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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9488ea --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #52866 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52866) diff --git a/old/52866-0.txt b/old/52866-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e6cb169..0000000 --- a/old/52866-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11141 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, -Science, and Art, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art - -Author: Various - -Release Date: August 21, 2016 [EBook #52866] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE *** - - - - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_ - in the original text. - Equal signs "=" before and after a word or phrase indicate =bold= - in the original text. - The carat character "^", designates a superscript. - Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals. - Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved. - Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations - in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered. - Footnotes have been moved to the end of the article in which - they occur. - -[Illustration: Eng^d. by J. T. Gage, New York. THE LESSON.] - - - - - THE ECLECTIC MAGAZINE OF FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. - - OLD SERIES COMPLETE IN LXIII. VOLS. - - JANUARY, 1844, TO DECEMBER, 1864. - - NEW SERIES, VOL. XLI. - - JANUARY TO JUNE, 1885. - - - NEW YORK: - E. R. PELTON, PUBLISHER, 25 BOND STREET. - 1885. - - - - - INDEX TO VOLUME XLI. - - - FRONTISPIECE: THE LESSON. - PAGE. - AGNOSTICISM AND THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY, LAST WORDS ABOUT. - By Herbert Spencer _Nineteenth Century_ 127 - - AMERICA, A WORD MORE ABOUT. By Matthew Arnold - _Nineteenth Century_ 433 - - AMERICAN AUDIENCE, THE. By Henry Irving - _Fortnightly Review_ 475 - - ANCIENT ORGANS OF PUBLIC OPINION. By Prof. R. C. Jebb. - _Fortnightly Review_ 107 - - ARNOLD’S LAY SERMON, MR. _Spectator_ 259 - - ART, A FEW NOTES ON PERSIAN. _Chambers’s Journal_ 396 - - AUTHORS AS SUPPRESSORS OF THEIR BOOKS. - By W. H. Olding, LL.B. _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 262 - - AUTOMATIC WRITING, OR THE RATIONALE OF PLANCHETTE. - By Frederick W. H. Myers _Contemporary Review_ 547 - - - BANK OF ENGLAND, THE. By Henry May - _Fortnightly Review_ 679 - - BEHIND THE SCENES. By F. C. Burnand - _Fortnightly Review_ 408 - - BIG ANIMALS _Cornhill Magazine_ 778 - - BISMARCK’S CHARACTER, PRINCE _Temple Bar_ 386 - - BLACKSTONE. By G. P. Macdonell - _Macmillan’s Magazine_ 703 - - BYGONE CELEBRITIES AND LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS. - By Charles Mackay _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 29 - - BYGONE CELEBRITIES AND LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS. - By Charles Mackay, LL.D. _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 165 - - - CAMORRA, THE. _Saturday Review_ 381 - - COLERIDGE AS A SPIRITUAL THINKER. - By Principal Tulloch. _Fortnightly Review_ 305 - - COMPARATIVE STUDY OF GHOST STORIES, THE. - By Andrew Lang _Nineteenth Century_ 805 - - COMMENT ON CHRISTMAS, A. By Matthew Arnold - _Contemporary Review_ 836 - - CONCERNING EYES. By William H. Hudson - _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 772 - - CORNEILLE, LE BONHOMME. By Henry M. Trollope - _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 359 - - CURIOSITIES OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND - _Chambers’s Journal_ 245 - - - DAY OF STORM, A _The Spectator_ 786 - - DE BANANA _Cornhill Magazine_ 529 - - DELLA CRUSCA AND ANNA MATILDA: AN EPISODE IN ENGLISH LITERATURE. - By Armine T. Kent _National Review_ 336 - - DEMOCRATIC VICTORY IN AMERICA, THE. - By William Henry Hurlburt _Nineteenth Century_ 183 - - DICKENS AT HOME, CHARLES. WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO HIS - RELATIONS WITH CHILDREN. By his eldest daughter - _Cornhill Magazine_ 362 - - DRESS, HOW SHOULD WE? THE NEW GERMAN THEORIES ON CLOTHING. - By Dora de Blaquière _Good Words_ 273 - - DUELLING, FRENCH. By H. R. Haweis _Belgravia_ 222 - - - ECONOMIC EFFECT OF WAR. _Spectator_ 846 - - ELECTRICITY AND GAS, THE FUTURE OF _Chambers’s Journal_ 81 - - ELLIOT, THE LIFE OF GEORGE. By John Morley - _Macmillan’s Magazine_ 506 - - EMILE DE LAVELEYE _Contemporary Review_ 205 - - ENGLISHMEN AND FOREIGNERS _Cornhill Magazine_ 215 - - EXPLORATION IN A NEW DIRECTION _The Spectator_ 689 - - - FAITHLESS WORLD, A. By Frances Power Cobbe - _Contemporary Review_ 145 - - FOLK-LORE FOR SWEETHEARTS. By Rev. M. G. Watkins, M. A. - _Belgravia_ 491 - - FOOD AND FEEDING _Cornhill Magazine_ 155 - - FOREIGN LITERATURE NOTES 143, 284, 426, 571, 717 - - FRENCH DRAMA UPON ABELARD, A. By a Conceptualist - _National Review_ 633 - - - GENERAL GORDON AND THE SLAVE TRADE _Contemporary Review_ 92 - - GERMAN ABROAD, THE. By C. E. Dawkins _National Review_ 811 - - GOETHE. By Prof. J. R. Seeley _Contemporary Review_ 16 - - GO TO THE ANT. _Cornhill Magazine_ 416 - - - HITTITES, THE. By Isaac Taylor _British Quarterly Review_ 545 - - HOW INSECTS BREATHE. By Theodore Wood _Good Words_ 401 - - - IN THE NORWEGIAN MOUNTAINS. - By Oscar Frederik, King of Sweden and Norway _Temple Bar_ 521 - - INTERESTING WORDS, SOME. _Chambers’s Journal_ 826 - - IRISH HUMOR, THE DECAY OF. _The Spectator_ 383 - - - JEWS, THE HEALTH AND LONGEVITY OF THE. - By P. Kirkpatrick Picard, M.D., M.R.C.S. _Leisure Hour_ 540 - - JOHNSON, SAMUEL. By Edmund Gosse _Fortnightly Review_ 178 - - - LAUREL. _All the Year Round_ 804 - - LITERARY NOTICES: - The Correspondence and Diaries of John Wilson Croker, - 136—The Story of My Life, 139—Our Great Benefactors, - 141—Life of Mary Woolstonecraft, 141—Principles of - Political Economy, 142—A Review of the Holy Bible, - 142—The Young Folks’ Josephus, 142. True, and Other - Stories, 281—Noble Blood, 281—Prince Saroni’s Wife and - the Pearl-shell Necklace, 281—Dr. Grattan, 281—The - Old-Fashioned Fairy Book, 281—Katherine, 281—White - Feathers, 281—Egypt and Babylon, from Sacred and Profane - Sources, 282—The Hundred Greatest Men: Portraits of the - Hundred Greatest Men in History, 283—Eve’s Daughters; or, - Common-Sense for Maid, Wife and Mother, 283—A Review of - the Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testaments, 283— - The Elements of Moral Science, Theoretical and Practical, - 284—Episodes of My Second Life, 423—A Historical Reference - Book, 424—Bermuda: An Idyll of the Summer Islands, 425— - Elements of Zoology, 425—The Reality of Religion, 425— - The Enchiridion of Wit: The Best Specimens of English - Conversational Wit, 426—The Dictionary of English History, - 568—Personal Traits of British Authors, 569—Italy from the - Fall of Napoleon I. in 1815, to the Death of Victor Emanuel - in 1878, 569—Harriet Martineau (Famous Women Series), 570— - Weird Tales by E. T. W. Hoffman, 571—Jelly-Fish, Star-Fish - and Sea Urchins, 712—Origin of Cultivated Plants, 713—The - Adventures of Timias Terrystone, 714—The Secret of Death, - 716—Greater London: A Narrative of Its History, Its People, - and Its Places, 717—Russia Under the Tzars, 851—The French - Revolution, 853—Louis Pasteur: His Life and Labors, 855—At - Grammar of the English Language in a Series of Letters, - the Sign of the Lyre, 856—Working People and their Employers, - 856. - - - M. JULES FERRY AND HIS FRIENDS _Temple Bar_ 753 - - MACPHERSON’S LOVE STORY. - By C. H. D. Stocker _Leisure Hour_ 790 - - MAN IN BLUE, THE. By R. Davey _Merry England_ 277 - - MASTER, A VERY OLD _Cornhill Magazine_ 601 - - MASTER IN ISLAM ON THE PRESENT CRISIS, - A. INTERVIEW WITH SHEIKH DJAMAL-UD-DIN AL HUSSEINY AL AFGHANY. - _Pall Mall Gazette_ 849 - - MISCELLANY: - Heligoland as a Strategical Island How the Coldstreams - got their Motto Women as Cashiers The House of Lords: Can - it be Reformed? A Revolving Library A Child’s Metaphors - Has England a School of Musical Composition? Booty in War - Sir Henry Bessemer Some Personal Recollections of George - Sand The American Senate Shakespeare and Balzac The Dread - of Old Age A True Critic An Aerial Ride The Condition of - Schleswig Chinese Notions of Immortality An Approaching - Star Germans and Russians in Persia Learning to Ride A - Tragic Barring-Out Intelligence in Cats The Migration of - Birds, 858 Oriental Flower Lore What’s in a Name? Historic - Finance The Three Unities A Sunday-school Scholar A Mahdi - of the Last Century - - MONTAGU, MRS _Temple Bar_ 85 - - MOUNTAIN OBSERVATORIES _Edinburgh Review_ 1 - - MYTHOLOGY IN NEW APPAREL, OLD. By J. Theodore Bent - _Macmillan’s Magazine_ 662 - - - NEW ENGLAND VILLAGE, THREE GLIMPSES OF A - _Blackwood’s Magazine_ 120 - - NIHILIST, A FEMALE. By Stepniak _Cornhill Magazine_ 38 - - - ODD QUARTERS. By Frederick Boyle _Belgravia_ 648 - - ORGANIC NATURE’S RIDDLE. By St. George Mivart - _Fortnightly Review_ 591 - - ORGANIC NATURE’S RIDDLE. By St. George Mivart - _Fortnightly Review_ 763 - - ORGANIZATION OF DEMOCRACY, THE. By Goldwin Smith - _Contemporary Magazine_ 609 - - OUTWITTED: A TALE OF THE ABRUZZI _Belgravia_ 667 - - - PEKING, THE SUMMER PALACE. By C. F. Gordon Cumming. - _Belgravia_ 373 - - PIERRE’S MOTTO: A CHACUN SELON SON TRAVAIL. A TALK IN A - PARISIAN WORKSHOP ABOUT THE UNEQUAL DISTRIBUTION OF WEALTH - _Leisure Hour_ 405 - - POETRY: - BEYOND THE HAZE. A WINTER RAMBLE REVERIE. - _Cornhill Magazine_ 84 - LORD TENNYSON. By Paul H. Hayne 520 - ON AN OLD SONG. By W. E. H. Lecky _Macmillan’s Magazine_ 474 - RONSARD: ON THE CHOICE OF HIS TOMB. By J. P. M. - _Blackwood’s Magazine_ 202 - - POETRY OF TENNYSON, THE. By Roden Noel - _Contemporary Review_ 459 - - POLITICAL SITUATION OF EUROPE, THE. - By F. Nobili-Vitelleschi, Senator of Italy - _Nineteenth Century_ 577 - - POPULAR ENGLISH, NOTES ON. By the late Isaac Todhunter. - _Macmillan’s Magazine_ 561 - - PORTRAIT, THE. A Story of the Seen and the Unseen. - _Blackwood’s Magazine_ 315 - - - QUANDONG’S SECRET, THE _Chambers’s Journal_ 525 - - - REBELLION OF 1798, AN ACTOR IN THE. Letitia McClintock. - _Belgravia_ 173 - - REVIEW OF THE YEAR. By Frederic Harrison - _Fortnightly Review_ 445 - - ROMANCE OF A GREEK STATUE, A. By J. Theodore Bent - _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 499 - - “ROMEO AND JULIET,” THE LOCAL COLOR OF. By William Archer - _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 67 - - RUSSIAN ADVANCE IN CENTRAL ASIA, THE. - By Major-General Sir Henry Rawlinson, K.C.B - _Nineteenth Century_ 721 - - RUSSIAN PHILOSOPHER ON ENGLISH POLITICS, A - _Blackwood’s Magazine_ 692 - - RYE HOUSE PLOT, THE. By Alexander Charles Ewald - _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 249 - - - SAND, GEORGE _Temple Bar_ 817 - - SAVAGE, THE. By Prof. F. Max Müller _Nineteenth Century_ 243 - - SIBERIA TO SWITZERLAND, FROM. The Story of an Escape. - By William Westfall _Contemporary Review_ 289 - - SIR WILLIAM SIEMENS. By William Lant Carpenter - _Gentleman’s Magazine_ 621 - - SIR TRISTRAM DE LYONESSE. By E. M. Smith _Merry England_ 656 - - SMITH, WILLIAM AND SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM _Saturday Review_ 70 - - SOME SICILIAN CUSTOMS. By E. Lynn Linton _Temple Bar_ 73 - - SOCIAL SCIENCE ON THE STAGE. By H. Sutherland Edwards - _Fortnightly Review_ 830 - - STATE _versus_ THE MAN, THE. By Emile de Laveleye - _Contemporary Review_ 732 - - STIMULANTS AND NARCOTICS. By Percy Greg - _Contemporary Review_ 479 - - - THUNDERBOLTS _Cornhill Magazine_ 58 - - TRAPPISTS, AMONG THE. A GLIMPSE OF LIFE AT LE PORT DU SALUT. - By Surgeon-General H. L. Cowen _Good Words_ 53 - - TRUE STORY OF WAT TYLER, THE. By S. G. G. 748 - - TURKISH PROVERBS, SOME _The Spectator_ 787 - - TURNING AIR INTO WATER _All the Year Round_ 536 - - - UNITY OF THE EMPIRE, THE. By the Marquis of Lorne - _Nineteenth Century_ 643 - - - VIVISECTION, SCIENTIFIC VERSUS BUCOLIC. By James Cotter Morison - _Fortnightly Review_ 558 - - - WHEN SHALL WE LOSE OUR POLE-STAR? _Chambers’s Journal_ 802 - - WÜRZBURG AND VIENNA. SCRAPS FROM A DIARY. By Emile De Laveleye - _Contemporary Review_ 95 - - WÜRZBURG AND VIENNA. SCRAPS FROM A DIARY. - By John Wycliffe: His Life and Work _Blackwood’s Magazine_ 224 - - - - -[Illustration] - - ECLECTIC MAGAZINE OF FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. - - New Series. JANUARY, 1885. Old Series complete - Vol. XLI., No. 1. in 63 vols. - - -MOUNTAIN OBSERVATORIES. - -On October 1st, 1876, one of the millionaires of the New World died at -San Francisco. Although owning a no more euphonious name than James -Lick, he had contrived to secure a future for it. He had founded and -endowed the first great astronomical establishment planted on the -heights, between the stars and the sea. How he came by his love of -science we have no means of knowing. Born obscurely at Fredericksburg, -in Pennsylvania, August 25th, 1796, he amassed some 30,000 dollars by -commerce in South America, and in 1847 transferred them and himself to -a village which had just exchanged its name of Yerba Buena for that -of San Francisco, situate on a long, sandy strip of land between the -Pacific and a great bay. In the hillocks and gullies of that wind-blown -barrier he invested his dollars, and never did virgin soil yield a -richer harvest. The gold-fever broke out in the spring of 1848. The -unremembered cluster of wooden houses, with no trouble or tumult of -population in their midst, nestling round a tranquil creek under a -climate which, but for a touch of sea-fog, might rival that of the -Garden of the Hesperides, became all at once a centre of attraction -to the outcast and adventurous from every part of the world. Wealth -poured in; trade sprang up; a population of six hundred increased to -a quarter of a million; hotels, villas, public edifices, places of -business spread, mile after mile, along the bay; building-ground rose -to a fabulous price, and James Lick found himself one of the richest -men in the United States. - -Thus he got his money; we have now to see how he spent it. Already the -munificent benefactor of the learned institutions of California, he -in 1874 formally set aside a sum of two million dollars for various -public purposes, philanthropic, patriotic, and scientific. Of these -two millions 700,000 were appropriated to the erection of a telescope -“superior to, and more powerful than any ever yet made.” But this, he -felt instinctively, was not enough. Even in astronomy, although most -likely unable to distinguish the Pole-star from the Dog-star, this -“pioneer citizen” could read the signs of the times. It was no longer -instruments that were wanted; it was the opportunity of employing them. -Telescopes of vast power and exquisite perfection had ceased to be a -rarity; but their use seemed all but hopelessly impeded by the very -conditions of existence on the surface of the earth. - -The air we breathe is in truth the worst enemy of the astronomer’s -observations. It is their enemy in two ways. Part of the sight which -brings its wonderful, evanescent messages across inconceivable depths -of space, it stops; and what it does not stop, it shatters. And this -even when it is most transparent and seemingly still; when mist-veils -are withdrawn, and no clouds curtain the sky. Moreover, the evil grows -with the power of the instrument. Atmospheric troubles are magnified -neither more nor less than the objects viewed across them. Thus, Lord -Rosse’s giant reflector possesses—_nominally_—a magnifying power of -6,000; that is to say, it can reduce the _apparent_ distances of the -heavenly bodies to 1/6000 their _actual_ amount. The moon, for example, -which is in reality separated from the earth’s surface by an interval -of about 234,000 miles, is shown as if removed only thirty-nine miles. -Unfortunately, however, in theory only. Professor Newcomb compares the -sight obtained under such circumstances to a glimpse through several -yards of running water, and doubts whether our satellite has ever been -seen to such advantage as it would be if brought—substantially, not -merely optically—within 500 miles of the unassisted eye.[1] - -Must, then, all the growing triumphs of the optician’s skill be -counteracted by this plague of moving air? Can nothing be done to get -rid of, or render it less obnoxious? Or is this an ultimate barrier, -set up by Nature herself, to stop the way of astronomical progress? -Much depends upon the answer—more than can, in a few words, be easily -made to appear; but there is fortunately reason to believe that it -will, on the whole, prove favorable to human ingenuity, and the rapid -advance of human knowledge on the noblest subject with which it is or -ever can be conversant. - -The one obvious way of meeting atmospheric impediments is to leave part -of the impeding atmosphere behind; and this the rugged shell of our -planet offers ample means of doing. Whether the advantages derived from -increased altitudes will outweigh the practical difficulties attending -such a system of observation when conducted on a great scale, has -yet to be decided. The experiment, however, is now about to be tried -simultaneously in several parts of the globe. - -By far the most considerable of these experiments is that of the -“Lick Observatory.” Its founder was from the first determined that -the powers of his great telescope should, as little as possible, be -fettered by the hostility of the elements. The choice of its local -habitation was, accordingly, a matter of grave deliberation to him for -some time previous to his death. Although close upon his eightieth -year, he himself spent a night upon the summit of Mount St. Helena with -a view to testing its astronomical capabilities, and a site already -secured in the Sierra Nevada was abandoned on the ground of climatic -disqualifications. Finally, one of the culminating peaks of the Coast -Range, elevated 4,440 feet above the sea, was fixed upon. Situated -about fifty miles south-east of San Francisco, Mount Hamilton lies far -enough inland to escape the sea-fog, which only on the rarest occasions -drifts upward to its triple crest. All through the summer the sky above -it is limpid and cloudless; and though winter storms are frequent, -their raging is not without highly available lucid intervals. As to the -essential point—the quality of telescopic vision—the testimony of Mr. -S. W. Burnham is in the highest degree encouraging. This well-known -observer spent two months on the mountain in the autumn of 1879, and -concluded, as the result of his experience during that time—with the -full concurrence of Professor Newcomb—that, “it is the finest observing -location in the United States.” Out of sixty nights he found forty-two -as nearly perfect as nights can well be, seven of medium quality, and -only eleven cloudy or foggy;[2] his stay, nevertheless, embraced the -first half of October, by no means considered to belong to the choice -part of the season. Nor was his trip barren of discovery. A list of -forty-two new double stars gave an earnest of what may be expected from -systematic work in such an unrivalled situation. Most of these are -objects which never rise high enough in the sky to be examined with any -profit through the grosser atmosphere of the plains east of the Rocky -Mountains; some are well-known stars, not before seen clearly enough -for the discernment of their composite character; yet Mr. Burnham used -the lesser of two telescopes—a 6-inch and an 18-inch achromatic—with -which he had been accustomed to observe at Chicago. - -The largest refracting telescope as yet actually completed has a -light-gathering surface 27 inches in diameter. This is the great Vienna -equatorial, admirably turned out by Mr. Grubb, of Dublin, in 1880, -but still awaiting the commencement of its exploring career. It will, -however, soon be surpassed by the Pulkowa telescope, ordered more than -four years ago on behalf of the Russian Government from Alvan Clark -and Sons, of Cambridgeport, Massachusetts. Still further will it be -surpassed by the coming “Lick Refractor.” It is safe to predict that -the optical championship of the world is, at least for the next few -years, secured to this gigantic instrument, the completion of which may -be looked for in the immediate future. It will have a clear aperture of -_three feet_. A disc of flint-glass for the object-lens, 38·18 inches -across, and 170 kilogrammes in weight, was cast at the establishment of -M. Feil, in Paris, early in 1882. Four days were spent and eight tons -of coal consumed in the casting of this vast mass of flawless crystal; -it took a calendar month to cool, and cost 2,000_l._[3] It may be -regarded as the highest triumph so far achieved in the art of optical -glass-making. - -A refracting telescope three feet in aperture collects rather more -light than a speculum of four feet.[4] In this quality, then, the -Lick instrument will have—besides the Rosse leviathan, which, for -many reasons, may be considered to be out of the running—but one -rival. And over this rival—the 48-inch reflector of the Melbourne -observatory—it will have all the advantages of agility and robustness -(so to speak) which its system of construction affords; while the -exquisite definition for which Alvan Clark is famous will, presumably, -not be absent. - -Already preparations are being made for its reception at Mount -Hamilton. The scabrous summit of “Observatory Peak” has been smoothed -down to a suitable equality of surface by the removal of 40,000 tons -of hard trap rock. Preliminary operations for the erection of a dome, -75 feet in diameter, to serve as its shelter, are in progress. The -water-supply has been provided for by the excavation of great cisterns. -Buildings are rapidly being pushed forward from designs prepared by -Professors Holden and Newcomb. Most of the subsidiary instruments -have for some time been in their places, constituting in themselves -an equipment of no mean order. With their aid Professor Holden and -Mr. Burnham observed the transit of Mercury of November 7th, 1881, -and Professor Todd obtained, December 6th, 1882, a series of 147 -photographs (of which seventy-one were of the highest excellence) -recording the progress of Venus across the face of the sun. - -We are informed that a great hotel will eventually add the inducement -of material well-being to those of astronomical interest and enchanting -scenery. No more delightful summer resort can well be imagined. The -road to the summit, of which the construction formed the subject of a -species of treaty between Mr. Lick and the county of Santa Clara in -1875, traverses from San José a distance, as a bird flies, of less -than thirteen miles, but doubled by the windings necessary in order to -secure moderate gradients. So successfully has this been accomplished, -that a horse drawing a light waggon can reach the observatory buildings -without breaking his trot.[5] As the ascending track draws its coils -closer and closer round the mountain, the view becomes at every turn -more varied and more extensive. On one side the tumultuous coast -ranges, stooping gradually to the shore, magnificently clad with -forests of pine and red cedar; the island-studded bay of San Francisco, -and, farther south, a shining glimpse of the Pacific; on the other, -the thronging pinnacles of the Sierras—granite needles, lava-topped -bastions—fire-rent, water-worn; right underneath, the rich valleys of -Santa Clara and San Joaquim, and, 175 miles away to the north (when the -sapphire of the sky is purest), the snowy cone of Mount Shasta. - -Thus, there seems some reason to apprehend that Mount Hamilton, with -its monster telescope, may become one of the show places of the New -World. _Absit omen!_ Such a desecration would effectually mar one of -the fairest prospects opened in our time before astronomy. The true -votaries of Urania will then be driven to seek sanctuary in some less -accessible and less inviting spot. Indeed, the present needs of science -are by no means met by an elevation above the sea of four thousand and -odd feet, even under the most translucent sky in the world. Already -observing stations are recommended at four times that altitude, and -the ambition of the new species of climbing astronomers seems unlikely -to be satisfied until he can no longer find wherewith to fill his -lungs (for even an astronomer must breathe), or whereon to plant his -instruments. - -This ambition is no casual caprice. It has grown out of the growing -exigencies of celestial observation. - -From the time that Lord Rosse’s great reflector was pointed to the sky -in February, 1845, it began to be distinctly felt that instrumental -power had outrun its opportunities. To the sounding of further depths -of space it came to be understood that Atlantic mists and tremulous -light formed an obstacle far more serious than any mere optical or -mechanical difficulties. The late Mr. Lassell was the first to act on -this new idea. Towards the close of 1852 he transported his beautiful -24-inch Newtonian to Malta, and, in 1859-60, constructed, for service -there, one of four times its light capacity. Yet the chief results -of several years’ continuous observation under rarely favorable -conditions were, in his own words, “rather negative than positive.”[6] -He dispelled the “ghosts” of four Uranian moons which had, by glimpses, -haunted the usually unerring vision of the elder Herschel, and showed -that our acquaintance with the satellite families of Saturn, Uranus, -and Neptune must, for the present at any rate, be regarded as complete; -but the discoveries by which his name is chiefly remembered were made -in the murky air of Lancashire. - -The celebrated expedition to the Peak of Teneriffe, carried out in -the summer of 1856 by the present Astronomer Royal for Scotland, was -an experiment made with the express object of ascertaining “how much -astronomical observation can be benefited by eliminating the lower -third or fourth part of the atmosphere.”[7] So striking were the -advantages of which it seemed to hold out the promise, that we count -with surprise the many years suffered to elapse before any adequate -attempt was made to realize them.[8] Professor Piazzi Smyth made his -principal station at Guajara, 8,903 feet above the sea, close to the -rim of the ancient crater from which the actual peak rises to a further -height of more than 3,000 feet. There he found that his equatorial -(five feet in focal length) showed stars fainter by _four magnitudes_ -than at Edinburgh. On the Calton Hill the companion of Alpha Lyræ -(eleventh magnitude) could never, under any circumstances, be made out. -At Guajara it was an easy object twenty-five degrees from the zenith; -and stars of the fourteenth magnitude were discernible. Now, according -to the usual estimate, a step downwards from one magnitude to -another means a decrease of lustre in the proportion of two to five. -A star of the fourteenth order of brightness sends us accordingly -only 1/39th as much light as an average one of the tenth order. So -that, in Professor Smyth’s judgment, the grasp of his instrument was -virtually _multiplied thirty-nine times_ by getting rid of the lowest -quarter of the atmosphere.[9] In other words (since light falls off -in intensity as the square of the distance of its source increases), -the range of vision was more than sextupled, further depths of space -being penetrated to an extent probably to be measured by thousands of -billions of miles! - -This vast augmentation of telescopic compass was due as much to the -increased tranquillity as to the increased transparency of the air. -The stars hardly seemed to twinkle at all. Their rays, instead of -being broken and scattered by continual changes of refractive power -in the atmospheric layers through which their path lay, travelled -with relatively little disturbance, and thus produced a far more -vivid and concentrated impression upon the eye. Their images in the -telescope, with a magnifying power of 150, showed no longer the -“amorphous figures” seen at Edinburgh, but such minute, sharply-defined -discs as gladden the eyes of an astronomer, and seem, in Professor -Smyth’s phrase, to “provoke” (as the “cocked-hat” appearance surely -baffles) “the application of a wire-micrometer” for the purposes of -measurement.[10] - -The lustre of the milky way and zodiacal light at this elevated station -was indescribable, and Jupiter shone with extraordinary splendor. -Nevertheless, not even the most fugitive glimpse of any of his -satellites was to be had without optical aid.[11] This was possibly -attributable to the prevalent “dust-haze”, which must have caused -a diffusion of light in the neighborhood of the planet more than -sufficient to blot from sight such faint objects. The same cause -completely neutralized the darkening of the sky usually attendant -upon ascents into the more ethereal regions, and surrounded the sun -with an intense glare of reflected light. For reasons presently to be -explained, this circumstance alone would render the Peak of Teneriffe -wholly unfit to be the site of a modern observatory. - -Within the last thirty years a remarkable change, long in -preparation,[12] has conspicuously affected the methods and aims of -astronomy; or, rather, beside the old astronomy—the astronomy of -Laplace, of Bessel, of Airy, Adams, and Leverrier—has grown up a -younger science, vigorous, inspiring, seductive, revolutionary, -walking with hurried or halting footsteps along paths far removed -from the staid courses of its predecessor. This new science concerns -itself with the _nature_ of the heavenly bodies; the elder regarded -exclusively their _movements_. The aim of the one is _description_, -of the other _prediction_. This younger science inquires what sun, -moon, stars, and nebulæ are made of, what stores of heat they possess, -what changes are in progress within their substance, what vicissitudes -they have undergone or are likely to undergo. The elder has attained -its object when the theory of celestial motions shows no discrepancy -with fact—when the calculus can be brought to agree perfectly with -the telescope—when the coursers of the heavens come strictly up to -time, and their observed places square to a hair’s-breadth with their -predicted places. - -It is evident that very different modes of investigation must be -employed to further such different objects; in fact, the invention -of novel modes of investigation has had a prime share in bringing -about the change in question. Geometrical astronomy, or the astronomy -of position, seeks above all to measure with exactness, and is thus -more fundamentally interested in the accurate division and accurate -centering of circles than in the development of optical appliances. -Descriptive astronomy, on the other hand, seeks as the first condition -of its existence to _see_ clearly and fully. It has no “method of -least squares” for making the best of bad observations—no process for -eliminating errors by their multiplication in opposite directions; -it is wholly dependent for its data on the quantity and quality of -the rays focussed by its telescopes, sifted by its spectroscopes, -or printed in its photographic cameras. Therefore, the loss and -disturbance suffered by those rays in traversing our atmosphere -constitute an obstacle to progress far more serious now than when the -exact determination of places was the primary and all-important task -of an astronomical observer. This obstacle, which no ingenuity can -avail to remove, may be reduced to less formidable dimensions. It may -be diminished or partially evaded by anticipating the most detrimental -part of the atmospheric transit—by carrying our instruments upwards -into a finer air—by meeting the light upon the mountains. - -The study of the sun’s composition, and of the nature of the stupendous -processes by which his ample outflow of light and heat is kept up and -diffused through surrounding space, has in our time separated, it -might be said, into a science apart. Its pursuit is, at any rate, far -too arduous to be conducted with less than a man’s whole energies; -while the questions which it has addressed itself to answer are -the fundamental problems of the new physical astronomy. There is, -however, but one opinion as to the expediency of carrying on solar -investigations at higher altitudes than have hitherto been more than -temporarily available. - -The spectroscope and the camera are now the chief engines of solar -research. Mere telescopic observation, though always an indispensable -adjunct, may be considered to have sunk into a secondary position. -But the spectroscope and the camera, still more than the telescope, -lie at the mercy of atmospheric vapors and undulations. The late -Professor Henry Draper, of New York, an adept in the art of celestial -photography, stated in 1877 that two years, during which he had -photographed the moon at his observatory on the Hudson on every -moonlit night, yielded _only three_ when the air was still enough -to give good results, nor even then without some unsteadiness; and -Bond, of Cambridge (U. S.) informed him that he had watched in vain, -through no less than seventeen years for a faultless condition of our -troublesome environing medium.[13] Tranquillity is the first requisite -for a successful astronomical photograph. The hour generally chosen for -employing the sun as his own limner is, for this reason, in the early -morning, before the newly emerged beams have had time to set the air in -commotion, and so blur the marvellous details of his surface-structure. -By this means a better definition is secured but at the expense of -transparency. Both are, at the sea-level, hardly ever combined. A -certain amount of haziness is the price usually paid for exceptional -stillness, so that it not unfrequently happens that astronomers see -best in a fog, as on the night of November 15th, 1850, when the elder -Bond discovered the “dusky ring” of Saturn, although at the time no -star below the fourth magnitude could be made out with the naked eye. -Now on well-chosen mountain stations, a union of these unhappy divorced -conditions is at certain times to be met with, opportunities being -thus afforded with tolerable certainty and no great rarity, which an -astronomer on the plains might think himself fortunate in securing once -or twice in a lifetime. - -For spectroscopic observations at the edge of the sun, on the contrary, -the _sine quâ non_ is translucency. During the great “Indian eclipse” -of August 18th, 1868, the variously colored lines were, by the aid -of prismatic analysis, first described, which reveal the chemical -constitution of the flamelike “prominences,” forming an ever-varying, -but rarely absent, feature of the solar surroundings. Immediately -afterwards, M. Janssen, at Guntoor, and Mr. Norman Lockyer, in England, -independently realised a method of bringing them into view without -the co-operation of the eclipsing moon. This was done by _fanning -out_ with a powerfully dispersive spectroscope the diffused radiance -near the sun, until it became sufficiently attenuated to permit the -delicate flame-lines to appear upon its rainbow-tinted background. This -mischievous radiance—which it is the chief merit of a solar eclipse -to abolish during some brief moments—is due to the action of the -atmosphere, and chiefly of the watery vapors contained in it. Were our -earth stripped of its “cloud of all-sustaining air,” and presented, -like its satellite, bare to space, the sky would appear perfectly black -up to the very rim of the sun’s disc—a state of things of all others -(vital necessities apart) the most desirable to spectroscopists. The -best approach to its attainment is made by mounting a few thousand feet -above the earth’s surface. In the drier and purer air of the mountains, -“glare” notably diminishes, and the tell-tale prominence-lines are thus -more easily disengaged from the effacing lustre in which they hang, as -it were suspended. - -The Peak of Teneriffe, as we have seen, offers a marked exception to -this rule, the impalpable dust diffused through the air giving, even at -its summit, precisely the same kind of detailed reflection as aqueous -vapors at lower levels. It is accordingly destitute of one of the chief -qualifications for serving as a point of vantage to observers of the -new type. - -The changes in the spectra of chromosphere and prominences (for they -are parts of a single appendage) present a subject of unsurpassed -interest to the student of solar physics. There, if anywhere, will be -found the key to the secret to the sun’s internal economy; in them, if -at all, the real condition of matter in the unimaginable abysses of -heat covered up by the relatively cool photosphere, whose radiations -could, nevertheless, vivify 2,300,000,000 globes like ours, will reveal -itself; revealing, at the same time, something more than we know of the -nature of the so-called “elementary” substances, hitherto tortured, -with little result, in terrestrial laboratories. - -The chromosphere and prominences might be figuratively described as an -ocean and clouds of tranquil incandescence, agitated and intermingled -with waterspouts, tornadoes, and geysers of raging fire. Certain -kinds of light are at all times emitted by them, showing that certain -kinds of matter (as, for instance, hydrogen and “helium”[14]) form -invariable constituents of their substance. Of these unfailing lines -Professor Young counts eleven.[15] But a vastly greater number appear -only occasionally, and, it would seem, capriciously, under the stress -of eruptive action from the interior. And precisely this it is which -lends them such significance; for of what is going on there, they have -doubtless much to tell, were their message only legible by us. It has -not as yet proved so; but the characters in which it is written are -being earnestly scrutinised and compared, with a view to their eventual -decipherment. The prodigious advantages afforded by high altitudes -for this kind of work were illustrated by the brilliant results of -Professor Young’s observations in the Rocky Mountains during the summer -of 1872. By the diligent labor of several years he had, at that time, -constructed a list of one hundred and three distinct lines occasionally -visible in the spectrum of the chromosphere. In seventy-two days, at -Sherman (8,335 feet above the sea), it was extended to 273. Yet the -weather was exceptionally cloudy, and the spot (a station on the Union -Pacific Railway, in the Territory of Wyoming) not perhaps the best that -might have been chosen for an “astronomical reconnaissance.”[16] - -A totally different kind of solar research is that in aid of which -the Mount Whitney expedition was organized in 1881. Professor S. P. -Langley, director of the Alleghany observatory in Pennsylvania, has -long been engaged in the detailed study of the radiations emitted -by the sun; inventing, for the purpose of its prosecution, the -“bolometer,”[17] an instrument twenty times as sensitive to changes -of temperature as the thermopile. But the solar spectrum as it is -exhibited at the surface of the earth, is a very different thing from -the solar spectrum as it would appear could it be formed of sunbeams, -so to speak, _fresh from space_, unmodified by atmospheric action. -For not only does our air deprive each ray of a considerable share of -its energy (the total loss may be taken at 20 to 25 per cent. when -the sky is clear and the sun in the zenith), but it deals unequally -with them, robbing some more than others, and thus materially altering -their relative importance. Now it was Professor Langley’s object to -reconstruct the original state of things, and he saw that this could -be done most effectually by means of simultaneous observations at the -summit and base of a high mountain. For the effect upon each separate -ray of transmission through a known proportion of the atmosphere -being (with the aid of the bolometer) once ascertained, a very simple -calculation would suffice to eliminate the remaining effects, and thus -virtually secure an extra-atmospheric post of observation. - -The honor of rendering this important service to science was adjudged -to the highest summit in the United States. The Sierra Nevada -culminates in a granite pile, rising, somewhat in the form of a -gigantic helmet, fronting eastwards, to a height of 14,887 feet. -Mount Whitney is thus entitled to rank as the Mount Blanc of its own -continent. In order to reach it, a railway journey of 3,400 miles, -from Pittsburg to San Francisco, and from San Francisco to Caliente, -was a brief and easy preliminary. The real difficulty began with -a march of 120 miles across the arid and glaring Inyo desert, the -thermometer standing at 110° in the shade (if shade there were to be -found.) Towards the end of July 1881, the party reached the settlement -of Lone Pine at the foot of the Sierras, where a camp for low-level -observations was pitched (at a height, it is true, of close upon 4,000 -feet), and the needful instruments were unpacked and adjusted. Close -overhead, as it appeared, but in reality sixteen miles distant, towered -the gaunt, and rifted, and seemingly inaccessible pinnacle which was -the ultimate goal of their long journey. The illusion of nearness -produced by the extraordinary transparency of the air was dispelled -when, on examination with a telescope, what had worn the aspect of -patches of moss, proved to be extensive forests. - -The ascent of such a mountain with a train of mules bearing a delicate -and precious freight of scientific apparatus, was a perhaps unexampled -enterprise. It was, however, accomplished without the occurrence, -though at the frequent and imminent risk, of disaster, after a -toilsome climb of seven or eight days through an unexplored and, to -less resolute adventurers, impassable waste of rocks, gullies, and -precipices. Finally a site was chosen for the upper station on a swampy -ledge, 13,000 feet above the sea; and there, notwithstanding extreme -discomforts from bitter cold, fierce sunshine, high winds, and, worst -of all, “mountain sickness,” with its intolerable attendant debility, -observations were determinedly carried on, in combination with those at -Lone Pine, and others daily made on the highest crest of the mountain, -until September 11. They were well worth the cost. By their means a -real extension was given to knowledge, and a satisfactory definiteness -introduced into subjects previously involved in very wide uncertainty. - -Contrary to the received opinion, it now appeared that the weight -of atmospheric absorption falls upon the upper or blue end of the -spectrum, and that the obstacles to the transmission of light waves -through the air diminish as their length increases, and their -refrangibility consequently diminishes. A yellow tinge is thus imparted -to the solar rays by the imperfectly transparent medium through which -we see them. And, since the sun possesses an atmosphere of its own, -exercising an unequal or “selective” absorption of the same character, -it follows that, if both these dusky-red veils were withdrawn, the true -color of the photosphere would show as a very distinct _blue_[18]—not -merely _bluish_, but a real azure just tinted with green, like the hue -of a mountain lake fed with a glacier stream. Moreover, the further -consequence ensues, that the sun is hotter than had been supposed. For -the higher the temperature of a glowing body, the more copiously it -emits rays from the violet end of the spectrum. The blueness of its -light is, in fact, a measure of the intensity of its incandescence. -Professor Langley has not yet ventured (that we are aware of) on an -estimate of what is called the “effective temperature” of the sun—the -temperature, that is, which it would be necessary to attribute to the -surface of the radiating power of lamp-black to enable it to send us -just the quantity of heat that the sun does actually send us. Indeed, -the present state of knowledge still leaves an important hiatus—only -to be filled by more or less probable guessing in the reasoning by -which inferences on this subject must be formed; while the startling -discrepancies between the figures adopted by different, and equally -respectable, authorities sufficiently show that none are entitled to -any confidence. The amount of heat received in a given interval of -time by the earth from the sun is, however, another matter, and one -falling well within the scope of observation. This Professor Langley’s -experiments (when completely worked out) will, by their unequalled -precision, enable him to determine with some approach to finality. -Pouillet valued the “solar constant” at 1·7 “calories”; in other works, -had calculated that, our atmosphere being supposed removed, vertical -sunbeams would have power to heat in each minute of time, by one -degree centigrade, 1·7 gramme of water for each square centimetre of -the earth’s surface. This estimate was raised by Crova to 2·3, and -by Violle in 1877 to 2·5;[19] Professor Langley’s new data bring it -up (approximately as yet) to three calories per square centimetre -per minute. This result alone would, by its supreme importance to -meteorology, amply repay the labors of the Mount Whitney expedition. - -Still more unexpected is the answer supplied to the question: Were -the earth wholly denuded of its aëriform covering, what would be the -temperature of its surface? We are informed in reply that it would -be _at the outside_ 50 degrees of Fahrenheit below zero, or 82 of -frost. So that mercury would remain solid even when exposed to the -rays—undiminished by atmospheric absorption—of a tropical sun at -noon.