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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } - -</style> -<title>LURES OF LIFE</title> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Lures of Life" /> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="Joseph Lucas" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1919" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="43303" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2013-07-25" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Lures of Life" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Lures of Life" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="lures.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta content="en" scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta content="2013-07-26T04:32:57.542864+00:00" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43303" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="Joseph Lucas" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta content="2013-07-25" scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="EpubMaker 0.3.20a7 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="lures-of-life"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LURES OF LIFE</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>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 </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> -included with this eBook or online at -</span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Lures of Life -<br /> -<br />Author: Joseph Lucas -<br /> -<br />Release Date: July 25, 2013 [EBook #43303] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LURES OF LIFE</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">LURES OF LIFE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">JOSEPH LUCAS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "OUR VILLA IN ITALY"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">T. FISHER UNWIN, LTD. -<br />ADELPHI TERRACE, LONDON</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">First published . . . . January, 1919. -<br />Second Impression . . . . June, 1919.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<ol class="upperroman simple"> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-life-s-afterglow">THE LURE OF LIFE'S AFTERGLOW</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-happiness">THE LURE OF HAPPINESS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-self-denial">THE LURE OF SELF-DENIAL</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-magic-words">THE LURE OF MAGIC WORDS</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-an-old-tuscan-garden">THE LURE OF AN OLD TUSCAN GARDEN</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-the-montelupo-plate">THE LURE OF THE MONTELUPO PLATE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-pluck">THE LURE OF PLUCK</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-old-furniture">THE LURE OF OLD FURNITURE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-personality">THE LURE OF PERSONALITY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-nice-people">THE LURE OF NICE PEOPLE</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-the-new-democracy">THE LURE OF THE NEW DEMOCRACY</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#jesus-christ-the-lure-of-the-ages">JESUS CHRIST THE LURE OF THE AGES</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-the-living-word">THE LURE OF THE LIVING WORD</a></p> -</li> -<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#the-lure-of-the-eucharist">THE LURE OF THE EUCHARIST</a></p> -</li> -</ol> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-life-s-afterglow"><span class="bold x-large">LURES OF LIFE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF LIFE'S AFTERGLOW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A friend put me in remembrance that I -had a birthday recently. Birthday emotion -with an old man is an extinct crater. When -I was young a coming birthday set my pulse -throbbing to mad music weeks beforehand; -it filled me with delightful anticipations. -Romance gathered round the happy event. -Our thoughts tripped capriciously along the -primrose paths of the future. I felt -myself preordained to greatness. The hoarded -treasure held in bond for me was surely there -awaiting delivery, and Time the magician's -wand would wave its largesse into my -outstretched eager hands, and, clothed in honour, -I should ride prosperously all the days of my life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To the youngster starting on the grand -tour of life, the journey is a splendid venture. -The cup held to the lips overflows with rich, -ripe, sparkling liquor; every draught of it is -nectar, exhilarating the spirits, expanding -the experience, and discoursing music on -every chord of the harp of a thousand strings. -It is superb doing, riding life on a flowing -tide when the warm south wind blows, and -the air is redolent with aromatic spices, when -driftwood floats from distant climes, and -shore-birds sail in the central blue signalling -that the Land of Heart's Desire will soon be -reached. Truly youth takes life with a zest -of its own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Yes, the birthday is a happy day to the -young. You rejoice that you are a year -older and of added consequence and stature -in the world of men, and a step nearer -realizing the daydreams sweetly dreamed in school, -when the magic of life filled you with wonder -and awe. Birthday joy increases immensely -until the period of ecstatic joy crowns all, -when you score twenty-one years and write -yourself down a man. You are no longer -a flower in the bud worn in anybody's -buttonhole, but a well-developed plant on -your own root growing in the open. When -you get twice twenty-one birthday joy cloys -on your palate, and you begin to resent -the intrusion of the natal day as an -unwelcome guest that you have seen too often. -He reminds you that you are growing old -and growing older. Your friends may crown -the day with roses and toast you at the -evening dinner in your best champagne -let loose for the occasion, but the obvious -remains, and your response to their -unblushing flattery is not gushing as of yore. -You tire of birthday greetings and birthday -festivities; your vivacity flags; your digestion -suffers. The thoughts that adorn the -occasion are chiefly reminiscent, for the horizon -of the future is narrowing down and leaves -less space for Fancy in which to fly her kite.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I had covered my half-century a -curious feeling like an electric shock chased -along every fibre of my being on facing the -cold, hard fact for the first time; I had grown -old, and done it surreptitiously. Time glides -smoothly, silently, swiftly, and startled as -from a deep sleep, one marvels at the hot -haste of the rolling years. You dread nearing -the vortex of the great unknown to which we -all inevitably steer, and finally sink beneath -its swirling surface. The outlook is -disturbing. Can't you put down the brake and -gentle the pace? Will no opiate drug Time -into forgetfulness? You try the rejuvenating -influences of Mrs. Allen's Hair Restorer, but -nothing happens. The bald spot on the -crown of your head increases in baldness and -shining splendour. The longer you watch it, -the larger it grows. Time baffles your artful -devices, smiles at your wild alarms, and -drives from you the crimson days of youth, -with their vigour and vivacity, leaving in -your possession a feeling of comfortable -lethargy which solidifies into pacific -blissfulness. Insensibly a change has passed over -you with the mounting years. How the -change wrought you do not know. Where -you crossed the frontier which in the twinkling -of an eye ranked you amongst the elders you -cannot say. Who can tell the moment when -summer ends and autumn commences? Who -can cut a clean cleavage between afternoon -and evening hours?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, you settle down to an old man's -pleasures. You dislike being hustled after -dinner. You prefer a quiet rubber at Bridge -in a cosy room, with shaded lights, and a -silent cigar with cronies of a choice, familiar -brand as playmates. You prefer it to strenuously -dancing in a stuffy, glaring ball-room -till morning hours chase the stale and weary -dancers to their homes. It is too fatiguing -an amusement to make pleasure for you, as -there is no new romance to be looked for after -fifty. Anticipation at your ripe age is wasted -stimulant. Boys dream of the future, old -men live in the present. Youth, once upon -a time, was an asset held in hand, a rich -inheritance to be proud of, but now the -treasury of youth is spent to the last coin -and only the empty coffer remains, a memento -of the vanished wealth of early days. You -are a middle-aged man aged fifty, and you -settle down to it solidly and squarely and -comfortably. You will never be young and -flippant again this side the harbour-bar.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As we steer cautiously into the sixties and -face the grand climacteric, life grows pensive. -Sober reflections automatically cast their -lengthening shadows over us. We have -drunk copiously of the wine of life, and are -now coming to the dregs of the bottle. We -get moody. Meridian sunshine has not -fructified the promise of youth as we appointed -it. Lean years have eaten up years of -plenty. We have gathered tares with the -wheat which brought disappointment into -the storehouse. Varied experiences have -chequered life with cross lights and shadows. -The grand ideals of sanguine youth have -dissolved like dreams at daybreak, and instead -of the great achievement ours is the common -lot. Rates and taxes are hardy annuals that -flourish undisturbed amidst the ruins. Are -we downhearted because the romance of life -has fizzled out like spent fireworks and left -us in darkness? We did not expect to -finish up in obscurity. Are we downhearted? -No; after the struggle and stress of conflict -we get our second breath; and the calm of -age overtakes us. The halcyon hours set in -to cheer us. I now move airily along the -line of least resistance, and this brings -tranquillity of mind in my advancing years. We -are no longer broody. Experience breaks -one in gently to the monotony of daily -routine, and the collar neither frets nor rubs -the shoulder, for the velvet lining of -contentment softens the friction and we trudge along -serenely going West.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Everything contributes to make an old -man's lot happy if the salt of life has not -lost its savour. We have played the game, -and now we watch others take their innings. -It is good fun to watch. I tell you it is -music to the eye watching the gay young -world go its own way. The swagger, the -</span><em class="italics">bravoure</em><span>, the buoyancy of its manners, stagger -the dull parental mind. There is rhythm in -its movements, there is character in its -gaiety. It tops the record of the far-off -days of splendour when we, their portly -ancestors, were down in the arena beating -up the dust of conflict, and considered -ourselves the cream of modernity and the finest -goods in the market. The youth of to-day -has its hand on the wheel and the joy-car -pads merrily, heedless of speed limits, for -time has no limit and life sings a pleasant -song to boys of the new régime.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Life's afterglow is the period when the past -is viewed through the golden haze of memory -and we live over again the days of our youth, -the splendid days of hope and promise. -Pleasant things and pleasant people are -remembered, and disagreeable events that -vexed us are forgotten. We wipe clean from -the slate memories that are unwelcome. -From the mellowy distance we admire the -picture in its broad outlines; its uninteresting -details drop out of sight. It is the vivid -patches of colour upon the canvas where the -eye lingers lovingly and long. It is the happy -past that enchants the memory to-day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An old man glances over his shoulder -adown the long pathway of receding years -hungrily, and muses to himself, "Oh, to be -out in the world again as I knew it fifty years -ago, with the same sunny people about me; -to meet them on the old familiar footing. -We had capacious times together; we -understood one another and loved one another -with kindred hearts and flowing speech. I -talk with people nowadays, but these new -friends of mine are not responsive. There -is a glass screen between us as we talk -together; we sit near one another, but we are -far apart. I catch a far-off glint in their eye -which holds me at arm's-length. Our lips -are restrained, our thoughts are bottled up. -It seems like sitting together in a room with -blinds drawn, talking in the dark. Yes; new -friends at best are but amiable strangers, for -we met one another only when the flower of life -had wilted and the leaf was sere and yellow on -the tree. The full, unrestrained days when -the sap was rising, the blossoming days of -youth, were lived apart. I do not know -these good people intimately, and I never -can, and they can never know me. We each -have a buried past which is sacred ground -where the other never treads."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I met recently a grey-haired man who was -a schoolboy friend of mine. A wide sundering -gap of years lies between us since our previous -meeting, but at once we grasped hands and -knew each other intimately, although -mid-life with each had been filled with a fulness -the other knew nothing of. As boys we -chummed together, and now we renewed our -ancient friendship on olden lines. We had -studied the same lessons, slept in the same -dormitory, sculled in the same boat, fought -in the same playground scrimmages, and, -having met again after long intervening years, -we had endless youthful reminiscences in -common to discuss and life-histories to relate. -There was no need to sit on the safety-valve -to throttle down the conversation. Talk -came, a flowing stream bubbling up from the -hot springs of the heart. Our meeting had -the perfume of romance clinging to it, which -made golden the precious hours in the -spending. Two grey-haired men chattering with -their heads together for the nonce were -merry schoolboys. The present was -forgotten; the past was everything to them -while the old enthusiasms flared up brightly -and shot a warm rosy afterglow athwart -life's pleasant evening hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Loafing is a privilege of one's declining -years. It is an agreeable form of laziness -which sits well upon old shoulders. It is that -mellow state of stagnant content which -pervades the mind when the natural force -abates. I do not extol it as a virtue, I claim -it as a privilege. It helps to fill gaps in the -daily round when business no longer engages -your attention and office hours are a dread -ordeal done with for ever. Having dropped -out of the marching line and become a -spectator of the passing show, what more -natural than that you manifest a livelier -curiosity in other people's activities than in -your own sluggish movements. I love to -spend a sunny morning lingering on the old -garden seat, chatting to a friend, or watching -the energetic youngsters at play amongst the -roses. I find it enjoyable to take my pitch -on the pierhead with the gay summer crowd -ambling along, passing and repassing my -post of observation, and watch the pretty -and well-accoutred girls angling for admiration, -and the budding men in spotless flannels -flashing answering glances to catch the lasses' -eyes; an endless conversation going on without -voices whispering a word; they look at -each other and laugh, and the incipient -mystery of the thing slips into their blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I was once reluctant to relinquish youth. -Its passions and pleasure made my life -intensely joyous in a clean, healthy way. I -resented the horrid fact that with encroaching -years I was no longer able to wake the old -thrill of existence by any of the old methods. -The call came to me, but nature responded -not to its alluring voice. The spent fires -could not be rekindled; and in a tragic -moment the truth stood uncovered in its -stark nakedness: "I am growing old!" I -had to readjust my bearings in life to meet -the new situation. I found it better to walk -in step with the years and melt into middle -life with all the gentle conciliations of an -easy mind than to clutch at the hem of the -garment of departing youth and hold on -frantically to a corpse; and so it came to pass -youth, with its frank, jovial, devil-may-care -lightheartedness, was surrendered ground, -and I put on a splendid face, taking up a -new position in the rear as an old fogy, a -little moss-grown, but still alive, healthy, -happy, and hearty.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-happiness"><span class="bold large">II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF HAPPINESS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The joy of living is to grasp life in its fullness -just as it comes to us clean and sweet from -the hand of God; to eat the grapes that -grow in our own vineyard; to feed on the -honey captured from our own hives; and to -bask in the sunshine blessing our own garden -plot. Some people cannot do this. They -were born sour and fail to ripen. They -remind me of the Church of St. Lorenzo at -Florence, built but never finished, and -showing a dejected mien to the passer-by. They -hold on to life timidly with cold and clammy -hands, and smile with glum visage and call -it all vanity and vexation of spirit. -Happiness frets them like a lump of undigested -pickle lying heavy on their chest; they want -to throw it off and be at ease in their misery. -They consider it wickedness to enjoy things--to -wallow in sunshine. They say we ought -to content ourselves with bare commodities -needful for existence. The primitive man -was happy. He had no shirt to wash, no -taxes to pay, no barns to fill with plenty. -We must be primitive to be happy. Deplete -the wealthy of their wealth; sink society to -a common ground-level (allow us boots to -wear in this muddy climate, if you please), -and then everyone will be healthy, happy, -and poor. Stepping out of his well-appointed -motor-car, the up-to-date man spurns the -primitive craze and blazes forth, "Is thy -servant a dog that he should house in a -kennel?" Surely civilization means creature -comfort; everyone wants something larger -than bare necessities to embellish life. The -Creator rears us on finer lines than He raises -cattle on the marshes. Year by year He -lavishes before our eyes Nature's prodigal -store of ornament. Every yard of hedgerow, -"those liberal homes of unmarketable -beauty," contradict the crank who would -confine us to the needful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dusty utilitarian sees the world only -as a crowded granary, a chattering -marketplace in which to buy and sell and get gain. -The Divine Artist enriches the picture by -painting in exquisitely the flowering -hawthorn and fragrant violets, and by tuning -the throat of the skylark to rarest melody; -and concurrently He attunes the soul of man, -which thrills appreciation, and delights in -these manifestations of Sovereign goodness. -He not merely appeases the hunger of the -human body, but feeds the rarer appetites -of the human mind with radiant viands; -and the more godlike in stature man grows, -the more fully he appreciates God-given art -and beauty flung like flowers across his pathway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Everybody is happy in his own order. -The history of many a man's life is the story -of a soul's wandering in search of happiness. -Some people are happy in their misery. -Even when nursing their spleen they do it -comfortably. They dilate on their grief with -real zest of morbid enthusiasm that it flings -a blazing cheerfulness over their cold grey -lives. It sets them purring with sweet -content when an auditor listens to their woeful -outpourings. This is the cheapest form of -happiness, and reflects an impoverished mind -thrown back upon itself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hazlitt, the essayist, gently prods these -crazy egoists with a sharp pen and says, -"Pure pleasures are in their judgment -cloying and insipid; an ounce of sour is worth -a pound of sweet." Farquhar, the lively -dramatist, mocks their folly when portraying -the gushing Lady Constance, who, on finding -the miniature of her absent lover lying on -the floor, picks it up and exclaims: "Now I -am fitted out for sorrow. With this I'll -sigh, with this converse, gaze on his image -till I grow blind with weeping. It is the -only thing could give me joy, because it will -increase my grief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Happiness is a gift of temperament. The -occupation that makes one man happy the -day long would be capital punishment to -another man. I have known people to -possess everything and enjoy nothing; others, -who possess little, dwell in paradise. It is a -braver thing to extract honey from the hive -of life than to leave it rotting in the comb. -Alas! these weak-kneed, nervous mortals -who are afraid of being too happy: they -tremble as they sit at the banquet. They -toy with a lean and hungry fate and dare -not clasp a full-bosomed blessing. They -prefer misery as a diet, with a spice of religion -thrown in to flavour it. They fancy -self-inflicted misery is a virtue to be cultivated, -and a grace to be counted for righteousness. -We shrewdly detect in such conduct a pose. -It lacks the grace of sincerity. Such people, -overfed on misery, fatten on it incontinently. -It is the diet of a low, melancholy temperament.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is no standard-pattern happiness -planned to suit the temperament of everybody -like the map of a city which all travellers -follow to find their bearings. Happiness is a -city that each person maps out for himself; -its highways and byways are of his own -engineering and grow to match his own -requirements. Happiness is not a sloppy -garment like a ready-made coat that you -buy in a store. Happiness must be made to -fit. In fact, every man makes his own -happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We all distil pleasure out of life in our -peculiar way. Only our ways differ as the -poles asunder. One man cannot understand -where the other man's relish for life comes -in. What is nauseous as bitter herbs in one -mouth tastes delicate as the wines of Orvieto -on another palate. A famous American -millionaire found greater satisfaction in the -simple pleasure of attending funerals than -in all the superb luxuries which his millions -brought him. We do not envy his simple -pleasure. It was an innocent method of -enjoyment peculiarly his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I knew a man who made an income of over -£10,000 a year by hard work, and his pleasure -was immense in doing it. One half of his -relaxation in life was making more income, -and the other half his amusement consisted -in lecturing people on the evil of extravagance -if they spent "tuppence" on a bus fare -instead of walking three-pennyworth of leather -off the soles of their boots. He never spent -"tuppence" himself if he could save it. He -drove life at high pressure, and enjoyed the -sensations of a quick run. People called him -a money-making machine devoid of fine -feeling. People made a mistake. His nature -was highly strung. He was keenly sensitive -to pleasure--the pleasure of money-making. -It was the poetry, the luxury, the fine art -of life all rolled into one, and it quickened -the gay emotions within him that seeing a -good play, hearing an eloquent sermon or -driving a spanking four-in-hand to Ascot on -a fine June morning, excites in other people. -There are various buttons to press, but they -all send the same thrill of earthly pleasure -tingling through the human frame. Different -hands strike the same chords on the harp of -life, and they tremble into song.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some heroically minded people assert there -are only two things in life: duty and -happiness. It is not everybody who wants to do -his duty--that is a special gift of Providence -few enjoy. But everyone wants to be happy, -and happiness is the greatest thing of all: -other people's happiness as well as our own. -We are not all sagacious to discern the angel -of duty when she comes mixed in a -promiscuous assembly of spirits less honourable -than she. They all dress becomingly and -smile bewitchingly that you cannot mark her -down; her radiance shines no brighter than -other luminous spirits that accompany her. -We should try the spirits whether they be -good or evil ones. However, they move first, -and try us with their beauty, their flattery, -and their gilded promises. According to the -gospel of St. Robert Louis Stevenson, there -is no duty we so much underrate as the duty -of being happy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A third thing some people suggest makes -life worth living is experience. Experience, -they maintain, is a more valuable treasure -than happiness; experience is a pearl of great -price, and we must sell all we have to possess -it. The world is spacious; range it widely, -breathe its bracing airs, sail its deep seas in -search of experience. Pursue it, and if in -the pursuit you are blown about by the -fickle winds of fate, the buffeting may be -disagreeable, but it is most exhilarating and -healthy to the earnest seeker after -experience. Provided you are blown, and blown -violently, the direction of the gale matters -not; the north-easter and the zephyr both -teach. Experience builds up character and -increases knowledge, though during building -operations your wisdom may remain a -stationary virtue. If you come out of the -conflict with only experience to your credit -at the other end of the struggle be thankful. -Life is very good. Its chief spoils may be -anguish and sorrow, yet experience makes it -full and rich.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The logic of this cold philosophy needs -consideration before adopting it as gospel. -If a dinted shield and a broken sword are the -only spoils you bring home from the wars -and hang up in the family parlour as trophies -of victory, it is not an adequate recompense -for the rich and vital experience gained in the -fight. Experience was what Don Quixote in -the slippered comfort of his home hungered -after. It was what he found on his travels, -and after passing through much tribulation -it was the one prize he brought home with -him at the journey's end. Experience many -an ambitious man has found to be as an -empty goblet to his thirsty lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the Creator was busy in the minting-house -He did not cast his creatures all in the -same mould, or coin them of the same metal. -Some people are of fine temperament, cram -full of emotion; they are all feeling, and -express their feeling vigorously. Other people -are of baser metal. They are stolid, and -pass through life neither contented nor -discontented with their lot; they are neither -happy nor miserable. They are well-regulated -clocks running slowly down to the -last tick, and then ceasing to tick at all. -Monotony is the bane of their existence, -blighting it with double dulness. They feel -little and say nothing about it. One never -knows what hidden compensations life -provides for its multitudinous offspring. These -torpid people must have a secret well of -satisfaction from which they dip refreshing -draughts in thirsty moments.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The child of emotion is more vivacious; -he has colour, romance, movement. He is -of a rarer vintage; there is sparkle in the -wine of life. Occasionally the wine turns -sour and drops flavour. Disagreeable people -do exist for some veiled purpose of -Providence, as the species never becomes extinct -in the land. In infancy they were rocked in -the cradle of discontent, and they have -seldom slept out of it since. They have -grown up in a nursery of their own. They -are highly strung, and have a genius for -living in the moment--irritably. Their wit -is brilliant, it scintillates like running water -in the sunshine, but it cuts like a razor. -Everybody within reach of their tongue, even -innocent people, feel the whip of their -capricious temper. I suppose some grim pleasure -feeds their fiery nature when they subdue -friend and enemy under them. It is an -unenviable pleasure which they enjoy; nobody -shares with them, and when their ill-humour -dies down it must leave a nasty taste in their -mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If you want to be happy, do not expect -too much from life. Do not ask more from -friendship than you give, for eventually the -balance is sure to adjust itself. Do not ask -more than your share of good things; if you -do exceed the limit, disappointment will dog -your footsteps all the day. You cannot -expect to be always happy. Trouble and -sorrow come to all of us, with a difference. -Some people extract comfort out of trouble, -and it assuages their grief; others add worry -to their woe, and it aggravates their vexation -of spirit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Motor-cars carry a little dynamo on board -and generate their own electric current as -they travel, and after dark, with the great -headlights glowing, they travel pleasantly -and safe. A contented mind is a dynamo -we can carry with us, and it generates its own -happiness as we travel. It illumines the -journey of life and makes it pleasant to -ourselves and agreeable to friends travelling -in our company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Do not grizzle over chances missed in life -and "might have beens" which sprinkle your -past like gravestones dotting a churchyard, -inscribed "sacred to the memory of cherished -griefs still hugged and spasmodically wept -over." Convert the mossy tombstones into -wayside shrines which loving hands garland -with fresh flowers, while grateful hearts fondly -linger there, recalling pleasant things and -sweet companionship which gladdened your -pilgrim way. Do not erect mural tablets to -dead ambitions in the little sanctuary of your -memory; build altars there instead whereon -you can offer acceptable oblations of praise -for evils escaped and for the crown of -loving-kindness with which the Everlasting Arms -encircle you.