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diff --git a/42105-8.txt b/42105-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0c0c2e6..0000000 --- a/42105-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5957 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Faces in the Fire, by Frank W. Boreham - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Faces in the Fire - And Other Fancies - -Author: Frank W. Boreham - -Release Date: February 16, 2013 [EBook #42105] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FACES IN THE FIRE *** - - - - -Produced by David Wilson and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Original scans are taken from: http://archive.org/details/facesinfireother00boreiala - - - - - - - - - -FACES IN THE FIRE - - - - - FACES IN THE FIRE - and - OTHER FANCIES - - - BY F. W. BOREHAM - - - AUTHOR OF 'THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HILL,' 'THE SILVER SHADOW,' - 'MUSHROOMS ON THE MOOR,' 'THE GOLDEN MILESTONE,' 'MOUNTAINS - IN THE MIST,' 'THE LUGGAGE OF LIFE,' ETC., ETC. - - - - - THE ABINGDON PRESS - NEW YORK CINCINNATI - - - - -CONTENTS - - -PART I - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. THE BABY AMONG THE BOMBSHELLS 13 - - II. STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM 24 - - III. THE CONQUEST OF THE CRAGS 36 - - IV. LINOLEUM 46 - - V. THE EDITOR 57 - - VI. THE PEACEMAKER 68 - - VII. NOTHING 79 - - VIII. THE ANGEL AND THE IRON GATE 89 - - IX. SHORT CUTS 98 - - -PART II - - I. THE POSTMAN 113 - - II. CRYING FOR THE MOON 123 - - III. OUR LOST ROMANCES 134 - - IV. A FORBIDDEN DISH 144 - - V. AN OLD MAID'S DIARY 153 - - VI. THE RIVER 163 - - VII. FACES IN THE FIRE 172 - - VIII. THE MENACE OF THE SUNLIT HILL 184 - - IX. AMONG THE ICEBERGS 196 - - -PART III - - I. A BOX OF TIN SOLDIERS 207 - - II. LOVE, MUSIC, AND SALAD 216 - - III. THE FELLING OF THE TREE 227 - - IV. SPOIL! 237 - - V. A PHILOSOPHY OF FANCY-WORK 247 - - VI. A PAIR OF BOOTS 256 - - VII. CHRISTMAS BELLS 265 - - - - -BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION - - -It was a chilling experience, that first glimpse of New Zealand! Hour -after hour the great ship held on her way up the Cook Straits amidst -scenery that made me shudder and that scowled me out of countenance. -Rugged, massive, inhospitable, and bare, how sternly those wild and -mountainous landscapes contrasted with the quiet beauty that I had -surveyed from the same decks as the ship had dropped down Channel! I -shaded my eyes with my hands and swept the strange horizon at every -point, but nowhere could I see a sign of habitation--no man; no beast; -no sheltering roof; no winding road; no welcoming column of smoke! And -when, in the twilight of that still autumn evening, I at length -descended the gangway, and set foot for the first time on the land of my -adoption, I found myself--twelve thousand miles from home--in a country -in which not a soul knew me, and in which I knew no single soul. It was -not an exhilarating sensation. - -That was on March 11, 1895--twenty-one years ago to-night. Those -one-and-twenty years have been almost evenly divided between the old -manse at Mosgiel, in New Zealand, and my present Tasmanian home. As I -sit here, and let my memory play among the years, I smile at the odd way -in which these southern lands have belied that first austere impression. -In my fire to-night I see such crowds of faces--the faces of those with -whom I have laughed and cried, and camped and played, and worked and -worshipped in the course of these one-and-twenty years. There are -fancy-faces, too; the folk of other latitudes; the faces I have never -seen; the friends my pen has brought me. I cannot write to all to-night; -so I set aside this book as a memento of the times we have spent -together. If, by good hap, it reaches any of them, let them regard it as -a shake of the hand for the sake of auld lang syne. And if, in addition -to cementing old friendships, it creates new ones, how doubly happy I -shall be! - - FRANK W. BOREHAM. - - Hobart, Tasmania. - - - - -PART I - - - - -I - -THE BABY AMONG THE BOMBSHELLS - - -Everything depends on keeping up the supply of bombshells. It will be a -sad day for us all when there are no more bombs to burst, no more shocks -to be sustained, no more sensations to be experienced, no more thrills -to be enjoyed. Fancy being condemned to reside in a world that is -bankrupt of astonishments, a world that no longer has it in its power to -startle you, a world that has nothing up its sleeve! It would be like -occupying a seat at a conjuring entertainment at which the conjurer had -exhausted all his tricks, but did not like to tell you so! When I was a -small boy I used to be mildly amused by the antics of a performing bear -that occasionally visited our locality. A sickly-looking foreigner led -the poor brute by a string. Its claws were cut, and its teeth drawn. By -dint of a few kicks and cuffs it was persuaded to dance a melancholy -kind of jig, and then shamble round with a basket in search of a few -half-pence. I remember distinctly that, as I watched the unhappy -creature's dismal performance, I tried to imagine what the animal would -have looked like had no cruel captor removed him from his native lair. -The mental contrast was a very painful one. Yet it was not half so -painful as the contrast between the world as it is and a world that had -run out of bombshells. A world that could no longer surprise us would be -a world with its claws cut and its teeth drawn. Half the fun of waking -up in the morning is the feeling that you have come upon a day that is -brand new, a day that the world has never seen before, a day that is -certain to do things that no other day has ever done. Half the pleasure -of welcoming a new-born baby is the absolute certainty that here you -have a packet of amazing surprises. An individuality is here; a thing -that never was before; you cannot argue from any other child to this -one; the only thing that you can predict with confidence about this -child is that it will do things that were never done, or never done in -the same way, since this old world of ours began. Here is novelty, -originality, an infinity of bewildering possibility. Each mother thinks -that there never was a baby like her baby; and most certainly there -never was. As long as the stock of days keeps up, and as long as the -supply of babies does not peter out, there will be no lack of -bombshells. I visited the other day the ruins of an old prison. I saw -among other things the dark cells in which, in the bad old days, -prisoners languished in solitary confinement. Charles Reade and other -writers have told us how, in those black holes, convicts adopted all -kinds of ingenious expedients to secure themselves against losing their -reason in the desolate darkness. They tossed buttons about and groped -after them; they tore up their clothes and counted the pieces; they did -a thousand other things, and went mad in spite of all their pains. Now -what is this horror of the darkness? Let us analyse it. Wherein does it -differ from blindness? Why did insanity overtake these solitary men? The -horror of the darkness was not fear. A child dreads the dark because he -thinks that wolves and hobgoblins infest it. But these men had no such -terrors. The thing that unbalanced them was the maddening monotony of -the darkness. Nothing happened. In the light something happens every -second. A thousand impressions are made upon the mind in the course of -every minute. Each sensation, though it be of no more importance than -the buzz of a fly at the window-pane, the flutter of a paper to the -floor, or the sound of a footfall on the street, represents a surprise. -It is a mental jolt. It transfers the attention from one object to an -entirely different one. We pass in less than a second from the buzz of -the fly to the flutter of the paper, and again from the flutter of the -paper to the sound of the footfall. Any man who could count the separate -objects that occupied his attention in the course of a single moment -would be astonished at their variety and multiplicity. But in the dark -cell there are no sensations. The eye cannot see; the ear cannot hear. -Not one of the senses is appealed to. The mind is accustomed to flit -from sensation to sensation like a butterfly flitting from flower to -flower, but infinitely faster. But in this dark cell it languishes like -a captive butterfly in a cardboard box. If you hold me under water I -shall die, because my lungs can no longer do the work they have always -been accustomed to do. In the dark cell the mind finds itself in the -same predicament. It is drowned in inky air. The mind lives on -sensations; but here there are no sensations. And if the world gets -shorn of its surprise-power, it will become a maddening place to live -in. We only exist by being continually startled. We are kept alive by -the everlasting bursting of bombshells. - -I am not so much concerned, however, with the ability of the world to -afford us a continuous series of thrills as with my own capacity to be -surprised. The tendency is to lose the power of astonishment. I am told -that, in battle, the moment in which a man finds himself for the first -time under fire is a truly terrifying experience. But after awhile the -new-comer settles down to it, and, with shells bursting all around him, -he goes about his tasks as calmly as on parade. This idiosyncrasy of -ours may be a very fine thing under such circumstances, but under other -conditions it has the gravest elements of danger. As I sit here writing, -a baby crawls upon the floor. It is good fun watching him. He plays with -the paper band that fell from a packet of envelopes. He puts it round -his wrist like a bracelet. He tears it, and lo, the bracelet of a moment -ago is a long ribbon of coloured paper. He is astounded. His wide-open -eyes are a picture. The telephone rings. He looks up with approval. -Anything that rings or rattles is very much to his taste. I go over to -his new-found toy, and begin talking to it. He is dumbfounded. My -altercation with the telephone completely bewilders him. Whilst I am -thus occupied, he moves towards my vacant chair. He tries to pull -himself up by it, but pulls it over on to himself. The savagery of the -thing appals him; he never dreamed of an attack from such a source. In -what a world of wonder is he living! Bombs are bursting all around him -all day long. A baby's life must be a thrillingly sensational affair. - -But the pity of it is that he will grow out of it. He may be surrounded -with the most amazing contrivances on every hand, but the wonder of it -will make little or no appeal to him. He will be like the soldier in the -trenches who no longer notices the roar and crash of the shells. When -Livingstone set out for England in 1856, he determined to take with him -Sekwebu, the leader of his African escort. But when the party reached -Mauritius, the poor African was so bewildered by the steamers and other -marvels of civilization that he went mad, threw himself into the sea, -and was seen no more. I only wish that an artist had sketched the scene -upon which poor Sekwebu gazed so nervously as he stood on the deck of -the _Frolic_ that day sixty years ago. I suspect that the 'marvels of -civilization' that so terrified him would appear to us to be very -ramshackle and antiquated affairs. We lie back in our sumptuous -motor-cars and yawn whilst surrounded on every hand with astonishments -compared with which the things that Sekwebu saw are not worthy to be -compared. That is the tragic feature of the thing. In the midst of -marvels we tend to become blasé. It is not that we are occupying a seat -at a conjuring entertainment at which the conjurer has exhausted all his -tricks, and does not like to tell you so. On the contrary, it is like -occupying a seat at a conjuring entertainment and falling fast asleep -just as the performer is getting to his most baffling and masterly -achievements. I like to watch this baby of mine among his bombshells. -The least thing electrifies him. What a sensational world this would be -if I could only contrive to retain unspoiled that childish capacity for -wonder! - -I shall be told that it is the baby's ignorance that makes him so -susceptible to sensation. It is nothing of the kind. Ignorance does not -create wonder; it destroys it. I walked along a track through the bush -one day in company with two men. One was a naturalist; the other was an -ignoramus. Twenty times at least the naturalist swooped down upon some -curious grass, some novel fern, or some rare orchid. The walk that -morning was, to his knowing eyes, as sensational as a hair-raising film -at a cinematograph. But to my other companion it was absolutely -uneventful, and the only thing at which he wondered was the enthusiasm -of our common friend. When Alfred Russel Wallace was gathering in South -America his historic collection of botanical and zoological specimens, -the natives of the Amazon Valley thought him mad. He paid them -handsomely to catch creatures for which they could discover no use at -all. To him the great forests of Bolivia and Brazil were alive with -sensation. They fascinated and enthralled him. But the black men could -not understand it. They saw no reason for his rapture. Yet his wonder -was not the outcome of ignorance; it was the outcome of knowledge. -Depend upon it, the more I learn, the more sensational the world will -become. If I can only become wise enough I may recapture the glorious -amazements of the baby among his bombshells. - -Now let me come to a very practical application. Half the art of life -lies in possessing effective explosives and in knowing how to use them. -In the best of his books, Jack London tells us that the secret of White -Fang's success in fighting other dogs was his power of surprise. 'When -dogs fight there are usually preliminaries--snarlings and bristlings, -and stiff-legged struttings. But White Fang omitted these. He gave no -warning of his intention. He rushed in and snapped and slashed on the -instant, without notice, before his foe could prepare to meet him. Thus -he exhibited the value of surprise. A dog taken off its guard, its -shoulder slashed open, or its ear ripped in ribbons before it knew what -was happening, was a dog half whipped.' Here is the strategy of surprise -in the wild. Has it nothing to teach me? I think it has. I remember -going for a walk one evening in New Zealand, many years ago, with a -minister whose name was at one time famous throughout the world. I was -just beginning then, and was hungry for ideas. I shall never forget -that, towards the close of our conversation, my companion stopped, -looked me full in the face, and exclaimed with tremendous emphasis, -'Keep up your surprise-power, my dear fellow; the pulpit must never, -never lose its power of startling people!' I have very often since -recalled that memorable walk; and the farther I leave the episode across -the years behind me the more the truth of that fine saying gains upon my -heart. - -Let me suggest a really great question. Is it enough for a preacher to -preach the truth? In a place where I was quite unknown, I turned into a -church one day and enjoyed the rare luxury of hearing another man -preach. But, much as I appreciated the experience, I found, when I came -out, that the preacher had started a rather curious line of thought. He -was a very gracious man; it was a genuine pleasure to have seen and -heard him. And yet there seemed to be a something lacking. The sermon -was absolutely without surprise. Every sentence was splendidly true, and -yet not a single sentence startled me. There was no sting in it. I -seemed to have heard it all over and over and over again; I could even -see what was coming. Surely it is the preacher's duty to give the truth -such a setting, and present it in such a way, that the oldest truths -will appear newer than the latest sensations. He must arouse me from my -torpor; he must compel me to open my eyes and pull myself together; he -must make me sit up and think. 'Keep up your surprise-power, my dear -fellow,' said my companion that evening in the bush, speaking out of his -long and rich experience. - -'The pulpit,' he said, 'must never, never lose its power of startling -people!' The preacher, that is to say, must keep up his stock of -explosives. The Bishop of London declared the other day that the Church -is suffering from too much 'dearly beloved brethren.' She would be -better judiciously to mix it with a few bombshells. - -And yet, after all, I suppose it was largely my own fault that the -sermon of which I have spoken seemed to me to be so ineffective. There -are tremendous astonishments in the Christian evangel which, however -baldly stated, should fire my sluggish soul with wonder, and fill it -with amazement. The fact that I listened so blandly shows that I have -become blasé. I am like the soldier in the trenches who no longer -notices the bursting shells about him. I am like the auditor who -occupies a seat at the conjuring entertainment, but has fallen asleep -just as the thing is getting sensational. - -In one of his latest books, Harold Begbie gives us a fine picture of -John Wyclif reading from his own translation of the Bible to those who -had never before listened to those stately and wonderful cadences. The -hearers look at each other with wide-open eyes, and are almost -incredulous in their astonishment. Every sentence is a sensation. They -can scarcely believe their ears. They are like the baby on the floor. -The simplicities startle them. If only I can renew the romance of my -childhood, and recapture that early sense of wonder, the world will -suddenly become as marvellous as the prince's palace in the fairy -stories, and the ministry of the Church will become life's most -sensational sensation. - - - - -II - -STRAWBERRIES AND CREAM - - -Strawberries are delicious, as every one knows. 'It may be,' says Dr. -Boteler, a quaint old English writer, 'it may be that God could make a -better berry than a strawberry, but most certainly He never did.' Yes, -strawberries are delicious; but I am not going to write about -strawberries. Cream is also very nice, very nice indeed; but nothing -shall induce me to write about cream. I have promised myself a chapter, -neither on _strawberries_ nor on _cream_, but on _strawberries and -cream_. The distinction, as I shall endeavour to show, is a vitally -important one. Now the theme was suggested on this wise. I was walking -through the city this afternoon, when I met a gentleman from whom, only -this morning, I received an important letter. We shook hands, and were -just plunging into the subject-matter of his letter when a tall -policeman reminded us of the illegality of loitering on the pavement. -Yet it was too hot to walk about. - -'Come in here,' my companion suggested, pointing to a café near by, -'and have a cup of afternoon tea.' - -'No, thank you,' I replied, 'I had a cup not long ago.' - -'Well, strawberries and cream, then?' - -The temptation was too strong for me; he had touched a vulnerable point; -and I succumbed. The afternoon was very oppressive; the restaurant -looked invitingly cool; a quiet corner among the ferns seemed to beckon -us; and the strawberries and cream, daintily served, soon completed our -felicity. - -Strawberries and cream! It is an odd conjunction when you come to think -of it. The gardener goes off to his well-kept beds and brings back a big -basket, lined with cabbage leaves, and filled to the brim with fine -fresh strawberries. The maid slips off to the dairy and returns with a -jug of rich and foamy cream. To what different realms they belong! The -gardener lives, moves, and has his being in one world; the milkmaid -spends her life in quite another. The cream belongs to the animal -kingdom; the strawberries to the vegetable kingdom. But here, on these -pretty little plates in the fern-grot are the gardener's world and the -milkmaid's world beautifully blended. Here, on the table before us, are -the animal and the vegetable kingdom perfectly supplementing and -completing each other. It is another phase of the wonder which -suggested the nursery rhyme: - - Flour of England, fruit of Spain, - Met together in a shower of rain. - -Empires confront each other within the compass of a plum-pudding; -continents salute each other in a tea-cup; the great subdivisions of the -universe greet each other in a plate of strawberries and cream. What -_ententes_, and _rapprochements_, and international conferences take -place every day among the plates and dishes that adorn our tables! - -It is a thousand pities that we have no authentic record of the -discoverer of strawberries and cream. For ages the world enjoyed its -strawberries, and for ages the world enjoyed its cream. But strawberries -and cream was an unheard-of mixture. Then there dawned one of the great -days of this planet's little story, a day that ought to have been -carefully recorded and annually commemorated. History, as it is written, -betrays a sad lack of perspective. It has no true sense of proportion. -There came a fateful day on which some audacious dietetic adventurer -took the cream that had been brought from his dairy, poured it on the -strawberries that had been plucked from his garden, and discovered with -delight that the whole was greater than the sum of all its parts. Yet -of that memorable day the historian takes no notice. With the amours of -kings, the intrigues of courts, and the squabbles of statesmen he has -filled countless pages; yet only in very rare instances have these -things contributed to the sum of human happiness anything comparable to -the pleasures afforded by strawberries and cream. We have never done -justice to the intellectual prowess of the men who first tried some of -the mixtures that are to us a matter of course. Salt and potatoes, for -example. I heard the other day of a little girl who defined salt as -'that which makes potatoes very nasty if you have none of it with them.' -It is not a bad definition. But, surely, something is due to the memory -of the man who discovered that the insipidity might be removed, and the -potato be made a staple article of diet, by the simple addition of a -pinch of salt! Then, too, there are the men who found out that -horseradish is the thing to eat with roast beef; that apple sauce lends -an added charm to a joint of pork; that red currant jelly enhances the -flavour of jugged hare; that mint sauce blends beautifully with lamb; -that boiled mutton is all the better for caper sauce; and that butter is -the natural corollary of bread. 'The man of superior intellect,' says -Tennyson, in vindication of his weakness for boiled beef and new -potatoes, 'knows what is good to eat.' And George Gissing in a -reference to these selfsame new potatoes, adds a corroborative word. -'Our cook,' he says, 'when dressing these new potatoes, puts into the -saucepan a sprig of mint. This is genius. Not otherwise could the -flavour of the vegetable be so perfectly, yet so delicately, emphasized. -The mint is there, and we know it; yet our palate knows only the young -potato.' There have been thousands of statues erected to the memory of -men who have done far less to promote the happiness of mankind than did -any of these. Every great invention is preceded by thousands and -thousands of fruitless attempts. Think of the nauseous conglomerations -that must have been tried and tasted, not without a shudder, before -these happy combinations were at length launched upon the world. Think -of the jeers of derision that greeted the first announcement of these -preposterous concoctions! Imagine the guffaws when a man told his -companions that he had been eating red currant jelly with jugged hare! -Imagine the nameless dietetic atrocities that that ingenious epicure -must have perpetrated before he hit upon his ultimate triumph! I have -not the initiative to attempt it. I lack the splendid daring of the -pioneer. In a thousand years' time men will smack their lips over all -kinds of mixtures of which I should shudder to hear. I am content to go -on eating this by itself and that by itself, just as for ages men were -content to eat strawberries by themselves and cream by itself, never -dreaming that this thing and that thing as much belong to each other as -do strawberries and cream. - -Now this genius for mixing things is one of the hall-marks of our -humanity. Strawberry leaves are part of the crest of a duchess; but -strawberries and cream might be regarded as a suitable crest for the -race. Man is an animal, but he is more than an animal; and he proves his -superiority by mixing things. His poorer relatives of the brute creation -never do it. They eat strawberries, and they are fond of cream; but it -would never have occurred to any one of them to mix the strawberries -with the cream. An animal, even the most intelligent and domesticated -animal, will eat one thing and then he will eat another thing; but the -idea of mixing the first thing with the second thing before eating -either never enters into his comprehension. - -The strawberries and cream represent, therefore, in a pleasant and -attractive way, our human genius for mixing things. There is nothing -surprising about it. Indeed, it is eminently fitting and characteristic. -For we are ourselves such extraordinary medlies. Let any man think his -way back across the ages, and mark the ingredients that have woven -themselves into his make-up, and he will not be surprised at the -extraordinary miscellany of passions that he sometimes discovers within -the recesses of his own soul. 'I remember,' Rudyard Kipling makes the -Thames to say: - - ... I remember, like yesterday, - The earliest Cockney who came my way, - When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand, - With paint on his face and a club in his hand. - He was death to feather and fin and fur, - He trapped my beavers at Westminster, - He netted my salmon, he hunted my deer, - He killed my herons off Lambeth Pier; - He fought his neighbour with axes and swords, - Flint or bronze, at my upper fords, - While down at Greenwich for slaves and tin - The tall Phoenician ships stole in. - -Men of the island caves mixed their blood with men of the great -continental forests. It was an extraordinary agglomeration. - - Norseman and Negro and Gaul and Greek - Drank with the Britons in Barking Creek, - And the Romans came with a heavy hand, - And bridged and roaded and ruled the land, - And the Roman left and the Danes blew in-- - And that's where your history books begin! - -Is it any wonder that sometimes I feel, mingling with the emotions -inspired by a recent communion service, the savagery of some -long-forgotten caveman ancestor? Civilization is so very young, and -barbarism was so very old, that it is not surprising that I occasionally -hark back involuntarily to the days to which my blood was most -accustomed. I am an odd mixture considered from any point of view. -'There are very few human actions,' says Mark Rutherford, 'of which it -can be said that this or that, taken by itself, produced them. With our -inborn tendency to abstract, to separate mentally the concrete into -factors which do not exist separately, we are always disposed to assign -causes which are too simple. Nothing in nature is propelled or impeded -by one force acting alone. There is no such thing, save in the brain of -the mathematician. I see no reason why even motives diametrically -opposite should not unite in one resulting deed.' Of course not! It is -my duty, that is to say, to take myself to pieces as little as possible. -It does not really matter how much of my present temperament I got from -the communion service, and how much I got from the caveman with the club -in his hand. Here I am, a present entity, with the caveman, the -tribesman, the Roman, and the Dane all mixed up together in me; and it -is my business, instead of taking the complex mechanism to pieces, to -make it, as a united and harmonious whole, do the work for which I have -been sent into the world. I am not to talk one moment of the -strawberries on my plate, and then, in the next breath, to speak of the -cream. It is not so much a matter of strawberries _and_ cream as of -_strawberriesandcream_. - -There is, I fancy, a good deal in that. We are too fond of taking the -cream from the strawberries, and the strawberries from the cream. I have -on my plate here, not two things, but one thing; and that one thing is -_strawberriesandcream_. One of the oldest and one of the silliest -mistakes that men have made is their everlasting inclination to divide -_strawberries-and-cream_ into strawberries _and_ cream. Think of the -toothless chatter concerning the sexes. Have men or women done most for -the world? Is the husband or is the wife most essential to the home? It -will be quite time enough to attempt to answer such ridiculous questions -when the waitresses at the restaurants begin to ask us whether we will -have strawberries _or_ cream! In the beginning, we are told, God created -man in His own image, male and female created He them. It is not so much -a matter of male _and_ female: it is _maleandfemale_, just as it is -_strawberriesandcream_. The thing takes other forms. Which do you -prefer--summer or winter? As though we should appreciate summer if we -never had a winter, or winter if we never had a summer! Is song or -speech the most effective evangelistic agency? As though there would be -anything to sing about if the gospel had never been preached! Or -anything worth preaching if the gospel had never set anybody singing! It -is so very ridiculous to try to separate the strawberries from the -cream. Miss Rosaline Masson, in commenting upon Wordsworth's beautiful -sonnet on Westminster Bridge, says that it is the outcome of Dorothy -Wordsworth's divine power of perception and her brother's divine power -of expression. But who would dare to take the sonnet to pieces and say -how much is Dorothy's, and how much is William's? It is Dorothy's and -William's. It is strawberries and cream. - -I always feel extremely sorry for the man who tries to move a vote of -thanks at the close of a pleasant and successful function. Not for -worlds could I be persuaded to attempt it. It is a most difficult and -complicated business, and I should collapse utterly. It consists in -taking the whole performance to pieces and allocating the praise. So -much for the decorators; so much for the singers; so much for the -elocutionists; so much for the speakers; so much for the chairman; so -much for the pianist; so much for the secretary; and so on. To me it -would be like furnishing a statistical table on leaving the restaurant -showing how much of my enjoyment I owed to the strawberries and how much -to the cream. Dissection is not in my line. I only know that I -thoroughly enjoyed the _strawberriesandcream_. - -In selecting strawberries and cream as emblems of the mixed things of -life, I fancy that my choice is a particularly happy one. That cream -must be mixed with other foods goes without saying; and in Shakespeare's -most notable reference to strawberries it is the same peculiarity that -seems to have impressed him. He has a very pleasing allusion to the -facility with which the strawberry mixes with other things. The passage -occurs at the beginning of _King Henry the Fifth_. The Archbishop of -Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely are discussing the new king. They are -astonished at the change which has overtaken him since his accession. As -a prince he was wild and dissolute, and broke his father's heart. But, -as soon as he became king, he instantly sent for his boon-companions, -told them that he intended by God's good grace to live an entirely new -life, and begged them to follow his example. As the Archbishop of -Canterbury puts it: - - The breath no sooner left his father's body - But that his wildness, mortified in him, - Seemed to die, too. Yea, at that very moment. - Consideration like an angel came, - And whipped the offending Adam out of him. - Leaving his body as a paradise, - To envelop and contain celestial spirits. - -To which the Bishop of Ely replies: - - The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, - And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best, - Neighboured by fruit of baser quality. - -It is a suggestive passage, considered from any point of view We live -mixed lives in a mixed world, and we do not come upon the strawberries -by themselves or all at once. We may find strawberries to-morrow where -we can discover nothing but stinging-nettles to-day 'Madcap Harry' was -not the only son whose life at first yielded nothing but nettles that -stung and lacerated his father's soul, and yet afterwards produced -strawberries that were the delight, not only of the Church, but of the -world at large. - - - - -III - -THE CONQUEST OF THE CRAGS - - -I was strolling one still evening along a lonely New Zealand shore, when -I made a grim discovery that has often set me thinking. I had been -walking along the wet and crinkled sands, the tide being out, and had -amused myself with the shells and the seaweed that had been left lying -about by the receding waters. There is always a peculiar charm about -such a stroll. It holds such infinite possibilities. One seems to be -exploiting the surprise-packet of the universe. Jane Barlow, in her -_Bogland Studies_, makes one of her characters say: - - What use is one's life widout chances? Ye've always a chance - wid the tide; - For ye never can tell what 'twill take in its head to strew - round on the shore; - Maybe driftwood, or grand bits of boards that come handy for - splicing an oar, - Or a crab skytin' back o'er the shine o' the wet; sure, - whatever ye've found, - It's a sort of diversion them whiles when ye've starvin' and - strelin' around. - -Absorbed in so delightful an occupation the passage of time escaped my -attention, until suddenly I noticed that twilight was rapidly falling, -and I thought of my return. Before retracing my steps, however, I sat -down for a moment's rest among the sand-dunes. The possibility of making -a discovery among those arid mounds did not occur to me. But, as I sat -absent-mindedly poking the soft sand with my stick, I suddenly struck -something hard. I proceeded to dig it out, and found a couple of human -skulls. They adorn the top shelf of my book-case before me at this -moment. They always look down upon me as I write. I often catch myself -leaning back in my chair, staring up at them, and trying to read their -secret. Who were they, I wonder, these two bony companions of mine? Two -Maoris finishing, among the lonely dunes, their last fierce fatal feud? -Two travellers, hopelessly lost, who threw themselves down here to die? -A couple of sailors, whose ship had struck the cruel reefs out yonder, -and whose bodies were tossed up here by the pitiless waves? A pair of -lovers trapped by the treacherous tide? I cannot tell. What a -tantalizing mystery they seem to hold, as they grin down at me from this -high shelf of mine! It is part of the ghostly sense of mystery that -always haunts the sea and its tragedies. On the land, when disaster -occurs, all the wreckage is left to tell its own tale; but on the ocean -Fate instantly obliterates all her tracks. The magnificent vessel -lurches over, plunges with a roar into the deep, and the waves close -over the frightful ruin. Compared with the silence of the sea, the -Sphinx is voluble. The deep, dark, icy ocean-bed guards its secrets, and -guards them well. - -Sometimes, however, it is more easy to read the riddle. Here in -Tasmania, within easy reach of this quiet study of mine, there is a -battle-field that I love to visit. It extends for miles and miles, and -the whole place is strewn with the wreckage that tells of the titanic -conflict. I do not mean that the place is littered with dead men's -bones. It was a far finer and a far fiercer fight than men could have -waged, and it lasted longer than any war recorded in the annals of -history. It is the battle-field on which the land fought the sea. It is -a rocky and precipitous coast. Sometimes I like to walk along the top of -the cliff, and look down upon the pile of massive boulders that lie -tumbled in picturesque and bewildering confusion about the beach below. -Or, at low tide, I like to make my way among those monstrous piles of -broken rock that lie, higgledy-piggledy, all along the shore. What a -fight it was, day and night, summer and winter, year in and year out, -age after age! Occasionally the attack slackened down, and the rippling -waters merely lapped softly against the rocks. But there was no real -truce. The sea was only gathering up its forces in secret for the -majestic assault that was to come. Then the great breakers came rushing -in, like regiments of cavalry in full career, and each huge wave hurled -itself upon the crags with such fury that the spray dashed up sky high. - -It was a titanic struggle, and the waters won. That is the extraordinary -thing--the waters won. The water seems so soft, so yielding, so fluid, -and the rocks seem so impregnable, so adamantine, so immutable. Yet the -waters always win. The land makes no impression on the sea; but the sea -grinds the land to powder. I know that the sea is often spoken of as the -natural emblem of all that is fickle and changeful; but it is a pure -illusion. There are, of course superficial variations of tone and tint -and temper; but, as compared with the kaleidoscopic changes that -overtake the land, the ocean is eternally and everywhere the same. It, -and not the rocks, is the symbol of immutability. 'Look at the sea!' -exclaims Max Pemberton, in _Red Morn_. 'How I love it! I like to think -that those great rolling waves will go leaping by a thousand years from -now. There is never any change about the sea. You never come back to it -and say, "How it's changed!" or "Who's been building here?" or "Where's -the old place I loved?" No; it is always the same. I suppose if one -stood here for a million years the sea would not be different. You're -quite sure of it, and it never disappoints you.' The land, on the -contrary, is for ever changing. Man is always working his -transformations, and Nature is toiling to the same end. - -'When the Romans came to England,' says Frank Buckland, the naturalist, -'Julius Caesar probably looked upon an outline of cliff very different -from that which holds our gaze to-day. First there comes a sun-crack -along the edge of the cliff; the rain-water gets into the crack; then -comes the frost. The rain-water in freezing expands, and by degrees -wedges off a great slice of chalk cliff; down this tumbles into the -water; and Neptune sets his great waves to work to tidy up the mess.' No -man can know the veriest rudiments of geology without recognizing that -it is the land, and not the sea, that is constantly changing. We may -visit some historic battle-field to-day, and, finding it a network of -bustling streets and crowded alleys, may hopelessly fail to repeople the -scene with the battalions that wheeled and charged, wavered and rallied, -there in the brave days of old. But when, from the deck of a steamer, I -surveyed the blue and tossing waters off Cape Trafalgar, I knew that I -was gazing upon the scene just as it presented itself to the eye of -Nelson on the day of his immortal victory and glorious death more than a -century ago. - -Now, beneath this triumph of the ocean--the triumph that leaves the land -in fragments whilst the sea itself sustains no injury--there lies a -deeper significance than at first appears. Job saw it. No elusive -secret, lurking in the universe around him, escaped his restless eye. -'The waters wear the stones!' he cried, and it was a shout of victory -that rose from his heart when he said it. 'The waters wear the stones,' -he exclaimed, 'and Thou washest away the things which grow out of the -dust of the earth.' It is the death-knell of the material. It is the -triumph of the eternal. A little child looks upon the great granite -cliffs, and it seems impossible that the lapping waves can ever pound -them to pieces. But they do. And in the same way, Job says, man seems so -impregnable, and the world so mighty, that it appears a thing incredible -that God can finally prevail. But He shall. The quiet waters conquer the -frowning cliffs at length. The walls of Jericho fall down. This is the -victory that overcometh the world. - -And so here on this battle-field where the land and the sea fought for -mastery, I find Job sitting, and he interprets for me the paean that the -waves are singing. It is the laughter of their triumph. 