[20] The paradoxical aspect of this conclusion—a perfectly -legitimate and reliable one—disappears when it is remembered that -under the imagined circumstances there would be absolutely nothing to -hinder radiation into the frigid depths of space, and that the solar -rays would, consequently, find abundant employment in maintaining a -difference of 189 degrees[21] between the temperature of the mercury and -that of its environment. What we may with perfect accuracy call the -_clothing function_ of our atmosphere is thus vividly brought home to -us; for it protects the teeming surface of our planet against the cold -of space exactly in the same way as, and much more effectually than, -a lady’s sealskin mantle keeps her warm in frosty weather. That is to -say, it impedes radiation. Or, again, to borrow another comparison, the -gaseous envelope we breathe in (and chiefly the watery part of it) may -be literally described as a “trap for sunbeams.” It permits their -entrance (exacting, it is true, a heavy toll), but almost totally bars -their exit. It is now easy to understand why it is that on the airless -moon no vapors rise to soften the hard shadow-outlines of craters or -ridges throughout the fierce blaze of the long lunar day. In immediate -contact with space (if we may be allowed the expression) water, should -such a substance exist on our enigmatical satellite, must remain -frozen, though exposed for endless æons of time to direct sunshine. - -Amongst the most noteworthy results of Professor Langley’s observations -in the Sierra Nevada was the enormous extension given by them to the -solar spectrum in the invisible region below the red. The first to make -any detailed acquaintance with their obscure beams was Captain Abney, -whose success in obtaining a substance—the so-called “blue bromide” -of silver—sensitive to their chemical action, enabled him to derive -photographic impressions from rays possessing the relatively great -wave-length of 1,200 millionths of a millimetre. This, be it noted, -approaches very closely to the theoretical limit set by Cauchy to that -end of the spectrum. The information was accordingly received with no -small surprise that the bolometer showed entirely unmistakable heating -effects from vibrations of the wave-length 2,800. The “dark continent” -of the solar spectrum was thus demonstrated to cover an expanse nearly -eight times that of the bright or visible part.[22] And in this newly -discovered region lie three-fifths of the entire energy received from -the sun—three-fifths of the vital force imparted to our planet for -keeping its atmosphere and ocean in circulation, its streams rippling -and running, its forests growing, its grain ripening. Throughout -this wide range of vibrations the modifying power of our atmosphere -is little felt. It is, indeed, interrupted by great gaps produced by -absorption _somewhere_; but since they show no signs of diminution at -high altitudes, they are obviously due to an extra-terrestrial cause. -Here a tempting field of inquiry lies open to scientific explorers. - -On one other point, earlier ideas have had to give way to better -grounded ones derived from this fruitful series of investigation. -Professor Langley has effected a redistribution of energy in the -solar spectrum. The maximum of heat was placed by former inquirers in -the obscure tract of the infra-red; he has promoted it to a position -in the orange approximately coincident with the point of greatest -luminous intensity. The triple curve, denoting by its three distinct -summits the supposed places in the spectrum of the several maxima -of heat, light, and “actinism,” must now finally disappear from our -text-books, and with it the last vestige of belief in a corresponding -threefold distinction of qualities in the solar radiations. From one -end to the other of the whole gamut of them, there is but one kind of -difference—that of wave-length, or frequency in vibration; and there -is but one curve by which the rays of the spectrum can properly be -represented—that of energy, or the power of doing work on material -particles. What the effect of that work may be, depends upon the -special properties of such material particles, not upon any recondite -faculty in the radiations. - -These brilliant results of a month’s bivouac encourage the most -sanguine anticipation as to the harvest of new truths to be gathered by -a steady and well-organized pursuance of the same plan of operations. -It must, however, be remembered that the scheme completed on Mount -Whitney had been carefully designed, and in its preliminary parts -executed at Alleghany. The interrogatory was already prepared; it -only remained to register replies, and deduce conclusions. Nature -seldom volunteers information: usually it has to be extracted from her -by skilful cross-examination. The main secret of finding her a good -witness consists in having a clear idea beforehand what it is one wants -to find out. No opportunities of seeing will avail those who know not -what to look for. Thus, not the crowd of casual observers, but the few -who consistently and systematically _think_, will profit by the -effort now being made to rid the astronomer of a small fraction of his -terrestrial impediments. It is, nevertheless, admitted on all hands -that no step can at present be taken at all comparable in its abundant -promise of increased astronomical knowledge to that of providing -suitably elevated sites for the exquisite instruments constructed by -modern opticians. - -Europe has not remained behind America in this significant movement. -An observatory on Mount Etna, at once astronomical, meteorological, -and seismological, was nominally completed in the summer of 1882, -and will doubtless before long begin to give proof of efficiency in -its threefold capacity. The situation is magnificent. Etna has long -been famous for the amplitude of the horizon commanded from it and -the serenity of its encompassing skies favors celestial no less than -terrestrial vision. Professor Langley, who made a stay of twenty days -upon the mountain in 1879-80, with the object of reducing to strict -measurement the advantages promised by it, came to the conclusion that -the “seeing” there is better than that in England (judging from data -given by Mr. Webb) in the proportion of three to two—that is to say, -a telescope of two inches aperture on Etna would show as much as one -of three in England. Yet the circumstances attending his visit were -of the least favorable kind. He was unable to find a suitable shelter -higher up than Casa del Bosco, an isolated hut within the forest belt -(as its name imports), at considerably less than half the elevation of -the new observatory; the imperfect mounting of his telescope rendered -observation all but impossible within a range of 30 degrees from the -zenith, thus excluding the most serene portion of the sky; moreover, -his arrival was delayed until December 25th, when the weather was -thoroughly broken, high winds were incessantly troublesome, and only -five nights out of seventeen proved astronomically available. It is, -accordingly, reassuring to learn that while, with the naked eye, at -ordinary levels, he could see but six Pleiades, with glimpses of a -seventh and eighth, on Etna he steadily distinguished nine even before -the moon had set;[23] and that the telescopic definition though not -uniformly good, was on December 31st such as he had never before -seen on the sun, “least of all with a blue sky;”[24] the “rice-grain” -structure came out beautifully under a power of 212; and for the -spectroscopic examination of prominences, the fainter orange light of -their helium constituent served almost equally well with the strong -radiance of the crimson ray of hydrogen (C)—a test of transparency -which those accustomed to such studies will appreciate. - -The Etnean observatory is the most elevated building in Europe. It -stands at a height above the sea of 9,655 ft., or 1,483 ft. above the -monastery of the Great St. Bernard. Its walls enclose the well-known -“Casa Inglese,” where travellers were accustomed to spend the night -before undertaking the final ascent of the cone, and occupy a site -believed secure from the incursions of lava. Astronomical work is -designed to be carried on there from June to September. For the Merz -equatorial, 35 centimetres (13·8 inches) in aperture, which is _facile -primus_ of its instrumental equipment, a duplicate mounting has been -provided at Catania, whither it will be removed during the winter -months. The primary aim of the establishment is the study of the -sun. Its great desirability for this purpose formed the theme of the -representations from Signor Tacchini (then director of the observatory -of Palermo, now of that of the Collegio Romano), which determined -the Italian government upon trying the experiment. But we hear with -pleasure that stellar spectroscopy will also come in for a large share -of attention. The privilege of observation from the summit of Etna will -not be enjoyed exclusively by the local staff. The Municipality of -Catania who have borne their share in the expense of the undertaking, -generously propose to give it somewhat of an international character, -by providing accommodation for any foreign astronomers who may -desire to enjoy a respite from the hampering conditions of low-level -star-gazing. We cannot doubt that such exceptional facilities will be -turned to the best account. - -Eight years have now passed since General de Nansonty, aided by the -engineer Vaussenat, established himself for the winter on the top of -the Pic du Midi. Zeal for the promotion of weather-knowledge was the -impelling motive of this adventure, which included, amongst other rude -incidents, a snow-siege of little less than six months. It resulted in -crowning one of the highest crests of the Pyrenees with a permanent -meteorological observatory opened for work in 1881. It is now designed -to render the station available for astronomical purposes as well. - -The important tasks in progress at the Paris observatory have of -late been singularly impeded by bad weather. During the latter half -of 1882 scarcely four or five good nights per month were secured, -and in December these were reduced to two.[25] Moreover, M. Thollon, -who, according to his custom, arrived from Nice in June for the -summer’s work, returned thither in September without having found the -opportunity of making _one single_ spectroscopic observation. Yet -within easy and immediate reach was a post, already in scientific -occupation, where as General de Nansonty reported, ordinary print was -legible by the radiance of the milky way and zodiacal light alone, -and fifteen or sixteen Pleiades could be counted with the naked -eye. At length Admiral Mouchez, the energetic director of the Paris -observatory, convinced of the urgent need of an adjunct establishment -under less sulky skies, issued to MM. Thollon and Trépied a commission -of inquiry into telescopic possibilities on the Pic du Midi. Their stay -lasted from August 17th, to September 22d, 1883, and their experiences -were summarised in a note (preliminary to a detailed report) published -in the “Comptes Rendus” for October 16th, glowing with a certain -technical enthusiasm difficult to be conveyed to those who have never -strained their eyes to catch the vanishing gleam of a “chromospheric -line” through a “milky” sky, and dim and tremulous air. The definition, -they declared, was simply marvellous. Not even in Upper Egypt had they -seen anything like it. The sun stood out, clean-cut and vivid, on a -dark blue sky, and so slight were the traces of diffusion, that, for -observations at his edge the conditions approached those of a total -eclipse. These advantages are forcibly illustrated by the statement -that, instead of eight lines ordinarily visible in the entire spectrum -of the chromosphere, more than thirty revealed themselves in the orange -and green parts of it alone (Dto. F)! A fact still more remarkable is -that prominences were actually seen, and their forms distinguished, -though foreshortened and faint, on the very disc of the sun itself—and -this not merely by such glimmering views as had previously, at -especially favorable moments, tantalised the sight of Young and -Tacchini, but steadily and with certainty. We are further told that, on -the mornings of September 19th and 20th, Venus was discerned, without -aid from glasses, within two degrees of the sun. - -These extraordinary facilities of vision disappeared, indeed, as, with -the advance of day, the slopes of the mountain became heated and set -the thin air quivering; but were reproduced at night in the tranquil -splendor of moon and stars. - -The expediency of using such opportunities was obvious; and it has -accordingly been determined to erect a good equatorial in this tempting -situation, elevated 9,375 feet above the troubles of the nether air. -The expense incurred will be trifling; no special staff will be -needed; the post will simply constitute a dependency of the Paris -establishment, where astronomers thrown out of work by the malice of -the elements may find a refuge from enforced idleness, as well as, -possibly, unlooked-for openings to distinction. - -We must now ask our readers to accompany us in one more brief flight -across the Atlantic. After a successful observation of the late transit -of Venus at Jamaica, Dr. Copeland, the chief astronomer of Lord -Crawford’s observatory at Dun Echt, took advantage of the railway which -now crosses the Western Andes at an elevation of 14,666 feet, to make a -high-level tour of exploration in the interests of science. Some of the -results communicated by him to the British Association at Southport -last year, and published, with more detail, in the astronomical journal -“Copernicus,” are extremely suggestive. At La Paz, in Bolivia, 12,050 -feet above the sea, a naked-eye sketch of the immemorially familiar -star-groups in Taurus, _made in full moonlight_, showed seventeen -Hyades (two more than are given in Argelander’s “Uranometria Nova”) -and ten Pleiades. Now ordinary eyes under ordinary circumstances -see six, or at most seven, stars in the latter cluster. Hipparchus -censured Aratus—who took his facts on trust from Eudoxus—for stating -the lesser number, on the ground that, in serene weather, and in the -absence of the moon, a seventh was discernible.[26] On the other hand, -several of the ancients reckoned nine Pleiades, and we are assured that -Moestlin, the worthy preceptor of Kepler, was able to detect, under -the little propitious skies of Wurtemberg, no less than fourteen.[27] -An instance of keensightedness but slightly inferior is afforded by a -contemporary American observer: Mr. Henry Carvil Lewis, of Germantown, -Pennsylvania, frequently perceives twelve of this interesting sidereal -community.[28] The number of Pleiades counted is, then, without some -acquaintance with the observer’s ordinary range of sight, a quite -indeterminate criterion of atmospheric clearness; although we readily -admit that Dr. Copeland’s detection of ten in the very front of a full -moon gives an exalted idea of visual possibilities at La Paz. - -During the season of _tempestades_—from the middle of December to -the end of March—the weather in the Andes is simply abominable. Mr. -Whymper describes everything as “bottled up in mist” after one brief -bright hour in the early morning, and complains, writing from Quito, -March 18th, 1880,[29] that his exertions had been left unrewarded by a -single view from any one of the giant peaks scaled by him. Dr. Copeland -adds a lamentable account—doubly lamentable to an astronomer in search -of improved definition—of thunderstorms, torrential rains merging -into snow or hail, overcast nocturnal skies, and “visible exhalations” -from the drenched pampas. At Puno, however, towards the end of March, -he succeeded in making some valuable observations, notwithstanding the -detention—as contraband of war, apparently—of a large part of his -apparatus. Puno is the terminal station on the Andes railway, and is -situated at an altitude of 12,540 feet. - -Here he not only discovered, with a 6-inch achromatic, mounted as -need prescribed, several very close stellar pairs, of which Sir John -Herschel’s 18 inch speculum had given him no intelligence; but in -a few nights’ “sweeping” with a very small Vogel’s spectroscope, -he just doubled the known number of a restricted, but particularly -interesting, class of stars—if stars indeed they be. For while in -the telescope they exhibit the ordinary stellar appearance of lucid -points, they disclose, under the compulsion of prismatic analysis, the -characteristic marks of a gaseous constitution; that is to say, the -principal part of their light is concentrated in a few bright lines. -The only valid distinction at present recognisable by us between stars -and “nebulæ” is thus, if not wholly abolished, at least rendered of a -purely conventional character. We may agree to limit the term “nebulæ” -to bodies of a certain chemical constitution; but we cannot limit the -doings of Nature, or insist on the maintenance of an arbitrary line of -demarcation. From the keen rays of Vega to the undefined lustre of the -curdling wisps of cosmical fog clinging round the sword-hilt of Orion, -the distance is indeed enormous. But so it is from a horse to an oak -tree; yet when we descend to volvoxes and diatoms, it is impossible to -pronounce off-hand in which of the two great provinces of the kingdom -of life we are treading. It would now seem that the celestial spaces -have also their volvoxes and diatoms—“limiting instances,” as Bacon -termed such—bodies that share the characters, and hang on the borders -of two orders of creation. - -In 1867, MM. Wolf and Rayet, of Paris, discovered that three yellow -stars in the Swan, of about the eighth magnitude possessed the notable -peculiarity of a bright-line spectrum. It was found by Raspighi and Le -Sueur to be shared by one of the second order of brightness in Argo -(γ Argûs), and Professor Pickering, of Harvard, reinforced -the species, in 1880-81, with two further specimens. Dr. Copeland’s -necessarily discursive operations on the shores of Lake Titicaca raised -the number of its members at once from six to eleven or twelve. Now the -smaller “planetary” nebulæ—so named by Sir William Herschel from the -planet-like discs presented by the first-known and most conspicuous -amongst them—are likewise only distinguished from minute stars by -their spectra. Their light, when analysed with a prism, instead of -running out into a parti-colored line, gathers itself into one or more -bright dots. The position on the prismatic scale of those dots, alone -serves to mark them off from the Wolf-Rayet family of stars. Hence the -obvious inference that both nebulæ and stars (of this type) are bodies -similar in character, but dissimilar in constitution—that they agree -in the general plan of their structure, but differ in the particular -quality of the substances glowing in the vast, incandescent atmospheres -which display their characteristic bright lines in our almost -infinitely remote spectroscopes. Indeed, the fundamental identity of -the two species are virtually demonstrated, by the “migrations” (to use -a Baconian phrase) of the “new star” of 1876, which, as its original -conflagration died out, passed through the stages, successively, of -a Wolf-Rayet or _nebular star_ (if we may be permitted to coin the -term), and of a planetary nebula. So that not all the stars in space -are suns—at least, not in the sense given to the word by our domestic -experience in the solar system. - -The investigation of these objects possesses extraordinary interest. -As an index to the true nature of the relation undoubtedly subsisting -between the lucid orbs and the “shining fluid” which equally form part -of the sidereal system, their hybrid character renders them of peculiar -value. Their distribution—so far restricted to the Milky Way and its -borders—may perhaps afford a clue to the organisation of, and processes -of change in that stupendous collection of worlds. At present, -speculation would be premature; what we want are facts—facts regarding -the distances of these anomalous objects—whether or not they fall -within the range of the methods of measurement at present available; -facts regarding their apparent motions; facts regarding the specific -differences of the light emitted by them: its analogies with that -of other bodies; its possible variations in amount or kind. The -accumulation of any sufficient information on these points will demand -with every external aid, the patient labor of years; under average -conditions at the earth’s surface, it can scarcely be considered as -practically feasible. The facility of Dr. Copeland’s discoveries -sufficiently sets off the prerogatives, in this respect, of elevated -stations; it is not too much to say that this purpose—were it solely -in view—would fully justify the demand for their establishment. - -Towards one other subject which we might easily be tempted to dwell -upon, we will barely glance. Most of our readers have heard something -of Dr. Huggins’s new method of photographing the corona. Its importance -consists in the prospect which it seems to offer for substituting -for scanty and hurried researches during the brief moments of total -eclipse, a leisurely and continuous study of that remarkable solar -appendage. The method may be described as a _differential_ one. -It depends for its success on the superior intensity of coronal -to ordinary sunlight in the extreme violet region. And since it -happens that chloride of silver is sensitive to those rays _only_ in -which the corona is strongest, the coronal form disengages itself -photographically, from the obliterating splendor which effectually -shrouds it visually, by the superior vigor of its impression upon a -chloride of silver film. - -Now if this ingenious mode of procedure is to be rendered of any -practical avail, advantage must, above all, be taken of the finer air -of the mountains. This for two reasons. First, because the glare which, -as it were, smothers the delicate structure we want to obtain records -of, is there at a minimum; secondly, because the violet rays by which -it impresses itself upon the “photographic retina”[30] are there at a -maximum. These, as Professor Langley’s experiments show, suffer far -more from atmospheric ravages than their less refrangible companions -in the spectrum; the gain thus to them, relatively to the general -gain, grows with every yard of ascent; the proportion, in other words, -of short and quick vibrations in the light received becomes exalted -as we press upwards—a fact brought into especial prominence by Dr. -Copeland’s solar observations at Vincocaya, 14,360 feet above the -sea-level. Indeed, for all the operations of celestial photography, the -advantages of great altitudes can hardly be exaggerated; and celestial -photography is gradually assuming an importance which its first -tentative efforts, thirty-four years ago, gave little reason to expect. - -Thus, in three leading departments of modern astronomy—solar physics, -stellar spectroscopy, and the wide field of photography—the aid of -mountain observatories may be pronounced indispensable; while in all -there is scarcely a doubt that it will prove eminently useful. There -are, indeed, difficulties and drawbacks to their maintenance. The -choice of a site, in the first place, is a matter requiring the most -careful deliberation. Not all elevated points are available for the -purpose. Some act persistently as vapor-condensers, and seldom doff -their sullen cap of clouds. From any mountain in the United Kingdom, -for instance, it would be folly to expect an astronomical benefit. -On Ben Nevis, the chief amongst them, a meteorological observatory -has recently been established with the best auguries of success; but -it would indeed be a sanguine star-gazer who should expect improved -telescopic opportunities from its misty summit. - -Even in more favored climates, storms commonly prevail on the heights -during several months of the year, and vehement winds give more or less -annoyance at all seasons; the direct sunbeams sear the skin like a hot -iron; the chill air congeals the blood. Dr. Copeland records that at -Vincocaya, one afternoon in June, the black bulb thermometer exposed -to solar radiation stood at 199°.1 of Fahrenheit—actually 13° above -the boiling-point of water in that lofty spot—while the dry bulb was -coated with ice! Still more formidable than these external discomforts -is the effect on the human frame itself of transportation into a -considerably rarer medium than that for existence in which it was -constituted. The head aches; the pulse throbs; every inspiration is a -gasp for breath; exertion becomes intolerable. Mr. Whymper’s example -seems to show that these extreme symptoms disappear with the resolute -endurance of them, and that the system gradually becomes inured to its -altered circumstances. But the probationary course is a severe one; -and even though life flow back to its accustomed channels, labor must -always be painfully impeded by a diminution of the vital supply. And -the minor but very sensible inconveniences caused by the difficulty -of cooking with water that boils twenty or thirty degrees (according -to the height) below 212°, by the reluctance of fires to burn, and of -tobacco to keep alight, and we complete a sufficiently deterrent list -of the penalties attendant on literal compliance with the magnanimous -motto, _Altiora petimus_. - -That they will, nevertheless, not prove deterrent we may safely -predict. Enthusiasm for science will assuredly overbear all -difficulties that are not impossibilities. Dr. Copeland, taking all -into account, ventures to recommend the occupation during the most -favorable season—say from October to December—of an “extra-elevated -station” 18,500 ft. above the sea, more than one promising site for -which might be found in the vicinity of Lake Titicaca. For a permanent -mountain observatory, however, he believes that 12,500 ft. would be the -outside limit of practical usefulness. It is probable, indeed, that -the Rocky Mountains will anticipate the Andes in lending the aid of -their broad shoulders to lift astronomers towards the stars. Already a -meteorological post has been established on Pike’s Peak in Colorado, -at an altitude of 14,151 ft. Telescopic vision there is said to be of -rare excellence; we shall be surprised if its benefits be not ere long -rendered available. - -After all, the present strait of optical astronomy is but the -inevitable consequence of its astonishing progress. While instruments -remained feeble and imperfect, atmospheric troubles were comparatively -little felt; they became intolerable when all other obstacles to a vast -increase in the range of distinct vision were removed. The arrival of -that stage in the history of the telescope, when the advantages to be -derived from its further development should be completely neutralised -by the more and more sensibly felt disadvantages of our situation on an -air-encompassed globe, was only a question of time. The point was a -fixed one: it could be reached later only by a more sluggish advance. -Both the difficulty and its remedy were foreseen 167 years ago by the -greatest of astronomers and opticians. - - “If the theory of making telescopes,” Sir Isaac Newton - wrote in 1717,[31] “could at length be fully brought into - practice, yet there would be certain bounds beyond which - telescopes could not perform. For the air through which we - look upon the stars is in a perpetual tremor as may be seen - by the tremulous motion of shadows cast from high towers, - and by the twinkling of the fixed stars. The only remedy is - a most serene and quiet air, such as may perhaps be found - on the tops of the highest mountains above the grosser - clouds.” - —_Edinburgh Review_. - - - - -GOETHE - -BY PROF. J. R. SEELEY. - - - III. - -The highest rank in literature belongs to those who combine the -properly poetical with philosophical qualities, and crown both with a -certain robust sincerity and common sense. The sovereign poet must be -not merely a singer, but also a sage; to passion and music he must add -large ideas; he must extend in width as well as in height; but, besides -this, he must be no dreamer or fanatic, and must be rooted as firmly -in the hard earth as he spreads widely and mounts freely towards the -sky. Goethe, as we have described him, satisfies these conditions, and -as much can be said of no other man of the modern world but Dante and -Shakspeare. - -Of this trio each is complete in all the three dimensions. Each feels -deeply, each knows and sees clearly, and each has a stout grasp of -reality. This completeness is what gives them their universal fame, and -makes them interesting in all times and places. Each, however, is less -complete in some directions than in others. Dante though no fanatic, -yet is less rational than so great a man should have been. Shakspeare -wants academic knowledge. Goethe, too, has his defects, but this is -rather the place for dwelling on his peculiar merits. In respect of -influence upon the world, he has for the present the advantage of being -the latest, and therefore the least obsolete and exhausted, of the -three. But he is also essentially much more of a teacher than his two -predecessors. Alone among them he has a system, a theory of life, which -he has thought and worked out for himself. - -From Shakspeare, no doubt, the world may learn, and has learnt, much, -yet he professed so little to be a teacher, that he has often been -represented as almost without personality, as a mere undisturbed -mirror, in which all Nature reflects itself. Something like a century -passed before it was perceived that his works deserved to be in a -serious sense studied. Dante was to his countrymen a great example -and source of inspiration, but hardly, perhaps, a great teacher. On -the other hand, Goethe was first to his own nation, and has since -been to the whole world, what he describes his own Chiron, “the noble -pedagogue,”[32] a teacher and wise counsellor on all the most important -subjects. To students in almost every department of literature and art, -to unsettled spirits needing advice for the conduct of life, to the age -itself in a great transition, he offers his word of weighty counsel, -and is an acknowledged authority on a greater number of subjects -than any other man. It is the great point of distinction between him -and Shakspeare that he is so seriously didactic. Like Shakspeare -myriad-minded, he has nothing of that ironic indifference, that -irresponsibility, which has been often attributed to Shakspeare. He -is, indeed, strangely indifferent on many points, which other teachers -count important; but the lessons which he himself considers important, -he teaches over and over again with all the seriousness of one who -is a teacher by vocation. And, as I have said, when we look at his -teaching as a whole, we find that it has unity, that, taken together, -it makes a system, not, indeed in the academic sense, but in the sense -that a great principle or view of life is the root from which all the -special precepts proceed. This has, indeed, been questioned. Friedrich -Schlegel made it a complaint against Goethe, that he had “no centre;” -but a centre he has; only the variety of his subjects and styles is so -great, and he abandons himself to each in turn so completely, that in -his works, as in Nature itself, the unity is much less obvious than the -multiplicity. Now that we have formed some estimate of the magnitude -of his influence, and have also distinguished the stages by which -his genius was developed, and his influence in Germany and the world -diffused, it remains to examine his genius itself, the peculiar way of -thinking, and the fundamental ideas through which he influenced the -world. - -Never, perhaps, was a more unfortunate formula invented than when, at -a moment of reaction against his ascendancy, it occurred to some one -to assert that Goethe had talent but not genius. No doubt the talent -is there; perhaps no work in literature exhibits a mastery of so many -literary styles as “Faust.” From the sublime lyric of the prologue, -which astonished Shelley, we pass through scenes in which the problems -of human character are dealt with, scenes in which the supernatural -is brought surprisingly near to real life, scenes of humble life -startlingly vivid, grotesque scenes of devilry, scenes of overwhelming -pathos; then, in the second part, we find an incomparable revival of -the Greek drama, and, at the close, a Dantesque vision of the Christian -heaven. Such versatility in a single work is unrivalled; and the -versatility of which Goethe’s writings, as a whole, gives evidence is -much greater still. But to represent him, on this account, as a sort -of mocking-bird, or ready imitator, is not merely unjust. Even if we -give this representation a flattering turn, and describe him as a being -almost superior to humanity, capable of entering fully into all that -men think and feel, but holding himself independent of it all, such -a being as is described (where, I suppose, Goethe is pointed at) in -the Palace of Art, again, I say, it is not merely unjust. Not merely -Goethe was not such a being, but we may express it more strongly and -say: such a being is precisely what Goethe was not. He had, no doubt, -a great power of entering into foreign literatures; he was, no doubt, -indifferent to many controversies which in England, when we began to -lead him, still raged hotly. But these were characteristic qualities, -not of Goethe personally, but of Germany in the age of Goethe. A sort -of cosmopolitan characterlessness marked the nation, so that Lessing -could say in Goethe’s youth that the character of the Germans was to -have no character. Goethe could not but share in the infirmity, but his -peculiarity was that from the beginning he felt it as an infirmity, and -struggled to overcome it. That unbounded intolerance, that readiness to -allow everything and appreciate every one, which was so marked in the -Germans of that time that it is clearly perceptible in their political -history, and contributed to their humiliation by Napoleon, is just -what is satirized in the delineation of Wilhelm Meister. Jarno says -to Wilhelm, “I am glad to see you out of temper; it would be better -still if you could be for once thoroughly angry.” This sentiment was -often in Goethe’s mouth; so far was he from priding himself upon serene -universal impartiality. Crabbe Robinson heard him say what an annoyance -he felt it to appreciate everything equally and to be able to hate -nothing. He flattered himself at that time that he had a real aversion. -“I hate,” he said, “everything Oriental” (“Eigentlich hasse ich alles -Orientalische”). He goes further in the “West-östlicher Divan,” -where, in enumerating the qualities a poet ought to have, he lays it -down as indispensable that he should hate many things (“Dann zuletzt -ist unerlässlich dass der Dichter _manches hasse_”). True, no doubt -that he found it difficult to hate. An infinite good nature was born -in him, and, besides this, he grew up in a society in which all -established opinions had been shaken, so that for a rational man it -was really difficult to determine what deserved hatred or love. What -is wholly untrue in that view of him, which was so fashionable forty -years ago—“I sit apart holding no form of creed, but contemplating -all”—is that this tolerance was the intentional result of cold pride -or self-sufficiency. He does not seem to me to have been either proud -or unsympathetic, and among the many things of which he might boast, -certainly he would not have included a want of definite opinions—he, -who was never tired of rebuking the Germans for their vagueness, and -who admired young Englishmen expressly because they seemed to know -their own minds, even when they had little mind to know. Distinctness, -character, is what he admires, what through life he struggles for, -what he and Schiller alike chide the Germans for wanting. But he -cannot attain it by a short cut. Narrowness is impossible to him, -not only because his mind is large, but because the German public -in their good-natured tolerance have made themselves familiar with -such vast variety of ideas. He cannot be a John Bull, however much he -may admire John Bull, because he does not live in an island. To have -distinct views he must make a resolute act of choice, since all ideas -have been laid before him, all are familiar to the society in which -he lives. This perplexity, this difficulty of choosing what was good -out of such a heap of opinions, he often expresses: “The people to be -sure are not accustomed to what is best, but then they are so terribly -well-read!”[33] But it is just the struggle he makes for distinctness -that is admirable in him. The breadth, the tolerance, he has in common -with his German contemporaries; what he has to himself is the resolute -determination to arrive at clearness. - -Nevertheless, he may seem indifferent even to those whose minds are -less contracted than was the English mind half a century ago, for this -reason, that his aim, though not less serious than that of others, is -not quite the same. He seldom takes a side in the controversies of the -time. You do not find him weighing the claims of Protestantism and -Catholicism, nor following with eager interest the dispute between -orthodoxy and rationalism. Again when all intellectual Germany is -divided between the new philosophy of Kant and the old system, and -later, when varieties show themselves in the new philosophy, when -Fichte and Schelling succeed to the vogue of Kant, Goethe remains -undisturbed by all these changes of opinion. He is almost as little -affected by political controversy. The French Revolution irritates him, -but not so much because it is opposed to his convictions as because it -creates disturbance. Even the War of Liberation cannot rouse him. Was -he not then a quietest? Did he not hold himself aloof, whether in a -proud feeling of superiority or in mere Epicurean indifference, from -all the interests and passions of humanity? If this were the case, or -nearly the case, Goethe would have no claim to rank in the first class -of literature. He might pass for a prodigy of literary expertness and -versatility, but he would attract no lasting interest. Such quietism -in a man upon whom the eyes of a whole nation were bent, could never -be compared to the quietism of Shakspeare, who belonged to the -uninfluential classes, and to whom no one looked for guidance. - -But in truth the quietism of Goethe was the effect not of indifference -or of selfishness, but of preoccupation. He had prescribed to himself -in early life a task, and he declined to be drawn aside from it by the -controversies of the time. It was a task worthy of the powers of the -greatest man; it appeared to him, when he devoted himself to it, more -useful and necessary than the special undertakings of theologian or -philosopher. At the outset he might fairly claim to be the only -earnest man in Germany, and might regard the partisans alike of Church -and University as triflers in comparison with himself. The French -Revolution changed the appearance of things. He could not deny that -the political questions opened by that convulsion were of the greatest -importance. But he was now forty years old, and the work of his life -had begun so early, had been planned with so much care and prosecuted -with so much method, that he was less able than many men might have -been to make a new beginning at forty. Hence he was merely disturbed by -the change which inspired so many others, and to the end of his life -continued to look back upon the twenty odd years between the Seven -Years’ War and the Revolution as a golden time, as in a peculiar sense -his own time.[34] The new events disturbed him in his habits without -actually forcing him to form new habits; he found himself able, though -with less comfort, to lead the same sort of life as before; and so he -passed into the Napoleonic period and arrived in time at the year of -liberation, 1813. Then, indeed, his quietism became shocking, and he -felt it so himself; but it was now really too late to abandon a road on -which he had travelled so long, and which he had honestly selected as -the best. - -What, then, was this task to which Goethe had so early devoted -himself, and which seemed to him too important to be postponed even -to the exigencies of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods? It -was that task about which, since Goethe’s time, so much has been -said—self-culture. “From my boyhood,” says Wilhelm, speaking evidently -for Goethe himself, “it has been my wish and purpose to develop -completely all that is in me.” Elsewhere he says, “to make my own -existence harmonious.” Here is the refined form of selfishness of which -Goethe has been so often accused. And undoubtedly the phrase is one -which will bear a selfish interpretation, just as a Christian may be -selfish when he devotes himself to the salvation of his soul. But in -the one case, as in the other, it is before all things evident that -the task undertaken is very serious, and that the man who undertakes -it must be of a very serious disposition. When, as in Goethe’s case it -is self-planned and self-imposed, such an undertaking is comparable -to those great practical experiments in the conduct of life which -were made by the early Greek philosophers. Right or wrong, such an -experiment can only be imagined by an original man, and can only be -carried into effect by a man of very steadfast will. But we may add -that it is no more necessary to give a selfish interpretation to this -formula than to the other formulæ by which philosophers have tried -to describe the object of a moral life. A harmonious existence does -not necessarily mean an existence passed in selfish enjoyment. Nor is -the pursuit of it necessarily selfish, since the best way to procure -a harmonious existence for others is to find out by an experiment -practised on oneself in what a harmonious existence consists, and by -what methods it may be attained. For the present, at least, let us -content ourselves with remarking that Goethe, who knew his own mind -as well as most people, considered himself to carry disinterestedness -almost to an extreme. What especially struck him in Spinoza, he says, -was the boundless unselfishness that shone out of such sentences as -this, “He who loves God must not require that God should love him -again.” “For,” he continues, “to be unselfish in everything, especially -in love and friendship, was my highest pleasure, my maxim, my -discipline, so that that petulant sentence written latter, ‘If I love -you, what does that matter to you?’ came from my very heart.” - -However this may be, when a man, so richly gifted otherwise, displays -the rarest of all manly qualities—viz., the power and persistent will -to make his life systematic, and place all his action under the control -of a principle freely and freshly conceived, he rises at once into the -highest class of men. It is the strenuous energy with which Goethe -enters into the battle of life, and fights there for a victory into -which others may enter, that makes him great, that makes him the -teacher of these later ages, and not some foppish pretension of -being above it all, of seeing through it and despising it. But just -because he conceived the problem in his own manner, and not precisely -as it is conceived by the recognized authorities on the conduct of -life, he could take little interest in the controversies which those -authorities held among themselves, and therefore passed for indifferent -to the problem itself. He did not admit that the question was to form -an opinion as to the conditions of the life after death, though he -himself hoped for such a future life, for he wanted rather rightly to -understand and to deal with the present life; nor did he want what is -called in the schools a philosophy, remarking probably that the most -approved professors of philosophy lived after all much in the same way -as other people. It seemed to him that he was more earnest than either -the theologians or the philosophers, just because he disregarded their -disputes and grappled directly with the question which they under -various pretexts evaded—how to make existence satisfactory. - -He grasps it in the rough unceremonious manner of one who means -business, and also in the manner which Rousseau had made fashionable. -We have desires given us by God or Nature, convertible terms to him; -these desires are meant to receive satisfaction, for the world is not -a stupid place, and the Maker of the world is not stupid. This notion -that human life is not a stupid affair, and that the fault must be ours -if it seems so, that for everything wrong there must be a remedy,[35] -is a sort of fundamental axiom with him, as it is with most moral -reformers. Even when he has death before his mind he still protests. -“‘He is no more!’ Ridiculous! Why ‘no more?’ ‘It is all over.’ What -can be the meaning of that? Then it might as well never have existed. -Give me rather an eternal void.” And this way of thinking brings him at -once, or so he thinks, into direct conflict with the reigning system -of morality, which is founded not on the satisfaction, but on the -mortification of desire. He declares war against the doctrine of -self-denial or abstinence. “Abstain, abstain!—that is the eternal -song that rings in every ear. In the morning I awake in horror, and am -tempted to shed bitter tears at the sight of day, which in its course -will not gratify one wish, not one single wish.” So speaks Faust, and -Goethe ratifies it in his own person, when he complains that, “we are -not allowed to develop what we have in us, and are denied what is -necessary to supply our deficiencies; robbed of what we have won by -labor or has been allowed us by kindness, and find ourselves compelled, -before we can form a clear opinion about it to give up our personality, -at first in instalments, but at last completely; also that we are -expected to make a more delighted face over the cup the more bitter it -tastes, lest the unconcerned spectator should be affronted by any thing -like a grimace.” He adds that this system is grounded on the maxim -that “All is vanity,” a maxim which characteristically he pronounces -false and blasphemous. That “all is _not_ vanity” is indeed almost the -substance of Goethe’s philosophy. “His faith,” so he tells the Houri -who, at the gate of Paradise, requires him to prove his orthodoxy, “has -always been that the world, whichever way it rolls, is a thing to love, -a thing to be thankful for.”[36] - -This doctrine again, is not in itself or necessarily a doctrine of -selfishness, though it may easily be represented so. It may be true -that all virtue requires self-denial; but for that very reason we may -easily conceive a system of senseless and aimless self-denial setting -itself up in the place of virtue. It is not every kind of self-denial -that Goethe has in view, but the particular kind by which he has found -himself hampered. His indignation is not moved when he sees absistence -practised in order to attain some great end; it is the abstinence which -leads to nothing and aims at nothing that provokes him. He has given -two striking dramatic pictures of it. There is Faust, who cannot -tolerate the emptiness of his secluded life; but does it appear that he -rebels against it simply because it brings no pleasure to himself, even -though it confers benefit upon others and upon the world? The burden -of his complaint is that his abstinence does no good to anybody, that -the studies for which he foregoes pleasure lead to no real knowledge; -and expressly to make this clear, Goethe introduces the story of the -plague, which Faust and his father had tried to cure by a drug, which -did infinitely more harm than the plague itself. The other picture is -that of Brother Martin in “Götz,” the young monk who envies Götz his -life so full of movement and emotion, while he is himself miserable -under the restraint of his vows. Here, again, the complaint is that no -good comes of such abstinence. The life of self-denial is conceived as -an utter stagnation, unhealthy even from a moral point of view. It is -contrasted with a life not of luxury, but of strenuous energy, at once -wholesome and useful to the world. - -So far, then, Goethe’s position is identical with that which -Protestants take up against monasticism, when they maintain that -powers were given to be used, desires implanted in order that they -might be satisfied. He does not, any more than they, assert that -when some great end is in view it may not be nobler to mortify -the desire than to indulge it. But he applies the principle more -consistently, and to a greater number of cases than they had applied -it. Not against celibacy or useless self-torture only, but against -all omission to satisfy desire, against all sluggishness or apathy -in enjoyment—understood always that no special end is to be gained -by the self-denial—he protests. In his poem, called the “General -Confession” (“Generalbeichte”) he calls his followers to repent of the -sin of having often let slip an opportunity of enjoyment, and makes -them solemnly resolve not to be guilty of such sins in future. Here, at -least, the reader may say, selfishness is openly preached; and perhaps -this is the interpretation most commonly put upon the poem. Yet it is -certainly unjust to pervert in this way an intentional paradox, and, in -fact, in that very poem Goethe introduces the most elevated utterance -of his philosophy; for the vow which the penitents are required to -take is that they will “wean themselves from half-measures and live -resolutely in the Whole, in the _Good_, and the Beautiful!” Goethe, in -short, holds, as many other philosophers have done, that an elevated -morality may be based on the idea of pleasure not less than on the idea -of duty. - -This principle, not new in itself, led to very new and important -results when it was taken up not by a mere reasoner but by a man of -the most various gifts and of the greatest energy. By “pleasure” -or “satisfaction of desire” is usually meant something obvious, -something passive, merely a supply of agreeable sensations to each of -the five senses. In Goethe’s mouth the word takes quite a different -meaning. He cannot conceive pleasure without energetic action, and -the most necessary of all pleasures to him is that of imaginative -creation. The desires, again, for which he claims satisfaction—what -are they? Chief among them is the desire to enter into the secret of -the universe, to recognize “what it is which holds the world together -within.” Such desires as these might be satisfied, such pleasures -enjoyed, without any very culpable self-indulgence. And existence -would be satisfactory, or, as he calls it, harmonious, if it offered -continually and habitually food for desire so understood, which is -almost the same thing as capacity. But there are hindrances. The chief -of these is the supposition of self denial. Of course every practical -man knows that self-denial of a certain kind must be constantly -practised in life. The small object must be foregone for the sake of -the greater, the immediate pleasure for the sake of the remote, nay, -the personal pleasure for the sake of the pleasure which is generous -and sympathetic. But the timid superstition which sets up self-denial, -divorced from all rational ends, as a thing good and right in itself, -which makes us afraid of enjoyment as such, this is the chief -hindrance, and against this Goethe launches his chief work “Faust.” -There is another hindrance, less obvious and needing to be dealt with -in another way, which Goethe therefore attacks usually in prose rather -than in poetry. - -Man, as Goethe conceives him, is essentially active. The happiness he -seeks is not passive enjoyment, but an occupation, a pursuit adapted -to his inborn capacities. It follows that a principal condition of -happiness is a just self-knowledge. He will be happy, who knows what -he wants and what he can do. Here again Goethe gives importance -to a doctrine which in itself is obvious enough by the persistent -energy with which he applies it. He has been himself bewildered by -the multiplicity of his own tastes and aptitudes. He has wanted to -do everything in turn, and he has found himself capable to a certain -extent of doing everything. Hence the question—What is my true -vocation? has been to him exceptionally difficult. In studying it -he has become aware of the numberless illusions and misconceptions -which hide from most men the true nature of their own aptitudes, and -therefore the path of their happiness. He finds that the circumstances -of childhood, and especially our system of education, which “excites -wishes, instead of awakening tastes,” have the effect of creating a -multitude of unreal ambitions, deceptive impulses and semblances of -aptitudes. He finds that most men have been more or less misled by -these illusions, have more or less mistaken their true vocation, and -therefore missed their true happiness. On this subject he has collected -a vast mass of observations, and, in fact, added a new chapter to -practical morality. This is the subject of “Wilhelm Meister,” not -the most attractive nor the most perfect, but perhaps the most -characteristic, of Goethe’s works and, as it were, the text-book -of the Goethian philosophy. It is said not to be widely popular in -Germany. Most English readers lay it down bewildered, wondering what -Goethe’s admirers can see in it so extraordinary, and astonished at -the indifference to what we have agreed to call morality—that is, the -part of morality that concerns the relations of the sexes—which reigns -throughout it. I shall touch on this latter point later. Meanwhile, let -me remark, that few books have had a deeper influence upon modern -literature than this famous novel. It is the first important instance -of a novel which deals principally and on a large scale with opinions -or views of life. How Wilhelm mistook his vocation, and how this -mistake led to many others; how a secret society, the Society of the -Tower, taught a doctrine on the subject of vocations, and of the -method by which men are to be assisted in discovering their true -vocations; how Wilhelm is assisted and by what stages he arrives at -clearness—this is the subject of a long and elaborate narrative. It -is throughout most seriously instructive; it is seldom very amusing; -and we may add that the moral of the story is not brought out with very -convincing distinctness. But it has been the model upon which the novel -of the present day is formed. Written twenty years before the Waverley -Novels, which are in the opposite extreme, since they make no serious -attempt to teach anything and dwell upon everything which Goethe -disregards, adventure, surprise, costume, it began to produce its -effect among us when the influence of the Waverley Novel was exhausted. -The idea now prevalent, which gives to the novel a practical as well -as an artistic side, the idea which prompts us, when we wish to preach -any kind of social or moral reform, to write a novel about it, seems to -have made way chiefly through Goethe’s authority. - -But the substance of “Wilhelm Meister” is even more important than the -form. It presents the whole subject of morality under a new light, and -as in this respect it is only the fullest of a number of utterances -to the same effect made by Goethe, it can never be fully appreciated -when it is considered by itself, but must be judged in the closest -connection with his other works and with his life. Every attempt to -treat such a subject as morality in an original manner has something -alarming about it. Such attempts ought to be laid only before minds -strong enough to consider them calmly, and yet of necessity they -come to the knowledge of “the weak brethren,” who are frightened -or unsettled by them. Moreover, such attempts are always likely to -be one-sided. As it is usually an intense perception of something -overlooked into the orthodox morality that prompts them, the innovator -is apt to be hurried into the opposite extreme, and to overlook in his -turn what the orthodox morality has taught rightly. Goethe laid himself -open to the charge of immorality. “Wilhelm Meister” was received -with horror by the religious world; it was, if I remember right, -publicly burnt by Count Stolberg. In England, Wordsworth spoke of it -with disgust, and it still remains the book which chiefly justifies -the profound distrust and aversion with which Goethe has been and is -regarded among those who are Christian either in the dogmatic or in the -larger sense. Not unnaturally it must be confessed. - -But I do seriously submit that Christians should learn to be less timid -than they are. In their absorbing anxiety for “the weaker brethren” -they often seem to run the risk of becoming “weak brethren” themselves. -We ought not to come to the consideration of moral questions under the -influence of panic and nervous fright. It is true that few books seem -at first sight more directly opposed than “Wilhelm Meister” to that -practical Christianity which we love to think of as beyond controversy, -that spirit which, as it breathes from almost all Christian churches -and sects alike, strikes us as undoubtedly the essential part of -religion. At first sight the book seems secular, heathenish in an -extraordinary degree. Let us, then, if we will, warn young people -away from it; but let us ask ourselves at the same time how a man so -gifted, so serious and also so good natured—for there is no appearance -of rancor in the book, which even contains a picture, tenderly and -pleasingly drawn, of Christian pietism—could come to take a view so -different from that commonly accepted of questions about which we are -all so anxious. Such a course may lead us to see mistakes made by -modern Christianity, which may have led Goethe also into mistakes by -reaction; whereas the other course, of simply averting our eyes in -horror, can lead to no good. - -We may distinguish between the positive and the negative part of this -moral scheme. All that “Wilhelm Meister” contains on the subject of -vocations seems valuable, and the prominence which he gives to the -subject is immensely important. In considering how human life should be -ordered, Goethe begins with the fact that each man has an occupation, -which fills most of his time. It seems to him, therefore, the principal -problem to secure that this occupation should be not only worthy, but -suited to the capacity of the individual and pursued in a serious -spirit. What can be more simple and obvious? And yet, if we reflect, we -shall see that moralists have not usually taken this simple view, and -that in the accepted morality this whole class of questions is little -considered. Duties to this person and to that, to men, to women, to -dependents, to the poor, to the State—these are considered; but the -greatest of all duties, that of choosing one’s occupation rightly, is -overlooked. And yet it is the greatest of duties, because on it depend -the usefulness and effectiveness of the man’s life considered as a -whole, and, at the same time, his own peace of mind, or, as Goethe -calls it, his inward harmony. Nevertheless, it is so much overlooked -that in ordinary views of life all moral interest is, as it were, -concentrated upon the hours of leisure. The occupation is treated as a -matter of course, a necessary routine about which little can be said. -True life is regarded as beginning when work is over. In work men may -no doubt be honest or dishonest, energetic or slothful, persevering or -desultory, successful or unsuccessful, but that is all; it is only in -leisure that they can be interesting, highly moral, amiable, poetical. -Such a view of life is, to say the least, unfortunate. It surrenders to -deadness and dulness more than half of our existence. - -In primitive times, when the main business of life was war, this was -otherwise. Then men gave their hearts to the pursuit to which they -gave their time. What was most important was also most interesting, -and the poet when he sang of war sang of business too. Hence came the -inimitable fire and life of Homeric and Shakspearian poetry. But when -war gave place to industry, it seemed that this grand unity of human -life is gone. Business, the important half of life, became unpoetical, -from the higher point of view uninteresting—for how could the -imagination dwell on the labors of the office or the factory?—and all -higher interest was confined to that part of life in which energy is -relaxed. Goethe’s peculiar realism at once prompts and enables him to -introduce a reform here. He denies that business is uninteresting, and -maintains that the fault is in our own narrowness and in our slavery -to a poetical tradition. It is the distinction of “Wilhelm Meister” -that it is actually a novel about business, not merely a realistic -novel venturing to approach the edge of that slough of dulness which -is supposed to be at the centre of all our lives, but actually a novel -about business as such, an attempt to show that the occupation to which -a man gives his life is a matter not only for serious thought, but that -it is a matter also for philosophy and poetry. That such a novel must -at first sight appear tame and dull is obvious; it undertakes to create -the taste by which it can be enjoyed, and will be condemned at once by -all who are not disposed to give it a serious trial. But the question -it raises is the fundamental question of modern life. Comprehensive and -practical at once, Goethe’s mind has found out that root of bitterness -which is at the bottom of all the uneasy social agitations of the -nineteenth century. We live in the industrial ages, and he has asked -the question whether industry must of necessity be a form of slavery, -or whether it can be glorified and made into a source of moral health -and happiness. - -It is commonly said that “Wilhelm Meister,” seems to make Art the one -object of life; but this is not Goethe’s intention. He was himself an -artist, and, as the work is in a great degree autobiographical, art -naturally comes into the foreground, and the book becomes especially -interesting to artists, but the real subject of it is vocations in -general. In the later books, indeed, art drops into the background, and -we have a view of feminine vocations. The “Beautiful Soul” represents -the pietistic view of life; then Therese appears in contrast, -representing the economic or utilitarian view; finally, Natalie hits -the golden mean, being practical like Therese but less utilitarian, -and, ideal like her aunt, the pietist, but less introspective. On the -whole, then, the lesson of the book is that we should give unity to -our lives by devoting them with hearty enthusiasm to some pursuit, and -that the pursuit is assigned to us by Nature through the capacities -she has given us. It is thus that Goethe substitutes for the idea of -pleasure that of the satisfaction of special inborn aptitudes different -in each individual. His system treats every man as a genius, for it -regards every man as having his own unique individuality, for which -it claims the same sort of tender consideration that is conceded to -genius. But in laying down such rules Goethe thinks first of himself. -He has spent long years in trying to make out his own vocation. He has -had an opportunity of living almost every kind of life in turn. It was -not till he returned from Italy that he felt himself to have arrived at -clearness. What was Goethe’s vocation? Or, since happiness consists in -faithful obedience to a natural vocation, what was Goethe’s happiness? -His happiness is a kind of religion, a perpetual rapt contemplation, a -beatific vision. The object of this contemplation is Nature, the laws -or order of the Universe to which we belong. Of such contemplation he -recognizes two kinds, one of which he calls Art and the other Science. -He was in the habit of thinking that in Art and Science taken together -he possessed an equivalent for what other men call their religion. -Thus, in 1817, on the occasion of the tercentenary of the Reformation, -he writes a poem in which he expresses his devout resolution of showing -his Protestantism, as ever, by Art and Science.[37] It was because -his view of Art was so realistic, that he was able thus to regard -Art as a sort of twin-sister of Science. But the principle involved -in this twofold contemplation of Nature is the very principle of -religion itself, and in one sense it is true that no man was ever more -deliberately and consciously religious than Goethe. No man asserted -more emphatically that the energy of action ought to be accompanied by -the energy of feeling. It is the consistent principle of his life that -the whole man ought to act together, and he pushes it so far that he -seems to forbid all division of labor in science. This is the position -taken up in “Faust” which perhaps is seldom rightly understood. -Science, according to “Faust,” must not be dry analysis pursued at a -desk in a close room; it must be direct wondering contemplation of -Nature. The secrets of the world must disclose themselves to a loving -gaze, not to dry thinking (_trocknes Sinnen_), man must converse with -Nature “as one spirit with another,” “look into her breast as into -the bosom of a friend.” How we should _not_ study is conveyed to us -by the picture of Wagner, who is treated with so much contempt. He is -simply the ordinary man of science, perhaps we may think the modest -practical investigator, of the class to which the advance of science -is mainly due. But Goethe has no mercy on him—why? Because his nature -is divided, because his feelings do not keep pace with his thoughts, -because his attention is concentrated upon single points. Such a man -is to Goethe “the dry creeper,” “the most pitiable of all the sons of -earth.” - -Thus it is, then, that Art and Science taken together, the living, -loving, worshipping contemplation of Nature, out of which comes the -knowledge of Nature, are to Goethe religion. But is not such a religion -wholly different from religion as commonly understood, wholly different -from Christianity? - -It was, indeed, very different from such Christianity as he found -professed around him. In his youth Goethe was acquainted with several -eminently religious persons, Fräulein von Klettenberg, the Frankfurt -friend of his family, Jung Stilling, and Lavater. He listened to -these not only with his unfailing good humor, but at times with more -conviction than “Dichtung und Wahrheit” would lead us to suppose. In -some of his early letters he himself adopts pietistic language. But -as his own peculiar ideas developed themselves, they separated him -more and more from the religious world of his time. At the time of his -Italian journey and for some years afterwards, we find him speaking -of Christianity not merely with indifference, but with a good deal of -bitterness. This hostility took rather a peculiar form. As the whole -disposition of his mind leads him towards religion, as he can no more -help being religious than he can help being a poet, he does not reject -religion but changes his religion. He becomes, or tries to become, -a heathen in the positive sense of the word; for the description of -Goethe as the Great Heathen is not a mere epithet thrown at him by -his adversaries. He provoked and almost claimed it in his sketch of -Winckelmann, where, after enthusiastic praise of the ancients and of -Winckelmann as an interpreter of the ancient world, he inserted a -chapter entitled, “Heidnisches,” which begins thus: “This picture of -the antique spirit, absorbed in this world and its good things, leads -us directly to the reflection that such excellences are only compatible -with a heathenish way of thinking. The self-confidence, the attention -to the present, the pure worship of the gods as ancestors, the -admiration of them, as it were, only as works of art, the submission -to an irresistible fate, the future hope also confined to this world, -since it rests on the preciousness of posthumous fame; all this belongs -so necessarily together, makes such an indivisible whole, creates a -condition of human life intended by Nature herself, that we become -conscious, alike at the height of enjoyment, and in the depth of -sacrifice and even of ruin, of an indestructible health.” Clearly when -he wrote this (about 1804) Goethe wished and intended to pass for a -heathen. And, indeed, the antique attracts him scarcely at all from the -historical side—he is no republican, no lover of liberty—but almost -exclusively because it offers a religion which is to him the religion -of health and joy. - -Is it, then, true that Christianity is a system of morbid and -melancholy introspectiveness, sacrificing all the freshness and glory -of the present life to an awful future? He makes this assumption, and -had almost a right to make it, since the Christianity of his time had -almost exclusively this character. He was, however, himself half aware -that there was all the difference in the world between the Christianity -of his time and original Christianity or Christianity as it might be. -And even at the time of his greatest bitterness he drops expressions -which show that he does not altogether relinquish his interest in -Christianity, but keeps open for himself the alternative of appearing -as a reformer rather than an assailant of it. In the third period and -the old age his tone is a good deal more conciliating than in the -passage above quoted. In the Autobiography he appears, on the whole, as -a Christian, and even makes faint attempts here and there to write in -a style that Christians may find edifying. He tells us expressly that -he had little sympathy with the Encyclopædists, and, in a passage of -the “West-östlicher Divan,” he declares with real warmth that he “has -taken into his heart the glorious image of our sacred books, and, as -the Lord’s image was impressed on St. Veronica’s cloth, he refreshes -himself in the stillness of the breast in spite of all negation and -hindrance with the inspiring vision of faith.” Again, when in the -“Wanderjahre” he grapples constructively, but somewhat too late, with -the problems of the nineteenth century, we find him assuming a reformed -Christianity[38] as the religion of the future. - -May we then regard Goethe as one who in reality only opposed the -corruptions of Christianity even when he seemed to oppose Christianity -itself? Certainly _other worldliness_ does not now appear, at -least in England, as a necessary part of Christianity. Surely that -contrast between the healthy spirit of antiquity and the morbidness -of Christianity, which was like a fixed idea in the mind of Goethe’s -generation, need not trouble us now. Those sweeping generalizations -belonged to the infancy of the historical sciences. Mediævalism does -not now seem identical with Christianity. The sombre aspect of our -religion is clearing away. Christian self-denial now appears not as -the aimless, fruitless mortification of desire which Goethe detested, -but as the heroic strenuousness which he practiced. The world which -Christians renounce now appears to be, not the universe nor the present -life, but only conventionalism and tyrannous fashion. With such a -religion, Goethe’s philosophy is sufficiently in harmony. According to -these definitions the spirit even of “Wilhelm Meister” is not secular. -Even his avowal of heathenism comes to wear a different aspect, when -we find him writing thus of the religion of the old Testament: “Among -all heathen religions, for to this class belongs that of Israel as much -as any, this one has great points of superiority,” &c. (he mentions -particularly its “excellent collection of sacred books”). So that, -after all, Goethe may only have been a heathen as the prophet Isaiah -was a heathen! - -Thus hindrance after hindrance to our regarding Goethe as a great -prophet of the higher life and of the true religion disappears. There -remains one which is not so easily removed. What surprises the English -reader in “Wilhelm Meister” is not merely the prominence given to Art, -or the serious devotion to things present and to the present life, but -also the extraordinary levity with which it treats the relations of men -and women. The book might, in fact, be called thoroughly immoral, if -the use of that word which is common among us were justifiable. More -correctly speaking, it is immoral throughout on one point; immoral, in -Goethe’s peculiar, inimitable, good-natured manner. The levity is the -more startling in a book otherwise so remarkably grave. Every subject -but one is discussed with seriousness; in parts the solemnity of the -writer’s wisdom becomes quite oppressive; but on the relations of men -and women he speaks in a thoroughly worldly tone. Just where most -moralists grow serious, he becomes wholly libertine, indifferent, and -secular. There is nothing in this novel of the homely domestic morality -of the Teutonic races; a French tone pervades it, and this tone is more -or less perceptible in the other writings of Goethe, especially those -of the second period, with the exception of “Hermann und Dorothea.” On -this subject, the great and wise thinker descends to a lower level; he -seems incapable of regarding it with seriousness; or if he does treat -it seriously, as in the Elective Affinities, he startles us still more -by a certain crude audacity. - -It seems possible to trace how Goethe fell into this extraordinary -moral heresy. Starting from the idea of the satisfaction of desire, -and with a strong prejudice against all systems of self-denial, -he perceived, further, that chastity is the favorite virtue of -mediævalism, that it is peculiarly Catholic and monastic. Then, as -his mind turned more and more to the antique, he found himself in -a world of primitive morals, where the woman is half a slave. He -found that in the ancient world friendship is more and love less -than in the modern—to this point, too, Winckelmann had called his -attention—and, since he had adopted it as a principle that the -ancients were healthy-minded and that the moderns are morbid, he -jumped to the conclusion that the sentimental view of love is but a -modern illusion. He accustomed his imagination to the lower kind of -love which we meet with in classical poetry, the love of Achilles for -Briseis, of Ajax for Tecmessa. In his early pamphlet against Wieland -(“Götter, Helden und Wieland,” 1773), we find him already upon this -train of reasoning, and his conclusions are announced with the most -unceremonious plainness. How seriously they were adopted may be seen -from the “Roman Elegies,” written fifteen years later. Among the many -reactions which the eighteenth century witnessed against the spirit of -Christianity, scarcely any is so startling and remarkable as that which -comes to light in these poems. Here the woman has sunk again to her -ancient level, and we find ourselves once more among the Hetaeræ of old -Greek cities. After reading these wonderful poems, if we go through the -list of Goethe’s female characters we shall note how many among them -belong to the class of Hetaeræ—Clärchen. Marianne, Philine, Gretchen, -the Bayadere. And if we turn to his life, we find the man, who shrank -more than once from a worthy marriage, taking a Tecmessa to his tent. -The woman who became at last his wife was spoken of by him in a letter -to the Frau von Stein, as “that poor creature.” She is the very beauty -celebrated in the “Roman Elegies.” - -This strange moral theory could not but have strange consequences. -Love, as Goethe knows it, is very tender, and has a lyric note as fresh -as that of a song-bird; but it passes away like the songs of spring. In -his Autobiography, one love-passage succeeds another, each is -charmingly described, but each comes speedily to an end. How far in -each case he was to blame is matter of controversy. But he seems to -betray a way of thinking about women such as might be natural to an -Oriental Sultan. “I was in that agreeable phase,” he writes, “when a -new passion had begun to spring up in me before the old one had quite -disappeared.” About Friederika he blames himself without reserve, -and uses strong expressions of contrition; but he forgets the matter -strangely soon. In his distress of mind he says he found riding, and -especially skating, bring much relief. This reminds us of the famous -letter to the Frau von Stein about coffee. He is always ready in a -moment to shake off the deepest impressions and to receive new ones; -and he never looks back. A curious insensibility, which seems imitated -from the apparent insensibility of Nature herself, shows itself in his -works by the side of the deepest pathos. Faust never once mentions -Gretchen again, after that terrible prison scene; her remembrance does -not seem to trouble him; she seems entirely forgotten, until, just at -the end, among the penitents who surround the Mater Gloriosa, there -appears one who has borne the name of Gretchen. In like manner—this -shocked Schiller—when Mignon dies she seems instantly forgotten, and -the business of the novel scarcely pauses for a moment. - -We are also to remember that Goethe was a man of the old _régime_. If -he who had such an instinctive comprehension of feminine character, -at the same time treats women in this Oriental fashion, we are to -remember that he lived in a country of despotic Courts, and also that -he was entirely outside the movement of reform. Had he entered into the -reforming movement of his age, he might have striven to elevate women, -as he might have heralded and welcomed some of the ideas of 1789, and -the nationality movements of 1808 and 1813. He certainly felt at times -that all was not right in the status of women (“Der Frauen Schicksal -ist beklagenswerth”), and how narrowly confined was their happiness -(“Wie enggebunden ist des Weibes Glück,”), as he certainly felt how -miserable was the political conditions of Germany. Nevertheless he did -not take the path either of social or of political reform. He worked in -another region, a deeper region. He was a reformer on the great scale -in literature, art, education, that is, in culture, but he was not a -reformer of institutions. And as he did not look forward to a change in -institutions, his views and his very morality rested on the assumption -of a state of society in many respects miserably bad. - -But the effect of this aberration upon Goethe’s character as a teacher -and upon his influence has been most disastrous. And inevitably, for -as it has been the practice in the Christian world to lay all the -stress of morality upon that very virtue which Goethe almost entirely -repudiates, he appears not only to be no moralist but an enemy of -morality. And as he once brought a devil upon the stage, we identify -him with his own Mephistopheles, though, in fact, the tone of cold -irony is not by any means congenial to him. He has the reputation of -a being awfully wise, who has experienced all feelings good and bad, -but has survived them, and from whose writings there rises a cold -unwholesome exhalation, the odor of moral decay. It is thought that he -offers culture, art, manifold intellectual enjoyment, but at the price -of virtue, faith, patriotism. - -If I have taken a just view, the good and bad characteristics of his -writings stand in a different relation. It is not morality itself that -he regards with indifference, but one important section of morality. -And he is an indifferentist here, partly because he is a man formed -in the last years of the old _régime_, partly because he is borne -too far on the tide of reaction against Catholic and monastic ideas. -Nevertheless, he remains a moralist; and in his positive teaching he is -one of the greatest moral teachers the world has ever seen. In his life -he displayed some of the greatest and most precious virtues, a nobly -conscientious use of great powers, a firm disregard of popularity, an -admirable capacity for the highest kind of friendship. His view of life -and literature is, in general, not ironical and not enervating, but -sincere, manly, and hopeful. And his view of morality and religion, if -we consider it calmly and not in that spirit of agonized timidity which -reigns in the religious world, will perhaps appear to be not now very -dangerous where it is wrong, and full of fresh instruction where it -is right. The drift of the nineteenth century, the progress of those -reforms in which Goethe took so little interest, have tended uniformly -to the elevation of woman, so that it seems now scarcely credible -that at the end of the last century great thinkers can seriously have -preferred to contemplate her in the half servile condition in which -classical poetry exhibits her. On this point at least the world is -not likely to become pagan again. On the other hand Carlyle himself -scarcely exaggerated the greatness of Goethe as a prophet of new -truth alike in morals and in religion. Just at the moment when the -supernaturalist theory, standing alone, seemed to have exhausted its -influence, and to be involving religion in its own decline, Goethe -stood forth as a rapt adorer of the God in Nature.[39] Naturalism in his -hands appeared to be no dull system of platitudes, no empty delusive -survival of an exploded belief, but a system as definite and important -as Science, as rich and glorious as Art. Morality in his hands appeared -no longer morbid, unnaturally solemn, unwholesomely pathetic, but -robust, cheerful, healthy, a twin-sister of happiness. In his hands -also morality and religion appeared inseparably united, different -aspects of that free energy, which in him was genius, and in every one -who is capable of it resembles genius. Lastly, his bearing towards -Christianity, when he had receded from the exaggerations of his second -period, was better, so long as it seemed hopeless to purge Christianity -of its _other-worldliness_, than that of the zealots on either side. -He entered into no clerical or anti-clerical controversies; but, while -he spoke his mind with great frankness, did not forget to distinguish -between clericalism and true Christianity, cherished no insane ambition -of destroying the Church or founding a new religion,[40] and counselled -us in founding our future society to make Christianity a principal -element in its religion, and not to neglect the “excellent collection -of sacred books” left us by the Hebrews.—_Contemporary Review_. - - - - -BYGONE CELEBRITIES AND LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS. - -BY CHARLES MACKAY. - - - I. DANIEL O’CONNELL—SERJEANT TALFOURD—ROBERT CARRUTHERS. - -The three gentlemen whose names appear at the head of this chapter -of my reminiscences, breakfasted together at the table of Mr. -Rogers, along with our host and myself, in the summer of 1845. They -were all remarkable and agreeable men, and played a part more or -less distinguished in the social life of the time. Mr. O’Connell -called himself, and was called by his friends, the Liberator, but -was virtually the Dictator, or uncrowned king, of the Irish people. -Serjeant, afterwards Judge, Talfourd, was an eminent lawyer—a -very eloquent speaker, and a poet of some renown. Mr. Robert -Carruthers was the editor of the _Inverness Courier_, a paper of -much literary influence; a man of varied acquirements and extensive -reading, particularly familiar with the literature and history of -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and more especially with -the writings of Pope, his contemporaries and predecessors. Whenever -Mr. Macaulay, while engaged on the “History of England,” which, -unfortunately, he did not live to complete, was in doubt about an -incident, personal or national, that occurred during the reigns of -James II., William and Mary, or Queen Anne, and was too busy to -investigate for himself, he had only to appeal for information to Mr. -Carruthers, and the information was at once supplied from the abundant -stores of that gentleman’s memory. I was well acquainted with all of -these notables, but had never before met the three together. - -Mr. O’Connell had long passed his prime in 1845—being then in his 70th -year—but appeared to be in full bodily and mental vigor, and in the -height of his power, popularity, and influence. He had for years been -extravagantly praised by one half of the nation and as extravagantly -blamed and denounced by the other, and his support had been so -absolutely necessary to the existence of the Whig and Liberal -Ministry in England, that when this support seemed to be of doubtful -continuance, or any indications of his present lukewarmness or -future opposition were apparent, the baits of power, place, or high -professional promotion were constantly dangled before his eyes, to keep -him true to the cause to which he had never promised allegiance, but to -which he had always adhered with more or less of zeal and consistency. -For upwards of a quarter of a century his name figured more frequently -in the leading columns of all the most prominent journals of London and -the provinces than that of any statesman or public character of the -time. As he jocularly but truly said of himself, he was the best abused -man in the country; but though he did not choose to confess it, he was, -at the same time, the most belauded. He was a man of a fine personal -presence, of a burly and stalwart build, with quick glancing eyes full -of wit, humor and of what may be called “rollicking” fun; and of a -homely, persuasive, and telling eloquence, that no man of his day could -be truly said to have equalled. The speeches of his great contemporary -and countryman, Richard Lalor Shiel, were more elegant, scholarly, and -ambitious; but they were above the heads of the commonalty, and often -failed of their effect by being “caviare to the general,” and sometimes -tired or “bored” those who could understand and even appreciate them, -by their great length and too obvious straining after effect. No -exception of the kind could be taken to the speeches of Daniel—or, as -he was affectionately called, “Dan” O’Connell. They were all clear as -day, logical as a mathematical demonstration, and warm as midsummer. -If he had many of the faults he had all the virtues of his Celtic -countrymen, and even in his strongest denunciations of his political -opponents there was always a touch of humor that forced a laugh -or a smile from the persons he attacked. He once, in Parliament, -spoke of the great Duke of Wellington as “a stunted corporal with -two left legs,” and the Duke of Wellington, who was said to be -proud of his legs, remarking to Lucas, the artist who had painted -his portrait, pointing to his legs—without taking notice of the -facial likeness—“those are my legs,” had sense enough to laugh. -The description, however, was not quite original, inasmuch as Pope, -more than a hundred years previously, had applied the same epithet -to Lintot the bookseller. Daniel O’Connell could excite at will the -laughter or the indignation of the multitude, and was not in reality -an ill-tempered or an ill-conditioned man, though he often appeared -to be so when it suited his purpose. But though choleric he was never -malicious. - -On this occasion the conversation was almost entirely literary. -O’Connell’s voice was peculiarly sweet and musical, and in the -recitation of poetry, of which he had a keen and critical appreciation, -it was impossible to excel, and difficult to equal him, in either comic -or pathetic passages. The manner in which he declaimed “The Minstrel -Boy to the War Has Gone,” “The Last Rose of Summer,” and other favorite -songs of Thomas Moore was perfect, and had almost as pleasant an effect -upon the hearer’s mind as if they had been sung by a well-trained -singer. He was, in short, a delightful companion, and fascinated every -society in which he felt himself sufficiently at ease to be induced -to give free play to his wit, his humor, his imagination, and his -wonderful power of mimicry. - -Though seemingly at this time in the full high noon of his power and -popularity, his influence was in reality on the wane, and circumstances -over which he had no control, and which he had done nothing to produce, -were at work to divert from his person and his cause the attention and -the love of the Irish people. The first symptoms of the mysterious -disease in the potato, which was unfortunately the chief food of the -Irish millions, began to make themselves apparent, and to divert the -attention of the Irish from political to more urgent questions of life -and death. The too probable consequences of this great calamity tended -necessarily to diminish the rent or tribute collected from the needy as -well as the prosperous to recompense the “Liberator” for the sacrifices -he had made in relinquishing the practice of his profession to devote -his time, talent, and energies entirely to the parliamentary service -of the people. Added to this, a race of younger and more impulsive -men, fired by his example, had arisen to agitate the question of the -Repeal of the Union on which he had set his heart, and scorning, in -their impatience, the peaceful and legal methods which he employed, did -their best to goad