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If we only had the gift of humour on us -it would make "life more amusing than we -thought." Our eyes would open to a new -world wherein kinder people dwell and where -brighter sunshine warms the heart's red -blood and chases down the gloom we -anticipate to-morrow that may never come.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-self-denial"><span class="bold large">III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF SELF-DENIAL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Self-denial is not the highest form of virtue, -nor is it a permanent condition of life for -man to live in; yet it is a lure that draws -men to martyrdoms as the flame collects -moths to the burning. Man was not -predestinated to a life of self-abnegation. -Self-denial is a compromise between misery and -happiness. Human nature does not thrive -on compromise; it does not develop in -austerities. Self-denial has its value in the -scheme of moral education. Training is good -for man if he does not carry it too far. You -can overtrain. The scholar trains; he -discreetly withdraws from gay life and inflicts -on himself long hours of lonely study that -he may rank in the list of University honours. -The jockey trains, and punishes himself in -so doing that he may ride to win. It is the -same the world over: pain is joy in the -making. Where self-denial is the driving -power in religious life it leads, not to -happiness, but to asceticism: to the lonely cell of -the misanthropic monk, the pedestal of -St. Simon Stylates, or the self-torture of the -Indian fakir. Deluded people these, who -build up life on self-denial as the pinnacle -virtue to which man can soar while on earth. -None of these people set self-denial in its -proper place in the human economy--viz., a -means to an end. It is the end-all in their -vision of life, and so their life is dismal in -the living and disappointing in its purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Self-denial is necessary and serves a healthy -purpose. It is necessary to man's spiritual -welfare as medicine or the surgeon's knife -may be necessary to his physical health.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Man is of twofold nature: the animal and -the spiritual, the good and the bad, the -superior and the inferior--label it as you -please. Self-denial is putting the inferior -quality under the superior one; self-denial is -following the higher inspiration at the expense -of the lower instincts. "Self-denial": the -very word implies, repressing desires, -renouncing pleasures, suffering pain. It means -living from choice on the shady, dank side -of the street rather than basking in the open -sunny piazza when only a few steps place -you there, where the children play and the -old men foregather deep in the hallowed -sunshine. Self-denial is not the crowning -virtue--it is just the market price we pay -that we may garner a harvest of happiness -in the recompensing days of autumn.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Divine purpose in man is growth, not -repression of growth; it is to expand, to -unfold, to develop character. To pass from -bud to flower in moral and spiritual -excellence, not to stunt manhood till its fairest -features are arrested in growth, and moral -atrophy sets up a canker in the bud, and -ugliness usurps the seat of beauty in a man's -character. Ugliness everywhere may be left -to the devil as his monopoly. Self-denial is -the grubby chrysalis; happiness is the golden -butterfly on the wing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not self-denial, but enjoyment, is the -highest good and the truest test of character. -Enjoyment; rejoicing in that which ought to -delight us in this our earthly life--this is a -finer attainment than self-denial. Enjoyment -means a full life, living upon our whole -nature, and well-balanced withal in the -living. It seems an attractive and sinless -programme to subscribe to, yet it is difficult -to draw a boundary-line between enjoyment -and excess. This is where the crux comes -in. This is verily the fire that tries every -man's work of what sort it is. It is cruel -punishment to crush your passions and -pleasures out of existence--that is self-denial. -It is splendid discipline to give them play -and at the same time hold them in control--that -is enjoyment. Success in this great -endeavour brings the victor into marching-line -with the angels, and yields a finer exaltation -and a larger recompense than trampling -on the lilies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is more difficult to hold steadily a full -cup than to carry an empty flagon. It is a -doleful religion that uproots every flower in -the garden as a noxious weed until only the -naked brown earth remains to gaze upon in -the blessed sunshine. It is a scurvy trick of -virtue to spill the heady liquor on the ground -and then with a flourish place the empty -chalice an offering on the altar. Abstinence -is the morality of the weak, temperance is -the morality of the strong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A deep enjoying nature is one of God's -best gifts to man. The happy man is -generally the best of his breed. The good -are usually happy, and the happy are usually -good. There are no short cuts to being -happy, you must be really good to win -through. If our daily occupation is -congenial to our taste and disposition, our mind -dwells at ease and our nature mellows in the -sunshine of agreeable surroundings. Our -sense of contentment radiates good humour -and makes us kindly and benevolent to -others. We are not chafed and fretted by -duties irksome to us, because uncongenial. -We are fulfilling destiny, and fulfilling it with -completeness of purpose. Those around us -feel the warm, penetrating sunshine of our -hearts, and they grow warm under the mystic -touch of the sun. It is for this reason that -happiness becomes a holy quest with us, for -out of it spring the virtues which robe life in -beauty and gladness. One of the most precious -of human faculties is the power to enjoy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Self-denial is either a tyranny or a virtue, -and should be praised with circumspection. -Many feverishly religious people debase its -moral currency. They hinder their own -happiness and thwart the happiness of others -as far as in them lies, and fancy in so doing -they keep the whole ten commandments of God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Self-denial for the sake of self-denial is a -pagan rite: cold, pitiless, sterile. Renunciation -and suffering prove nothing. Men have -renounced and suffered for the greed of gold, -for the lust of ambition, for the honour of a -blood-stained idol, and lost moral stamina -in so doing. The experience of ages brands -deep the flaming truth upon us that sacrifice -must be valued according to the object for -which the sacrifice is made. Sacrifice for its -own sake weaves no crown of glory for the -martyr's brow. It is a form of amiable -suicide. If you starve yourself for the sake -of showing mastery over self, what thank -have ye? The heathen do even the same--and -do it better. It is an act of self-torture, -and ministers to your pride of purpose. -But to give up a meal when hungry that -one you love may have it puts a better -complexion on the deed. To bear pain for -the grim joy of bearing it brings no reward. -Do not even the Stoics the same? But to -bear pain rather than surrender truth or to -cover a suffering friend is a loving and heroic -act, meriting a V.C. when spiritual honours -are distributed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old painters pictured in glowing -witchery of colour the ordeal by suffering -as the master-key that opened the gates of -paradise to macerated mortals. The old -writers drove home the same insidious error -with all the pious fervour of their fluent pen, -and thus men became fascinated with the -doctrine of self-immolation as the highest -good. In mediæval times the </span><em class="italics">via dolorosa</em><span> -was the well-trodden public way travelled -by sainted pilgrims seeking a better country.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meritorious misery won through, for it was -aureoled with the Church's benediction and -rendered attractive by her promise of eternal -rewards. Surely this daily human life of -ours was not ordained to be a pageant of -austerity reaching from the cradle to the -grave. The Creator, having given this -beautiful world as a temporary home for His -children to dwell in, expects agreeable people -to occupy its furnished splendours for a space -of three score years and ten, more or less. -If not, then the Creator's gift is wasted -bounty flung to dull and unappreciative -mortals.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Brighter and healthier views of life emerge -out of the crude misconceptions which -enveloped the past in religious gloom, although -there yet remain amongst us people who -revel in the luxury of self-denial as in a -feast of fat things, while the genial side -of their nature remains dormant, starved, -stunted. I have seen such-like in the flesh, -spoken with them and touched their cold -hands. They are unattractive people to -know, and not companionable to travel with. -They are faultless, methodical, patient, but -they have no endearing friendships, no -entwining intimacies by which you can fasten -on them and love them. They are isolated -and self-contained, lacking the charm of some -little human weakness which makes us all -akin. They may have a warm heart, but -chilled blood circulates round it. Their eyes -glitter like glaciers at the call of duty. They -hurry from committee meeting to committee -meeting, and forget to lunch between -engagements. They shine in the performance of -self-imposed errands of mercy, and live by -rule relentlessly at any cost to pocket, health, -or reputation. They minister to the sick -and poor assiduously, and mother a class of -poor factory girls in the evening, but their -home is shivery to enter as a cold storage. -A cold storage is a curious place to visit, -but an impossible place to dwell in, except -for frozen goods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is possible to make the best of both -worlds without an uncomfortable sense of -sin nagging you like toothache; it is possible -to work for others and yet tend your own -vineyard with whole-hearted joy garnered -from the wonder and beauty and sunshine -of this our earthly home. The man is not -a miscreant who laughs heartily and often: -the person is not a saint who starves his body -to save his soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The harassing question is, How can we -make the best of life as it comes to us a day -at a time, and yet sail on an even keel? It -is the problem that prophets, savants, and -theologians have hammered at through the -ages, but have not yet forged in fine gold the -key that unlocks the mystery; thus there -is an opening for us to cut in before the final -word is uttered and the discussion battens -down under a unanimous show of hands, -which crowning mercy will be the last far-off -result of time. The question agitating the -moment is, What shall we do with the fair -flower of our earthly life? Shall we enjoy -it as we would the beauty and fragrance of -a rose, thanking the good God for a gift so -sweet and precious, or shall we with peevish -fingers pick the rose to pieces petal by petal -and crush it under foot, fearing its beauty -may seduce our virtue and its perfume poison -our soul?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Let us preserve the rose inviolate. Its -role is to be joy-giver on the earth. I would -sooner sit with Jesus Christ at the marriage -feast in Cana of Galilee and drink with Him -wine of the best vintage that ever flowed on -festive board than sup with John Baptist in -the wilderness on his menu of locusts and -wild honey. The exquisite scene my -imagination quaintly pictures is Jesus Christ -and John the Baptist sitting together at the -banquet, and each enjoying the meal with -equal zest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Renaissance which fascinated half -Europe in the fifteenth century, like a -carillon of joy-bells ringing through the land, -stirring the dull pulses of the people and -reviving generous and graceful ideals of life, -was just open rebellion against the crabbed -austerities of the Church, practised in the -name of religion falsely so called. The people -threw off the galling yoke of forced asceticism -and found liberty of spirit and peace of mind -in literature and art, and in the spontaneous -and natural flow of healthy human life. -Unfortunately, there was a fly in the amber; -the people borrowed most of their new -pleasures from pagan Greece, and the old -Greek gods came tripping back from fairyland -hand in glove with Greek culture, which was -embarrassing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The advent of the light-hearted Cavaliers -in England, flinging colour and warmth and -gaiety over the land, was a sharp recoil from -the drab severity of Puritan rule. The -Puritans were men of strong personality: -half soldiers and half preachers. They were -honest without charm; strong-minded without -pose; mighty in conscience, but mean in -heart qualities. They were clean livers, but -as they aged their visage grew hard and sour -as unripe fruit, and their geniality of temper -withered like a winter apple. They forgot -to smile; the solemnities of life crushed them. -They were grave and sagacious citizens -lacking vivacity and humour, with plenty of -flavour, but no sweetness. They dreamed of -invisible kingdoms and fought for eternal -verities. They command our admiration, -but do not win our love. Their God was of -the best theology mechanically constructed -at Geneva by John Calvin, built up in parts -composed of Righteousness, Justice, Holiness. -Beauty was barred as a Divine attribute. -The dismal meeting-house where they -worshipped was the whitewashed prison in which -the captured Deity dwelt. The burning light -of this dread Presence enraptured the elect -souls and intimidated the uncovenanted and -graceless sinners, while the vast multitude -of the nation held aloof, dreading contact with -a religion so fierce and yet so gloomy, and -they waited patiently through the shivering -night of Roundhead rule, like watchmen on -the city walls, for the coming of the king to -set English homes once again humming with joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These two strong currents of life--Self-denial -and Enjoyment--are flowing side by -side in our midst to-day, dividing men in -thought and purpose, driving men into open -collision, only to relax their strangle-hold on -one another to get firmer grip and fight -again another day. These two different -ideals of life represent two antagonistic sides -of a man's nature that clash with each other, -and the man has a stand-up fight with -himself, which is an experience fiery -temperaments often plunge into. Each side carries -a half-truth and half an error. Blend the -two half-truths into an intimate and -harmonious whole and sink the errors into the -bottomless pit from whence they came, and -you discover human nature touching its -highest and ripest form, approaching the -Christlike in character, which combines the -two elements in true and everlasting union.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jesus of Nazareth, whose knightly character -embodied all that the sweet romancists -of the Middle Ages dreamed of and pictured -in the faultless knight-errant of their day -which won their hearts' devotion and -consent (</span><em class="italics">preux chevalier sans peur et sans -reproche</em><span>), and all that our own age typifies -and holds dear in modern character of good -repute when in a single phrase it proclaims -the man a perfect gentleman--Jesus Christ -means all that and more to us. Christ is not -a withered flower on a broken stem torn -from the Tree of Life; He is not a damaged -idol of an effete civilization which modern -progress sweeps aside in its forward march; -He is not the Lord of an ancient faith whom -the fires of scientific criticism have burnt up -and left only His ashes in a cinerary urn -reposing on the altar of our heart. He is -the world's one fulfilment of the faultless -and the ideal in human nature, blending all -that is beautiful and enjoyable with all that -is holy and vigorous.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-magic-words"><span class="bold large">IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF MAGIC WORDS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Beautiful language is the flower of poetry. -The magic of diction, of enchanted words -transformed into radiant, marvellous sentient -things pulsing with life and passion, capture -our attention, and deep within us something -vibrates in answer to their mastering call.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A writer with perfect felicity of expression -voices thoughts and emotions of our own -heart that we cannot give utterance to, yet -of which we are dimly conscious. These -ghostly creatures of our mind, half a memory -and half a thing, peep and mutter within us; -we try to hold them, but they are illusive as -shadows on the wall. From the well-written -words there leaps out something that has -life and form and comeliness in it, and -instantly we recognize an intimate returning -from a far country laden with spoil. Words -liberate the imprisoned thought that fretted -within us and set it free: gloriously free for -you and me and all the world to make -familiar with.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are words--spectacular words that -print indelibly pleasant pictures on the mind, -reveal in a sabre-flash thoughts that burn -and things that were hidden. There are -words--vivid, striking, portentous words that -unfold noble vistas of truth in which happy, -emancipated people walk freely in sunlight and -song. There are melodious, aromatic words -that ring tunefully through corridors of the -mind like a carillon of merry bells charming -the heart with far-reaching joy. There are -strong, fiery, tempestuous words that crash -and rattle and reverberate like rolling thunder -through your being, and kindle the spirit of -man into blazing passion and heroic fervour. -There are dull, prosy, somnolent words that -baffle like a London fog, envelop the writer's -meaning in dense obscurity, and lure the -reader's mentality into quagmires of -perplexity and doubt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are ambrosial, honeyed, ornate words -that regale us with fair visions of life, and -steep the mind in dreams of romance and -intoxicate with amorous delight. There are -treacherous, lying words that distil murder -in the air as they wing their evil flight. -They strike deadly as a keen stiletto, or spit -poison like a venomous adder in the grass.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are discordant words that harrow up -the feelings, and there are smooth, velvety, -caressing words whose sweet sorcery holds -us in their thrall, and that flow on and on -harmoniously like the rippling of many waters -that never fall out of tune.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Words cannot be measured with the -measuring-reed of a man; they are spiritual -forces; "they are angels of blessing or -cursing. Unuttered we control them, uttered -they control us." A man may have much -wisdom packed into his capacious mind, but -to unfold it attractively so that it glitters -in the public eye and arrests attention is -where the master art of handling words -comes in.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One secret of successful writing is to -express your thoughts in as few words as -possible. Be frugal in your expenditure of -words as a miser over the outlay of his -hoarded gold. Write clearly, tersely, -compactly, for words, like coins of the realm, -are most esteemed when they contain large -value in little space. The more briefly a -thing is said, the more brilliantly it is put. -The rarest of all qualities in a writer -is--measure, saying exactly as much as you -mean to say and not a word more or less. -If a picture is complete, everything added -is something taken away.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "command of language" is often a -snare of the devil into which men fall and -do themselves grievous hurt. A redundancy -of flowery words and empty fluency of speech -confuse the thought and confound the -meaning; skip half the telling and you know more -of the tale. Oh the dreariness of some solid -reading I have done in my time!--very -learned and logical dissertations, but dulness -crowned it all; even the dry bones of scientific -matter clogged with technicalities can be -made to live by a touch of style. Cartloads -of words rumbling along the rutty road of -argument slowly to their destination are not -half so forceful as an apt image which flies -straight to the point on wings of inspiration, -and gets there first.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No subject is uninteresting if discoursed -with an engaging pen, for words throw -colour-magic on things that are common-place -and give charm to them. I have -watched Italian sunlight playing on the -crumbling plaster walls of a peasant's cottage -on the Tuscan hills, drenching them in opal -and rose-carmine splendours, changing them -into the image of a fairy palace. Words cast -sunlight on commonplace, familiar things, -flushing them with a radiance all their own, -and so awaking our mind to see new beauties, -or old beauties made manifest in a new light -which had been staled by the lethargy of -custom. Miss Mitford's village was an -ordinary Berkshire village mute in the annals -of English history, but it was surprised into -fame by the romantic pen of its lady -historian. A splendid accident of literary -achievement adorned it with immortality, -for it unfolds vividly before our wondering -eyes the beauty of petty things and plain -people in village life. The world owes to her -genial pen a debt of gratitude; for it has -won our sympathies, and in reading her book -we can read our own village with interest -instead of boredom, and see for ourselves the -beauty and pathos and comedy of common -people and homely things around us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Art is the gift of God to man. It is -impossible to buy or barter for the possession -of it. You may cultivate, improve, perfect -the indwelling talent, but the Divine seed -is sown mysteriously in the life of the child -when brought to birth. In whom the secret -power lies dormant none know until the -appointed hour reveals its budding graces. -Inscrutable is the Divine favour; none can -tell whence it cometh or whither it goeth. -It is not inherited like gold or lands; it is -not an entailed honour which accompanies -the family title. Genius seldom, like an -heirloom, passes from sire to son in direct -succession.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A man may possess the advantages that -education, training, culture give, yet all -these excellent acquirements combined -cannot manufacture an artist. It needs the live -coal taken from off the altar to kindle the -sacred flame which illumines the artist's soul.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The painter's art is subject to this very -mysterious law. Philip Gilbert Hamerton -describes the working of the artistic spirit in -man. He says: "Painting is a pursuit in -which thought, scholarship, information, go -for little; whereas a strange, unaccountable -talent working in obscure ways achieves the -only results worth having. Here is a field -in which neither birth nor condition is of -any use, and wealth itself of exceeding little; -here faculty alone avails, and a kind of -faculty so subtle and peculiar, so difficult to -estimate before years have been spent in -developing it, or wasted in the vain attempt -to develop where it does not exist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are pictures you and I dearly love, -and they are priceless treasures in the market; -yet there is no deep thought or display of -learning in them to win our admiration. -They violate facts of history, they outrage -the grammar of academic art, and even their -drawing may be inaccurate. Why, then, are -such works cherished and treasured? -Because, with all their faults, they have power, -they have feeling; they speak to the heart. -The men who painted them were unlearned -and ignorant, but they were artists to the -finger-tips. There is a spiritual something -breathing beneath the surface of the true -painter's work which leaps to the eye and -draws upon us and bestirs our emotions. -Other pictures--laboured, scholastic, -monumental, they leave us cold and passionless, -and we pass them by on the other side.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A good architect also is to the manner born. -The principles of proportion in designing a -building are difficult to adjust to give pleasure -to the eye. Now, the sense of proportion -is a gift which some men possess and -others lack; although they are architects -by profession, they are amateurs in -construction. Without that subtle sense of -proportion a man blunders through his designs, -and puts no feeling of beauty or joy in the -finished structure which is the work of his -hands. Ruskin says: "It is just as rational -an attempt to teach a young architect how -to proportion truly and well by calculating -for him the proportions of fine works as it -would be to teach him to compare melodies -by calculating the mathematical relations of -the notes in Beethoven's 'Adelaide' or -Mozart's 'Requiem.' The man who has -eye and intellect will invent beautiful -proportions, and cannot help it; but he can no -more tell us how to do it than Wordsworth -could tell us how to write a sonnet, or than -Scott could have told us how to plan a -romance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What the faculty of feeling is to the artist, -what the sense of proportion is to the -architect, the gift of style is to the writer. Style -is the witchery of words; style is clothing -thought in captivating language. Style is -the setting of the gem. The gem may be -rare, but it needs the aid of the goldsmith's -art to make the most of it. It is the skilful -setting that holds up the sparkling gem to -our admiration. Style is everything in -writing; it makes the thoughts sparkle. -Niceties of style you cannot explain by -rule-of-three, nor dissect its individuality by the -drastic deed of vivisection; you cannot slash -the heart out of it with a critickin's reckless -knife. You can unravel a piece of rare old -Flemish tapestry, and destroy the beautiful -design and harmonious colouring of it. In -fact, you can reduce the tapestry to a heap -of valueless threads of worsted fit only for -burning; but style in literature you cannot -pick to pieces. You cannot find the -master-thread on which the secret of the pattern -runs, and which reveals the cunning of the -workman's craft. By some mysterious -process the writer weaves words together that -the chambers of our imagination may be -hung with tapestries rare and pleasant to -behold. No explanation of the gift of -penmanship is possible. Moulding words into -forms of beauty is not an achievement: it is -a gift of the gods, and no handbook of -literature, however diligently pursued, can -turn an artisan into an artist cunning in -gold-minted phrases.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Castiglione sent the manuscript of -his book, "The Perfect Courtier," to Vittoria -Colonna for her approval, she replied in a -flattering letter thanking the author, saying: -"The subject is new and beautiful, but the -excellence of the style is such that, with a -sweetness never before felt, it leads us up a most -pleasant and fertile slope, which we gradually -ascend without perceiving that we are no -longer on the level ground from which we -started; and the way is so well cultivated and -adorned that we scarce can tell whether Art -or Nature has done most to make it fair."