'The waters wear -away the stones.' That was the heartening message that gave to Spain one -of her very greatest teachers. St. Isidore of Seville was only a boy at -the time. He found his lessons hard to learn. Study was a drudgery, and -he was tempted to give up. The huge obstacles against which he, like the -waves at the base of the cliff, was beating out his life seemed -adamantine. So he ran away from school. But in the heat of the day he -sat down to rest beside a little spring that trickled over a rock. He -noticed that the water fell in drops, and only one drop at a time; yet -those drops had worn away a large stone. It reminded him of the tasks he -had forsaken, and he returned to his desk. Diligent application overcame -his dullness, and made him one of the first scholars of his time. He -never forgot the drops of water, dripping, dripping, dripping on the -rock that they were conquering. 'Those drops of water,' says his -biographer, 'gave to Spain a brilliant historian, and to the Church a -famous doctor.' - -It is always the gentle things of life that conquer us. 'The moving -waters'--to quote Keats' beautiful phrase-- - - The moving waters at their priest-like task - Of pure ablution round earth's human shores' - -wear down the towering cliffs along the coast. It is Aesop's fable of -the North Wind and the sun over again. The North Wind, with its violence -and bluster, only makes the traveller button his coat the tighter. It -is the genial warmth of the sun that makes him take it off. It is always -by gentleness that the adamantine world is mastered. That is one of -life's most lovely secrets. We are not ruled as much as we think by -parliaments and commandments and enactments. The proportion of our lives -that is governed by such things is very small. But the proportion that -is dominated by gentler and more winsome forces is very great. The -voices that sway us with a regal authority are soft and tender voices, -the voices of those whose genial goodness compels us to love them. The -imperial tones to which we capitulate unconditionally are very rarely -stern official tones. Who does not remember how, in _The Rosary_, the -Hon. Jane Champion asks Garth Dalmain why he does not marry? And Garth -tells her of old Margery, his childhood's friend and nurse, now his -housekeeper and general mender and tender--old Margery, with her black -satin apron, lawn kerchief, and lavender ribbons. 'No doubt, Miss -Champion, it will seem absurd to you that I should sit here on the -duchess's lawn and confess that I have been held back from proposing -marriage to the women I most admired because of what would have been my -old nurse's opinion of them.' Yet so it invariably is. Our servants are -often our masters. Life's loftiest authorities never derive their -sanctions from rank, office, or station. The soul has enthronements and -coronations of its own. A little child often leads it. A Carpenter -becomes its king. Out of Nazareth comes the Conqueror of the World. The -pure and cleansing waters wear down the giant crags at the last. - -But with purity and gentleness must go patience. The lapping waters do -not reduce the rocky strata at a blow. It is always by means of patience -that the finest conquests are won. Who that has read Jack London's _Call -of the Wild_ will ever forget the great fight at the end of the book -between Buck, the dog hero, and the huge bull-moose? 'Three -hundredweight more than half a ton he weighed, the old bull; he had -lived a long, strong life, full of fight and struggle, and at the end he -faced death at the teeth of a creature whose head did not reach beyond -his great knuckled knees!' How was it done? 'There is a patience in the -wild,' Jack London says, 'a patience dogged, tireless, persistent as -life itself'; and it was by means of this patience that Buck brought -down his stately antlered prey. 'Night and day, Buck never left him, -never gave him a moment's rest, never permitted him to browse on the -leaves of the trees or the shoots of the young birch or willow. Nor did -he give the old bull one single opportunity to slake his burning thirst -in the slender, trickling streams they crossed.' For four days Buck -hung pitilessly at the huge beast's heels, and at the end of the fourth -day he pulled the bull-moose down. Buck looked so little, but he wore -the monarch out. The waters seem so feeble, but they beat the rocks to -powder. It is thus that the foolish things of this world always confound -the wise; the weak things conquer the mighty; and the things that are -not bring to naught the things that are. - - - - -IV - -LINOLEUM - - -True love is never utilitarian. I am well aware that, in novels and in -plays, the fair heroine considerately falls in love with the brave man -who, at a critical moment, saves her from a watery grave or from the -lurid horrors of a burning building. It is very good of the lady in the -novel. I admire the gratitude which prompts her romantic affection, and, -nine times out of ten, my judgement cordially approves her taste. I -know, too, that, in fiction, the sick or wounded hero invariably falls -desperately in love with the devoted nurse whose patient and untiring -attention ensures his recovery. It is very good of the hero. Again I -say, I admire his gratitude and almost invariably endorse his choice. -But it must be distinctly understood that this sort of thing is strictly -confined to novels and theatricals. In real life, men and women do not -fall in love out of gratitude. As a matter of fact, I am much more -likely to fall in love with somebody for whom I have done something than -with somebody who has done something for me. - -I was talking the other day with a nurse in a children's hospital. It is -a heartbreaking business, she told me. 'You get into the way of nursing -them, and comforting them, and playing with them, and mothering them, -until you feel that they belong to you. And then, just as you have come -to love the little thing as though he were your own, out he goes. And he -always goes out with his father or his mother, clapping his hands for -very joy at the excitement of going home, and you are left with a big -lump in your throat, and perhaps a tear in your eye, at the thought that -you will never see him again!' Clearly, therefore, we do not fall in -love as a matter of gratitude. The people who cling to us and depend -upon us are much more likely to win our hearts than the people who have -placed us under an obligation to them. If, instead of telling us that -the heroine fell in love with the man who had saved her from drowning, -the novelist had told us that the man who risked his life by plunging -into the river fell in love with the white and upturned face as he laid -it gently on the bank; or if, instead of telling us that the patient -fell in love with the nurse, he had told us that the nurse fell in love -with the patient upon whom she had lavished such beautiful devotion, he -would have been much more true to nature and to real life. It is -indisputable, of course, that, the rescuer having fallen in love with -the rescued, she may soon discover his secret, and, since love begets -love, reciprocate his affection. It is equally true that, the nurse -having conceived so tender a passion for her patient, he may soon read -the meaning of the light in her eye and of the tone in her voice, and -feel towards her as she first felt towards him. But that is quite -another matter, and is beside our point at present. Just now, I am only -concerned with challenging the novelist's unwarrantable assumption that -we fall in love out of gratitude. We do nothing of the kind. Love, I -repeat, is never utilitarian. We may fall hopelessly in love with a -thing that is of very little use to us; and we may feel no sentimental -attractions at all towards a thing that is almost indispensable. If any -man dares to dispute these conclusions, I shall simply produce a roll of -linoleum in support of my arguments, and he will be promptly crushed -beneath the weight of argument that the linoleum will furnish. - -The linoleum is the most conspicuous feature of the domestic -establishment. It is impertinent, self-assertive, and loud. If you visit -a house in which there is a linoleum, the thing rushes at you, and you -see it even before the front door has been opened. Every minister who -spends his afternoons in knocking at people's doors knows exactly what I -mean. The very sound of the knock tells you a good deal. Such sounds -are of three kinds. There is the echoing and reverberating knock that -tells you of bare boards; there is the dead and sombre thud that tells -of linoleum on the floor; and there is the softened and muffled tap that -tells of a hall well carpeted. And so I say that the linoleum--if there -be one--rushes at you, and you seem to see it even before the door has -been opened. Perhaps it is this immodesty on its part that prevents your -liking it. It is always with the coy, shy, modest things that we fall in -love most readily. - -But however that may be, the fact remains. Since this queer old world of -ours began, men and women have fallen in love with all sorts of strange -things; but there is no record of any man or woman yet having really -fallen in love with a roll of linoleum. Of everything else about the -house you get very fond. I can understand a man shedding tears when his -arm-chair has to go to the sale-room or the scrap-heap. Robert Louis -Stevenson once told the story of his favourite chair until he moved his -schoolboy audience to tears! And everybody knows how Dickens makes you -laugh and cry at the drollery and pathos with which, in all his books, -he invests chairs, tables, clocks, pictures, and every other article of -furniture. I fancy I should feel life to be less worth living if I were -deprived of some of the household odds and ends with which all my -felicity seems to be mysteriously associated. But I cannot conceive of -myself as yielding to even a momentary sensation of tenderness over the -sale, destruction, or exchange of any of the linoleums. I feel perfectly -certain that neither Stevenson nor Dickens would ever have felt an atom -of sentiment concerning linoleum. Yet why? Few things about the house -are more serviceable. I could point offhand to a hundred things no one -of which has earned its right to a place in the home one-hundredth part -as nobly as has the linoleum. Yet I am very fond of each of those -hundred things, whilst I am not at all fond of the linoleum. I -appreciate it, but I do not love it. So there it is! Said I not truly -that love is never utilitarian? We grow fond of things because we grow -fond of things; we never grow fond of things simply because they are of -use to us. - -But we cannot in decency let the matter rest at that. There must be some -reason for the failure of the linoleum to stir my affections. Why does -it alone, among my household goods and chattels, kindle no warmth within -my soul? The linoleum is both pretty and useful; what more can I want? -Many things pretty, but not useful, have swept me off my feet. Many -things useful, but not pretty, have captivated my heart. And more than -once things neither pretty nor useful have completely enslaved me. Yet -here is the linoleum, both pretty and useful, and I feel for it no -fondness whatsoever; I remain as cold as ice, and as hard as adamant. -Why is it? To begin with, I fancy the pattern has something to do with -it. I do not now refer to any particular pattern; but to all the -linoleum patterns that were ever designed. Those endless squares and -circles and diamonds and stars! Could anything be more repelling? Here, -for instance, on the linoleum, I find a star. I know at once that if I -look I shall see hundreds of similar stars. They will all be in -perfectly straight lines, not one a quarter of an inch out of its place. -They will all be mathematically equidistant; they will be of exactly the -same size, of identically the same colour, and their angles will all -point in precisely the same direction. If the stars in the firmament -above us were arranged on the same principle, they would drive us mad. -The beauty of it is that, _there_, one star differeth from another star -in glory. But on the linoleum they do nothing of the sort. - -Or perhaps the pattern is a floral one. It thinks to coax me into a -feeling that I am in the garden among the roses, the rhododendrons, or -the chrysanthemums. But it is a hopeless failure. Whoever saw roses, -rhododendrons, or chrysanthemums, all of exactly the same size, of -precisely the same colour, and hanging in rows at mathematically -identical levels? The beauty of the garden is that having looked at -_this_ rose, I am the more eager to see _that_ one; having admired -_this_ chrysanthemum, I am the more curious to mark the variety -presented by _the next_. No two are precisely the same. And because this -infinite diversity is the essential charm both of the heavens above and -of the earth beneath, I am shocked and repelled by the monotony of the -pattern on the linoleum. In the old days it was customary to plaster the -walls, even of sick-rooms, with papers of patterns equally pronounced, -and many a poor patient was tortured almost to death by the glaring -geometrical abominations. The doctor said that the sufferer was to be -kept perfectly quiet; yet the pattern on the wall is allowed to scream -at him and shout at him from night until morning, and from morning until -night. He has counted those awful stars or roses, perpendicularly, -horizontally, diagonally, from right to left, from left to right, from -top to bottom, and from bottom to top, until the hideous monstrosities -are reproduced in frightful duplicate upon the fevered tissues of his -throbbing brain. He may close his eyes, but he sees them still. It was a -form of torture worthy of an inquisitor-general. The pattern on the -linoleum is happily not quite so bad. When we are ill we do not see it; -and when we are well we may to some extent avoid it. Not altogether; for -even if we do not look at it, we have an uncanny feeling that it is -there. Between the hearthrug and the table I catch sight of the bright -flaunting head of a scarlet poppy, or of the tossing petals of a huge -chrysanthemum, and my imagination instantly flashes to my mind the -horrible impression of tantalizing rows of exactly similar blossoms -running off with mathematical precision in every conceivable direction. - -For some reason or other we instinctively recoil from these monotonous -regularities. I once heard a friend observe that the average woman would -rather marry a man whose life was painfully irregular than a man whose -life was painfully regular. It may have been an over-statement of the -case; but there is something in it. We fall in love with good people, -and we fall in love with bad people; but with the man who is 'too -proper,' and the woman who is 'too straight-laced,' we very, very rarely -fall in love. It is the problem of Tennyson's 'Maud.' As a girl Maud was -irregular--and lovable. - - Maud, with her venturous climbings and tumbles and childish escapes, - Maud, the delight of the village, the ringing joy of the Hall, - Maud, with her sweet purse-mouth when my father dangled the grapes, - Maud, the beloved of my mother, the moon-faced darling of all. - -But later on Maud was regular--and as unattractive as linoleum. - - ... Maud, she has neither savour nor salt, - But a cold and clear-cut face, as I found when her carriage passed, - Perfectly beautiful: let it be granted her: where is the fault? - All that I saw (for her eyes were downcast, not to be seen) - Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null, - Dead perfection, no more. - -Shall I be told that this is high doctrine, and hard to bear, this -doctrine of the lovableness of irregularity? I think not. Towering above -all our biographies, as snowclad heights tower above dusty little -molehills, there stands the life-story of One who, alone among the sons -of men, was altogether good. It is the most charming and the most varied -life-story that has ever been written since this little world began. Its -lovely deeds and graceful speech, its tender pathos and its awful -tragedy, have won the hearts of men all over the world, and all down the -ages. But find monotony there if you can! It is like a sky full of stars -or a field of fairest flowers. The life that repels, as the linoleum -repels, by the very severity of its regularity, has something wrong with -it somewhere. - -If I have outraged the sensibilities of any well-meaning champion of a -geometrical and mathematical and linoleum-like regularity, let me hasten -to conciliate him! I know that even regularity--the regularity of the -linoleum pattern--may have its advantages. Dr. George MacDonald, in -_Robert Falconer_, says that 'there is a well-authenticated story of a -notorious convict who was reformed by entering, in one of the colonies, -a church where the matting along the aisle was of the same pattern as -that in the church to which he had gone with his mother as a boy.' -Bravo! It is pleasant, extremely pleasant, to find that even monotony -has its compensations. Let me but get to know my 'too proper' and -'straight-laced' friends a little better, and I shall doubtless discover -even there a few redeeming features. - -But, for all that, the linoleum is cold; and we do not fall in love with -cold things. A volcano is a much more dangerous affair than an iceberg; -but it is much more easy to fall in love with the things that make you -shudder than with the things that make you shiver. That was the trouble -with Maud, she was so chilly and chilling; her 'cold and clear-cut face, -faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null!' And that is -precisely the trouble with every system of religion, morality, or -philosophy--save one--that has ever been presented to the minds of men. -Plato and Aristotle and Marcus Aurelius were splendid, simply splendid; -but they were frigid, frigid as Maud, and their counsels of perfection -could never have enchained my heart. Buddha, Confucius, Mohammed--the -stars of the East--were wonderful, but oh, so cold! I turn from these -icy regularities to the lovely life I have already mentioned. And, to -use Whittier's expressive word, it is 'warm.' - - Yes, warm, sweet, tender, even yet - A present help is He; - And faith has yet its Olivet, - And love its Galilee. - -_'Warm'_ ... _'love'_ ... here are words that touch my soul to tears. -'We love Him because _He first loved us_.' The monotony and frigidity of -the linoleum have given way to the beauty and the brightness of flowery -fields all bathed in summer sunshine. - - - - -V - -THE EDITOR - - -I approach my present theme with considerable diffidence, for reasons -obvious and for reasons obscure. For one thing, I was for some years an -editor myself, and I cannot satisfy myself that the experiment was even -a moderate success. Everything went splendidly, so far as I was -concerned, as long as I wrote everything myself; but I was terribly -pestered by other people. They worried me year in and year out, morning, -noon, and night. They would insist on sending me manuscripts that I had -neither the grace to accept nor the courage to decline. They wrote the -most learned treatises, the most pathetic stories, and the most -affecting little sonnets. The latter, they explained, were for Poet's -Corner. They actually deluged me with letters, intended for publication, -dealing with all sorts of subjects in which I took not the slightest -glimmer of interest. They sometimes even presumed, in some carping or -captious way, to criticize or review things that I had myself -written--as though such things were open to question! At other times -they wrote to applaud the sentiments I had expressed--as though I -needed their corroboration! They were an awful nuisance. The stupid -thing was only a monthly, and how they imagined that there would be any -room for _their_ contributions, by the time I had been a whole month -writing, passes my comprehension. Then came the awakening, and it was a -rude one. I suddenly realized that I was a fraud, a delusion, and a -snare. I was not an editor at all. I was simply masquerading, playing a -great game of bluff and make-believe. As a matter of fact, I was nothing -more than an objectionably garrulous contributor who had gained -possession of the editor's sanctum, usurped the editor's authority, and -commandeered the editor's chair. I felt so ashamed of myself that I -precipitately fled, and, although I have several times since been -invited to assume editorial responsibilities, I have shown my profound -respect for journalism by politely but firmly declining. It does not at -all follow that, because a man can make a few bricks, he can therefore -build a mansion. A chemist may be very clever at making up -prescriptions, but that does not prove his ability to prescribe. - -During the years to which I have referred, that paper really had no -editor. An editor would have done three things. He would have written a -few wise words himself. He would have pitilessly repressed my -unconscionable volubility. And he would have given the public the -benefit of some of those carefully prepared contributions which I, with -savage satisfaction, hurled into the waste-paper basket. It would have -been a good thing for the paper if the editorials had been so few and so -brief that people could have been reasonably expected to read them. They -would then have attached to them the gravity and authority that such -contributions should normally carry. And it would have been good for the -world in general, and for me in particular, if liberal quantities of my -manuscript had been substitutionally sacrificed in redemption of some of -those rolls of paper, whose destruction I now deplore, which I consigned -to limbo with so light a heart. Since then I have had a fairly wide -experience of editors, and the years have increased my respect. 'O -Lord,' an up-country suppliant once exclaimed at the week-night -prayer-meeting, 'O Lord, the more I sees of other people the more I -likes myself!' I do not quite share the good man's feeling, at any rate -so far as editors are concerned. The more I have seen of the ways of -other editors the less am I pleased with the memory of my own attempt. -The way in which these other editors have treated my own manuscript -makes me blush for very shame as I remember my editorial intolerance of -such packages. Very occasionally an editor has found it necessary to -delete some portion of my contribution, and, nine times out of ten, I -have admired the perspicacity which detected the excrescence and -strengthened the whole by removing the part. I say nine times out of -ten; but I hint at the tenth case in no spirit of resentment or -bitterness. I am young yet, and the years may easily teach me that, even -in the instances that still seem doubtful to me, I am under a deep and -lasting obligation to the editorial surgery. - -The editor is the emblem of all those potent, elusive, invisible forces -that control our human destinies. We are clearly living in an edited -world. We may not always agree with the editor; it would be passing -strange if we did. We may see lots of things admitted that we, had we -been editor, would have vigorously excluded. The venom of the cobra, the -cruelty of the wolf, the anguish of a sickly babe, and the flaunting -shame of the street corner; had I been editor I should have ruthlessly -suppressed all these contributions. But my earlier experience of -editorship haunts my memory to warn me. I was too fond of rejecting -things in those days. I was too much attached to the waste-paper basket. -And I have been sorry for it ever since. And perhaps when I have lived a -few aeons longer, and have had experience of more worlds than one, I -shall feel ashamed of my present inclination to doubt the editor's -wisdom. Knowing as little as I know, I should certainly have rejected -these contributions with scorn and impatience. The fangs of the viper, -the teeth of the crocodile, and all things hideous and hateful, I should -have intolerantly excluded. And, some ages later, with the experience of -a few millenniums and the knowledge of many worlds to guide me, I should -have lamented my folly, even as I now deplore my old editorial -exclusiveness. - -And, on the other hand, we sometimes catch a glimpse of the editor's -waste-paper basket, and the revelation is an astounding one. The waste -of the world is terrific. And among these rejected manuscripts I see -some most exquisitely beautiful things. The other day, not far from -here, a snake bit a little girl and killed her. Now here was a curious -freak of editorship! On the editor's table there lay two manuscripts. -There was the snake--a loathsome, scaly brute, with wicked little eyes -and venomous fangs, a thing that made your flesh creep to look at it. -And there was the little girl, a sweet little thing with curly hair and -soft blue eyes, a thing that you could not see without loving. Had I -been there, I should have tried to kill the snake and save the child. -That is to say, I should have accepted the child-manuscript, and -rejected the snake-manuscript. But the editor does exactly the opposite. -The snake-manuscript is accepted; the horrid thing glides through the -bush at this moment as a recognized part of the scheme of the universe. -The child-manuscript is rejected; it is thrown away; have we not seen -it, like a crumpled poem, in the editor's waste-paper basket? How -differently I should have acted had I been editor! And then, when I -afterwards reviewed my editorship, as I to-day review that other -editorship of mine, I should have seen that I was wrong. And that -reflection makes me very thankful that I am not the editor. We shall yet -come to see, in spite of all present appearances to the contrary, that -the editor adopted the kindest, wisest, best course with each of the -manuscripts presented. We shall see - - That nothing walks with aimless feet; - That not one life shall be destroyed, - Or cast as rubbish to the void, - When God hath made the pile complete; - - That not a worm is cloven in vain; - That not a moth with vain desire - Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, - Or but subserves another's gain. - -Everybody feels at liberty to criticize the Editor; but, depend upon it, -when all the information is before us that is before Him, we shall see -that our paltry judgement was very blind. And we shall recognize with -profound admiration that we have been living in a most skilfully edited -world. - -For, after all, that is the point. The Editor knows so much more than I -do. He has eyes and ears in the ends of the earth. His sanctum seems so -remote from everything, and yet it is an observatory from which He -beholds all the drama of the world's great throbbing life. When I was a -boy I was very fond of a contrivance that was called a camera-obscura. I -usually found it among the attractions of a seaside town. You paid a -penny, entered a room, and sat down beside a round white table. The -operator followed, and closed the door. The place was then in total -darkness; you could not see your hand before you. It seemed incredible -that in this black hole one could get a clearer view of all that was -happening in the neighbourhood than was possible out in the sunlight. -Yet, as soon as the lens above you was opened, the whole scene appeared -like a moving coloured photograph on the white table. The waves breaking -on the beach; the people strolling on the promenade; everything was -faithfully depicted there. Not a dog could wag his tail but there, in -the darkness, you saw him do it. An observer who watched you enter, and -saw the door close after you, could be certain that now, for awhile, you -were cut off from everything. And yet, as a fact, you only went into the -darkness that you might see the whole scene in the more perfect -perspective. What is this but the editor's sanctum? He enters it and, -to all appearances, he leaves the world behind him as he does so. But it -is a mere illusion. He enters it that he may see the whole world more -clearly from its quiet seclusion. - -In the same way, when I look round upon the world, and see the things -that are allowed to happen, the Editor seems fearfully aloof. He seems -to have gone into His heaven and closed the door behind Him. 'Clouds and -darkness are round about Him,' says the psalmist. And if clouds and -darkness are round about Him, is it any wonder that His vision is -obscure? If clouds and darkness are round about Him, is it any wonder -that He acts so strangely? If clouds and darkness are round about Him, -is it any wonder that He rejects the child-manuscript and accepts the -snake-manuscript? And yet, and yet; what if the darkness that envelops -Him be the darkness of the camera-obscura? The psalmist declares that it -is just because clouds and darkness are round about Him that -righteousness and judgement are the habitation of His throne. It is a -darkness that obscures Him from me without in the slightest degree -concealing me from Him. - -So there the editor sits in his seclusion. Nobody is so unobtrusive. You -may read your paper, day after day, year in and year out, without even -discovering the editor's name. You would not recognize him if you met -him on the street. He may be young or old, tall or short, stout or -slim, dark or fair, shabby or genteel--you have no idea. There is -something strangely mysterious about the elusive individuality of that -potent personage who every day draws so near to you, and yet of whom you -know so little. One of these days I shall be invited to preach a special -sermon to editors, and, in view of so dazzling an opportunity, I have -already selected my text. I shall speak of that Ideal Servant of -Humanity of whom the prophet tells. 'He shall not scream, nor be loud, -nor advertise Himself,' Isaiah says, 'but He shall never break a bruised -reed nor quench a smouldering wick.' That would make a great theme for a -sermon to editors. There He is, so mysterious and yet so mighty; so -remote and yet so omniscient; so invisible and yet so eloquent; so slow -to obtrude Himself and yet so swift to discern any flickering spark of -genius in others. He shall not advertise Himself nor quench a single -smouldering wick. - -There are two great moments in the history of a manuscript. The first is -the moment of its preparation; the second is the moment of its -appearance. And in between the two comes the editor's censorship and -revision. I said just now that I had noticed that editorial emendations -are almost invariably distinct improvements. The article as it appears -is better than the article as it left my hands. Now let me think. I -spoke a moment ago of the child-manuscript and the snake-manuscript; but -what about myself? Am not I too a manuscript, and shall I not also fall -into the Editor's hands? What about all the blots, and the smudges, and -the erasures, and the alterations? Will they all be seen when I appear, -_when I appear_? The Editor sees to that. The Editor will take care that -none of the smudges on this poor manuscript shall be seen when I appear. -'For we know,' says one of the Editor's most intimate friends, 'we know -that _when we appear_ we shall be like Him--without spot or wrinkle or -any such thing!' It is a great thing to know that, before I appear, I -shall undergo the Editor's revision. - -Charlie was very excited. His father was a sailor. The ship was homeward -bound, and dad would soon be home. Thinking so intently and exclusively -of his father's coming, Charlie determined to carve out a ship of his -own. He took a block of wood, and set to work. But the wood was hard, -and the knife was blunt, and Charlie's fingers were very small. - -'Dad may be here when you wake up in the morning, Charlie!' his mother -said to him one night. - -That night Charlie took his ship and his knife to bed with him. When his -father came at midnight Charlie was fast asleep, the blistered hand on -the counterpane not far from the knife and the ship. The father took -the ship, and, with his own strong hand, and his own sharp knife, it was -soon a trim and shapely vessel. Charlie awoke with the lark next -morning, and, proudly seizing his ship, he ran to greet his father; and -it is difficult to say which of the two was the more proud of it. It is -an infinite comfort to know that, however blotted and blurred this poor -manuscript may be when I lay down my pen at night, the Editor will see -to it that I have nothing to be ashamed of _when I appear_ in the -morning. - - - - -VI - -THE PEACEMAKER - - -Things had come to a pretty pass up at Corinth, when Paul felt it -incumbent upon him to write to the members of the Church, imploring them -to be reconciled to God. 'Now then,' Paul said to those recalcitrant -believers, 'now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did -beseech you by us, we pray you, in Christ's stead, _be ye reconciled to -God_.' I used to wonder what he can possibly have meant; but now I think -I understand. - - -I - -Claudius was wealthy. He dwelt in a beautiful house on the top of a -hill, on the eastern side of the city of Corinth. From his spacious -balconies he looked down upon the blue, blue waters of the Adriatic as -they lapped caressingly the sands of the bay on the one side, and on the -spreading sapphire of the island-studded Aegean gleaming most charmingly -upon the other. Away in the distance he commanded a magnificent -prospect, and could clearly make out the towers and domes of Athens as -they pierced the sky on the far horizon. The Acropolis could be seen -distinctly. It was a delightful home, delightfully situated. Claudius -was a member of the Church; but he was not very happy about it. Claudius -had prospered amazingly of late years, and his prosperity had involved -him in commercial and social entanglements from which it would be very -difficult now to escape. The life that Claudius had set before himself -in the early days of his spiritual experience seemed to him later on -like a beautiful dream. That is to say, it seemed to him like a dream -when he thought about it; but he did not think about it more often than -he could help. Claudius knew perfectly well that the life of which he -used to dream was worth some sacrifice; and he knew that he was really -the poorer, and not the richer, for having abandoned that radiant ideal. -He occasionally attended the assembly of worshippers, it is true; but he -derived small satisfaction from the exercise. It seemed like exposing -his poor withered, emaciated soul to the limelight; and he saw with a -start how starved and famished it had become. And so the inner -experience of poor Claudius became a perpetual battle-ground. At times -the old dream seemed within an ace of being victorious. He was more than -half inclined to break away from all his later entanglements, and to -renew the ardour of his youthful aspirations. But he had scarcely -reached this devout determination when the glamour of his later life -once more began to dazzle him. Alluring invitations, temptingly -phrased, poured in upon him. It is horrid to be discourteous! How could -he bring himself to offend people from whom he had received nothing but -kindness? Surely a man owes something to the proprieties of life! And so -the fight went on. But in the depths of his secret soul Claudius knew -that that fight was a fight between Claudius on the one hand and God on -the other. He knew, too, that in that stern conflict Claudius was -altogether wrong, and God was altogether right. And he knew that, if he -persisted in the unequal struggle, nothing but shame and humiliation -awaited him. Claudius knew it, and Paul knew it. Paul knew it, and -proffered his good offices as mediator. 'Now then,' he wrote, with -Claudius in his eye, 'now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though -God did beseech you by us, we pray you, in Christ's stead, _be ye -reconciled to God_.' And the words brought to the heart of poor Claudius -just such a surge of vehement emotion as a lover feels at the prospect -of once more embracing the beloved form with which he had so angrily and -hastily parted. - - -II - -Polonius and Phebe were in a very different case. Polonius dwelt close -to the city in order to be near his work, and his windows commanded no -view of any kind. He was not a slave, but sometimes he said bitterly -that the slaves were as happy as he. The world had gone hardly with -Polonius. The stars in their courses seemed to be fighting against him. -He had tried hard to be brave, but circumstances sometimes conspire -against courage. Polonius, in spite of the most commendable endeavours, -was poor; yet if poverty had been his only misfortune he could have -borne it with a smile. But, in addition to poverty, troubles came thick -and fast upon him. Like Claudius, he was a member of the church at -Corinth; and it was in connexion with his labours of love for the -sanctuary that he had first met Phebe. She was young and fair in those -days, and her loveliness was glorified by her devotion. But his love for -her had fallen upon her tender spirit like a malediction. It was as -though his fondness for his sweet young wife had woven a malignant spell -about her early womanhood. He would have died a thousand deaths to make -her happy; yet since first they linked their lives they had known -nothing but incessant struggle and ceaseless grief. Phebe herself had -been ill again and again. Four little children had stolen like sunbeams -into their home; only, like sunbeams, to vanish again, and give place to -tempests of tears. Then came a long blank; and they fancied they were -doomed to spend the rest of their sad lives childlessly. But, at length, -to their unspeakable delight, their little home once more resounded -with the shout of baby merriment and the patter of baby footsteps. It -was as if the four children who had perished had bequeathed to this new -treasure all the affection that they had excited in the breasts of their -poor parents. And then, after seven happy years, it too faded and died. -Polonius and Phebe were broken-hearted. Never again, they said, would -they go to the assembly at Corinth. How could they believe in the love -of God after this? And so their hearts grew hard, and their souls were -soured, and all sweetness departed from their spirits. - -There is a story very like this in our own literature. In the old house -at Kettering, Andrew Fuller was lying ill in one room, whilst his only -surviving daughter--a child of six--lay at the point of death in the -next. He tried hard to reconcile himself and his poor wife to the -impending calamity. But their spirits revolted. The thought that, after -having buried first one child and then another, this one too might be -snatched from them was more than they could bear. But, 'on Tuesday, May -30,' says Fuller in his diary, 'on Tuesday, May 30, as I lay ill in bed -in another room, I heard a whispering. I inquired, and all were silent! -All were silent!--but all is well. _I feel reconciled to God_.' That is -a fine saying. '_I feel reconciled to God_.' But poor Polonius and Phebe -could as yet enter no such brave words in their domestic record. -'Wherefore,' writes Paul, with a thought, perhaps, of Polonius and -Phebe, 'wherefore we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did -beseech you by us, we pray you, in Christ's stead, _be ye reconciled to -God_.' And when Polonius and Phebe heard that touching appeal they -resolved no longer to kick against the pricks. 