anything bad about it. But in +the man's mature judgment, even in the people he likes best, and +in the things he appreciates most highly, there are many flaws and +imperfections. It does not vex us much now to find that this is so; +but it would have greatly vexed us many years since to have been +told that it would be so. I can well imagine, that, if you told a +thoughtful and affectionate child, how well he would some day get +on, far from his parents and his home, his wish would be that any +evil might befall him rather than that! We shrink with terror from +the prospect of things which we can take easily enough when they +come. I dare say Lord Chancellor Thurlow was moderately sincere +when he exclaimed in the House of Peers, 'When I forget, my king, +may my God forget me!' And you will understand what Leigh Hunt +meant, when, in his pleasant poem of The Palfrey, he tells us of +a daughter who had lost a very bad and heartless father by death, +that, + + The daughter wept, and wept the more, + To think her tears would soon be o'er. + +Even in middle age, one sad thought which comes in the prospect +of Future Years is of the change which they are sure to work upon +many of our present views and feelings. And the change, in many +cases, will be to the worse. One thing is certain,--that your temper +will grow worse, if it do not grow better. Years will sour it, if +they do not mellow it. Another certain thing is, that, if you do +not grow wiser, you will be growing more foolish. It is very true +that there is no fool so foolish as an old fool. Let us hope, my +friend, that, whatever be our honest worldly work, it may never +lose its interest. We must always speak humbly about the changes +which coming time will work upon us, upon even our firmest +resolutions and most rooted principles; or I should say for myself +that I cannot even imagine myself the same being, with bent less +resolute and heart less warm to that best of all employments which +is the occupation of my life. But there are few things which, +as we grow older, impress us more deeply than the transitoriness +of thoughts and feelings in human hearts. Nor am I thinking of +contemptible people only, when I say so. I am not thinking of the +fellow who is pulled up in court in an action for breach of promise +of marriage, and who in one letter makes vows of unalterable affection, +and in another letter, written a few weeks or months later, tries +to wriggle out of his engagement. Nor am I thinking of the weak, +though well-meaning lady, who devotes herself in succession to a +great variety of uneducated and unqualified religious instructors; +who tells you one week how she has joined the flock of Mr. A., the +converted prize-fighter, and how she regards him as by far the most +improving preacher she ever heard; and who tells you the next week +that she has seen through the prize-fighter, that he has gone and +married a wealthy Roman Catholic, and that now she has resolved +to wait on the ministry of Mr. B., an enthusiastic individual who +makes shoes during the week and gives sermons on Sundays, and in +whose addresses she finds exactly what suits her. I speak of the +better feelings and purposes of wiser, if not better folk. Let +me think here of pious emotions and holy resolutions, of the best +and purest frames of heart and mind. Oh, if we could all always +remain at our best! And after all, permanence is the great test. +In the matter of Christian faith and feeling, in the matter of all +our worthier principles and purposes, that which lasts longest is +best. This, indeed, is true of most things. The worth of anything +depends much upon its durability,--upon the wear that is in it. A +thing that is merely a fine flash and over only disappoints. The +highest authority has recognized this. You remember Who said to his +friends, before leaving them, that He would have them bring forth +fruit, and much fruit. But not even that was enough. The fairest +profession for a time, the most earnest labour for a time, the +most ardent affection for a time, would not suffice. And so the +Redeemer's words were,--'I have chosen you, and ordained you, that +ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain.' +Well, let us trust, that, in the most solemn of all respects, only +progress shall be brought to us by all the changes of Future Years.' + +But it is quite vain to think that feelings, as distinguished from +principles, shall not lose much of their vividness, freshness, +and depth, as time goes on. You cannot now by any effort revive +the exultation you felt at some unexpected great success, nor the +heart-sinking of some terrible loss or trial. You know how women, +after the death of a child, determine that every day, as long as +they live, they will visit the little grave. And they do so for +a time, sometimes for a long time; but they gradually leave off. +You know how burying-places are very trimly and carefully kept at +first, and how flowers are hung upon the stone; but these things +gradually cease. You know how many husbands and wives, after their +partner's death, determine to give the remainder of life to the +memory of the departed, and would regard with sincere horror the +suggestion that it was possible they should ever marry again; but +after a while they do. And you will even find men, beyond middle +age, who made a tremendous work at their first wife's death, and +wore very conspicuous mourning, who in a very