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is expression that counts, and the writer -who expresses himself simply, vividly, -concisely, boldly, and plays upon our -heart-strings at pleasure, is naturally a "gifted" -man. He not only sees in clear, full vision -himself, but he brings his vision home to our -cloudy brains and makes us see clearly; that -is the wonder of it. It needs all the art and -magic and persuasion of language to -accomplish this difficult task. We </span><em class="italics">see</em><span> the subject -presented as a picture when he writes with -a graphic pen; we </span><em class="italics">feel</em><span> poignantly when his -sharp and polished periods pierce like a -rapier our understanding; we are </span><em class="italics">fascinated</em><span> -when his impassioned eloquence flows, -glittering like running water in the sunlight, -dazzling our bewildered brains. And when -he scores by his native wit and writes in his -trenchant, racy mother-tongue there is a -smile in the stalls and loud laughter in the pit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>How mysteriously beauty steals into -language and warms up the radiant face of -poetry with glowing vitality. There is no -beauty in stale prosaic sentences like -"Trespassers will be prosecuted" or "Rubbish -may be shot here," because they say exactly -and completely all that they have to say -and nothing more can be squeezed out of -them. There is beauty in a sentence like -"The bright day is done. And we are for -the night," or "He shall come down like -rain upon the mown grass," because in them, -although they seem quite simple, the poet -is trying to say infinitely more than he can -pack into words. It is the effort to do -something beyond the power of words; it is the -effort to investigate the alluring Infinite with -a mind closely fettered within the cramped and -narrow finite that can only stretch forth a -hand here and there between prison bars and -touch the azure of infinitude which is the -dreamland of the soul; it is this reaching out -that brings beauty into language: it enflames -the imagination; it ruffles the emotions; -unutterable thoughts linger on the lips and fail -to break away. There is a greatness in -these winged words feathered with beauty -because they mean a thousand times more -than speaks on the surface.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When I was young the magic of words -took possession of my virgin mind. The first -master of language that I served under was -John Ruskin. The aim of good writing is -to communicate feeling; Ruskin did this -intensely. The indefinable richness and -power of words as they flowed from his pen, -the musical and measured cadence of his -prose, and the limpid clearness of his thoughts -when cast on paper, placed an hypnotic spell -upon me. When reading one of his books, -I dwelt in dreamland. Another reading that -I enjoyed with avidity in the seventies and -eighties of the last century was the long -literary leaders, never too long for me, in -the </span><em class="italics">Daily Telegraph</em><span>. The best literary talent -of the day wrote them. Many of them I cut -out and placed in my scrap-book; alas! to -be buried in decent sepulchre, for I never see -them now. Lord Burnham, the proprietor -of the </span><em class="italics">Daily Telegraph</em><span>, put himself into these -leaders, although other pens wrote them. -They were his special hobby, and grew under -his inspiration. His biographer tells us: -"He had the rhetorical sense strongly -developed. He liked full-blooded writing, -and had a tenderness for big words and -big adjectives, well-matched and in pairs. -He revelled in the warmth and colour of -certain words, and the more resonant they -were, the better he liked them." Words -carry not only meaning, but atmosphere with -them. Sometimes a single word well chosen -and well placed in a sentence gives feeling, -and lights it up with a glow of beauty. -J. A. Symonds says: "The right word used -in the right place constitutes the perfection -of style." In my youth a literary friend -was pruning a crude essay I had written; -he paused in his reading on the word -"fallacious," and he said: "That's a good -word and well chosen; it's the right word." It -was a revelation to me at the time that -one word was better than another if they -both meant the same thing. On thinking it -over, I saw that no two words do mean -exactly the same thing, and that there is -only one right word in a hundred to express -exactly your meaning and to give life to it. -The other ninety-and-nine words are but -poor relations--nay! they are all dead -corpses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps you remember Millais' wonderfully -popular picture called "Cinderella." A -beautiful healthy English child, with deep -dreamy eyes and long wavy golden hair sits -on a stool by the kitchen fire holding in her -hand a birch broom emblem of her kitchen -toil. It is a fascinating picture. At home -I look on a coloured print of it nearly every -day of the week. The most brilliant thing -on the canvas is the patch of scarlet in the -dainty cap the child wears. That single dab -of red seems to concentrate in itself the whole -colour-scheme of the picture. It is the -keynote. Now a single word in a sentence -sometimes gives a startling effect. It strikes a -strong, clear, ringing note which keys the -writer's passing mood, fascinates us with its -vividness, and sticks in the memory ever -after. It is a colour-patch in literary art -which dominates the picture and arrests -attention, as in Shakespeare's</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Every yesterday hath lighted fools</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>The way to </span><em class="italics">dusty</em><span> death!"</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Or,</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"The </span><em class="italics">primrose</em><span> path to the eternal bonfire."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Or Pope's</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Quick effluvia darting through the brain</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Die of a rose in </span><em class="italics">aromatic</em><span> pain."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Also</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>And let me </span><em class="italics">languish</em><span> into life."</span></div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>And Gray's inimitable couplet:</span></p> -<blockquote> -<div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line"><span>"There pipes the song-thrush, and the skylark there</span></div> -<div class="line"><span>Scatters his </span><em class="italics">loose</em><span> notes in the waste of air."</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -</div> -</div> -</blockquote> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It is the height of literary skill to gather -up your thought into a single word and fling -it flaming on canvas. It is more convincing -than a long chapter of dull argument which -drugs the senses. Tennyson knew the magic -of a single epithet in the thought scheme of -the moment when he sang: "All the charm -of all the muses often flowering in a lonely -word." It is not as easily done as eating -hot cakes for tea, for it is not the first word -that comes sailing into a man's head that -is the right word. "The comely phrase, the -well-born word," is a prince of high degree, -and you may wait in his anteroom days -before an audience is granted. The elect -word does not sit on the tip of the tongue -and drop into its place at call. You may -search diligently and not find it, and presently -of its own free will it comes to you, a happy -thought flashed from the void where -whispering spirits dwell. Gray's Elegy is the -most perfect poem in the English language. -It was not thrown together carelessly in an -idle hour one sleepy summer afternoon. -Every word and every line of it cost thought, -was written and rewritten, and patiently -polished over again. For eight years the -author held the poem between the hammer -and the anvil, beating it into shape before -he passed it into print. He damaged reams -of paper developing a fair copy of those -immortal verses.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-an-old-tuscan-garden"><span class="bold large">V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF AN OLD TUSCAN GARDEN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A delightful French writer says "to grow -old in a garden in sight of softly undulating -hills, beneath a sky variable as the human -soul, is very sweet, very consoling, very easy. -One becomes more of a child and for the first -time a philosopher. Poetry and wisdom on -every hand permeate the close of life, just -as the oblique rays of the setting sun -penetrate into the heart of the densest foliage, -which is impervious to the vertical beams -of noonday." This charming writer touches -the spot; experience, tenderness, and -sympathy flow from mellowed lips well rounding -to the autumn of life. Old age does reflect -more discerningly than impatient youth, and -in a garden, too, surrounded by a heavenly -host of flowers whose blossom is as laughter -and whose perfume is a song. Romance -sketches wonderful pictures with such a -beatific background to inspire it, and -imagination wanders into a carnival of dreams. -How many pleasant thoughts and noble -thoughts have been brought to birth in a -garden which afterward grew into brave -deeds and gentle lives contributing generously -to enrich the sum of human happiness!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I sit under an ilex-tree in an old Tuscan -garden which in course of many generations -has belonged to many owners. A haunting -beauty fills the ancient place, which one -can feel, but cannot understand. A friendly -atmosphere that pervades old gardens -saturates the solitude. It is more than -atmosphere, it is influence--a caressing influence -almost human that holds us up and tantalizes. -Vague ancestral memories of old families flash -upon the mind; for more than four hundred -years men and women have walked and talked -and thought in this Tuscan garden of mine, and -tended its flowers and enjoyed its tranquillity. -Children have played in it, often going to -bed tired and happy after romping in it the -livelong day, and so generation after -generation mankind repeats itself in the life-story -of the old garden on a Tuscan hillside. -The spirit of the past haunts it in shadow -and in sunshine, because wherever men have -been they leave a little of themselves behind -in ghostly exhalations.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When one is in a contemplative humour -a garden is full of object-lessons interesting -to study. By dint of watching leaf replace -leaf, insects come into life and die, blossoms -change into fruit, fruit ripen and fall, the -swallows come with the daffodils and depart -when the hunter's moon frightens them -away--by watching these things methodically -and silently accomplishing their allotted -tasks, I have come to think about myself -with brave resolution and resigned conformity -to natural laws. I grieve less over myself -when I regard the change which is universal; -the setting sun and the dying summer -help me also to decline gently. Life is a -splendid heritage to hold in fee, but we -quit and deliver up possession when our -lease expires. The light must be kept -burning if our own little taper flickers into -darkness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A young girl visited us in Florence one -spring-time. She lived in the garden among -the flowers, caressed them, talked to them, -and gathered them by the handful, the -armful, the basketful. She decorated the rooms -with flowers, filled glass bowls and bronze -vases with flowers, and her art touched its -zenith in glorifying the dinner-table every -evening with the choicest of them all. She -chatted, smiled, and sang whilst doing it, -for she dearly loved the flowers that she fondled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We took her to the Uffizi to see the -world-renowned Old Masters there; but she yawned -in front of masterpieces of art, and her eyes -wandered round searching the smart costumes -of the ladies in the room. We took her to -Rome and showed her the sights of the Eternal -City, but Bond Street and Regent Street -interested her more than St. Peter's and the -Coliseum. We visited the Forum with its -ruined temples and triumphal arches, and -trod the Via Sacra; but the place was only -an old stoneyard to her, devoid of interest, -so we left her to herself, and she wandered -over the Forum on other pleasure bent, and -we found her afterwards picking violets -amongst the ruins.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When at home again a friend asked how -she enjoyed her visit to Rome, and had she -seen the Forum? In blank despair she -appealed to me to help her out of it. "Yes," -I replied, "you saw the Forum; that is -where you picked the violets." The Forum -to her was deadly dull and forgotten even -by name, but a bunch of wild violets lived -vividly in her memory as the crown and -flower of her heart's desire, more excellent -than all the ruins of Rome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dulness comes to us in uncongenial -company and occupation. You may be -surrounded by objects of interest and beauty -which amuse other people, but if these -worthy objects do not fit your taste, for you -they contain no element of delight, and you -are bored utterly with them whoever may -sing their praise. It is a question of -temperament. The heart is not dull if the head -is </span><em class="italics">triste</em><span>. Every eye makes its own beauty -and every heart forms its own kinships. -Put me in front of a post-impressionist -picture and dulness covers me like a funeral -pall. The beauties of the glowing picture -composed of significant form and bunkum -are lost on me completely. Here is -something tremendously original that makes -demands on my intelligence that I cannot -meet. I am mentally bankrupt in front of -this maddening art.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Looking at a post-impressionist picture, -you see only shapes and forms tangled -together within the limited area of a gilt -frame; you see relations and quantities of -colour splashed on canvas meaning anything -you choose to label it, but in the likeness -of nothing God made or man ever saw. -It distorts nature and scoffs at portraiture. -"Creating a work of art," trumpets the -evangelist of post-impressionism, "is so -tremendous a business that it leaves no leisure -for catching a likeness." "You look at -a landscape, and you are not to see it as -fields and cottages; instead you are to see it -as lines and colours." Yet up against this -lucid statement I observe no reason why the -portrait of a man should be drawn like a -peculiarly shaped market-garden divided into -plots for growing vegetables. Nor can I -explain why the picture of a village street -should look like a fortnight's wash suspended -in a cherry orchard, and the policeman -standing in front of the village inn at the -corner should look like a laundry-maid -hanging out the clothes. It requires uncommon -genius to work the illusion successfully, and -to start an indolent British public frivolling -with the captivating puzzle. But it leaves -me cold and passionless, for I am slow of -understanding these things. They say an -impressionist picture of top-note character is -a painfully exciting object for the spectator -to worship. To do it justice, he must squirm -in front of it, for it is a picture that creates -a thunderstorm of rhapsody, a deluge of -delight, a roaring cataract of æsthetic -emotion in the soul of the man who understands -its cryptic language. The artist who limned -the picture suffers agonies whilst working up -significant form, being pricked with pins and -needles of excitement, and is continually -dancing on the hot-plate of rapture. The -spectator's duty when viewing a work of art -is to come into touch with the mind of the -artist. To do this no wonder the spectator -has a bad time when digesting a whole gallery -of post-impressionist pictures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their religion is as bewildering as their art. -For their moral vision is out of kilter, as -their eyesight is out of focus. The aforesaid -evangelist of the cult says: "I doubt whether -the good artist bothers much more about the -future than about the past. Why should -artists bother about the fate of humanity? -If art does not justify itself, æsthetic rapture -does.... Rapture suffices. The artist has -no more call to look forward than the lover -in the arms of his mistress. There are -moments in life that are ends to which the -whole history of humanity would not be an -extravagant means; of such are the moments -of æsthetic ecstasy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We return to the garden, for the lure of -a garden relaxes not. The joy of it entangles -you in its toils. Each successive season of the -year unfolds new developments which lead -you on to the next season. So you are handed -on from one month to another throughout -the gardener's calendar by endless -enticements which keep the interest gently -simmering. The procession of gay flowers that -promenade the sheltered borders and disport -themselves with flagrant pride on open beds -during spring and summer days, tricked in -rainbow colours, dazzle the eye with -splendour, win the heart's endearment, and pay -in noblest coin full recompense for the chill, -dull toil given in grey winter hours.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A lady friend who lived to a ripe old age -said to me jocosely, "To be a good gardener -you need a wooden back with an iron hinge -to it, for you are bending and stooping all -day long in the garden." Only by constant -labour spent on the good brown earth can -you become candidate for possession of this -useful garden requisite, a wooden back with -an iron hinge to it, or the neatest imitation -offered on the market. In the garden you -get in touch with Nature, breathe fresh air, -cultivate a contented mind, and never -stagnate in idleness or degenerate into ennui. -Your body, inured to all weathers, escapes -many little ills of the flesh, and gradually -you harden into an iron constitution, which -is the nearest earthly substitute to a wooden -back hung on iron hinges.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>You never need remain indoors to smoke -or sew or yawn because there is nothing -doing in the garden: you can weed there the -livelong day in the open. This lowly service -offers immediate reward; it begets a healthy -appetite at meal-times, and develops a night's -sound sleep, which is some pleasure no -millionaire can buy with his millions. -Weeding puzzles my blind gardener Emilio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have two brothers gardeners, Enrico and -Emilio. Enrico has sight only of one eye, -Emilio is blind both eyes. The two brothers -work together in brotherly love, and have -only one working eye between them, yet it -is wonderful how much good work the one -eye accomplishes per day. Emilio sees with -his hands. It is weeding that puzzles him -most. He never pulls a flower instead of -a weed--he feels the difference between -them. It is the weeds that elude his fingers -as he works along the border that grieve -him. Weeding is a fascinating occupation -to me. Nice people won't profane their -hands grubbing in common garden soil, but, -being a groundling myself, I enjoy the fun -of coming into contact with my native -element. Clean, sweet, caressing earth, it is -the last flowery coverlet all of us will sleep -under; why shun thy friendly touch to-day? -There is always an abundant crop of weeds -to practise on in an Italian garden, and your -fingers itch to uproot them to the very last -offender. I suppose it is the ruthlessness -and slaughter of the deed, the close -handgrip on the enemy, that compels you on; -and when the skirmish is over, surveying the -ground cleared of the foe and the heaps of -the slain withering at your feet gives a -pleasurable thrill of excitement in the hour -of victory. You exult, for there is something -done, and well done, to show for your backache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The gardener's lure is irresistible. The -devotee walks in flowerland of his own -creation. In dreary winter hours he dreams -splendid dreams of himself surrounded by -summer harmonies, summer fragrance, and -summer flowers, for which he has planned -and planted and patiently tended along the -covering months of winter and spring. The -hour of full realization approaches when the -roses mass their rival glories and spread their -coloured raptures in the garden that he loves. -This puts the crown on the brow of summer. -This is the gardener's festival of the year. -He invites his horticultural cronies to tea on -the lawn, and they all talk rose jargon -together. He takes them on a tour of -inspection round the garden, and they -congratulate the founder of the feast of flowers. -They are happy as a band of Sunday-school -children spending the afternoon out. They -sit on the lawn under the spreading ilex-tree, -which casts ample shadow for their comfort, -and the summer sunshine lays ardent on the -green-sward around them. It is a genial -gathering, but the man who understands not -roses would be speechless in their midst and -not a little bored. Conversation cools off, -the evening shadows lengthen, and in an -interlude of silence there is a sort of -whispering stillness in the warm evening air, as if -the flowers and grass and trees are all saying -kind words to one another, for having done -their best to please. The lure of the garden -is never so poignant as at this great moment, -for your heart is brimming of sweet content, -and you say to yourself: "Can it be true? -Can anything in the world be more beautiful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is another lure that lays hands on -a man like grappling-irons tackling a Spanish -galleon laden with treasure, with a grip which -cannot be shaken off: I mean the writer's -lure. I am fond of reading. The enticements -of a good book are hard to resist, -especially if you have no inclination to resist, -but tumble a ready victim to the writer's charm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What is the writer's lure? How does it -cast its spell? You can talk round the -subject by metaphor and symbol and figure -of speech, but cannot solve it like a problem -in Euclid and add Q.E.D. at the end. The -writer's lure is the vividest way of saying -things. It is a bolt shot from the mind that -hits the penman's mark. The writer's lure -fixes you even as a beautiful sympathetic -picture holds you up by its witchery of art. -In the picture warmth of colour, grace of -line, melting tints, dreamy distance, and an -added mystic charm brooding over all, voice -lovingly your taste in art, and, like a haunted -man, you carry the landscape about with -you all day long. It intrudes on your mind -midst pressing business affairs; the sunlight -sleeping on the hills creates a pleasant -interlude of thought when engrossed in life's little -worries. Turner's "Crossing the Brook" in -the Tate Gallery is a picture that bewitches -me when I see it. It stimulates my -imagination and sets my thoughts sailing over the -country carried on the breezes which blow -across the Turner landscape.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A book haunts you in the selfsame way -as a picture. You read a book, and it stirs -your emotions and captivates your fancy, -and for a time it possesses you like a living -spirit. The writer's lure holds you in its -grip. The book soaks into you. A sentence -here and there leaps to memory during odd -moments of the day; the rhythm of the -language ripples musically as a chime of -bells, and you repeat the sentence to yourself -again and again. The aptness of an image -is lifelike, and a vision floats across your -mind; the happy turn of a sentence sticks. -The fresh, clear-cut thought shot out boldly -from the writer's brain conveys a new idea; -you recall the touch of humour resembling -a patch of warm sunshine twinkling on the -landscape, and your lips curve into a smile. -There are passages of tenderness also that -you treasure, because they find your heart -like shafts of love feathered with joy. All -these things in the book come back to you -vividly, and whisper their fond message over -again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One cannot explain the writer's lure. You -may name it, but you cannot catch it in the -reviewer's trap of criticism. It is illusive as -the angel who visited Manoah and his wife, -wrought wondrously, and vanished leaving -no trace. It is a secret of pencraft which -defies definitions and eludes analysis, yet it -is the vital element in composition. It is -not a question of conforming to correct -standards of good writing by which literary -excellence is judged, the writer being blessed -or cursed by the censors according to the -measure of his allegiance to their literary -creed. Some writers violate every literary -canon set up to guide their pen in the way -of righteousness, but they are alive with -literary fire; the vital element is fecund within -them, and they riot in the power of it. There -are no rules in art that great writers have -not shown us how to break with advantage. -You cannot resolve the writer's lure into its -component parts as you can a potato. Like -electricity, it defies analysis, but, like the -electric current, you feel it in your bones.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Blind Emilio does not work by rules taught -in popular garden manuals; he gathers -inspiration for his craft direct from the heavens. -He is an oracle of occult information and -prevision almost uncanny, concerning things -in the garden and out of it. However, he -is a cheerful soul and a born optimist, so we -consult him often and rely on his wisdom, -because, like honey, its flavour is pleasant -to the taste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The moon is the guiding providence -regulating some of Emilio's important duties. -He observes the phases of the moon with -the reverence of an astrologer of legendary -days. He awaits the waning moon in -February to prune the rose-trees. A potent -mystic virtue dwells in a waning moon -according to his garden lore, which is old -as his pagan ancestors. If you prune -rose-trees in a waxing moon the new growths will -be long, weak shoots, and the crop of roses -in the summer poor, puny things. Prune in -the waning moon and the new growths will -be short, sturdy rods bearing large flowers, -and an abundance of them. Garden seed -must be sown under the auspices of the -waning moon if you want your flower-beds -in the summer-time to be renowned for -beauty, to make your friends envious of your -success and yourself just swaggeringly happy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What applies to roses and seed applies -equally to pruning vines and grafting -fruit-trees. Bulbs and potatoes may be planted -any time. They move in the spring when -Nature signals whether they are in the -ground or out of it. They are outside the -ritual of the moon.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We had a heavy crop of diospyros last -autumn, drawn from four trees in the -kitchen-garden. These fruits are fat, round, rosy -fellows, plump as overgrown tomatoes. The -flesh of the ripe diospyros is Nature's jam, -soft and mushy, delicious in flavour, and -eaten politely with a spoon. Our neighbour -who hails from Cincinnati grew a crop of -small, sickly-looking fruit. "Ah!" said -Emilio, "now that you see the difference in -the two crops, you must believe me. Their -diospyros were gathered in the growing moon, -and they shrivel and lose colour and flavour; -ours were gathered in the waning moon, and -keep beautiful and sound to the end of the -season." There is good luck under the -waning moon. Another explanation of the -difference in the crops has merit, which -Emilio considers treason to the honourable -tradition of his fathers. Our fruit was grown -in the kitchen-garden on manured soil; our -American neighbour's trees stand on a rocky -bank in the wild garden which is never -dressed with manure. The blessing of the -moon falls on the crop that is best nourished -in the days of its youth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the garden is an avenue of lime-trees -about one hundred and sixty feet long. In -the summer it forms a deliciously shady -walk; in rainy weather it is a clean and -pleasant promenade, for it has a paved -pathway in it. The north end of the avenue -terminates in a large semicircular stone seat -mounted on a stone base one step higher -than the pathway. The seat has no florid -decorative carving on it to arouse hostility -or provoke criticism. It is just a plain seat -of simple Roman type, roomy and comfortable -to sit on. Behind the seat curves a -semicircle of thirteen cypress-trees screening -the north winds. Again, behind the cypress-trees -is an interesting old stone wall about -twenty feet high, forming the boundary of the -garden. Above the wall, rising in gentle -slope, is the south shoulder of the hill, on -the hill-top sits Fiesole, the famous Etruscan -city of history and legend. The slope is -covered with olives and vines, forming a -mantle grey and green with its leafy fringe -dropping on our garden wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This great retaining wall is old as the villa -which was purchased by Domenico Mori in -1475. The history of the house earlier than -this date is lost in the mist of antiquity. -The ancient wall is a feature in the garden, -for on two sides it towers like a cliff, forming -a charming background to the scene. It has -weathered beautifully with the ages, and is -an immense stretch of canvas for the display -of masses of colour. In places it is bleached -silvery-grey, and elsewhere the tinted lichen -mottle it with saffron and orange and brown, -and every delectable shade and tone which -Time, the great decorator, with loving hand, -imparts to old stone. It looks warm and -gay and friendly, and grows a rock-garden -of its own, for wild flowers bloom in its cracks -and crannies and red valerian flames upon -its heights, side by side with golden broom. -Ivy clothes it in parts, and most mysteriously -so, for years back the plants were cut off -their roots, and the ivy now exists only on -nourishment drawn from the wall, and it -exists vigorously on the meagre diet the wall -supplies. When the sunshine pours down -upon its hoary time-worn face, the old wall is -transfigured into a thing of triple splendour, -for its colours glow and blaze with spiritual -fervour imparting that artistic touch of nature -which is the happy gift of garden plaisance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Deeply set in the wall is the ruin of a small -shrine. Once upon a time this shrine was the -home of the Madonna, but now no Madonna -occupies the niche. Some pious ancestor of -the house implored gracious protection of the -Mother of Jesus on behalf of his vines and -olives, fruits and flowers, and he set up her -Ladyship's sheltered image in the little -vaulted temple on the wall as guardian of -the crops, hoping that fat harvest would -follow his devotion to Our Lady of Plenty. -The vacant shrine is desolate and crumbling -and mossy now, and so is the sentimental -faith of those ancient days. It was a -hallowed sentiment in its way, this worship of -the Madonna. Men lived up to it, and felt -happy in their prayers to the Lady of Heaven. -Nowadays men win good harvests on more -scientific lines. They put trust in deep -ploughing and artificial manure rather than -in prayers and oblations to the Mother of God.