'Renew my will,' they -prayed, anticipating the language of a later hymn: - - Renew my will from day to day; - Blend it with Thine; and take away - All that now makes it hard to say, - 'Thy will be done!' - -And, like Andrew Fuller and his wife at Kettering, Polonius and his wife -at Corinth were able to say, '_I feel reconciled to God_.' - - -III - -To the south of Corinth, just where the great main road begins to ascend -the ridge of the mountains, lived Julia. Julia was a widow, comfortably -circumstanced. Her husband had died years before, leaving her with the -charge of their one young son. And as the days had gone by, and time had -sprinkled strands of silver into Julia's hair, she had built her hopes -more and more upon the future of her boy. Julia's husband had died -before either he or she had so much as heard the name of Jesus. But -after his death Paul came over from Athens to Corinth in the course of -that first memorable visit to Europe, and Julia had been among his -earliest converts. After her conversion Julia often thought of her -husband, and was ill at ease. But, like a wise woman, she determined to -work for the things that remained rather than to weep over those that -were lost to her. And so she devoted all her love, and all her thought, -and all her energy, and all her time to her little son. When Paul's -first letter to the Christians at Corinth was read to the church, she -caught a phrase about being 'baptized for the dead.' She did not quite -know what Paul meant by the words; but at any rate she would try to -instil into the heart of her boy the lovely faith that she felt certain -her husband would cheerfully have embraced. And wonderfully she -succeeded. The boy listened with eyes wide open to the tender stories -that Julia told him, and his heart acknowledged their profound -significance. At the same age at which Jesus went with Mary to the -Temple, and was found in the midst of the doctors, young Amplius went -with Julia up to the church at Corinth, and was found in the midst of -the deacons. - -From the very first the soul of Amplius prospered. He was like those -trees of which the psalmist sings which, 'planted in the courts of the -Lord, flourish in the house of our God.' From the time of his baptism -and reception into the sacred fellowship, the child Amplius grew, like -the child Jesus, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom, and the -grace of God was upon him. Then, after about six years of happy -Christian experience, Amplius confided a wonderful secret to Julia. He -told her that he had resolved, with her consent, to devote himself to -the sacred office of the ministry. And at that word the soul of Julia -died within her. She knew what those early preachers and teachers had -suffered. She knew of the martyrdom of all those first apostles. She had -heard that even Paul himself had been 'in journeyings often, in perils -of rivers and in perils of robbers, in perils by his own countrymen and -in perils of the heathen, in perils of the city and in perils of the -desert, in perils of the sea and in perils among false brethren.' And -Julia's heart failed her as she thought of Amplius faced by such -dangers. Moreover, Julia had other plans for Amplius. She had fondly -dreamed of him as holding a great place in the city of Corinth. When she -had seen rulers and governors performing exalted functions on State -occasions, she had said within herself, 'Some day, perhaps, Amplius will -wear those robes,' or 'Some day, perhaps, Amplius will make that -speech.' And now all such dreams were rudely shattered. Her son would -fain be a minister, an outcast, perhaps even a martyr. And at that -thought the soul of Julia rebelled, and she began to fight against God. - -There is a case like this, also, in our own literature. Grey Hazelrigg -was the only child of Lady Hazelrigg, of Carlton Hall. Her ladyship -intended her son for the army, but he failed to pass the tests. She then -sent him to Cambridge University. There he came under deep religious -influences. He began, as opportunities presented themselves, to preach -the gospel. His efforts met with immediate acceptance, and he wrote to -his astonished mother to say that he desired to become a minister of the -old Strict Baptist Communion! The request struck Carlton Hall like a -thunderbolt, and the spirit of Lady Hazelrigg rose in instant revolt. -But Grey prayed in secret, and preached in public, and pleaded with his -mother whenever a suitable opportunity occurred. Then came an experience -of which, the Rev. W. Y. Fullerton says, he spoke with sparkling eyes -seventy years afterwards. He was on a journey when his mind was suddenly -and strangely arrested by the words of Jeremiah, 'Verily, it shall be -well with Thy remnant.' He took it to refer to Lady Hazelrigg's -opposition to his call; and, surely enough, 'the very next letter that -he received from his mother bore the joyful tidings that she was, as she -herself phrased it, _reconciled to God_.' Mr. Grey Hazelrigg lived to -be nearly a hundred, and his work, both as a writer and a preacher, will -be remembered in England with thankfulness for many a day to come. There -can be no doubt, therefore, that, in those earlier days, Lady Hazelrigg -was fighting against God. And there can be no doubt, either, that, in -those early days, Julia was fighting against God. And therefore Paul -wrote as he did, perhaps with Julia specially in mind. 'Now then,' he -said, 'we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by -us, we pray you, in Christ's stead, _be ye reconciled to God_.' And, -like Lady Hazelrigg, Julia made her peace with God, and her son adorned -the Christian ministry for many a long day. - - -IV - -'_Be ye reconciled to God_'--Paul the Peacemaker wrote to the Christians -at Corinth. It is vastly important. We so easily drift away from early -attachments and early friendships; and even the divine friendship is not -immune from this cruel and heartless treatment. We drift away from it, -and must needs be reconciled. '_Be ye reconciled to God_,' says Paul the -Peacemaker 'for unless you yourselves are reconciled to God, how can you -reconcile to God those who are without?' How can I reconcile hearts that -are alienated if, between either of those hearts and mine, there exists -some embarrassing estrangement? '_Be ye reconciled to God_,' said Paul -the Peacemaker to the church at Corinth, for he knew that the Church's -ministry of reconciliation would stand stultified and useless so long as -the Church herself was out of touch with her Lord. - - - - -VII - -NOTHING - - -Nature, they say, abhors a vacuum. For the life of me, I do not know -why. But then, for the matter of that, I do not know why I myself love -many of the things that I love, and loathe many of the things that I -abhor. Nature, however, is not usually capricious. Some deep policy -generally prompts her strange behaviour. I must go into this matter a -little more carefully. First of all, what is a vacuum? What is Nothing? - -I was at a prize distribution not long ago, and as I came out into the -street I came upon a little chap crying as though his heart would break. -He was quite alone. His parents had not thought it worth their while to -accompany him to the function, and thus show their interest in his -school life. Perhaps it was owing to the same lack of sympathy on their -part that he was among the few boys who were bearing home no prize. - -'Hullo, sonny,' I exclaimed,'what's the matter?' - -'_Oh, nothing_!' he replied, between his sobs. - -'Then what on earth are you crying for?' - -'_Oh, nothing_!' he repeated. - -I respected his delicacy, and probed no farther into the cause of his -discomfiture, but I had collected further evidence of my contention that -there is more in Nothing than you would suppose. Nor had I gone far -before still further corroboration greeted me. For, at the top of the -street, I came upon a group of lads in the centre of which was a boy -with a very handsome prize. I paused and admired it. - -'And what was this for?' I asked. - -'_Oh, nothing_!' he answered, with a blush. - -'But, my dear fellow, you must have done something to deserve it!' - -'_Oh, it was nothing_!' he reiterated, and it was from his companions -that I obtained the information that I sought. But here again it was -made clear to me that there is a good deal in Nothing. Nothing is worth -thinking about. It is a huge mistake to take things at their face value. -Nothing may sometimes represent a modest contrivance for hiding -everything; and we must not allow ourselves to be deceived. - -An old tradition assures us that, on the sudden death of one of -Frederick the Great's chaplains, a certain candidate showed himself most -eager for the vacant post. The king told him to proceed to the royal -chapel and to preach an impromptu sermon on a text that he would find in -the pulpit on arrival. When the critical moment arrived, the preacher -opened the sealed packet, and found it--_blank_! Not a word or pen-mark -appeared! With a calm smile the clergyman cast his eyes over the -congregation, and then said, 'Brethren, here is Nothing. Blessed is he -whom Nothing can annoy, whom Nothing can make afraid or swerve from his -duty. We read that God from Nothing made all things. And yet look at the -stupendous majesty of His infinite creation! And does not Job tell us -that Nothing is the foundation of everything? "He hangeth the world upon -Nothing," the patriarch declares.' The candidate then proceeded to -elaborate the wonder and majesty of that creation that emanated from -Nothing, and depended on Nothing. I need scarcely add that Frederick -bestowed upon so ingenious a preacher the vacant chaplaincy. And in the -years that followed he became one of the monarch's most intimate friends -and most trusted advisers. - -We must not, however, fly to the opposite extreme, and make too much of -Nothing. For the odd thing is that, twice at least in her strange and -chequered history, the Church has fallen in love with members of the -Nothing family, and, after the fashion of lovers, has completely lost -her head over them. On the first occasion she became deeply enamoured of -Doing Nothing, and on the second occasion she went crazy over -Having-Nothing. I must tell of these amorous exploits one at a time. The -adoration of Doing-Nothing had a great vogue at one stage of the -Church's history. Who that has once read the thirty-seventh chapter of -Gibbon's _Decline and Fall_--the chapter on 'The Origin, Progress, and -Effects of the Monastic Life'--will ever cease to be haunted by the -weird, fantastic spectacle therein presented? Men suddenly took it into -their heads that the only way of serving God was by doing nothing. They -swarmed out into the deserts, and lived solitary lives. They took vows -of perpetual silence, and ceased to speak; they ate only the most -disgusting food; they lived the lives of wild beasts. 'Even sleep, the -last refuge of the unhappy, was rigorously measured; the vacant hours -rolled heavily on, without business and without pleasure; and, before -the close of each day, the tedious progress of the sun was repeatedly -accursed.' Here was an amazing phenomenon. It was, of course, only a -passing fancy, the merest piece of coquetry on the Church's part. It is -unthinkable that she thought seriously of Doing-Nothing, and of settling -down with him for the rest of her natural life. The glamour of this -casual flirtation soon wore off. The Church discovered to her -mortification that there was nothing in Nothing. Saint Anthony, of -Alexandria, who felt that the life of the city was too full of -incitement to frivolity and pleasure, fled to the desert, to escape -from these temptations. He became a hermit. But he gave it up, and -returned to Alexandria. The abominable imaginations that haunted his -mind in the solitude were far more loathsome and degrading than anything -he had experienced in the busy city. Fra Angelico, who also fell in love -with Doing-Nothing, says that he heard the flapping of the wings of -unclean things about his lonely cell. And Francis Xavier has told us of -the seven terrible days that he spent in the tomb of Thomas at Malabar. -'All around me,' he says, 'malignant devils prowled incessantly, and -wrestled with me with invisible but obscene hands.' It is the old story, -there is nothing in Nothing; and he who falls in love with any member of -that family will live to regret the adventure. I remember being greatly -impressed by a sentence or two in Nansen's _Farthest North_. He is -describing the maddening monotony of the interminable Arctic night. -'Ah!' he exclaims suddenly, 'life's peace is said to be found by holy -men in the desert. Here indeed is desert enough; _but peace_!--of that I -know nothing. I suppose it is the holiness that is lacking.' The -explorer was simply discovering that there is nothing in Nothing but -what you yourself take into it. - -One would have supposed that, after this heart-breaking affair with -Doing-Nothing, the Church would have been on her guard against all -members of the Nothing family. But no! she was deceived a second -time--in this instance by the wiles of Having-Nothing. I allude, of -course, to the story of the Mendicant Orders. We all know how Francis -d'Assisi fell in love with Poverty. One day, to the consternation of his -friends, they received a letter from the gay young soldier, telling them -of his intention to lead an entirely new life. 'I am thinking of taking -a wife more beautiful, more rich, more pure than you could ever -imagine.' The wife was the Lady Poverty; and Giotto, in a fresco at -Assisi, has represented Francis placing the ring on the finger of his -bride. The feminine figure is crowned with roses, but she is arrayed in -rags, and her feet are bruised with stones and torn with briars. Francis -borrowed the tattered and filthy garments of a beggar, and sought alms -at the street corners that he might enter into the secret of poverty; -and then he and Dominic founded those orders of mendicant monks which -became one of the most potent missionary forces of the Middle Ages. - -But once again the Church found out that her affections were being -played with. There is no more virtue in Having-Nothing than in -Doing-Nothing. They are both good-for-nothing. It may be that some of us -would be better men if we had less money; but then, others of us would -be better men if we had more. It may be that, here and there, you may -find a Silas Marner who has been saved by sudden poverty from miserly -greed and hardening self-absorption. But, for one such case, it would be -easy to point to hundreds of men who have been driven by poverty from -the ways of honour, and to hundreds of women who have been forced by -poverty from the paths of virtue. It all comes back to this: there is -nothing in Nothing. Doing-Nothing and Having-Nothing are deceivers--the -pair of them; and the Church must not be beguiled by their -blandishments. Work and money are both good things. Even William Law saw -that. His _Serious Call_ has often almost made a monk of me, but a -sudden flash of common sense always breaks from the page just in time. -'There are two things,' he says in his fine chapter on 'The Wise and -Pious Use of an Estate,' 'there are two things which, of all others, -most want to be under a strict rule, and which are the greatest -blessings both to ourselves and others, when they are rightly used. -These two things are our time and our money. These talents are the -continual means and opportunities of doing good.' Beware, that is to -say, of Doing-Nothing, of Having-Nothing, and of the whole family of -Nothings. It is not for nothing that Nature abhors them. - -And now it suddenly comes home to me that I am playing on the very verge -of a tremendous truth. There is nothing in Nothing. Let me remember -that when next I am at death-grips with temptation! Cupid is said to -have complained to Jupiter that he could never seize the Muses because -he could never find them idle. And I suppose that our everyday remark -that 'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do' has its -origin in the same idea. John Locke, the great philosopher, used to say -that, in the hour of temptation, he preferred any company rather than -his own. If possible, he sought the companionship of children. Anything -rather than Nothing. It reminds us of Hannibal. The great Carthaginian -led his troops up the Alpine passes, but he found that the heights were -strongly held by the Romans. Attack was out of the question. Hannibal -watched closely one night, however, and discovered that, under cover of -darkness, the enemy withdrew for the night to the warmer valley on the -opposite slope. Next night, therefore, Hannibal led his troops to the -heights, and, when the Roman general approached in the morning, he found -that the tables had been turned upon him. There is always peril in -vacancy. The uncultivated garden brings forth weeds. The unoccupied mind -becomes the devil's playground. The vacant soul is a lost soul. There is -nothing in Nothing. - -But for the greatest illustration of my present theme I must betake me -to Mark Rutherford. The incident occurred at the most sunless and -joyless stage of Mark's career. From all his wretchedness he sought -relief in Nothing. He kept his own company, wandered about the fields, -abandoned himself to moods, and lost himself in vague and insoluble -problems. But one day a strange thing happened. 'I was walking along -under the south side of a hill, which was a great place for butterflies, -when I saw a man, apparently about fifty years old, coming along with a -butterfly net.' They soon chummed up. 'He told me that he had come seven -miles that morning to that spot, because he knew that it was haunted by -one particular species of butterfly; and, as it was a still, bright day, -he hoped to find a specimen.' At first Mark Rutherford felt a kind of -contempt for a man who could give himself up to so childish a pastime. -But, later on, he heard his story. Years before he had married a -delicate girl, of whom he was devotedly fond. She died in childbirth, -leaving him completely broken. And, by some inscrutable mystery of fate, -the child grew up to be a cripple, horribly deformed, inexpressibly -hideous, as ugly as an ape, as lustful as a satyr, and as ferocious as a -tiger! The son, after many years, died in a mad-house; and the horror of -it all nearly consigned his poor father to a similar asylum. 'During -those dark days,' he told Mark Rutherford, 'I went on _gazing gloomily -into dark emptiness_, till all life became nothing for me.' _Gazing into -emptiness_, mark you! Then there swept across this aching void of -nothingness a beautiful butterfly! It caught his fancy, interested him, -filled the gap, and saved his reason from uttermost collapse. He began -collecting butterflies. He was no longer _gazing into emptiness_. And -the moral of the incident is stated in a single sentence. 'Men should -not be too curious in analysing and condemning any means which Nature -devises to save them from themselves, whether it be coins, old books, -curiosities, fossils, or butterflies.' - -'Any means which Nature devises.' We are back to Nature again. - -'Nature abhors a vacuum'; it was at that point that we set out. - -I see now that Nature is right, after all. I can never be saved by -Nothing. The abstract will never satisfy me. I want something; aye, -more, I want _Some One_; and until I find _Him_ my restless soul calls -down all the echoing corridors of Nothingness, 'Oh that I knew _where I -might find Him_!' - - - - -VIII - -THE ANGEL AND THE IRON GATE - - -It is of no use arguing against an iron gate. There it stands--chained -and padlocked, barred and bolted--right across your path, and you can -neither coax nor cow it into yielding. So was it with Peter on the night -of his miraculous escape from prison. 'Herod,' we are told, 'killed -James with the sword, and, because he saw that it pleased the Jews, he -proceeded to take Peter also.' There he lay, 'sleeping between two -soldiers, bound with chains, whilst the keepers before the door kept the -prison.' He expected that his next visitor would be the headsman; and -whilst he waited for the _executioner_, there came an _angel_! This sort -of thing happens fairly often. They are sitting round the fire, and the -lady in the arm-chair is talking of her sailor-son. - -'Ah!' she says, 'I haven't heard of him for over a year now, and I begin -to think that I shall never hear again.' - -There is a sharp ring at the bell. She starts. - -'Something tells me,' she continues, 'that this is a message to say -that the ship is lost, and that I shall never see my boy again.' - -Even whilst she speaks the door is opened, and her last syllable is -scarcely uttered before she is folded in the sailor's arms. - -The principle holds true to the very end. It is a sick-room, and the -pale wan face of the patient looks very weary. - -'Oh, how I dread death!' she says; 'I cannot bear to think that I must -die.' - -An hour later the door of the unseen opens to her, and there stands on -the threshold, not Death, but _Life Everlasting_! - -Peter very, very often waits for the executioner, and welcomes an angel. - - -I - -During the next few moments Peter scarcely knew whether he was in the -body or out of the body. Was he alive or was he dead? Was he waking or -was he dreaming? 'He wist not that it was true which was done by the -angel, but thought he saw a vision.' He walked like a man with his head -in the clouds. Doors were opening; chains were falling; he seemed to be -living in a land of enchantment, a world of magic. But the iron gate put -an end to all illusion. 'They came to the iron gate,' and, as I said a -moment ago, an iron gate is a very difficult thing to argue with. The -iron gate represents the return to reality. After our most radiant -spiritual experiences we come abruptly to the humdrum and the -commonplace. It was Mary's Sunday evening out. Mary, you must know, is a -housemaid in a big boarding establishment, and her life is by no means -an easy one. But Mary is also a member of the Church. On Sunday she was -in her favourite seat. Perhaps it was that she was specially hungry for -some uplifting word, or perhaps it was that the message was peculiarly -suitable to her condition; but, be that as it may, the service that -night seemed to carry poor Mary to the very gate of heaven. The -Communion Service that followed completed her ecstasy, and Mary seemed -scarcely to touch the pavement with her feet as she hurried home. She -fell asleep crooning to herself the hymn with which the service closed: - - O Love, that will not let me go, - I rest my weary soul in Thee; - I give Thee back the life I owe, - That in Thine ocean depths its flow - May richer, fuller be. - -She knew nothing more until, in the chilly dark of the morning, the -alarum clock screamed at her to jump up, clean the cold front steps, -dust the great silent rooms, and light the copper-fire. 'And she came -to the iron gate.' There come points in life at which poetry merges into -the severest prose; romance yields to reality; the miracle of the open -prison is succeeded by the menace of the iron gate. - - -II - -As long as Peter had an iron gate before him, he had an angel beside -him. It was not until the iron gate had been safely negotiated that -'forthwith the angel departed from him.' Mary made a mistake when she -fancied that she had left all the glory behind her. The angel is with us -more often than we think. A devout Jew, in bidding you farewell, will -always use a plural pronoun. And if you ask for whom, besides yourself, -his blessing is intended, he will reply that it is for you and for _the -angel over your shoulder_. We are too fond of fancying that the angel is -only with us when the chains are miraculously falling from off our feet, -and when the doors are miraculously opening before our faces. We are too -slow to believe that the angel is still by our side when we emerge into -the night and come to the iron gate. It is a very ancient heathen -superstition. 'There came a man of God, and spake unto the king of -Israel, and said, Thus saith the Lord, because the Syrians have said, -"The Lord is God of the _hills_, but He is not God of the _valleys_," -therefore will I deliver all this great multitude into thine hand, and -ye shall know that I am the Lord.' We are always assuming that He is the -God of the mountaintops, and that He leaves us to thread the darksome -valleys alone; and our assumption is a cruel and unjust one. As long as -Peter had an iron gate before him, he had an angel beside him. - - -III - -The converse, however, is equally true. As long as Peter had an angel -beside him, he had an iron gate ahead of him. Angels do not walk by our -sides for fun. 'Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to -minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?' If there is an angel -by my side, depend upon it, there is work that only an angel can do in -front of me. Mary's radiant experience that Sunday evening was directly -and intimately related with the brazen yell of the alarum clock on -Monday morning. It was not intended as a mere temporary elevation of the -spirit, but as an assurance of a gracious presence--a presence that -should never be withdrawn as long as a need existed. It is part of the -infinite pathos of life that we misinterpret our visions. Jacob beheld -his staircase leading from earth to heaven, with angels ascending and -descending upon it. And straightway, as he prepared to leave, he began -to say good-bye to the angels! 'Surely,' he exclaimed, 'the Lord is in -_this place_! How dreadful is _this place_! _This_ is none other but the -house of God, and _this_ is the gate of heaven! And he called the name -of _that place_ Bethel!' And thus he missed the whole meaning of the -beatific vision. The vision was to warn him of the perils that awaited -him, and to assure him that 'behold, I am with thee in _all places_ -whither thou goest.' - -'_All places_!' said the Vision. - -'This place! _this place_! THIS PLACE!' said Jacob. - -And so he journeyed on towards his iron gate, pitifully ignorant of the -meaning of the golden dream. Life's ecstasies are warnings, -premonitions, danger-signals. Even in the experience of the Holiest, the -open heavens and the voice from the excellent glory immediately preceded -the grim struggle with the tempter in the wilderness. Paul had his -vision; he saw the Man of Macedonia; and he followed the gleam--to -bonds, stripes, and imprisonment. Bunyan knew what he was doing when he -placed the Palace Beautiful, with all its sweet hospitalities and -delightful ministries, immediately before that dark Valley of -Humiliation in which Christian struggled with Apollyon. When we hear -angels' voices speaking, when we find our fetters falling, when we see -our jail doors opening, be very sure that outside, outside, there is a -dark night and an iron gate! - - -IV - -But there is always this about it. Although the radiant vision is a -premonition of the coming struggle, it is also an augury concerning that -struggle. Opening doors are an earnest of opening gates. It is -inconceivable that I shall be miraculously delivered from my dungeon, -with its guards and its chains, and then be baulked by an iron gate out -there in the blackness of the night. It is inconceivable that here, at -the Communion Service, God should draw so near to the spirit of this -young housemaid, and then leave her to face alone the drudgery of Monday -morning. If Mary is half as wise as I take her to be, she will answer -the scream of the clock with a song. She went to bed singing; why not -get up singing? She crooned to herself on retiring the hymn that had -followed her from the Communion Table. Let her sing in the morning quite -another tune: - - His love, in time past, forbids me to think - He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink, - Each sweet Ebenezer I have in review - Confirms His good pleasure to help me quite through. - -The voice of the angel, the falling of fetters, and the opening of doors -are all designed to brace us for the dark night and the iron gate. - - -V - -'The iron gate opened to them.' Of course it did. Who could suppose that -the prison doors had been opened by angel's hands, only that the -prisoner might be caught like a rat in a trap outside? 'The iron gate -opened to them _of its own accord_.' It did look like it. During my -twelve years at Mosgiel, I often went through the great woollen factory. -The machines were marvellous--simply marvellous. As you watched the -needles slip in and out, or stood beside the loom and saw the pattern -grow, it really looked as though the things were bewitched. They seemed -to be doing it all 'of their own accord.' But one day the manager said, -'Would you care to see the power-house?' And he took me away from the -busy looms to another building altogether, and there I saw the huge -engines that drove everything. Neither looms nor needles really work 'of -their own accord.' Nor do iron gates. A few minutes after the gates had -opened, and the angel had vanished, Peter 'came to the house of Mary, -the mother of Mark, where many were gathered together praying.' And then -Peter understood by what power the iron gates had opened, just as I -understood, when I saw the engine-room, how the great looms worked. - -The prayer-meeting may not be artistic. For the matter of that I saw -very little in the power-room of the factory that appealed to the sense -of the aesthetic within me; but when angels visit prisons, and iron -gates swing open of their own accord, there must be a driving-force at -work somewhere. And Peter only discovered it when he suddenly broke in -upon a midnight prayer-meeting. - - - - -IX - -SHORT CUTS - - -We dearly love a short cut. Even in childhood we resolved the discovery -of short cuts into a kind of juvenile science. There was the gap in the -hedge, or the low part of the wall, by which we could pass, by means of -a squeeze or a clamber, into the romantic territory of our next-door -neighbour. With what fine scorn we inwardly derided the ridiculous -behaviour of our parents when, in visiting that selfsame neighbour, they -marched with solemn mien out through the front gate, along the public -highway and in through the front gate of the house next door! It took -_them_ five mortal minutes to reach a spot that, by a stoop or a bound, -_we_ could have reached in as many seconds! Then there was the dusty -track through the bush to the jetty; and the footpath across the fields -to the church. And with what wild excitement we hailed a short cut to -school! When some adventurous spirit discovered that, by going up a -certain right-of-way, and climbing a certain fence, we could approach -the school playground from a new and undreamed-of direction, our -transports knew no bounds. It was not the lazy gratification of having -invented a labour-saving device; it was the stately joy of the explorer. -Half the romance of life was bound up with those short cuts. The trysts -of courtship were kept at the stiles by which those surreptitious -footways were intersected. The most delightful walks we ever enjoyed -were the strolls along those uncharted by-paths. It may have been for -the sake of brevity and a smart passage that they were first brought -into existence; yet it was not to their brevity, in the last resort, -that they owed their peculiar charm. The gap through the hedge; the -clamber over the wall; the track through the bush to the jetty; the -footpath across the fields to the church; and the right-of-way by which -we took the school in the rear--these appealed to a certain deep human -instinct that asserted itself within us; and, dissemblers as we were, we -just made-believe that we pursued these courses in order to conserve our -energies and to save our time. - -And thus we got into the habit. Whether it was a good habit or a bad -habit depends largely upon the realm to which we applied it. In my own -case, it worked disastrously--at least at times. Since I left school, -for instance, I have always been considered good at figures. Generally -speaking, you have but to state your problem, and I can furnish you with -the solution. In business--commercial and ecclesiastical--this faculty -has served me in excellent stead. But at school it was of very little -use to me. And I find it of very little use when I undertake to coach my -children in anticipation of approaching examinations. For at school the -teacher not only propounded the problem, and received my answer; he went -another step. He asked me how I had arrived at that conclusion; and at -that stage of the ordeal I invariably collapsed. He was there to teach -me the rules; and I had as much contempt for the rules as I had for the -route by which my grave and reverend parents made their way to our -neighbour's door. I was content to squeeze through the gap or to jump -over the wall. The teacher was there to show me the road to the jetty; I -scorned the road, and approached the jetty by the track through the -bush. I could see no sense in either roads or rules if you could reach -your destination more expeditiously without them. But, to pass abruptly -from the microscopic to the magnificent, history furnishes me with a -quite dramatic and most convincing demonstration of my point. In his _Up -From Slavery_, Mr. Booker Washington illustrates this tendency again and -again. The slaves were freed. But it is one thing to be free, and quite -another thing to be worthy of the rights of freemen. With one voice the -black people cried out for education. 'This experience of a whole race -going to school for the first time presents,' says Mr. Washington, 'one -of the most interesting studies that has ever occurred in connexion with -the development of any race.' But many of the people were advanced in -years. To begin at the beginning and attain to knowledge gradually -seemed a tedious process. It was like the round-about path from our -front door to that of our next-door neighbour. The black people woke up -late to the consciousness of their racial possibilities; and, like most -people who wake up late, they spent the morning of their freedom in a -desperate hurry. Here is a young coloured man, 'sitting down in a -one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing, filth all around him, and -weeds in the yard and garden, engaged in studying a French grammar!' On -another occasion, Mr. Washington 'had to take a student who had been -studying cube-root and banking and discount and explain to him that the -wisest thing for him to do first was thoroughly to master the -multiplication-table!' There is much more to the same effect. The black -race made a frantic effort to run before it had learned to walk. 'I -felt,' says Mr. Booker Washington, 'that the conditions were a good deal -like those of an old coloured man, during the days of slavery, who -wanted to learn how to play on the guitar. In his desire to take guitar -lessons he applied to one of his young masters to teach him; but the -young man, not having much faith in the ability of the slave to master -the guitar, sought to discourage him by saying, "Uncle Jake, I will give -you guitar lessons; but, Jake, I will have to charge you three dollars -for the first lesson, two dollars for the second lesson, and one dollar -for the third lesson. But I will charge you only twenty-five cents for -the last lesson." To which Uncle Jake answered, "All right, boss, I -hires you on dem terms. But, boss, I wants yer to be sure an' give me -dat las' lesson first!"' Here we have the imposing spectacle, not by any -means destitute of pathos, of an entire race seeking to reach its -destiny by a short cut. - -But it is a mistake. For that ebullition of juvenile depravity which -disfigured my school-days I do now repent in dust and ashes. I was -wrong; there can be no doubt about that. There is a place in this world -for rules and roads as well as for gaps and tracks. I know now that my -parents were right in approaching our neighbour's door by way of the -public thoroughfare. Life has taught me, among other things, that short -cuts have their perils. It is the old story of the Gordian knot over -again. The Phrygians, as everybody knows, were in grave perplexity, and -consulted the oracle. The oracle assured them that all their troubles -would cease as soon as they chose for their king the first man they met -driving in his chariot to the temple of Jupiter. Leaving the sacred -building, they set out along the road and soon met Gordius, whom they -accordingly elected king. Gordius drove on to the temple, to return -thanks for his elevation, and to consecrate his chariot to the service -of the gods. When the chariot stood in the temple courts it was observed -that the pole was fastened to the yoke by a knot of bark so artfully -contrived that the ends could not be seen. The oracle then declared that -whosoever should untie this Gordian knot should be ruler over Asia. -Alexander the Great approached, but, finding himself unable to untie the -knot, he drew his sword and cut it. And the ancients said that it was -because he had cut the knot instead of untying it that his dominion was -so transitory and so brief. I fancy that, if we look into it a little, -we shall find that half our troubles arise from our bad habit of cutting -the knots that we ought to patiently untie. - -Take our politics, by way of example. It is much more easy to sit back -in our chairs and pour the vials of our criticism on the powers-that-be -than to make any sensible contribution to the well-being of the State. A -case in point occurs in Mark Rutherford's _Clara Hopgood_. Baruch and -Dennis are discussing those old social problems that men have discussed -since first this world began. Dennis was enlarging upon the -inequalities and iniquities of social and industrial life, when Baruch -broke in with the pertinent and practical question: 'But what would you -do for them?' - -'Ah, that beats me!' replied Dennis. 'I would hang somebody, but I don't -know who it ought to be!' - -Precisely! To _cut_ the knot with a sword is so easy--and so -ineffective; to _untie_ it is so difficult--and so rich in consequence. -The politics that consist of sentencing to summary execution statesmen -from whom we differ are within the intellectual reach of most of us; and -in that particular brand of politics, therefore, most of us occasionally -indulge. But the politics that consist in really grappling with the -knotty problems, with a view to discovering some means of ameliorating -human misery, provide us with a much more formidable task. Who has -intellect sufficiently clear, and fingers sufficiently deft, to essay -the untying of the Gordian knot? The empire of the world awaits the -coming of that patient and persistent man. - -Or look at another example. I often feel that very little of the oratory -expended on Protestant platforms really touches the mark. It gets -nowhere. The real question at issue is most pitifully begged. It may, of -course, be diplomatic to keep people well informed concerning the social -evils that thrive in Roman Catholic countries. It may, perhaps, be -permissible to emphasize the abuses that exist within the pale of the -Roman Catholic Church. But a devout and intelligent Roman Catholic, -listening to such an utterance, would, after making a reasonable -allowance for rhetorical exaggeration admit the truth of all that had -been said, and go home to weep, and, perhaps, to pray over it. Many of -those who have passed over from Protestant communions to the Roman -Catholic Church have travelled very widely and observed very closely. -They are not ignorant. Newman sobbed over the seamy side of Romanism -before he made the plunge. 'I have never disguised,' he wrote, 'that -there are actual circumstances in the Church of Rome which pain me much; -we do not look toward Rome as believing that its communion is -infallible.' Then, with his eyes wide open to all the facts on which our -orators dilate so luridly, he took the fatal step. And again he wrote, -'There is a divine life among us, clearly manifested, in spite of all -our disorders, which is as great a note of the Church as any can be.' - -Now what was that divine note? Everything hinges upon that. And unless -our Protestant speakers are prepared to face _that_ issue they may as -well remain by their own firesides, lounge in their cosiest chairs, wear -their warmest slippers, and enjoy the latest novels. It is only at this -point that sincere and groping minds can be helpfully influenced. The -whole question is one of Authority. We dearly love a lord. There is no -escaping that fundamental fact. Every day Protestant sheep stray into -Roman Catholic pastures because there they can actually see the shepherd -and actually feel his crook. The Roman Church, with its hoary -traditions, its encrusted ritual, and its antique associations, -crystallizes itself into a single voice. It possesses an enthroned -incarnation. It has a Pope. Romanism is like a pine-tree. It towers to a -pinnacle. All its branches converge upon the topmost bough. -Protestantism is like a palm. Its summit consists of a great cluster of -graceful fronds, but no one is uppermost. Romanism is the adoration of -the topmost twig. In the person of the highest official, confused ears -catch the accent of authority for which they hunger. Here they find the -music of majesty. And they nestle their aching heads in the lap of a -Church that will sternly command their trustfulness and firmly insist -upon implicit obedience. Thereafter they need think no more. 