the impulsive people into open rebellion. Foremost -among these were Mr. Smith O’Brien, whose futile treason came to an -inglorious collapse in a cabbage garden; and next, the members of the -party of Young Ireland, and the gifted poets of the “Nation,” among -whom were Mr. D’Arcy McGee, and Sir Charles Gavan Duffy, whose tuneful -violence was far more agreeable to the youthful agitators of the new -generation than the more prudent strategy of O’Connell. The potato -disease and the fearful famine that followed on its devastating track, -which sent at least a million of people to the United States and two -millions into untimely graves in Ireland, preyed upon the spirit of the -great agitator, impaired his health, and ultimately led to his death -of a broken heart, at Genoa, in 1847, in the 72nd year of his age. He -was, at the time, on a pilgrimage to Rome to crave the blessing of -the Pope, but was not destined to reach the, to him, “holy city,” the -capital of his faith. His heart, however, was embalmed and taken to -Rome, and his corpse conveyed to his native country for interment. I -little thought on that joyous morning of 1845, when we sat seriously -merry and intellectually sportive at the social board of Mr. Rogers in -St. James’s Place, that the end was so near, and that the light which -shone so brilliantly was so speedily to be extinguished, and the -sceptre of democratic authority to be so shattered that none could take -it up when it fell from the hands which had so long wielded it. - -The second of the guests this morning was also an orator, not -celebrated for his power over crowds, but highly distinguished in -the Senate and the Forum. Serjeant Talfourd did not speak often in -Parliament or at public meetings, but when he did he was listened to -with pleasure and attention. The scenes of his triumphs were the law -courts, and especially the Court of Common Pleas, where he was the -leading practitioner. He was noted among the members of the Bar and -the attorneys for his power over the minds of jurymen, and his winning -ways of extorting a favorable verdict for the client who was fortunate -enough to have him for an advocate. He had room enough in his head -both for law and literature—the law for his profit and his worldly -advancement, and literature for the charm and consolation of his life. -He was well known too, and highly esteemed by the leading literary -men of his time, and took especial interest in the laws affecting -artistic, musical, and literary copyright. He was largely instrumental -in extending the previously allotted term of twenty-eight years to -forty-two years, and for seven years after the death of the artist, -composer, or author. This measure put considerable and well-deserved -profits into the pockets of the heirs of Sir Walter Scott, and was said -at the time to have been specially devised and enacted for that purpose -and for that only. This, however, was an error which Serjeant Talfourd -emphatically contradicted whenever it was hinted or asserted. It had, -incidentally, that effect, which no one was churlish and ungrateful -enough to grudge or lament, but was advocated in the interest of all -men of letters, and of literature itself in its widest extent, and if -it erred at all, only erred on the side of undue restriction to so -short a period as forty-two years. It ought to have been extended to -the third generation of the benefactors of their country, and probably -will be so extended at a future time, when the rights of authors will -be as strictly protected—and will be thought of at least as much -importance—as the right of landlords to their acres; of butchers, -bakers, and tailors to be paid for their commodities; or those of -doctors and lawyers to be paid for their time and talents. - -Mr. Charles Dickens dedicated to Serjeant Talfourd the “Posthumous -Papers of the Pickwick Club”—the early work by which his great fame -was established—in grateful acknowledgment of the Serjeant’s services -to the cause of all men of genius, in the enactment of the new law -of copyright. “Many a fevered head,” he said, “and palsied hand will -gather new vigor in the hour of sickness and distress, from your -exalted exertions; many a widowed mother and orphaned child, who would -otherwise reap nothing from the fame of departed genius but its too -pregnant legacy of sorrow and suffering, will bear in their altered -condition higher testimony to the value of your labors than the most -lavish encomiums from lip or pen could ever afford.” - -Serjeant Talfourd was raised to the Bench in 1848, being then in -his fifty-third year. This promotion had the natural consequence of -removing him from the House of Commons. He was a singularly amiable -man—of gentle, almost feminine character—of delicate health and -fragile form. He possessed little or none of the staid or stern gravity -popularly associated with the idea of a judge, and looked more like -the poet that he undoubtedly was, than the busy lawyer or magistrate. -He died suddenly in the year 1854, under circumstances peculiarly sad -and pathetic. After attending Divine Service on Sunday, the 11th March, -in the Assize town of Stafford, apparently in his usual health, he -took his seat on the bench on the following morning, and proceeded to -address the grand jury on the state of the calendar. It contained a -list of more than one hundred prisoners, an unusually large number of -whom were charged with atrocious offences, many of which were to be -directly traced to intemperance. He took occasion, in the course of his -remarks, to comment upon the growing estrangement in England between -the upper and lower classes of society, and the want of interest and -sympathy exhibited between the former and the latter, which he -regarded as of evil augury for the future peace and prosperity of the -country. While uttering these words he became flushed and excited—his -speech became thick and incoherent, and he suddenly fell forward with -his face on the desk at which he was sitting. He was removed at once -to his lodgings in the immediate vicinity of the court, but life was -found to be extinct on his arrival. Thus perished a singularly able and -estimable man, universally beloved by his contemporaries. - -Mr. Carruthers, who resided in the little town of Inverness, sometimes -called by its inhabitants the “Capital of the Highlands,” was often -blamed by his intimate friends for hiding his great abilities in so -small a sphere, and not launching boldly forth upon the great sea of -London, which they considered a more suitable arena for the exercise -of his talents and the acquirement of fame and fortune by the pursuits -of literature. But he was not to be persuaded. He loved quiet; he -loved the grand and solemn scenery of his beautiful native country, -and perhaps if all the truth were told, he preferred to be a great -man in a provincial town, than a comparatively small one in a mighty -metropolis. In Inverness he shone as a star of the first magnitude. In -London, though his light might have been as great, it might have failed -to attract equal recognition. In addition to all these considerations, -the atmosphere of great cities did not agree with his health, and the -fine, free, fresh invigorating air of the sea and the mountains was -necessary to his physical well-being. This he enjoyed to the full -in Inverness. The editing of the weekly journal, which supplied him -with even greater pecuniary results than were necessary to supply the -moderate wants of himself and his household, left him abundant leisure -for other and congenial work. He soon made his mark in literature, and -became noted not only for the vigor and elegance of his style, but for -his remarkable accuracy of statement, even in the minutest details of -his literary and historical work. He edited, with copious and accurate -notes, an edition of Pope, and of Johnson and Boswell’s “Tour to the -Hebrides,” and greatly added to the value of those interesting books by -notes descriptive and anecdotical of all the places and persons -mentioned in them. He also contributed largely to the valuable -“Cyclopædia of English Literature” edited by Messrs. Chambers, of -Edinburgh; besides contributing essays and criticisms to many popular -serials and reviews, published in London and Edinburgh. He was one of -the most admirable story tellers of his time, or indeed of any time, -had a most retentive and abundantly furnished memory, and never missed -the point of a joke, or overlaid it with inappropriate or unnecessary -words or phrases. His fund of Scottish anecdotes—brimful of wit and -humor—was apparently inexhaustible, and his stories followed each -other with such rapidity as to suggest to the mind of the listener the -beautiful lines of Samuel Rogers: - - Couched in the hidden chambers of the brain - Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain, - Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise, - Each stamps its image as the other flies. - -The good things for which Mr. Carruthers was famous were not derived -from books, but from actual intercourse with men, and if collected, -would have formed a finer and more diverting repertory of Scottish wit -and humor, than has ever been given to the world. He was often urged -to prepare them for publication, and as often promised to undertake -the work, but always postponed it until he had more leisure than he -possessed at the time of promising. But that day unfortunately never -came. If it had come, the now celebrated work of Dean Ramsay on the -same subject would have been eclipsed, or altogether superseded in the -literary market. - -His local knowledge, and the fascination of his conversation were so -great, that every person of any note in the literary or political world -who visited Inverness, came armed with a letter of introduction to Mr. -Carruthers, or made themselves known to him during their stay in the -Highlands. The first time that I travelled so far North, through the -magnificent chain of freshwater lochs that are connected with each -other by the Caledonian Canal, a leading citizen of Inverness, who was -a fellow-passenger on the trip, seeing I was a stranger, took the pains -to point out to me all the objects of interest on the way, and to name -the mountains, the straths, the glens, and the waterfalls on either -side. On our arrival at Inverness, he directed my attention to several -mountains and eminences visible from the boat when nearing the pier. -“That,” said he, “is Ben Wyvis, the highest mountain in Ross-shire; -that is ‘Tom-na-hurich,’ or the hill of the fairies; that is Craig -Phadrig, once a vitrified fort of the original Celtic inhabitants; and -that,” pointing to a gentleman in the foremost rank of the spectators -on the landing-place, “is Mr. Carruthers, the editor of the _Courier_!” - -Mr. Carruthers used to relate with much glee that he escorted the -great Sir Robert Peel to the battle-field of Culloden, and pointed out -to him the graves of the highland warriors who had been slain in that -fatal encounter. Seeing a shepherd watching his flocks feeding on the -scant herbage of the Moor, he stepped aside to inform the man of the -celebrity of his companion. The information fell upon inattentive ears. -“Did you never hear of Sir Robert Peel?” inquired Mr. Carruthers. -“Never _dud_!” (did), replied the shepherd. “Is it possible you never -heard of him. He was once Prime Minister of England.” “Well!” replied -the shepherd, “he seems to be a very respectable man!” - -On another occasion, he escorted Mr. Serjeant Talfourd and his friend -Mr. John Forster, who was also the intimate friend of Mr. Charles -Dickens, over the same scene, and was fond of telling the story -that the same or some other shepherd shouted suddenly to another of -the same occupation at a short distance on the Moor, “_Ian! Ian!_” -Serjeant Talfourd, who was the author of the once celebrated tragedy -of “Ion,”—with a bland smile of triumph or satisfaction on his face, -turned to Mr. Forster, laid his hand upon his breast, and said, -“Forster, this _is_ fame.” He did not know that _Ian_ was the Gaelic -for John, and that the man was merely calling to his friend by his -Christian name. - -Among the odd experiences of the little town in which he passed his -days, Mr. Carruthers related that a gentleman, who had made a large -fortune in India, retired to pass the evening of his life in his native -place. Finding the time hanging heavy on his hands, and being of an -active mind, he established a newspaper, sometime about the year 1840. -He grew tired of it after two or three years, and discontinued it in -a day without a word of notice or explanation. With equal suddenness -he resumed its publication in 1850, and addressed his readers, in his -first editorial, “Since the publication of our last paper, nothing of -importance has occurred in the political world.” Nothing had occurred -of more importance than the French Revolution of 1848—the dethronement -and flight of King Louis Philippe—and convulsions in almost every -country in Europe, Great Britain excepted. - -Mr. Carruthers, who had received the degree of Doctor of Laws a few -years previously, died in 1878, full of years and honors, regretted and -esteemed by all the North of Scotland, and by a wide circle of friends -and admirers in every part of the world where English literature is -appreciated; and Scotsmen retain a fond affection for their native -country, and the men whose lives and genius reflect honor upon it. - - - II. PATRIC PARK, SCULPTOR. - -I am glad to be able in these pages to render tribute, however feeble, -to one of the great but unappreciated geniuses of his time; a man of -powerful intellect as well as powerful frame, a true artist of heroic -mould and thought, who dwarfed the poor pigmies of the day in which his -lot was cast by conceptions too grand to find a market: Patric Park, -sculptor, who concealed under a somewhat rude and rough exterior as -tender a heart as ever beat in a human bosom. Had he been an ancient -Greek, his name might have become immortal. Had he been a modern -Frenchman, the art in which he excelled would have brought him not only -bread, but fortune. But as he was only a portrayer of the heroic in -the very prosaic country in which his lot was cast, it was as much as -he could do to pay his way by the scanty rewards of an art which few -people appreciated, or even understood, and to waste upon the marble -busts of rich men, who had a fancy for that style of portraiture, the -talents, or rather the genius, which, had encouragement come, might -have produced epics in stone to have rivalled the masterpieces of -antiquity. - -Patrick, or, as he usually signed himself, Patric, Park was born in -Glasgow in 1809, and I made his acquaintance in the _Morning Chronicle_ -office in 1842, when he was in the prime of his early manhood. He sent -a letter to the editor to request the insertion of a modest paragraph -in reference to a work of his which had found a tardy purchaser in -Stirling, where it was destined to adorn the beautiful public cemetery -of the city. The paragraph was inserted not as he wrote it, but with -a kindly addition in praise of his work and of his genius. He came to -the office next day to know the writer’s name. And when the writer -avowed himself, a friendship sprung up between the two, which suffered -no abatement during the too short life of the grateful man of genius, -who, for the first time, had been publicly recognized by the humble -pen of one who could command, in artistic and literary matters, the -columns of a powerful journal. Park’s nature was broad and bold, and -scorned conventionalities and false pretence. George Outram, a lawyer -and editor of a Glasgow newspaper, author of several humorous songs -and lyrics upon the odds and ends of legal practice, among which -the “Annuity” survives in perennial youth in Edinburgh and Glasgow -society, and brother of the gallant Sir James Outram, of Indian fame, -used to say of Park, that he liked him because he was not smooth -and conventional. “There is not in the world,” he said to me on one -occasion, “another man with so many delightful corners in his character -as Park. We are all of us much too smooth and rounded off. Give me Park -and genuine nature, and all the more corners the better.” - -Park had a very loud voice, and sang Scotch songs perhaps with more -vehemence than many people would admire, but with a hearty appreciation -that was pleasant to witness. It is related that a deputation of -Glasgow bailies came up to London, with Lord Provost Lumsden at their -head, in reference to the Loch Katrine Water Bill, for the supply of -Glasgow with pure water, which was then before Parliament, and that -they invited their distinguished townsman to dine with them at the -Victoria Hotel, Euston Square. After dinner Park was called upon -for a song, and as there was nobody in the dining-room but one old -gentleman, who, according to the waiter, was very deaf, Park consented -to sing, and sang in his very best style the triumphant Jacobite -ballad of “Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet,” till, as one of the -bailies said, “he made the rafters ring, and might have been heard at -St. Paul’s.” The deaf gentleman, as soon as the song was concluded, -is reported to have made his way to the table, and apologising for -addressing a company of strangers, to have turned to Park and said, -with extraordinary fervor and emotion, “May God Almighty bless you, -sir, and pour his choicest blessings upon your head! For thirty years I -have been stone deaf and have not heard the sound of the human voice. -But I heard your song, every word of it; God bless you!” - -Upon one occasion, when we were travelling together in the Western -Highlands, the captain of one of the Hutcheson steamers was exceedingly -courteous and attentive to his passengers, and took great pains to -point out to those who were making this delightful journey for the -first time all the picturesque objects on the route. At one of the -landing-places the young Earl of Durham was taken on board, with his -servants, and from that moment the captain had neither eyes nor ears -for any other person in the vessel. He lavished the most obsequious -and fulsome attention upon his lordship, and when Park asked him a -question, cut him short with a snappish reply. Park was disgusted, and -expressed his opinion of the captain in a manner more forcible than -polite. As there was a break in the navigation in consequence of some -repairs that were being effected in one of the locks, the passengers -had to disembark and proceed by omnibus to another steamer that awaited -their arrival at Loch Lochy. Park mounted on the box by the side of the -driver, and was immediately addressed by the captain, “Come down out -of that, you sir! That seat’s reserved for his lordship!” Park’s anger -flashed forth like an electric spark, “And who are _you_, sir, that -you dare address a gentleman in that manner?” - -“I am the captain of the boat, sir, and I order you to come down out of -that.” - -“Captain, be hanged!” said Park, “the coachman might as well call -himself a captain as you. The only difference between you is, that -he is the driver of a land omnibus and that you are the driver of an -aquatic omnibus.” The young Earl laughed, and quietly took his place in -the interior of the vehicle, leaving Park in undisputed possession of -the box-seat. - -His contempt for toadyism in all its shapes and manifestations was -extreme. There was an engineer of some repute in his day, with whom he -had often come into contact, and whom he especially disliked for his -slavish subservience to rank and title. The engineer meeting Park on -board of the boat, said, “Mr. Park, I wish you not to talk about me! -I am told that you said, I was not worth a damn! Is it true?” “Well,” -replied Park, “it may be; but if I said so I underrated you. I think -you are worth two damns, and I damn you twice!” - -On another occasion, when attending a _soirée_ at Lady Byron’s, he -was so annoyed at finding no other refreshment than tea, which he did -not care for, and very weak port wine negus, which he detested as -an unmanly and unheroic drink, that he took his departure, resolved -to go in search of some stronger potation. The footman in the hall, -addressing him deferentially in search of a “tip,” said, “Shall I call -your carriage, my lord?” “I’m not a lord,” said Park, in a voice like -that of a stentor. “I beg pardon, sir, shall I call your carriage?” -“I have not got a carriage! Give me my walking stick! And now,” he -added, slipping a shilling into the man’s hand, “can you tell me of -any decent public-house in the neighborhood where I can get a glass of -brandy-and-water? The very smell of her ladyship’s negus is enough to -make one sick.” - -Park resided for a year or two in Edinburgh, and procured several -commissions for the busts of legal and other notabilities, and, -what was in a higher degree in accordance with his tastes, for some -life-size statues of characters in the poems and novels of Sir Walter -Scott, to complete the Scott monument in Princes Street. He also -executed, without a commission, a gigantic model for a statue of Sir -William Wallace, for whose name and fame he had the most enthusiastic -veneration, with the idea that the patriotic feelings of the Scottish -nation would be so far excited by his work as to justify an appeal to -the public to set it up in bronze or marble (he preferred bronze,) on -the Calton Hill, amid other monuments to the memory of illustrious -Scotsmen. But the deeds of Wallace were too far back in the haze of -bygone ages to excite much contemporary interest. The model was a -noble work, eighteen feet high, and wholly nude. Some of his friends -suggested to him that a little drapery would be more in accordance with -Scottish ideas, than a figure so nude that it dispensed even with the -customary fig-leaf. Park revolted at the notion of the fig-leaf, “a -cowardly, indecent subterfuge,” he said. “To the pure all things are -pure, as St. Paul says. There is nothing impure in nature, but only in -the mind of man. Rather than put on the fig-leaf I would dash the model -to pieces.” “But the drapery?” said a friend, the late Alexander Russel -of the _Scotsman_. “What I have done I have done, and I will not spoil -my design. Wallace was once a man, and if he had lived in the last -century and I had to model his statue, I would have draped it or put it -in armor as if he had been the Duke of Marlborough or Prince Eugene. -But the memory of Wallace is scarcely the memory of a man but of a -demigod. Wallace is a myth; and as a myth he does not require clothes.” -“Very true,” said Russel, “but you are anxious to procure the public -support and the public guineas, and you’ll never get them for a naked -giant.” “Then I’ll smash the model,” said the indignant and dispirited -artist. And he did so, and a beautiful work was lost to the world for -ever. - -At the time of our first acquaintance Park was somewhat smitten by the -charms of a beautiful young woman in Greenock, the daughter of one of -his oldest and best friends. The lady had no knowledge of art, and -scarcely knew what was meant by the word sculptor. She asked him one -day whether he cut marble chimney-pieces? This was too much. He was -_désillusionné_ and humiliated, and the amatory flame flickered out, no -more to be relighted. - -Park and I and three or four friends were once together on the top of -Ben Lomond, on a fine clear day in August. The weather was lovely, -but oppressively hot, and the fatigue of climbing was great, but not -excessive. At the summit, so pure was the atmosphere that looking -eastward we could distinctly see Arthur’s Seat, overlooking Edinburgh, -and the Bass Rock in the Firth of Forth, twenty miles beyond. Looking -westward, we could distinctly see Ailsa Craig in the Firth of Clyde. -Thus the eye surveyed the whole diameter of Scotland. By a strange -effect of atmosphere the peak of Goatfell in Arran, separated optically -from the mountain by a belt of thick white cloud, seemed to be -preternaturally raised to a height of at least 20,000 feet above the -sea. I pointed it out to Park. “Nonsense!” he said. “Why Goatfell would -be higher than the Himalayas if your notion were correct.” “But I know -the shape of the peak,” I replied; “I have been on the top of Goatfell -at least half-a-dozen times, and would swear to it, as to the nose on -your face.” And as we were speaking the white cloud was dissipated, and -the Himalayan peak seemed to descend slowly and take its place on the -body of Goatfell, from which it had appeared to have been dissevered. -“Well,” he said, “things are not what they seem, and I maintain that it -was as high as the Himalayas or Chimborazo while the appearance lasted.” - -The mountain at this time shone in pale rose-like glow, and Park, -inspired by the grandeur of the scene, preached us a very eloquent -little sermon, addressing himself to the sun, on the inherent dignity -and beauty of sun-worship as practised by the modern Parsees and -the ancient Druids. He concluded by a lament that his own art was -powerless to represent or personify the grand forces of nature as the -Greeks had attempted to do. “The Apollo Belvidere,” he said, “is the -representative of a beautiful young man. But it is not Apollo. Art -can represent Venus—the perfection of female beauty, and Mars—the -perfection of manly vigor; but Apollo; no! Yet I think I would have -tried Apollo myself if I had lived in Athens two thousand years ago.” - -“‘A living dog is better than a dead lion.’” - -“True,” said Park, “I am a living dog, Phidias is a dead lion. I have -to model the unintellectual faces of rich cheesemongers, or grocers, or -iron masters, and put dignity into them, if I can, which is difficult. -And when I add the dignity, they complain of the bad likeness, so that -I often think I’d rather be a cheesemonger than a sculptor.” - -I called at Park’s studio one morning, and was informed that he every -minute expected a visit from the great General Sir Charles James -Napier—for whose character and achievements he had the highest -admiration. He considered him by far the greatest soldier of modern -times—and had prevailed upon the general to sit to him for his bust. -Park asked me to stay and be introduced to him, and nothing loth, I -readily consented. I had not long to wait. The general had a nose like -the beak of an eagle—larger and more conspicuous on his leonine and -intellectual face than that of the Duke of Wellington, whose nose was -familiar in the purlieus of the Horse Guards. It procured for him the -title of “conkey” from the street urchins, and I recognised him at -a glance as soon as he entered. On his taking the seat for Park to -model his face in clay, the sculptor asked him not to think of too -many things at a time, but to keep his mind fixed on one subject. The -general did his best to comply with the request, with the result that -his face soon assumed a fixed and sleepy expression, without a trace of -intellectual animation. Park suddenly startled him by inquiring, “Is it -true, general, that you gave way—retreated in fact—at the battle of -——?” (naming the place, which I have forgotten). The general’s eyes -flashed sudden fire, and he was about to reply indignantly when Park -quietly remarked, plying his modelling tool on the face at the time, -“That’ll do, general, the expression is admirable!” The general saw -through the manœuvre, and laughed heartily. - -The general’s statue in Trafalgar Square is an admirable likeness. Park -was much disappointed at not receiving the commission to execute it. - -Park modelled a bust of myself, for which he would not accept payment. -He found it a very difficult task to perform. I had to sit to him at -least fifty times before he could please himself with his work. On one -occasion he lost all patience, and swearing lustily, _more suo_, dashed -the clay into a shapeless mass with his fist. “D—n you,” he said, “why -don’t you keep to one face? You seem to have fifty faces in a minute, -and all different! I never but once had another face that gave me half -the trouble.” - -“And whose was the other?” I inquired. - -“Sir Charles Barry’s” (architect of the Houses of Parliament at -Westminster). “He drove me to despair with his sudden changes of -expression. He was a very Proteus as far as his face was concerned, -and you’re another. Why don’t you keep thinking of one thing while I -am modelling, or why can’t you retain one expression for at least five -minutes?” - -It was not till fully three months after this outburst that he took -courage to begin again, growling and grumbling at his work, but -determining, he said, not to be beaten either by Sir Charles or myself. -“Poets and architects, and painters and musicians, and novelists,” he -said, “are all difficult subjects for the sculptor. Give me the face -of a soldier,” he added, “such a face as that of the Emperor Napoleon. -There is no mistake about _that_; or, better still, that of Sir Charles -James Napier! If there is not very much immortal soul, so called, in -the faces of such men, there is a very great deal of body.” - -Park was commissioned by the late Duke of Hamilton to model a bust -of Napoleon III., and produced, perhaps the very finest of all the -fine portrait-busts which ever proceeded from his chisel. The Emperor -impressed Park in the most favorable manner, and he always spoke of him -in terms of enthusiastic admiration, as well for the innate heroism as -for the tenderness of his character. “All true heroes,” he said, “are -tender-hearted; and the man who can fight most bravely has always the -readiest drop of moisture in his eye when a noble deed is mentioned or -a chord of human sympathy is touched.” The bust of Napoleon was lost -in the wreck of the vessel that conveyed it from Dover to Calais, but -the Duke of Hamilton commissioned the sculptor to execute a second copy -from the clay model, which duly reached its destination. - -Patric Park died before he was fifty, and when, to all appearance, -there were many happy and prosperous years before him, when having -surmounted his early difficulties, he might have looked forward to -the design and completion of the many noble works to which he pined -to devote his mature energies, after emancipation from the slavery -of what he called “busting” the effigies of “cheesemongers.” He had -been for some months in Manchester, plying his vocation among the -rich notabilities of that prosperous city, when one day, emerging -from a carriage at the railway station, he observed a porter with a -huge basket of ice upon his head, staggering under the load and ready -to fall. Park rushed forward to the man’s assistance, prevented him -from falling, steadied the load upon his head by a great muscular -exertion, and suddenly found his mouth full of blood. He had broken -a blood-vessel; and stretching forth his hand, took a lump of ice -from the basket, and held it in his mouth to stop the bleeding. He -proceeded to the nearest chemist’s shop for advice and relief, and was -forthwith conveyed to his hotel delirious. A neighboring doctor was -called in, Park beseeching him for brandy. The brandy was refused. -A telegram was sent to his own physician in London. He came down by -the next train, and expressed a strong opinion on seeing the body and -learning all the facts, that the brandy ought to have been given. But -he arrived too late. The noble, the generous, the gifted Park was no -more, and an attached young wife and hundreds of friends, amongst whom -the writer of these words was one of the most attached, were “left -lamenting.”—_Gentleman’s Magazine._ - - (_To be concluded._) - - - - -A FEMALE NIHILIST - -BY STEPNIAK. - - - I. - -On the 27th of July, in the year 1878, the little town of Talutorovsk, -in Western Siberia, was profoundly excited by a painful event. A -political prisoner, named Olga Liubatovitch, it was said had miserably -put an end to her days. She was universally loved and esteemed, and -her violent death therefore produced a most mournful impression -throughout the town, and the _Ispravnik_ or chief of the police, was -secretly accused of having driven the poor young girl, by his unjust -persecutions, to take away her life. - -Olga was sent to Talutorovsk, some months after the trial known as -that of the “fifty” of Moscow, in which she was condemned to nine -years’ hard labor for Socialist propagandism, a punishment afterwards -commuted into banishment for life. Unprovided with any means whatever -of existence, for her father, a poor engineer with a large family, -could send her nothing, Olga succeeded, by indefatigable industry, in -establishing herself in a certain position. Although but little skilled -in female labor, she endeavored to live by her needle, and became -the milliner of the semi-civilized ladies of the town, who went into -raptures over her work. These fair dames were firmly convinced—it is -impossible to know why—that the elegance of a dress depends above all -things upon the number of its pockets. The more pockets there were, -the more fashionable the dress. Olga never displayed the slightest -disinclination to satisfy this singular taste. She put pockets upon -pockets, upon the body, upon the skirts, upon the underskirts; before, -behind, everywhere. The married ladies and the young girls were as -proud as peacocks, and were convinced that they were dressed like the -most fashionable Parisian, and, though they were less profuse with -their money than with their praises, yet in that country, where living -costs so little, it was easy to make two ends meet. Later on, Olga -had an occupation more congenial to her habits. Before entering the -manufactories and workshops as a sempstress in order to carry on the -Socialist propaganda, she had studied medicine for some years at -Zurich, and she could not now do less than lend her assistance in -certain cases of illness. This soon gave her a reputation, and at the -request of the citizens, the police accorded to her the permission to -fill the post of apothecary and phlebotomist, as the former occupant -of that post, owing to habitual drunkenness, was fit for nothing. Not -unfrequently she even took the place of the district doctor, a worthy -man who, owing to old age and a partiality for brandy, was in such a -state that he could not venture upon delicate operations, because his -hands shook. She acted for him also in many serious cases baffling his -antediluvian knowledge. Some of her cures were considered miraculous; -among others, that of the district judge, whom, by determined -treatment, she had saved after a violent attack of _delirium tremens_, -a malady common to almost all men in that wild country. - -In a word, Olga was in great favor with the peaceful citizens of -Talutorovsk. The hatred of the police towards her was all the greater -for that reason. Her proud and independent disposition would not -permit her to submit to the stupid and humiliating exigencies of the -representatives of the Government. Those representatives, barbarous and -overbearing as they were, considered every attempt to defend personal -dignity a want of respect toward themselves—nay, a provocation, and -neglected no occasion of taking their revenge. There was always a -latent war between Olga and her guardians, a war of the weak, bound -hand and foot, against the strong, armed at all points; for the police -have almost arbitrary power over the political prisoners who are under -their surveillance. In this very unequal struggle, however, Olga did -not always come off the worst, as often happens in the case of those -who, proud, daring, and fearing nothing, are always ready to risk -everything for the merest trifle. One of these conflicts, which -lasted four days and kept the whole of the little town in a state of -excitement by its dramatic incidents, was so singular that it deserves -to be related. - -Olga had sent from her parents a parcel of books, which, in her -position, was a gift indeed. She went to the _Ispravnik_ to get them, -but met with an unforeseen obstacle. Among the books sent to her was a -translation of the “Sociology” of Herbert Spencer, and the _Ispravnik_ -mistook it for a work on _Socialism_, and would not on any account give -it up to her. In vain Olga pointed out to him that the incriminated -book had been published at St. Petersburg with the license of the -Censorship; that sociology and socialism were very different things, -etc. The _Ispravnik_ was stubborn. The discussion grew warm. Olga -could not restrain some sharp remarks upon the gross ignorance of her -opponent, and ended by telling him that his precautions were utterly -useless, as she had at home a dozen books like that of Herbert Spencer. - -“Oh! you have books like this at home, have you?” exclaimed the -_Ispravnik_. “Very well; we’ll come and search the house this very day.” - -“No,” exclaimed Olga, in a fury; “you will do nothing of the kind; you -have no right, and if you dare to come I will defend myself.” - -With these words she left the place, thoroughly enraged. - -War was declared, and the rumor spread throughout the town, and -everywhere excited a kind of timorous curiosity. - -Directly Olga reached her home she shut herself up and barricaded -the door. The _Ispravnik_, on his side, prepared for the attack. -He mustered a band of policemen, with some _poniatye_, or -citizen-witnesses, and sent them to the enemy’s house. - -Finding the entrance closed and the door barricaded, the valorous army -began to knock energetically, and ordered the inmate to open. - -“I will not open the door,” replied the voice of Olga within. - -“Open, in the name of the law.” - -“I will not open the door. Break it in! I will defend myself.” - -At this explicit declaration the band became perplexed. A council of -war was held. “We must break open the door,” they all said. But as all -these valiant folks had families, wives, and children whom they did -not wish to leave orphans, no one cared to face the bullets of this -mad-woman, whom they knew to be capable of anything. Each urged his -neighbor onward, but no one cared to go forward himself. - -Recourse was had to diplomacy. - -“Open the door, miss.” - -No reply. - -“Please to open the door, or you will repent it.” - -“I will not open the door,” replied the firm voice of the besieged. - -What was to be done? A messenger was sent to the _Ispravnik_ to inform -him that Olga Liubatovitch had shut herself up in her house, had -pointed a pistol at them, and had threatened to blow out the brains of -the first who entered. - -The _Ispravnik_, considering that the task of leadership would fall -to him as supreme chief (and he also had a family), did not care -to undertake the perilous enterprise. His army, seeing itself thus -abandoned by its leader, was in dismay; it lost courage; demoralisation -set in, and after a few more diplomatic attempts, which led to nothing, -it beat a disgraceful retreat. A select corps of observation remained, -however, near the enemy’s citadel, intrenched behind the hedges of the -adjoining kitchen-gardens. It was hoped that the enemy, elated by the -victory in this first encounter, would make a sortie, and then would be -easily taken, in flank and rear, surrounded, and defeated. - -But the enemy displayed as much prudence as firmness. Perceiving the -manœuvres of her adversaries, Olga divined their object, and did not -issue from the house all that day, or the day after, or even on the -third day. The house was provided with provisions and water, and Olga -was evidently prepared to sustain a long siege. - -It was clear that if no one would risk his life, which naturally no -one was disposed to risk, nothing could be done save to reduce her by -hunger. But who, in that case, could tell how long the scandal of this -flagrant rebellion would last? And then, who could guarantee that this -Fury would not commit suicide instead of surrendering? And then, what -complaints, what reprimands from superiors! - -In this perplexity, the _Ispravnik_ resolved to select the least among -many evils, and on the fourth day he raised the siege. - -Thus ended the little drama of July 1878, known in Siberia as the -“Siege of Olga Liubatovitch.” The best of the joke was, however, that -she had no arms of a more warlike character than a pen-knife and some -kitchen utensils. She herself had not the slightest idea what would -have happened had they stormed her house, but that she would have -defended herself in some way or other is quite certain. - -The _Ispravnik_ might have made her pay for her rebellion by several -years of confinement, but how could he confess to his superiors the -cowardice of himself and his subordinates? He preferred, therefore, -to leave her in peace. But he chafed in secret, for he saw that the -partisans of the young Socialist—and they were far from few—ridiculed -himself and his men behind their backs. He determined to vindicate his -offended dignity at all cost, and, being of a stubborn disposition, he -carried out his resolve in the following manner. - -A fortnight after the famous siege, he sent a message to Olga to come -to his office at eight o’clock in the morning. She went. She waited an -hour; two hours; but no one came to explain what she was wanted for. -She began to lose patience, and declared that she would go away. But -the official in attendance told her that she must not go; that she must -wait; such were the orders of the _Ispravnik_. She waited until eleven -o’clock. No one came. At last a subaltern appeared, and Olga addressed -herself to him and asked what she was wanted for. The man replied that -he did not know, that the _Ispravnik_ would tell her when he came in. -He could not say, however, when the _Ispravnik_ would arrive. - -“In that case,” said Olga, “I should prefer to return some other time.” - -But the police officer declared that she must continue to wait in the -antechamber of the office, for such were the orders of the -_Ispravnik_. There could be no doubt that all this was a disgraceful -attempt to provoke her, and Olga, who was of a very irascible -disposition, replied with some observations not of the most respectful -character, and not particularly flattering to the _Ispravnik_ or his -deputy. - -“Oh! that’s how you treat the representatives of the Government in the -exercise of their functions, is it?” exclaimed the deputy, as though -prepared for this. And he immediately called in another policeman as a -witness, and drew up a statement of the charge against her. - -Olga went away. But proceedings were taken against her before the -district judge, the very man whom she had cured of _delirium tremens_, -who sentenced her to three days’ solitary confinement. It was -confinement in a dark, fetid hole, full of filth and vermin. - -Merely in entering it, she was overcome with disgust. When she was -released, she seemed to have passed through a serious illness. It was -not, however, the physical sufferings she had undergone so much as the -humiliation she had endured which chafed her proud disposition. - -From that time she became gloomy, taciturn, abrupt. She spent whole -days shut up in her room, without seeing anybody, or wandered away -from the town into the neighboring wood, and avoided people. She was -evidently planning something. Among the worthy citizens of Talutorovsk, -who had a compassionate feeling towards her, some said one thing, some -another, but no one foresaw such a tragic ending as that of which -rumors ran on July 27. - -In the morning the landlady entered her room and found it empty. The -bed, undisturbed, clearly showed that she had not slept in it. She had -disappeared. The first idea which flashed through the mind of the old -dame was that Olga had escaped, and she ran in all haste to inform the -_Ispravnik_, fearing that any delay would be considered as a proof of -complicity. - -The _Ispravnik_ did not lose a moment. Olga Liubatovitch being one of -the most seriously compromised women, he feared the severest censure, -perhaps even dismissal, for his want of vigilance. He immediately -hastened to the spot in order to discover if possible the direction the -fugitive had taken. But directly he entered the room he found upon the -table two letters signed and sealed, one addressed to the authorities, -the other to the sister of Olga, Vera Liubatovitch, who had also been -banished to another Siberian town. These letters were immediately -opened by the _Ispravnik_, and they revealed the mournful fact that the -young girl had not taken to flight, but had committed suicide. In the -letter addressed to the authorities she said, in a few lines, that she -died by her own hand, and begged that nobody might be blamed. To her -sister she wrote more fully, explaining that her life of continuous -annoyance, of inactivity, and of gradual wasting away, which is the -life of a political prisoner in Siberia, had become hateful to her, -that she could no longer endure it, and preferred to drown herself in -the Tobol. She finished by affectionately