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The personal intervention of the Deity in -the affairs of men strikes a homely note in -the world's domestic management, and brings -the Heavenly Father in close touch with His -earthly family; but the dear God's blessing -is level-handed, and favours His children, -bad or good, who work the hardest, and add -intelligence to their toil.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-the-montelupo-plate"><span class="bold large">VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF THE MONTELUPO PLATE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>My friend Federico wandering through -Tuscany on one of those delightful -excursions that he loves, passing from town to -town and village to village picking up "old -things" </span><em class="italics">en route</em><span>, called at a dealer's shop -in Bagni di Lucca. In the miscellaneous -collection of antiquities there offered for sale -he found nothing to please him. To console -him in the hour of disappointment, the little -dealer, named Grosso, said: "I know of a -beautiful Montelupo plate that will take -your fancy. Come with me; it is away up -the hills, a pleasant ride for us. Give me a -few francs for my trouble, and you can buy -the plate." So they took a vettura and -rode up the mountains in quest of the -Montelupo plate. After an hour's delightful -drive they stopped at a contadino's cottage -on the roadside, and there, boldly on view to -the passer-by and stuck on the weather-beaten -front of the cottage over the -doorway, was the Montelupo plate, the very -heart's desire of the two adventurers. It -was a brave plate, round as the sun and -about thirteen inches in diameter. In the -centre of it, painted in flaming colours, -trotted a soldier on horseback with drawn -sword in hand, but no painted foeman visible -into which to bury the thirsty blade. The -interior of the plate surrounding the warrior -was a mass of rich deep orange ground; the -colour much esteemed by collectors of this -rural pottery. The contadinos in Tuscany -once owned numerous specimens of these -rustic dishes, which were used daily by them -in their homes as common household crockery. -They were nothing thought of in those -far-off days of the fifteenth and sixteenth -centuries. They were made for the peasants' -service, and if a plate was broken another -was bought for half a franc in the next -market town. The day came when the -supply stopped and the plates could not be -replaced. Some other novelty in kitchenware -had the run of the market, and nobody -wanted Montelupo plates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fashion set in about twenty years ago to -collect this crude, curious, neglected pottery, -so grotesque and humorous in design and -coarse in workmanship, but when reposing -against the wall of a well-lit room certainly -showy and decorative for all time. They -carry amusing and picturesque subjects, -comical or satirical in treatment. Not very -artistic, but cleverly and freely drawn with -a few bold lines to catch the peasant's sense -of humour, which was easily tickled. The -plates revel in brightness and colour. Colour -holds the eye and courts our admiration, -and fancy prices rule the market.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rarest plates to find are those burlesquing -the Churchman. The soldier, the farmer, -and the serving-maid took the joke kindly, -but the plates in which the monk was -caricatured offended the Church dignitaries, and -these specimens were bought up mysteriously, -quickly destroyed, and now cannot be found.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the fashion set in, wandering dealers -and touring collectors made haste to buy. -They spread themselves over the country; -knocked at cottage doors in out-of-the-way -places in Tuscany, begged a glass of milk, -admired the plates on the kitchen dresser, -and offered to buy at a few francs apiece. -The contadino soon found he had something -good, and the price rose to ten francs each. -Still the plates were admired by tired travellers -resting in out-of-the-way cottages drinking -a glass of milk. The price rose incontinently -to twenty, thirty, fifty francs, until the -peasants discovered a gold-mine in their old -kitchen crockery, and now their stock is sold -out. To-day the plates are found only in the -hands of dealers, and good specimens -command prices anywhere between a hundred -and two hundred and fifty francs each.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The owner of the Montelupo plate over the -cottage door asked sixty francs for his family -treasure. My friend borrowed a ladder, that -he might have it down to examine. "No," -said the owner; "you must buy it where it -is, and pay for it first." Federico's fancy -was caught with the pretty toy; he submitted -to the hard terms, and paid the sixty francs. -Little Grosso now mounted the ladder to -bring down the plate. "I can't move it; -it is cemented into the wall," he called to -the new comer, standing below. So he -borrowed a hammer and chisel, and ran -nimbly up the ladder again and began -chipping round the plate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately the whole village was on the -spot, standing round, excited, chattering, -watching the job. A noisy man, the cock of -the village, slung himself forward and shouted -strenuously. He demanded to know what -they were doing: "That plate has been there -for over a hundred years. It is a very -important piece, and is worth much money. -It is of great value. Who has bought it? -What have you paid for it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have bought it," said my friend; "I -have given sixty francs for it, and as you -think it so valuable, I will sell it to you for -sixty francs. Will you have it at the price -I gave for it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Federico has a lovable disposition. He -takes life placidly. He takes taxes placidly, -he takes bad trade placidly, he takes the -war placidly, he takes a human tornado -placidly. The noisy man exploded--shouted -louder and louder, and scattered his arms -about in the air, gesticulating like the sails -of a windmill racing in a stiff breeze, but he -did not buy the village treasure. Grosso on -the ladder kept on chipping round the plate, -the crowd watching him critically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently he called out, "Signore, the -plate is in two pieces!" My friend said to -the noisy man: "Do you want to buy the -plate? It is in two pieces--you can have -it for fifty francs." He did not take on, -but continued talking, gesticulating, and -exciting the onlookers. Grosso continued -chipping round the plate. He called out -again, "Signore, the plate is even in three -pieces." So my friend said to the village -bully, "You can have the plate for thirty -francs." But he did not buy at the price. -Grosso resumed his work, hacking round the -plate. He called out again, "Signore, the -plate is in many pieces!" So Federico -shouted to the troublesome man: "Now is -your chance; you can have the plate for -twenty francs. I paid sixty for it; will you -give me twenty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The man folded himself up and slunk off; -the crowd also melted away, and Grosso -went on chipping, and put fragment after -fragment of the plate in his pocket as he -released them from their cement setting. -He came down the ladder with the broken -plate in his pocket in ten pieces. They rode -home to Bagni di Lucca, feeling a bit miserable -on the journey. At Bagni di Lucca my -friend comforted Grosso with a good dinner -in the restaurant and gave him seven francs -for his trouble. "And what about the -plate?" said Grosso, when my friend bid -him good-bye. "You keep it, Grosso. -I don't want it." "No," said Grosso; "the -plate is yours. You have treated me well -and given me seven francs. I am more than -satisfied." "Keep it," was the reply; and -away Federico went home, just a little -disappointed with the result of his expedition -up the mountains. The lure of the Montelupo -dish had proved a failure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Next year he visited Bagni di Lucca in -quest of antiques, and called upon Grosso -the dealer. On entering the shop he saw the -Montelupo plate hanging against the wall, -looking gay as ever without visible crack or -cleavage on it. The dealer had cunningly -dove-tailed the plate together, and it looked -faultless to the eye. "It is yours," said -Grosso; "I have kept it for you. Customers -wanted to buy it. I knew you would come -again to see me." After much persuasion -and a consideration, Federico took the plate -home and hung it in his studio amongst a -collection of treasured antiques which he has -gathered round him there and are the joy -of his heart. It was much admired, and -the romance of its history, often related, -was as often listened to with amusement and -laughter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One day a Florentine dealer visited the -studio and fell in love with the Montelupo -plate, and bought it for ninety francs.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-pluck"><span class="bold large">VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF PLUCK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>It happened in Rome; in our apartment on -the Piazza di Spagna. We had a visit from -a Countess. She was heralded by her -visiting-card, on which blazed a coronet--an -awe-inspiring visiting-card, imposing enough to -reduce to the ground the most blatant -democrat. What did the unknown Countess -want? we asked each other with palpitating hearts. -Had she come to invite us to visit her -ancestral castle in the Sabine Hills? Was -she a messenger from the Queen of Italy -summoning us to an audience in the Quirinal -Palace? What did this high-toned lady want? -My wife faced the music alone. She entered -the room, and saw a shabbily dressed old lady -rambling about amongst the furniture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed the Countess; "please -excuse me the liberty of admiring your old -Italian furniture; it is very fine indeed. I -am so fond of it. I used to have my rooms -full of it, but we sold it all to dealers. They -gave us a good price for it. We are reduced -in circumstances now, and I have called to ask -if you would buy some jam from me. I make -it myself, and have good clients among the -English and American residents. I charge -3.50 lire for a jar, and allow 50 centimes for -the empty jar if returned when I call again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She produced some glass jars of jam -and honey from a basket she carried under -her cloak. Refined-looking jars; artistically -labelled jars, assuring the purchaser that the -jam within was made under perfect hygienic -conditions. The wording of the labels was -printed in accurate English; but the Countess -could not speak English, not a broken -sentence of it could she utter. The -conversation was carried on in French. We -bought a jar of jam and a jar of honey, and -are looking hopefully for the return of the -50 centimes on the empty jars when next -she calls on business intent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is no hedgerow jam, no common cottage -mixture of blackberry and apple she offered -us, but highly aristocratic peach jam from -choicest fruits grown in coroneted orchards. -And the honey she offered was superior -honey; not the produce of old-fashioned -garden flowers and wild heather from the -hills--anybody breeds that plebeian honey. -Her bees were classic to the core, lived in -the garden of Hesperides, and fed only on -orange-blossoms and acacia. No honey had -an aroma equal to hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Dear, good old soul! There was lots of -fine metal in her character; she was a piece -of rare old silver plate with hall-mark clearly -impressed on it, but in somewhat battered -and bruised condition. She had been roughly -handled in the hard-hammering world. She -had lost everything but manners and breeding. -She could sell jam with the grace and -dignity of a Queen bestowing royal favours -on a subject. She was striving to maintain -herself honourably in the sight of all men, -and she would die in the last ditch rather -than beg. Her pluck lured her on to the -winning-post.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are sensitive people who, when hard-hit -by Fortune, mope like moulting fowls and -creep into dark corners of the earth; they do -not strut in the market-place and shout -loud-throated their woes to the crowd; they lower -their flag and surrender themselves to fate. -Their vanity supports their poverty, and their -poverty breaks their heart. Really, these -people are victims of false shame. False -shame deludes their common sense. It -discolours their imagination, enfeebles their -will-power, and drives them on to the rocks to -feed with the goats. Their misfortune assumes -an exaggerated character in their own minds. -They fancy that the world stares coldly on -them in their adversity and whispers -contemptuously against them behind their backs, -and they collapse in the frigid atmosphere -with which they surround themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their vanity betrays them into surmising -unwholesome things. They fidget about -themselves in their supersensitiveness. They adore -public opinion, and fancy themselves filling -a large place in its consideration, and they -dread the smiting lash of its hostile criticism. -The truth is humiliating but very refreshing -to our morbid disposition, and the truth is -that people are not thinking much about us, -however conspicuously we imagine ourselves -to be painted in the picture. We are only one -of a crowd of common people, nor even the -most interesting figure in it. It is unwise to -esteem ourselves to be of immeasurably more -consequence than we really are. The busy -world at best gives us only a passing thought. -Dr. Johnson bluntly said: "No man is much -regarded by the rest of the world. The -utmost which we can reasonably hope or fear -is to fill a vacant hour with prattle and be -forgotten." If a man thinks no more seriously -of his own misfortunes than his neighbour -thinks of them, his troubles will be lightly -borne.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>However, the world is much more -good-natured than the man of morbid temper -gives it credit for. Penetrate through its -cold reserve, and you often find within a -warm, sympathetic heart. The good English -heart is oft-times hedged by a </span><em class="italics">chevaux de -frise</em><span> of English hauteur hard to break through, -but get within the lines and you receive a -cordial welcome.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Our sturdy Countess was not afflicted with -false shame. She had pride, but not vanity. -Vanity is a coquette and says, "What do you -think of me?" and tremblingly awaits your -verdict. Pride says, "I am as good as you -are, and I don't care a damn." It is not -every decadent Countess who sells jam to keep -her end up in this see-saw world. It requires -grit and a rare brand of pride uncommon in -the quality to rise to the occasion. There -is a vain pride that welters into nothingness -in the dismal hour of failure, and starves -tragically like a rat in a trap rather than -help itself or accept help from others. There -is another pride--robust, full-blooded pride--that -spurns the conventionalities of caste, -takes off its coat and fights misfortune face -to face resolutely for its daily bread, and -wins through. This is where our heroic -Countess steps in splendour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Why immolate oneself on the altar of -family pride? A false goddess sits enshrined -there on a false throne. Why live on the -reputation a forefather won in the Middle -Ages? That reputation is now spent capital; -it is worthless scrip on the social market -to-day. Build another reputation for -yourself, clean and sweet and new. If ill luck -drops you in the ditch, to maintain inviolate -the family honour you must get up and with -ungloved hands work your way out of it like -a man. Sell jam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps you hate wearing a brand-new -reputation. It sets on you like a misfitting -coat. You are an heir of the glorious past, -and exult on the length in your ancient -lineage. Remember also you are a trustee -of the splendid future; the shining days to -come demand your thoughtful consideration. -Do rare credit to your sacred trust. It is -better to transmit honour to your descendants -than to borrow fame from your ancestors. -It is better to be lovingly remembered than -nobly born. That grim old ancestor of yours -who built the family fortune out of nothing -and grimly fought every inch of the way up -to renown single-handed would despise you -for a poltroon lying derelict in the ditch of -despair. If the family fall throws you to -the ground, are you going to lie there -indefinitely and rot like offal? Sell jam.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An Italian nobleman went to America to -repair his fallen fortunes. He refused to -soil his hands in trade; his old family title -was the magic key he carried to open the -treasure-chests of the New World. So he -arrived in America armed with a despatch-box -full of introductions to money magnates -there. He called upon a banker in New -York, and presented a letter of introduction. -The banker asked him what he knew about -business. "Nothing," replied the nobleman; -"I am a cavalry officer." "Sorry I cannot help -you," said the banker; "the circus left our -town yesterday." The nobleman was floored. -Enraged at the magnate's laconic insolence, -he destroyed all letters of introduction -contained in his despatch-box and tackled the -world on his own. He folded up his family -pedigree, laid it in lavender, went into the -market and sold jam. In the market-place -a long head is a better weapon to fight with -than a long pedigree. He worked out his -own salvation, and returned home and lived -contentedly amongst the orange-groves and -sunshine of Southern Italy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-old-furniture"><span class="bold large">VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF OLD FURNITURE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Eight old Chippendale chairs and two settees -sold recently at Christie's for 5,600 guineas, -and report says quickly after the auctioneer's -hammer dismissed the lot they changed hands -again at £1,000 profit to the buyer. There -must be great charm in old furniture when -people scramble for it regardless of cost. I -suppose money is dull stuff to own heaps of -unless you can exchange it for things that -give the heart a passing thrill of pleasure -(the great sport is in the making it); and -the more money you make, the more it takes -you to work up the thrill. A millionaire's -smile is an expensive hobby to cultivate. -Gathering a bunch of wild primroses in the -sunny April woods gladdens the heart of a -child amazingly, and he dreams the pleasure -over again in his sleep. It costs over 5,000 -guineas to tingle the feelings of a rich man. -The child's outlay is more economical, but it -fetches as much enjoyment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wherein lies the secret charm of old -furniture? I love it myself, and for that reason -ask the question for the pleasure given in -answering it. I am only a trifler in antiques, -possessing a few pieces of exquisite old oak -of the seventeenth-century period; also several -pieces of walnut furniture which are old -Italian. The Italian pieces lie fallow in a -villa just outside the barriéra St. Domenico, -Florence, where we live with them half the -year round. Beautiful old walnut furniture -counts much more in its own homeland, -while the alien oak of England, which we -love here, is cold and expressionless in the -rooms of an Italian villa on the sunny slopes -of Fiesole. It loses its aura in a strange land.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old furniture with a time-worn glossy face -on it is interesting because it is made by -the hands of man; and the man used his -brain in making it, as well as his hands; -surely man's delight is in man's work. A -piece of old furniture reflects the mind of -its maker in every detail of its construction, -and that is a very fascinating feature to me; -for we are told on high authority that -"hand-work possesses character, almost personality," -and we believe the high authority with all -our heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Modern furniture has no personality, and -so it transmits no message; it is machine-made, -and I hold no kinship with machinery -to cherish warm feeling in its favour; but -handcraft ever commands our respect, and -when well done wins our widest admiration.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Machine-made work carries a lie on the -face of it; it imitates handwork. The machine -simulates a trouble that has not been taken. -It produces beautifully designed and -ornamented imitations of ancient handcraft at -trifling cost. Who cares for beauty produced -by formula? Beauty is the flowering of -noble labour linked to useful purpose. -Cheapness and showiness are the flaring -advertisements of the mechanical cabinet-maker -to-day, and he hits with precision the public -taste.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Give me to admire something a man has -laboured lovingly and honestly to produce, -not what a machine vomits out standard -pattern; something a man has put the power -of his brain into as well as the dexterity of -his hand. William Morris quaintly remarks: -"If you have anything to say, you may as -well put it into a chair or a table." The -cabinet-maker speaks to us with his tools in -a language of his own invention. The -cabinet-maker has helped to make English homes -comfortable to live in, and for so doing we -owe him a debt of gratitude. His tools are -not the sword and the cannon, but the plane, -the chisel, and the swift-moving saw. His -art is not destructive to life, piling on misery -to man's many woes, but he enriches life -manifold by adding comfort and luxury to -the widening circle of human happiness. His -rewards are not stars and garters and -hereditary honours conferred by princes for brave -deeds done on the field of battle, but just -the recompense that the master of the tools' -true play appreciates; the simple pleasure of -good work well and truly done sent forth to -take honourable place in the stately homes -of England, knowing that by such fine -hand-craft he will speak from his grave to people -unborn; and he even cherishes the inspiring -hope that those who are possessors of his -treasured work done in oak and walnut and -sweet satinwood will, in the hereafterward, -in the quietude of their sequestered homes, -surrounded by familiar furniture of high -lineage, bestow on the workman a passing -measure of praise; for these worthy craftsmen -put the best of their lives into the labour of -their hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old furniture is delightful in your home -because it is old. Age has an alchemy of its -own that ennobles the work of man. A -brand-new house is deadly unromantic, even -if it is a dream of architectural excellence. -Its appearance is garish and crude. New -stones and raw bricks are ugly in the days -of their youth, but age transforms the place, -be it manor-house or thatched cottage, until -enchantment haunts the fabric. I dearly -love the grace of antiquity that mellows the -venerable homesteads of England and blends -the intermingling lustre of tradition with the -roll of their lengthening years.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Age likewise has a mellowing influence on -furniture. Obliteration of exactitude of form -is essential charm in it as it is in a man or -woman. You resent the loudness of a newly -made rich man. His manners smell strongly -of varnish just put on; his vanity and -self-importance are unsavoury morsels to swallow -without salt. He is a terror to his polite -neighbours and a stranger to himself. Wait -and see; he will tone down as the mills of -life grind off the sharp angles and smooth -him into a decent fellow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Good taste resents primness and -self-assertiveness in new furniture; its raw -outlines and sharp angles offend the eye. When -these stubborn features are subdued by -centuries of wear and tear and the wondrous -old-time bloom of rich deep colour glorifies -the ripened oak with softness and -transparency of tone, that quality so delightful -to sight and touch which distinguishes -genuine antique furniture, then sentimental -feeling waxes strong and renders the work -attractive to us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Vague and visionary thoughts of past -owners flit across the mind, and kindle -emotions in the presence of an ancient piece -of furniture of good repute. It idealizes in -our minds, and becomes beautiful to us. It -is a call of the past. It is an unwritten -chapter in some old family history, and we -want to handle the key of the legend locked -up in it. There may be tragedy or comedy, -or a mixture of both, recorded in the family -log-book, and the stately old carved-oak -court cupboard dozing in the banqueting-hall, -generation after generation, saw it all -through from beginning to end, but it -whispers away no family secrets to inquisitive -people. An evil day broke the family -fortunes. The venerable court cupboard vacated -its place of honour which it occupied for -centuries in the Yorkshire manor-house, and -has taken up quarters with us in our Sussex -home. It is no longer mere chattel; there is -human interest in it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I wonder if it takes kindly to its new home? -Land, they say, sometimes resents change of -owners, especially passing from a family who -had held lordship of the soil for generations. -When the old squire dies, the last of his line, -the land grieves. It seems to know that it -is going to be sold and broken up, and it -loses heart. It goes rotten like apples. A -patch goes wrong here and a patch goes -wrong there, and the rottenness spreads and -runs together. It takes the land long to get -used to a new master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Has our old oak court cupboard sensitive -feelings like the ancestral acres? Or is it -silently and sullenly indifferent to all the -changes of fortune that befall it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have an oak armchair with a unique -story to tell. The back of it is one large -panel carved with heavy flora and foliated -decoration; on the cross-rail below the panel -is carved in bold raised letters:</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>16 ELLIN RYLAND 94</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The two arms are bountifully carved, and -the carving terminates in a large Tudor -rose forming a knob at the end of each arm. -The arm-tops, through constant use, are -smooth and shine like unto burnished bronze. -The supports and front legs are twisted in -good Jacobean manner, and the broad -stretcher is carved with two long feathery, -flowing acanthus-leaves curling round -gracefully at the tips as if under pressure of a -strong breeze, and crouching within their -embrace nestles a rose in ambush. The chair -has been mothered with lifelong care, and -the bloom and beauty of age sit upon it like -a crown of glory. So Ellin Ryland has won -for her name immortality among the roses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We often think of Ellin and question the -chair about her, but information does not -flow freely from that quarter. Did Ellin -order the chair from the cabinet-maker -herself? I think not; perhaps her lover gave -it her on her birthday, or her husband on -their wedding-day. No doubt the chair's -existence celebrates a red-letter day in the -annals of the family. The name now is only -a legend to us, but there it is, legible after -the flight of two hundred and twenty years. -The old chair is a better monument to Ellin -Ryland's memory than a stone slab in a -damp churchyard, with her name graven on -it in crumbling letters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I dare say Ellin had a thin slice of vanity -in her nature; we all have, and would like -our names printed somewhere imperishably. -During two hundred and twenty years the -moss and lichen, the sun and the frost, -conspire together to obliterate any lettering -in churchyard stones, but the writing in -tablet-oak on the armchair is as brave as -ever. The name is only a legend, but it -keeps her memory green.