'In the -midst of our difficulties,' wrote Newman, 'I have one ground of hope, -just one stay, but, as I think, a sufficient one. It serves me in the -stead of all arguments whatever; it hardens me against criticism; it -supports me if I begin to despond; and to it I ever come round. It is -the decision of the Holy See; Saint Peter has spoken.' Here the weary -brain finds rest. Here is the Gordian knot, so trying to the fingers, -cut swiftly with a sword. Here is the discovery of a short cut that may -save the tired feet many a long and dreary trudge. - -The temptation meets us at every turn. And it is because that temptation -is so general that it figures so prominently in the Temptation in the -wilderness. He was tempted in all points like as we are; and therefore -He was tempted to take short cuts. This is the essence of that weird and -terrible story. It is notable that all the three things that Jesus was -tempted to acquire were good things, things to be desired, things that -He was destined to possess. But the whole point of the record is that He -was tempted to make His way to the bread and the angels and the kingdoms -by means of short cuts. Now this is vastly significant. It is -significant because, when you come to think of it, nearly all the things -that _we_ are tempted to acquire are good things. The temptation -consists in the suggestion that we should possess ourselves of those -good things prematurely or illicitly. We are urged to make short cuts to -our legitimate goal. Jesus was tempted to cut the Gordian knot, and to -thus obtain an immediate but fleeting hold on the objects of His just -desire. He rejected the proposal. He preferred patiently to untie the -knot, and thus to make Himself king of all kingdoms for ever and for -ever. - -Of the perils attending short cuts John Bunyan is our chief expositor. -Wherever a dangerous but alluring footpath breaks off from the -high-road, a statue of Mr. Worldly Wiseman ought to be erected. For it -was Mr. Worldly Wiseman that first got the poor pilgrim into such sore -trouble. Mr. Worldly Wiseman knew a short cut to the Celestial City. -Christian took that short cut--the footpath over the hills and through -the village of Morality--and dearly did he pay for his folly. And yet it -is difficult to blame him. Poor Christian was heavily burdened, and -every inch that could be saved was a consideration. Evangelist had -clearly directed him, it is true; but then, if Mr. Worldly Wiseman knew -a short cut, why not take it? 'Let him who has no such burden as this -poor pilgrim had cast the first stone at Christian; I cannot,' says Dr. -Alexander Whyte. 'If one who looked like a gentleman came to me to-night -and told me how I could on the spot get to a peace of conscience never -to be lost again, and how I could get a heart to-night that would never -any more plague and pollute me, I should be mightily tempted to forget -what all my former teachers had told me, and try this new gospel.' -Exactly! The temptation to cut the Gordian knot is very alluring. The -advice to get-rich-quick, or to get-good-quick, or to get-there-quick, -is very acceptable. But by his story of the short cut, and the anguish -that followed, Bunyan has taught us that the longest way round is often -the shortest way home. There is sound sense in the song that bids us -'take time to be holy.' The short cut that avoids the wicket-gate and -the Cross is merely a blind lane from which we shall return sooner or -later with blistered feet and broken hearts. - - - - -PART II - - - - -I - -THE POSTMAN - - -I must say a good word for the postman. He occupies so large a place in -most of our lives that, as a matter of common courtesy, the least we can -do is to recognize his value and importance. Others may not feel as I -do, but I confess that I bless the postman every day of my life. Not -that I am so fond of receiving letters, for I bless him with equal -fervency whether he calls or whether he passes. I know that in this -respect I am hopelessly illogical. If I am pleased to see the postmen -pass the gate, I ought, if strictly logical, to be sorry to see him -enter it. And, contrariwise, if the sight of the postman coming up the -path affords me gratification, the spectacle of his passing my gate -ought to fill me with disappointment. But I am _not_ logical, never was, -and never shall be. The best things in the world are hopelessly -illogical--motherhood for example. A mother sits in the arm-chair by the -fire, even as I write. She is chattering away to her baby. She knows -perfectly well that the baby doesn't understand a word she says. Knowing -that she would, if she were logical, give up talking to the child. But, -just because she is so hopelessly illogical, she prattles away as though -the baby could understand every word. It is a way mothers have, and we -love them all the better for it. An illogical lady is a very lovable -affair; but who ever fell in love with a syllogism? Robert Louis -Stevenson is the most lovable of all our English writers, and the most -illogical. Here is an entry from his diary, by way of illustration. 'A -little Irish girl,' he writes, 'is now reading my book aloud to her -sister at my elbow. They chuckle, and I feel flattered; anon they yawn, -and I am indifferent; such a wisely conceived thing is vanity.' Just so. -And why not? There is a higher wisdom than the wisdom of logic. If -Stevenson had been logical, he would have felt elated by the chuckles -and crushed by the yawns. But he knew better, and so do I. If the -postman passes my door, I heave a sigh of relief that I have no letters -to answer; it is almost as good as being granted a half-holiday. Am I -therefore to be angry when the postman enters the gate, and accept his -letters with a grunt? Not at all. In that case I throw my logic over the -hedge for the edification of my next-door neighbour, and feel pleased -that some of my friends are thinking of me. I greet the postman with a -smile, and try to make him feel that he has rendered me an appreciable -service, as indeed he has. - -I am writing on the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Anthony -Trollope, and I fancy that it is the thought of Trollope and his -extraordinary work that has set me scribbling about the postman. For -Trollope was much more than a novelist. He was, in a sense, the prince -of British postmen, and the forerunner of Rowland Hill and Henniker -Heaton. To a far greater extent than we sometimes dream, we owe the -efficiency of our modern postal service to Anthony Trollope. But before -he died he became the victim of serious misgivings. He feared that we -were losing the art of letter-writing. He produced a bundle of his -mother's love-letters. 'In no novel of Richardson's or Miss Burney's,' -he declared, 'is there a correspondence so sweet, so graceful, and so -well expressed. What girl now studies the words with which she shall -address her lover, or seeks to charm him with grace of diction?' And -this lamentation was penned, mark you, years and years ago, before cheap -telegrams and picture post cards had become the normal means of -communication! - -I suppose the real trouble is that we have allowed the amazing -development of our commercial correspondence to corrupt the character of -our private letter-writing. We indite all our letters in the phraseology -of the business college. We write briefly, tersely, pointedly, and, most -abominable of all, by return of post. I should like to write a separate -chapter in vigorous denunciation of the prompt reply. Private letters -should never be hastily answered. If my friend replies instantly to my -long, familiar letter, he gives me the painful impression that he wants -to be rid of me, and is unwilling to have on his mind the thought of the -letter he owes me. One of these days I shall start a new society to be -called the 'Wait a Week Society.' Its members will be solemnly pledged -to wait at least a week before replying to their private letters. There -are strong and subtle reasons for taking such a vow. First of all, -private letters should be easy, leisurely, chatty, and should only be -written when one is in the mood, or when, for some reason, the person to -whom it is addressed is specially in one's thoughts. To this, it may be -replied that one is never so much in the mood to write to a friend as -when he has just received a letter from that friend. But the argument is -fallacious. He is a very happy letter-writer indeed who can write me a -long, free, chatty letter without saying anything that will rub me the -wrong way or with which I shall disagree. During the first twenty-four -hours after receiving his letter, _those_ are the things that are most -emphatically impressed upon my mind. If I reply within twenty-four -hours, my letter to my friend will deal largely with those disputatious -and controversial points, and the inevitable result will be that _the -whole_ of my letter will grate upon him just as _part_ of his letter has -grated upon me. But if, as president of my own society, I wait a week -before replying to his letter, I shall see things in their true -perspective, and write him a long and breezy letter in which the things -that vexed me find no place at all. I am often asked, What is the -unpardonable sin? The only sin that I can never pardon is the sin of -writing angry letters. I can forgive a man for _speaking_ hastily; I -have a temper myself. But to deliberately commit one's spite to paper is -to become guilty of an amazing atrocity and to degrade at the same time -the postman's high and solemn office. - -I bless the postman because he can do for me, and do better than I could -do, so many delicate things. I regard the postman as a faithful and -indispensable assistant. It often falls to a minister's lot to approach -people, and especially young people, on the most delicate and important -subjects. Upon their decisions much of their future happiness and -usefulness will depend. I must therefore go about the business with the -utmost care. But if I go to that young man and abruptly introduce the -matter to him, I at once put him in a false position, and greatly -imperil my chance of success. We are face to face; I have spoken to him, -and he, in common decency, must speak to me. It would be a thousand -times better if, having opened my heart to him, I could withdraw before -he uttered a single word. But as it is, I have forced him into a -position in which he must say something. His judgement is not ripe, his -mind is not made up, the whole subject is new to him, and yet my -indiscretion has placed him in such a position that he is compelled to -commit himself. He must say something without due consideration; I stand -there, like a highway-robber, with my pistol pointed at his brow, and he -must give me _words_. I may not want his words immediately; and he may -wish he need not give his words immediately; but we are both the victims -of a situation which I have foolishly precipitated. He speaks; and -however he may guard his utterance, his final decision will inevitably -be compromised by those hasty and immature sentences. - -The evidence must be perfectly overwhelming that will lead a man to -reverse a decision once made. And here am I, his would-be friend and -helper, forcing him into a position from which he will find it very -difficult to extricate himself. I meant to do him good, and I have done -him incalculable harm. I meant to be his friend, and I have become his -enemy. So true is it that evil is wrought from want of thought as well -as want of heart. - -Now see how much better the postman manages the matter. I sit down at -my desk and write exactly what I want to say. I am not under any -necessity to complete a sentence until I can do so to my own perfect -satisfaction. I can pause to consider the exact word that I wish to -employ. And if, when it is written, my letter does not please me, I can -tear it up without his being any the wiser, and write it all over again. -I am not driven to impromptu utterance or careless phraseology. I am -free of the inevitable effect upon my expression produced by the -presence of another person. I am not embarrassed by the embarrassment -that he feels on being approached on so vital a theme. I am cool, -collected, leisurely, and free. And the advantages that come to me in -inditing the letter are shared by him in receiving it. He is alone, and -therefore entirely himself. He is not disconcerted by the presence of an -interviewer. He owes nothing to etiquette or ceremony. He has the -advantage of having the case stated to him as forcefully and as well as -I am able to state it. He can read at ease and in silence without the -awkward feeling that, in one moment, he must make some sort of reply. If -he is vexed at my intrusion into his private affairs, he has time to -recover from his displeasure and to reflect that I am moved entirely by -a desire for his welfare. If he is flattered at my attention, he has -time to fling aside such superficial considerations and to face the -issue on its merits. The matter sinks into his soul; becomes part of his -normal life and thought; and, by the time we meet, he is prepared to -talk it over without embarrassment, without personal feeling, and -without undue reserve. In such matters--and they are among the most -important matters with which a minister is called to deal--the postman -is able to render me invaluable assistance. - -There is something positively sacramental about the postman. For the -letters that he carries have no value in themselves; they are simply -paper and ink. They are precious only so far as they reveal the heart of -the sender to the heart of the receiver. Here, for instance, is a letter -for a young lady. She is at the door before the bell has ceased its -ringing. She greets the postman with a smile, and blushes as she glances -at the familiar handwriting. As soon as the postman has closed the gate -after him, she hurries down to the summer-house, her favourite retreat, -to read her letter. But she is not alone. Bruno, her big collie, goes -bounding after his mistress. She reads the first pages of the letter, -and allows the sheet to slip from her lap to the ground, whilst she -proceeds to devour the following pages. And as the fluttering missive -lies upon the floor of the summer-house, Bruno examines it. A dog's eyes -are sharper than a girl's eyes; yet how little the dog sees! He sees a -piece of white paper covered with black marks--sees perhaps more in that -respect than she does--yet he sees nothing, and less than nothing, for -all that. For she sees, not the black marks on the white paper, but the -very heart of one who worships her. She is gazing so intently into the -soul of her lover that she does not notice whether the 't's' are -crossed, or the 'i's' dotted. To her the letter is a sacramental thing; -its value lies not in itself, but in the revelation that it makes to -her. - -And it is because the postman spends his whole life among just such -sacramental things that we welcome and honour him. We have an amiable -way of transferring to the messenger the welcome that we accord to the -message. Jessie Pope describes the joy of a mother on receiving a wire -from her soldier-boy that he will soon be back again from the front. - - '_Home at six-thirty to-day._' - Oh, what a tumult of joy! - Growing suspense flies away, - God bless that telegraph-boy! - -_God bless that telegraph-boy!_ Exactly. And that is why we honour the -postman. The messenger always shares in the welcome given to the message -How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good -tidings, that publisheth peace! We ministers often share in the -postman's benediction. We are welcomed and honoured and loved, not so -much for our own sake as for the sake of the great, glad message that we -bear. The heart leaps up to the message and blesses the messenger. God -bless the telegraph-boy! God bless the postman! - - - - -II - -CRYING FOR THE MOON - - -Let it be distinctly understood that nothing that I shall now say is -addressed to the crowd. To the crowd it would probably do more harm than -good. It is intended only for a single individual; and he, I think, will -understand. I am told that there is a unique secret by means of which a -wireless message from the British Navy can be transmitted to the -Admiralty Office without risk of interception. At the Admiralty a -superlatively sensitive and superlatively secret instrument is most -carefully attuned to the instrument of the battleship from which the -message is expected. Then, when all is ready, every wireless operator in -the Grand Fleet pulls out all the stops and bangs on all the keys of his -instrument, and the inevitable result is the creation of a din that is -almost deafening to all listeners at ordinary receivers. But through the -crash and the tumult the specially delicate instrument at the Admiralty -Office can distinctly hear its mate, and the priceless syllables -penetrate the thunder of senseless sound without the slightest loss or -leakage. I am about to attempt a similar experiment. I have a message -for a certain man. It is important that he, and he alone, should get it. -It would do untold damage if it were heard at other receivers. Let him -therefore take some pains to attune his instrument to mine. - -Now it is usual, and it is altogether good, to encourage people to -entertain lofty ambitions, high ideals, and great expectations. It is a -most necessary injunction, and I have not a word to say against it. It -stirs the blood like a trumpet-blast. It rouses us like a challenge. -But, however excellent the medicine may be, it cannot be expected to -suit every ailment. No one drug is a panacea for all our human ills. And -even the stimulating tonic to which I have referred does not at all meet -the need of the man for whom I am now prescribing. John Sheergood is a -friend of mine, and a really capital fellow. But I should not call him a -happy man. His trouble is that his ambitions are too lofty, his -expectations too great, and his ideals, in a sense, too high. He is -crying for the moon, and breaking his heart because he can't get it. I -am profoundly sorry for this morbid friend of mine, and should dearly -like to comfort him. His ideal is perfection, nothing less; and whenever -he falls short of it he is in the depths of despair. If, as a student, -he entered for a competition, he felt that he was in disgrace unless he -secured the very first place. If he sat for an examination, he counted -every mark short of the coveted hundred per cent. as an indelible stain -upon his character. He is in abject misery unless he can strike twelve -at every hour of the day. I both admire him and pity him at the same -time. His parents once told me that when he was a very small boy he -contracted measles. The illness went hardly with him, and left him frail -and debilitated. The doctor ordered a prolonged holiday by the seaside, -with plenty of good food, plenty of fresh air, and, above all, plenty of -bathing. He was only a little fellow, and when he approached the -bathing-sheds for the first time his father accompanied him. - -'I don't want to go in, dad,' he cried appealingly; 'it's cold, and I'm -cold, and I don't like it!' - -'It will make you grow up into a big man, sonny!' his father replied -persuasively. - -Now this touched Jack on a very tender spot, for, although his father -was tall, and he himself cherished an inordinate admiration for tall -men, he was himself almost ridiculously small. He had several times -contrasted himself with other small boys of the same age, and had felt -shockingly humiliated. - -'Will it really, dad; honour bright?' he asked anxiously, carefully -scrutinizing his father's face. - -'It will indeed, sonny; that is why the doctor ordered it.' - -Poor little Jack submitted with a wry face to the process of disrobing, -and, with a shiver, bravely approached the water. Summoning all his -reserves of courage, he waded in until the water was up to his knees, to -his waist, and at last to his neck. The excruciating part of the ordeal -was by this time over; and, for the sake of the benefit so confidently -promised him, he tolerated the caress of the waves for the next five -minutes. Then he rushed out of the water. As soon as he was beyond the -reach of the foam he stopped abruptly, surveyed himself carefully from -top to toe, and straightway burst into tears. His mother, who was -sitting knitting on the beach, at once ran to his assistance. - -'Why, whatever's the matter, Jack? What are you crying for?' - -'Oh, mum, just look how wee I am! And dad said that if I went into the -water it would make a big man of me!' - -He has often since joined in the laugh, whenever the story of his -childish adventure has been related in his hearing. But it is worth -recording as being so eminently characteristic of him. He has never -outgrown that boyish peculiarity. He is always setting his heart on -instantaneous maturity. He seems to think that the world should have -been built on a sort of Jack-and-the-beanstalk principle. He is -continually sowing seeds overnight, and feeling depressed if he cannot -gather the fruit as soon as he wakes in the morning. Many of us have -watched the Indian conjurer sow the seed of a mango-tree; throw a cloth -over the pot; mutter mysterious charms and incantations; and then hit -the cloth. And, behold, a full-grown mango-tree! He replaces the cloth, -mutters further incantations, again removes the covering, and, lo, the -mango-tree is in full flower! And when a third time he uncovers the -plant, the mango-tree stands forth, every bough freighted with a heavy -load of fruit! I have no idea as to how the trick is done. I only know -that poor John Sheergood seems to be everlastingly lamenting the -misfortune that ordained him to any existence other than that of an -Indian conjurer. He is grievously disappointed, not because he was born -with no silver spoon in his mouth, but because he was born with no magic -wand in his hand. His mango-trees come to fruition very, very slowly. -John believes in quick returns and lightning changes; and he is -irritated and annoyed by the tardiness of that old-fashioned process -called growth. It is good for a man to have lofty ideals; but I am sure -that John Sheergood would be a happier man, and make us all more happy, -if he would only break himself of his inveterate habit of crying for the -moon. - -In justice to John I am bound to say that, as on the sands years ago, -his principal disappointment is with himself. I have done my best to -persuade him that a man should be infinitely patient with himself. -Nothing is to be gained by getting out of temper with yourself. You may -scold yourself and scourge yourself unmercifully; but I doubt if it does -much good. A man must win his self-respect; and you can only learn to -respect yourself by being very gentle and very considerate and very -patient with yourself. A man's self-culture is his first and principal -charge; and he will never succeed unless he both loves himself and -treats himself lovingly. A man should be as gentle with himself as a -gardener is with his orchids; as a nurse is with her patient; as a -mother is with her troublesome child. A gardener who lost all patience -with his delicate plants; a nurse who treated her poor patient -peevishly; or a mother who met ill-temper with ill-temper could only -expect to fail. I have urged John Sheergood to treat himself with a -softer hand, and to greet himself with a smile. I lent him Henry -Drummond's lovely essay on _The Lilies_, taking the precaution, before -doing so, to underline the following sentences: 'Growth must be -spontaneous. A boy not only grows without trying, but he cannot grow if -he tries. The man who struggles in agony to grow makes the church into a -workshop when God meant it to be a beautiful garden.' There is a good -deal in the chapter that will have a special interest for my poor -self-castigated friend. - -But, although his lash falls principally upon his own back, he is not -the only sufferer. I shall never forget when, as a young fellow, he -joined the church. His conversion was a very radiant experience, and, in -the ecstasy of it all, he formed a brightly rose-tinted conception of -what the fellowship of the church must be. The idea of being admitted to -the society of numbers of people as happy as himself! They would be able -to tell of experiences as glorious as his own; they would be sure to -congratulate him on his inexpressible joy, and to help him in relation -to the difficulties that beset his daily path. They would encourage him -by their sympathy and stimulate him by their example. Their conversation -would illumine for him the sacred page; their vivid testimonies to -answered prayer would give him greater confidence in approaching the -Throne of Grace; the very atmosphere that he expected to breathe would, -he felt sure, inflame his own devotion to the highest and holiest -things. - -He has often since told me of his disillusionment. It happened to be a -wet night when he was received into membership, and there were fewer -members present than were usually there. As soon as the service was over -they broke up into knots. He overheard one group discussing a wedding; -and heard a man with a strident voice say that it was a beastly night to -be out without an umbrella. But nobody took any notice of John, and he -left the building. To complete his discomfiture he mistook the step as -he passed out of the church and stumbled awkwardly into the street. 'The -whole thing was an awful come-down,' he told me afterwards, 'the -greatest surprise I had ever known. I felt as if the bottom had dropped -out of everything.' He got over it, of course; and learned by happy -experience that the people who treated him so coyly on that memorable -night are not half as bad as they seemed. Many of them are now among his -dearest and most intimate friends; whilst even with the man who growled -at the weather he has since spent some really delightful times. One of -the oddest things in life is the dread that some people feel of -appearing as good as they really are. And John has found out now that, -in spite of the cold douche administered to him that night, there is in -the church a glow of genuine enthusiasm and a wealth of spirituality -that in those days he never suspected. But it did not reveal itself all -at once. The best things never do. And because the church did not put on -her beautiful garments as soon as he entered, John was mortified and -confounded. He felt just as he felt that day on the sands when he -discovered with disgust that, under the spell of the sea, he had not -immediately assumed gigantic proportions. As I say, he has got over it -now, and smiles at it, just as he smiles when his adventure by the -seaside is recounted. - -He was a great favourite in the church, but his ingrained peculiarity -betrayed itself with unfailing regularity in one particular direction. -Oddly enough, in view of his own experience, he was a little severe with -new members. I do not mean that he treated them coldly or distantly; -nobody was more genial. But he expected too much of them. He was -disappointed unless the convert of yesterday proved himself the -full-blown saint of to-day. To satisfy him, they had to be raw recruits -one day and hardened veterans the next. It was merely another phase of -his Jack-and-the-beanstalk philosophy. It was the magician and the -mango-tree over again. In a way it was very fine to see how he grieved -over the slightest lapse on the part of these new members. The smallest -inconsistency in their behaviour filled him with remorse, and he was -afflicted with the gravest suspicions as to our wisdom in welcoming such -people into fellowship. He failed, it seemed to me, to distinguish -between the raw material and the finished article. The Church evidently -had some very raw material in her membership when the Pauline Epistles -were written; and it is a mercy for John that he was not born some -centuries earlier. - -John afterwards left us and entered the ministry. We were exceedingly -sorry to lose him. A man more generally honoured, respected, and beloved -I have seldom seen. The church was distinctly poorer after he left, -although we were all glad that he had given himself to so great a work. -But he carried his old characteristic up the pulpit steps with him. He -has often told me the story of that first sermon and the way it was -received. Such confidences between one minister and another are sacred, -and I shall not betray this one. But I never hear John refer to that -experience without thinking of Mark Rutherford. In his Autobiography, -Mark Rutherford tells how, on settling at his first pastorate, he put -all his soul into his first sermon. He was elated by the solemnity and -grandeur of his calling, and spoke out of the very depths of his heart. -'After the service was over,' he says, 'I went down into the vestry. -Nobody came near me but the chapel-keeper, who _said that it was -raining_, and immediately went away to put out the lights and shut up -the building. I had no umbrella, and there was nothing for it but to -walk home in the wet. When I got to my lodgings I found that my supper, -consisting of bread and cheese, was on the table, but there was no fire. -I was overwrought, and paced about for hours in hysterics. All that I -had been preaching seemed the merest vanity.' And so on. John -Sheergood's experience was not unlike it. It was the sudden descent from -the glowingly romantic ideal to the brutally prosaic reality. It nearly -killed John just as it nearly killed Mark Rutherford. But he is getting -over it. He is learning gradually, I think, that a minister can only get -the best out of his people by being very patient with them, just as the -people can only get the best out of their minister by being very patient -with him. The world has evidently been built that way. Jack and the -beanstalk is only a fairy-story and the mango-tree is a piece of -Oriental trickery; there is no room for such prodigies in a world like -this. Like the lilies, we begin in a very modest way, and grow very -slowly; we must therefore exercise infinite patience with each other. I -have fancied lately that some inkling of this has at length entered into -the mind even of John Sheergood, and he has seemed a very much happier -man in consequence. - - - - -III - -OUR LOST ROMANCES - - -There are few days in a girl's life more critical than the day on which -the sawdust streams from the mangled carcase of her dearest doll. It is -a day of bitter disillusionment, a day in which a philosophy of some -kind is painfully born. The doll came into the home amidst all the -excitements of a birthday. It was instantly invested with every -attribute of personality. The task of naming it was as solemn a function -as the business of naming a baby. And when the choice had been made, and -the name selected, that name was as unalterable as though it had been -officially recorded at Somerset House. By that name it was greeted with -delight every morning; by that name it was hushed to sleep every night; -by that name it was introduced to other dolls, as well as to less -important people; and by that name it was addressed a hundred times a -day. The doll has suffered accidents and illnesses after the fashion of -fleshier folk; but such misadventures, as is the way with humans, has -only rendered her more dear. But now an accident has happened, -surpassing in seriousness all previous misfortunes. The thing has come -to pieces! The girl has a shapeless rag in her hand; the floor is all -powdered with sawdust; and her face is a spectacle for men and angels. I -say again that this is an extremely critical day in a girl's life, and -upon the way in which she negotiates this passage in her history a good -deal will eventually depend. - -I do not quite know why I have made the feminine element so prominent in -my introduction. Boys are just the same. They affect to deride a girl's -ridiculous weakness in cherishing so great a tenderness for a doll; but, -for all their supercilious airs, they have illusions of their own. Dr. -Samuel Johnson has told us how, as a boy, he consulted the oracle as to -his future fortunes. If some issue were hanging in the balance--a game -to be played, or an examination to be taken--he would endeavour to wrest -from the unseen the secret that it held. He would note a particular -stick or stone on the path before him; and then, with face turned -skywards, he would walk towards it. If he trod on the object which he -had chosen, he took it as a sign that he would win the game or pass the -examination that was causing him such uneasiness. If, on the other hand, -he stepped clean over it, he interpreted it as a sinister prediction of -disaster. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes confesses to a similar weakness. 'As -for all manner of superstitious observances,' says the autocrat of the -Breakfast Table, 'I used to think I must have been peculiar in having -such a list of them; but I now believe that half the children of the -same age go through the same experience. No Roman soothsayer ever had -such a catalogue of omens as I found in the Sibylline leaves of my -childhood. That trick of throwing a stone at a tree and attaching some -mighty issues to hitting or missing, which you will find mentioned in -one or more biographies, I well remember.' And Dr. Holmes goes on to -give us a good deal more in the same strain. - -But, although they do not record it, there must have come to both Dr. -Johnson and Dr. Holmes a day very similar to that on which the sawdust -streamed from the mutilated doll. What about the day on which young -Samuel Johnson, his scrofulous face and screwed-up eyes turned skywards, -strode along the path towards the selected talisman, stepped plump upon -it, and then lost the game that followed after all? And what about the -day on which young Oliver Wendell Holmes, impatiently awaiting his -father's return from Boston, wondered if his parent would bring him the -pocket-knife for which he had so long and loudly clamoured? But there, -not fifty yards away, was a tree; and here, at his feet, was a stone. -'If I hit it, he'll bring it; if I miss it, he won't!' he cried; and, -taking more than usually careful aim, he threw the stone, and missed! -But the pocket-knife was in his father's handbag all the same! Boys or -girls, men or women, it matters not; there come into our lives great and -memorable days when we have to take farewell of our illusions. Our -romances leave us. There comes a Christmas Day on which, to our -uttermost bewilderment, we discover the secret history of Santa Claus. -And very much will depend upon the way in which we face such sensational -and eye-opening experiences. - -We go through life leaving these shattered romances behind us. Our track -is marked by the spatter of burst bubbles. What then? And in answer to -that 'What then?' the obvious temptation is the temptation to cynicism. -Since the doll has turned out to be a mere matter of sawdust and rags, -since the talisman on the footpath told a lie, since the oracle of tree -and stone deceived us, we make up our minds to fling to the scrap-heap -such cherished beliefs as we still retain. We go in for a severe weeding -out of everything that is imaginative, everything that is mystical, -everything that is romantic. Life resolves itself into a dreary -wilderness of matter-of-fact, an arid desert of common sense. Dr. Oliver -Wendell Holmes was wiser. Referring to his oracular stone-throwing and -the rest of it, he says, 'I won't swear that I have not some tendency to -these unwise practices even at this present date. With these follies -mingled sweet delusions, which I loved so well that I would not outgrow -them, even when it required a voluntary effort to put a momentary trust -in them.' It is a pity to sweep all our rainbow-tinted romances out of -life simply because one of them has been reduced to the terms of rag and -sawdust. - -There stands before me as I write Sir John Millais' great picture of -'Bubbles.' Both the picture and the experience that it portrays are -wonderfully familiar. The curly head; the upturned face; the entire -absorption of the little bubble-blower in the shining balls that he is -hurling into space; the half-formed hope that this one, at least, may -not sputter out and become an unbeautiful splash of soapsuds on the -floor; the wistful half-expectancy that now, at last, he has created a -lovely globe that shall float on and on, like a little fairy-world, for -ever and for evermore. It is all in the picture, as every beholder has -observed; and it is all in life. It is the first tragedy of infancy; it -is the last tragedy of age. Bubbles; bubbles; bubbles; and yet what -would the world be without bubbles? They burst, of course; but we are -the happier for having blown them! Our dreams may never come true; but -it's lovely to dream! Illusions are part of life's treasure-trove. When -they go, they leave nothing behind them. When we lose them, we lose -everything. It is almost better to become criminal than to become -cynical. To be criminal implies an evil hand; but to be cynical reveals -a very evil heart. It is a thousand times better to be blowing bubbles -that, though fragile, are very fair than to move sulkily about the world -telling all the blowers of bubbles that their beautiful bubbles must -burst. 'I want to forget!' cried the poor little 'Lady of the -Decoration.' 'I want to begin life again as a girl with a few -illusions!' Every fool knows that bubbles must burst. The man who feels -it necessary to tell this to everybody proves, not that he possesses the -gift of prophecy, but that he lacks the saving grace of common sense. -The world would clearly be very much the poorer, and not one scrap the -richer, if no bubbles were left in it. It is altogether wholesome to -have a fair stock of illusions. - -But at this point two serious questions press for answer. If illusions -are so good, why do they fail us? Why are our bubbles permitted to -burst? The question answers itself. If all the bubbles that had ever -been blown were still floating about the world, there would be nothing -so commonplace as bubbles. That is why the era of miracles ceased. It -was a very romantic phase in the Church's childhood, and it answers to -the superstitious element in our own. But we may easily exaggerate its -value. If the age of miracles had been indefinitely lengthened, the -effect would have been the same as if all the bubbles became -everlasting. If all the bubbles that had ever been blown were with us -still, who to-day would want to blow bubbles? And if miracles had once -become commonplace, their charm and significance would have instantly -vanished. 