few months may be +seen dangling after some new fancy, and who in the prospect of their +second marriage evince an exhilaration that approaches to crackiness. +It is usual to speak of such things in a ludicrous manner, but +I confess the matter seems to me anything but one to laugh at. I +think that the rapid dying out of warm feelings, the rapid change +of fixed resolutions, is one of the most sorrowful subjects of +reflection which it is possible to suggest, Ah, my friends, after +we die, it would not be expedient, even if it were possible, to +come back. Many of us would not like to find how very little they +miss us. But still, it is the manifest intention of the Creator +that strong feelings should be transitory. The sorrowful thing is +when they pass and leave absolutely no truce behind them. There +should always be some corner kept in the heart for a feeling which +once possessed it all. Let us look at the case temperately. Let us +face and admit the facts. The healthy body and mind can get over a +great deal; but there are some things which it is not to the credit +of our nature should ever be entirely got over. Here are sober +truth, and sound philosophy, and sincere feeling together, in the +words of Philip van Artevelde:-- + + Well, well, she's gone, + And I have tamed my sorrow. Pain and grief + Are transitory things, no less than joy; + And though they leave us not the men we were, + Yet they do leave us. You behold me here, + A man bereaved, with something of a blight + Upon the early blossoms of his life, + And its first verdure,--having not the less + A living root, and drawing from the earth + Its vital juices, from the air its powers: + And surely as man's heart and strength are whole, + His appetites regerminate, his heart + Re-opens, and his objects and desires + Spring up renewed. + +But though Artevelde speaks truly and well, you remember how Mr. +Taylor, in that noble play, works out to our view the sad sight of the +deterioration of character, the growing coarseness and harshness, +the lessening tenderness and kindliness, which are apt to come +with advancing years. Great trials, we know, passing over us, may +influence us either for the worse or the better; and unless our +nature is a very obdurate and poor one, though they may leave us, +they will not leave us the men we were. Once, at a public meeting, +I heard a man in eminent station make a speech. I had never seen +him before; but I remembered an inscription which I had read, +in a certain churchyard far away, upon the stone that marked the +resting-place of his young wife, who had died many years before. +I thought of its simple words of manly and hearty sorrow. I knew +that the eminence he had reached had not come till she who would +have been proudest of it was beyond knowing it or caring for it. +And I cannot say with what interest and satisfaction I thought I +could trace, in the features which were sad without the infusion +of a grain of sentirnentalism, in the subdued and quiet tone of +the man's whole aspect and manner and address, the manifest proof +that he had not shut down the leaf upon that old page of his +history, that lie had never quite got over that great grief of +earlier years. One felt better and more hopeful for the sight. I +suppose many people, after meeting some overwhelming loss or trial, +have fancied that they would soon die; but that is almost invariably +a delusion. Various dogs have died of a broken heart, but very +few human beings. The inferior creature has pined away at his +master's loss: as for us, it is not that one would doubt the depth +and sincerity of sorrow, but that there is more endurance in our +constitution, and that God has appointed that grief shall rather +mould and influence than kill. It is a much sadder sight than an +early death, to see human beings live on after heavy trial, and sink +into something very unlike their early selves and very inferior to +their early selves. I can well believe that many a human being, if +he eould have a glimpse in innocent youth of what he will be twenty +or thirty years after, would pray in anguish to be taken before +coming to that! Mansie Wauch's glimpse of destitution was bad +enough; but a million times worse is a glimpse of hardened and +unabashed sin and shame. And it would be no comfort--it would be an +aggravation in that view--to think that by the time you have reached +that miserable point, you will have grown pretty well reconciled +to it. That is the worst of all. To be wicked and depraved, and to +feel it, and to be wretched under it, is bad enough; but it is a +great deal worse to have fallen into that depth of moral degradation, +and to feel that really you don't care. The instinct of accommodation +is not always a blessing. It is happy for us, that, though in youth +we hoped to live in a castle or a palace, we can make up our mind +to live in a little parsonage or a quiet street in a country town. +It is happy for us, that, though in youth we hoped to be very +great and famous, we are so entirely reconciled to being little +and unknown. But it is not happy for the poor girl who walks the +Haymarket at night that she feels her degradation so little. It +is not happy that she has come to feel towards her miserable life +so differently now from what she would have felt towards it, had +it been set before her while she was the blooming, thoughtless +creature in the little cottage in the country. It is only