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I do not turn my house into a museum -of antiques, but certainly I choose interesting -old furniture to live with where choice is -possible; it has a cheery influence on your -temper. I love to walk amongst my treasures -and touch them with my hand and admire -their cloistered beauty. I started housekeeping -in Victorian days, after the orthodox -manner of Englishmen about to marry, by -buying new furniture. To get the genuine -article I bought it in framework and had -it upholstered and finished at home, under -my eye. As years rolled on, piece by piece -the Victorian furniture vanished from our -rooms and old pieces supplanted them, and -the rooms grew pleasant to look upon and -cosy to sit in. Your furniture has a subtle -influence on your disposition. You live with -it daily all the year round as you do with -your wife, and you married her because she -was the girl you loved best in the world, and -since the wedding-day her influence has -coloured your life more than you can -measure and contributed mysteriously to -make you the manner of man you are. Your -furniture adds much to your pleasure and -quiet enjoyment of home life if you have -the right sort. Old furniture with quietness -of line is the best to live with--it is -suggestive of repose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I love old furniture because its workmanship -is artistic. Style in a chair or table is -the all-important thing. A piece of furniture, -however simple in design, if it is wrought -artistically, stimulates the imagination, -arouses the emotions, and provokes endless -delight in the connoisseur. We are keen -observers to-day, and curious over work -done centuries ago. We handle a well-bred -piece of furniture with respect as we trace -the skill shown in beauty of line; the eye -travels joyously over its well-balanced -proportions and hovers with admirance over its -downright dexterity of carving. No literal -copy of antique furniture made in the forcing -factories of to-day has feeling in it. It is -very accurate in line and detail but it lacks -expression, and that is where the artistic -spirit enters, that is where the charm holds -us. As old Higgery the carpenter explained -himself out of it when Lord Louis Lewis -complimented him on being the finest -carpenter of his age: "Ah, sir," he replied, -"Chippendale was the finest cabinet-maker -of his age and Sheraton of his; but they went -beyond that. They had the Idea. I can -use my tools as well as either of them--better, -maybe, for 'tis a subtle thing to give -a semblance of age to a new piece, but I -haven't got the Idea, and never had. If the -imagination had gone with the craft, King -George might have seen his period of furniture -as well as any of the others."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Chippendale and Sheraton were without -doubt the cleverest cabinet-makers of their -age; but many an unnamed workman of their -period has left us the splendid legacy of his -"ideas" in furniture which is scattered over -the comfortable homes of England, with no -pedigree attached except the imprimatur of -a master craftsman's genius.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Speaking of artistic furniture, I do not -mean elaborate furniture overladen with a -heavy ornament which confuses its lines -and perverts its beauty into vulgarity. -Simplicity is the fairest form of art. -Simplicity consists not so much in plainness of -production as in singleness of purpose. The -essence of simplicity is the absence of -self-consciousness. A combination of simplicity -of character and great artistic power is -difficult to find, but when found it is the -most perfect combination and produces finest -work. Art is often self-conscious, and quickly -runs to seed in superfluous ornamentation. -The Louis Quinze style is unwholesome as -poison. It is brilliantly clever, but it is -fascinatingly demoralizing. It reflects in art -the luxury and insincerity, the licentiousness -and effeminacy of the age that invented it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Gaudy and overornamented furniture is -teasingly self-conscious, and conceited stuff -to live with. Its lines are vulgar and -sensuous curves. It is always staring at you, -grinning at you, ogling you, and saying, -"Observe me, and admire." Just the very -character of the frivolous women, the -Pompadour and the Du Barri, who ruled the -voluptuous Court of Louis XV., and who -squandered the royal revenues in extravagance -of art and craft, so that the artist's -taste was wasted in riotous designing and -the craftsman's skill debased in excesses of -ornament.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Sumptuous furniture and splendid apparel -are closely wedded together, and cannot be -separated with success. If I lived among -Louis Quinze furniture I should often see in -the room with me ghosts of gallant courtiers, -dressed in long silk coats, embellished with -gold braid, and vests of rainbow hue, with -cravats and ruffs of billowy lace, carrying at -their hips a long rapier, and toying with a -bejewelled snuff-box as they moved noiselessly -with an elegant devil-may-care swagger, -mixing with superbly decorated marqueterie -cabinets and tables and bronze statuettes -and Sèvres china </span><em class="italics">bleu du roi</em><span>; and shadowy -ladies of high degree would be there, wearing -capacious and flowery dresses and powdered -hair, sitting in the chequered light of evening -on seats richly upholstered in pale rose -Gobelin tapestry, smiling dreamily on the -exquisites of the old régime--all of them -fatally gifted mortals with manners polished -as the hard, shining surface of the parquet -floor they gaily tread: the whole scene a -vision glorious, composing an harmonious -blend of colour, grace, and beauty. Modern -men lounging in tweed Norfolk jackets, or -dressed sombre in black swallow-tail coats, -with a cigarette lolling on their lips, and -ladies tailored into close-fitting costumes of -neutral tints, however beautiful in themselves, -would be completely out of the picture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A peculiar reason why old furniture is -coveted by many people is because it is -fashionable and scarce. The quantity that -remains in the country, drawn from the -homes of our easy-going port-wine-drinking -Georgian forefathers, is decreasing, and -buyers are increasing, so competition runs -riot for really good pieces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is plenty of worthless old furniture -for sale, as there are worthless "Old Masters" -asking for buyers. Americans are the greedy -collectors who raid the market with their -unlimited dollars and pay sensational prices -for the prize pieces to adorn their town -houses in New York or Chicago.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Collecting is a fascinating hobby. I have -found pleasure hunting for antiques far away -from the heated atmosphere of Christie's -auction-rooms. The joy of the chase is -great, and the habit grows upon you. I -have made many enjoyable excursions into -the country with a clear-cut object in view -which gives zest to the journey. -Rummaging through second-hand shops in the -back streets of provincial towns or in -out-of-the-way villages searching for spoil is an -alluring pastime to indulge in, and if you -love the country through which you travel -for the country's sake you will be very happy -on the trail, and want to go again whether -much or little plunder falls to your quest. -Old cathedral towns yield the best results. -There are many sleepy second-hand shops -loitering round the cathedral waiting for -customers to step in after visiting the sacred -fane. There is much lumber and little -treasure in most of them; but if you don't -find what you want, in looking for it you -may find something that pleases you better, -like the man who was digging a hole in his -garden to bury a dead dog and unburied -a Greek statue of Venus.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Calling at the smart antique dealers' -spacious establishments in London is an -édition de luxe version of the same story. -Here choice pieces are assembled, polished -and poised adroitly to arrest attention. -Some of these elegant salons resemble -museums; the surroundings breathe order, -calm, refinement. Prices rule high as the -aristocratic character of the place you visit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nothing is cheap in these sanctuaries of the -old nobility of furniture and art treasure -except courtesy and affability, which are -supplied gratis by the faultlessly accoutred -gentleman of the department, who checks -you on entering and conducts you round. -Any object you look at he explains for your -edification. He rivals the showman at -Windsor Castle or the Tower of London for -knowing his part and throwing at you torrents -of information as he strides along. He revels -in it, and his importance and intelligence -mesmerize you and keep most of your five -senses stirring. You admire him as an -oracle of antique lore, and listen to him with -fear and trembling. His beaming smile -encourages you to live, and politely you ask -another question.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here the business of selling is practised as -a fine art. The attendant is so well bred, -well groomed, so condescending and obliging -you feel yourself a criminal if you escape -him without making a purchase. You say: -"I should like to go back and see that -satinwood chair again." "Ah," he replies, -"that is a most interesting piece; King -Edward often sat in that chair. It belonged -to the Hon. Oliver Grimes, a great friend of -King Edward; it was the King's favourite -seat when he visited the Hon. Oliver at -Redcote Manor. And here is the oak table -you admired so much as we passed along. -We know the pedigree of it. It came from -Monkwood Hall, Derbyshire. It has been -in possession of the family since the year -1620. We bought it at the Hall last week, -and so it has never been in the trade. How -beautifully the frieze is carved; what a fine -patina it has formed; it shines like a mirror; -surely the butler must have polished it every -week when he waxed the oak floor. It -has never been damaged or repaired; it is -genuine all over. It is a precious and -faultless piece of Jacobean oak, and the price is -only...!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are dangers and pitfalls besetting the -buyer of old furniture. Even in the garden -of antiques a slimy serpent spoils the smiling -landscape. Fraud is not unknown side by -side with honest dealing. Not all furniture -is old as it looks. That is where that -predatory rascal called the faker creeps in and -preys upon humanity in general and the -innocent amateur in particular.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are sly manufactories of old furniture -busy to-day in shoddy workshops, building -up immaculate high-grade chairs, tables, -cabinets, out of oddments of oak and -mahogany collected from the scrap-heap of -broken and decayed furniture. New wood -is added in parts where necessary to -complete the transformation, and when these -modern antiques are blended, stained to -harmonize in colour, and a glowing patina -rubbed on by the artful dodgers, it takes a -keen eye to detect the villainy of the deed, -as that arch-swindler Gaspero Bandini said -to his fellow-conspirator: "We must make it -as antique as possible: we must sell the old -wine with the dust on the bottle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is no fixed market value to old -furniture as there is to postage-stamps or -War Loan stock. The dealer sets his own -price on his goods, and the cupidity of the -public guides him how best to do it. He is -a keen observer of human nature, and plays -up to its little weaknesses for his own -advantage, and he does it smilingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is wonderful how environment works on -our feelings and baffles our judgment. In -the twinkling of an eye it changes the value -we place on things. Dress the same man in -two different suits of clothes, and you have -all the difference in our cursory opinion -between a lord and a tinker. The same -article exhibited in shop-windows East or -West of London changes its value appreciably, -and we are blindly content to buy in -the dearest market if it is the most elegant, -and fancy we get full value for money.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I know a man in Florence who wanted an -old Tuscan table, and he padded round the -city looking for one. In a small shop where -much furniture was crowded into little space -he saw the article that pleased him. The -dealer asked twenty-four pounds for it. He -tried to beat down the price, but the dealer -would not humour him, so he left without -buying. Presently a large dealer in antiques -entered the shop, fancied the table, and paid -twenty-four pounds for it straightway, and -removed it to his own premises, which are -spacious and commanding. The man in -quest of a Tuscan table visited the spacious -premises and saw the table in its grander -home, fell in love with it again, and bought -it for forty pounds. Afterward he told the -dealer in the small shop that he had found -the table he wanted at Mr. So-and-so's, and, -quite elated, he described his purchase. -"Yes, I know about it," replied the rejected -dealer. "You have paid forty pounds for -the table I offered to sell you for -twenty-four." The buyer looked foolish, and said: -"But it was so much better displayed at -Mr. So-and-so's shop that I did not recognize -it being the same table; it looked worth -twenty pounds more in his place than it did -in yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The auction-mart frequently governs the -price of old furniture and gives it an upward -lift. The psychology of the auction-room is -an interesting study. The loaded atmosphere -of the place has a compelling influence that -gets the better of one's judgment. In a -shop a man scoffs at the tall price of a piece -of furniture and haggles doggedly with the -dealer to reduce it thirty shillings; in the -auction-room if the same piece were offered he -would compete with the crowd to raise the -price of it incontinently. It is the consistent -conduct of inconsistent human nature. It is -that bellicose little devil who hides himself at -the bottom of every human being, impelling -him down into the danger zone to fight, who -is guilty of the rash and feckless deed. A -man enters the auction-room in a happy, -breezy frame of mind, not to buy, just to -look on and see what things are fetching. -The serpent of the place tempts him, and -he is a lost soul. His good resolutions -evaporate like water on a hot plate, leaving -no trace behind. The fighting impulse in -him leaps up, and he bids and bids again, -and eventually he finds himself the possessor -of a rare old mahogany bureau hatched in -the reign of our King George, but -inadvertently described in the catalogue as a -masterpiece of the cabinet-maker's craft -composed in the times of Queen Anne!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-personality"><span class="bold large">IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF PERSONALITY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Personal influence is a subtle impalpable -sovereign power that man possesses; sometimes -it possesses the man, for influence often -is an unconscious element in his life which -exhales from him like the fragrance from a -flower or miasma from a swamp. You cannot -investigate it. It is moral force. Some men -possess much of it, others less, the residue -of mankind none. That is the mystery of -influence. You cannot regulate it, calculate -it, or tabulate it in standard quantities. -Its operation is noiseless as a shadow, -dangerous as lightning, profound as eternity, -beautiful as the five wise virgins, or devilish -as Mephistopheles.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We speak here of personal influence. -There is an influence of a baser sort which -is powerful in its way--the influence of -money. Money is extraneous matter. -Wealth magnifies a man in people's eyes, -but the man himself may be small without -the money inflation. Strip the rich man of -his shekels, and you strip him of his -significance. He counts no more than an empty -egg-shell after the rats have eaten the meat -out of it. Frequently the extraordinary man -is only an ordinary man placed in -extraordinary circumstances.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There is also the influence of position. -That is not the genuine article. It is alien -honour conferred like the odour of attar of -roses clinging to an empty earthen jar. -Position gives power. Some people who sit -in the chair of authority use their power -to the full, but it is the power of position, -not of character or individuality. The only -advantage of power is to be able to do more -good than other people. All the world -knows the difference, the ghastly difference, -between Cardinal Wolsey in favour and -Cardinal Wolsey in disgrace. Catastrophe -lies between these extremes of fortune. -The man remains the same in both states, -but the world moves with the times, and -gives no credit to an overrun banking -account. He is a fallen star. He drops out -of the seventh heaven of popularity into -abysmal darkness. Banished the Royal -presence, who cares for Cardinal Wolsey? -He has no favours to transmit. No man -is his friend, for he can befriend no man. -Position makes and unmakes a man, like -sunshine makes or unmakes a summer day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Influence of truest and finest brand is -personal. It emanates from the man, not -from his circumstances. Some men handle -their fellow-creatures with dexterity and -ease, like an experienced whip controls the -horse he sits behind. Quietness and firmness -are in the human touch, and the animal bends -submissively to every movement of the -reins; so some men command their fellow-creatures, -and they submit their wills to the -master mind that rides them, and how the -spell governs they cannot say. Other men -are ciphers in society. "Only Mr. So-and-so" -consigns a man to the outposts of social -extinction, and mixes him up with the -unclassified masses of limp, negligible, and -insignificant people who welter and gambol -with their kennel companions, but they -cannot head the pack on hunting days.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Influential men are not common in the -community. Only the elect few shine; many -are reflectors of borrowed light. Influence is -a gift. It is caught, not taught. It is all -decided for us when nestlings in the cradle, -and perhaps before we nestle. The schoolboy -unconsciously wields a mystic power in -the playground, and his chums hover round -him as king of the revels. Animal magnetism -exudes from every pore of his youthful skin. -He leads in every escapade, and others fall -in without question. He is not taught the -trick; it comes natural for him to lead as for -the rank and file to follow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On what principle Nature bestows her -favours it is difficult to hazard, more difficult -than to discover what principle guides the -British Government in distributing her coveted -decorations to the British public. Nature is -romantic. Exercising her sovereignty she -gives her honours as she pleases. No money -can buy them. Blue-blooded pedigrees have -no preferential tariff. Nature mocks our -conventionality, spurns our orders of merit, -and winks at our social somebodies. Often -she openly prefers a costermonger to a -King--stamps aristocratic grace on a gipsy, and -refuses it to a Duchess. There are -insignificant great men who would be hustled in a -crowd if they wore no badge, while to social -nobodies Nature attaches a halo of -distinction which the crowd delights to honour as -subjects offer incense to a King.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Personality is an attribute that carries a -man far on the road to success. Personality -is an endowment which proclaims a man one -of Nature's aristocrats. It is Nature's -advertisement of her best, and she is proud of -her handiwork. Personality is a fascinating -asset; it lends dignity to common clay; it -gives a man a standing outside the crowd, -which he occupies with ineffable content and -full advantage to himself. Some people have -"an air" about them, and the atmosphere -they move in is intoxicating to those dwelling -under the spell of their presence. You -cannot crush people who have personality. Over -and over again it turns the scales in their -favour in the competitions of life. Their -virtues may not be of the celestial, their -talent may lack glitter, but their personality -grips you with its pomp and splendour, -and they sit amongst the mighty, imposing -themselves on gods and men. The envious -man admits their success, and slurringly -says: "They are commonplace: there is -nothing astonishing in them except their -success." He consoles himself with the banal -reflection that, other things being equal, he -is quite as good as they. But the strange -mystery of presence steps in and prevents -other things ever being equal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some men lack engaging personality, they -have no physical charm or force, yet they -exert strenuous influence. They possess great -mental or moral qualities. There is a Divine -spark in the clay that scintillates and collects -attention. They are luminous bodies, and -emit light. They are men with virtue in -them, and virtue flows out of them. The -extremely fascinating character of Jesus Christ -moves in splendour adown the ages, giving -out vital energy. It draws men to-day -irresistibly, as it constrained men nearly two -thousand years ago to follow Him homeless and -penniless through the highways and by-ways -of Palestine, without worldly honour or pay -to recompense them. There is a strange, -silent, penetrating, perplexing, yet mighty -influence working round about us; it is the -influence of the life of Christ holding us up. -I do not mean His life as crudely reflected -to us in the modern Church. Jesus Christ -has a larger influence outside the Church -than in it. Christ would be a stranger in the -sanctuary to-day if He visited it as the -peasant of Galilee.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jesus Christ never commissioned His disciples -to build up in the world such a colossal -organization as the Church has swollen itself -into with windy pride. In every country in -Europe the Church is the biggest business -concern and the wealthiest institution, the -most aristocratic society and the most -retrogressive force. The national Churches are -slavishly worldly and chastely genteel -concerns; they would boycott the kingdom of -Christ if they thought it were trying to enter -the world through their gilded gates.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The kingdom of Christ is democratic. It -might interfere with tithes and endowments -and vested interests. I fancy Christ will -establish His kingdom without calling in the -Church to help Him. I could not picture -Christ making use of a Bishop in knee-breeches, -lawn sleeves, and with a seat in the -House of Lords, when engaging disciples to -evangelize the world. But I can picture -Christ falling speechless when brought face -to face with a Bishop geared in full canonical -uniform; and if in His ignorance of ecclesiastical -functionaries Jesus politely inquired, -"Who is the aristocratic old gentleman -wearing knee-breeches and a broad-brimmed -hat, and to what institution does he belong?" -on being told he was speaking to one of the -leading representatives of His own spiritual -institution, I can picture Christ melting away -in anguish of heart from the venerable -presence of the great divine to solace Himself -in the company of fishermen and mechanics--men -whose hearts are warm and manners -natural, even if their creed is a bit unorthodox -from the ecclesiastical standpoint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And there is the good St. Francesco, the -stainless and blameless saint, born of the -little Tuscan hill city, the perpetual flowering -rose of Assisi, whose godly fragrance gives -off for ever to sweeten the life of -mankind--St. Francis of Assisi, the humble child of -God, the dear brother of men, dead these -five hundred years gone by; but he is now -lying warm upon the lap of Christendom, -nursed for one of the noblest, gentlest spirits, -aglow with the fervour of an endless life. -He is a living, controlling force to-day in -the world's long battle for righteousness, and -ever pouring into our ears the sweetness of -Christ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men are governed more wisely by the dead -than by the living. Interned within the -calmness of their shades, the mighty dead -speak to us, and no cross-currents of envy, -prejudice, or malice ruffle the serenity of their -counsel. Influence is not always beneficent; -it is malignant sometimes, and contaminates -like the plague. Evil qualities can be as -attractive as wholesome virtues. The poets -brand the Devil with a commanding -personality. John Wilkes, the notorious -demagogue in the reign of George III., was the -ugliest man in England, yet he impressed -himself marvellously on his generation. He -was a popular hero; he possessed natural -gaiety of disposition and an irrepressible -fund of impudence and wit. He was the -most brilliant controversialist of his day. -He was a charming rake with an insinuating -smile, and he wore the manners of a fine -English gentleman, which captivated his -enemies and conciliated the King. He had -exceptional powers of fascination, and he -boasted that--ugly as he was--with the start -of a quarter of an hour he could get the better -of any man, however good-looking, in the -graces of any lady.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-nice-people"><span class="bold large">X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF NICE PEOPLE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Our friend Mrs. Alinson took me sharply in -hand one day, and tendered me good advice -gratuitously over the tea-table. Mrs. Alinson -is a lady magnificent in bulk, energetic in -action, torrential in tongue, and warm-hearted -in disposition, second to none amongst -the daughters of men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When as a young man I first came to town -she adopted me, mothered me socially, and -manoeuvred for my success. She did not -approve of my associates, and rated me -soundly in her loud, pushful, stridulant voice, -which commands attention: "Mr. Drake is -not a desirable acquaintance for you to -pursue, my dear. He don't belong to our -set, and his reputation is tainted; unpleasant -rumours cloud round his name. Take my -advice and cut him. You only want to know -nice people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shrewd, disinterested, motherly advice for -Mrs. Alinson to bestow on a tenderfoot -unfamiliar with the pitfalls of society. Surely -only a lady of sweet discerning disposition -could give it; a lady whom everybody loves -and whom nobody gainsays; a lady the final -arbiter of taste in "nice people" who opens -the door to a new-comer and no man shuts, -who shuts the door on a new-comer and no -man opens. I accepted her dictum as good -current coin of the elect world we moved in, -to be honoured without reserve. Its metal -rang genuine on the social counter. Mr. Drake -henceforth is a stranger to me; it -would imperil my position in society to -know him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After tea we parted, and I went to the -cinema. I often go to a cinema because it -amuses me when I want amusement. It is -light and inexpensive diversion. Superior -people sneer at the cinema, and call it -low-grade amusement: a common glanty-show -that pleases common people. However, as -I have no shares in music-halls or wasting -investments in theatre-land, I am impartial -in my pleasures, and can take a shilling seat -in a picture palace with clean conscience -and merry heart. In the cinema we met -our dear friend Lady ----, who was enjoying -the moving pictures. She invited us to her -reception on the following Saturday -afternoon; at the conclusion of the show, when -parting from her, she said: "It's very kind -of you to promise for next Saturday. Please -don't tell Mrs. Alinson you are coming, or -she will be sure to come too, and I don't -want her. The friends I am inviting don't -care to meet her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was a staggering blow struck at the -serene goddess to whom we bent the obedient -knee. Was there another social kingdom -where she had no sovereignty, where her -passing shadow, like a malign influence, was -a thing to be shunned? Was she a false -goddess, or no goddess at all? She pictured -herself the controlling hand which steered -the current of gay life in our midst. Was -she at the helm, or was it a mild illusion -that muddled her amiable brain? Here are -people actually who will not open their doors -to receive her, nor permit her feet to tread -their dusty carpet--and she thought -omnipotence was in her nod.