'I am persuaded,' Martin Luther sagely declares, 'that if -Moses had continued his working of miracles in Egypt for two or three -years, the people would have been so accustomed thereunto, and would -have so lightly esteemed them, that they would have thought no more of -the miracles of Moses than we think of the sun or the moon.' It would -not be hard to prove that even the miracles of the New Testament tended -to lose their effect. The amazement of the disciples at beholding what -they took to be a ghost on the water is attributed to the fact that -'they considered not the miracle of the loaves' which had taken place a -few hours earlier. A miracle was already so much a matter of course that -the memory no longer treasured it as something phenomenal. No pains were -taken to investigate its significance. It would have been a tragedy -unspeakable if the miraculous element in the faith had become -universally contemptible. As the eagle carefully builds the nest in -which her eaglets are to see the light, and afterwards as carefully -destroys it so that they may be forced to fly, so our illusions are -made for our enjoyment, and then dashed to pieces under our very eyes. -Our childhood was enriched beyond calculation by the fine romances that -gave it such bright colours; and, in exactly the same way, the childhood -of the Church was glorified by the wonder-workings of a Hand Invisible. - -And the other question is this: What shall we do when our illusions -leave us? When the doll turns out to be sawdust and rag, when the -youthful oracle speaks falsely, when the bubble bursts, what then? And -again the answer is obvious. Why, to be sure, if one romance fails us, -we must get a better, that is all! Any man who has not been soured by -cynicism will confess that the romantic tints in the skein of life have -deepened, rather than faded, as the years passed on. Surely, surely, the -romance of youth was a lovelier thing than the romance of childhood! -When a girl feels how silly it is to play with dolls, she begins to -think of other things that will more appreciate her fondling. When a boy -sees that it is senseless to throw stones at trees as a means of -deciding his destiny, he takes to tossing precious stones and pretty -trinkets in quite other directions, but with pretty much the same end in -view. And so the romance of life--if life be well managed--increases -with the years, until, by the time we become grandfathers and -grandmothers, the world seems too wonderful for us, and we stand and -gaze bewildered at all its abounding surprises. Everything depends on -filling up the gaps. As soon as the sawdust streams out of the doll, as -soon as the futility of the oracle stands exposed, we must make haste to -fill the vacant place with something better. - -Long, long ago there were a few Jewish Christians who felt just as a -girl feels when the component parts of her dearest doll suddenly fall -asunder, just as Samuel Johnson felt when the talisman prophesied -falsely, just as Oliver Wendell Holmes felt when he saw that he could -trust his oracle no more. They felt--those Hebrew believers--that -everything had gone from them. 'To how great splendour,' says Dr. Meyer, -'had they been accustomed--marble courts, throngs of white-robed -Levites, splendid vestments, the state and pomp of symbol, ceremonial -and choral psalm! And to what a contrast were they reduced--a meeting in -some hall, or school, with the poor, afflicted, and persecuted members -of a despised and hated sect!' But the writer of the epistle addressed -to them makes it his--or her--principal aim to point out that it is all -a mistake. Just as a girl's richest romance follows upon the -disillusionment of the terrible sawdust, so the wealthiest spiritual -heritage of these Jewish Christians comes to them in place of the things -that they were inclined to lament. 'For,' says the writer, 'ye have -come unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the heavenly -Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general -assembly and church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven, and -to God the Judge of all and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and -to Jesus the mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of -sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel.' And whoever -finds himself the heir of so fabulous a wealth can well afford to smile -at all his earlier disappointments. - - - - -IV - -A FORBIDDEN DISH - - -I - -I was at Wedge Bay. It was raining. Wondering what I should do, I -remembered the great caves along the shore. For ages the waves had been -at work scooping out for me a place of refuge for such a day as this. I -put on my coat, slipped a novel in the pocket, and set off along the -sands. I soon found a sheltered spot in which I was able to defy the -weather, and to watch the waves or read my book just as the fancy took -me. As a matter of fact, I had not much to read. The book was Sir Walter -Scott's _Kenilworth_, and the bookmark was already near the end. I read -therefore until, in the very climax of the tragic close, I suddenly came -upon a text. Or perhaps it was less a text than a reference to a text, -casually uttered in a moment of great excitement by one of the principal -characters in the story. But it acted on my mind as the lever at the -switch acts upon the oncoming railway train. In a flash, the novel and -all its thrilling interest were left far behind, and I was flying along -an entirely new track. And here are the words that so adroitly changed -the current of my thought: - -'"Oh, if there be judgement in heaven, thou hast well deserved it," said -Foster, "and wilt meet it! Thou hast destroyed her by means of her best -affections--_it is a seething of the kid in the mother's milk_."' - -Almost involuntarily I closed the book, slipped it back into my pocket, -and sat looking out to sea lost in a brown but interesting study. - - -II - -_'Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk!'_ The striking -prohibition occurs three times--twice in the Book of Exodus, and once in -the Book of Deuteronomy. I do not know on what principle we assess the -relative value and importance of texts; but, surely, a great -commandment, thrice emphatically reiterated, ought not to be treated as -beneath our notice. I find that the interdict applies primarily to an -ancient Eastern custom. All nations have their own idea as to the -special delicacy of certain viands. We British people fancy lamb and -sucking-pig, and feel no shame in destroying the tiny creatures as soon -as they are born. The predilection of the Arab was for a new-born kid; -and when he wished to adorn his table with a particularly toothsome -morsel, it was his habit to serve up the kid boiled in milk taken from -the mother. It was against this favourite and familiar dish that the -stern and repeated prohibition was launched. I do not know if there was -any practical or utilitarian reason, based on hygienic or medical -grounds, for the emphatic decree. Perhaps, or perhaps not. Some of the -old commandments relating to animals seem to have been framed for no -other purpose than to inculcate a certain gentleness and courtesy in our -attitude towards these poorer relatives of ours. 'Thou shalt not kill a -cow and her calf on the same day'; 'Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that -treadeth out the corn'; and so on. It is difficult to see any real -reason why the ewe and her lamb, or the cow and her calf, should not go -to the shambles together. But it was strictly forbidden. And similarly, -'_Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk_.' The finer feelings -are certainly shocked at the thought of the cow and the calf going -together to the slaughter, and at the idea of boiling the newly born and -newly slain kid in the milk of its mother; and the most obvious moral -seems to be that we are not to treat the creatures of the field and the -forest in any way that grates and jars upon those finer instincts. As I -sat watching the foam playing with the strands of seaweed, it seemed to -me that, if ever I am asked to preach in support of the Society for the -Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I should have here a theme all ready -to my hand. And I felt glad that I had read _Kenilworth_. - - -III - -But the prohibition goes much farther than that. It enshrines a -tremendous principle, a principle that is nowhere else so clearly -stated. Sir Walter Scott evidently saw that; and no exposition could be -clearer than his. The circumstances were, briefly, these. The Countess -of Leicester was a prisoner. Just outside her room at the castle was a -trapdoor. It was supported by iron bolts; but it was so arranged that -even if the bolts were drawn, the trapdoor would still be held in its -place by springs. Yet the weight of a mouse would cause it to yield and -to precipitate its burden into the vault below. Varney and Foster -decided to draw these bolts so that, if the Countess attempted to -escape, the trap would destroy her. Later on, Foster heard the tread of -a horse in the court-yard, and then a whistle similar to that which was -the Earl's usual signal. The next moment the Countess's chamber opened, -and instantly the trapdoor gave way. There was a rushing sound, a heavy -fall, a faint groan, and all was over! At the same instant Varney called -in at the window, 'Is the bird caught? Is the deed done?' Deep down in -the vault Foster could see a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift. It -flashed upon him that the noise that he had heard was not the Earl's -signal at all, but merely Varney's imitation, designed to deceive the -Countess and lure her to her doom. She had rushed out to welcome her -husband, and had miserably perished. In his indignation, Foster turned -upon Varney. 'Oh, if there be judgement in heaven, thou hast deserved -it,' he said, 'and wilt meet it! Thou hast destroyed her by means of her -best affections. _It is a seething of the kid in the mother's milk!_' - -At that touchstone the inner meaning of the interdict stands revealed. -The mother's milk is Nature's beautiful provision for the life and -sustenance of the kid. Thou shalt not pervert that which was intended to -be a ministry of life into an instrument of destruction. The wifely -instinct that led the Countess to rush forth to welcome her lord was one -of the loveliest things in her womanhood, and Varney used it as the -agency by which he destroyed her. She was lured to her doom by means of -her best affections. Charles Lamb points out, in his _Tales from -Shakespeare_, that Iago compassed the death of the fair Desdemona in -precisely the same way. 'So mischievously did this artful villain lay -his plots to turn the gentle qualities of this innocent lady into her -destruction and make a net for her out of her own goodness to entrap -her!' It is this that the prohibition forbids. Thou shalt not take the -most sacred things in life and apply them to base and ignoble ends. -_Thou shalt not seethe a kid in his mother's milk._ - - -IV - -The possibilities of application are simply infinite. There is nothing -high and holy that cannot be converted into an engine of destruction. A -girl is fond of music. The impulse is a lofty and admirable one. But it -may easily be used to lure her away from the best things into a life of -frivolity, voluptuousness, and sensation. A boy is fond of Nature. He -loves to climb the mountain, row on the river, or scour the bush. -Nothing could be better. But if it leads him to forsake the place of -worship, to forget God, to fling to the winds the faith of his boyhood, -and to settle down to a life of animalism and materialism, he has been -destroyed by means of his best affections. Or take our love of society -and of revelry. There are few things more enjoyable than to sit by the -fireside, or on the beach, with a few really congenial companions, to -talk, and tell stories, and recall old times; to laugh, to eat, and to -drink together. Talking and laughing and eating and drinking seem -inseparable at such times. And yet out of that human, and therefore -divine, impulse see the evils that arise! Look at our great national -drink curse, with its tale of squalor and misery and shame! Did these -men mean to be drunkards when first they entered the gaily lit bar-room? -Nothing was farther from their minds. They were following a true -instinct--the desire for companionship and congenial society. They have -been lured to their doom, like Sir Walter Scott's heroine, by means of -their best affections. - - -V - -And what about Love? Love is a lovely thing, or why should we be so fond -of love-stories? The love of a man for a maid, and the love of a maid -for a man, are surely among the very sweetest and most sacred things in -life. No story is so fascinating as the story of a courtship. And that -is good, altogether good. Every man who has won the affection of a true, -sweet, beautiful girl feels that a new sanction has entered into life. -He is conscious of a new stimulus towards purity and goodness. And every -girl who has won the heart of a good, brave, great-hearted man feels -that life has become a grander and a holier thing for her. As -Shakespeare says: - - Indeed I know - Of no more subtle master under heaven - Than is the maiden passion for a maid, - Not only to keep down the base in man, - But to teach high thoughts and amiable words, - And courtliness, and the desire for fame, - And love of truth, and all that makes a man. - -Lord Lytton illustrates this magic force in his _Last Days of Pompeii_. -He tells us that Glaucus, the Athenian, 'had seen Ione, bright, pure, -unsullied, in the midst of the gayest and most profligate gallants of -Pompeii, charming rather than awing the boldest into respect, and -changing the very nature of the most sensual and the least ideal as, by -her intellectual and refining spells, she reversed the fable of Circe, -and converted the animals into men.' Here, then, is something altogether -good. It is clearly designed to minister new life to all who come -beneath its spell. And yet the sordid fact remains that, through the -degradation of this same high and holy impulse, thousands of young -people make sad shipwreck. - - -VI - -But of all things designed to minister life to the world, the Cross is -the greatest and most awful. Its possibilities of regeneration are -simply infinite; and in its case the danger is therefore all the -greater. 'We preach Christ crucified,' wrote Paul, 'unto the Jews a -stumbling-block, and unto the Greeks foolishness, but unto them which -are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom -of God.' It is the most urgent and insistent note of the New Testament -that a man may convert into the instrument of his condemnation and -destruction that awful sacrifice which was designed for his redemption. -It is the sin of sins; the sin unpardonable; the sin so impressively -forbidden by that ancient and thrice reiterated commandment whose -significance Sir Walter Scott pointed out to me in the cave by the side -of the sea. - - - - -V - -AN OLD MAID'S DIARY - - -_Christmas Eve, 1973._ Christmas-time once more! The season strangely -stirs the memory, and the ghosts of Christmases long gone by haunt my -solitary soul to-night. Somehow, a feeling creeps over me that this -Christmas will be my last. Am I sorry? Yes, one cannot help feeling -sorry, for life is very sweet. On the whole, I have been happy, and -have, I think, done good. But oh, the loneliness! And every year has -made it more unbearable. The friends of my girlhood have married, or -gone away, or died, and each Christmas has made this desperate -loneliness more hard to endure. Did God mean women to come into the -world, to feel as I have felt, to long as I have longed, and then, after -all, to die as I must die? None of the things for which women seem to be -made have come to me. And now I have no husband to shelter me; no -daughters to close my eyes; no tall sons to bear this poor body to its -burial. I have pretended to satisfy myself by mothering other people's -children; but it was cruel comfort, and often only made my heart to ache -the more. And now it is nearly over; I have come to my very last -Christmas. I have always loved to sit by the fire for a few minutes -before lighting the lamp; and to-night as I do so something reminds me -of the old days long gone by. - -This little room, neat and cosy, but so quiet and so lonely, somehow -brings back to my mind a dream that I had as a girl. Was it one dream, -or was it several? Dear me, how the memory begins to piece it all -together when once it gets a start! I wonder if I can trace it in my -journal? I have always kept a journal--just for company. It runs into -several big volumes now, and the handwriting has strangely altered with -the years. I shall tear them all up and burn them to-morrow; it will be -one way of spending my last Christmas! I have said things to this old -journal of mine that a woman could not say to any soul alive. It has -done me good just to tell these old books all about it. But my dream or -dreams; when did they come? It must be sixty years ago, although, -despite my loneliness, it really does not seem so long. But it can be no -less, for it was in the days of the Great War. The war broke out in -1914--I was eighteen then!--but my dream came months afterwards when -things were at their worst. It must have been in 1915. I remember that I -had been watching the men in khaki. Everybody seemed to be going to the -front. My brothers went; the tradesmen who called for orders; the men -who served us in the shops; everybody was enlisting. All our menfolk had -become soldiers. And, thinking about all this, I dreamed. I wonder if I -entered it in my journal? And, if so, I wonder if I can find it? Yes; -here it is. Ah, I thought so. It was a series of dreams; night after -night for a week, Sunday alone excepted. I don't know why no dream came -on Sunday. I will copy these six entries here, so that I can destroy the -old volumes with their secrets without making an end of this. The dreams -began on Monday. - - * * * * * - -_Tuesday, October 5, 1915._ I had such a strange dream last night. I -thought I was at the front. Whether I was a nurse or not I have no idea; -but you never know such things in dreams. Anyhow, I was there. I saw -Fred and Charlie in the trenches as plainly as I have ever seen -anything, and Tom the butcher-boy, and the young fellow who used to -bring the groceries. And with them, and evidently on the best of terms -with them, I saw a tall fellow with fair hair--such a gentlemanly -fellow!--and after I had seen him I seemed to have no eyes for the -others. If I looked to Fred, he only pointed to the boy with the fair -hair. If I turned to Charlie, he nodded to the lad with the fair hair. -Tom and the grocer's assistant did the same. And then the fellow with -the fair hair looked up, and I saw his face--such a handsome face! He -smiled--such a lovely smile!--and I felt myself blush. My confusion -awoke me; and I knew it was a dream. - - -_Wednesday, October 6, 1915._ Would you believe it, you credulous old -journal, I dreamed of my white-haired boy again last night! Isn't it -silly? He was home from the war, wounded, but well again. And we were -being married; only think of it! I can see it all now as plainly as I -can see the white page before me as I write. The commotion at home; the -drive to the church; the church itself; the ceremony; how plain it all -was! Fred was best man; my white-haired boy evidently had no brothers. -Jessie, my own sweet little sister, was my bridesmaid, although she -looked a good deal older. It seemed funny to see her with her hair up, -and with long skirts. The church seemed full of soldiers. Everybody who -had known him, served with him, camped with him, or fought with him, -simply worshipped him. At weddings I have always looked at the bride, -and taken very little notice of the bridegroom. But at our wedding -everybody was looking at my white-haired boy--so tall, so handsome, so -fine--like a knight out of one of the tales of chivalry. And I was glad -that they were all looking at him. And I was so happy, oh, so very, -very happy! I was happy to think that everybody was so proud of my -white-haired boy. And I was still more happy to think that my -white-haired boy was mine, my very, very own. I was so happy that I -cried, cried as though my heart would break for joy and pride and -thankfulness. And my crying must have awakened me, for when I sat up and -stared round my old bedroom in surprise there were tears in my eyes -still. I wonder if I shall ever dream of my bridegroom again? - - -_Thursday, October 7, 1915._ I did; I really did! I dreamed of him -again! I saw the home in which we lived, a beautiful, beautiful home. I -do not mean that it was big, but that it was sweet and comfortable, and -everything so nice! I thought that he was walking with me on the lawn. -He was older, a good bit older; I should think twice as old as when I -first saw him in the trenches. But he was still the same, still tall, -still fair, and oh, such a perfect gentleman! What care he took of me! -How proud and devoted he seemed! And how he gloried in the children! For -I thought we had children, five of them! The eldest and the youngest -were boys, Arthur, so like his father as I saw him first, and the -youngest, Harry, such a romp! The three girls, too, were the light of -his eyes and the brightness of his life. What times we all had -together! I saw him once scampering across the fields with the children, -whilst I sat among the cowslips knitting and awaiting the return of my -merry madcaps. I saw him sitting with the rest of us around the fire in -winter, whilst he told tales of the things that he did at the war. How -the boys listened, almost worshipping! And again I saw him on the Sunday -at the church. He sat next the aisle. I was so happy in being beside -him, with the children on my right. What more, I wondered, could any -woman want to fill her cup up to the brim? And, wondering, I awoke. - - -_Friday, October 8, 1915._ My dreams are getting to be like parts of a -serial story. How real my white-haired boy seems to be! He has come into -my life, and I cannot believe that he is only a dream-thing. I went for -a walk yesterday with mother and Jessie, and they said I was silent and -absent-minded. The truth was that I was thinking about him, yet how -could I tell them? Nobody knows but my journal and myself. And last -night--it seems scarcely possible--I saw him again! It was not quite so -nice, for I thought we were very old. He was no longer tall and erect, -but slightly bent, though stately still. And I leaned heavily upon his -arm. And the children came, and brought their children--such a lot of -them there seemed to be. He grew as young as ever in playing with these -troops of happy little people. And for them there was no fun like a game -with grandpapa. And as I sat and watched them, I liked to think that all -these boys and girls would have something of him about them, and would -grow up to cherish his dear memory as their ideal of all that a -Christian gentleman should be. And sometimes I thought of their -children, and their children's children, till I saw, floating before my -fancy, hundreds and thousands of children yet to be; and I speculated -idly as to how far his fine influence would carry down these coming -generations. And once more I awoke. - - -_Saturday, October 9, 1915._ Oh, my journal, my journal! I dreamed of my -white-haired boy again! How I wish I never had! If only I had always -been able to think of him as I saw him on Wednesday night and Thursday! -I was once more at the war. You know what funny things dreams are. In -the trenches I again saw Fred and Charlie and Tom the butcher-boy, and -the young fellow who used to bring the groceries. But this time they -were all in action; when I saw them before they were resting. The air -was heavy with battle-smoke; the great guns roared and reverberated; -shells screamed and burst about me. It was like night, although I knew -that it was daytime. As I stood and watched--looking for somebody--four -Red Cross men passed me. They were bearing a stretcher, and on the -stretcher was a mangled form. His face was hidden by his arm, half lying -across his eyes. A strange impulse seized me. I sprang forward, raised -his arm in the semi-darkness; there was a sudden flash caused by I know -not what, and in the light of that fearful and revealing flash I -recognized my white-haired boy! I trudged beside the stretcher to the -hospital, knowing neither what I did nor what I said. And when we -reached the hospital, my white-haired boy was dead! My white-haired boy, -my white-haired boy, my white-haired boy was dead! Oh that I had never -dreamed again! - - -_Sunday, October 10, 1915._ I dreamed once more, but not of my -white-haired boy. I dreamed of myself; pity me that I had nothing better -to dream of! I am only a girl; but in my dream I saw myself an old -woman, old and lonely! Oh, so very, very lonely! I was sitting, I -thought, in the dusk beside a bright and cheery fire in a neat and cosy -little room. Neat and cosy, but oh, so lonely; and I felt sorry for -myself, very sorry. For the self that I saw in my dream was a sad old -self, a disappointed old self, a self that had fought bravely against -being soured, but a self that had, after all, only partly succeeded. It -was not a nice dream; the nice dreams that I had earlier in the week -will never come again. No, it was not a nice dream, and I awoke feeling -uneasy and unhappy; and my head was aching. - - * * * * * - -_Christmas Eve, 1973._ And so, with a shaky, withered hand, I have -copied into the last pages of my journal the entries that I made in the -first of these old volumes. What did they mean, those dreams that came -to me so long ago? Was there a white-haired boy at the war, a -white-haired boy who, if there had been no war, or if just one cruel -shell had failed to explode, would have been the glory of my life and -the father of my children? But there _was_ a war, and the fatal shell -_did_ burst, and my white-haired boy and I never met, _never met_. The -five happy children--those two fine boys and the three lovely -girls--will never now gladden these dim old eyes of mine. Those troops -of grandchildren, and those hosts of unborn generations that I saw in my -happy fancy, will never leave the land of dreams and alight on this old -world. In the days of the war, I remember how people wept with the -widows, and sorrowed with the mothers whose brave sons were stricken -down. And, God knows, none of that sympathy was wasted. Oh, it was -heart-breaking to see the lusty women who would never see their husbands -again; and the broken mothers who would never even have the poor -consolation of visiting the graves of their fallen sons. And I was only -a girl, a girl of nineteen. And nobody wept with me. I did not even weep -for myself. Nobody knew about my white-haired boy. I did not know. But I -know now. Yes, _I know now_. And God knows; I pillow my poor tired old -head on that, God knows, _God knows_! And so this, then, is to be my -last Christmas! Ah, well, so be it! And perhaps--who can tell?--perhaps, -in a world where we women shall know neither wars, nor weddings, nor -widowhood, I shall before next Christmas have found the face of my -girlish dreams! - - - - -VI - -THE RIVER - - -It is my great good fortune to dwell on the green and picturesque banks -of a broad and noble river. 'Rivers,' says an old Spanish proverb which -Izaak Walton quotes with a fine smack of approval, 'rivers were made for -wise men to contemplate and for fools to pass by without consideration.' -Let us beware lest we fall beneath the Spaniard's lash. For myself, I -can at least affirm that I never saunter beside these blue, fast-flowing -waters without feeling that the lines have fallen unto me in pleasant -places. It is wonderful how, after awhile, the winding river seems to -weave itself into the very texture and fabric of one's life. You stroll -by it, bathe in it, row on it, fish in it, until every rock and every -bank, every crag and every cliff, every twist and every bay, every deep -and every shallow, takes its place among the intimacies and fond -familiarities of life. It is one of the wonders of the world that this -little island in the southern seas should pour into the Pacific so many -fine majestic streams. And here, beside the lordliest of them all, I -have made my home. It is good to stand on these green banks, to survey -the great expanse of gleaming waters, and to see the stately ships glide -in and out. I often think of that early morning when John Forster found -Carlyle standing beside the Thames at Chelsea, lost in an evident -reverie of admiration. 'I should as soon have thought of assaulting him -as of addressing him,' says Forster. To be sure! We do lots of things in -this life of which we have no reason to be ashamed, things that are -indeed altogether to our credit, yet in the performance of which we do -not care to be discovered. It would be a sad old world, for example, if -love-making went out of fashion; but no man cares to be caught in the -act, for all that. Carlyle was caught making love to the Thames, as I -have often made love to the Derwent, and he keenly resented the -intrusion. 'He abruptly turned away,' adds the offender, 'and moved -across the roadway toward Cheyne Row, with that curious slow shuffle -habitual with him, and I saw him no more.' - -Why, my very Bible seems a new book as I ponder its pages by the banks -of the Derwent. What a different story the Old Testament would have had -to tell if Jerusalem had stood by the side of a river like this! The -Jews never forgave the frowning Providence that denied to their fair -city a river. They heard how Babylon stood proudly surveying the -shining waters of the Euphrates, how Nineveh was beautified by the -lordly Tigris, how Thebes glittered in stately grandeur on the Nile, and -how Rome sat in state beside the Tiber; and they were consumed with envy -because no broad river protected them from their foes, and bore to their -gates the wealthy merchandise of many lands. I never noticed until I -dwelt by these blue waters how all the Psalms and prophecies are -coloured by this phase of Judean life. The prophets were for ever -dreaming of the river; the psalmists were for ever singing of the river. -Nothing delighted the people like a vision, such as visited Ezekiel, of -a broad river rushing out from Jerusalem. No greater or more glowing -message ever reached the disconsolate and riverless people than when -Isaiah proclaimed, 'The glorious Lord will be unto us a place of broad -rivers and streams, wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall -gallant ship pass thereby!' Jehovah, that is to say, shall impart to -Jerusalem all the advantages of a river without any of its attendant -dangers. Many a faithless river, by bearing the destroyer on its bosom -to the city gates, had proved the undoing of the people after all. But -no such fate shall overwhelm Jerusalem. And, hearing this, the riverless -city was comforted. - -It is recorded of the Right. Hon. John Burns that, in the days when he -was President of the Local Government Board, he found himself strolling -on the Terrace of the House of Commons, surveying, with all the -transports of a born Londoner, the shining waters of the Thames. His -reverie was, however, rudely interrupted by a supercilious American who -was inclined to regard with scornful contempt the object of Mr. Burns' -ecstatic admiration. 'After all,' the American demanded, 'what is it but -a ditch compared with the Missouri or the Mississippi?' This was more -than even a Cabinet Minister could be expected to stand. 'The Missouri -and the Mississippi!' Mr. Burns exclaimed in a fine burst of patriotic -indignation. 'The Missouri and the Mississippi are water, sir, and -nothing but water; but that,' pointing to the Thames, '_that_, sir, is -liquid history, _liquid history_!' Yes, Mr. Burns is quite right. The -Thames has a glory of its own among the world's historic streams, -although it is only a matter of degree. All rivers are liquid history. -The records of the world's great rivers constitute themselves, to all -intents and purposes, the history of the race. To take a single -illustration, it is obvious that the student who has mastered the -history and hydrography of the Niger, the Congo, the Zambesi, the -Orange, and the Nile has little more to learn about Africa. From the -times of which Herodotus writes, when Cyrus lost his temper with the -Tigris, and turned it out of its channel for drowning one of his sacred -white horses, rivers have loomed very largely in the annals of human -history. Indeed, Professor Shailer Mathews, in _The Making of -To-morrow_, says that there never was, until recent times, a nation that -did not paddle or sail its way into history. Civilization, he says, got -its first start on water. 'In the early days rivers were thoroughfares, -and they continued to be thoroughfares until the middle of last century. -Even the United States was born on water. It was easier to get to New -Orleans from Montreal by way of the Mississippi than overland.' One has -only to conjure up the wealthy historical traditions that cluster about -the names of the Euphrates and the Nile, the Indus and the Volga, the -Rhine and the Danube, the Tiber and the Thames, in order to convince -himself that the records of the world's great waterways are inextricably -interwoven with the annals of the human race. - -We cannot, however, disguise from ourselves the fact that the affection -that we feel for our rivers is not based solely, or even primarily, on -utilitarian considerations. Nobody supposes that it is the navigable -qualities of the Ganges that have led the Hindus to believe that to die -on its banks, or to drink before death of its waters, is to secure to -themselves everlasting felicity. Yet, when we attempt to account in so -many words for the fascination of the river, the task becomes intricate -and difficult. Macaulay spent his thirty-eighth birthday on the banks of -the Rhone, and transferred his impressions to his journal. 'I was -delighted,' he says, 'by my first sight of the blue, rushing, -healthful-looking river. I thought, as I wandered along the quay, of the -singular love and veneration which rivers excite in those who live on -their banks; of the feeling of the Hindus about the Ganges, of the -Hebrews about the Jordan, of the Egyptians about the Nile, of the Romans -about the Tiber, and of the Germans about the Rhine. Is it that rivers -have, in a greater degree than almost any other inanimate object, the -appearance of animation, and something resembling character? They are -sometimes slow and dark-looking; sometimes fierce and impetuous; -sometimes bright, dancing, and almost flippant.' However that may be, -the fact itself remains; and it is surprising that our literature does -not more adequately reflect this marked peculiarity. Macaulay himself -felt the lack, and dreamed of writing a great epic poem on the Thames. -'I wonder,' he said, 'that no poet has thought of writing such a poem. -Surely there is no finer subject of the sort than the whole course of -the river from Oxford downwards.' But a century has gone by and the poem -has not been penned. Shakespeare dwelt beside the Avon; Goethe loved to -stroll among the willows on the banks of the Lahn; Coleridge was born, -and spent the most impressionable years of his life in the beautiful -valley of the Otter. And one of the tenderest idylls of our literary -history is the picture of Wordsworth wandering hand in hand with Dorothy -among the most delightful river scenery of which even England can boast. -Yet, beyond a few sonnets and snippets, nothing came of it all. Neither -the laughing little streams nor the more majestic and historic waterways -have ever yet found their laureates. - -But there are compensations. If the bards have been strangely and -unaccountably irresponsive to the music of the waters, our great prose -writers have caught its murmur and its meaning. Two particularly, John -Bunyan and Rudyard Kipling, have given us the classics of the river. -Bunyan's river--the river that all the pilgrims had to cross--is too -familiar to need more than the merest mention. And as for Mr. Kipling, -he, like Bunyan, is a writer of both poetry and prose. As a poet he has -failed to do justice to the river, as all the poets have failed. He has -given us a snippet, as all the poets have done. He makes the Thames -tells its own tale, and a wonderful tale it is. - - I remember the bat-winged lizard birds, - The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds; - And the giant tigers that stalked them down - Through Regent's Park into Camden Town; - And I remember like yesterday - The earliest Cockney who came my way, - When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand, - With paint on his face and a club in his hand. - -But I forgave Kipling for not having repaired the omission of the older -poets when I read _Kim_. _Kim_ is the greatest story of a river that has -ever been written. Who can forget the old lama and his long, long search -for the River? Buddha, he thought, once took a bow and fired an arrow -from its string, and, where that arrow fell, there sprang up a river -'whose nature, by our Lord's beneficence, is that whoso bathes in it -washes away all taint and speckle of sin.' And so, through Mr. Kipling's -four hundred vivid pages, there wanders the old lama, through city and -rice-fields, over hills and across plains, asking, always asking, one -everlasting question: 'The River; the River of the Arrow; the River that -can cleanse from Sin; where is the River? Where, oh, where is the -River?' All India, all the world seems to enter into that ceaseless cry. -It is the deepest, oldest, latest cry of the universal heart: 'The -River; the River of the Arrow; the River that can cleanse from Sin; -where is the River? Where, oh, where is the River?' And it is the -Church's unspeakable privilege to take the old lama's hand and to point -his sparkling eyes to the cleansing fountains. - - - - -VII - -FACES IN THE FIRE - - -It was half-past ten! I had no idea it was so late! Our little camp was -pitched about four miles up Captain's Gully, under the massive shelter -of Bulman's Ridge. It had been a perfect, cloudless day; all our -excursions--fishing, shooting, botanizing, and the rest--had been -crowned with delightful success; and after supper we sat round the great -camp fire, talking. We talked, of course, of the only things ever -discussed around camp fires--old times and old faces. I was struck with -the number of sentences that began '_I remember once----_.' Then, one by -one, the others stole away to their tents--those little white tents that -had looked like stray snowflakes in a wilderness of bush whenever we -caught sight of them from the hills in the daytime, yet which seemed all -the world to us at night. One by one, with a 'Here's off!' or a 'So -long!' the others had slipped quietly away, and the fire and I were at -last left to ourselves. How still it all was! Now and then I heard the -queer cry of a mopoke up the gully; and once there was the swish of a -bough beneath the leap of a 'possum. But, save for these, I could hear -no sound but the subdued hissing and rumbling of the logs as they -crumpled up in the fire before me. I remained for awhile, looking into -the glowing embers; and there, in the dying fire, the faces of my -companions all came back to me. And not theirs alone; for I saw, too, -the old familiar faces of which we had been chatting, and a hundred -others as well. It was then that I was startled by the 'possum in the -branches overhead. I looked at my watch; it was half-past ten; and I too -turned my back on the fire that had revealed so much. And I wondered, as -I moved away to my tent, why, by the side of the fire, we always think -of the Past, dream of the Past, talk of the Past. Why do our yesterdays -all spring to new and glorious life when the flickering flames are -lighting up our faces? - -Our camp broke up a day or two later; and all such thoughts seemed to -have died with the fire that gave them birth. But, oddly enough, they -returned to me this morning. For, when I arose, I was conscious of a -distinct snap of winter in the atmosphere; and when I entered the study -I discovered that the divinity who presides over such matters had lit -the first fire of another year. I saluted it with pleasure, not merely -for the sake of the comfort it promised me, but for its own sake. I -greeted it as one greets an old and trusted friend. On this side of the -world we scarcely know what winter means, and we are therefore in danger -of underestimating the historic value of the fire. We can produce -nothing in Australia worthy of comparison with those stern winters with -which Northern and Western writers have made us so familiar. We are -accustomed to a literature which pours in upon us from high Northern -latitudes, and which describes, with a picturesque realism that evokes a -sympathetic shiver, the glacial snowdrifts that, for weeks on end, lie -deep along the hedgerows; the hapless bird that falls, frozen to death, -from the leafless bough; the rabbit that perishes of slow starvation in -its wretched burrow; and the fish that floats in stupor beneath the very -ice that furnishes the skater's paradise. But whilst, to us, snow and -ice are things of imagination or of memory, I felt thankful this -morning, as I knelt down like some old fire-worshipper and warmed my -numb hands at the cheerful blaze, that this Tasmanian winter of ours has -just enough sting in it to preserve in me a lively appreciation of this -ancient and honourable institution. - -For the fireside is sanctified by a great and glorious tradition. It -enshrines all that is most mystical and most wonderful in our -civilization. In his pictures of the forest, Jack London again and again -emphasizes the magic effect of the fireside even on the creatures of the -wild. When White Fang, the wolf, saw the tongues of flame and clouds of -smoke that arose from beneath the Indian's hands, he was mystified. It -seemed to him a sign of some divinity in man of which he knew nothing. -It drew him as by some mesmeric influence. 