begging her sister to forgive -her for the grief she might cause her and her friends and companions in -misfortune. - -Without wasting a moment, the _Ispravnik_ hastened to the Tobol, and -there he found the confirmation of the revelation of Olga. Parts of -her dress dangled upon the bushes, under which lay her bonnet, lapped -by the rippling water. Some peasants said that on the previous day -they had seen the young girl wandering on the bank with a gloomy and -melancholy aspect, looking fixedly at the turbid waters of the river. -The _Ispravnik_, through whose hands all the correspondence passed of -the political prisoners banished to his district, recalled certain -expressions and remarks that had struck him in the last letters of Olga -Liubatovitch, the meaning of which now became clear. - -There could no longer be any doubt. The _Ispravnik_ sent for all the -fishermen near, and began to drag the river with poles, casting in -nets to recover the body. This, however, led to nothing. Nor was it -surprising: the broad river was so rapid that in a single night it must -have carried a body away—who knows how many leagues? For three days -the _Ispravnik_ continued his efforts, and stubbornly endeavored to -make the river surrender its prey. But at last, after having worn out -all his people and broken several nets against the stones and old -trunks which the river mocked him with, he had to give up the attempt -as unavailing. - - - II. - -The body of Olga, her heart within it throbbing with joy and -uncertainty, had meanwhile been hurried away, not by the yellow waters -of the Tobol, but by a vehicle drawn by two horses galloping at full -speed. - -Having made arrangements with a young rustic whom, in her visits to -the neighboring cottages in a medical capacity, she had succeeded in -converting to Socialism, Olga disposed everything so as to make it be -believed that she had drowned herself, and on the night fixed secretly -left her house and proceeded to the neighboring forest, where, at a -place agreed upon, her young disciple was awaiting her. The night was -dark. Beneath the thick foliage of that virgin forest nothing could -be seen, nothing could be heard but the hootings of the owls, and -sometimes, brought from afar, the howling of the wolves, which infest -the whole of Siberia. - -As an indispensable precaution, the meeting-place was fixed at a -distance of about three miles, in the interior of the forest. Olga -had to traverse this distance in utter darkness, guided only by the -stars, which occasionally pierced through the dense foliage. She was -not afraid, however, of the wild beasts, or of the highwaymen and -vagrants who are always prowling round the towns in Siberia. It was -the cemetery-keeper’s dog she was afraid of. The cemeteries are always -well looked after in that country, for among the horrible crimes -committed by the scum of the convicts one of the most common is that -of disinterring and robbing the newly buried dead. Now the keeper of -the cemetery of Talutorovsk was not to be trifled with; his dog still -less so. It was a mastiff, as big as a calf, ferocious and vigilant, -and could hear the approach of any one a quarter of a mile off. -Meanwhile the road passed close to the cottage of the solitary keeper. -It was precisely for the purpose of avoiding it that Olga, instead of -following the road, had plunged into the forest, notwithstanding the -great danger of losing her way. - -Stumbling at every step against the roots and old fallen trunks, -pricked by the thorny bushes, her face lashed by boughs elastic as -though moved by springs, she kept on for two hours with extreme -fatigue, sustained only by the hope that she would shortly reach the -place of meeting, which could not be far off. At last indeed, the -darkness began to diminish somewhat and the trees to become thinner, -and a moment afterwards she entered upon open ground. She suddenly -stopped, looked around, her blood freezing with terror, and recognised -the keeper’s cottage. She had lost her way in the forest, and, after so -many windings, had gone straight to the point she wished to avoid. - -Her first impulse was to run away as fast as her remaining strength -would enable her, but a moment afterwards a thought flashed through -her mind which restrained her. No sound came from the cottage; all -was silent. What could this indicate but the absence of the occupant? -She stood still and listened, holding her breath. In the cottage not -a sound could be heard, but in another direction she heard, in the -silence of the night, the distant barking of a dog, which seemed, -however, to be approaching nearer. Evidently the keeper had gone out, -but at any moment might return, and his terrible dog was perhaps -running in front of him, as though in search of prey. Fortunately from -the keeper’s house to the place of appointment there was a path which -the fugitive had no need to avoid, and she set off and ran as fast as -the fear of being seized and bitten by the ferocious animal would allow -her. The barking, indeed, drew nearer, but so dense was the forest that -not even a dog could penetrate it. Olga soon succeeded in reaching the -open ground, breathless, harassed by the fear of being followed and -the doubt that she might not find any one at the place of appointment. -Great was her delight when she saw in the darkness the expected -vehicle, and recognised the young peasant. - -To leap into the vehicle and to hurry away was the work of an instant. -In rather more than five hours of hard driving they reached Tumen, a -town of about 18,000 inhabitants, fifty miles distant from Talutorovsk. -A few hundred yards from the outskirts the vehicle turned into a -dark lane and very quietly approached a house where it was evidently -expected. In a window on the first floor a light was lit, and the -figure of a man appeared. Then the window was opened, and the man, -having recognised the young girl, exchanged a few words in a low tone -with the peasant who was acting as driver. The latter, without a word, -rose from his seat, took the young girl in his arms, for she was small -and light, and passed her on like a baby into the robust hands of the -man, who introduced her into his room. It was the simplest and safest -means of entering unobserved. To have opened the door at such an -unusual hour would have awakened people, and caused gossip. - -The peasant went his way, wishing the young girl all success, and -Olga was at last able to take a few hours rest. Her first step had -succeeded. All difficulties were far indeed, however, from being -overcome; for in Siberia it is not so much walls and keepers as -immeasurable distance which is the real gaoler. - -In this area, twice as large as all Europe, and with a total population -only twice that of the English capital, towns and villages are -only imperceptible points, separated by immense deserts absolutely -uninhabitable, in which if any one ventured he would die of hunger, -or be devoured by wolves. The fugitive thus has no choice, and must -take one of the few routes which connect the towns with the rest of -the world. Pursuit is therefore extremely easy, and thus, while the -number of the fugitives from the best-guarded prisons and mines amounts -to hundreds among the political prisoners, and to thousands among the -common offenders, those who succeed in overcoming all difficulties and -in escaping from Siberia itself may be counted on the fingers. - -There are two means of effecting an escape. The first, which is very -hazardous, is that of profiting, in order to get a good start, by the -first few days, when the police furiously scour their own district -only, without giving information of the escape to the great centres, in -the hope, which is often realised, of informing their superiors of -the escape and capture of the prisoner at the same time. In the most -favorable cases, however, the fugitive gains only three or four days -of time, while the entire journey lasts many weeks, and sometimes many -months. With the telegraph established along all the principal lines -of communication, and even with mere horse patrols, the police have -no difficulty whatever in making up for lost time, and exceptional -cleverness or good fortune is necessary in order to keep out of their -clutches. But this method, as being the simplest and comparatively -easy, as it requires few preparations and but little external -assistance, is adopted by the immense majority of the fugitives, and it -is precisely for this reason that ninety-nine per cent. of them only -succeed in reaching a distance of one or two hundred miles from the -place of their confinement. - -Travelling being so dangerous, the second mode is much more safe—that -of remaining hidden in some place of concealment, carefully prepared -beforehand, in the province itself, for one, two, three, six months, -until the police, after having carried on the chase so long in vain, -come to the conclusion that the fugitive must be beyond the frontiers -of Siberia, and slacken or entirely cease their vigilance. This was the -plan followed in the famous escape of Lopatin, who remained more than -a month at Irkutsk, and of Debagorio Mokrievitch, who spent more than -a year in various places in Siberia before undertaking his journey to -Russia. - -Olga Liubatovitch did not wish, however, to have recourse to the latter -expedient, and selected the former. It was a leap in the dark. But -she built her hopes upon the success of the little stratagem of her -supposed suicide, and the very day after her arrival at Tumen she set -out towards Europe by the postal and caravan road to Moscow. - -To journey by post in Russia, a travelling passport (_podorojna_) must -be obtained, signed by the governor. Olga certainly had none, and could -not lose time in procuring one. She had, therefore, to find somebody in -possession of this indispensable document whom she could accompany. As -luck would have it, a certain Soluzeff, who had rendered himself famous -a few years before by certain forgeries and malversations on a grand -scale, had been pardoned by the Emperor and was returning to Russia. -He willingly accepted the company of a pretty countrywoman, as Olga -represented herself to him to be, who was desirous of going to Kazan, -where her husband was lying seriously ill, and consented to pay her -share of the travelling expenses. But here another trouble arose. This -Soluzeff, being on very good terms with the gendarmes and the police, -a whole army of them accompanied him to the post-station. Now Olga had -begun her revolutionary career at sixteen, she was arrested for the -first time at seventeen, and during the seven years of that career had -been in eleven prisons, and had passed some few months in that of Tumen -itself. It was little short of a miracle that no one recognised the -celebrated Liubatovitch in the humble travelling companion of their -common friend. - -At last, however, the vehicle set out amid the shouts and cheers of the -company. Olga breathed more freely. Her tribulations were not, however, -at an end. - -I need not relate the various incidents of her long journey. Her -companion worried her. He was a man whom long indulgence in luxury had -rendered effeminate, and at every station said he was utterly worn out, -and stopped to rest himself and take some tea with biscuits, preserves, -and sweets, an abundance of which he carried with him. Olga, who was -in agonies, as her deception might be found out at any moment, and -telegrams describing her be sent to all the post-stations of the line, -had to display much cunning and firmness to keep this poltroon moving -on without arousing suspicions respecting herself. When, however, near -the frontier of European Russia, she was within an ace of betraying -herself. Soluzeff declared that he was incapable of going any farther, -that he was thoroughly knocked up by this feverish hurry-skurry, and -must stop a few days to recover himself. Olga had some thought of -disclosing everything, hoping to obtain from his generosity what she -could not obtain from his sluggish selfishness. There is no telling -what might have happened if a certain instinct, which never left Olga -even when she was most excited, had not preserved her from this very -dangerous step. - -A greater danger awaited her at Kazan. No sooner had she arrived than -she hastened away to take her ticket by the first steamboat going up -the Volga towards Nijni-Novgorod. Soluzeff, who said he was going -south, would take the opposite direction. Great, therefore, was her -surprise and bewilderment when she saw her travelling companion upon -the same steamer. She did everything she could to avoid him, but in -vain. Soluzeff recognised her, and, advancing towards her, exclaimed in -a loud voice:— - -“What! you here? Why, you told me your husband was lying ill in the -Kazan Hospital.” - -Some of the passengers turned round and looked, and among them the -gendarme who was upon the boat. The danger was serious. But Olga, -without losing her self-possession, at once invented a complete -explanation of the unexpected change in her itinerary. Soluzeff took it -all in, as did the gendarme who was listening. - -At Moscow she was well known, having spent several months in its -various prisons. Not caring to go to the central station, which is -always full of gendarmes on duty, she was compelled to walk several -leagues, to economise her small stock of money, and take the train at a -small station, passing the night in the open air. - -Many were the perils from which, thanks to her cleverness, she escaped. -But her greatest troubles awaited her in the city she so ardently -desired to reach, St. Petersburg. - -When a Nihilist, after a rather long absence, suddenly reaches some -city without previously conferring with those who have been there -recently, his position is a very singular one. Although he may know he -is in the midst of friends and old companions in arms, he is absolutely -incapable of finding any of them. Being “illegal” people, or outlaws, -they live with false passports, and are frequently compelled to change -their names and their places of abode. To inquire for them under their -old names is not to be thought of, for these continuous changes are not -made for mere amusement, but from the necessity, constantly recurring, -of escaping from some imminent danger, more or less grave. To go to the -old residence of a Nihilist and ask for him under his old name would be -voluntarily putting one’s head into the lion’s mouth. - -Under such circumstances, a Nihilist is put to no end of trouble, -and has to wander hither and thither in order to find his friends. -He applies to old acquaintances among people who are “legal” and -peaceful—that is to say, officials, business men, barristers, doctors, -etc., who form an intermediate class, unconsciously connecting the -most active Nihilists with those who take the least interest in public -affairs. In this class there are people of all ranks. Some secretly -aid the Nihilists more or less energetically. Others receive them into -their houses, simply as friends, without having any “serious” business -with them. Others, again, see them only casually, but know from whom -more or less accurate information is to be obtained; and so on. All -these people being unconnected with the movement, or almost so, run -little risk of being arrested, and living as they do “legally”—that is -to say, under their own names—they are easy to be found, and supply -the Ariadne’s thread which enables any one to penetrate into the -Nihilist labyrinth who has not had time, or who has been unable, to -obtain the addresses of the affiliated. - -Having reached St. Petersburg, Olga Liubatovitch was precisely in this -position. But to find the clue in such cases is easy only to those who, -having long resided in the city, have many connections in society. Olga -had never stayed more than a few days in the capital. Her acquaintances -among “legal” people were very few in number, and then she had reached -St. Petersburg in the month of August, when every one of position is -out of town. With only sixty kopecks in her pocket, for in her great -haste she had been unable to obtain a sufficient sum of money, she -dragged her limbs from one extremity of the capital to the other. She -might have dropped in the street from sheer exhaustion, and been taken -up by the police as a mere vagabond, had not the idea occurred to her -to call upon a distant relative whom she knew to be in St. Petersburg. -She was an old maid, who affectionately welcomed her to the house, -although, at the mere sight of Olga, her hair stood on end. She -remained there two days; but the fear of the poor lady was so extreme -that Olga did not care to stay longer. Supplied with a couple of -roubles, she recommenced her pilgrimage, and at last met a barrister -who, as luck would have it, had come up that day from the country on -business. - -From that moment all her tribulations ended. The barrister, who had -known her previously, placed his house at her disposal, and immediately -communicated the news of her arrival to some friends of his among -the affiliated. The next day the good news spread throughout all St. -Petersburg of the safe arrival of Olga Liubatovitch. - -She was immediately supplied with money and a passport, and taken to a -safe place of concealment, secure against police scrutiny. - - - III. - -It was at St. Petersburg that I first met her. - -It was not at a “business” gathering, but one of mere pleasure, in a -family. With the “legal” and the “illegal” there must have been about -fifteen persons. Among those present were some literary men. One of -them was a singular example of an “illegal” man, much sought for at -one time, who, living for six or seven years with false passports, -almost succeeded in legalising himself, as a valuable and well-known -contributor to various newspapers. There was a barrister who, after -having defended others in several political trials, at last found -himself in the prisoner’s dock. There was a young man of eighteen in -gold lace and military epaulettes, who was the son of one of the most -furious persecutors of the Revolutionary party. There was an official -of about fifty, the head of a department in one of the ministries, who, -for five years running, was our Keeper of the Seals—who kept, that is -to say, a large chest full to the brim of seals, false marks, stamps, -etc., manufactured by his niece, a charming young lady, very clever in -draughtsmanship and engraving. It was a very mixed company, and strange -for any one not accustomed to the singular habits of the Palmyra of the -North. - -With the freedom characteristic of all Russian gatherings, especially -those of the Nihilists, every one did as he liked and talked with -those who pleased him. The company was split up into various groups, -and the murmur of voice filled the room and frequently rose above the -exclamations and laughter. - -Having saluted the hosts and shaken hands with some friends, I joined -one of these little groups. - -I had no difficulty in recognising Olga Liubatovitch, for the portraits -of the principal prisoners in the trial of the “fifty,” of whom she was -one of the most distinguished figures, circulated by thousands, and -were in every hand. - -She was seated at the end of the sofa, and, with her head bent, was -slowly sipping a cup of tea. Her thick black hair, of which she had -an abundance, hung over her shoulders, the ends touching the bottom -of the sofa. When she rose it almost reached to her knees. The color -of her face, a golden brown, like that of the Spaniards, proclaimed -her Southern origin, her father and grandfather having been political -refugees from Montenegro who had settled in Russia. There was nothing -Russian, in fact, in any feature of her face. With her large and black -eyebrows, shaped like a sickle as though she kept them always raised, -there was something haughty and daring about her, which struck one at -first sight, and gave her the appearance of the women belonging to her -native land. From her new country she had derived, however, a pair of -blue eyes, which always appeared half-closed by their long lashes, and -cast flitting shadows upon her soft cheeks when she moved her eyelids, -and a lithe, delicate, and rather slim figure, which somewhat relieved -the severe and rigid expression of her face. She had, too, a certain -unconscious charm, slightly statuesque, which is often met with among -women from the South. - -Gazing at this stately face, to which a regular nose with wide nostrils -gave a somewhat aquiline shape, I thought that this was precisely -what Olga Liubatovitch ought to be as I had pictured her from the -account of her adventures. But on a sudden she smiled, and I no longer -recognised her. She smiled, not only with the full vermilion lips of a -brunette, but also with her blue eyes, with her rounded cheeks, with -every muscle of her face, which was suddenly lit up and irradiated like -that of a child. - -When she laughed heartily she closed her eyes, bashfully bent her head, -and covered her mouth with her hand or her arm, exactly as our shy -country lasses do. On a sudden, however, she composed herself, and her -face darkened and became gloomy, serious, almost stern, as before. - -I had a great desire to hear her voice, in order to learn whether it -corresponded with either of the two natures revealed by these sudden -changes. But I had no opportunity of gratifying this desire. Olga did -not open her mouth the whole evening. Her taciturnity did not proceed -from indifference, for she listened attentively to the conversation, -and her veiled eyes were turned from side to side. It did not seem, -either, to arise from restraint. It was due rather to the absence of -any motive for speaking. She seemed to be quite content to listen and -reflect, and her serious mouth appeared to defy all attempts to open it. - -It was not until some days afterwards, when I met her alone on certain -“business,” that I heard her voice, veiled like her eyes, and it was -only after many months’ acquaintance that I was able to understand -her disposition, the originality of which consisted in its union -of two opposite characteristics. She was a child in her candor, -bordering on simplicity, in the purity of her mind, and in the modesty -which displayed itself even in familiar intercourse and gave to her -sentiments a peculiar and charming delicacy. But at the same time this -child astounded the toughest veterans by her determination, her ability -and coolness in the face of danger, and especially by her ardent and -steadfast strength of will, which, recognising no obstacles, made her -sometimes attempt impossibilities. - -To see this young girl, so simple, so quiet, and so modest, who -became burning red, bashfully covered her face with both hands, -and hurried away upon hearing some poetry dedicated to her by some -former disciple—to see this young girl, I say, it was difficult to -believe that she was an escaped convict, familiar with condemnations, -prisons, trials, escapes, and adventures of every kind. It was only -necessary, however, to see her for once at work to believe instantly -in everything. She was transformed, displaying a certain natural and -spontaneous instinct which was something between the cunning of a -fox and the skill of a warrior. This outward simplicity and candor -served her then like the shield of Mambrino, and enabled her to issue -unscathed from perils in which many men, considered able, would -unquestionably have lost their lives. - -One day the police, while making a search, really had her in their -grasp. A friend, distancing the gendarmes by a few moments, had merely -only time to rush breathless up the stairs, dash into the room where -she was, and exclaim, “Save yourself! the police!” when the police were -already surrounding the house. Olga had not even time to put on her -bonnet. Just as she was, she rushed to the back stairs, and hurried -down at full speed. Fortunately the street door was not yet guarded -by the gendarmes, and she was able to enter a little shop on the -ground floor. She had only twenty kopecks in her pockets, having been -unable, in her haste, to get any money. But this did not trouble her. -For fifteen kopecks she bought a cotton handkerchief, and fastened it -round her head in the style adopted by coquettish servant-girls. With -the five kopecks remaining she bought some nuts, and left the shop -eating them, in such a quiet and innocent manner that the detachment -of police, which meanwhile had advanced and surrounded the house on -that side, let her pass without even asking her who she was, although -the description of her was well known, for her photograph had been -distributed to all the agents, and the police have always strict orders -to let no one who may arouse the slightest suspicion leave a house -which they have surrounded. This was not the only time that she slipped -like an eel through the fingers of the police. She was inexhaustible -in expedients, in stratagems, and in cunning, which she always had at -her command at such times; and with all this she maintained her serious -and severe aspect, so that she seemed utterly incapable of lending -herself to deceit or stimulation. Perhaps she did not think, but acted -upon instinct rather than reflection, and that was why she could meet -every danger with the lightning-like rapidity of a fencer who parries a -thrust. - - - IV. - -The romance of her life commenced during her stay in St. Petersburg -after her escape. She was one of the so-called “Amazons,” and was one -of the most fanatical. She ardently preached against love and advocated -celibacy, holding that with so many young men and young girls of the -present day love was a clog upon revolutionary activity. She kept her -vow for several years, but was vanquished by the invincible. There was -at that time in St. Petersburg a certain Nicholas Morosoff, a young -poet and brave fellow, handsome, and fascinating as his poetic dreams. -He was of a graceful figure, tall as a young pine-tree, with a fine -head, an abundance of curly hair, and a pair of chestnut eyes, which -soothed, like a whisper of love, and sent forth glances that shone like -diamonds in the dark whenever a touch of enthusiasm moved him. - -The bold “Amazon” and the young poet met, and their fate was decided. I -will not tell of the delirium and transports through which they passed. -Their love was like some delicate and sensitive plant, which must not -be rudely touched. It was a spontaneous and irresistible feeling. They -did not perceive it until they were madly enamoured of each other. -They became husband and wife. It was said of them that when they were -together inexorable Fate had no heart to touch them, and that its cruel -hand became a paternal one, which warded off the blows that threatened -them. And, indeed, all their misfortunes happened to them when they -were apart. - -This was the incident which did much to give rise to the saying. - -In November 1879, Olga fell into the hands of the police. It should be -explained that when these succeed in arresting a Nihilist they always -leave in the apartments of the captured person a few men to take into -custody any one who may come to see that person. In our language, this -is called a trap. Owing to the Russian habit of arranging everything -at home and not in the cafés, as in Europe, the Nihilists are often -compelled to go to each other houses, and thus these traps become -fatal. In order to diminish the risk, safety signals are generally -placed in the windows, and are taken away at the first sound of the -police. But, owing to the negligence of the Nihilists themselves, -accustomed as they are to danger, and so occupied that they sometimes -have not time to eat a mouthful all day long, the absence of these -signals is often disregarded, or attributed to some combination -of circumstances—the difficulty, or perhaps the topographical -impossibility, of placing signals in many apartments in such a manner -that they can be seen from a distance. This measure of public security -frequently, therefore, does not answer its purpose, and a good half of -all the Nihilists who have fallen into the hands of the Government have -been caught in these very traps. - -A precisely similar misfortune happened to Olga, and the worst of -it was that it was in the house of Alexander Kviatkovsky, one of -the Terrorist leaders, where the police found a perfect magazine of -dynamite, bombs, and similar things, together with a plan of the -Winter Palace, which, after the explosion there, led to his capital -conviction. As may readily be believed, the police would regard with -anything but favorable eyes every one who came to the house of such a -man. - -Directly she entered, Olga was immediately seized by two policemen, in -order to prevent her from defending herself. She, however, displayed -not the slightest desire to do so. She feined surprise, astonishment, -and invented there and then the story that she had come to see some -dressmakers (who had, in fact, their names on a door-plate below, and -occupied the upper floor) for the purpose of ordering something, but -had mistaken the door; that she did not know what they wanted with -her, and wished to return to her husband, etc.; the usual subterfuges -to which the police are accustomed to turn a deaf ear. But Olga played -her part so well that the _pristav_, or head of the police of the -district, was really inclined to believe her. He told her that anyhow, -if she did not wish to be immediately taken to prison, she must give -her name and conduct him to her own house. Olga gave the first name -which came into her mind, which naturally enough was not that under -which she was residing in the capital, but as to her place of residence -she declared, with every demonstration of profound despair, that she -could not, and would not, take him there or say where it was. The -_pristav_ insisted, and, upon her reiterated refusal, observed to the -poor simple thing that her obstinacy was not only prejudicial to her, -but even useless, as, knowing her name, he would have no difficulty in -sending some one to the Adressni Stol and obtaining her address. Struck -by this unanswerable argument, Olga said she would take him to her -house. - -No sooner had she descended into the street, accompanied by the -_pristav_ and some of his subalterns, than Olga met a friend, Madame -Maria A., who was going to Kviatkovsky’s, where a meeting of Terrorists -had actually been fixed for that very day. It was to this chance -meeting that the Terrorists owed their escape from the very grave -danger which threatened them; for the windows of Kviatkovsky’s rooms -were so placed that it was impossible to see any signals there from the -street. - -Naturally enough the two friends made no sign to indicate that they -were acquainted with each other, but Madame Maria A., on seeing Olga -with the police, ran in all haste to inform her friends of the arrest -of their companion, about which there could be no doubt. - -The first to be warned was Nicholas Morosoff, as the police in a short -time would undoubtedly go to his house and make the customary search. -Olga felt certain that this was precisely what her friend would do, and -therefore her sole object now was to delay her custodians so as to give -Morosoff time to “clear” his rooms (that is to say, destroy or take -away papers and everything compromising), and to get away himself. It -was this that she was anxious about, for he had been accused by the -traitor Goldenberg of having taken part in the mining work connected -with the Moscow attempt, and by the Russian law was liable to the -penalty of death. - -Greatly emboldened by this lucky meeting with her friend, Olga, -without saying a word, conducted the police to the Ismailovsky Polk, -one of the quarters of the town most remote from the place of her -arrest, which was in the Nevsky district. They found the street and -the house indicated to them. They entered and summoned the _dvornik_ -(doorkeeper), who has to be present at every search made. Then came the -inevitable explanation. The _dvornik_ said that he did not know the -lady, and that she did not lodge in that house. - -Upon hearing this statement, Olga covered her face with her hands, and -again gave way to despair. She sobbingly admitted that she had deceived -them from fear of her husband, who was very harsh, that she had not -given her real name and address, and wound up by begging them to let -her go home. - -“What’s the use of all this, madam?” exclaimed the _pristav_. “Don’t -you see that you are doing yourself harm by these tricks? I’ll forgive -you this time, because of your inexperience, but take care you don’t -do it again, and lead us at once to your house, or otherwise you will -repent it.” - -After much hesitation, Olga, resolved to obey the injunctions of the -_pristav_. She gave her name, and said she lived in one of the lines of -the Vasili Ostrov. - -It took an hour to reach the place. At last they arrived at the house -indicated. Here precisely the same scene with the _dvornik_ was -repeated. Then the _pristav_ lost all patience, and wanted to take -her away to prison at once, without making a search in her house. -Upon hearing the _pristav’s_ harsh announcement, Olga flung herself -into an arm-chair and had a violent attack of hysterics. They fetched -some water and sprinkled her face with it to revive her. When she had -somewhat recovered, the _pristav_ ordered her to rise and go at once -to the prison of the district. Her hysterical attack recommenced. But -the _pristav_ would stand no more nonsense, and told her to get up, or -otherwise he would have her taken away in a cab by main force. - -The despair of the poor lady was now at its height. - -“Listen!” she exclaimed. “I will tell you everything now.” - -And she began the story of her life and marriage. She was the daughter -of a rustic, and she named the province and the village. Up to the age -of sixteen she remained with her father and looked after the sheep. But -one day an engineer, her future husband, who was at work upon a branch -line of railway, came to stop in the house. He fell in love with her, -took her to town, placed her with his aunt, and had teachers to educate -her, as she was illiterate and knew nothing. Then he married her, and -they lived very happily together for four years; but he had since -become discontented, rough, irritable, and she feared that he loved her -no longer; but she loved him as much as ever, as she owed everything -to him, and could not be ungrateful. Then she said that he would be -dreadfully angry with her, and would perhaps drive her away if she went -to the house in charge of the police; that it would be a scandal; that -he would think she had stolen something; and so on. - -All this, and much more of the same kind, with endless details and -repetitions, did Olga narrate; interrupting her story from time to time -by sighs, exclamations, and tears. She wept in very truth, and her -tears fell copiously, as she assured me when she laughingly described -this scene to me afterwards. I thought at the time that she would have -made a very good actress. - -The _pristav_, though impatient, continued to listen. He was vexed at -the idea of returning with empty hands, and he hoped this time at all -events her story would lead to something. Then, too, he had not the -slightest suspicion, and would have taken his oath that the woman he -had arrested was a poor simple creature, who had fallen into his hands -without having done anything whatever, as so frequently happens in -Russia, where houses are searched on the slightest suspicion. When Olga -had finished her story the _pristav_ began to console her. He said that -her husband would certainly pardon her when he heard her explanation; -that the same thing might happen to any one; and so on. Olga resisted -for a while, and asked the _pristav_ to promise that he would assure -her husband she had done nothing wrong; and more to the same effect. -The _pristav_ promised everything, in order to bring the matter to an -end, and this time Olga proceeded towards her real residence. She had -gained three hours and a half; for her arrest took place at about two -o’clock, and she did not reach her own home until about half-past five. -She had no doubt that Morosoff had got away, and after having “cleared” -the rooms had thrice as much time as he required for the operation. - -Having ascended the stairs, accompanied by the _dvorniks_ and the -police, she rang the bell. The door opened and the party entered, first -the antechamber, then the sitting-room. There a terrible surprise -awaited her. Morosoff in person was seated at a table, in his dressing -gown, with a pencil in his hand and a pen in his ear. Olga fell into -hysterics. This time they were real, not simulated. - -How was it that he had remained in the house? - -The lady previously mentioned had not failed to hasten at once and -inform Morosoff, whom she found at home with three or four friends. At -the announcement of the arrest of Olga they all had but one idea—that -of remaining where they were, of arming themselves, and of awaiting -her arrival, in order to rescue her by main force. But Morosoff -energetically opposed this proposal. He said, and rightly said, that it -presented more dangers than advantages, for the police being in numbers -and reinforced by the _dvorniks_ of the house, who are all a species of -police agents of inferior grade, the attempt at the best would result -in the liberation of one person at the cost of several others. His view -prevailed, and the plan, which was more generous than prudent, was -abandoned. The rooms were at once “cleared” with the utmost rapidity, -so that the fate of the person arrested, which was sure to be a hard -one and was now inevitable, should not be rendered more grievous. When -all was ready and they were about to leave, Morosoff staggered his -friends by acquainting them with the plan he had thought of. He would -remain in the house alone and await the arrival of the police. They -thought he had lost his senses; for everybody knew, and no one better -than himself, that, with the terrible accusation hanging over his -head, if once arrested it would be all over with him. But he said he -hoped it would not come to that—nay, he expected to get clear off -with Olga, and in any case would share her fate. They would escape or -perish together. His friends heard him announce this determination -with mingled feelings of grief, astonishment, and admiration. Neither -entreaties nor remonstrances could shake his determination. He was -firm, and remained at home after saying farewell to his friends, who -took leave of him as of a man on the point of death. - -He had drawn up his plan, which by the suggestion of some mysterious -instinct perfectly harmonised with that of Olga, although they had -never in any way arranged the matter. He also had determined to feign -innocence, and had arranged everything in such a manner as to make it -seem as though he were the most peaceful of citizens. As he lived under -the false passport of an engineer, he covered his table with a heap of -plans of various dimensions, and, having put on his dressing-gown and -slippers, set diligently to work to copy one, while waiting the arrival -of his unwelcome guests. - -It was in this guise and engaged in this innocent occupation that he -was surprised by the police. The scene which followed may easily be -imagined. Olga flung her arms round his neck, and poured forth a stream -of broken words, exclamations, excuses, and complaints of these men who -had arrested her because she wished to call upon her milliner. In the -midst, however, of these exclamations, she whispered in his ear, “Have -you not been warned?” - -“Yes,” he replied in the same manner, everything is in order. “Don’t be -alarmed.” - -Meanwhile he played the part of an affectionate husband mortified by -this scandal. After a little scolding and then a little consolation, he -turned to the _pristav_ and asked him for an explanation, as he could -not quite understand what had happened from the disconnected words of -his wife. The _pristav_ politely told the whole story. The engineer -appeared greatly surprised and grieved, and could not refrain from -somewhat bitterly censuring his wife for her unpardonable imprudence. -The _pristav_, who was evidently reassured by the aspect of the husband -and of the whole household, declared nevertheless that he must make a -search. - -“I hope you will excuse me, sir,” he added, “but I am obliged to do it; -it is my duty.” - -“I willingly submit to the law,” nobly replied the engineer. - -Thereupon he pointed to the room, so as to indicate that the _pristav_ -was free to search it thoroughly, and having lit a candle with his -own hand, for at that hour in St. Petersburg it was already dark, he -quietly opened the door of the adjoining room, which was his own little -place. - -The search was made. Certainly not a single scrap of paper was found, -written or printed, which smelt of Nihilism. - -“By rights I ought to take the lady to prison,” said the _pristav_, -when he had finished his search, “especially as her previous behavior -was anything but what it ought to have been; but I won’t do that. I -will simply keep you under arrest here until your passports have been -verified. You see, sir,” he added, “we police officers are not quite so -bad as the Nihilists make us out.” - -“There are always honest men in every occupation,” replied the engineer -with a gracious bow. - -More compliments of the same kind, which I need not repeat, were -exchanged between them, and the _pristav_ went away with most of his -men, well impressed with such a polite and pleasant reception. He left, -however, a guard in the kitchen, with strict injunctions not to lose -sight of the host and hostess, until further orders. - -Morosoff and Olga were alone. The first act of the comedy they had -improvised had met with complete success. But the storm was far from -having blown over. The verification of their passports would show that -they were false. The inevitable consequence would be a warrant for -their arrest, which might be issued at any moment if the verification -were made by means of the telegraph. The sentinel, rigid, motionless, -with his sword by his side and his revolver in his belt, was seated in -the kitchen, which was at the back, exactly opposite the outer door, -so that it was impossible to approach the door without being seen by -him. For several hours they racked their brains and discussed, in a low -voice, various plans of escape. To free themselves by main force was -not to be thought of. No arms had been left in the place, for they had -been purposely taken away. Yet without weapons, how could they grapple -with this big sturdy fellow, armed as he was? They hoped that as the -hours passed on he would fall asleep. But this hope was not realised. -When, at about half-past ten, Morosoff, under the pretext of going into -his little room, which was used for various domestic purposes, passed -near the kitchen, he saw the man still at his post, with his eyes wide -open, attentive and vigilant as at first. Yet when Morosoff returned -Olga would have declared that the way was quite clear and that they had -nothing to do but to leave, so beaming were his eyes. He had, in fact, -found what he wanted—a plan simple and safe. The little room opened -into the small corridor which served as a sort of antechamber, and its -door flanked that of the kitchen. In returning to the sitting-room, -Morosoff observed that when the door of the little room was wide open, -it completely shut out the view of the kitchen, and consequently hid -from the policeman the outer door, and also that of the sitting-room. -It would be possible, therefore, at a given moment, to pass through -the antechamber without being seen by the sentinel. But this could not -be done unless some one came and opened the door of the little room. -Neither Olga nor Morosoff could do this, for if, under some pretext, -they opened it, they would of course have to leave it open. This would -immediately arouse suspicion, and the policeman would run after them -and catch them perhaps before they had descended the staircase. Could -they trust the landlady? The temptation to do so was great. If she -consented to assist them, success might be considered certain. But if -she refused! Who could guarantee that, from fear of being punished as -an accomplice, she would not go and reveal everything to the police? Of -course she did not suspect in the least what kind of people her lodgers -were. - -Nothing, therefore, was said to her, but they hoped nevertheless to -have her unconscious assistance, and it was upon that Morosoff had -based his plan. About eleven o’clock she went into the little room, -where the pump was placed, to get the water to fill the kitchen -cistern for next day’s consumption. As the room was very small, she -generally left one of the two