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>These colliding facts perplexed us. They -suggested the ridiculous, and offer food for -reflection on the comedy of human manners. -Here, on the one hand, is a portrait we draw -of ourselves, and there opposite hangs on the -wall a portrait other people draw of us. -Place these two sketches side by side and -consider, do they represent the same person? -Is there resemblance between them enough -to establish identity in a British court of -law? How can there be? We do not see -ourselves as others see us. We each observe -the interesting object that engages our -attention from different points of the compass. -We see our good points of character and -make the best of them; our neighbours -detect our little sins and make the worst of -them. So we clothe ourselves in sunlight -and paint our neighbours drab. Mrs. Alinson, -fortunate woman, had no glimmering -idea what other people thought of her; it -was not given her to see herself as others -see her. She lives stolidly; eats, drinks, -dresses, talks, surrounded by a shining halo -of self-complacency through which her -mentality cannot penetrate. She is good-natured, -thinks excellently of herself, and believes -other people's feelings towards her are equally -well disposed. You and I, happily, are -unconscious of the quaint esteem in which -our neighbours hold us, and wisely there we -ring the curtain down. If the truth were -told, half our acquaintances are our -enemies--behind our backs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon after the split in the Liberal party -on the first Home Rule Bill, which sundered -so many political friendships, Frank Holl -was painting the portrait of John Bright. -He mentioned to his sitter that he was about -to paint the portrait of Mr. Gladstone. "It -must be a very painful thing to you, Mr. Bright," -he hazarded, "that after all these -years of comradeship you two should sever -your connection?" "Indeed it is," replied -Bright with a sigh; "to think that after we -have so long worked together we should be -forced apart in the evening of our lives! -And by what? A bogy that has risen up -within him, beckoning him away from duty -and sense. Do you know, Mr. Holl, I -seriously fear that my dear old friend's mind -is giving way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the artist was at Hawarden painting -Mr. Gladstone, the subject of Mr. Bright's -portrait cropped up. "Ah!" said Mr. Gladstone, -"and how did you find him?" "Fairly -well; and he spoke very affectionately -of you, Mr. Gladstone." "Did he indeed?" -replied the sitter sorrowfully. "It was a -cruel blow that parted us--and on so clear -a question, too! Tell me, Mr. Holl"--and -here his lips quivered, for he was evidently -moved with strong emotion--"tell me, did -you notice anything in the manner of -my old friend which would lead you to -suppose that his reason was becoming unhinged?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We cannot see another man's personality -in full rounded vision. We get peeps at him; -broken lights and flickering shadows of his -character dance before us. We chase the -shadow, and think we can capture the man -and rifle him of his every locked-up thought -and uncover his soul's nakedness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The popular writer analyzes, probes, -dissects human character on paper, and we -marvel at his subtlety in reading so far into -people. He plucks the gay plumage off the -poor bird he has trapped, and leaves the -stripped and quivering body an unpleasant -spectacle for the public to contemplate -through the glass case of a six-shilling novel. -The novelist is a crude, fumbling workman -at his trade. His hand is too clumsy for -his tools. He dissects his paper dolls as they -pass before him in a paper world, but the -tangled, unbalanced, erratic human being -pulsing with mystic life, even his next-door -neighbour, baffles him on the doorstep. The -novelist is a cunning artist, but an unskilful -philosopher. He works like Conan Doyle's -great detective Sherlock Holmes, who can -unravel any mystery he himself concocts -in the pages of the </span><em class="italics">Strand Magazine</em><span>, but -is no use to Scotland Yard in tracking a -real murderer or laying bare an elusive crime.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If some famous men who in their day and -generation lived in cheap houses and mixed -with common people, and died unparagraphed -in daily papers, could see themselves now, -as we see them, promoted to illustrious -companionship with the mighty dead, their -heads would spin with amazement at themselves -for having arrived in splendour; they -would stagger at the worship paid them by -reverent posterity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During life they were great artists in mufti. -They were regarded as unimportant persons -by their own contemporaries, and to-day -they are posted amongst the demi-gods of -history. They knew themselves to be good -workmen who did a good day's work for a -fair day's pay, and then, like other honest -day-labourers, at nightfall, with clean -consciences, they laid down their tools, and their -life-story ended there. They little knew that -they had the bud of immortality swelling in -their veins, soon to break and flower into -endless renown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Human nature is a conundrum to itself -hard to crack, as it is to other people, even -its friends and neighbours who eat and drink -with it at table. We do not know that -heaps of posthumous fame may presently -cover our strange next-door neighbour. To -us he is only a negligible quantity in the -affairs of the day, with a little gift of the pen -or some queer scientific hobby that absorbs -him. In this swift age of ours Time and -Space are being brought to heel in masterly -control, but our neighbours remain mysterious -to us as Adam was to Eve until the affair -of the apple found the man out. Even -Shakespeare to his contemporaries did not -appear a towering genius, but only one of -themselves--a common literary hack with -an uncommon gift of turning a sentence and -making it tell. It was a trick they all tried -to catch from him, but he just went one -better than they.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shakespeare's fellow-craftsmen were -unconscious that they were entertaining an -archangel unawares. Nothing he said or did -outside his scribbling for the playhouse is -on record. He had no trusty Boswell at his -elbow to note his pothouse wit and succulent -wisdom, sparks from the fire of his genius, -flung off impromptu in merry moments at -the Mermaid Tavern over a flagon of malmsey. -His pals thought him a jovial fellow well met, -and when he died no crumbs of biography -were swept up by loving hands to keep his -memory green.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But strangest of all, did Shakespeare think -much of himself? He was utterly careless -of the fate of his own literary labours. He -never published one of his own plays. After -his death the stage copies of his plays were -carefully collected together by two prudent -men, Heming and Condell, with an eye to -business. Seven years later the first folio -edition of Shakespeare's plays appeared in -print. The first edition is full of glaring -blunders, compiled as it was from the stage -versions--the manuscripts that the players -used in the theatres. Those well-thumbed -dog-eared copies of the plays, very interesting -documents to own if one could be placed on -the market to-day: worn and torn, scored -with erasures, interlined with emendations, -stained with spilt wine and small beer, -greasy with handling of midnight study, and -crumpled after pouching in the players' -pockets cheek by jowl with incongruous -trifles--could you expect literary finish to -adorn these fugitive children of the -playhouse? Ever since that day learned -commentators have laboured assiduously -correcting the text of the plays and combing out -the tangle, quarrelling fraternally amongst -themselves over the correct word for the -place and the correct place for a word. The -quarrel of the commentators still flourishes, -for the muddle of the text has yet to be -tidied up.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-the-new-democracy"><span class="bold large">XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF THE NEW DEMOCRACY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Democracy is the rising star, mounting clear -and bright over falling kingdoms and toppling -empires. Crowns are going cheap in the -market to-day, and the divine right of kings -is a broken weapon flung in the mud of the -world's scorn and picked up as a toy for -</span><em class="italics">Punch</em><span> to provoke laughter. The old nobility -is losing its ancient charter to sit exclusive -in the high places of honour, and the common -people--the new caste--are coming into -possession and power. The working-man must -be tailored to the grand part he plays in -history. He will feel uneasy perhaps wearing -his first new dress suit--it will worry him -like a misfit. But clothes add splendour to -our common lot. With the salvation of the -country dependent on his nod he must cast -the stodgy cloth cap that clowns his head on -bank holidays and nod heroically to the -admirers who retinue his movements.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Democracy is the unknown god it will be -fashionable to worship when the war is over. -Now we are all wasting ink and paper and -taxing our small brains prophesying what -the world will be like in the flowering-time -of peace, when everybody will become -deliriously happy, wise, and good. We shall move -more cautiously then, like a cat stepping -circumspectly over broken glass on top of -the garden wall. We will make no mistakes, -as we did in the feckless past, bringing us -not only bleeding feet, but wounded hearts. -There must be no party politics in the land -as there used to be when politicians sold their -country to buy their party into power, and -sold themselves to keep the power which -they had bought. Everyone will want to -do good to his neighbour, and our neighbour -will want to do good to himself, and so -social reform now and henceforth is the -compelling idea that holds the public fancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But no two social reformers think alike -or advance the same doctrines of reform, -although the same idea dominates the mind -of all the doctrinaires. An idea is an abstract, -invisible, impalpable, thing that enters into -the mind of man naked and unadorned. -Before exposing this naked idea to public -observation it must be clothed and attractively -dressed. Confusion comes in with the -clothes. Fashions in clothes differ so that -the same idea differently dressed appears to -be a different object. However, it is not. -Ideas do not differ: it is the expression of -them that differs. It is when you clothe -your idea with words and deck it in literary -plumage that the mischief stalks in and -divergent opinions clash and confound us.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We all believe in Utopia, but none of us -hold the clue to the high road that gallops -straight into it. We take trial trips over -new ground and get sloughed up on false -trails. Plato and Socrates, Francesco -d'Assisi and Philip Sydney, Ruskin and Tolstoi, -have each been famous architects of Utopia -in the dim dreamland of the past, and each -propounded his own scheme as being the -very healthiest and happiest earthly paradise -ever constructed for man to dwell in. They -all have some aims and ends in common, -considering thoughtfully the welfare of the -people bodily and morally: but the distinctive -personality of the architect slyly creeps in, -and on the rock of personal vanity they -split into rival factions and a general quarrel -ensues, rending the best-laid schemes man -ever devised for the emancipation of the -human race. And so the egg of social -reform gets addled before it is hatched, and -alas! the glittering city of ten thousand joys -for mankind to dwell in recedes farther and -farther into the sweet dreamland of the future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One architect of Utopia proposes to upbuild -the city of Human Happiness by hand -labour. Brick by brick it is to rise in colossal -proportions and flowering beauty. He starts -with the individual as the foundation and -finishes with the individual as top-stone. -He works by gradual and peaceful process to -attain his splendid purpose. His method of -work is unpopular because it is slow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another architect proposes to work by -machinery, and to force it to a hasty finish. -Organization and legislation are the -instruments of torture proposed for the rapid -promotion of his purpose. Human society--social -and industrial--is stricken with fell -disease, which can be cured promptly by -Acts of Parliament and Orders in Council. -By this drastic method the "organic welfare" -of society is to be builded while you wait. -The State is to be organized, thought is to -be organized, the will is to be organized, and -happiness is to be organized, and nothing -of consequence is to be left unorganized; -while the mere individual is to be wiped -from the map as an unnecessary dot of -disfigurement upon it. Wealth is to be -handled by a new and better process; wealth -is to be conscripted, which means one man -is to make it and another man is to take it. -Labour is not to be dealt with as a -marketable commodity. It is an insult to the -dignity of labour to measure a man's work -and pay him exactly what his day's toil is -worth in the market. The working-man is -a member of the universal brotherhood, and -needs elbow-room in the community to -spread himself. He must have the wages he -hankers after, and when too weary to work -a pension granted from the State to make -comfortable his latter end. In fact in Utopia -every man, woman, and child claims sufficient -income independent of work, and the State -must be Paymaster-General.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alas! universal happiness on these idealistic -lines of compulsion and greed is like an echo. -It answers your call but does not come. -Socialism makes no progress in saving men; -it has eyes to see man's misery, but no hands -to lift him out of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The longer I live the more I am convinced -that this great and vital problem of social -regeneration is to be engineered only by -slow gradations and with infinite patience -and gentleness. Society is composed of dense -masses and millions of frail, erring human -beings, and to schedule a sudden inrush of -perfect laws on the statute-book will not -breed an improved strain of perfect citizens -who can live up to the pose of perfection. -You cannot legislate selfishness and -weakness and greediness and vice out of human -nature quickly, as you wring dirty water -out of a wet sponge; neither can you pump -purity and patience and brotherly love into -humanity by Act of Parliament, and out of -such shoddy material weave an ideal State -in one round of the clock. Perfect laws are -scarce as perfect men. Laws will grow -better as we grow better--gradually. Laws -and men act and react upon one another in -mystic collusion. The great incoming tide -of righteousness which shall fill all things -will fill them. You cannot complete and -furnish the top floor of the Palace of Humanity -before you have laid the foundation solidly -and deep on the rock of righteousness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Labour has not yet won its charter of -rights because it has neglected to perform -its role of duties. Labour has to look the -social problem squarely in the face with both -eyes open. At present it only opens one -eye--the eye which sees magnifically its -rights. The other eye is shut which should -observe its duties. The eye of Labour that -should see its duties is sealed in darkness. -The scales of Justice must balance truly -before mankind is happy ever more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Free labour is as necessary a commodity -as free sunshine in a well-balanced State. If -a man does his work well and does not require -so much beer and tobacco and time for -football as another man, he should be free -to dispose of his labour as he chooses, -without being picketed or bludgeoned by lewd -fellows of the baser sort. Until there -prevail an all-round correct idea of work, -legislation will be a dead letter. God has not -made one sun to shine on wages and another -on capital, nor has He made two varieties of -justice. He is God over all of us, and His -law is impartial justice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Capital is not immaculate. It sits the -great god incarnate on its high gold throne, -ruling men with sovereign power and using -men as a means to wealth. Its vestments -are of purple and fine linen. Costly raiment -to wear, but unseemly smirched with the -mud of gutter complots and stained red with -blood sweated from the poor. Capital wants -washing thoroughly from its iniquity and -purging with hyssop before it is fragrant and -can discourse virtue to the working classes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Capital and Labour must forgive each the -sins of the past, and as Brains and Hands -work together in mutual confidence and -esteem. Brains and Hands are not hard-set -hereditary foes. They are blood relatives, -members of the same body-politic, and must -hold together for their common good. They -are not even business opponents with clashing -interests spoiling to cut each other's throat -and smash the opposition concern with fiery -glee of heart. They are copartners in the -same business concern, and must combine, -each having their own department to -superintend. The interest of one is the interest -of the other. If one department breaks, the -other falls with it deep in disaster. Yet -these two copartners of the same business -firm are hating one another with a hot -historical hatred that defies the flight of -ages. They are locked together struggling -for mastery, each hoping to throw the other -and become top-dog and dictate new terms -of partnership which never would be kept, -for the articles of treaty would soon become -merely "a scrap of paper." It is not -conquest: it is co-operation that will bring -peace and concord between Capital and Labour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The world is ripe for a new social -programme. The war has altered the map of -Europe, and it will alter the map of men's -minds. The war has swept away old crusted -conventions which cobwebbed the mind, and -false foundations of social science upon which -men laboured vainly to build Utopia. These -things must be reassessed at new values.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The working-man wanted to get in the sun -and own his patch as a free and independent -citizen. There is no such thing in the world -as independence, complete and arrogant: -either in art, science, revolting daughters or -commerce. Independence is a fool's word -or an anarchist's battle-cry. The nearest -approach to it in the realm of reality is -interdependence. Substitute this word -"interdependence" in the place of the other -insolent and erroneous one and you have a -working proposition, for you establish a sense -of justice between man and man, and you -have gathered together raw material out of -which to build a new heaven and a new earth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pre-war panacea for curing the ills of -unrighteousness which blight society was the -amelioration of environment--a sonorous, -windy, academic platitude having more sound -in it than sense. It was the pet scheme for -manufacturing good citizens out of bad ones; -it began at the outward condition of -mankind and worked inward. It started with -the barber, the schoolmaster, and the -politician. By pursuing this method they started -with folly and ended with failure. It is like -telling a man to polish his boots when his -heart wants cleaning. The favourite -speculation of theorists was that perfect -circumstances create perfect character. This is -attractive reading in cheap handbooks of -political economy for the working classes, -but in this wicked world it fails to pan out -when put to a working test. It is more -important a man should start by mending -himself, and his circumstances will quickly -mend themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To expect by flattening down inequalities, -removing temptations, and giving everybody -a living wage of £2 per week, England will -flower into a Garden of Eden where people -are all good and happy and pay no taxes, -and where angels will come and converse -with us in the cool of the day, is to expect -the impossible. To expect by adapting the -lot to man instead of adapting man to his -lot you will create an earthly paradise out -of a world of wickedness is to expose your -ignorance of human nature and to admit -your incapacity for adjusting its wrongs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They tell us that in the New Democracy -patriotism will be scrapped. Love of country -is a parochial virtue; it will be swamped in -the greater love of humanity which will rise -like a swelling flood and cover all. In the -new Garden of Eden we shall be a happy -brotherhood, for the dangerous serpent will -be scotched. This doctrine is maudlin -sentimentalism with a tang of grotesque to flavour -it. Humanity is an immense crowd to fall -in love with </span><em class="italics">en bloc</em><span>; each individual will -receive a very thin slice of your affection if -all the world is to share in it alike. Love -will die of starvation fed on these lean -rations. As a </span><em class="italics">padre</em><span> fresh from the Front -persuasively raps out the truth, "the -would-be cosmopolitan who will not narrow himself -to love of country is rarely capable of any real -self-devotion to the international ideal which -he worships. The lover of humanity is -more often than not utterly miserable -travelling in a third-class railway-carriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Patriotism must survive as a national -virtue, however violently the universal -brotherhood flourishes, because the love of -country is founded on the love of home and -family, and the love of home and family is -founded on the love of a man and a woman. -You can never get over this nature-logic -while men and women remain human beings -with natural instincts which draw them to -love one another and preserve the family -feeling. I would rather be the victim of -every insular prejudice possible than have -no British prejudices to stir my British -blood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another hope of the ages that has failed -us in the hour of need is the Church. If all -other saviours of society failed there remained -the Church as by law established to rely -upon as the great regenerating power in the -land. Alas! the Church in our midst cannot -cast out evil spirits. It has lost the gift of -healing through respectability. It worships -an ancient creed instead of the living Christ. -Jesus of Nazareth is the great International -Democrat of history. He was a tradesman's -son and a working carpenter Himself. This -fact shocks respectability. How many more -people would be Christians if Christ had -been born in a palace and not in a stable! -This is the unsavoury feature of religion, and -the exclusive dignitaries of the Church hover -round it dubiously. They admit the historic -fact with candour, but slither away silently -from its indelicate associations as far as -decency permits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We have been told that bishops in gaiters -and aprons harmonize daintily with the quiet -cathedral close, shadowed by immemorial -elms and the other minor glories of the -Establishment; but bishops in gaiters do seem -badly placed in a carpenter's shop, where -their Lord and Master served His 'prentice -years. The apron is an ancient figment of -clothing bishops now wear in common with -the working carpenter at his bench. It is -a kind of retaining badge, signalling their -humble origin and ancient descent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Bishops, in general, are cultured and -amiable men, more renowned for their -learning than their piety. They are appointed -by the State, and form the executive of the -ecclesiastical machine to run the traditional -piety of the land. They sometimes quarrel -amongst themselves as to who is orthodox -and who is not on the episcopal bench--quarrelling -amongst bishops is only a human -diversion--but touching the righteousness -which is in the law they are all blameless men. -There is something faulty in the religion -they inculcate, for it does not grip the people. -It is dreamy; it is not real. It is the vague -pursuit of an unknown god ranging through -a maze of decorative ritual and symbol, and -there remain great arid spaces in our nature -which it never fills up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It has been said that the visible Church -stands in the way of spiritual enlightenment -of the people, just as stone idols of the -heathen stand in the way of apprehension -of God. What the eye sees before it the -mind settles down upon, and roams no -farther searching for a fuller vision of spiritual -truth. The savage sees his stone idol, and -never thinks beyond it religiously. It was -his father's god, and it is god enough for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The good Churchman is equally content -to know nothing beyond the religious -ceremonials which the Church ordains in the -place of God, the Spiritual Father of us all. -These ceremonials, sanctified by long -observance, quenched the religious thirst of his -forefathers, and they quench his thirst and -he is satisfied. The Church is tenacious of -her hold on men, not suffering the allegiance -of the people to be shifted back to God the -Father. The Church is said to be the one and -only sacred aqueduct through which Divine -grace can flow. The curse of the community -is the middleman. He takes a heavy toll of -profit in every business that feeds the people -bodily or spiritually.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The New Democracy must return to the -teachings of Jesus of Nazareth to lay a solid -foundation on which to build social righteousness -and national greatness. The secret -elements of social rectitude slumber in the -words of Christ, and the volcanic action of -the war will blast them into life and power.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jesus Christ was not a theologian or -schoolman of the fossil type of Gamaliel or -Calvin, learned in booklore, but ignorant of -men. He was not a stump orator inflaming -the radical passions of the masses, bating -them into red fury by pictorially describing -the wickedness of the classes. He proposed -no easy road to riches as a trap to catch -the envious poor. He did not sit in his study -formulating a scientific creed to mystify -people with a religion of words and phrases; -He lived in the open air a noble life that -men could see and believe in. It is the mind, -not the soul, that asks a creed to help its -faith; the heart believes without the crutches -of theological formula to support it. He -stood for goodness pure and simple, for rich -men and poor men alike. His teaching is -exemplified in His life, and His life is a -beautiful and faithful commentary on His -teaching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The careless world did not relish this -straight talk on goodness--indoor and -outdoor goodness. It was too realistic, too -personal in its touch; but men are growing -sensible now as the world grows older, and -with reawakened conscience ask for the truth -instead of its theological counterfeit, which -does not heal the wounded spot. Out of -the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth grow -eternal principles that build up the best -governments and the wisest laws, that train -the finest citizens, and regulate society on a -basis of righteousness and mutual honour. -The seeds of all possible national prosperity -and generous manhood lie embedded in these -teachings. Nations may rise, flourish, and -decay, but the nation with the blood of Christ -in its veins is immortal and shall endure for -ever. May it be the British nation!