'He crawled several steps -towards the flame. His nose touched it.' And when he felt the pain it -seemed as if an angry deity had smitten him. - -In _The Call of the Wild_, Jack London returns to the same idea. Buck, -the great dog, was a creature of the wild, and sometimes the yearning -for the wild swept over him with almost irresistible authority. What was -it that kept him from bounding off into the forest and shaking the dust -of civilization from his paws for ever? It was because 'faithfulness and -devotion, things born of fire and roof,' had been developed within him. -He had sprawled on the hearth before John Thornton's fire; had looked up -hungrily into John Thornton's face; had learned to love his master more -than life itself; and to the fireside of his master he was bound by -invisible chains that he could not snap. 'Deep in the forest,' says Jack -London, 'a call was sounding, and as often as he heard this call, -mysteriously thrilling and luring, he felt compelled to turn his back -upon the fire and the beaten earth around it, and to plunge into the -forest, and on and on, he knew not where or why; nor did he wonder where -or why, the call sounding imperiously, deep in the forest. But as often -as he gained the soft unbroken earth and the green shade, the love for -John Thornton drew him back to the fire again.' The fire; it is always -the fire. The fire seems, even to the brutes, to be the emblem of the -genius of our humanity. - -For the triumph of humanity is the creation of home; and the soul of the -home is the fireside. The luxurious summer evenings, with their wide -range of out-of-door allurements, tend to discount the attractions of -the home, and to depreciate the value of domestic intercourse. We return -from business and rush out again for recreation. But winter furnishes a -salutary corrective. When the day's work is done, and the home is once -reached, everything conspires to enhance its seductive charms. Outside, -the dark and the cold, the bleak wind and the driving rain, threaten -multiple discomforts to the gadabout who dares to venture forth; whilst -within, the blazing fire, the cheerful hum of table talk, and the genial -hospitalities of home make their most resistless appeal amidst the -wintriest conditions. Was it not for this reason that the fire came to -be regarded for centuries as the natural emblem of domestic felicity? In -the days before matches were invented, when the lighting of a fire was a -much more laborious business than it is to-day, the first fire in the -home of a newly married pair was started by the bearing of a burning -brand from each of the homes from which bride and bridegroom came. It -was intended as a kind of ritual. The communication of the flame from -the old hearths which they had left to the new one which they had -established was designed to symbolize the perpetuation of all that was -worthiest and most sacred in the homes from which the young people had -come. It was the transfer of the Past--that radiant and tender Past that -saluted me from the glowing embers of my camp fire in the gully--to the -roseate and unborn future. - -But although it was in my solitude that the fire in Captain's Gully -spoke to me, the fire is no lover of loneliness. It is the very emblem -of hospitality, and there are few graces more attractive. We boast that -an Englishman's home is his castle, and we do all that legislation can -accomplish to make that castle impregnable and inviolate. We close the -door, and draw the blinds, and we feel that we have effectually shut the -whole world out. And yet when a friend looks in, we suddenly discover -that our happiness consists, not in barring and bolting the heavy front -door, but in flinging it wide open. We seat him in the best chair; we -bring out the best dainties from the cupboard, the best books from the -shelves, and the best stories from the treasure-house of memory. The -fire crackles, cheeks glow, and eyes sparkle as the genial conversation -grows in interest and surprise. Nor is the pleasure by any means the -monopoly of the host; the guest shares it to the full. What is more -exhilarating or satisfying than an evening spent round a good fire with -a few kindred spirits in whose company one is perfectly at home? You can -speak or be silent, just as the mood takes you. You have not to labour -to be entertaining if you feel that you have nothing to say; nor need -you struggle to restrain yourself if you feel in the humour to talk. You -have not to weigh every word as you instinctively do in the presence of -less familiar or less trusted companions. You eat the fruit that is -handed round, or decline it, just as the whim of the moment dictates, -feeling under no obligation either way. You are entirely at your ease. -Sometimes the one conversation holds the entire group, and the -semi-circle listens, interested or amused, to the tale that one member -of the cluster is telling. At other times the party automatically -divides itself into knots; the gentlemen, it may be, breaking into -politics or business, and the ladies comparing notes on more enticing -themes. The fire blazes; the buzz of conversation rises and falls, sinks -and swells. Occasionally the attention is so concentrated on the subdued -voice of one speaker that scarcely a sound is audible outside the door; -a moment later the argument is so exciting, or the laughing so -boisterous, that everybody seems to be shouting at the same time. The -gramophone, and all such adventitious aids to the tolerable passage of a -leaden evening, are never so much as thought of. Even the piano is left -out in the cold. Every moment is crowded with the flush of unalloyed -delight. And when the last guest has vanished, and the house seems -silent and empty, it suddenly occurs to you that the great chief guest -whom you have been entertaining, or who has been entertaining you, was -the Past, the radiant and glorified Past. The phrase that we heard so -often in Captain's Gully, the '_I remember once----_,' has been the -key-note of the evening's gossip. - -For the fact is that the fireside, whether in Captain's Gully in -summer-time or at home in dead of winter, is a sort of magic -observatory, a kind of camera-obscura. Outside, the world is wrapped in -impenetrable darkness. But the kindly glow of the fire stimulates the -memory, spurs the imagination, and brings back all our lost loves and -all our veiled landscapes in a beautified and idealized form. The lonely -man sees faces in the fire; but there are other things as well. The -springs and summers that haunt our fancy as we talk of them beside a -roaring fire are the blithest and gayest seasons that the world has ever -known. Never was sky so blue, or earth so fair, or sun so bright, or -air so sweet as the sky and the earth, the sun and the air, that we -contemplate from our coign of vantage by the side of the fire. The -fragrance of the hawthorn in the hedgerow; the humming of the bees along -the bank; the carolling of birds in the tree-tops; the bleating of the -lambs across the meadows,--these never appear so alluring as when we -view them from the wonderful observatory at the fireside. Dean Hole -tells with what sadness he used to pluck the last roses of summer. And -then, he says, 'the chill evenings come, curtains are drawn, and bright -fires glow. Then who is so happy as the rose-grower with the new -catalogues before him?' He sits by his fire and talks lovingly of the -roses that he grew in the summer that has vanished, and his eyes light -up with enthusiasm as he thinks of the still fairer blossoms of the -summer that will soon be here. And so two summer-times sit by his hearth -at mid-winter, and he revels in the company of each of them. - -It is ever so. The crackling of the logs wakes up the slumbering Past, -and it all comes back to us. As soon as a man gets his feet on the -fender he instinctively thinks of old times and old companions. The -flames have destroyed much; but they also revive much. They bring back -to us our yesterdays; they bring back, indeed, the lordly yesterdays of -the remotest, stateliest antiquity. Surely that was the idea in -Macaulay's mind when he wrote 'Horatius': - - And in the nights of winter, - When the cold north winds blow, - And the long howling of the wolves - Is heard amidst the snow; - When round the lonely cottage - Roars loud the tempest's din, - And the good logs of Algidus - Roar louder yet within; - - When the oldest cask is opened, - And the largest lamp is lit; - When the chestnuts glow in the embers, - And the kid turns on the spit; - When young and old in circle - Around the firebrands close; - When the girls are weaving baskets, - And the lads are shaping bows; - - When the goodman mends his armour, - And trims his helmet's plume; - When the goodwife's shuttle merrily - Goes flashing through the loom,-- - With weeping and with laughter - Still is the story told, - How well Horatius kept the bridge - In the brave days of old. - -Now, when I come to think of it, is it any wonder that the days of auld -lang syne, and the old familiar faces, should all come back in the -flames? For the scientists tell me that this study-fire of mine is -simply the radiance of far-back ages suddenly released for my present -comfort. Long before a single black-fellow prowled about these vast -Australian solitudes, the sun bathed this huge continent in apparently -superfluous brightness. But the sun knew what it was doing. The coalbeds -gathered up and stored that sunshine through centuries of centuries. The -black men came; and the white men came; and here at last am I! I need -that sunshine of ages long gone by. The miner digs for it; brings it to -the surface; sends it to my study; and, lo, I am this very morning -warming my numb fingers at its genial glow! - -And so the match with which I light a fire, either in the camp away up -in the bush, or in this quiet study at home, is nothing less than the -wand of a magician! At the barred and bolted doors of the irrecoverable -Past I tap with that small wand and cry, 'Open, Sesame!' And, lo, a -miracle is straightway wrought! The doors that have been closed for -years, perhaps for ages, swing suddenly open, and the sunshine comes -streaming out! That match liberates the imprisoned brightness. The -scientists say so, and I can easily believe it. For this is the -essential glory of the fireside. All the sunniest memories rush to mind -as we cluster round the hearth. All the sunniest experiences of the -dead and buried years spring to vigorous life once more. All the -sunniest faces--the dear, familiar faces of the long ago--smile at us -again from out the glowing embers. And perhaps--who shall say?--perhaps -some thought like this haunted the minds of a prophet of the Old -Testament and an apostle of the New when, greatly daring, they declared -that 'our God is a consuming fire!' Did they mean that, when we see Him -as He is, all the holiest and sweetest and most precious treasure of the -Past will be more our own? Did they mean that in Him the sunshine of all -the ages will again salute us? - - - - -VIII - -THE MENACE OF THE SUNLIT HILL - - -I am writing on the six hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the birth of -Dante. The poet was born in 1265; I am writing in 1915. Six hundred and -fifty years represent a tremendous slice of history; and these six -hundred and fifty years span a chasm between two specially notable -crises in the annals of this little world. Dante was born in a year of -battle and of tumult, of fierce dissension and of bitter strife. It was -a year that decided the destinies of empires and changed the face of -Europe. Such a year, too, is this in which I write, and, writing, look -down the long, long avenue of the centuries that intervene. This -morning, however, I am not concerned with the story of revolution and of -conflict, of political convulsions and of nations at war. Such a study -would have fascinations of its own; but I deliberately leave it that I -may contemplate the secret history of a great, a noble, and a tender -soul. Edward FitzGerald tells us that he and Tennyson were one day -looking in a shop window in Regent Street. They saw a long row of busts, -among which were those of Goethe and Dante. The poet and his friend -studied them closely and in silence. At last FitzGerald spoke. 'What is -it,' he asked, 'which is present in Dante's face and absent from -Goethe's?' The poet answered, '_The divine_!' Now how did that divine -element come into Dante's life? He has himself told us. Has the -spiritual autobiography of Dante, as revealed to us in the introductory -lines of his _Inferno_, ever taken that place among our devotional -classics to which it is justly entitled? Surely the pathos, the insight, -and the exquisite simplicity of that first page are worthy of comparison -with the choicest treasures of Bunyan or of Wesley, of Brainerd or of -Fox. Let us glance at it. - - -I - -I have heard many evangelists preach on such texts as: 'The Son of Man -is come to seek and to save that which is lost.' It was necessary, of -course, that they should explain to their audiences what they meant by -this lost condition. Wisely enough, they have usually had recourse to -illustration. The child lost in a London crowd; the ship lost on a -trackless sea; the sheep lost among the lonely hills; the traveller lost -in the endless bush,--all these have been exploited again and again. -From literature, one of the best illustrations is the moving story of -Enoch Arden. When poor Enoch returns from his long sojourn on the -desolate island, he finds that his wife, giving him up for dead, has -married Philip, and that his children worship their new father. It is -the garrulous old woman at the inn who tells him, never dreaming that -she is speaking to Enoch. Says she: - - 'Enoch, poor man, was cast away and lost!' - He, shaking his grey head pathetically, - Repeated, muttering, 'Cast away and lost!' - Again in deeper inward whispers, 'Lost!' - -But none of these illustrations are as good as Dante's. He opens by -describing the emotions with which, at the age of thirty-five, his soul -awoke. He was lost! - - In the midway of this our mortal life, - I found me in a gloomy wood, astray, - Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell - It were no easy task, how savage wild - That forest, how robust and rough its growth, - Which to remember only, my dismay - Renews, in bitterness not far from death. - -Neither Bunyan's pilgrim in his City of Destruction, nor his City of -Mansoul beleaguered by fierce foes, is quite so human or quite so -convincing as this weird scene in the forest. The gloom, the loneliness, -the silence, and the absence of all hints as to a way out of his -misery; these make up a scene that combines all the elements of -adventure with all the elements of reality. Dante was lost, and knew it. - - -II - -The poet cannot tell us by what processes he became entangled in this -jungle. 'How first I entered it I scarce can say.' But it does not very -much matter. The way by which he escaped is the thing that concerns us; -and to this theme he bravely addresses himself. In his description of -his earliest sensations in the dark forest, several things are -significant. He clearly regarded it as a very great gain, for example, -to have discovered that he was lost. 'I found me,' he says, 'I found me -in a gloomy wood, astray.' Those three words, '_I found me_,' remind us -of nothing so much as the record of the prodigal, 'And he came to -himself.' I am pleased to notice that it is of the incomparable story of -the prodigal that Dante's opening confession reminds most of his -expositors. Thus, Mr. A. G. Ferress Howell, in his valuable little -monograph on Dante, observes that this finding of himself 'shows that he -has got to the point reached by the prodigal son when he said, "I will -arise and go to my father." He found, that is to say, that he had -altogether missed the true object of life. The wild and trackless -wood,' Mr. Howell goes on to observe, 'represents the world as it was in -1300. Why was it wild and trackless? Because the guides appointed to -lead men to _temporal felicity_ in accordance with the teachings of -Philosophy, and to eternal felicity in accordance with the teachings of -Revelation--the Emperor and the Pope--were both of them false to their -trust.' So here was poor Dante, only knowing that he was hopelessly -lost; and unable to discover among the undergrowth about him any -suggestion of a way to safety. - - -III - -Suddenly the Vision Beautiful breaks upon him. He stumbles blindly -through the forest until he arrives at the base of a sunlit mountain: - - ... a mountain's foot I reached, where closed - The valley that had pierced my heart with dread. - I looked aloft, and saw his shoulders broad - Already vested with that planet's beam - Who leads all wanderers safe through every way. - -The hill is, of course, the life he fain would live--steep and -difficult, but free from the mists of the valley and the entanglements -of the wood. And is it not illumined by the Sun of Righteousness--'Who -leads all wanderers safe through every way'? He stepped out from the -valley and cheerfully commenced the ascent. And then his troubles began. -One after the other, wild beasts barred his way and dared him to -persist. His path was beset with the most terrible difficulties. Now -here, if anywhere, the poet betrays that spiritual insight, that flash -of genuine mysticism, that entitles him to rank with the great masters. -For whilst he wandered in the murky wood no ravenous beasts assailed -him. There, life, however unsatisfying, was at least free from conflict. -But as soon as he essayed to climb the sunlit hill his way was -challenged. It is a very ancient problem. The psalmist marvelled that, -whilst the wicked around him enjoyed a most profound and unruffled -tranquillity, his life was so full of perplexity and trouble. John -Bunyan was arrested by the same inscrutable mystery. Why should he, in -his pilgrim progress, be so storm-beaten and persecuted, whilst the -people who abandoned themselves to folly enjoyed unbroken ease? I have -often thought of the problem when out shooting. The dog invariably -ignores the dead birds and devotes all his energy to the fluttering -things that are struggling to escape. In the stress of the experience -itself, however, such comfortable thoughts do not occur to us, and it -seems passing strange that, whilst our days in the wood were undisturbed -by hungry eyes or gleaming fangs, our attempt to climb the sunlit hill -should bring about us a host of unexpected enemies. Many a young and -eager convert, fancying that the Christian life meant nothing but -rapture, has been startled by the discovery of the beasts of prey -awaiting him. - - -IV - -And such beasts! Trouble seemed to succeed trouble; difficulty followed -on the heels of difficulty; peril came hard upon peril. - - Scarce the ascent - Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light, - And covered with a speckled skin, appeared, - Nor when it saw me, vanished, rather strove - To check my onward going; that ofttimes - With purpose to retrace my steps I turned. - -He had scarcely recovered from the shock, and driven this peril from his -path, when - - ... a new dread succeeded, for in view - A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appeared, - With his head held aloft and hunger-mad. - That e'en the air was fear-struck. A she-wolf - Was at his heels, who in her leanness seemed - Full of all wants, and many a land hath made - Disconsolate ere now. She with such fear - O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appalled, - That of the height all hope I lost. - -The panther, the lion, and the wolf; that is very suggestive, and we -must look into this striking symbolism a little more closely. - - -V - -The three fierce creatures that challenged Dante's ascent of the sunlit -hill represent evils of various kinds and characters. If a man cannot be -deterred by one form of temptation, another will speedily present -itself. It is, as the old prophet said, 'as if a man did flee from a -lion, and a bear met him; or went into the house, and leaned his hand on -the wall, and a serpent bit him.' If one form of evil is unsuccessful, -another instantly replaces it. If the panther is driven off, the lion -appears; and if the lion is vanquished, the lean wolf takes its place. -But there is more than this hidden in the poet's parable. Did Dante -intend to set forth no subtle secret by placing the three beasts in that -order? Most of his expositors agree that he meant the panther to -represent _Lust_, the lion to represent _Pride_, and the wolf to -represent _Avarice_. Lust is the besetting temptation of youth, and -therefore the panther comes first. Pride is the sin to which we succumb -most easily in the full vigour of life. We have won our spurs, made a -way for ourselves in the world, and the glamour of our triumph is too -much for us. And Avarice comes, not exactly in age, but just after the -zenith has been passed. The beasts were not equidistant. The lion came -some time after the panther had vanished; but the wolf crept at the -lion's heels. What a world of meaning is crowded into that masterly -piece of imagery! Assuming that this interpretation be sound, two other -suggestions immediately confront us; and we must lend an ear to each of -them in turn. - - -VI - -The three creatures differed in character. The panther was _beautiful_; -the lion was _terrible_; the wolf was _horrible_. Although the poet knew -full well the cruelty and deadliness of the crouching panther's spring, -he was compelled to admire the creature's exquisite beauty. 'The hour,' -he says, - - The hour was morning's prime, and on his way. - Aloft the sun ascended with those stars - That with him rose, when Love divine first moved - Those its fair works; so that with joyous hope - All things conspire to fill me, the gay skin - Of that swift animal, the matin dawn. - And the sweet season. - -The lion, on the other hand, is the symbol of majesty and terror. But -the lean she-wolf was positively horrible. Her hungry eyes, her -gleaming fangs, her panting sides, filled the beholder with loathing. -'Her leanness seemed full of all wants.' The poet says that the very -sight of her o'erwhelmed and appalled him. Dante himself confessed that, -of the three, he regarded the last as by far the worst of these three -brutal foes. Now I fancy that, in the temptations that respectively -assail youth, maturity, and decline, I have noticed these same -characteristics. As a rule, the sins of youth are beautiful sins. The -appeals to youthful vice are invariably defended on aesthetic grounds. -The boundary-line that divides high art from indecency is a very -difficult one to define. And it is so difficult to define because the -blandishments to which youth succumbs are for the most part the -blandishments of beauty. Like the panther, vice is cruel and pitiless; -yet the glamour of it is so fair that it 'blends with the matin dawn and -the sweet season.' The sins that bring down the strong man, on the other -hand, are not so much beautiful as terrible. The man in his prime goes -down before those terrific onslaughts that the forces of evil know so -well how to organize and muster. They are not lovely; they are leonine. -And is it not true that the temptations that work havoc in later life -are as a rule unalluring, hideous, and difficult to understand? The -world is thunderstruck. It seems so incomprehensible that, after having -survived his struggle with the beauteous panther and the terrible lion, -a man of such mettle should yield to a lean and ugly wolf! - - -VII - -The other thing is this: there is a distinction in method, a difference -in approach, distinguishing these three beasts. The panther crouches, -springs suddenly upon its unsuspecting prey, and relies on the advantage -of surprise. Such are the sins of youth. 'Alas,' as George Macdonald so -tersely says, - - Alas, how easily things go wrong! - A sigh too deep, or a kiss too long, - There follows a mist and a weeping rain. - And life is never the same again. - -The lion meets you in the open, and relies upon his strength. The wolf -simply persists. He follows your trail day after day. You see his wicked -eyes, like fireflies, stabbing the darkness of the night. He relies not -upon surprise or strength, but on wearing you down at the last. -Wherefore, let him that thinketh he standeth--having beaten off the -_panther_--beware of the _lion_ and the _wolf_. And, still more -imperatively, let him that thinketh he standeth--having vanquished both -the _panther_ and the lion--take heed lest he fall at last to the grim -and frightful persistence of the lean _she-wolf_. It is just six hundred -and fifty years to-day since Dante was born; but, as my pen has been -whispering these things to me, the centuries have fallen away like a -curtain that is drawn. I have saluted across the ages a man of like -passions with myself, and his brave spirit has called upon mine to climb -the sunlit hill in spite of everything. - - - - -IX - -AMONG THE ICEBERGS - - -Not so very long ago, and not so very far from this Tasmanian home of -mine, I beheld a spectacle that took me completely by surprise, and even -now baffles my best endeavours to describe it. I was on board a fine -steamship four days out from Hobart. In the early afternoon, as I was -rising from a brief siesta, I was startled by a voice exclaiming -excitedly, 'Oh, do come and see such a splendid iceberg!' I confess that -at first I entertained the notion with a liberal allowance of caution. I -was afflicted with very grave suspicions. At sea, folk are apt to forget -the calendar, and every day in the year has an awkward way of getting -itself mistaken for the first of April. But the manifest earnestness of -my informant bore down before it all base doubts, and I was sufficiently -convinced to hurry up to the promenade deck. I looked eagerly far out to -port, and then to starboard, but nothing was to be seen! It was the old -story of 'water, water everywhere!' My suspicions returned in an -aggravated form. Indignantly I sought out my informant, and peremptorily -demanded production of the promised iceberg. 'It's dead ahead,' he -replied calmly, 'and can therefore only be seen as yet from the bows.' -To the bows I accordingly hastened, and there I found a crowd, -comprising both passengers and crew, already congregated. - -And surely enough, I then and there beheld the most magnificent and -awe-inspiring natural phenomenon upon which these eyes ever rested. -Right ahead of the ship there loomed up on the far horizon what -appeared, under an overcast, leaden sky, to be a fair-sized island, with -a high and rocky coast. In the distance stood a tall, rugged peak, as of -a mountain towering up like a monarch coldly proud of his desolate -island realm. The whole stood out strikingly gloomy and forbidding -against the distant eastern skyline. But, hey, presto! even as we -watched it, in less time than it takes to tell, a wonderful -transformation scene was enacted before our eyes. Suddenly, from over -the stern, the sun shone out, flinging all its radiant splendours on the -colossal object of our undivided attention. - -In the twinkling of an eye, as if by magic, that which but a second ago -might have passed for a barren rocky island was transformed into a -brilliant mass of dazzling whiteness. Everything seemed to have been -transfigured. A fairyland of pearly palaces, flashing with diamonds and -emeralds, could not have eclipsed its glories now! There it still -stood, indescribably terrible and grand, right in our track, as though -daring us to approach any nearer to its gleaming purities. And as the -sunlight refracted about it, all the colours of the rainbow seemed to -play around its brow. Moreover, the genial warmth produced another -wonder. For, under its benign influence, the glittering peaks gave off -columns of vapour. They seemed to smoke like volcanoes. - - In the mellow summer sun, - The icebergs, one by one, - Caught a spark of quickening fire, - Every turret smoked a censer, - Every pinnacle a pyre. - -The wonder grew upon us as we watched. And yet, straight on, our good -ship held her way, her course unaltered and her speed unabated, as if, -fascinated by the majestic beauty before her, she were eager to dash -herself to pieces at the feet of such pure and awful loveliness. Ever -greater and ever more splendid it appeared as the distance lessened -between us and it, until we really seemed to be approaching an almost -perilous proximity. Then, of a sudden, the ship swerved to the -north-ward, and we ran by within a few hundred yards of the icy monster. -Who could help recalling the adventure of Coleridge's 'Ancient -Mariner'? - - And now there came both mist and snow, - And it grew wondrous cold, - And ice, mast high, came floating by - As green as emerald. - - And through the drifts, the snowy clifts - Did send a dismal sheen, - Nor shapes of men, nor beasts we ken. - The ice was all between. - - The ice was here, the ice was there, - The ice was all around, - It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, - Like noises in a swound. - -Or Tennyson's lovely simile, wherein he says that we ourselves are like - - Floating lonely icebergs, our crests above the ocean, - With deeply submerged portions united by the sea. - -Then once again the fickle sun veiled his face, and that which had -appeared at first as a rocky island in mid-ocean, and afterwards as a -flashing palace of crystals, now assumed a dulled whiteness as of one -huge mass of purest chalk. - -The heavy southern seas were dashing angrily against it, seeming -jealously to resent its escape from their own frozen dominions. And the -great clouds of spray which, as a consequence, were hurled into mid-air -gave an added grandeur to a spectacle that seemed to need no -supplementary charms. For miles around, the sea was strewn with -enormous masses of floating ice, some as large as an ordinary two-story -house, and all of the most fantastic shapes, which had apparently -swarmed off from the main berg. One long row of these, stretching out -from the monster right across the ship's course, looked for a moment not -unlike a great ice-reef connected with the berg, and caused no little -anxiety until the line of apparent peril had been safely negotiated. -When we were clean abreast, a gun was fired from the bridge of the -steamer, in order, I understand, to ascertain from the rapidity and -volume of the echo the approximate distance, and, by deduction, the size -of our polar acquaintance. Nor were there wanting those who were -sanguine enough to expect that the atmospheric vibration set in -operation by the explosion might finish the work of dislocation which -any cracks or fissures had already begun, and bring down at least some -tottering peaks or pinnacles. Sir John Franklin, in one of his northern -voyages, saw this feat accomplished. But, if any of my companions -expected to witness a similar phenomenon, they had reckoned without -their host. The unaffected dignity of the sullen monster mocked our puny -effort to bring about his downfall. Hercules scorned the ridiculous -weapons of the pigmies! The dull booming of the gun started a thousand -weird echoes on the desolate ice. They snarled out their remonstrance at -our intrusion upon their wonted solitude, and then again lapsed sulkily -into silence. The temperature dropped instantly, and I recalled a famous -saying of Dr. Thomas Guthrie's, whose life I had just been reading. In -one of his speeches, before the Synod of Angus and Mearns, he said, 'I -know of churches that would be all the better of some little heat. _An -iceberg of a minister_ has been floated in among them, and they have -cooled down to something below zero.' '_An iceberg of a minister!_' I -think of the nipping air on board when our ship was in the midst of the -ice; and the memory of it makes me shiver! '_An iceberg of a minister!_' -God, in His great mercy, save me from being such a minister as that! - -The long-sustained excitement to which these events had given rise had -scarcely begun to subside when the cry arose, 'An iceberg on the -starboard bow!' This, in its turn, was speedily succeeded by 'Another!' -Then, 'An iceberg on the port bow!' And yet once more 'Another!' till we -were literally surrounded by icebergs. At tea-time we could peep through -the saloon portholes at no fewer than five of these polar giants. -Although most of them were larger than our first acquaintance--at least -one of them being about three miles in length--none of these later -appearances succeeded in arousing the same degree of enthusiasm as that -with which we hailed the advent of the first. For one thing, the charm -of novelty had, of course, begun to wear off. And, for another, they -were of a less romantic shape, most of them being perfectly flat, as -though some great polar plain were being broken up and we were being -favoured with the superfluous territory in casual instalments. And, by -the way, speaking of the shape of icebergs, I am told that the icebergs -of the two hemispheres are quite different in shape, the Arctic bergs -being irregular in outline, with lofty pinnacles and glittering domes, -while the Antarctic bergs are, generally speaking, flat-topped, and of -less fantastic form. The delicate traceries of the far North do not -reflect themselves in the sturdier and more matter-of-fact monsters of -the South. The appearance of icebergs in such numbers, of such -dimensions, in these latitudes, and at this time of the year, -constitutes, I am credibly informed, a very unusual if not, indeed, a -quite unique experience. The theory was freely advanced that some -volcanic disturbance had visited the polar regions and had dislodged -these massive fragments. However that may be, we were not at all sorry -that it had fallen to our happy lot to behold a spectacle of such -sublimity. And when we reflected that less than one-tenth of each mass -was visible above the water-line, we were able to form a more adequate -appreciation of the stupendous proportions of our gigantic neighbours. -Reflecting upon this aspect of the matter, I remembered to have heard, -in my college days, a popular London preacher make excellent use of this -phenomenon. 'When,' he said impressively, 'when you are tempted to judge -sin from its superficial appearance, and to judge it leniently, remember -that sins are like icebergs--_the greater part of them is out of -sight_!' - -A certain amount of anxiety was felt, I confess, by most of us as night -cast her sable mantle over sea and ice. To admire an iceberg in broad -daylight is one thing; to be racing on amidst a crowd of them by night -is quite another. Ice, however, casts around it a weird, warning light -of its own, which makes its presence perceptible even in the darkest -night. So all night long the good ship sped bravely on her ocean track, -and all night long the captain himself kept cold and sleepless vigil on -the bridge. When morning broke, three fresh icebergs were to be seen -away over the stern. But we had now shaped a more northerly course; and -we therefore waved adieu to these magnificent monsters which we were so -delighted to have seen, and scarcely less pleased to have left. They -will doubtless have melted from existence long before they will have -melted from our memories. - -Yes, they will have melted! And that reminds me of another famous saying -of the great Dr Thomas Guthrie, a saying which is peculiarly to the -point just now. 'The existence,' he said, 'of the Mohammedan power in -Turkey is just a question of time. Its foundations are year by year -wearing away, like that of an iceberg which has floated into warm seas, -and, as happens with that creation of a cold climate, it will by-and-by -become top-heavy, the centre of gravity being changed, and it will -topple over! What a commotion then!' Ah! what a commotion, to be sure! - -They will have melted! Silly things! They grew weary of that realm of -white and stainless purity to which they once belonged; they broke away -from their old connexions and set out upon their long, long drift. They -drifted on and on towards the milder north; on and on towards warmer -seas; on and on towards the balmy breath and ceaseless sunshine of the -tropics. And, in return, the sunshine destroyed them. Yes, the sunshine -destroyed them. I have seen something very much like it in the Church -and in the world. 'Therefore,' says a great writer, who had himself felt -the fatal lure of too-much-sunshine, 'therefore let us take the more -steadfast hold of the things which we have heard, lest at any time we -drift away from them.' It is a tragedy of no small magnitude when, like -the iceberg, a man is lured by sparkling summer seas to his own -undoing. - - - - -PART III - - - - -I - -A BOX OF TIN SOLDIERS - - -No philosophy is worth its salt unless it can make a boy forget that he -has the toothache; and the philosophy which I am about to introduce has -triumphantly survived that exacting ordeal. That Jack had the toothache -everybody knew. The expression of his anguish resounded dismally through -the neighbourhood; the evidence of it was visible in his swollen and -distorted countenance. Poor Jack! All the standard cures--old-fashioned -and new-fangled--had been tried in vain; all but one. It was that one -that at last relieved the pain, and it is of that one that I now write. -It happened that Jack was within a week of his birthday. His parents, -who are busy people, might easily have overlooked that interesting -circumstance had not Jack chanced to allude to it at every opportune and -inopportune moment during the previous month or so. Indeed, to guard -against accidents, Jack had enlivened the conversation at the -breakfast-table morning by morning with really ingenious conjectures as -to the presents by which his personal friends might conceivably -accompany their congratulations. His expressions of disappointment in -certain supposititious cases, and of unbounded delight in others, was -quite affecting. - -Now Jack's father is afflicted by a wholesome dread of shopping. If a -purchase must needs be made, Jack's mother has to make it. But Jack's -mother labours under one severe disability. As Jack himself often tells -her--and certainly he ought to know--she doesn't understand boys. The -difficulty is therefore surmounted on this wise. Jack's mother visits -the emporium; carefully avoids all those goods and chattels of which she -has heard her son speak with such withering disdain; selects eight or -ten of the articles that he has chanced to mention in tones of -undisguised approval; orders these to be sent on approval at an hour at -which Jack will be sure to be at school; and leaves to her husband the -responsibility of making the final decision. Now this unwieldy parcel -was still lying under the bed in the spare room on that fateful morning -when Jack became smitten with toothache. Every other nostrum having -failed, the mind of Jack's mother strangely turned to the toys beneath -the bed. A woman's mind is an odd piece of mechanism, and works in -strange ways. No doctor under the sun would dream of prescribing a box -of tin soldiers as a remedy for toothache; yet the mind of Jack's mother -fastened upon that box of tin soldiers. It was just as cheap as some of -the other remedies to which they had so desperately resorted; and it -could not possibly be less efficacious. And there would still be plenty -of toys to choose from for the birthday present. Out came the box of -soldiers, and off went Jack in greatest glee. Half an hour later his -mother found him in the back garden. He had dug a trench two inches -deep, piling up the earth in protective heaps in front of it. All along -the trench stood the little tin soldiers heroically defying the armies -of the universe. And the toothache was ancient history! - -Jack managed to get his little tin soldiers into a tiny two-inch trench; -but, as a matter of serious fact, those diminutive warriors have -occupied a really great place in the story of this little world. Bagehot -somewhere draws a pathetic picture of crowds of potential authors who, -having the time, the desire, and the ability to write, are yet unable -for the life of them to think of anything to write about. Let one of -these unfortunates bend his unconsecrated energies to the writing of a -book on the influence of toys in the making of men. Only the other day -an antiquarian, digging away in the neighbourhood of the Pyramids, came -upon an old toy-chest. Here were dolls, and soldiers, and wooden -animals, and, indeed, all the playthings that make up the stock-in-trade -of a modern nursery. It is pleasant to think of those small Egyptians -in the days of the Pharaohs amusing themselves with the selfsame toys -that beguiled our own childhood. It is pleasant to think of the place of -the toy-chest in the history of the world from that remote time down to -our own. - -But I must not be deflected into a discussion of the whole tremendous -subject of toys. I must stick to these little tin soldiers. And these -small metallic warriors cut a really brave figure in our history. Some -of the happiest days in Robert Louis Stevenson's happy life were the -days that he spent as a boy in his grandfather's manse at Colinton. -'That was my golden age!' he used to say. He never forgot the rickety -old phaeton that drove into Edinburgh to fetch him; the lovely scenery -on either side of the winding country road; or the excited welcome that -always awaited him when he drove up to the manse door. But most vividly -of all he remembered the box of tin soldiers; the marshalling of huge -armies on the great mahogany table; the play of strategy; the furious -combat; and the final glorious victory. The old gentleman sat back in -his spacious arm-chair, cracking his nuts and sipping his wine, whilst -his imaginative little grandson in his velvet suit controlled the -movements of armies and the fates of empires. The love of those little -tin soldiers never forsook him. Later on, at Davos, an exile from home, -fighting bravely against that terrible malady that had marked him as its -prey, it was to the little tin soldiers that he turned for comfort. 