by fits +and starts that the poor drunken wretch, living in a garret upon +a little pittance allowed him by his relations, who was once a man +of character and hope, feels what a sad pitch he has come to. If +you could get him to feel it constantly, there would be some hope +of his reclamation even yet. + +It seems to me a very comforting thought, in looking on to Future +Years, if you are able to think that you are in a profession or +a calling from which you will never retire. For the prospect of a +total change in your mode of life, and the entire cessation of the +occupation which, for many years employed the greater part of your +waking thoughts, and all this amid the failing powers and nagging +hopes of declining, years, is both a sad and a perplexing prospect +to a thoughtful person. For such a person cannot regard this +great change simply in the light of a rest from toil and worry; he +will know quite well what a blankness, and listlessness, and loss +of interest in life, will come of feeling all at once that you +have nothing at all to do. And so it is a great blessing, if your +vocation be one which is a dignified and befitting one for an old +man to be engaged in, one that beseems his gravity and his long +experience, one that beseems even his slow movements and his white +hairs. It is a pleasant thing to see an old man a judge; his years +become the judgment-seat. But then the old man can hold such an +office only while he retains strength of body and mind efficiently +to perform its duties; and he must do all his work for himself: +and accordingly a day must come when the venerable Chancellor +resigns the Great Seal; when the aged Justice or Baron must give up +his place; and when these honoured Judges, though still retaining +considerable vigour, but vigour less than enough for their hard +work, are compelled to feel that their occupation is gone. And +accordingly I hold that what is the best of all professions, for +many reasons, is especially so for this, that you need never retire +from it. In the Church you need not do all your duty yourself. You +may get assistance to supplement your own lessening strength. The +energetic young curate or curates may do that part of the parish work +which exceeds the power of the ageing incumbent, while the entire +parochial machinery has still the advantage of being directed by +his wisdom and experience, and while the old man is still permitted +to do what he can with such strength as is spared to him, and to feel +that he is useful in the noblest cause yet. And even to extremest +age and frailty,--to age and frailty which would long since have +incapacitated the judge for the Bench--the parish clergyman may +take some share in the much-loved duty in which he has laboured so +long. He may still, though briefly, and only now and then, address +his flock from the pulpit, in words which his very feebleness will +make far more touchingly effective than the most vigorous eloquence +and the richest and fullest tones of his young coadjutors. There +never will be, within the sacred walls, a silence and reverence +more profound than when the withered kindly face looks as of old +upon the congregation, to whose fathers its owner first ministered, +and which has grown up mainly under his instruction,--and when the +voice that falls familiarly on so many ears tells again, quietly +and earnestly, the old story which we all need so much to hear. +And he may still look in at the parish school, and watch the growth +of a generation that is to do the work of life when he is in his +grave; and kindly smooth the children's heads; and tell them how +One, once a little child, and never more than a young man, brought +salvation alike to young and old. He may still sit by the bedside +of the sick and dying, and speak to such with the sympathy and the +solemnity of one who does not forget that the last great realities +are drawing near to both. But there are vocations which are all very +well for young or middle-aged people, but which do not quite suit +the old. Such is that of the barrister. Wrangling and hair-splitting, +browbeating and bewildering witnesses, making coarse jokes to excite +the laughter of common jurymen, and addressing such with clap-trap +bellowings, are not the work for grey-headed men. If such remain at +the bar, rather let them have the more refined work of the Equity +Courts, where you address judges, and not juries; and where you +spare clap-trap and misrepresentation, if for no better reason, +because, you know that these will not stand you in the slightest +stead. The work which best befits the aged, the work for which no +mortal can ever become too venerable and dignified or too weak and +frail, is the work of Christian usefulness and philanthropy. And +it is a beautiful sight to see, as I trust we all have seen, that +work persevered in with the closing energies of life. It is a noble +test of the soundness of the principle that prompted to its first +undertaking. It is a hopeful and cheering sight to younger men, +looking out with something of fear to the temptations and trials +of the years before them. Oh! if the grey-haired clergyman, with +less now, indeed, of physical strength and mere physical warmth, +yet preaches, with the added weight and solemnity of his long +experience, the same blessed doctrines now, after forty years, +that he preached in his early prime; if the philanthropist of half +a century since is the