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="jesus-christ-the-lure-of-the-ages"><span class="bold large">XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">JESUS CHRIST THE LURE OF THE AGES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Jesus Christ is the lure of the ages. He -is the most interesting figure in history. -History says little about Him, yet that little -means much to us. It whets the appetite -for more knowledge. The little is distinctly -fascinating; what would be a full record of -His sayings and doings, suppose such a -narrative displayed in faded manuscript were -unearthed from the musty archives of an old -Eastern monastery and brought to daylight -in the twentieth century? The fragmentary -record that we hold is sufficiently vital to -have kept His memory green for nearly two -thousand years. What a glorious find a -continuation of the wonderful story would -be to those hungering for larger knowledge -of their Lord's earthly life!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jesus Christ is the unplaced figure in -history. He occupies no niche in the secular -temple of Fame. No historian of the country -in which He lived paged His name amongst -the worthies of the age or gave it mention -in a footnote of history. Outside the covers -of the Sacred Book Jesus Christ is an -unknown quantity. During His lifetime the -insignificance of the movement He promoted -in Galilee was unworthy of serious attention -from the authorities. His disciples were men -of obscure origin, a mere handful of ignorant -peasants and fishermen, rated as misguided, -harmless fanatics following a crazy leader to -oblivion, the foreordained end of a madman's -escapade. Others before Him had started -forth on the splendid expedition to set the -world in order and were interrupted in the -performance of their formidable task. It -was towering madness to suppose permanent -results could follow a single-handed fight -against the world; to think that He could -disturb the well-founded authority of King -Herod or challenge Cæsar seated in purple -power on the seven hills of Rome: as likely -He might uproot the seven hills themselves -which cradle the imperial city on their -nursing-lap. Yet to-day He ranks above all -competing heroes and overlords earth and -heaven in the compelling influence His solitary -life imposes on the world's activities, and -that influence is only just beginning to be -felt by us; eventually it will succeed in -refashioning the world after His own heart -and conforming it to the likeness of His own -image.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jesus Christ is the lonely figure in history. -He launched His mission on the world -without human patronage to give it a -winning start. Illustrious men of the age -did not do Him reverence, nor contribute -their sympathy and support to stiffen His -cause; they were frankly hostile to Him. -He had no family influence to help Him in -the great adventure; His ancestry was -illustrious, but His relatives were poor and -uninfluential folk; His father was a village -tradesman. He was not a University man -distinguished in letters to gain the ear of -the cultured classes. He had no well-to-do -friends to back Him either socially or -financially. No man ever stood more remote -from the world's conventional smile than -He did. He was a rank outsider. He battled -onward through resisting foes, upholding the -shining truth as a sun-bright banner for -brave men to rally round and fight for the -kingdom of God and the empire of good souls -on earth. He dwelt in spiritual isolation, -for a mighty purpose cut Him off from the -current influences of His time. The world's -cold stare was the freezing recognition given -Him, and it chilled the finer sensibilities of -His loving nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was nothing professional about Jesus -Christ. He was not a place-seeker. He held -no office in Church or State. He was a plain -citizen, plainly dressed. His manner was -simple and natural and without side. His -speech was of the people; He was one of the -crowd. No glittering halo aureoled His brow, -promoting Him beyond His brethren. As -a prophet, appearances were dead against -Him. Why should He rise above his -class-level and teach His betters and superiors -high morality and spiritual truth? He had -no crumbs of learning Himself--how could -He feed others out of an empty basket? -He had never studied in the schools and -won academic distinction! Surely He -overstepped Himself. His neighbours resented -His common everyday look, easy manner, -and arrogant pretensions. These things did -not mix well together. They denounced His -new, strange teachings as dangerous to the -community; He was an unchartered, restless -demagogue, roaming the country, disturbing -the public weal. They scoffed at this -common villager and His idle dream of founding -a kingdom of righteousness built on the -dregs of humanity, and derisively asked -"When shall this kingdom come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now, John the Baptist, hermit of the -wilderness, was a prophet after their own -heart. He played up to their ideal. He -quickened their hot imagination. He was -aglow with colour. He was a human tornado. -His defiant attitude, eccentric apparel, and -mystic fervour, were vividly picturesque; -they caught the eye and compelled attention. -He was an untamed child of the desert; he -stood aloof from the common crowd. Even -high-toned Pharisees were glamoured by his -romantic pose. They listened raptly to his -fiery message, and were fascinated by his -insolent tongue and audacious words shot -bolt-straight at them. His hearers staggered -whilst he thundered burning condemnations -on their smug sins and sordid lives; they -writhed in agony as he lifted them from -their feet and suspended them over the -bottomless pit, choking in sulphurous fumes -ascending from the fires of the damned below. -Such ghastly presentment of the truth after -the good old method of the prophets churned -up the muddy depths of their polluted -hearts. It converted the masses quickly, -as a visitation of the plague could drop a -panicky city to its knees, and when the -excitement slowed down be as quickly -forgotten as a nine-days' wonder out of fashion. -The religious revival subsided like the froth -blown off by the welcome wind of a new -excitement. The emotions of a day spent -down on the banks of the Jordan with John -the Baptist, the idol of the people, were -exhilarating, and something to be -remembered for a lifetime by these hard-headed -old Jews, and an interesting story to tell -their children's children in years to come. -The ministry of Jesus was not effervescent -in character. He could have stormed men's -imaginations with flaming pomp and -splendour; He could have ridden a chariot of fire -attended by thunder and lightning as running -footmen to announce His presence, but men's -hearts would have been unmelted by such -fierce demonstrations of power. It might -have awoke astonishment and intoxicated -them into religious frenzy, but afterward it -would have left behind a nasty chill on the -heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Jesus Christ had no official position in the -Church as a teacher. He had no mandate -from the powers that be to carry on. He -did not present Himself as a high Church -dignitary, high as an enthroned archbishop -robed in scarlet and gold; nor was He -comfortably placed as a canon in a snug cathedral -stall; nor even a meek young curate casting -longing eyes on Church preferment. The -Church of the day would have none of Him. -They flung Him from the synagogue. His -ideas were unproven and unpalatable to His -countrymen; He must build a new romantic -world for Himself and His followers to live -in outside the orthodox world of His day, -if they wanted liberty to breathe, and so He -began at the bottom of society and quietly -built upwards. He was just a man walking -amongst suffering humanity, and was one of -the sufferers Himself. He came like dew -descending on mown grass, noiseless, fragrant, -healing; silently He ministered amongst the -people, winning home to human hearts by -sympathy and gentleness and love, and -gradually the new kingdom of righteousness -grew up in the midst of the weary old world. -He gained dominion over men by their -resistible beauty and power of Divine truth -which He expounded, and made attractive -by parable and picture and by His own -blameless walk and conversation. His -teachings were exemplified in His life, and His -life shines in undimmed beauty the -exemplification of His teaching. He became a -living gospel to them which all men could -read, and His Divine personality was a -centre of healing power which cured men's -infirmities of body and mind. He had no -money to pay for services rendered to Him, -and He gave no hopes of worldly honour or -possessions to His followers. He was -homeless and at the mercy of friends for the -shelter of a roof and the hospitality of His -daily meals. He had intense sympathy with -men, but He was no deluded optimist. He -placed measured value on every man's pledge -of fidelity to His cause, for He knew what -was in man; with clear insight He saw into -their dishonesty, selfishness, misery, but He -knew they never had had a chance to do -better, and He meant to give them a good -chance all round. He frankly told people -their sins, yet with all His straight speaking -He won men and women to Himself. His -manner was gracious, and He was indulgent -to the frailties of our human nature with a -sympathy that pardons all. The deep -longings of His heart were for their happiness -and uplifting, and the difficulty He -encountered in leading them to follow the -things that made for their peace was -heartbreaking to His sensitive nature.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had but few friends, and of the inner -circle He gathered round Him all were not -loyal; for He was betrayed into the hands -of His enemies by one of the intimates of -the band, and was forsaken by all in the -hour of His supreme trial. He returned good -for evil, blessing for cursing, and died in the -act of praying for His enemies. No one -could bring any serious accusation against -Him, and he was declared innocent by the -judge who condemned Him to death. Yet -He was sacrificed as one whose life did not -count; He was thrown as a sop to slake the -blood-thirst of a howling Jewish mob. In -the annals of the law-court His name is not -mentioned, and there is no record of His trial -and crucifixion to be found in history.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Looked at from the standpoint of men of -His time, His life was a failure, and the -delectable vision of a kingdom of -righteousness on earth, the coming of which He -pictured in glowing, fluent colours, reads like -a dainty fairy-tale spun for children's -amusement. Yet He himself saw through the -darkness into the white light of the future, -and beheld the crowning success of His -mission. He saw the coming triumph of the -Conquering Cross, which should subdue all -things unto itself, and in place of the finest -legend ever planted on human credulity by -an artist in words He saw outlined through -the dissolving mists of time, solid and well -founded, the City Beautiful, with its shining -streets, its many mansions and translucent -atmosphere, peopled with white-robed citizens -redeemed and ever blest; and the verdict of -to-day is that the ministry of Jesus Christ -on earth was the turning point in the world's -destiny. No other personality has exerted -such profound influence on the lives of men -as Jesus of Nazareth, the despised and -rejected of His day.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ministry of Christ on earth lasted -about three years in all. Until He was thirty -years of age He was content to rest in deep -obscurity. Nazareth, with its quiet remote -valley, was world enough for Him to move -in, and when His hour was come He found -Himself. He opened His mouth and taught -the people. He passed from village to village, -a travelling storm-centre, exposing respectable -old sins, ripping up time-honoured religious -hypocrisies, vexing the Pharisees, and -confounding the vain traditions of the elders. -He laid down new laws of life and conduct -for men's observance, and unfolded the love -of God to man in its plenitude of tenderness -and pity; even to waifs and strays and -outcasts of city slums who had never received -a kind, hopeful word from the lips of their -own religious teachers. In fact, it was God -breaking in upon history, opening a new -permanent way into heaven for lost men to -return home by, and to cull the wayside -flowers of joy and happiness whilst homeward -bound.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus Jesus in three short years fearlessly -and swiftly accomplished His world-wide -mission, and died triumphantly in full -achievement of His benign purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not half the story of those few full, crowded -hours of His glorious life has been collected -and cast into history. It is a brief narrative -of a brief career; so little of His life comes -in view. Just a few detached incidents and -a few disjointed conversations jotted down -from the mellowed memory of three or four -old men years after the events occurred -furnish us an incomplete memoir of His -earthly ministry--that is all we have. There -was no adoring pen of a ready writer like -Boswell to fix on the spot His sayings and -doings. We possess only stray fragments of -the life-story gathered up from memory and -hearsay, and on these gathered fragments -we found all our spiritual faith and base our -eternal hope of blessedness. The structure -seems to have been casually and hastily put -together, but its design is the work of the -Supreme Architect, and the house was well -built and the foundation securely placed, for -it has sheltered many millions of people -through many generations of time. The roof -is still rainproof, and the walls stand firm -in their pillared strength. </span><em class="italics">It is the living -words of Christ that form the stronghold of the -ages</em><span>. His words are seed-thoughts dropped -into the hearts of men which bring forth -fruit manifold. Again they drop into other -hearts, and springing up yield fruit -abundantly unto life everlasting; and so -generation after generation men fall under His -gracious spell, and turn to His words for -guidance, for inspiration, for joy. You never -reach the end of Christ's words. They are -growing words. There is always something -new springing out of them unexpectedly: new -thoughts, new laws, new problems, new -solutions, new enemies, new friends, new hopes, -new consolations. The words of Christ are -spending and being spent, but they are never -exhausted. They pass into new meanings, -into new currency, but they never pass away. -They are the hope of all the ages.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The early Christians lived in a state of -spiritual elation; they daily, hourly, expected -the Second Coming of Christ. It was the -one article of their religious creed. The end -of the world was to be the next important -festival in the Church calendar, so they held -in full near view their heavenly home, which -was already feathered for their reception. -At the sound of the Archangel's trumpet the -heavens would open, the dead rise from their -graves, and they would be caught up in -the air to meet the Lord, and float off -triumphantly into mansions of eternal rest -furnished for their home coming. They -saw it all vividly as a drama soon to be -enacted, in which they each would play their -ordered parts. The present was a dream-life -to them, a mirage quickly to melt away. -This hope of immortality was the first bright -ray of light the gospel of Jesus Christ shed -upon mankind. Having minds heavily -charged with celestial visions, the common -round of daily duties became unreal to them. -They had a short creed and no theology. -They sat on the brink of eternity, and the -radiance streaming from its shining heights -bedazzled their minds with bewildering -raptures.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After long and patient waiting the heavens -did not open, no clarion voice trumpeted the -dead from their graves or welcomed saints -into paradise; the sordid, sin-stained earth -remained their polluted dwelling-place. The -illusion of the millennium faded away and -disappointment frosted their early hopes, yet -bravely they held on and died in the faith. -The Saviour's promise did not fulfil on the -comfortable lines they planned, but it would -make good another way equally great. The -Church learnt to take long views of the -promises, and turned its thoughts to things -terrestrial. The affairs of the present grew -interesting to them; they commenced setting -their earthly house in order, and when the -Church settled down into the slow, steady -stride characteristic of every long march it -became clear that she was destined to rank -amongst the permanent institutions of the -world. She formed new rules of life for her -children's guidance, and thus faith in Christ -gradually lost the fragrant aroma of -otherworldliness which first perfumed it, and in -lapse of time the plan of salvation became -more thought of than salvation itself. A -vast ecclesiastical system was organized, -having endless intricate ramifications, and -God was appointed head of one department -of it; and to-day heavy accretions of theology -accumulate and fasten deadly tight on the -old Church like barnacles crusting the bottom -of a long floated ship, hindering its speed to -port.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Verily the time has now come that the good -ship of the Church be careened, and the foul -accretions of mediæval theology stripped off -and the solid copper bottom of truth flash clean -and bright in the sunlight, and the truth as it -is in Jesus recover its splendour and power -as in days of the early Church. His teachings -shall yet win men to righteousness, and -the fruits of His lips bring peace and joy -to those who believe on His name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words of Christ have a future before -them in moulding the growing goodness of -the world and in solving the hard -problems of social reform which vex humanity. -He is the wise Reconciliator who can adjust -society and bring into harmony the classes -of men now gnashing their teeth at one -another on opposing fronts. Jesus Christ is -the true Political Economist, but He taught -far in advance of His times--truth always -marches a bit ahead of us. At present in -social science we are only just touching the -hem of His garment, and healing virtue -flows from it; presently we shall approach -nearer to Him, and, feeling the full throb of -His loving heart, we shall understand Him -better, and His life-blood will pour into our -veins and complete the healing of the nations.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-the-living-word"><span class="bold large">XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF THE LIVING WORD</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>The English State Church suffers from -excess of theology and paucity of gospel. -Our narrow Church creeds, in which the gospel -of Jesus Christ is kept under cork by -ecclesiastical cellar-men, must be broken that the -good wine of the kingdom may flow freely. -The gospel of Jesus Christ in the unwholesome -captivity of rigid creeds is a feeble, -mean, contemptible gospel, quite unable to -save mankind, which business it undertook -to achieve when coming into the world. If -the teaching of Jesus Christ is no larger or -kindlier than these old crumbling creeds show, -it deserves to be scrapped, for there is no -room in them for Christ to have fair play. -Christianity is not a formula, it is a passion; -it is not theology, it is truth. These dismal -dogmas have not enough spiritual nourishment -in them to keep men's souls alive; men -starve on such unleavened food.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What are these antiquated creeds of the -Church which strangle religion? They are -ancient dismantled strongholds where the -fighting forefathers of the faith housed -themselves tightly and fought their foes -tenaciously. The modern fathers of the Church -still inhabit these tottering towers of refuge, -although their day of usefulness is spent. -Loyal Churchmen still breathe lovingly the -chilly, stifling atmosphere of these spiritual -dungeons of traditional Christianity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We are living in a new age since August, -1914, and a new spirit possesses the people. -With this terrific war raging new standards -of values in religion, as in politics, have come -into operation, shattering old ideals -evermore. To encourage and strengthen them -in this era of strain and conflict men need -the larger, cleaner, diviner truth which fell -from the lips of the living Christ. We want -these truths to win through--the spoken -words of Christ, with the free airs of heaven -blowing across them, bringing healthiness of -life, sanity of faith, and manifold charities, -to all men who dwell on earth. The lure of -the Living Word alone can hold men firm in -this age of upheaval, when the old world -has caved in and the plans of the new world -are not yet manifest. There is finer, simpler, -fuller spiritual teaching in the four gospels -of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, touching -our present need than in all books of -theology ever written and all Sunday sermons -weekly preached. It is these half-forgotten -things that matter on which new emphasis -must be thrown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Theology is the great imposture planted -on mankind as a substitute for the teachings -of Jesus Christ. When one leaves the words -of Christ and strays amongst the words of -men, it is like a traveller switching off the -main line whereon his destination lies and -losing himself on a side-track. It is disaster -to side-track on the journey of life. Keep -to the words of Christ and you keep on the -main line. The gospel as revealed in the -teachings of Jesus is entirely free from the -sacerdotal imperative which nowadays -imposes priest and ritual in the path of spiritual -worship and blocks the fair-way to God. -Priests and rituals and creeds are -non-essentials; they are only wrappings: they are -not religion, nor the best part of it. We must -distinguish between living, breathing -Christianity and the man-made ecclesiastical -garments which clothe it fashionably, because -the difference between them is vital and -far-reaching. True religion, however, is -seldom found stripped of all temporary -wrappings, but its spiritual vigour survives in -spite of Church-made millinery which -encumbers it and impedes its healthy growth. -Strip the religion of Jesus Christ of its -grave-clothes and put the pure gospel in her -mouth, and never tidings could be told to -weary, heavy-laden men to-day which would -be hailed as half so welcome. The one thing -needful to make this world an earthly -paradise, delightful to dwell in, is for men -to live face to face with God, without a -screen of ritual or image or priestcraft -obstructing the view of our Heavenly Father; -it is the light of God's countenance that -cheers the heart of man, and strengthens -him to live a good life in all sincerity of -purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Ecclesiastics have built up the Church into -a colossal business trust which corners the -Bread of Life and doles it to hungry mortals -on terms of its own making. The Church is -a wealthy corporation with immense property -and privilege to safeguard and hold against -all comers, and these temporal possessions -engage its keenest thought and ceaseless -activity. So it has important work to do -other than saving the souls of men. To -maintain its temporal authority in the world -it has tampered with the teaching of Jesus -Christ; by cunning craftiness of man the -gospel has been twisted into theology, and -the way of salvation shrouded behind a dense -veil of ceremonial observances which the -Church imposes on people and declares -necessary to the saving of their souls. Much -conflicting religious literature is issued -annually by free-lances of the Press to -explain the downright simplicity of the truth -as it is in Jesus; and these conflicting opinions -add other stumbling-blocks in the way, for -they baffle the brains of the gentle reader, -beating up a thick dust of doubt around him -that his faith is smothered in a cloud of -perplexity which darkens the daylight of truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words of Jesus, when read and pondered -over, prove religion to be a very simple -matter. Yet this simplicity is its standing -peril. So little human wisdom is needed to -understand the words of Christ that we are -apt to fear they do not mean what they say -in plainest language--the language runs too -easy for the majesty and importance and -solemnity of the theme. We think there is -an occult mystery lurking behind the honest -homely phrases. Language so often bewilders -simple-minded people that we are hard -of belief when told we can find the way to -heaven ourselves without the aid of a bishop's -pastoral staff to point it out. The difficulty -is to convince the plain man that he -understands the words of Jesus when he reads -them, and that he feels his spirit touch the -Spirit of the Saviour of his soul without a -priest between to make the contact. The -Church as a commercial organization would -fall quickly into bankruptcy if the gospel -in its naked plainness was believed in -whole-heartedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Very superior people tell us that the -teachings of Jesus are only the beginning of -God's revelation to man; they tell us that -new revelations are constantly flowing in upon -us through the sacred channel of the Church, -and that the Church alone holds the key -which deciphers these confidential messages -despatched from mysterious sources for our -edification. This is ecclesiastical bluff. The -teachings of Jesus in the gospels suffice the -spiritual needs of men through all time--time -past, time present, and time to come. -When God legislates once He legislates for -aye, for truth is unchanging and cannot be -improved on as the world grows older. No -Divine after-thoughts will be added to the -written word nor supplementary revelation -supplied to guide men through the tangling -maze of life. The Spirit of God is equal to -all emergencies arising between now and the -sundown of time. New-fallen light may -illumine the written word in the forward -quest of faith, for every age makes its own -theology and coins new language to express -old truths. The words of Christ are -inexhaustible treasure locked in a deep mine, -and in that mine lies many a lode of truth -untapped by the diggers. The old gospel -mine yields more and more treasure as the -searchers strike deeper and deeper into its -secret heart. The last nugget of truth has -not yet been lifted from the treasure-house -of God's Word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Back to the words of Christ: this is the -one hope of a truly good life--national or -individual. If we forsake Christ and turn -to the teachings of the Church for our spiritual -well-being, we suffer for our folly in so -doing. The real meaning of anything is to -be found at its beginning not in its latest -developments. As religious systems develop -and grow old they grow corrupt, and on the -earthly journey pick up error with truth, -and the two mixed together look equally -sacrosanct to the uninitiated, simple soul, -and even the very elect are ofttimes deceived. -Water is purest at the spring-head; the -farther it flows from the fountain, the more -contaminated it becomes. Back to Jesus -Christ and His teachings in the gospels. -His words are the very life and light of men.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Men often mistake the nature of religion -through wrong teaching received in early -years or no teaching received at all, thus -giving the well-rooted weeds of error a long -start to grow rampant in the human soil. -Some people think religion is an isolated -activity, like collecting old china, a hobby -you can pursue, drop, and pick up again at -leisure. Other people imagine it is the -conventional badge of good society, giving tone -to a life of fashionable respectability, like a -carnation slipped into your buttonhole which -adds a finishing touch to your evening dress. -But they are not over careful, these -conventional people, to apply its tenets in the -privacy of their homes; religion is never -enthroned as a domestic virtue. Lord -Melbourne, the early Victorian Prime Minister, -was one day coming from church in the -country in a mighty fume. Finding a friend -on the road, he unloaded: "It's too bad. -I have always been a supporter of the -Church, and I have always upheld the -clergy. But it is really too bad to have to -listen to a sermon like that we had this -morning. Why, the preacher actually insisted -upon applying religion to a man's private life!