'The -tin soldiers most took his fancy,' says Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, 'and the war -game was constantly improved and elaborated, until, from a few hours, a -war took weeks to play, and the critical operations in the attic -monopolized half our thoughts. On the floor a map was roughly drawn in -chalks of different colours, with mountains, rivers, towns, bridges, and -roads in two colours. The mimic battalions marched and countermarched, -changed by measured evolutions from column formation into line, with -cavalry screens in front and massed supports behind in the most approved -military fashion of to-day. It was war in miniature, even to the making -and destruction of bridges; the entrenching of camps; good and bad -weather, with corresponding influence on the roads; siege and horse -artillery, proportionately slow, as compared with the speed of unimpeded -foot, and proportionately expensive in the upkeep; and an exacting -commissariat added the last touch of verisimilitude.' Those little tin -soldiers marched up and down the whole of Robert Louis Stevenson's life. -They were with him in boyhood at Colinton; they were with him in -maturity at Davos; and they were in at the death. For, in the familiar -house at Vailima, the house on the top of the hill, the house from -which his gentle spirit passed away, there was one room dedicated to the -little tin soldiers. The great coloured map monopolized the floor, and -the tiny regiments marched or halted at their frail commander's will. - -One could multiply examples almost endlessly. We need not have followed -Robert Louis Stevenson half-way round the world. We might have visited -Ireland and seen Mr. Parnell's box of toys. Everybody knows the story of -his victory over his sister. Fanny commanded one division of tin -soldiers on the nursery floor; Charles led the opposing force. Each -general was possessed of a popgun, and swept the serried lines of the -enemy with this terrible weapon. For several days the war continued -without apparent advantage being gained by either side. But one day -everything was changed. Strange as it may seem, Fanny's soldiers fell by -the score and by the hundred, while those commanded by her brother -refused to waver even when palpably hit. This went on until Fanny's army -was utterly annihilated. But Charles confessed, an hour later, that, -before opening fire that morning, he had taken the precaution to glue -the feet of his soldiers to the nursery floor! Did somebody discover in -those war games at Colinton, Davos, and Vailima a reflection, as in a -mirror, of the adventurous spirit of Robert Louis Stevenson? Or, even -more clearly, did somebody see, in that famous fight on the nursery -floor at Avondale, a forecast of the great Irish leader's passionate -fondness for outwitting his antagonists and overwhelming his bewildered -foe? - -Then let us glance at one other picture, and we shall see what we shall -see! We are in Russia now. It is at the close of the seventeenth -century. Yonder is a boy of whom the world will one day talk till its -tongue is tired. They will call him Peter the Great. See, he gathers -together all the boys of the neighbourhood and plays with them. -Plays--but at what? 'He plays soldiers, of course,' says Waliszewski, -'and, naturally, he was in command. Behold him, then, at the head of a -regiment! Out of this childish play rose that mighty creation, the -Russian army. Yes,' our Russian author goes on to exclaim, 'yes, this -double point of departure--the pseudo-naval games on the lake of -Pereislavl, and the pseudo-military games on the Preobrajenskoie -drill-ground--led to the double goal--the Conquest of the Baltic and the -Battle of Poltava!' Yes, to these, and to how much else? When Jack cures -his toothache with a box of soldiers, who knows what world-shaking -evolutions are afoot? - -And now the time has come to make a serious investigation. Why is -Jack--taking Jack now as the federal head and natural representative of -Robert Louis Stevenson, Charles Stewart Parnell, Peter the Great, and -all the boys who ever were, are, or will be--why is Jack so inordinately -fond of a box of soldiers? By what magic have those tiny tin campaigners -the power to exorcise the agonies of toothache? Now look; the answer is -simple, and it is twofold. The small metallic warriors appeal to the -innate love of _Conquest_ and to the innate love of _Command_. And in -that innate love of Conquest is summed up all Jack's future relationship -to his foes. And in that innate love of Command is summed up all his -future relationship to his friends. For long, long ago, in the babyhood -of the world, God spoke to man for the first time. And in that very -first sentence, God said, 'Subdue the earth and have dominion!' -'Subdue!'--that is Conquest; 'have dominion!'--that is Command. And -since the first man heard those martial words, 'Subdue and have -dominion!' the passions of the conqueror and the commander have tingled -in the blood of the race. They have been awakened in Jack by the box of -soldiers. He feels that he is born to fight, born to struggle, born to -overcome, born to triumph, born to command. And that fighting instinct -will never really desert him. It will follow him, as it followed -Stevenson, from infancy to death. He may put it to evil uses. He may -fight the wrong people, or fight the wrong things. But that only shows -how vital a business is his training. A naval officer has to spend half -his time familiarizing himself with the appearance of all our British -battleships, in all lights and at all angles, so that he may never be -misled, amidst the confusion of battle, into opening fire upon his -comrades. As Jack looks up to us from his little two-inch trenches, his -innocent eyes seem to appeal eloquently for similar tuition. - -'Teach me what those forces are that I have to _conquer_,' he seems to -say, 'then teach me what forces I have to _command_, and I will spend -all my days in the Holy War.' - -And, depend upon it, if we can show Jack how to bend to his will all the -mysterious forces at his disposal, and to recognize at a glance all the -alien forces that are ranged against him, we shall see him one day among -the conquerors who, with songs of victory on their lips and with palms -in their hands, share the rapture of the world's last triumph. - - - - -II - -LOVE, MUSIC, AND SALAD - - -It seems an odd mixture at first glance; but it isn't mine. Mr. Wilkie -Collins is responsible for the amazing hotch-potch. 'What do you say,' -he asks in _The Moonstone_, 'what do you say when our county member, -growing hot, at cheese and salad time, about the spread of democracy in -England, burst out as follows: "If we once lose our ancient safeguards, -Mr. Blake, I beg to ask you, what have we got left?" And what do you say -to Mr. Franklin answering, from the Italian point of view, "_We have got -three things left, sir--Love, Music, and Salad_"'? I confess that, when -first I came upon this curious conglomeration, I thought that Mr. -Franklin meant Love, Music, and Salad to stand for a mere -incomprehensible confusion, a meaningless jumble. I examined the -sentence a second time, however, and began to suspect that there was at -least some method in his madness. And now that I scrutinize it still -more closely, I feel ashamed of my first hasty judgement. I can see that -Love, Music, and Salad are the fundamental elements of the solar -system; and, as Mr. Franklin suggests, so long as they are left to us we -can afford to smile at any political convulsions that may chance to -overtake us. - -Love, Music, and Salad are the three biggest things in life. Mr. -Franklin has not only outlined the situation with extraordinary -precision, but he has placed these three basic factors in their exact -scientific order. Love comes first. Indeed, we only come because Love -calls for us. We find it waiting with outstretched arms on arrival. It -smothers our babyhood with kisses, and hedges our infancy about with its -ceaseless ministry of doting affection. Love is the beginning of -everything; I need not labour that point. Where there is no love there -is neither music nor salad, nor anything else worth writing about. - -Mr. Franklin was indisputably right in putting Love first, and -immediately adding Music. You cannot imagine Love without Music. I am -hoping that one of these days one of our philosophers will give us a -book on the language that does not need learning. There is room for a -really fine volume on that captivating theme. Henry Drummond has a most -fascinating and characteristic essay on _The Evolution of Language_; but -from my present standpoint it is sadly disappointing. From first to last -Drummond works on the assumption that human language is a thing of -imitation and acquisition. The foundation of it all, he tells us, is in -the forest. Man heard the howl of the dog, the neigh of the horse, the -bleat of the lamb, the stamp of the goat; and he deliberately copied -these sounds. He noticed, too, that each animal has sounds specially -adapted for particular occasions. One monkey, we are told, utters at -least six different sounds to express its feelings; and Darwin -discovered four or five modulations in the bark of the dog. 'There is -the bark of eagerness, as in the chase; that of anger, as well as -growling; the yelp or howl of despair, as when shut up; the baying at -night; the bark of joy, as when starting on a walk with his master; and -the very distinct one of demand or supplication, as when wishing for a -door or window to be opened.' Drummond appears to assume that primitive -man listened to these sounds and copied them, much as a child speaks of -the bow-wow, the moo-moo, the quack-quack, the tick-tick, and the -puff-puff. But in all this we leave out of our reckoning one vital -factor. The most expressive language that we ever speak is the language -that we never learned. As Darwin himself points out, there are certain -simple and vivid feelings which we express, and express with the utmost -clearness, but without any kind of reference to our higher intelligence. -'Our cries of pain, fear, surprise, anger, together with their -appropriate actions, and the murmur of a mother to her beloved child, -are more expressive than any words.' - -Is not this a confession of the fact that the soul, in its greatest -moments, speaks a language, not of imitation or of acquisition, but one -that it brought with it, a language of its own? The language that we -learn varies according to nationality. The speech of a Chinaman is an -incomprehensible jargon to a Briton; the utterance of a Frenchman is a -mere riot of sound to a Hindu. The language that we learn is affected -even by dialects, so that a man in one English county finds it by no -means easy to interpret the speech of a visitor from another. It is even -affected by rank and position; the speech of the plough-boy is one -thing, the speech of the courtier is quite another. So confusing is the -language that we learn! But let a man speak in the language that needs -no learning; and all the world will understand him. The cry of a child -in pain is the same in Iceland as in India, in Hobart as in Timbuctoo! -The soft and wordless crooning of a mother as she lulls her babe to -rest; the scream of a man in mortal anguish; the sudden outburst of -uncontrollable laughter; the sigh of regret; the titter of amusement; -and the piteous cry of a broken heart,--these know neither nationality -nor rank nor station. They are the same in castle as in cottage; in -Tasmania as in Thibet; in the world's first morning as in the world's -last night. The most expressive language, the only language in which the -soul itself ever really speaks, is a language without alphabet or -grammar. It needs neither to be learned nor taught, for all men speak -it, and all men understand. - -Was that, consciously or subconsciously, at the back of Mr. Franklin's -mind when he put Music next to Love? Certain it is that, in that -unwritten language which is greater than all speech, Music is the -natural expression of Love. Why is there music in the grove and the -forest? It is because love is there. The birds never sing so sweetly as -during the mating season. For awhile the male bird hovers about the -person of his desired bride, and pours out an incessant torrent of song -in the fond hope of one day winning her; and when his purpose is -achieved, he goes on singing for very joy that she is his. And -afterwards he 'gallantly perches near the little home, pouring forth his -joy and pride, sweetly singing to his mate as she sits within the nest, -patiently hatching her brood.' Both in men and women it is at the -approach of the love-making age that the voice suddenly develops, and it -is when the deepest chords in the soul are first struck that the richest -and fullest notes can be sung. - -Music, then, is the natural concomitant of Love. That is why most of -our songs are love-songs. If a man is in love he can no more help -singing than a bird can help flying. You cannot love anything without -singing about it. Men love God; that is why we have hymn-books. Men love -women; that is why we have ballads. Men love their country; that is why -we have national anthems and patriotic airs. - -But the stroke of genius in Mr. Franklin lay in the addition of the -Salad. If he had contented himself with Love and Music, he would have -uttered a truth, and a great truth; but it would have been a commonplace -truth. As it is, he lifts the whole thing into the realm of -brilliance--and reality. For, after all, of what earthly use are Love -and Music unless they lead to Salad? When to Love and Music Mr. Franklin -shrewdly added Salad, he put himself in line with the greatest -philosophers of all time. Bishop Butler told us years ago that if we -allow emotions which are designed to lead to action to become excited, -and no action follows, the very excitation of that emotion without its -appropriate response leaves the heart much harder than it was before. -And, more recently, our brilliant Harvard Professor, Dr. William James, -has warned us that it is a very damaging thing for the mind to receive -an _impression_ without giving that impression an adequate and -commensurate _expression_. If you go to a concert, he says, and hear a -lovely song that deeply moves you, you ought to pay some poor person's -tram fare on the way home. It is a natural as well as a psychological -law. The earth, for example, receives the impression represented by the -fall of autumn leaves, the descent of sap from the bough, and the -widespread decay of wintry desolation. But she hastens to give -expression to this impression by all the wealth and plenitude of her -glorious spring array. - -The New Testament gives us a great story which exactly illustrates my -point. It is a very graceful and tender record, full of Love and Music, -but containing also something more than Love and Music. For when Dorcas -died all the widows stood weeping in the chamber of death, showing the -coats that Dorcas had made while she was yet with them. Dorcas was a -Jewess. At one time she had been taught to regard the name of Jesus as a -thing to be abhorred and accursed. But later on a wonderful experience -befell her. Could she ever forget the day on which, amidst a whirl of -spiritual bewilderment and a tempest of spiritual emotion, she had -discovered, in the very Messiah whom once she had despised, her Saviour -and her Lord? It was a day never to be forgotten, a day full of Love and -Music. How could she produce an expression adequate to that wonderful -impression? Not in words; for she was not gifted with speech. Yet an -expression must be found. It would have been a fatal thing for the -delicate soul of Dorcas if so turgid a flood of feeling had found no apt -and natural outlet. And in that crisis she thought of her needle. She -expressed her love for the Lord in the occupation most familiar to her. -It was a kind of storage of energy. Dorcas wove her love for her Lord -into every stitch, and a tender thought into every stitch, and a fervent -prayer into every stitch. And that spiritual storage escaped through -warm coats and neat garments into the hearts and homes of these widows -and poor folk along the coast, and they learned the depth and tenderness -of the divine love from the deft finger-tips of Dorcas. - -Salad is the natural and fitting outcome of Love and Music. I have -already confessed that when first I came upon the triune conjunction I -thought it rather an incongruous medley, a strange hotch-potch, an -ill-assorted company. That is the worst of judging things in a hurry. -The eye does the work of the brain, and does it badly. It is a common -failing of ours. Look at the torrent of toothless jokes that have been -directed at the contrast between the romance of courtship and the -domestic realities that follow. The former, according to the traditional -estimate, consists of billing and cooing, of fervent protestations and -radiant dreams, of romantic loveliness and honeyed phrases. The latter, -according to the same traditional view, consists of struggle and -anxiety, of drudgery and menial toil, of broken nights with tiresome -children, of nerve-racking anxiety and an endless sequence of troubles. -He who looks at life in this way makes precisely the same mistake that I -myself made when I first saw Mr. Franklin's Love, Music, and Salad, and -thought it a higgledy-piggledy hotch-potch. It is nothing of the kind. -Love naturally leads to Music; and Love and Music naturally lead to -Salad. Courtship leads to the cradle and the kitchen, it is true; but -both cradle and kitchen are glorified and consecrated by the courtship -that has gone before. Our English homes, take them for all in all, are -the loveliest things in the world. - - The merry homes of England! - Around their hearths by night, - What gladsome looks of household love - Meet in the ruddy light! - There woman's voice flows forth in song, - Or childhood's tale is told; - Or lips move tunefully along - Some glorious page of old. - -Here is a picture of Love, Music, and Salad in perfect combination. And -what a secret lies behind it! The fact is that the heathen world has -nothing at all corresponding to our English sweethearting. Men and -women are thrown into each other's arms by barter, by compact, by -conquest, and in a thousand ways. In one land a man buys his bride; in -another he fights as the brutes do for the mate of his fancy; in yet -another he takes her without seeing her, it was so ordained. Only in a -land that has felt the spell of the influence of Jesus would -sweethearting, as we know it, be possible. The pure and charming freedom -of social intercourse; the liberty to yield to the mystic magnetism that -draws the one to the other, and the other to the one; the coy approach; -the shy exchanges; the arm-in-arm walks, and the heart-to-heart talks; -the growing admiration; the deepening passion; culminating at last in -the fond formality of the engagement and the rapture of ultimate union; -in what land, unsweetened by the power of the gospel, would such a -procedure be possible? And the consequence is that our homes stand in -such striking contrast to the homes of heathen peoples. 'There are no -homes in Asia!' Mr. W. H. Seward, the American statesman, exclaimed -sadly, fifty years ago. It is scarcely true now, for Christ is gaining -on Asia every day; and the missionaries confess that the greatest -propagating power that the gospel possesses is the gracious though -silent witness of the Christian homes. Human life is robbed of all -animalism and baseness when true love enters. And there is no true love -apart from the highest love of all. - -Salad may seem a prosaic thing to follow on the heels of Love and Music; -but the salad that has been prepared by fingers that one thinks it -heaven to kiss is tinged and tinctured with the flavour of romance. All -through life, Love makes life's Music. All through life, Love and Music -lead to Salad. And, all through life, Love and Music glorify the Salad -to which they lead. They transmute it by this magic into such a dish as -many a king has sighed for all his days, but sighed in vain. - - - - -III - -THE FELLING OF THE TREE - - -I was strolling with some friends up a lovely avenue in the bush this -afternoon, when a quite unexpected experience befell us. On either side -of the narrow track the tall trees jostled each other at such close -quarters that, when we looked up, only a ribbon of sky could be seen -above our heads. The tree-tops almost arched over us. Straight before us -was a hill surmounted by a number of gigantic blue-gums, only one or two -of which were visible in the limited section of the landscape which the -foliage about us permitted us to survey. As we sauntered leisurely along -the leafy path, thinking of anything but the objects immediately -surrounding us, we were suddenly startled by a loud and ominous creaking -and straining. Looking hastily up, we saw one of the giant trees -falling, and describing in its fall an enormous arc against the clear -sky ahead of us. What a crash as the toppling monster strikes the -tree-tops among which it falls! What a thud as the huge thing hits the -ground! What a roar as it rolls over the hill, bearing down all lesser -growths before it! Our first impression was that the tree had been -reduced by natural forces; but we soon discovered that it had been -deliberately destroyed! The men were already at work upon a second -magnificent fellow; and we waited until he too was prostrate. - -Nothing in the solar system suggests such a mixture of emotion as the -felling of a great tree. In a way, it is pleasant and exhilarating, or -why was Mr. Gladstone so fond of the exercise? And why were we so eager -to stay until the second tree was down? Richard Jefferies, who hated to -destroy things, and often could not bring himself to pull the trigger of -his gun, nevertheless felt the fascination of the axe. 'Much as I -admired the timber about the Chace,' he says, 'I could not help -sometimes wishing to have a chop at it. The pleasure of felling trees is -never lost. In youth, in manhood, so long as the arm can wield the axe, -the enjoyment is equally keen. As the heavy tool passes over the -shoulder, the impetus of the swinging motion lightens the weight, and -something like a thrill passes through the sinews. Why is it so pleasant -to strike? What secret instinct is it that makes the delivery of a blow -with axe or hammer so exhilarating?' What indeed! For certainly a wild -delight makes the heart beat faster, and sends the blood bounding -through the veins, as one sees the axes flash, the chips fly, the gash -grow deeper, and notices at last the first slow movement of the -glorious tree. - -And yet I confess that, mixed with this pungent sense of pleasure, there -was a still deeper emotion. The thing seems so irreparable. It is easy -enough to destroy these monarchs of the bush, but who can restore them -to their former grandeur? It must have been this sense of sadness that -led Beaconsfield--Gladstone's famous protagonist--to ordain in his will -that none of his beloved trees at Hughenden should ever be cut down. How -long had these trees stood here, these two giants that had been in a few -moments reduced to humiliating horizontality? I cannot tell. They must -have been here when all these hills and valleys were peopled only by the -aboriginals. They saw the black man prowl about the bush. From the hill -here, overlooking the bay, they must have seen Captain Cook's ships cast -anchor down the stream. They watched the coming of the white men; they -saw the convict ships arrive with their dismal freight of human -wretchedness; they witnessed the swift and tragic extermination of the -native race; they beheld a nation spring into being at their feet! Did -the great trees know that, as the white men exterminated the black men, -so the white men would exterminate _them_? Did they feel that the coming -of those strange vessels up the bay sealed their own doom? Before the -new-comers could build their homes, or lay out their farms, or plant -their orchards, they must make war on the trees with fire and axe. Homes -and nations can only be built by sacrifice, and the trees are the -innocent victims. - -I suppose that the sadness arises partly from the fact that the forest -is Man's oldest and most faithful friend, and one towards whom he is -inclined to turn with ever-increasing reverence and affection as the -years go by. With the advance of the years we all turn wistfully back to -the things that charmed our infancy, and the race obeys that selfsame -primal law. Almost every nation on the face of the earth traces its -history back to the forest primaeval. From the forest we sprang; and by -the forest we were originally sustained. And even when at length the -primitive race issued from those leafy recesses and devoted itself to -agriculture and to commerce, men still regarded their ancient fastnesses -as the storehouse from which they drew everything that was essential to -their progress and development. Man found the forest his warehouse, his -factory, his armoury, his all. With logs that he felled in the bush he -built his first primitive home; out of branches that he tore from the -trees he fashioned his first implements and tools; and when the -tranquillity that brooded over his pastoral simplicity was broken by -the shout of discord and the noise of tumult, it was to those selfsame -woods that he rushed for his first crude weapons of defence. -Architecture, agriculture, invention, and military ingenuity have each -of them made enormous strides since then; but it was in the bush that -each of these potent makers of our destiny was born. And did not John -Smeaton confess that he borrowed from the graceful curve of the oak as -it rises from the ground the main idea that characterized the -construction of the Eddystone lighthouse? Whenever the architect, the -farmer, the inventor, or the soldier desires to visit the scenes amidst -which his craft spent its earliest infancy, it will be to the forest -primaeval that he will turn his steps. Of medicine, too, the same may be -said; for, in those long and leisured days of sylvan quiet, men learned -the secrets of the bark and discovered the healing virtues that slept in -the swaying leaves; and straightway the forest became a pharmacy. When, -exhausted by his labour, or enervated by unaccustomed conditions, his -health failed him, Man resorted for his first drugs and tonics to his -ancient home among the trees. Indeed, he still returns to the forest to -be nursed and tended in his hour of sickness. - -Those who have read Gene Stratton Porter's _Harvester_ know what wonders -lurk in the woods. The Harvester lived away in the forest, and from -bark and gum and sap and leaf he collected the tonics and anodynes and -stimulants that he sold to the chemists in the great cities. And after -awhile every tree that he felled seemed to him such a wealthy store of -healing virtue that, when he began to think of his dream-girl and his -future home, he could scarcely bring himself to build his cabin out of -logs that were so overflowing with medicinal properties. He was in love, -and all the tumultuous emotions awakened by that great experience were -surging through his veins; and yet it seemed to him an act of sacrilege -to cut chairs and tables out of such sacred things as trees! He -apologetically explained the delicacy of the situation to each oak and -ash before lifting his axe against it. - -'You know how I hate to kill you!' he said to the first one he felled. -'But it must be legitimate, you know, for a man to take enough trees to -build a home. And no other house is possible for a creature of the woods -but a cabin, is it? The birds use the material they find here; and -surely I have a right to do the same. Nothing else would serve, at least -for me. I was born and reared here, and I've always loved you!' - -But for all that, he felt, as the fragrant chips flew in all directions, -just as a man might feel who killed a pet lamb for the table; and the -Harvester could scarcely reconcile himself to his iconoclastic work. In -Medicine Woods he had learned the awful sanctity of the forest, the -forest that was the home and nurse and mother of us all, and it seemed -to him a dreadful thing to slay a tree. Frazer tells us in his _Golden -Bough_ that the Ojibwa Indians very rarely cut down green or living -trees; they fancy that it puts the poor things to such pain. And some of -their medicine men aver that, with their mysterious powers of hearing, -they have heard the wailing and the screaming of the trees beneath the -axe. Mr. Adams, too, in his _Israel's Ideal_, has reminded us that, in -Eastern Africa, the destruction of the cocoanut-tree is regarded as a -form of matricide, since that tree gives men life and nourishment as a -mother does her child. The early Greek philosophers, Aristotle and -Plutarch, watching the rustling of the leaves and the swaying of the -graceful branches, came to the conclusion that trees are sentient things -possessed of living souls. And, in his _Tales for Children_, Tolstoy -makes as pathetic a scene out of the death of a great tree as many a -novelist makes out of the death of a gallant hero. - -Now it must have been out of this strange feeling--this dim -consciousness of a sacredness that haunted the leafy solitudes--that Man -came to regard the forest with superstitious gratitude and veneration. -The bush represented to him the source of all his supplies, the -reservoir that met all his demands, the means of all healing, and the -very fountain of life. And so he plunged into the depths of the forest -and erected his temples there; in its shady groves he reared his solemn -altars; in its leafy glades he built his shrines; and the imagery of the -forest wove itself into the vocabulary of his devotion. The -representation of a sacred tree occurs repeatedly, carved upon the stony -ruins of Egyptian, Assyrian, and Phoenician temples, and Herodotus more -than once remarks upon the frequency of tree-worship among the ancient -peoples. Pliny, too, marvelled at the reverence which the Druids felt -for the oak, and, in a scarcely less degree, for the holly, the ash, and -the birch. And what stirring passages those are in which George Borrow -describes the weird rites and dark symbolism of the gipsies as they -worshipped at dead of night in the fearsome recesses of the pine forests -of Spain! - -It is really not surprising that this haunting sense of sanctity in the -woods should lead Man to worship there. Even Emerson felt that-- - - The Gods talk in the breath of the woods, - They talk in the shaken pine. - -And the Harvester himself found the forest to be instinct with moral and -spiritual potencies. 'You not only discover miracles and marvels in the -woods,' he said, 'but you get the greatest lessons taught in all the -world ground into you early and alone--courage, caution, and patience.' -Here, then, we have the trees as teachers and preachers, and many a man -has learned the deepest lessons of his life at the feet of these shrewd -and silent philosophers. What about Brother Lawrence, whose _Practice of -the Presence of God_ has become one of the Church's classics? 'The first -time I saw Brother Lawrence,' writes his friend, 'was upon August 3, -1666. He told me that God had done him a singular favour in his -conversion at the age of eighteen. It happened in this way. One winter -morning, seeing a tree stripped of its leaves, and considering that -within a little time the leaves would be renewed, and that after that -the flowers and fruit would appear, he received a high view of the -providence and power of God, which has never since been effaced from his -soul.' What God could do for the leafless tree, he thought, He could -also do for him. - -Milton tells us that the forest, which has played so large a part in the -development of this world, will flourish also in the next. - - In heaven the trees - Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines - Yield nectar. - -And, having all this in mind, is it not pleasant to notice that the very -last chapter of the Bible tells of the tree that waves by the side of -the river of life? There is something sacramental about trees. George -Gissing says that Odysseus cutting down the olive in order to build for -himself a home is a picture of man performing a supreme act of piety. -'Through all the ages,' he says, 'that picture must retain its profound -significance.' The trees of Medicine Woods yielded up their life to the -Harvester's axe, that he and his dream-girl might dwell in security and -bliss. And, on a green hill far away without a city wall, another tree -was cut down years ago, that it might represent to all men everywhere -the means of grace and the hope of glory. And even more than all the -other trees, the leaves of _that_ tree are for the healing of the -nations. - - - - -IV - -SPOIL! - - -We were sitting round the fire last night when a boy came rushing up the -street shouting, 'The latest war news.' I went to the door, bought a -paper, and settled down again to read it. All at once the word 'siege' -caught my eye, and, after glancing over the cablegram to which it -referred, I lay back in the chair and allowed my mind to roam among the -romantic recollections that the great word had suggested. I thought of -the Siege of Lucknow in the East, of the Siege of Mexico in the West, -and of the Siege of Londonderry midway between. Who that has once read -the thrilling narratives of these famous exploits can resist the -temptation occasionally to set his fancy free to revisit the scenes of -those tremendous struggles? My reverie was rudely interrupted. - -'Run along, Wroxie, dear, it's past bedtime!' a maternal voice from the -opposite chair suddenly expostulated. - -'But, mother, I _must_ do my Scripture-lesson, and I've _nearly_ -finished!' - -'What have you to do, Wroxie?' I inquired, appointing myself arbitrator -on the instant. - -'I have to learn these eight verses of the hundred and nineteenth -Psalm!' - -'Well, read them aloud to us, and then run off to bed!' I commanded. - -She read. I am afraid I had no ears for any of the later verses. For -among the very first words that she read were these: '_I rejoice at Thy -Word as one that findeth great spoil_.' I had read those familiar words -hundreds of times, but it was like passing a closed door. But to-night -my memories of the great historic sieges supplied me with the key. 'As -one that findeth great _spoil_' ... 'findeth great _spoil_' ... 'great -_spoil_.' That one word '_spoil_' supplied me with the magic key. I -applied it; the door flew open; and I saw _that_ in the text which I had -never seen before. The lesson came to an end; the girlish tones -subsided; the reader kissed me good-night, and scampered off to bed, her -mother leaving the room in her company; and I was left once more to my -own imaginings. - -But my fancy flew in quite a fresh direction. The text had done for my -imprisoned mind what Noah did for the imprisoned dove. It had opened a -window of escape, and I was at liberty to go where I had never been -before. '_Spoil_!'--at the sound of that magic word the doors of truth -swung open as the great door of the robbers' dungeon in _The Forty -Thieves_ yielded to the sound of 'Open, Sesame!' A landscape may be -mirrored in a dewdrop; and here, in this arresting phrase, I suddenly -discovered all the picturesque colour and stirring movement of a great -siege. I saw the bastions and the drawbridges; the fortified walls and -the frowning ramparts; the lofty parapets and the stately towers. I -watched the fierce assault of the besiegers and the tumultuous sally of -the garrison. I heard the clash and din of strife. I marked the long, -grim struggle against impending starvation. And then, at last, I saw the -white flag flown. The proud city has fallen; the garrison has -surrendered; the gates are thrown open to the investing forces; and the -conqueror rides triumphantly in to seize his splendid prize! His -followers fall eagerly upon their booty, and grasp with greedy hands at -every glint of treasure that presents itself to their rapacious eyes. -Spoil; _spoil_; SPOIL! 