philanthropist still,--still kind, hopeful, +and unwearied, though with the snows of age upon his head, and the +hand that never told its fellow of what it did now trembling as it +does the deed of mercy; then I think that even the most doubtful +will believe that the principle and the religion of such men were +a glorious reality! The sternest of all touchstones of the genuineness +of our better feelings is the fashion in which they stand the wear +of years. + +But my shortening space warns me to stop; and I must cease, for +the present, from these thoughts of Future Years,--cease, I mean, +from writing about that mysterious tract before us: who can cease +from thinking of it? You remember how the writer of that little +poem which has been quoted asks Time to touch gently him and his. +Of course he spoke as a poet, stating the case fancifully,--but +not forgetting, that, when we come to sober sense, we must prefer +our requests to an Ear more ready to hear us and a Hand more ready +to help. It is not to Time that I shall apply to lead me through +life into immortality! And I cannot think of years to come without +going back to a greater poet, whom we need not esteem the less +because his inspiration was loftier than that of the Muses, who +has summed up so grandly in one comprehensive sentence all the +possibilities which could befall him in the days and ages before +him. "Thou shalt guide me with Thy counsel, and afterward receive +me to glory!" Let us humbly trust that in that sketch, round and +complete, of all that can ever come to us, my readers and I may be +able to read the history of our Future Years! + + + + + +CONCLUSION. + + + + +And now, friendly reader, who have borne me company so far, +your task is ended. You will have no more of the RECREATIONS OF A +COUNTRY PARSON. Yet do not be alarmed. I trust you have not seen +the writer's last appearance. It is only that the essays which he +hopes yet to write, will not be composed in the comparative leisure +of a country clergyman's quiet life. And not merely is it still a +pleasant change of occupation, to write such chapters as those you +have read: but the author cannot forget that to them he is indebted +for the acquaintance of some of the most valued friends he has in +this world. It was especially delightful to find a little sympathetic +public, whose taste these papers suited; and to which they have +not been devoid of profit and comfort. Nor was it without a certain +subdued exultation that a quiet Scotch minister learned that away +across the ocean he had found an audience as large and sympathetic +as in his own country; and a kind appreciation by the organs of +criticism there, which he could not read without much emotion. Of +course, if I had fancied myself a great genius, it would have seemed +nothing strange that the thoughts I had written down in my little +study in the country manse, should be read by many fellow-creatures +four thousand miles off. But then I knew I was not a great genius: +and so I felt it at once a great pleasure and a great surprise. My +heart smote me when I thought of some flippant words of depreciation +which these essays have contained concerning our American brothers. +They are the last this hand shall ever write: and I never will +forget how simple thoughts, only sincere and not unconsidered, +found their way to hearts, kindly Scotch and English yet, though +beating on the farther side of the Great Atlantic. + +After all, a clergyman's great enjoyment is in his duty: and I +think that, unless he be crushed down by a parish of utter misery +and destitution, in which all he can do is like a drop in the ocean +(as that great and good man Dr. Guthrie tells us he was), the town +is to the clergyman better than the country. The crowded city, when +all is said, contains the best of the race. Your mind is stirred +up there, to do what you could not have done elsewhere. The best of +your energy and ability is brought out by the never-ceasing spur. + +Yet you will be sensible of various evils in the city clergyman's +life. One is the great evil of over-work. You are always on the +stretch. You never feel that your work is overtaken. The time never +comes, in which you feel that you may sit down and rest: never +comes, at least, save in the autumnal holiday. It is expedient that +a city clergyman should have his mind well stored before going to +his charge: for there he will find a perpetual drain upon his mind, +and very little time for refilling it by general reading. To prepare +two sermons a week, or even one sermon a week, for an educated +congregation (or indeed for any congregation), implies no small +sustained effort. It is not so very hard to write one sermon in one +week; but is very hard to write thirty sermons in thirty successive +weeks. You know how five miles in five hours are nothing: but a +thousand miles in a thousand hours are killing. But every one knows +that the preparation for the pulpit is the least part of a town +clergyman's work. You have many sick to visit regularly: many +frail and old people who cannot come to church. You have schools, +classes, missions. And there is the constant effort to maintain +some acquaintance with the families that attend your church, so +that you and they shall not be strangers. I am persuaded that there +ought to be at least two clergymen to every extensive parish. For +it is not expedient that the clergy should have their minds and +bodies