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Their interior life is neither better nor -worse for hitching on religion as a -supplementary virtue. Such good people would -never miss an opportunity of attending a -missionary meeting at Caxton Hall or neglect -an early morning service at the parish -church, but the maid-of-all-work in the -kitchen is not benefited by the religious -fervour which perfumes her ladyship with -the odour of sanctity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Religion is a state of mind giving purpose -and direction to the whole round of a man's -activities. Religion is not like a red -holly-berry in a tumbler of clear water, a hard, -insoluble object, pretty enough seen through -the crystal medium, but working no change -in the water. Religion resembles a drop of -cochineal falling into the water; it colours -with rose hue the full contents of the tumbler; -it tinges the whole character and conduct of -a man; it permeates his thoughts and feelings -and actions, changing the colour of his life -for good and for ever. Religion works a -change--a radical change--that is the point. -It is not a question of drapery; it does not -merely hang up a decoration here and there -to improve appearances, leaving the secret -chambers of the heart unclean. It makes a -new man in Christ Jesus even out of the -coarsest raw material to be found on the -human market.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Church as established in our midst -to-day cannot work a social regeneration in -the land, for it gives forth so little of the -teaching of Christ to the people. The gold -of truth it circulates is mixed with the dross -of error of its own minting. It may bear -the image and superscription of Christ on -it and pass the world's counter as genuine -metal, but it is counterfeit coin of the -kingdom. The Church does not grip the people. -It is a fashionable institution of conventional -high-grade orthodoxy, but it is a thing apart -from the people. Its clergy socially are a -multitude of pleasant, amiable, guileless folk -spread over the tennis-lawns and garden-parties -of England on a summer's afternoon, -mingling good-humouredly with their -neighbours, but ecclesiastically they belt -themselves in a compact phalanx of self-centred, -intolerant men with a purpose in life, or by -preference they are self-constituted "priests." They -hold the Church as a close borough, -consume its revenues, swear by its creed, and -maintain its privileges. They are strong -partisans; the same interest guides them -which governs the business man in upholding -his trade interests--the sacred rights of -property. To defend their inherited rights -they will fight doggedly, and surrender only -in the last trench.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the charmed enclosure of the -Church the clergy esteem their Christian -neighbours ecclesiastical inferiors, not to be -consorted with on equal footing, and they -leave the Almighty to take charge of -outsiders here and hereafter. As a class long -years of clerical assumption has sapped the -humanness out of their nature, and only a -priest is left in their skin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are honourable exceptions to this -general rule. Many individual clergymen are -thoroughly alive with the spirit of Christ. -They are men of broad sympathies and of -intense devotion to their work, but it is -surprising how tightly the Church as an -institution grips those who minister at her -altars; the Church is the idol of their hearts, -the centre of their adoration. If the centre -of their adoration could be transferred to -Christ; if they could love Christ as devotedly -as they love the Church of England, the -result of their ministrations amongst the -people would be gloriously successful; if -instead of coddling the one respectable sheep -that never strayed away they rounded up -the ninety-and-nine lost ones and settled -them in the home pastures the work would -make their hearts ring with joy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>I have heard sermons by clergymen in -which the Church and the Prayer Book were -exalted as the chief Divine oracles before -which we all must bow in blind submission -as though Christ and the Bible existed not -in any corner of the preacher's mind; and -the result of such degenerate doctrine is that -preachers add good Churchmen to their -flock, but not good Christians to the fold of -Christ. A good Churchman thus becomes -a superior being to a common Christian, -as though it were more important to be -a Churchman than a Christian. "Churchman" -really is only the trade name for a -man who believes in the State Church. To -be a Churchman is good enough for some -people.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Compare the spirit of Jesus of Nazareth -with the harsh, unsympathetic system represented -by the Anglican creed which caricatures -the Saviour in our midst. The cruel system -which refuses to bury an unbaptized baby -with its dead mother, or would refuse to -allow a man or a woman to have a chance -of happiness in marriage because, through no -fault of their own, they have already suffered -great unhappiness; that would refuse relatives -permission to carve the word "Reverend" -on the tombstone of a Wesleyan minister -buried in a village churchyard because the -dead man was not of the Church of England.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The Kikuyu Conference is typical of our -bishops' lack of Christ-like charity and -shortage of that kindly touch of nature that makes -the whole world kin. The question lying -before the bishops in conference was "the -promotion of a brotherly spirit and the -adoption of practical steps toward unity" in -the mission-field; or, should the Church of -England retain its old crusted conventions -as an exclusive institution and cold shoulder -all outsiders. The bishops consulted in -Lambeth Palace over this aggravating question, -and finally decided that their first duty -was to protect the Church of England in all -its ancient sanctities, to retain the proud -boundary-walls isolating those within in strict -spiritual seclusion, and to warn trespassers -off their private ecclesiastical preserves. Their -duty to the State Church was clear-cut and -formulated--viz., to maintain its high-cast -principles and to avoid the contagion of the -sects. None of the beautiful roses of charity -growing in their garden-close must run over -the wall for the wayfarer to pluck. Their -fraternal duty to native Christians won to -Christ by missionary zeal remains obscure. -However, no loose form of brotherly love or -Christian fellowship can be permitted in the -mission-field or elsewhere. State Church -principles must be upheld. As a sweetmeat -and as a goody-goody sample of what Jesus -Christ meant by brotherly love, an occasional -hospitality to other Christian communities -may be practised without prejudice to Church -principles; you may come and partake of -Holy Communion with us in our Church, -but we cannot partake of Holy Communion -with you in yours. For you to come to us -is a privilege, for us to go to you would be -</span><em class="italics">infra dig</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On these liberal lines the bishops -expound the teachings of Jesus Christ and -uphold Church principles, and if Christ's -principles clash with Church principles, so -much the worse for the principles of Jesus -Christ. The Church is the orthodox institution, -and must hold itself inviolate even -against the heterodoxy of Jesus Christ. The -Kikuyu Conference and its deliberations -may be summed up briefly as a study -in Church principles and how to maintain them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such harsh decisions bring contempt upon -the Church, and widen the gulf which divides -the rubric from the gospels and the clergyman -from Christ. Jesus of Nazareth differs -essentially from the Church on earth which -to-day flies His banner and breaks His -commandments. Christ declared for character -and conduct as essentials in life; the Church -favours creed and ceremony. Christ worked -undogmatically, and the Church, overweighted -with dogma, fails hopelessly in its Christly -work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Observe the generous, liberal, broad-minded -traits which even in the scanty records of -the gospels mark Jesus Christ as the kindliest -and most humane of men. Where there -was a choice, He stood on the side of charity -and common sense. He was no misanthrope; -He was of social temperament. He knew -well the joy of life, and He did not hesitate -to participate in it. He drank wine Himself, -and exerted miraculous power that others -might drink it. In argument upon -Sabbatarianism He took the more liberal view. -He instantly and frankly forgave the woman -taken in adultery. His heart went out in -gentleness to children, to the poor, and to -everybody who needed support and comfort. -It is that golden thread of kindliness running -like flashes of sunlight through His ministry -which wins the love and adherence of disciples -to His name.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few years ago an English ship foundered -on the coast of Ushant. Many of the crew -were drowned and the bodies washed ashore. -The villagers of Ushant showed no little -kindness to the shipwrecked strangers. The -interment of the drowned sailors was a -memorable scene. The deceased were all -Protestants, the villagers were all Roman -Catholics, yet the villagers performed the -ceremony with all the ritual shown to those -of their own faith. The curé officiating had -qualms of conscience in admitting the bodies -to the church and reading the Catholic service -over them. An Englishman standing by -remarked, "God has no creed." The curé -waved his hand as if to dismiss the objections -which perturbed his mind, and the service -proceeded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This is a refreshing lesson in humanity -furnished by the simple-minded, -good-natured fishermen of Ushant. The spirit of -Jesus breathes in it victoriously over the -narrowness of creed and the hardness of -heart which separate men in much party -bitterness.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lure-of-the-eucharist"><span class="bold large">XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">THE LURE OF THE EUCHARIST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A beautiful spectacular ceremonial the -Church has wrapped around the Sacrament -of the Lord's Supper, smothering it under -the pomp of a religious service, which works -upon the nerves like a subtle, mastering -spell. The senses of the worshipper become -drugged with incense, dazed by the glitter -of broidered vestments, charmed with the -strains of alluring music, spellbound with -the deep droning voice intoning at the altar, -and all the splendid equipments and sacred -associations of the sanctuary, which tighten -you up until a wrapt ecstasy of feeling -intoxicates you in the midst of it all, and -you are drenched in the luxury of strong, -dreamy religious emotion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For nineteen centuries the spectacle has -been growing in significance, and it is not -finished growing yet. Every age adds a -decorative touch to embellish its colossal -splendours. Finality in ecclesiastical -evolution lies a long way off in the distance. If -one of the twelve disciples who supped -with our Blessed Lord on that historic -night could slip out of paradise and for a -few minutes witness a modern high celebration -of the Holy Eucharist, he would marvel -much at the imposing function, and marvel -more at men's credulity in mistaking an -ecclesiastical pageant for a simple act of -devout obedience to Jesus Christ. The plain -and homely meal which our Lord instituted -to be a remembrance of Himself and His -death on the Cross has flowered into an -ornate and flamboyant religious function -striking wonderment and awe in the hearts -of mankind by the glitter of its barbaric -and imposing splendours. The Church has -worked up the Lord's Supper into a -supernatural mystic rite run on old pagan lines; -in fact, it amalgamates Christianity with -ancient magic, and so the spirit of Christ -escapes from the service, and only His -traditional dead body reposes on the altar -like the cold ashes of an extinct fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Recall the simple and unpretentious meal -of which our Blessed Lord partook with His -disciples on the eve of His betrayal and -death. There in an upper room in the city -of Jerusalem is the small assembly, consisting -of the Master and His twelve disciples, -and during the meal Jesus took a piece of -bread, "and when He had given thanks, He -brake it and said: 'Take, eat: this is My -body, which is broken for you; this do -in remembrance of Me.' After the same -manner also He took the cup, when He had -supped, saying: 'This cup is the New -Testament in My blood; this do ye as often as ye -drink in remembrance of Me; for as often as -ye eat this bread and drink this cup, ye do -show the Lord's death till He come.'"[*]</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[*] 1 Cor. xi. 24-26.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On this plain foundation the amazing and -pernicious rite of Transubstantiation has been -reared--a veritable temple of divination, and -cloistered within its shadowed recesses the -priest casts his spell, dispensing religious -consolations to credulous and confiding mortals -tangled in the coils of the seductive creed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Transubstantiation is a pagan heresy -grafted on to Christian stock. In ancient -times, when the pagan priest muttered an -incantation over the idol of his god, the -spirit of the god was supposed to enter the -idol, and so when the Christian priest now -utters a prayer over the bread and wine it -is affirmed they become the real flesh and -the real blood of Christ.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A brief glance back on the early history -of the Church shows us the door through -which this sacerdotal error slipped into the -sacramental service, and how the Church -drifted from the words of Jesus Christ and -sought other and strange gods for counsel. -For three centuries after the Crucifixion the -disciples held closely together in little groups -or churches in the towns where they abode. -Many of them dwelt in Rome, down in the -dark subterranean city of the catacombs, -with its maze of narrow lanes, blind alleys, -and cryptic sanctuaries, hidden under the -gay, cruel city of sunlit streets and open -air. Here they lived, striving faithfully and -patiently to attain pure, blameless, holy lives -before God in a pagan world, whose sins -they renounced and whose hatred they -courted by thrusting the new and unwelcome -society of Christ into their hostile midst. -Christians were mistaken for criminals--but -there, Christ was crucified as one. Through -all persecutions they held fast to the -teachings of Jesus of Nazareth. Nothing daunted -them, nothing disheartened them. The words -of Christ refreshed them in all the weariness -of spirit. In teeth of deadly opposition they -grew in number until a questionable honour -was conferred upon the Church which changed -its fortunes and marred its simplicity. The -Roman Emperor Constantine became a convert -to the new religion, and now and henceforth -the religion of Jesus Christ is honourable -in the sight of all men. It is the fashionable -craze of Rome. The Emperor's Court -followed the Emperor's example and joined up. -The Roman world followed the royal lead -and professed conversion. This is the -flowering-time of Christianity. The Christian sect, -yesterday the outcasts and scum of the earth, -are now received into polite society, dine in -the best houses, and are welcomed everywhere. -The bishops of the Church are dug -out of their deep burrows in the stuffy -underground where they practised the simple -life; they put off their poverty of pocket and -meekness of spirit, and are robed in gorgeous -raiment and rank amongst the rulers of the -earth. They are transfigured men in mind -and in manners. The Bishop of Rome leaps -into fame, wins for himself a palace and a -throne in the city of the Cæsars, and a court -of red-robed cardinals surge round him with -royal observances and diplomatic intrigue. -Our bishops in England become princes of -the Church, have princely palaces, and -princely revenues to maintain the dignity of -their princely estate. These gilded grandees -of the Church are considered to be spiritually -the lineal descendants of the Peasant of -Galilee who at nightfall had not where to -lay His head. Flattery worked the Church's -undoing, for in the hour of her worldly -triumph she gave away all that the early -Christian martyrs had died to win.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The mass of people who obsequiously -played up to Constantine and joined the -Church were not converted to the Christian -faith; they did not believe in Christ with all -their heart. To many of them Christ was -only a new Deity added to the many gods -they already worshipped. In heart they -remained pagan, but behaved prudently and -changed their coat at the Emperor's bidding. -They did not forsake their old religion when -they accepted the new creed; they amalgamated -the two. They carried their pagan -superstitions with them into the Christian -Church, and, planted in new soil, there they -took root and flourished vigorously in the -garden of the Lord. The old gods became -saints; the pagan shrines and images and -festivals were whitewashed and christianized -and given a place in the Church calendar; -the magic by which their pagan priests -trained the spirit of the gods to enter the -idol at call, the same priestly magic -transferred to the new religion brought the body -of the Lord into the bread and the wine at -the service of the Lord's Supper.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Such galloping progress did the heresy -make amongst the mixed multitudes who -mingled their devotions with the elect in the -Church that before long the bread and wine -were given to the dead. The Sacrament, it -is supposed, was placed on the breast of dead -persons, as a charm against evil spirits. -This superstitious custom was rooted deeply -in the religion of the day, for the Church -was compelled to legislate on the subject. -The custom was forbidden in Africa by the -Council of Hippo, A.D. 393; the Council of -Carthage, A.D. 397; and in Gaul at the Council -of Auxerre, A.D. 578; yet it lingered -tenaciously in the hearts of the people as a sacred -custom to be observed regardless of hostility -to it in high places. Again at the Council -in Trullo, A.D. 691, it was forbidden. An -incident in the life of St. Benedict, who died -about the year 540, discloses much to us. -A boy who had been disobedient died -suddenly, and his corpse could not rest, in the -grave, so St. Benedict ordered the body of -the Lord (the Sacrament) to be placed on -the breast of the boy, and the corpse rested -immediately, and remained quietly buried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The miraculous legend of the Lord's Supper -obtains in the Church to-day with perfumed -pomp and splendour of worship. The magic -of the Real Presence bites deep into the core -of the Church's creed. As the ages roll the -legend develops new forms of expression. -Its inferences are not always expressed, nor -is its significance posted on the surface, but -it is the deeply sunk tap-root of the green -bay-tree of sacerdotalism which flourishes in -the Church of Christ and binds the people -round and round with disciplinary fetters of -steel, captives to priestly power.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The consecrated bread and wine still are -worshipped as being the body of the Lord. -When the priest consecrates the bread and -wine on the altar for the Communion Service, -sometimes a part of it is reverently kept back -and is called the reserved sacrament; this -reserved sacrament is conjured with. It is -placed in a small box of ornate workmanship -called a shrine or tabernacle, and is deposited -on an altar in the church, which is called -"God's resting-place," and is worshipped as -the body of our Lord.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In preference, a secluded and quiet place -in the church is chosen for the altar of the -reserved sacrament. "Admirable arrangements -have been made in some English -churches. In one church there is a -side-chapel somewhat out of sight from the main -entrance of the church. In another there is -a crypt chapel.... In another there is a -chapel reached by steps ascending from the -church. By such arrangements, when the -door of the chapel is kept unlocked and the -fact of reservation is known, there is at once -protection to the sacred presence of our -Lord, and accessibility to those who will -use it well." To these lonely side-altars in -shadowy places of the sanctuary at any hour -during the day stray worshippers come and -kneel before the tabernacle and worship the -body of Christ enclosed therein. "All that -Christ can claim of human love and -adoration is due to Him in His sacramental -presence," says an Oxford advocate of the -intruding heresy; "the worship which the -Christian soul pays to Him when the -sacrament is consecrated is paid also as it is -reserved. It includes the utmost response -of which the soul is capable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In past times plain-speaking people called -these worshippers of the sacrament idolaters. -That word may reveal the thoughts of many -hearts to-day. Dr. Darwell Stone, in his -book "The Reserved Sacrament," advocates -an ample toleration widely extended in the -Church of England on behalf of these idolaters. -Facing the accusation of idolatry cast by his -opponents, he throws out a challenge. Speaking -of those who make the charge of idolatry, -"from their own point of view," he states, -"they are perfectly right. If the consecrated -elements are only bread and wine after -consecration as before, whatever gifts or virtues -may be attached to the profitable reception -of them, those who imagine that they are -worshipping our Lord are wholly wrong in -seeking the object of their adoration in His -presence in the Sacrament. But if it be -true that by consecration the bread and -wine become His Body and Blood, if our -Lord Himself, eternal God, very Man, glorified, -spiritual, risen, ascended, is present in -the Sacrament, then in the adoration there -is no idolatry, but rather the worship which -is the bounden duty of a Christian."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Back to the New Testament, back to the -words of Christ, and in reading them we find -no evidence that Jesus at that farewell meal -He partook with His disciples founded an -elaborate and miraculous ordinance; we -cannot read into the words of Christ any -intention on His part to place in the hands of -Churchmen a spiritual weapon to be used -offensively and defensively in all their struggle -and strategy for the Church's temporal -aggrandizement, as it has been used to -subdue and flatten down the people under -their spiritual charge. The miracle of the -Real Presence is of man's device. It is -an offspring born of priestcraft and pride. -Christ has no part or lot in it. The -impression the gospels compel in us is that -Christ was fighting the sacerdotal error in -religion throughout His whole ministry, and -for the Church to claim Him as its founder -is the greatest irony of Christianity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But time works changes. As the story of -the crucifixion of Christ receded with the -lapse of lengthening years and became a -distant tradition in Church history, the desire -possessed men's minds for something tangible -to nail their faith to; the desire was to bring -Christ back again somehow into touch with -living men and women. The blank of the -long, silent ages grew intolerable. The -chilling doubt of Thomas haunted men afresh; -the longing to see and touch the wounded -Christ gathered force. To gratify the -religious devotion of the people, art did its -best to portray in coloured pictures Jesus -Christ the man who walked in Galilee and -died in Jewry; and the Fathers of the Church -responded promptly to the longing, and -found to hand a ready-made mystery which -answered the purpose and helped to stay the -profound religious hunger of the day--a -mystery which could be amplified to meet -every expanding need of the people, and the -people accepted with greedy faith the doctrine -of the indwelling bodily presence of Jesus -Christ in the bread and wine on the altar. -These elements, they were assured, became -changed into the real flesh and blood of -Christ when consecrated by the priest, and -the people acclaimed with reverent joy the -wonderful transformation which brought -Christ so near, and drew what religious -consolation they could from the sacred -illusion imposed upon them. The olden gods -were returning in a new form.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The people did not know and did not want -to know the truth about their creed. They -had neither the leisure nor the brains to -think for themselves. The cake is baked; -it is eaten with relish. Hungry men at table -do not analyze their food; they eat it and -are thankful. The people did not know, -but the people had feeling. The Church -stirred their feelings to the uttermost, played -upon the heart-strings of joy and sorrow, -hope and fear, faith and love, until their -tumultuous emotions were aroused and they -believed blindly according to priestly orders. -We would make neither more nor less -importance of the Lord's Supper, only just -what Christ made of it to His disciples and -to plain people through all time. Let us -try and possess the ancient feeling that -possessed the disciples when they sat at -table with the Master, and, stripped of -ecclesiastical emblazonment, we touch the -Supper in its primitive simplicity as instituted -in the upper room with the shadow of death -shrouding the Founder of the Feast. He -commanded His disciples after His death to -meet together thus and to break bread in -remembrance of Him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It is in memory of Christ, if the New -Testament report of it is correct. Christ -appointed the solemn rite to be an ever-living -witness to His own love to man, and -we in response make it our pledge of undying -love and devotion to Him. It is the Sacrament -of the ages. It never varies in purpose; -it never stales by observance. The Lord's -Table is the prepared place on earth where -the Church Catholic should assemble to -commemorate the great Sacrifice of Golgotha, -and to commune with one another in spiritual -fellowship and brotherly unity. It is a -commemorative act, and as such, uncorrupted -and undefiled by human inventions, it should -have come down to us, but the Church has -tampered with the holy thing. Christ did -not intend us to idolize the bread and wine. -It is the legend of the Brazen Serpent -repeating itself in modern version. Human folly -boasts of little originality. It borrows its -sins from its ancestors and charges them up -to the children's children. The Brazen -Serpent that Moses lifted on a pole in the -wilderness for the healing of the people was a -symbol of God's saving mercy to the nation. -Alas! the people turned the brass image into -an idol and in course of time worshipped it, -and so did evil in the sight of the Lord. -Christ did not intend us to idolize the -Sacrament; Christ commanded us to eat and -drink the bread and wine, not to worship it. -The Sacrament is in memory of Christ's -sacrifice: it is not a repetition of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To many Churchmen it is the simplicity -of the service that savours of an offence. -Human vanity dearly loves display, pomp, -emotion, with which to salt its devotion to -the Almighty and make it palatable to the -Deity and to itself. Naaman the Syrian is -not the only man who demands splendour of -ceremony to colour a religious function in -which he engages. His pampered soul feeds -on fulsome flattery, and if he does not get it -he is angry to the uttermost.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">OUR VILLA IN ITALY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BY JOSEPH LUCAS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">New and Revised Edition. With 25 full-page -<br />Illustrations. Cloth, 5s. net.</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"Full of the lure of Florence and, indeed, of -all Italy.... Mr. Lucas has written a book -which will delight every English lover of that -country."--</span><em class="italics">The Guardian</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Lucas has much to tell us of the Italian -people, and the descriptions of his neighbours -and servants bring them very vividly before -us."--</span><em class="italics">The Outlook</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The author has a good knowledge of Italian -furniture, which is rare even among Italians.... -His account of his search for rare 'cassoni' -and Tuscan sideboards, chests of drawers ('cassettoni') -and chairs is delightful; and the photographs -of his finds, which include a noble 'cassapanca' -and two very fine tables, are among the -most interesting features of his book."--</span><em class="italics">The -Athenæum</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<!-- class: center - -\T. 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