pails in the corridor, while she filled -the other with water, and, of course, was thus obliged to leave the -door open. Everything thus depended upon the position in which she -placed her pail. An inch or two on one side or the other would decide -their fate; for it was only when the door of the little room was wide -open that it shut out the view of the kitchen and concealed the end -of the antechamber. If not wide open, part of the outer door could be -seen. There remained half an hour before the decisive moment, which -both employed in preparing for flight. Their wraps were hanging up in -the wardrobe in the antechamber. They had, therefore, to put on what -they had with them in the sitting-room. Morosoff put on a light summer -overcoat. Olga threw over her shoulders a woollen scarf, to protect -her somewhat from the cold. In order to deaden as much as possible -the sounds of their hasty footsteps, which might arouse the attention -of the sentinel in the profound silence of the night, both of them -put on their goloshes, which, being elastic, made but little noise. -They had to put them on next to their stockings, although it was not -particularly agreeable at that season, for they were in their slippers, -their shoes having been purposely sent into the kitchen to be cleaned -for the following day, in order to remove all suspicion respecting -their intentions. - -Everything being prepared, they remained in readiness, listening to -every sound made by the landlady. At last came the clanging of the -empty pails. She went to the little room, threw open the door, and -began her work. The moment had arrived. Morosoff cast a hasty glance. -Oh, horror! The empty pail scarcely projected beyond the threshold, and -the door was at a very acute angle, so that even from the door of the -sitting-room where they were part of the interior of the kitchen could -be seen. He turned towards Olga, who was standing behind him holding -her breath, and made an energetic sign in the negative. A few minutes -passed, which seemed like hours. The pumping ceased; the pail was full. -She was about to place it on the floor. Both stretched their necks and -advanced a step, being unable to control the anxiety of their suspense. -This time the heavy pail banged against the door and forced it back on -its hinges, a stream of water being spilt. The view of the kitchen was -completely shut out, but another disaster had occurred. Overbalanced -by the heavy weight, the landlady had come half out into the corridor. -“She has seen us,” whispered Morosoff, falling back pale as death. -“No,” replied Olga, excitedly; and she was right. The landlady -disappeared into the little room, and a moment afterwards recommenced -her clattering work. - -Without losing a moment, without even turning round, Morosoff gave the -signal to his companion by a firm grip of the hand, and both issued -forth, hastily passed through the corridor, softly opened the door, and -found themselves upon the landing of the staircase. With cautious steps -they descended, and were in the street, ill clad but very light of -heart. A quarter of an hour afterwards they were in a house where they -were being anxiously awaited by their friends, who welcomed them with a -joy more easy to imagine than to describe. - -In their own abode their flight was not discovered until late in the -morning, when the landlady came to do the room. - -Such was the adventure, narrated exactly as it happened, which -contributed, as I have said, to give rise to the saying that these two -were invincible when together. When the police became aware of the -escape of the supposed engineer and his wife, they saw at once that -they had been outwitted. The _pristav_, who had been so thoroughly -taken in, had a terrible time of it, and proceeded with the utmost -eagerness to make investigations somewhat behindhand. The verification -of the passports of course showed that they were false. The two -fugitives were therefore “illegal” people, but the police wished to -know, at all events, who they were, and to discover this was not very -difficult, for both had already been in the hands of the police, who, -therefore, were in possession of their photographs. The landlady and -the _dvornik_ recognised them among a hundred shown to them by the -gendarmes. A comparison with the description of them, also preserved in -the archives of the gendarmerie, left no doubt of their identity. It -was in this manner the police found out what big fish they had stupidly -allowed to escape from their net, as may be seen by reading the report -of the trial of Sciriaeff and his companions. With extreme but somewhat -tardy zeal, the gendarmes ransacked every place in search of them. They -had their trouble for nothing. A Nihilist who thoroughly determines -to conceal himself can never be found. He falls into the hands of the -police only when he returns to active life. - -When the search for them began to relax, Olga and Morosoff quitted -their place of concealment and resumed their positions in the ranks. -Some months afterwards they went abroad in order to legitimatise their -union, so that if some day they were arrested it might be recognised by -the police. They crossed the frontier of Roumania unmolested, stopped -there some time, and having arranged their private affairs went to -reside for awhile at Geneva, where Morosoff wished to finish a work of -some length upon the Russian revolutionary movement. Here, Olga gave -birth to a daughter, and for awhile it seemed that all the strength -of her ardent and exceptional disposition would concentrate itself in -maternal love. She did not appear to care for anything. She seemed even -to forget her husband in her exclusive devotion to the little one. -There was something almost wild in the intensity of her love. - -Four months passed, and Morosoff, obeying the call of duty, chafing at -inactivity, and eager for the struggle, returned to Russia. Olga could -not follow him with her baby at the breast, and, oppressed by a -mournful presentiment, allowed him to depart alone. - -A fortnight after he was arrested. - -On hearing this terrible news, Olga did not swoon, she did not wring -her hands, she did not even shed a single tear. She stifled her grief. -A single, irresistible, and supreme idea pervaded her—to fly to him; -to save him at all costs; by money, by craft, by the dagger, by poison, -even at the risk of her own life, so that she could but save him. - -And the child? That poor little weak and delicate creature, who needed -all her maternal care to support its feeble life? What could she do -with the poor innocent babe, already almost an orphan? - -She could not take it with her. She must leave it behind. - -Terrible was the night which the poor mother passed with her child -before setting out. Who can depict the indescribable anguish of her -heart, with the horrible alternative placed before her of forsaking her -child to save the man she loved, or of forsaking him to save the little -one. On the one side was maternal feeling; on the other her ideal, her -convictions, her devotion to the cause which he steadfastly served. - -She did not hesitate for a moment. She must go. - -On the morning of the day fixed she took leave of all her friends, shut -herself up alone with her child, and remained with it for some minutes -to bid it farewell. When she issued forth, her face was pale as death -and wet with tears. - -She set out. She moved heaven and earth to save her husband. Twenty -times she was within an ace of being arrested. But it was impossible -for her efforts to avail. As implicated in the attempt against the life -of the Emperor, he was confined in the fortress of St. Peter and St. -Paul; and there is no escape from there. She did not relax her efforts, -but stubbornly and doggedly continued them, and all this while was in -agony if she did not constantly hear about her child. If the letters -were delayed a day or two, her anguish could not be restrained. The -child was ever present in her mind. One day she took compassion on a -little puppy, still blind, which she found upon a heap of rubbish, -where it had been thrown. “My friends laugh at me,” she wrote, “but I -love it because its little feeble cries remind me of those of my child.” - -Meanwhile the child died. For a whole month no one had the courage to -tell the sad news. But at last the silence had to be broken. - -Olga herself was arrested a few weeks afterwards. - -Such is the story, the true story, of Olga Liubatovitch. Of Olga -Liubatovitch, do I say? No—of hundreds and hundreds of others. I -should not have related it had it not been so.—_Cornhill Magazine_. - - - - -AMONG THE TRAPPISTS. - -A GLIMPSE OF LIFE AT LE PORT DU SALUT. - - -BY SURGEON-GENERAL H. L. COWEN. - -The monastic order of Trappists—a branch of the Cistercian—possesses -monasteries in many parts of Europe, one, composed of German brethren, -being in Turkey. Some of these establishments are agricultural or -industrial associations; others are reformatories for juvenile -delinquents; while some have been instituted for effecting works that -might be dangerous to health and life, such as draining marshy lands -where the fatal malaria broods. - -The Monastery of La Trappe le Port du Salut, the subject of the present -description, stands near the village of Entrammes, at Port Raingeard, -on the river Mayenne, on the borders of Maine, Anjou, and Brittany. -Its site has been most picturesquely chosen in a charming nook, where -the stream having rapidly passed through some rocky cliffs suddenly -expands, and flows slowly through rich pasture-lands. With its church, -farms, water-mill, cattle-sheds, gardens, and orchards, the whole -settlement looks like a hamlet surrounded with an enclosure (_clôture_) -marking the limits of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction. A narrow -passage between two high walls leads to the entrance-gate, bearing the -inscription, “Hic est Portus Salutis,”—“Here is the haven of safety.” -A long chain with an iron cross for a handle being pulled and a bell -rung, a porter opens a wicket, bows his head down to his knees—the -obligatory salutation of the Trappist—and in silence awaits the -ringer’s interrogation. The latter may have come simply from curiosity, -or he may be a traveller seeking for shelter and hospitality, a beggar -asking alms, or even a wrong-doer in search of an asylum; he may be -rich or poor, Christian, Jew, or Mohammedan—no matter! the porter at -once grants admittance, conducts him to the guests’ reception-room, and -summons the hostelier. - -A monk in white robes appears, his head shaven with the exception -of a ring of hair. He bows as did the porter. If the visitor only -contemplates a stay of a few hours no formality is gone through; -a meal and refreshments are offered, and he is conducted over the -monastery. But if he proposes to sleep there, the monk, whose rules are -to consider that every guest has been guided to the place by our Lord -Himself, says, “I must worship in your person Jesus Christ, suffering -and asking hospitality; pray do not heed what I am about to do.” He -then falls prostrate on the ground, and so remains for a short time, -in silent devotion. After this he leads the way to an adjoining room, -and requests the visitor to write his name in a book, open here, as -elsewhere in France, for the inspection of the police. The entry made, -the father hostelier (as he is called) reads from “The Imitation of -Jesus Christ” the first passage that attracts his eye. In the case of -our informant it was “I come to you, my son, because you have called -me.” But whatever the text may be, he adds, “Let these words form the -subject of your meditations during your stay at La Trappe.” - -The _Communauté_ is the name of the monks’ private buildings, where -no strangers are permitted to penetrate, except by special permission -and accompanied by a father. Here perpetual silence is prescribed, -save during the times of religious service, and the visitor is warned -that in his tour around the domicile he is to kneel, pray, and make -the sign of the cross when and where he sees his companion do so. This -proceeding would at first sight seem to exclude from the monastery all -non-Roman Catholics. The member of any religious communion, however, is -welcome, provided he pays a certain deference to the rules, and as the -Trappist guide walks in advance, and never turns round to observe how -his guest is engaged, all derelictions in minor matters are purposely -allowed to escape his notice. Were it otherwise, he would at once -retrace his steps, lead the way to the entrance-door, show the visitor -out, and without uttering a single word, bow and leave him there. - -The church is a part of the _Communauté_, and is plain in architecture -and simple in ornamentation. Here it is that each Trappist is brought -to die. Whenever any monk is in the throes of death, an assistant -of the hospital runs about the monastery striking with a stick on a -board. At that well-known summons the brethren flock to the church, -where their dying brother has been already laid on ashes strewn on the -stones in the shape of a cross, and covered with a bundle of straw. -A solemn joy lights up every face, and the Trappist passes away amid -the thanksgiving of his companions who envy his happiness. It is the -_finis coronat opus_ of his life-work. - -The Trappist must always be ready for the grave, and as he is to be -buried in his religious vestments, so he is bound to sleep in those -same vestments, even to the extent of keeping his shoes on. The -dormitory is common to all, the abbot included. The beds are made -of quilted straw, as hard as a board, and are separated by a wooden -partition, without doors, reaching more than half way to the ceiling. -There is not the least distinction of accommodation. The Superior rests -not more luxuriously than the brethren, because equality rules here as -elsewhere in the monastery. For La Trappe is a republic governed by a -Chapter, the abbot being only the executive for all temporal affairs, -and wielding absolute power in spiritual matters alone. But although -he holds authority from the see of Rome, yet he is elected by the -brethren, who may if they choose elevate the humblest official of the -monastery. There are no menial occupations, as the world esteems them, -inside the religious houses of the order. The commonest duties may be -performed by inmates of the highest social rank. - -The Chapter House answers the double purpose of a hall for meetings and -of a reading-room. The Chapter assembles daily at 5 A.M.—the -fathers in their white gowns, the brethren in their brown ones—in -order to discuss any matter, temporal or spiritual, interesting to -the general community. When the secular business of the day has been -gone through the abbot says, “Let us speak concerning our rules,” -implying that any derelictions which may have occurred during the -past twenty-four hours are to be considered. Then all the monks in -succession, as they may have occasion, accuse themselves of any -neglect, even the most trivial. One may say, “Reverend Father,” -addressing the abbot, “I accidentally dropped my tools when working;” -another, “I did not bow low enough when Brother Joseph passed me;” a -third, “I saw that Brother Antony carried a load that was too heavy, -and I did not assist him.” These and such like self-accusations may -seem puerile, but they lead up to the preservation of some of the -essential precepts of the order, unremitting attention while at labor, -deferential demeanor and Christian courtesy towards brethren. - -But if any brother may have omitted to mention derelictions of which he -himself was not aware it then devolves upon his companions, with the -view of maintaining rules, on the observance of which the happiness -of all is concerned, to state to the abbot what those faults may have -been. For instance, one will say, “When Brother Simeon comes to the -Chapter he sometimes forgets to make the sign for the brethren who -stood up on his arrival to sit down again, and yesterday Brother Peter -remained standing for one hour, until another brother came in and made -the sign to be seated.” Thus warned Brother Simeon rises and kisses the -informant, thanking him in this way for kindly reproving him. These -accusations are considered by the brethren as showing their zeal for -reciprocal improvement. - -The Trappist is bound to make the abbot acquainted at once with -everything that occurs within the precinct of the monastery, and -minutiæ of the most trifling and sometimes even ludicrous nature must -be reported without delay. To the same ear, and in private, must also -be communicated those confessions in which personal feelings—even -against himself—are concerned. To quote a single instance. It once so -happened that a brother of Le Port du Salut took a dislike to -Dom. H. M., the abbot, and came to tell him of it. - -“Reverend Father, I am very unhappy.” - -“Why so, brother?” - -“Reverend Father, I cannot bear the sight of you.” - -“Why so?” - -“I do not know; but when I see you I feel hatred towards you, and it -destroys my peace of mind.” - -“It is a temptation as bad, but not worse, than any other,” replied the -abbot; “bear it patiently; do not heed it; and whenever you feel it -again come at once and tell me, and especially warn me if I say or do -anything that displeases you.” - -The common belief that Trappists never speak is altogether erroneous. -They do speak at stated times and under certain conditions, and -they make use besides of most expressive signs, each of which is -symbolical. Thus joining the fingers of both hands at a right angle, -imitating as it does the roof of a house, means _house_; touching the -forehead signifies the _abbot_; the chin, a _stranger_; the heart, a -_brother_; the eyes, to _sleep_, and so on with some hundreds of like -signs invented by Abbé de Rance, the founder of the order. Trappists -converse in this manner with amazing rapidity, and may be heard -laughing heartily at the comicality of a story told entirely by signs. -Strange to say there is no austere gloom about the Trappist. His face -invariably bears the stamp of serenity, often that of half-subdued -gaiety. The life he leads is nevertheless a very hard one. No fire is -allowed in the winter except in the _chauffoir_ or stove-room, and -there the monks are permitted during excessive cold weather to come -in for fifteen minutes only, the man nearest the stove yielding his -place to the new-comer. The _chauffoir_ and the hospital are the only -artificially heated apartments in the building. - -The Trappist takes but one meal and a slight refection per day. He is -the strictest of all vegetarians, for he is not allowed to partake of -any other food except milk and cheese. From the 14th of September to -the Saturday in Passion week, he must not even touch milk. Vegetables -cooked in water, with a little salt, together with some cider apples, -pears and almonds, being all that is permitted him, and during that -long period he takes food but once daily. The diet is not precisely -the same in all monasteries, certain modifications being authorised, -according to the produce of the monastic lands. Thus at Le Port du -Salut they brew and drink beer and at other places where wine is made -they use that in very limited quantities, largely diluted with water. - -Trappists wait in turn at table upon their brethren. No one, not even -the abbot, is to ask for anything for himself, but each monk is bound -to see that those seated on either side of him get everything they are -entitled to, and to give notice of any omission by giving a slight tap -upon the table and pointing with the finger to the neglected brother. - -Any monk arriving in the refectory after grace prostrates himself in -the middle of the room and remains there until the abbot knocks with a -small hammer and thus liberates him. A graver punishment is inflicted -now and again at the conclusion of dinner. The culprit, so called, lies -flat on the stones across the doorway, and each brother and guest is -compelled to step over him as he makes his exit. I say guest advisedly, -for it is the privilege of all who receive hospitality at La Trappe to -dine once—not oftener—in the monks’ refectory. During meals one of -the Brotherhood reads aloud, in accordance with Cistercian practice. - -The dinner at Le Port du Salut consists generally of vegetable soup, -salad without oil, whole-meal bread, cheese, and a modicum of light -beer. Though the cooking is of the plainest description the quality of -the vegetables is excellent, and the cheese has become quite famous. -The meal never lasts longer than twenty minutes, and when over, all -remaining scraps are distributed to the poor assembled at the gate. -Six hundred pounds weight of bread and several casks of soup are also -distributed weekly, besides what the abbot may send to any sick person -in the vicinity. - -The ailing Trappist is allowed to indulge in what is called _Le -Soulagement_, viz. two eggs taken early in the morning. In cases of -very severe illness, and when under medical treatment in the hospital, -animal food may be used; but the attachment to rules is so great that -the authority of the Superiors has frequently to be exercised in order -to enforce the doctor’s prescription. In the words of Father Martin, -the attendant of the hospital, “When a Trappist consents to eat meat, -he is at death’s very door.” - -The cemetery is surrounded on all sides by the buildings of the -_Communauté_, so that from every window the monks may see their last -resting place. The graves are indicated by a slight rising of the grass -and by a cross bearing the saint’s name assumed by the brother on his -_profession_. Nothing else is recorded save his age and the date of -his death. Threescore years and ten seem to be the minimum of life at -La Trappe, and astonishing as this longevity may appear _primâ facie_, -it is more so when one considers that the vocation of most postulants -has been determined by a desire to separate themselves from a world, -in which they had previously lost their peace of soul and their bodily -health. - -Under the regularity of monastic life, its labor, its tranquillity, -and either despite the severity of the diet or in virtue of it, it is -wonderful how soon the dejected and feeble become restored to health. -Out of fifteen novices, statistics show that only one remains to be -what is called a _profès_, the other fourteen leaving the monastery -before the expiration of two years. A touching custom may be here -mentioned. Trappists are told in their Chapter meeting, “Brethren, one -of us has lost a father (or any other relation); let us pray for the -departed soul.” But none know the name of the bereft brother. - -After having taken vows as a _profès_ the Trappist holds a -co-proprietorship in the buildings and lands of the association and -must live and die in the monastery. Death is his goal and best hope. -In order to remind him of it, a grave is always ready in the cemetery; -but the belief is altogether erroneous that each Trappist digs his own -grave. When the earth yawning for the dead has been filled, another pit -is opened _by any one ordered for the task_. Each Trappist then comes -and prays at the side of this grave which may be his own. Neither do -Trappists when they meet each other say, “Brother, we must die,” as is -also generally accredited to them. This is, we think, the salute of the -disciples of Bruno at La Grande Chartreuse. - -The farm buildings of Le Port du Salut are many and various, including -sheds for cattle, a corn-mill, and looms for the manufacture of the -woollen and cotton clothing the monks wear. There is much land, -outside, as well as inside the walls of the precinct, which the monks -cultivate, and they may be often seen in their full robes, despite the -heat of the summer, working steadfastly in the fields, and the abbot -harder than any of them. - -During the twenty-four hours of an ordinary working day the Trappist -is thus employed. He rises generally at two A.M., but on -feast days at midnight or at one o’clock in the morning according to -the importance of the festival. He immediately goes to church, which -is shrouded in darkness, except the light that glimmers from the small -lamps perpetually burning before the altar as in all Roman Catholic -churches. The first service continues until three o’clock; at that -hour and with the last words of the hymn all the monks prostrate -themselves on the stones and remain in silent meditation during thirty -minutes. The nave is then lighted, and the chants are resumed until -five A.M., when masses commence. The number of hours given to -liturgic offices is, on an average, seven per day. Singing, but in a -peculiar way, forms a part of the worship. All the musical notes are -long and of equal duration, and this because the Trappist must sing -hymns “for the love of God, and not for his own delectation.” Moreover, -he must exert his voice to its utmost, and this being prolonged at -intervals during seven hours per diem proves a greater fatigue than -even manual labor. - -The distribution of the labor takes place every day under the -superintendence of the abbot, the prior, and the cellérier, the last -named official having the care of all the temporalities of the place, -and being permitted, like the Superior, to hold intercourse with the -outer world. The cellérier stands indeed in the same relation to the -monastery as does a supercargo to a ship. - -Labor is regular or occasional. To the first the brethren are -definitely appointed, and their work is every day the same; the latter, -which is mainly agricultural, is alloted by the Superior according -to age, physical condition, and aptitude, but it is imperative that -every monk _must participate in manual labor_. Even a guest may, if he -pleases, claim, what is considered as _a privilege_, three hours of -work a day. - -After dinner the Trappist gives one hour to rest, but the maximum never -exceeds seven hours, and on feast days is materially reduced by earlier -rising. The mid-day siesta over, labor continues until a quarter to -five o’clock, which is the hour of refection. Then comes the last -religious office of the day, the “Salve Regina,” at which guests as -well as brethren are expected to assist. The last word of the hymn at -this service is the last word of the day. It is called “The Time of the -Great Silence.” Monks and guests then leave the church, smothering the -sound of their footsteps as much as possible, and noiselessly retire -to their respective resting places; lights are put out, except in case -of special permission of the abbot, and a death-like quiet and gloom -reigns everywhere throughout the habitation. - -The life of guests at Le Port du Salut differs from that of a Trappist. -There is a parlor common to all, with a fire burning in it during -winter, but each one sleeps in a separate cell, and has three meals -a day; he may eat eggs from Easter until September, and have his -vegetables cooked with butter. Last, though not least, his wants are -attended to, and his cell swept and cleaned by the father and the -brother of the hostelerie, who are also at liberty to hold conversation -with him. - -A guest may stay in the monastery for three days without giving any -particulars of himself, for fourteen days if he chooses to disclose who -and what he is, and for as much as three months if his circumstances -seem to need it. After that time, if he be poor, he may be sent away to -another monastery at the cost of the senders; but the abbot is free to -extend a guest’s visit to any duration. - -Trappists are most useful citizens. They perform, per head, more labor -than any farmer; they expend upon their own maintenance the very -minimum necessary to support existence; they undertake at the cost of -their lives works of great public utility, such as the draining of the -extensive marshes of Les Dombes, in the south of France, and of La -Metidja, at Staouëli, near Algiers, which they are converting into -fruitful fields. As horticulturists, agriculturists, dairymen, millers, -and breeders of cattle they are unrivalled; for men whose faith is -that to work is to pray, cannot fail to excel those with whom work -is, if even necessary, a tiresome obligation. Lastly, in all new -establishments, the Trappist only considers his monastery founded when -a dead brother has taken possession of the land and lies buried in the -first open grave. - -Such is the real life of the Trappists. It is apparently a happy one; -and it is with feelings of deep regret and of friendly remembrance that -the departing guest, as he reaches a turning of the road, and sees the -steeple of the monastery of Le Port du Salut disappear, stands for a -moment to cast a last look upon that peaceful abode ere he wends his -way again into the wide, wide world.—_Good Words._ - - - - -THUNDERBOLTS. - - -The subject of thunderbolts is a very fascinating one, and all the -more so because there are no such things in existence at all as -thunderbolts of any sort. Like the snakes of Iceland, their whole -history might, from the positive point of view at least, be summed up -in the simple statement of their utter nonentity. But does that do away -in the least, I should like to know, with their intrinsic interest and -importance? Not a bit of it. It only adds to the mystery and charm of -the whole subject. Does any one feel as keenly interested in any real -living cobra or anaconda as in the non-existent great sea-serpent? -Are ghosts and vampires less attractive objects of popular study than -cats and donkeys? Can the present King of Abyssinia, interviewed by -our own correspondent, equal the romantic charm of Prester John, or -the butcher in the next street rival the personality of Sir Roger -Charles Doughty Tichborne, Baronet? No, the real fact is this: if -there _were_ thunderbolts, the question of their nature and action -would be a wholly dull, scientific, and priggish one; it is their -unreality alone that invests them with all the mysterious weirdness -of pure fiction. Lightning, now, is a common thing that one reads -about wearily in the books on electricity, a mere ordinary matter of -positive and negative, density and potential, to be measured in ohms -(whatever they may be), and partially imitated with Leyden jars and -red sealing-wax apparatus. Why, did not Benjamin Franklin, a fat old -gentleman in ill-fitting small clothes, bring it down from the clouds -with a simple door-key, somewhere near Philadelphia? and does not Mr. -Robert Scott (of the Meteorological Office) calmly predict its probable -occurrence within the next twenty-four hours in his daily report, as -published regularly in the morning papers? This is lightning, mere -vulgar lightning, a simple result of electrical conditions in the upper -atmosphere, inconveniently connected with algebraical formulas in _x_, -_y_, _z_, with horrid symbols interspersed in Greek letters. But -the real thunderbolts of Jove, the weapons that the angry Zeus, or Thor, -or Indra hurls down upon the head of the trembling malefactor—how -infinitely grander, more fearsome, and more mysterious! - -And yet even nowadays, I believe, there are a large number of -well-informed people, who have passed the sixth standard, taken prizes -at the Oxford Local, and attended the dullest lectures of the Society -for University Extension, but who nevertheless in some vague and dim -corner of their consciousness retain somehow a lingering faith in the -existence of thunderbolts. They have not yet grasped in its entirety -the simple truth that lightning is the reality of which thunderbolts -are the mythical or fanciful or verbal representation. We all of us -know now that lightning is a mere flash of electric light and heat; -that it has no solid existence or core of any sort; in short, that it -is dynamical rather than material, a state or movement rather than a -body or thing. To be sure, local newspapers still talk with much show -of learning about the “electric fluid” which did such remarkable damage -last week upon the slated steeple of Peddington Torpida church; but the -well-crammed schoolboy of the present day has long since learned that -the electric fluid is an exploded fallacy, and that the lightning which -pulled the ten slates off the steeple in question was nothing more in -its real nature than a very big immaterial spark. However, the word -thunderbolt has survived to us from the days when people still believed -that the thing which did the damage during a thunderstorm was really -and truly a gigantic white-hot bolt or arrow; and as there is a natural -tendency in human nature to fit an existence to every word, people -even now continue to imagine that there must be actually something or -other somewhere called a thunderbolt. They don’t figure this thing to -themselves as being identical with the lightning; on the contrary, they -seem to regard it as something infinitely rarer, more terrible, and -more mystic; but they firmly hold that thunderbolts do exist in real -life, and even sometimes assert that they themselves have positively -seen them. - -But if seeing is believing, it is equally true, as all who have looked -into the phenomena of spiritualism and “psychical research” (modern -English for ghost-hunting), know too well that believing is seeing -also. The origin of the faith in thunderbolts must be looked for (like -the origin of the faith in ghosts and “psychical phenomena”) far -back in the history of our race. The noble savage, at that early -period when wild in woods he ran, naturally noticed the existence -of thunder and lightning, because thunder and lightning are things -that forcibly obtrude themselves upon the attention of the observer, -however little he may by nature be scientifically inclined. Indeed, -the noble savage, sleeping naked on the bare ground, in tropical -countries where thunder occurs almost every night on an average, was -sure to be pretty often awaked from his peaceful slumbers by the -torrents of rain that habitually accompany thunderstorms in the happy -realms of everlasting dog-days. Primitive man was thereupon compelled -to do a little philosophising on his own account as to the cause and -origin of the rumbling and flashing which he saw so constantly around -him. Naturally enough, he concluded that the sound must be the voice -of somebody; and that the fiery shaft, whose effects he sometimes -noted upon trees, animals, and his fellow-man, must be the somebody’s -arrow. It is immaterial from this point of view whether, as the -scientific anthropologists hold, he was led to his conception of these -supernatural personages from his prior belief in ghosts and spirits, or -whether, as Professor Max Müller will have it, he felt a deep yearning -in his primitive savage breast toward the Infinite and the Unknowable -(which he would doubtless have spelt like the professor, with a capital -initial, had he been acquainted with the intricacies of the yet -uninvented alphabet); but this much at least is pretty certain, that he -looked upon the thunder and the lightning as in some sense the voice -and the arrows of an aërial god. - -Now, this idea about the arrows is itself very significant of the -mental attitude of primitive man, and of the way that mental attitude -has colored all subsequent thinking and superstition upon this very -subject. Curiously enough, to the present day the conception of the -thunderbolt is essentially one of a _bolt_—that is to say, an arrow, -or at least an arrowhead. All existing thunderbolts (and there are -plenty of them lying about casually in country houses and local -museums) are more or less arrow-like in shape and appearance; some of -them, indeed, as we shall see by-and-by, are the actual stone arrow -heads of primitive man himself in person. Of course the noble savage -was himself in the constant habit of shooting at animals and enemies -with a bow and arrow. When, then, he tried to figure to himself the -angry god, seated in the stormclouds, who spoke with such a loud -rumbling voice, and killed those who displeased him, with his fiery -darts, he naturally thought of him as using in his cloudy home the -familiar bow and arrow of this nether planet. To us nowadays, if we -were to begin forming the idea for ourselves all over again _de novo_, -it would be far more natural to think of the thunder as the noise of -a big gun, of the lightning as the flash of the powder, and of the -supposed “bolt” as a shell or bullet. There is really a ridiculous -resemblance between a thunderstorm and a discharge of artillery. But -the old conception derived from so many generations of primitive men -has held its own against such mere modern devices as gunpowder and -rifle balls; and none of the objects commonly shown as thunderbolts -are ever round: they are distinguished, whatever their origin, by the -common peculiarity that they more or less closely resemble a dart or -arrowhead. - -Let us begin, then, by clearly disembarrassing our minds of any -lingering belief in the existence of thunderbolts. There are absolutely -no such things known to science. The two real phenomena that underlie -the fable are simply thunder and lightning. A thunderstorm is merely -a series of electrical discharges between one cloud and another, or -between clouds and the earth; and these discharges manifest themselves -to our senses under two forms—to the eye as lightning, to the ear as -thunder. All that passes in each case is a huge spark—a commotion, -not a material object. It is in principle just like the spark from -an electrical machine; but while the most powerful machine of human -construction will only send a spark for three feet, the enormous -electrical apparatus provided for us by nature will send one for -four, five, or even ten miles. Though lightning when it touches the -earth always seems to us to come from the clouds to the ground, it is -by no means certain that the real course may not at least occasionally -be in the opposite direction. All we know is that sometimes there is an -instantaneous discharge between one cloud and another, and sometimes an -instantaneous discharge between a cloud and the earth. - -But this idea of a mere passage of highly concentrated energy from -one point to another was far too abstract, of course, for primitive -man, and is far too abstract even now for nine out of ten of our -fellow-creatures. Those who don’t still believe in the bodily -thunderbolt, a fearsome aërial weapon which buries itself deep in the -bosom of the earth, look upon lightning as at least an embodiment of -the electric fluid, a long spout or line of molten fire, which is -usually conceived of as striking the ground and then proceeding to -hide itself under the roots of a tree or beneath the foundations of a -tottering house. Primitive man naturally took to the grosser and more -material conception. He figured to himself the thunderbolt as a barbed -arrowhead; and the forked zigzag character of the visible flash, as it -darts rapidly from point to point, seemed almost inevitably to suggest -to him the barbs, as one sees them represented on all the Greek and -Roman gems, in the red right hand of the angry Jupiter. - -The thunderbolt being thus an accepted fact, it followed naturally -that whenever any dart-like object of unknown origin was dug up out -of the ground, it was at once set down as being a thunderbolt; and, -on the other hand, the frequent occurrence of such dart-like objects, -precisely where one might expect to find them in accordance with -the theory, necessarily strengthened the belief itself. So commonly -are thunderbolts picked up to the present day that to disbelieve in -them seems to many country people a piece of ridiculous and stubborn -scepticism. Why, they’ve ploughed up dozens of them themselves in their -time, and just about the very place where the thunderbolt struck the -old elm-tree two years ago, too. - -The most favorite form of thunderbolt is the polished stone hatchet or -“celt” of the newer stone age men. I have never heard the very rude -chipped and unpolished axes of the older drift men or cave men described -as thunderbolts: they are too rough and shapeless ever to attract -attention from any except professed archæologists. Indeed, the wicked -have been known to scoff at them freely as mere accidental lumps of -broken flint, and to deride the notion of their being due in any way -to deliberate human handicraft. These are the sort of people who would -regard a grand piano as a fortuitous concourse of atoms. But the -shapely stone hatchet of the later neolithic farmer and herdsman is -usually a beautifully polished wedge-shaped piece of solid greenstone; -and its edge has been ground to such a delicate smoothness that it -seems rather like a bit of nature’s exquisite workmanship than a simple -relic of prehistoric man. There is something very fascinating about -the naïf belief that the neolithic axe is a genuine unadulterated -thunderbolt. You dig it up in the ground exactly where you would expect -a thunderbolt (if there were such things) to be. It is heavy, smooth, -well shaped, and neatly pointed at one end. If it could really descend -in a red-hot state from the depths of the sky, launched forth like a -cannon-ball by some fierce discharge of heavenly artillery, it would -certainly prove a very formidable weapon indeed; and one could easily -imagine it scoring the bark of some aged oak, or tearing off the tiles -from a projecting turret, exactly as the lightning is so well known to -do in this prosaic workaday world of ours. In short, there is really -nothing on earth against the theory of the stone axe being a true -thunderbolt, except the fact that it unfortunately happens to be a -neolithic hatchet. - -But the course of reasoning by which we discover the true nature of -the stone axe is not one that would in any case appeal strongly to -the fancy or the intelligence of the British farmer. It is no use -telling him that whenever one opens a barrow of the stone age one is -pretty sure to find a neolithic axe and a few broken pieces of pottery -beside the mouldering skeleton of the old nameless chief who lies -there buried. The British farmer will doubtless stolidly retort that -thunderbolts often strike the tops of hills, which are just the places -where barrows and tumuli (tumps, he calls them) most do congregate; -and that as to the skeleton, isn’t it just as likely that the man was -killed by the thunderbolt as that the thunderbolt was made by a man? -Ay, and a sight likelier, too. - -All the world over, this simple and easy belief, that the buried stone -axe is a thunderbolt, exists among Europeans and savages alike. In -the West of England, the laborers will tell you that the thunder-axes -they dig up fell from the sky. In Brittany, says Mr. Tylor, the old -man who mends umbrellas at Carnac, beside the mysterious stone avenues -of that great French Stonehenge, inquires on his rounds for _pierres -de tonnerre_, which of course are found with suspicious frequency in -the immediate neighborhood of prehistoric remains. In the Chinese -Encyclopædia we are told that the “lightning stones” have sometimes -the shape of a hatchet, sometimes that of a knife, and sometimes that -of a mallet. And then, by a curious misapprehension, the sapient -author of that work goes on to observe that these lightning stones are -used by the wandering Mongols instead of copper and steel. It never -seems to have struck his celestial intelligence that the Mongols made -the lightning stones instead of digging them up out of the earth. So -deeply had the idea of the thunderbolt buried itself in the recesses -of his soul, that though a neighboring people were still actually -manufacturing stone axes almost under his very eyes, he reversed -mentally the entire process, and supposed they dug up the thunderbolts -which he saw them using, and employed them as common hatchets. This -is one of the finest instances on record of the popular figure which -grammarians call the _hysteron proteron_, and ordinary folk describe -as putting the cart before the horse. Just so, while in some parts -of Brazil the Indians are still laboriously polishing their stone -hatchets, in other parts the planters are digging up the precisely -similar stone hatchets of earlier generations, and religiously -preserving them in their houses as undoubted thunderbolts. I have -myself had pressed upon my attention as genuine lightning stones, in -the West Indies, the exquisitely polished greenstone tomahawks of the -old Carib marauders. But then, in this matter, I am pretty much in the -position of that philosophic sceptic who, when he was asked by a lady -whether he believed in ghosts, answered wisely, “No, madam, I have seen -by far too many of them.” - -One of the finest accounts ever given of the nature of thunderbolts -is that mentioned by Adrianus Tollius in his edition of “Boethius on -Gems.” He gives illustrations of some neolithic axes and hammers, and -then proceeds to state that in the opinion of