ever on the strain, just to get througr the needful work of +the day. There is no opportunity, then, for the accumulation of +some stock and store of thought and learning. And one important +service which the clergy of a country ought to render it, is the +maintenance of learning, and general culture. Indeed, a man not +fairly versed in literature and science is not capable of preaching +as is needful at the present day. And when always overdriven, a man +is tempted to lower his standard: and instead of trying to do his +work to the very best of his ability, to wish just to get decently +through it. Then, as for other men, they have the great happiness +of knowing when their work is done. When a lawyer has attended to +his cases, he has no more to do that day. So when the doctor has +visited his patients. But to clerical work there is no limit. Your +work is to do all the good you can. There is the parish: there is +the population: and the uneasy conscience is always suggesting thia +and that new scheme of benevolent exertion. The only limit to the +clergyman's duty is his strength: and very often that limit is +outrun. Oh that one could wisely fix what one may safely and rightly +do; and then resolutely determine not to attempt any more! But who +can do that? If your heart be in your work, you are every now and +then knocking yourself up. And you cannot help it. You advise your +friends prudently against overwork; and then you go and work till +you drop. + +And a further evil of the town parish is, that a great part of +your work is done by the utmost stretch of body and mind. Much of +it is work of that nature, that when you are not actually doing +it, you wonder how you can do it at all. When you think of it, it +is a very great trial and effort to preach each Sunday to a thousand +or fifteen hundred human beings. And by longer experience, and that +humbler self-estimate which longer experience brings, the trial +is ever becoming greater. It is the utmost strain of human energy, +to do that duty fittingly. You know how easily some men go through +their work. It is constant and protracted; but not a very great +strain at any one time: there is no overwhelming nervous tension. +I suppose even the Chief Justice, or the Lord Chancellor, when in +the morning he walks into Court and takes his seat on the bench, +does so without a trace of nervous tremour. He is thoroughly cool. +He has a perfect conviction that he is equal to his work; that he +is master of it. But preaching is to many men an unceasing nervous +excitement. There is great wear in it. And this is so, I am +persuaded, even with the most eminent men. Preaching is a thing +by itself. When you properly reflect upon it, it is very solemn, +responsible, and awful work. Not long since, I heard the Bishop +of Oxford preach to a very great congregation. I was sitting very +near him, and watched him with the professional interest. I am much +mistaken if that great man was not as nervous as a young parson, +preaching for the first time. Pie had a number of little things in +the pulpit to look after: his cap, gloves, handkerchief, sermon-case: +I remember the nervous way in which he was twitching them about, +and arranging them. No doubt that tremour wore off when he began +to speak; and he gave a most admirable sermon. Still, the strain +had been there, and had been felt. And I do not think that the like +can recur week by week, without considerable wear of the principle +of life within. Now, in preaching to a little country congregation, +there is much less of that wear: to say nothing of the increased +physical effort of addressing many hundreds of people, as compared +with that of addressing eighty or ninety. It is quite possible that +out of the many hundreds, there may not be very many individuals of +whom, intellectually, you stand in very overwhelming awe: and the +height of a crowd of a thousand people is no more than the height +of the tallest man in it. Still, there is always something very +imposing and awe-striking in the presence of a multitude of human +beings. + +And yet, if you have physical strength equal to your work, I do not +think that for all the nervous anxiety which attends your charge, +or for all its constant pressure, you would ever wish to leave it. +There is a happiness in such sacred duty which only those who have +experienced it know. And without (so far as you are aware) a shade +of self-conceit, but in entire humility and deep thankfulness, you +will rejoice that God makes you the means of comfort and advantage +to many of your fellow-men. It is a delightful thing to think +that you are of use: and, whether in town or country, the diligent +clergyman may always hope that he is so, less or more. + +THE END. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE RECREATIONS OF A COUNTRY PARSON *** + +This file should be named 5407.txt or 5407.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +https://gutenberg.org or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext04 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext04 + +Or /etext03, 02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + diff --git a/5407.zip b/5407.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..18cdd56 --- /dev/null +++ b/5407.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e01feac --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #5407 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5407) |