'I rejoice at Thy Word as _one that findeth great -spoil_!' - - -I - -Now the most notable point about this metaphor is that the city only -yields up its treasure after long resistance. The besieger does not find -the city waiting with open gates to welcome him. It slams those gates -in his face; bars, bolts, and barricades them; and settles down to keep -him at bay as long as possible. The stubbornness of its brave resistance -lends an added sweetness to the final triumph of its conqueror; but, -whilst it lasts, that resistance is very baffling and vexatious. All the -best things in life follow the same strange law. See how the soil -resists the farmer! It stiffens itself against his approach, so that -only in the sweat of his brow can he plough and harrow it. It garrisons -itself with swarms of insect pests, so that his attempts to subjugate it -shall be rendered as ineffective and unfruitful as possible. It extends -eager hospitality to every noxious seed that falls upon its surface. It -encourages all the farmer's enemies, and fights against all his allies. -Labour makes the harvest sweeter, it is true; but whilst it is in -progress it is none the less exhausting. It is only by breaking down the -obstinate resistance of the unwilling soil that the farmer achieves the -golden triumph of harvest-time. The miner passes through the same trying -experience. The earth has nothing to gain by holding her gold and her -diamonds, her copper and her coal, in such a tight clutch. Yet she makes -the work of the miner a desperate and dangerous business. He takes his -life in his hand as he descends the shaft. The peril and the toil add a -greater value to the booty, I confess; but the work of the dark mine is -none the less trying on that account. He who would grasp the treasures -that lie buried in the bowels of the earth must first break down the -most determined and dogged resistance. And the treasures of the mind -also follow this curious law. There is no royal road to learning. -Knowledge resists the intruder. It presents an exterior that is -altogether revolting, and only the brave persist in the attack. The -text-books of the schools are rarely set to music; they do not tingle -with romance. They look as dry as dust, and they are often even more -arid than they look. I remember that, in my college days, the student -who sat next to me on the old familiar benches suddenly died. He was -brilliant; I was not. And when I heard that he had gone, the first -thought that occurred to me was a peculiar one. Had all his knowledge -perished with him? I asked myself. I thought of the problems that he had -mastered, but with which I was still grappling. Could he not have -bequeathed to me the fruits of his patient and hard-won victories? No; -it could not be. The city must be patiently besieged and gallantly -stormed before it will surrender. The coveted diploma may be all the -sweeter afterwards as a result of so long and persistent a struggle; but -that fact does not at the time relieve the tedium or lessen the -intolerable drudgery. Knowledge seems so good and so desirable a thing; -yet it resists the aspiring student with such pitiless and -unsympathetic pertinacity. - -Even love behaves in the same way. The lady keeps her lover at arm's -length. She would rather die than not be his, but she must guard her -modesty at all hazards. She must not make herself too cheap. She assumes -a frigidity that is in hopeless conflict with the warmth of her real -sentiments. Her apparent indifference and repeated rebuffs nearly drive -her poor wooer to distraction. Her kisses are all the sweeter later on -when she is delightfully and avowedly his own; but whilst the siege of -her affections lasts the torment almost wrecks his reason. It is really -no hypocrisy on her part. It is the recognition of a true instinct. All -the best things resist us, and their resistance has to be overcome. And -the psalmist declares that even the divine Word treated him in the -selfsame way. It did not entice, allure, fascinate; that is usually the -policy of evil things. No; it repelled, resisted, dared him! And it was -not until he had conquered that hostility that he entered into his -triumph. It was in the carcase of the fierce lion he had previously -destroyed that Samson found the honey that was so sweet to his taste. We -generally find our spoil in the cities that slammed their great gates in -our faces. - - -II - -But the city capitulates for all that. It may hold out stubbornly, and -for long, but it always yields at the last. It was so ordained. The soil -was meant to resist the farmer; but it was also meant to yield to the -farmer at length, and to furnish him with his proud and delightful -prize. The minerals are hidden so cleverly, and buried so deeply, not -that they may successfully elude the vigilance and skill of the heroic -miner, but in order that he may justly prize the precious metals when -they fall at last into his hands. The student's tedious struggle after -knowledge is made so painful a process, not to deter or defeat him, but -so that, side by side with the acquisition of learning, he may develop -those faculties of brain and intellect which can alone qualify him to -wield with wisdom the erudition that he is now so laboriously amassing. -The lady treats her poor lover with such seeming disdain, not by any -means to dishearten him, but that she may make quite sure that his -ardour is no mere passing whim, but a deep and enduring attachment. In -each case capitulation is agreed upon if only the besieger is -sufficiently gallant and persistent. The best things, and even the -holiest things, 'hold us off that they may draw us on'--to use -Tennyson's expressive phrase. - -To cite a single example, what a wonder-story is that of the -Syro-Phoenician woman! The Master conceals Himself from her; treats her -anguish with apparent indifference; preserves a frigid silence in face -of her passionate entreaty; and offers exasperating rebuffs in reply to -her desperate arguments! But did He design to destroy her faith? Let us -see! Like a gallant besieger, she sat down before the city with -indomitable courage and patience. Beaten back at one gate, she instantly -stormed another. Resisted at one redoubt, she mustered all her forces in -the effort to reduce a second. And at last 'Jesus answered and said unto -her, O woman, great is thy faith; be it unto thee even as thou wilt!' -The capitulation was a predetermined policy; but the courage and -pertinacity of the besieger must be tested to the utmost before the -gates can be finally thrown open. - - -III - -And then the victors fly upon the spoil! The repelling Word yields, and -is found to contain wealth beyond the dreams of avarice. 'I rejoice at -Thy Word as one that findeth great spoil.' _Spoil_! We have all felt the -thrill of those tremendous pages in which Gibbon describes the sack of -Rome by the all-victorious Goths. We seem to have witnessed with our -own eyes the glittering wealth of the queenly city poured at the feet of -the rapacious conqueror. Or, in Prescott's stately stories, we have -watched the fabulous hoards of Montezuma, and the heaped-up gold of -Atahuallpa, piled at the feet of Cortes and Pizarro. Or if, forsaking -the shining spoils of the Goths in Europe and the gleaming argosies -which the Spaniards brought from the West, we turn to a later date and -an Eastern clime, we instinctively recall the glowing periods of -Macaulay in his story of the conquests of Clive. After his amazing -victory at Plassey, 'the treasury of Bengal was thrown open to him. -There were piled up, after the usage of Indian princes, immense masses -of coin. Clive walked between heaps of gold and silver, crowned with -rubies and diamonds, and was at liberty to help himself. He accepted -between two and three hundred thousand pounds.' He was afterwards -accused of greed. He replied by describing the countless wealth by which -he was that day surrounded. Vaults piled with gold and with jewels were -at his mercy. 'To this day,' he exclaimed, 'I stand astonished at my own -moderation!' - -Here, then, is the magic key that opens to us the secret in the -psalmist's mind. 'I rejoice at Thy Word as one that findeth great -spoil.' The besiegers pour into the city. Every house is ransacked. In -the most unlikely places the citizens have concealed their treasures, -and in the most unlikely places, therefore, the invaders come upon their -spoils. Out from queer old drawers and cupboards, out of strange old -cracks and crannies, the precious hoard is torn. As the besiegers rush -from house to house you hear the shout and the laughter with which -another and yet another find is greeted. So was it with his conquest of -the Word, the psalmist tells us. At first it resisted and repelled him. -But afterwards its gates were opened to his challenge. He entered the -city and began his search for spoil. And, lo, from out of every promise -and precept, out of every innocent-looking clause or insignificant -phrase, the treasures of truth came pouring, until he found himself -possessed at length of a wealth compared with which the pomp of princes -is the badge of beggary. - - - - -V - -A PHILOSOPHY OF FANCY-WORK - - -'"What course of lectures are you attending now, ma'am?" said Martin -Chuzzlewit's friend, turning again to Mrs. Jefferson Brick. - -'"The Philosophy of the _Soul_, on Wednesdays," replied Mrs. Brick. - -'"And on Mondays?" - -'"The Philosophy of _Crime_." - -'"On Fridays?" - -'"The Philosophy of _Vegetables_." - -'"You have forgotten Thursdays; the Philosophy of _Government_, my -dear," observed a third lady. - -'"No," said Mrs. Brick, "that's Tuesdays." - -'"So it is!" cried the lady. "The Philosophy of _Matter_ on Thursdays, -of course." - -'"You see, Mr. Chuzzlewit, our ladies are fully employed," observed his -friend.' - -They were indeed; but for the life of me I cannot understand why, amidst -so many philosophies, the Philosophy of _Fancy-work_ was so cruelly -ignored. I should have thought it quite as suitable and profitable a -study for Mrs. Jefferson Brick and her lady friends as some of the -subjects to which they paid their attention. - -'Whatever are you making now, dear?' asked a devoted husband of his -spouse the other evening. - -'Why, an antimacassar, George, to be sure; can't you see?' - -'And what on earth is the good of an antimacassar, I should like to -know?' - -'Stupid man!' - -Stupid man, indeed! But there it is! And for the crass stupidity of -their husbands, Mrs. Jefferson Brick and her philosophical friends have -only themselves to blame. If they had included the Philosophy of -Fancy-work in their syllabus of lectures, they might have acquired such -a grasp of a great and vital subject that they would have been able to -convince their husbands that there is nothing in the house quite so -useful as an antimacassar. The pots and the pans, the chairs and the -tables, are nowhere in comparison. The antimacassar is the one -indispensable article in the establishment. Let no man attempt to deride -or belittle it. - -As it is, however, Mrs. Jefferson Brick and her friends have never -really studied the Philosophy of Fancy-work, and have never therefore -been in a position to enlighten the darkened minds of their benighted -husbands. As an inevitable consequence, those husbands continue to -regard the busy needles as an amiable frailty pertaining to the sex of -their better halves. In writing thus, I am thinking of the -better-tempered husbands. Husbands of the other variety regard -fancy-work as an unmitigated nuisance. Mark Rutherford has familiarized -us with a husband who so regarded his wife's delicate traceries and -ornamentations. I refer, of course, to _Catherine Furze_. We all -remember Mrs. Furze's parlour at Eastthorpe. 'There was a sofa in the -room, but it was horse-hair with high ends both alike, not comfortable, -which were covered with curious complications called antimacassars, that -slipped off directly they were touched, so that anybody who leaned upon -them was engaged continually in warfare with them, picking them up from -the floor or spreading them out again. There was also an easy chair, but -it was not easy, for it matched the sofa in horse-hair, and was so -ingeniously contrived that, directly a person placed himself in it, it -gently shot him forwards. Furthermore, it had special antimacassars, -which were a work of art, and Mrs. Furze had warned Mr. Furze off them. -"He would ruin them," she said, "if he put his head upon them." So a -Windsor chair with a high back was always carried by Mr. Furze into the -parlour after dinner, together with a common kitchen chair, and on these -he took his Sunday nap.' The reader is made to feel that, on these -interesting occasions, Mr. Furze wished his wife and her antimacassars -at the bottom of the deep blue sea; and one rather admires his -self-restraint in not explicitly saying so. Mr. Furze is the natural -representative of all those husbands who see no rhyme or reason in -fancy-work. If only Mrs. Jefferson Brick had included that phase of -philosophy on her programme, and had passed on the illumination to some -member of the sterner sex! But let us indulge in no futile regrets. - -That there is a Philosophy of Fancy-work goes without saying. To begin -with, think of the relief to the overstrung nerves and the over-wrought -emotions, at the close of a trying day, in being able to sit down in a -cosy chair, and, when the eyes are too tired for reading, to finger away -at the needles, and get on with the antimacassar. Our grandmothers went -in for antimacassars instead of neurasthenia. 'It is astonishing,' -exclaimed the 'Lady of the Decoration,' 'how much bad temper one can -knit into a garment!' An earlier generation of wonderfully wise women -made that discovery, and worked all their discontents, and all their -evil tempers, and all their quivering nervousness into antimacassars. On -the whole it is cheaper than working them into drugs and doctors' bills, -and drugs and doctors' bills are certainly no more ornamental. - -In his essay on _Tedium_, Claudius Clear deals with that particular form -of tedium that arises from leaden hours. And he thinks that in this -respect women have an immense advantage over men. Men have to wait for -things, and they find the experience intolerable. But a woman turns to -her fancy-work, and is amused at her husband's uncontrollable -impatience. The antimacassar, he believes, gives just enough occupation -to the fingers to make absolute tedium impossible. The war has led to a -remarkable revival of knitting and of fancy-work. My present theme was -suggested to me on Saturday. I took my wife for a little excursion; she -took her knitting, and we saw ladies working everywhere. Two were busy -in the tram; we came upon one sitting in a secluded spot in the bush, -her deft needles chasing each other merrily. And on the river steamer -eleven ladies out of fifteen had their fancy-work with them. I could not -help thinking that, in not a few of these cases, the workers must derive -as much comfort from the occupation as the wearers will eventually -derive from the garments. Many a woman has woven all her worries into -her fancy-work, and has felt the greatest relief in consequence. One -such worker has borne witness to the consolation afforded her by her -needles. - - Silent is the house. I sit - In the firelight and knit. - At my ball of soft grey wool - Two grey kittens gently pull-- - Pulling back my thoughts as well, - From that distant, red-rimmed hell, - And hot tears the stitches blur - As I knit a comforter. - - 'Comforter' they call it--yes, - Such it is for my distress, - For it gives my restless hands - Blessed work. God understands - How we women yearn to be - Doing something ceaselessly. - Anything but just to wait - Idly for a clicking gate! - -We must, however, be perfectly honest; and to deal honestly with our -subject we must not ignore the classical example, even though that -example may not prove particularly attractive. The classical example is, -of course, Madame Defarge. Madame Defarge was the wife of Jacques -Defarge, who kept the famous wine-shop in _A Tale of Two Cities_. When -first we are introduced to the wine-shopkeeper and his wife, three -customers are entering the shop. They pull off their hats to Madame -Defarge. 'She acknowledged their homage by bending her head, and giving -them a quick look. Then she glanced in a casual manner round the -wine-shop, took up her knitting with great apparent calmness and repose -of spirit, and became absorbed in it.' Everybody who is familiar with -the story knows that here we have the stroke of the artist. Madame -Defarge, be it noted, took up her knitting with apparent calmness and -repose of spirit, and became absorbed in it. As a matter of fact, Madame -Defarge was absorbed, not in the knitting, but in the conversation; and -all that she heard with her ears was knitted into the garment in her -hands. The knitting was a tell-tale register. - -'"Are you sure," asked one of the wine-shopkeeper's accomplices one day, -"are you sure that no embarrassment can arise from our manner of keeping -the register? Without doubt it is safe, for no one beyond ourselves can -decipher it; but shall _we_ always be able to decipher it--or, I ought -to say, _will she_?" - -'"Man," returned Defarge, drawing himself up, "if Madame, my wife, -undertook to keep the register in her memory alone, she would not lose a -word of it--not a syllable of it. Knitted, in her own stitches, and her -own symbols, it will always be as plain to her as the sun. Confide in -Madame Defarge. It would be easier for the weakest poltroon that lives -to erase himself from existence than to erase one letter of his name or -crimes from the knitted register of Madame Defarge."' - -Oh those tell-tale needles! Up and down, to and fro, in and out they -flashed and darted, Madame seeming all the time so preoccupied and -inattentive! Yet into those innocent stitches there went the guilty -secrets; and when the secrets were revealed the lives and deaths of men -hung in the balance! Here, then, is a philosophy of fancy-work that will -carry us a very long way. The stitches are always a matter of life and -of death, however innocent or trivial they may seem. Whether I do a row -of stitches, or drive a row of nails, or write a row of words, I am a -little older when I fasten the last stitch, or drive the last nail, or -write the last word, than I was when I began. And what does that mean? -It means that I have deliberately taken a fragment of my life and have -woven it into my work. That is the terrific sanctity of the commonest -toil. It is instinct with life. 'Greater love hath no man than this, -that a man lay down his life for his friend,' and whenever I drive a -nail, or write a syllable, or weave a stitch for another, I have laid -down just so much of my life for his sake. - -But when we begin to exploit the possibilities of a Philosophy of -Fancy-work, we shall find our feet wandering into some very green -pastures and beside some very still waters. Fancy-work will lead us to -think about friendship, than which few themes are more attractive. For -the loveliest idyll of friendship is told in the phraseology of -fancy-work. 'And it came to pass that the soul of Jonathan was _knit_ to -the soul of David.' Knitting, knitting, knitting; up and down, to and -fro, in and out, see the needles flash and dart! Every moment that I -spend with my friend is a weaving of his life into mine, and of my life -into his; and pity me, men and angels, if I entangle the strands of my -life with a fabric that mars the pattern of my own! And pity me still -more if the inferior texture of my life impairs the perfection and -beauty of my friend's! Into the sacred domain of our sweetest -friendships, therefore, has this unpromising matter of fancy-work -conveyed us. But it must take us higher still. For 'there is a Friend -that sticketh closer than a brother,' and the web of my life will look -strangely incomplete at the last unless the fabric of my soul be found -knit and interwoven with the fair and radiant colours of His. - - - - -VI - -A PAIR OF BOOTS - - -There seems to be very little in a pair of boots--except, perhaps, a -pair of feet--until a great crisis arises; and in a great crisis all -things assume new values. When the war broke out, and empires found -themselves face to face with destiny, the nations asked themselves -anxiously how they were off for boots. When millions of men began to -march, boots seemed to be the only thing that mattered. The manhood of -the world rose in its wrath, reached for its boots, buckled on its -sword, and set out for the front. And at the front, if Mr. Kipling is to -be believed, it is all a matter of boots. - - Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you; - Boots--boots--boots--boots--moving up and down again; - Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watching 'em. - An' there's no discharge in the war. - - Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different-- - Oh--my--God--keep--me from going lunatic! - Boots--boots--boots--boots--moving up and down again - An' there's no discharge in the war. - - We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness, - But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em-- - Boots--boots--boots--boots--moving up and down again! - An' there's no discharge in the war. - - 'Tain't--so--bad--by--day because o' company, - But--night--brings--long--strings o' forty thousand million - Boots--boots--boots--boots--moving up and down again! - An' there's no discharge in the war. - -A soldier sees enough pairs of boots in a ten-mile march to last him -half a lifetime. - -Yet, after all, are not these the most amiable things beneath the stars, -the things that we treat with derision and contempt in days of calm, but -for which we grope with feverish anxiety when the storm breaks upon us? -They go on, year after year, bearing the obloquy of our toothless little -jests; they go on, year after year, serving us none the less faithfully -because we deem them almost too mundane for mention; and then, when they -suddenly turn out to be a matter of life and death to us, they serve us -still, with never a word of reproach for our past ingratitude. If the -world has a spark of chivalry left in it, it will offer a most abject -apology to its boots. - -It would do a man a world of good, before putting on his boots, to have -a good look at them. Let him set them in the middle of the hearthrug, -the shining toes turned carefully towards him, and then let him lean -forward in his arm-chair, elbows on knees and head on hands, and let him -fasten on those boots of his a contrite and respectful gaze. And looking -at his boots thus attentively and carefully he will see what he has -never seen before. He will see that a pair of boots is one of the master -achievements of civilization. A pair of boots is one of the wonders of -the world, a most cunning and ingenious contrivance. Dan Crawford, in -_Thinking Black_, tells us that nothing about Livingstone's equipment -impressed the African mind so profoundly as the boots he wore. 'Even to -this remote day,' Mr. Crawford says, 'all around Lake Mweru they sing a -"Livingstone" song to commemorate that great "path-borer," the good -Doctor being such a federal head of his race that he is known far and -near as Ingeresa, or "The Englishman." And this is his memorial song: - - Ingeresa, who slept on the waves, - Welcome him, for he hath no toes! - Welcome him, for he hath no toes! - -That is to say, revelling in paradox as the negro does, he seized on the -facetious fact that this wandering Livingstone, albeit he travelled so -far, had no toes--that is to say, had _boots_, if you please!' Later on, -Mr. Crawford remarks again that the barefooted native never ceases to -wonder at the white man's boots. To him they are a marvel and a portent, -for, instead of thinking of the boot as merely covering the foot that -wears it, his idea is that those few inches of shoe carpet the whole -forest with leather. He puts on his boots, and, by doing so, he spreads -a gigantic runner of linoleum across the whole continent of Africa. Here -is a philosophical way of looking at a pair of boots! It has made my own -boots look differently ever since I read it. Why, these boots on the -hearthrug, looking so reproachfully up at me, are millions of times -bigger than they seem! They look to my poor distorted vision like a few -inches of leather; but as a matter of fact they represent hundreds of -miles of leathern matting. They make a runner paving the path from my -quiet study to the front doors of all my people's homes; they render -comfortable and attractive all the highways and byways along which duty -calls me. Looked at through a pair of African eyes, these British boots -assume marvellous proportions. They are touched by magic and are -wondrously transformed. From being contemptible, they now appear -positively continental. I am surprised that the subject has never -appealed to me before. - -Now this African way of looking at a pair of boots promises us a key to -a phrase in the New Testament that has always seemed to me like a locked -casket. John Bunyan tells us that when the sisters of the Palace -Beautiful led Christian to the armoury he saw such a bewildering -abundance of boots as surely no other man ever beheld before or since! -They were shoes that would never wear out; and there were enough of -them, he says, to harness out as many men for the service of their Lord -as there be stars in the heaven for multitude. Bunyan's prodigious stock -of shoes is, of course, an allusion to Paul's exhortation to the -Ephesian Christians concerning the armour with which he would have them -to be clad. 'Take unto you the whole armour of God ... and your feet -shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace.' - -Whenever we get into difficulties concerning this heavenly panoply, we -turn to good old William Gurnall. Master Gurnall beat out these six -verses of Paul's into a ponderous work of fourteen hundred pages, bound -in two massive volumes. One hundred and fifty of these pages deal with -the footgear recommended by the apostle; and Master Gurnall gives us, -among other treasures, 'six directions for the helping on of this -spiritual shoe.' But we must not be betrayed into a digression on the -matter of shoe-horns and kindred contrivances. Shoemaker, stick to thy -last! Let us keep to this matter of boots. Can good Master Gurnall, with -all his hundred and fifty closely printed pages on the subject, help us -to understand what Paul and Bunyan meant? What is it to have your feet -shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace? What are the shoes -that never wear out? Now the striking thing is that Master Gurnall looks -at the matter very much as the Africans do. He turns upon himself a -perfect fusillade of questions. What is meant by the gospel? What is -meant by peace? Why is peace attributed to the gospel? What do the feet -here mentioned import? What grace is intended by that 'preparation of -the gospel of peace' which is here compared to a shoe and fitted to -these feet? And so on. And in answering his own questions, and -especially this last one, good Master Gurnall comes to the conclusion -that the spiritual shoe which he would fain help us to put on is 'a -gracious, heavenly, and excellent spirit.' And his hundred and fifty -crowded pages on the matter of footwear give us clearly to understand -that the man who puts on this beautiful spirit will be able to walk -without weariness the stoniest roads, and to climb without exhaustion -the steepest hills. He shall tread upon the lion and adder; the young -lion and the dragon shall he trample under feet. In slimy bogs and on -slippery paths his foot shall never slide; and in the day when he -wrestles with principalities and powers, and with the rulers of the -darkness of this world, his foothold shall be firm and secure. 'Thy -shoes shall be iron and brass, and as thy days so shall thy strength -be.' Master Gurnall's teaching is therefore perfectly plain. He looks at -this divine footwear much as the Africans looked at Livingstone's boots. -The man whose feet are shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace -has carpeted for himself all the rough roads that lie before him. The -man who knows how to wear this 'gracious, heavenly, and excellent -spirit' has done for himself what Sir Walter Raleigh did for Queen -Elizabeth. He has already protected his feet against all the miry places -of the path ahead of him. If good Master Gurnall's 'six directions for -the helping on of this spiritual shoe' will really assist us to be thus -securely shod, then his hundred and fifty pages will yet prove more -precious than gold-leaf. - -Bunyan speaks of the amazing exhibition of footgear that Christian -beheld in the armoury as '_shoes that will not wear out_.' I wish I -could be quite sure that Christian was not mistaken. John Bunyan has so -often been my teacher and counsellor on all the highest and weightiest -matters that it is painful to have to doubt him at any point. The boots -may have looked as though they would never wear out; but, as all mothers -know, that is a way that boots have. In the shoemaker's hands they -always look as though they would stand the wear and tear of ages; but -put them on a boy's feet and see what they will look like in a month's -time! I am really afraid that Christian was deceived in this particular. -Paul says nothing about the everlasting wear of which the shoes are -capable; and the sisters of the Palace Beautiful seem to have said -nothing about it. I fancy Christian jumped too hastily to this -conclusion, misled by the excellent appearance and sturdy make of the -boots before him. My experience is that the shoes do wear out. The most -'gracious, heavenly, and excellent spirit' must be kept in repair. I -know of no virtue, however attractive, and of no grace, however -beautiful, that will not wear thin unless it is constantly attended to. -My good friend, Master Gurnall, for all his hundred and fifty pages does -not touch upon this point; but I venture to advise my readers that they -will be wise to accept Christian's so confident declaration with a -certain amount of caution. The statement that 'these shoes will not wear -out' savours rather too much of the spirit of advertisement; and we have -learned from painful experience that the language of an advertisement is -not always to be interpreted literally. - -One other thing these boots of mine seem to say to me as they look -mutely up at me from the centre of the hearthrug. Have they no history, -these shoes of mine? Whence came they? And at this point we suddenly -invade the realm of tragedy. The voice of Abel's blood cried to God from -the ground; and the voice of blood calls to me from my very boots. Was -it a seal cruelly done to death upon a northern icefloe, or a kangaroo -shot down in the very flush of life as it bounded through the Australian -bush, or a kid looking up at its slaughterer with terrified, pitiful -eyes? What was it that gave up the life so dear to it that I might be -softly and comfortably shod? And so every step that I take is a step -that has been made possible to me by the shedding of innocent blood. All -the highways and byways that I tread have been sanctified by sacrifice. -The very boots on the hearthrug are whispering something about -redemption. And most certainly this is true of the shoes of which the -apostle wrote, the shoes that the pilgrims saw at the Palace Beautiful, -the shoes that trudge their weary way through Master Gurnall's hundred -and fifty packed pages. These shoes could never have been placed at our -disposal apart from the shedding of most sacred blood. My feet may be -shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; but, if so, it is only -because the sacrifice unspeakable has already been made. - - - - -VII - -CHRISTMAS BELLS - - -It is an infinite comfort to us ordinary pulpiteers to know that even an -Archbishop may sometimes have a bad time! And, on the occasion of which -I write, the poor prelate must have had a very bad time indeed. -For--tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of -Askelon!--none of his hearers knew what he had been talking about! They -could make neither head nor tail of it! 'I have not been able to find -one man yet who could discover what it was about,' wrote one of his -auditors to a friend. It is certainly most humiliating when our -congregations go home and pen such letters for posterity to chuckle -over. And yet the ability of the preacher at this particular service, -and the intelligence of his hearers, are alike beyond question. For the -preacher was the famous Richard Chenevix Trench, D.D., Professor of -Theology at King's College, Dean of Westminster, and afterwards -Archbishop of Dublin. The sermon was preached in the classical -atmosphere of Cambridge University, principally to students and -undergraduates. The theme was the Incarnation--'_The Word was made -flesh_.' And the young fellow who wrote the plaintive epistle from -which I have quoted was Alfred Ainger, afterwards a distinguished -litterateur and Master of the Temple. He could make nothing of it. 'The -sermon, I am sorry to say, was universally disappointing. I have not -been able to find one man yet who could discover what it was about. It -is needless to say _I_ could not. He chose, too, one of the grandest and -deepest texts in the New Testament. He talked a great deal about St. -Augustine, but any more I cannot tell you.' - -Now Christmas will again come knocking at our doors, and many of us will -find ourselves preaching on this selfsame theme. And we have a wholesome -horror of sending our hearers home in the same fearful perplexity. 'What -on earth was the minister talking about?' All the cards and the carols, -the fun and the frolic, the pastimes and the picnics will be turned into -dust and ashes, into gall and wormwood, into vanity and vexation of -spirit to the poor preacher who suspects that his Christmas congregation -returned home in such a mood. His Christmas dinner will almost choke -him. There will be no merry Christmas for _him_! - -But let no minister be terrified or intimidated by the Archbishop's -unhappy experience. His 'bad time' may help us to enjoy a good one. We -must take his text, and wrestle with it bravely. It is the ideal -Christmas greeting. There is certainly depth and mystery; but there is -humanness and tenderness as well. - -'_The Word_ was made flesh.' Words are wonderful things, to say nothing -of '_the_ Word'--whatever _that_ may prove to be. This selfsame -Archbishop Trench, whose sermon at Cambridge proved such a universal -disappointment, has written a marvellous book _On the Study of Words_. -Here are seven masterly chapters to show that words are fossil poetry, -and petrified history, and embalmed romance, and that all the ages have -left the record of their tears and their laughter, of their virtues and -their vices, of their passion and their pain, in the _words_ that they -have coined. 'When I feel inclined to read poetry,' says Oliver Wendell -Holmes, 'I take down _my dictionary_! The poetry of words is quite as -beautiful as that of sentences. The author may arrange the gems -effectively, but their shape and lustre have been given by the attrition -of age. Bring me the finest simile from the whole range of imaginative -writing, and I will show you a single word which conveys a more -profound, a more accurate, and a more elegant analogy.' Words, then, are -jewel-cases, treasure-chests, strong-rooms; they are repositories in -which the archives of the ages are preserved. - -'The Word _was made flesh_.' We never grasp the Word until it is. Let me -illustrate my meaning. Here is a bonny little fellow of six, with sunny -face and a glorious shock of golden hair. His father hands him his first -spelling-book, with the alphabet on the front page, and little -two-letter monosyllables following. But what can he make of even such -small words? He will never learn the A.B.C. in that way. But give him a -_teacher_. Make the word flesh, and he will soon have it all off by -heart! - -Five years pass away. The lad is in the full swing of his school-days -now. But to-night, as he pores over his books, the once sunny face is -clouded, and the wavy hair covers an aching head. - -'Time for bed, sonny!' says mother at length. - -'But, mother, I haven't done my home lessons, _and I can't_.' - -'What is it all about, my boy?' she asks, as she draws her chair nearer -to his, and, putting her arm round his shoulder, reads the tiresome -problem. - -And then they talk it over together. And, somehow, under the magic of -her interest, it seems fairly simple after all. In her sympathetic -voice, and fond glance, and tender touch, the word becomes flesh, and he -grasps its meaning. - -Five more years pass away. He is sixteen, and a perfect book-worm. -Looking up from the story he is reading, he exclaims impatiently: - -'I can't think why they want to work these silly _love-stories_ into all -these books. A fellow can't pick up a decent book but there's a -love-story running through it. It's horrid!' He has come upon the -greatest word in the language; but it has no meaning for him! - -But five years later he understands! He has been captivated by a pure -and radiant face, by a charming and graceful form, by lovely eyes that -answer to his own. That great word _love_ has been made flesh to him, -and it simply gleams with meaning. And so, all through the years, as -life goes on, he finds the great key-words expounded to him through -infinite processes of incarnation. 'Ideas,' says George Eliot, 'are -often poor ghosts; our sun-filled eyes cannot discern them; they pass -athwart us in their vapour and cannot make themselves felt. But -sometimes _they are made flesh_; they breathe upon us with warm breath, -they touch us with soft responsive hand, they look at us with sad -sincere eyes, and speak to us in appealing tones; they are clothed in a -living human soul, with all its conflicts, its faith, and its love. Then -their presence is a power, then they shake us like a passion, and we are -drawn after them with gentle compulsion, as flame is drawn to flame.' - -And if this be so with other words, how could the greatest, grandest, -holiest word of all have been expressed except in the very selfsame way? -'_The_ Word was made flesh.' There was no other way of saying GOD -intelligibly. I should never, never, never have understood mere abstract -definitions of so august a term. And so--'In the beginning was the Word, -and the Word was GOD, and the Word was _made flesh_.' I can grasp that -great word now. Bethlehem and Olivet, Galilee and Calvary, have made it -wonderfully plain. The word GOD would have frightened me if it had never -been expressed in the terms of 'a Face like my face'--as Browning puts -it--and a heart that beats in sympathy with my own. And so Tennyson -says: - - And so the Word had breath, and wrought - With human hands the creed of creeds - In loveliness of perfect deeds, - More strong than all poetic thought; - - Which he may read that binds the sheaf, - Or builds the house, or digs the grave, - And those wild eyes that watch the wave - In roarings round the coral reef. - -And thus the most awful, the most terrible, and the most -incomprehensible word that human lips could frame has become the most -winsome and charming in the whole vocabulary. GOD is JESUS, and JESUS is -GOD! 'The Word was made flesh.' - -The same principle dominates all religious experience and enterprise. -Generally speaking, you cannot make a man a Christian by giving him a -Bible or posting him a tract. The New Testament lays it down quite -clearly that the Christian _man_ must accompany the Christian _message_. -The Word must be presented in its proper human setting. Our missionaries -all over the planet tell of the resistless influence exerted by gracious -Christian homes, and by holy Christian lives, in winning idolators from -superstition. I was reading only this morning a touching instance of a -young Japanese who trudged hundreds of miles to inquire after the secret -of 'the beautiful life'--as he called it--which he had seen exemplified -in some Christian missionaries. The Word, _made flesh_, is thus -pronounced with an accent and an eloquence which are simply -irresistible. - -'I said, and I repeat,' says Mr. Edwin Hodder, in his biography of Sir -George Burns, the founder of the Cunard Steamship Company, 'I said, and -I repeat, that if the Bible were blotted out of existence, if there were -no prayer-book, no catechism, and no creed, if there were no visible -Church at all, I could not fail to believe in the doctrines of -Christianity while the living epistle of Sir George Burns' life remained -in my memory.' That was Whittier's argument: - - The dear Lord's best interpreters - Are humble human souls; - The gospel of a life like his - Is more than books or scrolls. - - From scheme and creed the light goes out, - The saintly fact survives; - The blessed Master none can doubt, - Revealed in holy lives. - -We have reached a very practical aspect now of the message that the -Christmas bells will soon be ringing. The thoughts of men are only -intelligibly communicable by means of words; and the words of men only -become pregnant with passion and with power when they are _made flesh_. -And, in the same way, the thoughts of God to men are only eloquent when -they are so expressed. Revelation became sublimely rhetorical at -Bethlehem, and we can only perpetuate its eloquence through the agency -of lives transfigured. - - - -Transcriber's Notes - -Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed: heart-breaking/heartbreaking, -over-wrought/overwrought. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Faces in the Fire, by Frank W. 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