philosophers they are -generated in the sky by a fulgureous exhalation (whatever that may -look like) conglobed in a cloud by a circumfixed humor, and baked -hard, as it were, by intense heat. The weapon, it seems, then becomes -pointed by the damp mixed with it flying from the dry part, and leaving -the other end denser; while the exhalations press it so hard that -it breaks out through the cloud, and makes thunder and lightning. A -very lucid explanation certainly, but rendered a little difficult of -apprehension by the effort necessary for realising in a mental picture -the conglobation of a fulgureous exhalation by a circumfixed humor. - -One would like to see a drawing of the process, though the sketch -would probably much resemble the picture of a muchness, so admirably -described by the mock turtle. The excellent Tollius himself, however, -while demurring on the whole to this hypothesis of the philosophers, -bases his objection mainly on the ground that if this were so, then -it is odd that thunderbolts are not round, but wedge-shaped, and that -they have holes in them, and those holes not equal throughout, but -widest at the ends. As a matter of fact Tollius has here hit the right -nail on the head quite accidentally; for the holes are really there, -of course, to receive the haft of the axe or hammer. But if they were -truly thunderbolts, and if the bolts were shafted, then the holes would -have been lengthwise as in an arrowhead, not crosswise, as in an axe or -hammer. Which is a complete _reductio ad absurdum_ of the philosophic -opinion. - -Some of the cerauniæ, says Pliny, are like hatchets. He would have -been nearer the mark if he had said “are hatchets” outright. But this -_aperçu_, which was to Pliny merely a stray suggestion, became to the -northern peoples a firm article of belief, and caused them to represent -to themselves their god Thor or Thunor as armed, not with a bolt, but -with an axe or hammer. Etymologically Thor, Thunor, and thunder are the -self-same word; but while the southern races looked upon Zeus or Indra -as wielding his forked darts in his red right hand, the northern races -looked upon the Thunder-god as hurling down an angry hammer from his -seat in the clouds. There can be but little doubt that the very notion -of Thor’s hammer itself was derived from the shape of the supposed -thunderbolt, which the Scandinavians and Teutons rightly saw at once -to be an axe or mallet, not an arrowhead. The “fiery axe” of Thunor is -a common metaphor in Anglo-Saxon poetry. Thus, Thor’s hammer is itself -merely the picture which our northern ancestors formed to themselves, -by compounding the idea of thunder and lightning with the idea of the -polished stone hatchets they dug up among the fields and meadows. - -Flint arrowheads of the stone age are less often taken for -thunderbolts, no doubt because they are so much smaller that they look -quite too insignificant for the weapons of an angry god. They are more -frequently described as fairy-darts or fairy-bolts. Still, I have known -even arrowheads regarded as thunderbolts and preserved superstitiously -under that belief. In Finland, stone arrows are universally so viewed; -and the rainbow is looked upon as the bow of Tiermes, the thunder-god, -who shoots with it the guilty sorcerers. - -But why should thunderbolts, whether stone axes or flint arrowheads, be -preserved, not merely as curiosities, but from motives of superstition? -The reason is a simple one. Everybody knows that in all magical -ceremonies it is necessary to have something belonging to the person -you wish to conjure against, in order to make your spells effectual. A -bone, be it but a joint of the little finger, is sufficient to raise -the ghost to which it once belonged; cuttings of hair or clippings of -nails are enough to put their owner magically in your power; and that -is the reason why, if you are a prudent person, you will always burn -all such off-castings of your body, lest haply an enemy should get hold -of them, and cast the evil eye upon you with their potent aid. In the -same way, if you can lay hands upon anything that once belonged to an -elf, such as a fairy-bolt or flint arrowhead, you can get its former -possessor to do anything you wish by simply rubbing it and calling -upon him to appear. This is the secret of half the charms and amulets -in existence, most of which are real old arrowheads, or carnelians cut -in the same shape, which has now mostly degenerated from the barb to -the conventional heart, and been mistakenly associated with the idea -of love. This is the secret, too, of all the rings, lamps, gems, and -boxes, possession of which gives a man power over fairies, spirits, -gnomes, and genii. All magic proceeds upon the prime belief that you -must possess something belonging to the person you wish to control, -constrain, or injure. And, failing anything else, you must at least -have a wax image of him, which you call by his name, and use as his -substitute in your incantations. - -On this primitive principle, possession of a thunderbolt gives you -some sort of hold, as it were, over the thunder-god himself in person. -If you keep a thunderbolt in your house it will never be struck by -lightning. In Shetland, stone axes are religiously preserved in every -cottage as a cheap and simple substitute for lightning-rods. In -Cornwall the stone hatchets and arrowheads not only guard the house -from thunder, but also act as magical barometers, changing color with -the changes of the weather, as if in sympathy with the temper of the -thunder-god. In Germany, the house where a thunderbolt is kept is safe -from the storm; and the bolt itself begins to sweat on the approach -of lightning-clouds. Nay, so potent is the protection afforded by a -thunderbolt that where the lightning has once struck it never strikes -again; the bolt already buried in the soil seems to preserve the -surrounding place from the anger of the deity. Old and pagan in their -nature as are these beliefs, they yet survive so thoroughly into -Christian times that I have seen a stone hatchet built into the steeple -of a church to protect it from lightning. Indeed, steeples have always -of course attracted the electric discharge to a singular degree by -their height and tapering form, especially before the introduction of -lightning-rods; and it was a sore trial of faith to mediæval reasoners -to understand why heaven should hurl its angry darts so often against -the towers of its very own churches. In the Abruzzi the flint axe has -actually been Christianised into St. Paul’s arrows—_saetti de San -Paolo_. Families hand down the miraculous stone from father to son as a -precious legacy; and mothers hang them on their children’s necks side -by side with medals of saints and madonnas, which themselves are hardly -so prized as the stones that fall from heaven. - -Another and very different form of thunderbolt is the belemnite, a -common English fossil often preserved in houses in the west country -with the same superstitious reverence as the neolithic hatchets. The -very form of the belemnite at once suggests the notion of a dart or -lance-head, which has gained for it its scientific name. At the present -day, when all our girls go to Girton and enter for the classical -tripos, I need hardly translate the word belemnite “for the benefit -of the ladies,” as people used to do in the dark and unemancipated -eighteenth century; but as our boys have left off learning Greek -just as their sisters are beginning to act the “Antigone” at private -theatricals, I may perhaps be pardoned if I explain, “for the -benefit of the gentlemen,” that the word is practically equivalent -to javelin-fossil. The belemnites are the internal shells of a sort -of cuttle-fish which swam about in enormous numbers in the seas -whose sediment forms our modern lias, oolite, and gault. A great -many different species are known and have acquired charming names in -very doubtful Attic at the hands of profoundly learned geological -investigators, but almost all are equally good representatives of -the mythical thunderbolt. The finest specimens are long, thick, -cylindrical, and gradually tapering, with a hole at one end as if on -purpose to receive the shaft. Sometimes they have petrified into iron -pyrites or copper compounds, shining like gold, and then they make very -noble thunderbolts indeed, heavy as lead, and capable of doing profound -mischief if properly directed. At other times they have crystallised -in transparent spar, and then they form very beautiful objects, as -smooth and polished as the best lapidary could possibly make them. -Belemnites are generally found in immense numbers together, especially -in the marlstone quarries of the Midlands, and in the lias cliffs of -Dorsetshire. Yet the quarrymen who find them never seem to have their -faith shaken in the least by the enormous quantities of thunderbolts -that would appear to have struck a single spot with such extraordinary -frequency. This little fact also tells rather hardly against the theory -that the lightning never falls twice upon the same place. - -Only the largest and heaviest belemnites are known as thunder stones; -the smaller ones are more commonly described as agate pencils. In -Shakespeare’s country their connection with thunder is well known, so -that in all probability a belemnite is the original of the beautiful -lines in “Cymbeline”— - - Fear no more the lightning flash, - Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone, - -where the distinction between the lightning and the thunderbolt is -particularly well indicated. In every part of Europe belemnites and -stone hatchets are alike regarded as thunderbolts; so that we have the -curious result that people confuse under a single name a natural fossil -of immense antiquity and a human product of comparatively recent but -still prehistoric date. Indeed, I have had two thunderbolts shown me at -once, one of which was a large belemnite and the other a modern Indian -tomahawk. Curiously enough, English sailors still call the nearest -surviving relatives of the belemnites, the squids or calamaries of the -Atlantic, by the appropriate name of sea-arrows. - -Many other natural or artificial objects have added their tittle to -the belief in thunderbolts. In the Himalayas, for example, where -awful thunderstorms are always occurring as common objects of the -country, the torrents which follow them tear out of the loose soil -fossil bones and tusks and teeth, which are universally looked upon as -lightning-stones. The nodules of pyrites, often picked up on beaches, -with their false appearance of having been melted by intense heat, pass -muster easily with children and sailor folk for the genuine -thunderbolts. But the grand upholder of the belief, the one true -undeniable reality which has kept alive the thunderbolt even in a -wicked and sceptical age, is beyond all question the occasional falling -of meteoric stones. Your meteor is an incontrovertible fact; there is -no getting over him; in the British Museum itself you will find him -duly classified and labelled and catalogued. Here, surely, we have -the ultimate substratum of the thunderbolt myth. To be sure, meteors -have no kind of natural connection with thunderstorms; they may fall -anywhere and at any time; but to object thus is to be hypercritical. -A stone that falls from heaven, no matter how or when, is quite good -enough to be considered as a thunderbolt. - -Meteors, indeed, might very easily be confounded with lightning, -especially by people who already have the full-blown conception of a -thunderbolt floating about vaguely in their brains. The meteor leaps -upon the earth suddenly with a rushing noise; it is usually red-hot -when it falls, by friction against the air; it is mostly composed of -native iron and other heavy metallic bodies; and it does its best to -bury itself in the ground in the most orthodox and respectable manner. -The man who sees this parlous monster come whizzing through the clouds -from planetary space, making a fiery track like a great dragon as it -moves rapidly across the sky, and finally ploughing its way into the -earth in his own back garden, may well be excused for regarding it -as a fine specimen of the true antique thunderbolt. The same virtues -which belong to the buried stone are in some other places claimed for -meteoric iron, small pieces of which are worn as charms, specially -useful in protecting the wearer against thunder, lightning, and evil -incantations. In many cases miraculous images have been hewn out of the -stones that have fallen from heaven; and in others the meteorite itself -is carefully preserved or worshipped as the actual representative of -god or goddess, saint or madonna. The image that fell down from Jupiter -may itself have been a mass of meteoric iron. - -Both meteorites and stone hatchets, as well as all other forms of -thunderbolt, are in excellent repute as amulets, not only against -lightning, but against the evil eye generally. In Italy they protect -the owner from thunder, epidemics, and cattle disease, the last two of -which are well known to be caused by witchcraft; while Prospero in the -“Tempest” is a surviving proof how thunderstorms, too, can be magically -produced. The tongues of sheep-bells ought to be made of meteoric iron -or of elf-bolts, in order to insure the animals against foot-and-mouth -disease or death by storm. Built into walls or placed on the threshold -of stables, thunderbolts are capital preventives of fire or other -damage, though not perhaps in this respect quite equal to a rusty -horseshoe from a prehistoric battle-field. Thrown into a well they -purify the water; and boiled in the drink of diseased sheep they render -a cure positively certain. In Cornwall thunderbolts are a sovereign -remedy for rheumatism; and in the popular pharmacopœia of Ireland they -have been employed with success for ophthalmia, pleurisy, and many -other painful diseases. If finely powdered and swallowed piecemeal, -they render the person who swallows them invulnerable for the rest -of his lifetime. But they cannot conscientiously be recommended for -dyspepsia and other forms of indigestion. - -As if on purpose to confuse our already very vague ideas about -thunderbolts, there is one special kind of lightning which really seems -intentionally to simulate a meteorite, and that is the kind known as -fireballs or (more scientifically) globular lightning. A fireball -generally appears as a sphere of light, sometimes only as big as a -Dutch cheese, sometimes as large as three feet in diameter. It moves -along very slowly and demurely through the air, remaining visible for -a whole minute or two together; and in the end it generally bursts -up with great violence, as if it were a London railway station being -experimented upon by Irish patriots. At Milan one day a fireball of -this description walked down one of the streets so slowly that a small -crowd walked after it admiringly, to see where it was going. It made -straight for a church steeple, after the common but sacrilegious -fashion of all lightning, struck the gilded cross on the topmost -pinnacle, and then immediately vanished, like a Virgilian apparition, -into thin air. - -A few years ago, too, Dr. Tripe was watching a very severe -thunderstorm, when he saw a fireball come quietly gliding up to him, -apparently rising from the earth rather than falling towards it. -Instead of running away, like a practical man, the intrepid doctor -held his ground quietly and observed the fiery monster with scientific -nonchalance. After continuing its course for some time in a peaceful -and regular fashion, however, without attempting to assault him, it -finally darted off at a tangent in another direction, and turned -apparently into forked lightning. A fireball, noticed among the -Glendowan Mountains in Donegal, behaved even more eccentrically, as -might be expected from its Irish antecedents. It first skirted the -earth in a leisurely way for several hundred yards like a cannon-ball; -then it struck the ground, ricochetted, and once more bounded along -for another short spell; after which it disappeared in the boggy soil, -as if it were completely finished and done for. But in another moment -it rose again, nothing daunted, with Celtic irrepressibility, several -yards away, pursued its ghostly course across a running stream (which -shows, at least, there could have been no witchcraft in it), and -finally ran to earth for good in the opposite bank, leaving a round -hole in the sloping peat at the spot where it buried itself. Where it -first struck, it cut up the peat as if with a knife, and made a broad -deep trench which remained afterwards as a witness of its eccentric -conduct. If the person who observed it had been of a superstitious -turn of mind, we should have had here one of the finest and most -terrifying ghost stories on the entire record, which would have made -an exceptionally splendid show in the Transactions of the Society -for Psychical Research. Unfortunately, however, he was only a man of -science, ungifted with the precious dower of poetical imagination; -so he stupidly called it a remarkable fireball, measured the ground -carefully like a common engineer, and sent an account of the phenomenon -to that far more prosaic periodical, the “Quarterly Journal of the -Meteorological Society.” Another splendid apparition thrown away -recklessly, forever! - -There is a curious form of electrical discharge, somewhat similar to -the fireball but on a smaller scale, which may be regarded as the exact -opposite of the thunderbolt, inasmuch as it is always quite harmless. -This is St. Elmo’s fire, a brush of lambent light, which plays around -the masts of ships and the tops of trees, when clouds are low and -tension great. It is, in fact, the equivalent in nature of the brush -discharge from an electric machine. The Greeks and Romans looked upon -this lambent display as a sign of the presence of Castor and Pollux, -“fratres Helenæ, lucida sidera,” and held that its appearance was an -omen of safety, as everybody who has read the “Lays of Ancient Rome” -must surely remember. The modern name, St. Elmo’s fire, is itself a -curiously twisted and perversely Christianized reminiscence of the -great twin brethren; for St. Elmo it’s merely a corruption of Helena, -made masculine and canonised by the grateful sailors. It was as Helen’s -brothers that they best knew the Dioscuri in the good old days of -the upper empire; and when the new religion forbade them any longer -to worship those vain heathen deities, they managed to hand over the -flames at the masthead to an imaginary St. Elmo, whose protection stood -them in just as good stead as that of the original alternate immortals. - -Finally, the effects of lightning itself are sometimes such as to -produce upon the mind of an impartial but unscientific beholder the -firm idea that a bodily thunderbolt must necessarily have descended -from heaven. In sand or rock, where lightning has struck, it often -forms long hollow tubes, known to the calmly discriminating geological -intelligence as fulgurites, and looking for all the world like -gigantic drills such as quarrymen make for putting in a blast. They -are produced, of course, by the melting of the rock under the terrific -heat of the electric spark; and they grow narrower and narrower as they -descend till they finally disappear. But to a casual observer, they -irresistibly suggest the notion that a material weapon has struck the -ground, and buried itself at the bottom of the hole. The summit of -Little Ararat, that weather-beaten and many-fabled peak (where an -enterprising journalist not long ago discovered the remains of Noah’s -Ark), has been riddled through and through by frequent lightnings, till -the rock is now a mere honeycombed mass of drills and tubes, like an -old target at the end of a long day’s constant rifle practice. Pieces -of the red trachyte from the summit, a foot long, have been brought -to Europe, perforated all over with these natural bullet marks, each -of them lined with black glass, due to the fusion of the rock by the -passage of the spark. Specimens of such thunder-drilled rock may be -seen in most geological museums. On some which Humboldt collected -from a peak in Mexico, the fused slag from the wall of the tube has -overflowed on to the surrounding surface, thus conclusively proving (if -proof were necessary) that the holes are due to melting heat alone, and -not to the passage of any solid thunderbolt. - -But it was the introduction and general employment of lightning-rods -that dealt a final deathblow to the thunderbolt theory. A -lightning-conductor consists essentially of a long piece of metal, -pointed at the end, whose business it is, not so much (as most people -imagine) to carry off the flash of lightning harmlessly, should it -happen to strike the house to which the conductor is attached, but -rather to prevent the occurrence of a flash at all, by gradually and -gently drawing off the electricity as fast as it gathers, before it has -had time to collect in sufficient force for a destructive discharge. -It resembles in effect an overflow pipe, which drains off the surplus -water of a pond as soon as it runs in, in such a manner as to prevent -the possibility of an inundation, which might occur if the water -were allowed to collect in force behind a dam or embankment. It is a -floodgate, not a moat: it carries away the electricity of the air -quietly to the ground, without allowing it to gather in sufficient -amount to produce a flash of lightning. It might thus be better -called a lightning-preventor than a lightning-conductor: it conducts -electricity, but it prevents lightning. At first, all lightning-rods -used to be made with knobs on the top, and then the electricity used -to collect at the surface until the electric force was sufficient to -cause a spark. In those happy days, you had the pleasure of seeing -that the lightning was actually being drawn off from your neighborhood -piecemeal. Knobs, it was held, must be the best things, because you -could incontestably see the sparks striking them with your own eyes. -But as time went on, electricians discovered that if you fixed a fine -metal point to the conductor of an electric machine it was impossible -to get up any appreciable charge, because the electricity kept always -leaking out by means of the point. Then it was seen that if you made -your lightning-rods pointed at the end, you would be able in the same -way to dissipate your electricity before it ever had time to come to a -head in the shape of lightning. From that moment the thunderbolt was -safely dead and buried. It was urged, indeed, that the attempt thus to -rob Heaven of its thunders was wicked and impious: but the common-sense -of mankind refused to believe that absolute omnipotence could be -sensibly defied by twenty yards of cylindrical iron tubing. Thenceforth -the thunderbolt ceased to exist, save in poetry, country houses, and -the most rural circles; even the electric fluid was generally relegated -to the provincial press, where it still keeps company harmoniously with -caloric, the devouring element, nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum, and -many other like philosophical fossils: while lightning itself, shorn of -its former glories, could no longer wage impious war against cathedral -towers, but was compelled to restrict itself to blasting a solitary -rider now and again in the open fields, or drilling more holes in the -already crumbling summit of Mount Ararat. Yet it will be a thousand -years more, in all probability, before the last thunderbolt ceases -to be shown as a curiosity here and there to marvelling visitors, -and takes its proper place in some village museum as a belemnite, a -meteoric stone, or a polished axe head of our neolithic ancestors. Even -then, no doubt, the original bolt will still survive as a recognised -property in the stock-in-trade of every well-equipped poet. --_Cornhill Magazine._ - - - - -THE LOCAL COLOR OF “ROMEO AND JULIET.” - - -BY WILLIAM ARCHER. - -“Romeo and Juliet” affords a good illustration of the fallacy which -lies at the root of the Shakespearologists’ panegyrics of the poet’s -“local color.” We are told that every touch and tint is correctly and -vividly Italian. Schlegel, Coleridge, and Philarète Chasles have sought -to concentrate in impassioned word-pictures the coloring at once of -“Romeo and Juliet” and of Italy. What Shakespeare designed to paint, in -vivid but perfectly general hues, was an ideal land of love, a land of -moonlight and nightingales, a land to which he had certainly travelled, -perhaps before leaving the banks of the Avon. It happens that Italy, -of all countries in the material world, most closely resembles this -fairyland of the youthful fantasy. If we must place it on the earth -at all, we place it there. Therefore did Shakespeare willingly accept -the Italian names for scene and characters provided in his original; -and, therefore, our scenic artists very properly draw their inspiration -from Italian orange groves and Italian palaces. But it is a fundamental -error to regard Romeo and Juliet as specifically Italians, or their -country as Italy and nothing but Italy. Their pure-humanity is of no -race, their Italy has no latitude or longitude. Shakespeare could not -if he would, and would not if he could, have given it the minutely -accurate local color of which we hear so much. - -Could not if he would, for even the most devout believers in his visit -to Italy place it after the date of “Romeo and Juliet” and before that -of “The Merchant of Venice.” Now, to maintain that the poet evolved -Italian local color out of his inner consciousness is merely a piece of -the supernaturalism which infects Shakespearology. Schiller, by -diligent study and conversations with Goethe, grasped the cruder local -colors of Switzerland, but Shakespeare had no means or opportunity -for such study, and no Goethe to aid him. By lifelong love two modern -Englishmen have attempted to construct an Italy in their imagination; -Rossetti quite successfully, Mr. Shorthouse more or less so. -Shakespeare had neither the motives nor the means for attempting any -such feat. - -But further, had Shakespeare known Italy as well as Mr. Browning, -he would still have refrained from loading “Romeo and Juliet” with -local color. His audience did not want it, could not understand it, -would have been bewildered by it. The very youth of Juliet (“she is -not fourteen”) proves, it is said, that the poet thought of her as an -early-developed Italian girl. Now, the physiological observation here -implied is in itself questionable, and, had it conflicted with their -pre-conceptions as to the due period of first love in girls, would have -been incomprehensible, if not repellent, to an Elizabethan audience. -We, though taught to regard it as “local color,” are, by our social -conventions, so accustomed to place the marriageable age later, that in -our imagination we always add three or four years to Juliet’s fourteen; -and on the stage the addition is generally made in so many words. But -the social conventions of Shakespeare’s time tended in precisely the -opposite direction. Anne, daughter of Sir Peter Warburton, was only -twelve when, in 1539, she was married to Sir Edward Fitton. In Porter’s -“Angrie Women of Abington,” published in 1599, some five years after -the probable date of “Romeo and Juliet,” it is explicitly stated that -fifteen was the ordinary age at which girls married. That was the age -of Lady Jane Grey at her marriage: the wife of Sir Simon d’Ewes was -even younger; and a little research could easily supply a hundred other -cases. In Johnson’s “Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses” (1612) a girl who -is single at twenty expresses her despair of ever being married. Thus -we find that this renowned proof of Juliet’s Italian nature resolves -itself into a familiar trait of English social habit in the sixteenth -century. Had it been otherwise, it would have been a fault and not a -merit in a play which addressed itself, not to an ethnological society, -but to a popular audience. - -A touch which may possibly have conveyed to Shakespeare’s audience a -peculiarly Italian impression, is Lady Capulet’s suggestion that Romeo -should be poisoned. In the sixteenth century poisoning was commonly -known in England as “the Italian crime,” and was probably connected -with Italy in the popular mind as are macaroni and organ-grinders -at the present day. But poison is part of the stock-in-trade of the -tragic dramatist, and plays a prominent part in the two most distinctly -northern of the poet’s works, “Hamlet” and “Lear,” Again, the -Apothecary’s speech,— - - Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua’s law - Is death to any he that utters them, - -is held up as a peculiarly Italian touch, no such law appearing in the -English statute-book of the time. The fact is that Shakespeare found -the idea in Brooke’s “Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Juliet,” and -used it simply to heighten the terror of the situation. - -The insult of “biting the thumb” is said, rather doubtfully, to be -characteristically Italian; but what can be more English than the cry -for “clubs, bills, and partisans” which immediately follows it? Lord -Campbell, indeed, seeks to prove Shakespeare’s minute knowledge of -_English_ law by the frequent and accurate references to it in this -opening scene. The “grove of sycamore” under which Romeo is described -as wandering, is said to be of unmistakably Italian growth; why, then, -does Schlegel, though one of the originators of the local-color theory, -seek to make it still more Italian by translating it “Kastanienhain”? -Had Shakespeare possessed either the will or the ability to transport -his hearers into specifically Italian scenes, would he have confined -himself to mentioning one tree, which is neither peculiar to Italy nor -a particularly prominent feature in Italian landscapes? Where are the -oranges and olives, the poplar, the cypress, and the laurel? Where are -the rushing Adige and the gleaming Alps? Where is the allusion to the -Amphitheatre, which could scarcely have been wanting had the poet known -or cared anything about Verona except as the capital of his mythic -love-land? It might as well be argued that he intended the local color -to be peculiarly English because he makes Capulet call Paris an “Earl.” - -The truth is that when the reader’s imagination is heated to a -certain point, the colors which subtle associations have implanted -in it flush out of their own accord, with no stronger stimulus from -the poet than is involved in the mere mention of a name. There is a -strict analogy in the Elizabethan theatre. Given poetry and acting -which powerfully excited the feelings, and the placard bearing the -name of “Agincourt” made all the glaring incongruities vanish, and -conjured up in the mind of each hearer such a picture of the tented -field as his individual imagination had room for. So it is with the -Italy of “Romeo and Juliet.” Our fancy being quickened by the mere -glow of the poetry, the very name “Verona” places before us a vivid -picture composed of all sorts of reminiscences of art, literature, and -travel. The pulsing life of the two lovers—types of pure-humanity as -general as ever poet fashioned—easily puts on a southern physiognomy -with their Italian names. The might of a name has power to cloak even -openly incongruous details. It is only on reflection, for instance, -that we recognize in Mercutio a most un-Italian and distinctly Teutonic -figure, an “angelsächsisch-treuherzig” humorist, as Kreyssig truly -says, who is even made to ridicule Italian manners and phrases with the -true Englishman’s provincial intolerance. Thus all of us, in reading -“Romeo and Juliet,” are haunted by visions of Italy, whose origin the -commentators strive to find in individual touches of local color and -costume, instead of in the powerful stimulus given to all sorts of -latent associations by the whole force of the poet’s genius. Even apart -from travel, pictures and descriptions which do actually aim at local -color have made us far more familiar with Italy than any Elizabethan -audience can possibly have been. It is scarcely paradoxical to maintain -that the least imaginative among us gives to the love-land of “Romeo -and Juliet” far more accurately Italian hues than it wore in the -imagination of Shakespeare himself. In the same way I, for my part, -never read Marlowe’s “Jew of Malta” without forming a vivid picture -of the narrow, sultry stairways of Valetta (which I have never seen), -conjured up, not certainly by any individual touches of description in -the text, but by the mere imaginative vigor of the whole presentation. -Conversely, too, a work of small vitality, a second-rate French tragedy -for instance, may be full of accurate local and historical allusion, -and may yet transport us no whither beyond the cheerless steppes of -frigid alexandrines. There is an art, and a high art, to which definite -local color is essential, but Shakespeare’s is of another order. If -we want a masterpiece of strictly Italian coloring we must go, not to -“Romeo and Juliet,” but to Alfred de Musset’s “Lorenzaccio.” - -Shakespeare, in short, presents us with so much, or so little, of -the Italian manners depicted in Brooke and Paynter as would be -readily comprehensible to his audience. The fact, too, that the whole -love-poetry of the period was influenced by Cisalpine models gave to -the forms of expression in certain portions of his work a slightly -Italian turn. For the rest, he imbued the great erotic myth with the -warmest human life, and left it to create an atmosphere and scenery of -its own in the imagination of the beholder. No atmosphere or scenery -can be more appropriate than those of an Italian summer, and therefore -it is right that our scenic artists should strain their resources to -reproduce its warm luxuriance of color. “For now these hot days is the -mad blood stirring,” says Benvolio, and if we choose to call this hot -air a scirocco, why not? But Shakespeare knew nothing of scirocco or -tramontana; he knew that warmth is the life-element of passion, and -made summer in the air harmonise with summer in the blood. That is the -whole secret of his “local color.”—_Gentleman’s Magazine._ - - - - -WILLIAM SMITH AND WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE. - - -In the year 1856 Lord Ellesmere, then President of the Shakspeare -Society, received one day a little pamphlet bearing the at that time -astounding title, “Was Lord Bacon the author of Shakspeare’s Plays?” -The writer’s name was Smith. Mr. William Henry Smith, of 76 Harley -Street, writer on Shakspeare, is the style he goes by in the Catalogue -of the British Museum, to distinguish him from others of the name, -whose works fill no less than eight volumes of that Catalogue, and have -a special index all to themselves, thereby nobly confirming the truth -of our Mr. Smith’s answer to some irreverent critics who had jested -on his patronym, that it was “a name which some wise and many worthy -men have borne—which though not unique, is perfectly genteel.” What -Lord Ellesmere, either in his presidential or merely human capacity, -thought of the pamphlet, we do not know; but Lord Palmerston (who had -passed the threescore years then) is said to have declared himself -convinced by it, though he is also said to have added that he cared -not a jot who the author of the plays might have been provided he was -an Englishman. By some of the critics poor Mr. Smith was very roughly -handled, and what seems to have galled him most was an insinuation by -Nathaniel Hawthorne (then at Liverpool as American Consul) that he had -merely taken for his own the ideas of Miss Delia Bacon, whose book -was not published till the year after Mr. Smith’s pamphlet, but of -whose speculation some rumors had before that come “across the Atlantic -wave.” This Mr. Smith (in his next publication, _Bacon and Shakspeare; -an Inquiry touching Players, Playhouses, and Play-writers in the Days -of Elizabeth_, 1857) most emphatically denied. He had never heard the -name of Miss Bacon till he saw it in a review of his pamphlet: he could -not for a long while find what or where she had written, and when he -did so the alleged insinuation seemed to him too preposterous to be -worth notice. Out of courtesy to Mr. Hawthorne, however, he made his -denial public; Mr. Hawthorne returned the courtesy of acceptance, and -so this part of the great Baconian controversy slept in peace. In 1866 -appeared in New York, a book called _The Authorship of Shakspeare_, -the work of a Mr. Nathaniel Holmes, which so enchanted Mr. Smith that -he vowed “Providence had provided exactly the champion the cause -required,” and that for him it remained only “to retire to the rear of -this unexpected American contingent,” and to “make himself useful in -the commissariat department.” This American book had, among its other -striking merits, this unique one—of being such that no man could -possibly quarrel with it. “If argument,” says Mr, Smith, “is ever to -outweigh preconception and prejudice, the preponderance can only be in -one direction”—perhaps the only judgment ever formulated by mortal man -which it would be literally impossible to traverse. In this rearward -position Mr. Smith modestly abode for eighteen years; but now—“now -that the triumph seems so near at hand, we cannot resist coming to the -front to congratulate those that have fought the battle upon their -success, and, we candidly own, to show ourselves as a veteran who has -survived the campaign, and is ready to give an honest account of the -stores which still remain on his hands.” This congratulation and these -stores may be read and seen in another little pamphlet just published -by Mr. Smith, and to be bought at Mr. Skeffington’s shop in Piccadilly. - -It is in no spirit of cavil or disparagement that we overhaul those -stores, but solely out of curiosity. We have read Mr. Smith’s last -pamphlet, and read again his two earlier ones, with the most lively -interest and amusement. Indeed, we have never for our part, been -able to see the necessity for that “lyric fury” into which some of -Mr. Smith’s opponents have lashed themselves. His theory has amused -thousands of readers—readers of Bacon (both Francis and Delia), of -Shakspeare, and of Mr. Smith; it has harmed nobody; it has added fresh -lustre to the memories of two great men. Surely, then, we should do ill -to be angry, and to be angry with one so courteous and good-humored as -Mr. Smith would be a twofold impossibility. Moreover, we have always -felt that there was a great deal to be said for the theory that Francis -Bacon wrote the plays printed under the name of William Shakspeare, -just as there is a great deal to be said for the converse of the -theory, or for any other speculation with which the restless mind of -man chooses for the moment to concern itself. After a certain lapse of -years there can be no proof positive, no mathematical proof, that any -man did or did not write anything. The mere fact of a work having gone -for any length of time under such or such a name _proves_ nothing; that -the manuscript is confessedly in a particular man’s handwriting, or -the undisputed receipt of a manuscript from a particular man, really, -when one comes to consider it, _proves_ nothing, so far as authorship -is concerned. Take the excellent ballad of “Kafoozleum,” for instance. -That, like Shakspeare’s plays, was known and popular before it was -printed; like those, it was printed anonymously; no manuscript of it is -known to exist; the authorship is unknown. A hundred years hence who -will be able to _prove_ it was not written by Lord Tennyson, let us -say? One line in it runs “A sound there falls from ruined walls.” Why -should not some speculative Smith a hundred years hence point to this -line as proof conclusive that it must be the work of him who wrote, -“The splendor falls on castle walls”? The parallel would be at least -incomparably closer than any of those as yet found in the undisputed -writings of Bacon and the alleged writings of Shakspeare. Let this -be, however; we are not now concerned with any attempt to destroy Mr. -Smith’s theory, for which, we repeat, we still feel, as we have always -felt, there is very much to be said—very much to be said, of course, -on both sides; the puzzle is how very little Mr. Smith, and those about -him, have found to say on their side. - -And, in truth, little as Mr. Smith had found to say in 1856-57 he -has found still less to add now in 1884. His “stores” are still very -scanty. He has, indeed, satisfied himself (he had “an intuitive idea” -of it in 1856) that Shakspeare could neither read nor write, beyond -scrawling most illegibly his own name (the reading he passes by), and -curiously enough on the evidence, or rather hypothesis, of another -Smith one William James! But, of course, as no scrap of Shakspeare’s -handwriting is known to exist beyond six signatures, all tolerably like -each other, this hypothesis cannot stand for very much. Yet really this -is the only fresh “fact” Mr. Smith has added to his stores in all these -seven-and-twenty years. He recapitulates his old “facts” and, we must -add, some of his old blunders, when he says “there is no record of his -having been in any way connected with literature until the year 1600,” -forgetful of the mention of Shakspeare’s name as author of _The Rape -of Lucrece_ in the prelude to Willobie’s _Avisa_ (1594), the marginal -reference to the same work in Clarke’s _Polimanteia_ (1595), and the -long catalogue of the works then attributed to Shakspeare, as well as -the very high praise given to him and them in Meres’s _Palladis Tamia_, -1598. The allusions in Greene’s _Groatsworth of Wit_ and Chettle’s -_Kind-Harts Dreame_ we put by as hypotheses merely; but how curious -it is to find the champions of this theory so strangely ignorant, -or careless of facts familiar, we will not say to every student of -Shakspeare’s writings, because the word student in connexion with those -works has come to have a rather distasteful sound in these Alexandrian -days, but to every one who has ever had any curiosity about the man -to whom these marvellous works are commonly attributed. Nor is this -knowledge within the reach only of those who have money, leisure, or -learning. Any one who is able to procure a ticket of admission to -the Reading-Room of the British Museum may get it at first hand for -himself; numberless books exist any one of which at the cost of a few -shillings will furnish him with it at second-hand. We remember to have -been much struck last year, when turning over the leaves of Mrs. Pott’s -edition of the _Promus_, with many proofs of the same ignorance of what -one may call the very alphabet of the subject. Coleridge, as we all -know now blundered much in the same way in his lectures on Shakspeare; -but our knowledge both of the poet and his times has very greatly -increased since Coleridge lectured. Mr. Smith and Mrs. Pott cannot -now soothe themselves with the thought that it is better to err with -Coleridge than to shine with Mr. Halliwell-Phillips or Mr. Furnivall; -they have only themselves to blame if the world declines to take -seriously a theory which its champions have been at so little serious -pains to examine and support. - -The well-known passage in the _Sonnets_ (Bacon’s or Shakspeare’s) - - And almost thence my nature is subdued - To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand, - -receives curious confirmation from Mr. Smith’s writings. He has -studied Bacon’s works so closely and long that he has insensibly -infected himself with some of that great man’s peculiarities. It is -the vice, says Bacon, in the _Novum Organum_, of high and discursive -intellects to attach too much importance to slight resemblances, a vice -which leads men to catch at shadows instead of substances. Mr. Smith -quotes this saying; yet how must this vice have got possession of his -intellect when he drew up that list of “Parallel passages, and peculiar -phrases, from Bacon and Shakspeare,” which may be read in his _Bacon -and Shakspeare_! Take one instance only:—In the _Life of Henry VII._ -occurs this passage: “As his victory gave him the knee, so his purposed -marriage with the Lady Elizabeth gave him the heart, so that both knee -and heart did truly bow before him”; in _Richard II._ is this line, -“Show heaven the humbled heart and not the knee”; and in _Hamlet_ this, -“And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee.” Is it possible that Mr. -Smith would seriously have us draw any inference from the fact that in -these three passages the word “knee” occurs and in two of them the word -“heart”? Really, he might as well insist that, because Mr. Swinburne -has written “Cry aloud; for the old world is broken” and because Mr. -Arnold has declared himself to be “Wandering between two worlds, one -dead, the other powerless to be born,” the author of _Dolores_ and the -author of the _Stanzas from the Grand Chartreuse_ must be one and the -same man! Again, Macaulay has noticed how, contrary to general custom, -the later writings of Bacon are far superior to the earlier ones in -richness of illustration. It is the same with Mr. Smith. His first -pamphlet, though direct and lucid enough, was singularly free from -all illustration or ornament of any kind. His next contains passages -of wonderful richness and imagination. Bacon, he says, is like an -orange-tree, “where we may observe the bud, the blossom, and the -fruit in every stage of ripeness, all exhibited in one plant at the -same time.” And he goes on in a strain of splendid eloquence:—“The -stentorian orator in the City Forum, who, restoring his voice with the -luscious fruit, continues his harangue to the applauding multitude, -little reflects, that the delicate blossom which grew by its side, and -was gathered at the same time, decorates the fair brow of the fainting -bride in the far-off village church.” Never surely before has the -familiar fruit of domestic life been so poetized since “Bon Gaultier” -wrote of the subjects of the Moorish tyrant how they would fain have -sympathized with his Christian prisoner:— - - But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in steel, - So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville. - -We cannot conclude without offering to Mr. Smith, in all humility, a -little theory of our own, vague as yet and unsubstantial, but worth, -we do venture to think, his consideration or the consideration of -anybody who is in want of a theory to sport with. This is, that these -plays, or at any rate a considerable number of them, were really -and truly written by Walter Raleigh. We have not as yet had time to -examine this theory very closely, or (like Mr. Smith with his) to find -very much evidence in support of it. But of what we have done in that -direction we freely make him a present. The following plays were all -produced after the year 1603, the year when Raleigh was sent to the -Tower for his alleged share in the Cobham plot:—_Othello_, _Measure -for Measure_, _Lear_, _Pericles_, _Antony and Cleopatra_, _Macbeth_, -_Cymbeline_, _Winter’s Tale_, _Tempest_, _Henry VIII._, _Taming of the -Shrew_. It has been allowed on Mr. Smith’s side that Bacon, amid all -his variety of business, both public and private, must have been very -hard put to it to find the mere time to write the plays. No man of -that age could have had at that time so much leisure on his hands as -Raleigh. But that is not all. In the ninth chapter of his _Instructions -to his Son_, on the inconveniences arising from the immoderate use of -wine, is a passage which might almost be described as a paraphrase of -Cassio’s famous discourse on the same subject. Nor is this all. Raleigh -had been in the Tower before, in 1592, on a rather delicate matter, in -which Mistress Throckmorton, afterward Lady Raleigh, had a share. The -injustice of his second imprisonment would naturally recall the first -to his mind, equally or still more unjust as he probably thought. To -the second he would hardly dare to allude; but what was more likely -than that he should find a sort of melancholy pleasure in recalling the -first? Now, if Mr. Smith will turn to the second scene of the first act -of _Measure for Measure_ (first acted in December 1604, and written -therefore in the first year of Raleigh’s imprisonment), he will find -an allusion to the unfortunate cause of his first disgrace obvious to -the dullest comprehension. The apparently no less obvious allusion -in _Twelfth Night_ to Cole’s brutality at Raleigh’s trial cannot, -unfortunately, stand, as we know for certain from John Manningham’s -Diary that the comedy was played in the Middle Temple Hall in the -previous year. But from such evidence as we have given (and, did time -and space serve we could add to it) we think a very good case could be -made out for Raleigh, and we commend the making of it to Mr. Smith, -who seems to have plenty of time to spare on such matters. At any rate -if he will not have Shakspeare for the author of these plays, he must -really now begin to think of getting some other Simon Pure than Bacon, -if within a quarter of a century and more he has been able to find no -better warranty for his theory than that he has given us. But we must -entreat him to be a little more careful of poor Raleigh, if he discard -our suggestion, than he has been of poor Shakspeare, the only evidence -of whose existence he has declared to be the date of his death! But -perhaps he is only following Plutarch, whom Bacon praises for saying -“Surely I had rather a great deal men should say there was no such man -at all as Plutarch, than that they should say there was one Plutarch -that would eat his children as soon as they were born.”—_Saturday -Review._ - - - - -SOME SICILIAN CUSTOMS. - - -BY E. LYNN LINTON. - -Naturally the most important events of human life are birth, -marriage, death. Hence we find among all peoples who have emerged -from primitive barbarism, ceremonies and customs special to these -three supreme circumstances. These ceremonies and customs are of most -picturesque observance and most quaint significance in the middle -term of civilization;—amongst those who are neither savages not yet -blocked out into fair form, nor educated gentlefolk smoothed down to -the dead level of European civilization; but who are still in that -quasi-mythical and fetichistic state, when usages have a superstitious -meaning beyond their social importance, and charms, signs, omens, and -incantations abound as the ornamental flourishes to the endorsement of -the law. - -We will take for our book of reference no certain Sicilian customs,[41] -one of Dr. Pitrè’s exhaustive cycle. We could not have a better guide. -Dr. Pitrè has devoted twenty good years of his life, health, and -fortune to collecting and preserving the records of all the popular -superstitions, habits, legends and customs of Sicily. Some of these are -already things of the past; others are swiftly vanishing; others again -are in full vigor. Dr. Pitrè’s work is valuable enough now; in a short -time it will be priceless to students and ethnologists who care to -trace likenesses and track to sources, and who are not content with the -mere surface of things without delving down to causes and meanings. - -All women, the world over, who expect to become mothers, are curious -as to the sex of the unborn child; and every old wife has a bundle -of unfailing signs and omens which determine the question out of -hand without leaving room for doubt. In Sicily these signs are as -follows—among others of dubious modesty, which it is as well to leave -in obscurity. If you suddenly ask an expectant mother: “What is the -matter with your hand?” and she holds up or turns out the palm of her -right hand, her child will be a boy. If she holds up her left hand or -turns out the back of her right, it will be a girl. If she strews salt -before the threshold, the sex of the first person who enters in at the -door determines that of the unborn—a man for a boy, a woman for a -girl. If she goes to draw water from the well, and throws a few drops -over her shoulder without looking back, the sex of the first person -who passes, after the performance of this “sortilegio,” in like manner -determines the sex of the child. After the first child, the line in -which the hair grows at the nape of the neck of the preceding is an -unfailing sign of that which is coming after. If it grows in a peak it -presages a boy, if straight a girl. This is also one of the infallible -signs in India. If the woman sees an ugly or a deformed creature, -and does not say in an audible voice: “Diu ca lu fici”—God has made -it—she will produce a monster. If she repeats the charm, devoutly as -she ought, she has saved her child from deformity. - -The patron saint of expectant mothers in Sicily is S. Francisco di -Paola. To secure his intervention in their behalf they go to church -every Friday to pray specially to him. The first time they go they -are blessed by putting on the cord or girdle proper to this saint; by -receiving, before their own offering, two blessed beans, a few blessed -wafers, and a small wax taper, also blessed, round which is twisted a -slip of paper whereon is printed—“Ora pro nobis Sancte Pater Francisce -di Paola.” The cord is worn during the time of pregnancy; the candle -is lighted during the pains of childbirth, when heavenly interposition -is necessary; and the beans and wafers are eaten as an act of devotion -which results in all manner of good to both mother and child. - -In country places pregnant women who believe in the knowledge of the -midwife rather than in the science of the doctor, are still bled at -stated times, generally on the “even” months. Dr. Pitrè knew personally -one woman who had been bled the incredible number of two hundred and -thirteen times during her pregnancy. She had moreover heart disease; -and she offered herself as a wet-nurse. - -The quarter in which the moon chances to be at the time of birth has -great influence on the future character and career of the new-born. So -have special days and months. All children born in March, which is the -“mad” month of Italy (“Marzo è pazzo”), are predisposed to insanity. -Woe to the female child who has the ill-luck to be born on a cloudy, -stormy, rainy day! She must infallibly become an ugly woman. Woe to -the boy who is born with the new moon! He will become a “loup garou,” -and he will be recognized by his inordinately long nails. But well is -it for the child who first sees the light of day on a Friday—unlike -ourselves, with whom “Friday’s child is sour and sad”—or who is born -on St. Paul’s night. He will be bright, strong, bold and cheerful. He -will be able to handle venomous snakes with impunity for his own part, -and to cure by licking those who have been bitten. He will be able to -control lunatics and to discover things secret and hidden; and he will -be a chatterbox. - -More things go to make a successful or unsuccessful “time” in Sicily -than we recognize in England. A woman in her hour of trial is held and -hindered as much as was ever poor Alcmena, when Lucina sat crosslegged -before her gate, if a woman “in disgrazia di Dio”—that is, leading an -immoral life—either in secret or openly, enters the room. The best -counter-agent then is to invoke very loudly Santa Leocarda, the Dea -Partula of Catholicism. If she be not sufficiently powerful, and things -are still delayed, then all the other saints, the Madonna, and finally -God himself, are appealed to with profound faith in a speedy release. -In one place the church bells are rung; on which all the women within -earshot repeat an Ave. In another, the silver chain of La Madonna della -Catena is the surest obstetrician; and science and the doctor have -no power over the mind of the suffering woman where this has all. To -this day is believed the story of a poor mother who, when her pain had -begun, hurried off to the church to pray to the Madonna della Catena -for aid. When she returned home, the Holy Virgin herself assisted her, -and not only brought her child into the world, but also gave her bread, -clothes and jewels. - -If the child be born weak or dying, and the need is therefore imminent, -the midwife baptizes it. For which reason she must never be one who -is deaf and dumb—nor one who stutters or stammers. Before baptism -no one must kiss a new-born infant, seeing that it is still a pagan; -which thing would therefore be a sin. In Modica the new-born child -is no longer under the protection of the Madonna, but under that of -certain mysterious beings called “Le Padrone della Casa.” To ensure -this protection the oldest of the women present lays on the table, or -the clothes chest, nine black beans in the form of a wedge—repeating -between her teeth a doggerel charm, which will prevent “Le Padrone -della Casa” from harming the babe or its mother. Others, instead of -black beans, put their trust in a reel or winder with two little bits -of cane fastened to it crosswise, which they lay on the bed, and which -also is certain to prevent all evil handling by these viewless forms. -At Marsala, the night after that following the birth, the windows -of the room where the infant lies are shut close, a pinch of salt -is strewn behind the door, and the light is left burning, so that a -certain malignant spirit called ’Nserra may not enter to hurt the -new-born. In other places they hide in the woman’s bed—generally -under the pillow—a key, or a small ball, or a clove of garlic, or the -mother’s thimble, or scissors, all or any of which does the same good -office of exorcism as the pinch of salt, and the light left burning. -For the first drink, a whole partridge, beak and feet, is put into a -pint of water, which is then boiled down to a cupful, and given to the -woman as the best restorative art and science can devise. When she is -allowed to eat solids she has a chicken, of which she is careful to -give the neck to her husband. Were she herself to eat it, her child’s -neck would be undeniably weak. - -When taken to the church to be baptized, the infant, if a boy, is -carried on the right arm—if a girl, on the left. In the church the -father proper effaces himself as of no account in the proceedings; and -the godfather carries off all the honors. The more pompous ceremonial -at baptism occurs only at the birth of the first son. The Sicilian -proverb has it: “The first son is born a baron.” - -Immediately after the baptism Sicilian Albanians dance a special dance; -and when they go home they throw out roasted peas to the people. Hence: -“When shall we have the peas?” is used as a periphrasis for: “When -does she expect her confinement?” The water in which the “chrism,” or -christening cup is washed, is accounted holy, because of the sacred oil -which it has touched. It is flung out on to a hedge, so that no foot of -man may tread the soil which has received it. Also the water in which -the child is first washed is treated as a thing apart. It is thrown on -to the highway, if the babe be a boy; under the bed, or the oven, or in -some other part of the house, if it be a girl;—the one signifying that -a man must fare forth, the other that a woman must bide within. - -When the child “grows two days in one,” and “smiles to the angels?” -it is under the guardianship of certain other viewless, formless and -mysterious creatures, who seem to be vagabonds and open-air doubles of -the “Padrone della Casa.” These are “Le Donne di fuori.” The mother -asks permission of these “Donne,” before she lifts the child from the -cradle. “In the name of God,” she says, as she takes it up, “with your -permission, my ladies.” These “Donne di fuori,” are not always to be -relied on, for now they do, and now they do not, protect the little -one. It is all a matter of caprice and humor; but certainly no mother -who loved her child would omit this courteous entreaty to the, “Donne” -who are supposed to have had the creature in their keeping while she -was absent, and it was sleeping. - -Not everyone in Sicily can marry according to his desire and the -apparent fitness of things; for there are old feuds between parish and -parish, as bitter as were ever those of Guelf and Ghibelline in times -past; and the devotees of one saint will have as little to say to the -devotees of another as will Jew and Gentile, True Believer and Giaour. -In early times this local rivalry was, naturally, more pronounced than -it is at present; but even now in Modica it is extremely rare if a San -Giorgioaro marries a Sampietrana, or vice versâ—each considering the -other as of a different and heretical religion. A marriage made not -long ago between two people of these several parishes turned out ill -solely on the religious question, the husband and wife not agreeing to -differ, but each wanting to convert the other from the false to the -true faith, and indignant because of ill-success. Just lately, says Dr. -Pitrè, a Syracusan girl, whose patron saint was Saint Philip, and who -was betrothed to a young man of the confraternity of the Santo Spirito, -sent all adrift because, a few days before the marriage was to take -place, she went to see her lover, lying ill in bed, and found hanging -to the pillow a picture of the objectionable Santo Spirito. Whereat, -furious and enraged she snatched down the picture, tore it into a -thousand pieces which she trampled under foot, and then and there made -it a sine quâ non that her husband-elect should substitute for this -a picture of Saint Philip. This the young man refused to do; and the -marriage was broken off. - -Here in Sicily, as elsewhere, the seafaring population have little or -nothing to say to the landsfolk by way of marriage; holding themselves -more moral, more industrious, and in every way superior to those who -live by the harvests of the earth or by the quick returns and easy -profits of trade. But there is much more than this. The daughter of a -small landed proprietor will not be given to the master of men in any -kind of business, nor will the son of the former be suffered to marry -the daughter of the latter. A peasant farmer, without sixpence, would -not let his girl marry a well-to-do shepherd. A workman or rather a -day laborer—“bracciante”—would not be received into the family of a -muleteer, nor he again into one where the head was the keeper of swine -or of cattle. The husbandman who can prune vines disdains the man who -cannot dig, let him be what he will; the cow-herd disdains the ox-herd, -and he again the man who looks after the calves. The shepherd is above -the goat-herd; and so on, down to the most microscopic differences, -surpassing even those of caste-ridden India. - -When conditions, however, are equal, and there are no overt objections -to the desired marriage, the mother of the young man takes the thing -in hand. She knows that her son wants to marry, because he is sullen, -silent, rude, contradictious and fault-finding; because last Saturday -night he hitched up the ass to the hook in the house wall, instead of -stabling it as he ought, and himself passed the night out of doors; or -because—in one place in Sicily—he sat on the chest, stamped his feet -and kicked his heels, so that his parents, hearing the noise, might -know that he was disturbed in his mind, and wanted to marry so soon as -convenient. Then the mother knows what is before her, and accepts her -duties as a good woman should. - -She dresses herself a little smartly and goes to the house of the Nina -or Rosa with whom her son has fallen in love, to see what the girl is -like when at home, and to find out the amount of dower likely to be -given with her. She hides under her shawl a weaver’s comb, which, as -soon as she is seated, she brings out, asking the girl’s mother if she -can lend her one like it? This latter answers that she will look for -one, and will do all she can to meet her visitor’s wishes. She then -sends the daughter into another room, and the two begin the serious -business of means and dowry. - -In olden times the girl who did not know how to weave the thread she -had already spun had small chance of finding a husband, how great -soever her charms or virtues. Power looms and cheap cloth have changed -all this and substituted a more generalized kind of industriousness; -but, all the same, she must be industrious—or have the wit to appear -so—else the maternal envoy will have none of her; but leaving the -house hurriedly, crosses herself and repeats thrice the Sicilian word -for “Renounced.” In Modica the young man’s mother sets a broom against -the girl’s house-door at night which does the same as the weaver’s -comb elsewhere; and, if all other things suit, the young people are -betrothed the following Saturday. And after they are betrothed the -girl’s mother goes to a church at some distance from her own home, -where she stands behind the door, and, according to the words said by -the first persons who pass through, foretells the happiness or the -unhappiness of the marriage set on foot. - -The inventory of the girl’s possessions—chiefly house and -body-linen—is made by a public writer, and always begins with an -invocation to “Gesù, Maria, Giuseppe”—the Holy Family. It is sent -to the bridegroom-elect wrapped in a handkerchief. If considered -satisfactory, it is kept; if insufficient, it is returned. If accepted -as sufficient, there is a solemn conclave of the parents and kinsfolk -of the two houses. The girl is seated in the middle of the room. -Her future mother-in-law, or the nearest married kinswoman of the -bridegroom if she be dead, takes down and then plaits and dresses -her hair—all people who have been to Italy know what a universal -office of maternal care is this of dressing the girl’s hair;—slips -the engaged ring on her finger; puts a comb in her head; gives her -a silk-handkerchief, and kisses her. After this the girl rises, -kisses the hands of her future father-and mother-in-law, and seats -herself afresh, between her own kinsfolk on her left, and those of -her “promesso sposo,” on her right. In some places is added to these -manifestations a bit of flame-colored ribbon (“color rosso-fuoco; -colore obbligato”), which the future mother-in-law plaits into the -girl’s tresses while combing her hair, and which this latter never puts -off till the day of the wedding. Formerly a “promessa sposa” wore a -broad linen band across her brow and down her face, tied under her chin -with a purple ribbon. - -On her side the girl’s mother gives the future son-in-law a scapulary -of the Madonna del Carmine, fastened to a long blue ribbon. When the -formal kiss of betrothal is given between the young people, the guests -break out into “Evvivas!” and the wine and feasting begin. Formerly -a “promessa sposa” shaved off one or both of her eyebrows. But this -custom was inconvenient. If anything happened to prevent the marriage -it spoilt all chances for the future. - -Gifts from the man to the woman are de rigueur—a survival of the old -mode of barter or purchase. These gifts are generally of jewelry; -but sometimes the pair exchange useful presents of body-linen, &c. -At Easter the man gives the woman either a luscious sweet called -“cassata,” or a “peccorella di pasta reale,” that is a lamb couchant -made of almond paste, crowned with a tinsel crown, carrying a flag, -and colored after nature. At the Feast of St. Peter—the 29th of July; -not the same as Saints Peter and Paul—he gives keys made of flour and -honey, or of almonds, or of caramel. On the 2nd of November—the day -off All Souls’—he takes her sweet brown cakes with a white mortuary -figure raised in high relief, as a child, or a man, or a death’s head -and cross bones, or a well-defined set of ribs to symbolize a skeleton, -according to the nearest relative she may have lost. But in Mazarra -no one who loved his bride would give her aught in the likeness of a -cat, as this would presage her speedy death. Biscuits for St. Martin’s -day; gingerbread in true lovers’ knots, tough and tasteless, and -sugar bambini for Christmas; huge hearts, of a rather coarse imitation -of mincemeat, and sugared over, for the Feast of the Annunciation; on -the day of Saints Cosmo and Damian, medlars, quinces and the saints -themselves done in honey and sugar—and so on;—these are the little -courtesies of the betrothal which no man who respected himself, -or desired the love of her who was to be his wife, would dream of -neglecting. - -During the time of betrothal, how long so ever it may last, the young -people are never suffered to be one moment alone, nor to say anything -to each other which all the world does not hear. The man may go once -a week to the girl’s house; where he seats himself at the corner of -the room opposite to that where she is sitting; but he may not touch -her hand nor speak to her below his breath. In the country, when they -cannot marry for yet awhile, they engage themselves from year to year. -But they are always kept apart and rigorously watched. - -Formerly marriages were somewhat earlier than now. Now they are delayed -until the young fellow has served his three years in the army. They -used to be most general when he was twenty and she eighteen; and a -proverb says that at eighteen a girl either marries or dies. The church -did not sanction marriages earlier than these several ages, save in -exceptional cases; and any one who assisted at the marriage of a girl -below the age of eighteen, without the consent of her parents and -guardians, was imprisoned for life and forfeited all he had. This law, -however, was frequently broken in remote places, and especially about -Palermo, where “the marriages of Monreale” have passed into a proverb. -When a young girl, say of sixteen, marries and has a good childbirth, -they say, “She has been to Monreale.” - -May and August are unlucky months in which to be married. September -and the following three months are the most propitious. The prejudice -against May dates from old classic times; while June was considered as -fit by the Romans as it is now by the Palermitans. Up to the end of the -sixteenth century the day of days was St. John the Baptist’s. Two days -in the week are unlucky for marriage—Tuesday and Friday: - - “Nè di Venere nè di Marte - Non si sposa nè si parte.” - -Sunday is the best day of all; especially in country places, where it -is evidently the most convenient. - -If the bride or one of the bridal party slips by the way, if the ring -or one of the candles on the altar falls in church, the young couple -may look out for sorrow. If two sisters are married on the same day, -ill will fare the younger. If one candle shines with less brilliancy -than the other, or one of the kneeling spouses rises before the other, -that one whose candle has not burnt as it should, or the one who has -risen before the partner, will die first or die soon. - -In Piano de’ Greci—the Greek Colony about twelve miles from -Palermo—the young husband keeps his Phrygian cap on his head in -church, as a sign that he too is now the head of a new family; and in -olden times the bride used to come into church on horseback. In one -place, Salaparuta, the bride enters in at the small door and goes out -by the large; and she must perforce pass beneath the campanile, else -she has not been married properly. In the Sicilian-Albanian colonies, -after the wedding-rings—of gold for the man, of silver for the woman, -as marking her inferior condition—have been placed on their fingers -and the wedding crowns on their heads, the officiating priest puts a -white veil on himself. He then steeps some bread in a glass of wine, -and gives the young couple to eat three times; after which, invoking -the name of the Lord, he dashes the glass to the ground. Then they all -dance a certain dance, decorous, not to say lugubrious, consisting -properly of only three turns made round and round as a kind of waltz, -guided by the priest, with the accompaniment of two hymns, one to the -Prophet Isaiah, and the other—Absit omen—to the Holy Martyrs. After -the dance comes the Holy Kiss. The priest kisses the husband only, and -he all the men and his bride. She kisses only all the women. - -On their return from church “confetti” are thrown in the way before the -newly-married couple; or if not, then boxes of sweetmeats—like the -dragées of a French christening—are afterwards given to the parents -and kinsfolk. In one place they throw dried peas, beans, almonds -and corn—this last is the sign of plenty. Or they vary these with -vegetables, bread and corn and salt mixed; or with corn and nuts; or -“dolci” made of wheaten flour and honey. In Syracuse they throw salt -and wheat—the former the symbol of wisdom, the latter of plenty. The -Romans used to throw corn at their wedding feasts; and the nut-throwing -of Sicily dates from the times when young Caius or Julius flung to -his former companions those “nuces juglandes,” as a sign that he was -no longer a boy ready to play as formerly with them all. In Avola, -the nearest neighbor goes up to the bride with an apron full of -orange leaves, which she flings in her face, saying, “Continence and -boy-children!” then strews the remainder before the house-door. To -this ceremony is added another as significant—breaking two hen’s eggs -at the feet of the “sposi.” At one place they sprinkle the threshold -with wine before entering. Another custom at Avola, as sacred as our -wedding-cake, is to give each of the guests a spoonful of “ammilata,” -almonds pounded up with honey. At Piano de’ Greci, and in the other -Sicilian-Greek colonies, the mother-in-law stands at the door of the -house waiting for her daughter-in-law to give her a spoonful of honey -as soon as she enters, to which are added “ciambelle”—small cakes in -the form of a ring. The bride’s house is adorned with flowers, but it -is a bad omen if two bits of wire get put by chance crosswise. - -At dinner the bridegroom leaves the bride to go to his own home, but he -returns in the middle of the meal to finish it with his bride; which -seems a daft-like custom, serving no good purpose beyond the waste -of time. They are very particular as to who shall sit on the right -and who on the left of the bride, when, gayly dressed and set under -a looking-glass, she sits like a doll to receive the congratulations -of her friends. The first day of these receptions all the invitations -are given by the mother of the bride; the second they are given by -the mother of the bridegroom. There is good store of maccheroni and -the like; and at Modica a plate is set to receive the contributions -of the guests—like our Penny Weddings in the North. Some give money, -some jewelry, etc., and the amount raised is generally of sufficient -worth in view of the condition of the high contracting parties. In the -evening they dance, when the “sposo” or “zitu,” cap in hand, makes a -profound bow to the bride or “zita,” who rises joyously and dances -“di tutta lena.” After a few turns the “zitu” makes another profound -bow and sits down; when the bride dances once round the room alone, -then selects first one partner then another. “Non prigari zita pr’ -abballari.” Songs and dances finished, the mother-in-law accompanies -the bride to the bride-chamber. In default of her, this time-honored -office devolves on the bridegroom’s married sister or otherwise -nearest relation. This is de rigueur; and there was an ugly affray -at Palermo not so long ago on this very matter, which ended in the -wounding and imprisonment of the bridegroom and his kinsfolk. Often -all sorts of rude practical jokes are played, especially on old people -or second marriages; some of which are horribly unseemly, and all are -inconvenient. The bride stays eight days in the house receiving visits, -and having a “good time” generally; after which she goes to church -dressed all in white. In the marriage contract it is specified to what -festas and amusements the husband shall take her during the year; and -in olden times was added the number of dishes she was to have at her -meals, the number of dresses she was to be allowed during the year, -down to the most minute arrangements for her comfort and consideration. - -Now comes the last scene of all—the last rites sacred to the shuffling -off this mortal coil, which close the trilogy of life. - -Among old Sicilian rules was one which enjoined, after three days’ -illness, the Viaticum. This is eloquent enough of the rapidity with -which Death snatched his victims when once he had laid his hand on -their heads. The most common prognostications of death are: the -midnight howling of a dog; the hooting of an owl; the crowing of a -hen at midnight; to dream of dead friends or kinsfolk; to sweep the -house at night; or to make a new opening of any kind in an inhabited -house. Boys are of evil omen when they accompany the Viaticum, but as -they always do accompany it, it would seem as if no one who has once -received the Last Sacraments has a chance of recovery. He has not much; -but it does at times happen that he breaks the bonds of death already -woven round him and comes out with renewed life and vigor. Death is -expected at midnight or at the first hours of the morning or at mid-day. -If delayed, something supernatural is suspected. Had the dying man when -in health burnt the yoke of a plough? Is there an unwashed linen-thread -in his mattress? Perhaps he once, like care, killed a cat. If he delays -his dying, the friends must call out his name in seven Litanies, or at -least put his clothes out of doors. In any case he dies because the -doctor has misunderstood his case and given him a wrong medicine; else -Saints Cosmo and Damian, Saints Francisco and Paolo, would have saved -him. When he dies the women raise the death-howl and let loose their -hair about their shoulders. All his good qualities are enumerated and -his bad ones are forgotten. He is dressed in white, and after he is -dressed his shroud is sewn tight. This pious work gains indulgences -for those who perform it; and the very needle is preserved as a sacred -possession. Sometimes, however, it is left in the grave-clothes to -be buried with the corpse. In certain places the women are buried -in their wedding-dress, which they have kept all these years to -serve as their shroud. Seated or in bed the corpse is always laid -out feet foremost to the door, and for this reason no one in Sicily -makes a bed with the head to the window and the feet to the door. -It would be a bad omen. About the corpse-bed stand lighted candles, -or, however poor the family, at least one little oil lamp. The hired -mourners, “repulatrici,” were once so numerous and costly as to demand -legislative interference and municipal regulation. To this day they -tear their hair and throw it in handfuls on the corpse; and the sisters -who lament their brothers—rustic Antigones and Electras—exhale their -sorrows in sweet and mournful songs. - -In past ages a piece of money was put into the mouth of the corpse—a -survival of the fare which Charon was bound to receive. A virgin has a -palm branch and a crown in her coffin; a child a garland of flowers. It -is the worst possible omen for a bridal procession to meet a funeral. -It has to be averted by making the “horns”—or “le fiche” (thrusting -the thumb between the first two fingers) or by putting a pomegranate -before the door or in the window. At Piano de’ Greci certain little -loaves or bread-cakes in the form of a cross are given to the poor on -the day of a death. In Giacosa, behind the funeral procession comes an -ass laden with food, which, after the burial, is distributed either -here in the open or under cover in some house. The Sicilian-Albanians -do not sit on chairs during the first days of mourning, but on the -dead man’s mattress. In some houses all is thrown into intentional -confusion—turned upside down, to mark the presence of death. Others -put out the mattress to show that the invalid is dead; others again -remake the bed as for marriage, placing on it the crucifix which the -sick man had held in his hand when dying. Woe to those who let the -candle go out while burning at the foot of the bed! On the first day of -mourning, there is one only of these corpse-lights; on the second day -two; on the third three. Men and women sit round—the men covered up in -their cloaks with a black ribbon round their throats—the women with -their black mantles drawn close over the head, all in deep mourning. -For the first nine days, friends, also in strict mourning, throng the -house to pay their formal visits of condolence. The mourners do not -speak nor look up, but sit there like statues, and talk of the dead in -solemn phrases and with bated breath, but entering into the minute and -sometimes most immodest details. The mourning lasts one or two years -for parents, husband or wife, and brothers and sisters; six months for -grandparents, and uncles and aunts; three months for a cousin. - -Babies are buried in white with a red ribbon as a sash, or disposed -over the body in the form of a cross. They lie in a basket on the table -with wax candles set round, and their faces are covered with a fine -veil. They are covered with flowers, and on the little head is also -a garland of flowers. No one must weep for the death of an infant. -It would be an offence against God, who had compassion on the little -creature and took it to make of it an angel in Paradise before it had -learned to sin. The announcement of its death is received with a cry of -“Glory and Paradise!” and in some places the joybells are rung as for a -festa. When taken to the Campo Santo, it is accompanied with music and -singing. - -The soul of the dead is to be seen as a butterfly, a dove, an angel. -The soul of a murdered man hovers about the cross raised to his memory -on the place of his murder; the soul of one righteously executed by the -law, remains on earth to frighten the timid; the soul of the suicide -goes plumb to hell, “casal-diavolo,” unless the poor wretch repents -at the supreme moment. Judas is condemned to hover always over the -“tamarix Gallica,” on which he hanged himself, and which still bears -his name; children go to the stars; while certain women believe that -their souls will go up the “stairs of St. Japicu di Galizia,” which -plain people call the Milky Way. - -These are the most striking and picturesque of the customs and usages -collected by Dr. Pitrè in his exhaustive and instructive little book. -What remains is either too purely local, or too little differenced to -be of interest to people not of the place. Also have been omitted a few -unimportant details of a certain “breadth” and naturalistic simplicity -which would not bear translating into English.—_Temple Bar._ - - - - -THE FUTURE OF ELECTRICITY AND GAS. - - -More than eighty years ago, Davy first produced and exhibited the -arc-light to an admiring and dazzled audience at the Royal Institution; -and forty years later, at the same place, Faraday, by means of his -memorable experiments in electro-dynamics, laid down the laws on which -the modern dynamo-electric machine is founded. Though known at the -beginning of the century, the electric light remained little more than -a scientific curiosity until within the last ten years, during which -period the dynamo-electric machine has been brought to its present -perfection, and electric lighting on a large and economical scale thus -rendered possible. The first practical incandescent lamps were produced -only seven years ago, though the idea of lighting by incandescence -dates back some forty years or more; but all attempts to manufacture an -efficient lamp were rendered futile by the impossibility of obtaining a -perfect vacuum. The year 1881 will long be remembered as that in which -electric lighting by incandescence was first shown to be possible and -practicable. - -The future history of the world will doubtless be founded more or less -on the history of scientific progress. No branch of science at present -rivals in interest that of electricity, and at no time in the history -of the world has any branch of science made so great or so rapid -progress as electrical science during the past five years. - -And now it may be asked, where are the evidences of this wonderful -progress, at least in that branch of electricity which is the subject -of the present paper? Quite recently, the wonders of the electric light -were in the mouths of every one; while at present, little or nothing is -heard about it except in professional quarters. Is the electric light -a failure, and are all the hopes that have been placed on it to end in -nothing? Assuredly not. The explanation of the present lull in electric -lighting is not far to seek; it is due almost solely and entirely -to speculation. The reins, so to say, had been taken from the hands -of engineers and men of science; the stock-jobbers had mounted the -chariot, and the mad gallop that followed has ended in ruin and -collapse. Many will remember the electric-light mania several years -ago, and the panic that took place among those holding gas shares. -The public knew little or nothing about electricity, and consequently -nothing was too startling or too ridiculous to be believed. Then came a -time of wild excitement and reckless speculation, inevitably followed -by a time of depression and ruination. Commercial enterprise was -brought to a stand-still; real investors lost all confidence; capital -was diverted elsewhere; the innocent suffered, and are still suffering; -and the electric light suffered all the blame. The government was -forced to step in for the protection of the public; and the result of -their legislation is the Electric Lighting Act which authorizes the -Board of Trade to grant licenses to Companies and local authorities -to supply electricity under certain conditions. These conditions have -reference chiefly to the limits of compulsory and permissive supply, -the securing of a regular and efficient supply, the safety of the -public, the limitation of prices to be charged, and regulations as to -inspection and inquiry. - -That the electric light has not proved a failure may be gleaned from a -rough survey of what has been done during the past two years, in spite -of unmerited depression and depreciation. In this country, permanent -installations have been established at several theatres in London and -the provinces; the Royal Courts of Justice, the Houses of Parliament, -Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, the Bank of England, and other -well-known buildings; while numerous railway stations, hotels, clubs, -factories, and private mansions throughout the country, have also -adopted the new light either entirely or in part. In addition to this, -over forty steamships have been fitted with the electric light during -the past year; and the Holborn Viaduct, with its shops and buildings, -has been lighted without interruption for the past two years. On the -continent, in addition to a large number of factories, private houses -and public buildings, numerous theatres at Paris, Munich, Stuttgart, -Brunn, Vienna, Berlin, Prague and Milan have been electrically -lighted. In New York, an installation of ten thousand lights has been -successfully running for the last year or two. Any one wishing to -see the electric light to advantage and its suitability to interior -decoration, should visit the Holborn Restaurant. This building, with -its finely decorated rooms, its architectural beauties, and ornamental -designs in the renaissance style, when viewed by the electric light, is -without doubt one of the chief sights of London. - -The electric light in the form of the well-known powerful and dazzling -arc-light is the favorite illuminant for lighting harbors, railway -stations, docks, public works, and other large spaces. But it is to -the incandescent lamp that one must look par excellence for the “light -of the future.” It has been satisfactorily established that lighting -by incandescence is as cheap as lighting by gas, provided that it be -carried out on an extensive scale. - -Very contradictory statements have from time to time been published -as to the relative cost of lighting by electricity and gas; and a few -remarks on the subject, without entering into detailed figures, will -explain much of this discrepancy. These remarks will refer to electric -lighting by incandescence. - -In the first place, the lighting may be effected in one of three -ways—(1) by primary batteries; (2) by dynamo-machines; or (3) by a -combination of dynamo machines and secondary batteries. The expense of -working with primary batteries is altogether prohibitory, except in the -case of very small installations; while secondary batteries have not -yet been made a practical success; so that the second method mentioned -above is the only one at present in the field. In the second place, a -distinction must be made between isolated installations and a general -system of lighting from central stations. Up to the present time, -nearly all the lighting by electricity has been effected by isolated -installations. If every man requiring one hundred or even several -hundred lights were to set up his own gas-works and supply himself from -them, the cost of lighting by gas would be enormously increased. Hence -it is manifestly unfair to compare the cost of electric light obtained -from isolated installations with gas obtained from gas-works supplying -many thousands of lights; yet this is being constantly done. Central -stations supplying at least, say, ten thousand lights, and gas-works on -an equal scale, must be compared in order to arrive at a true estimate -of the relative cost of electricity and gas. Several such extended -installations are now being erected in London and elsewhere. With -improved generating apparatus, and above all, with improved lamps, it -is confidently anticipated that the electric light will eventually be -cheaper than gas. Even if dearer than gas, it will be largely used for -lighting dwelling-houses, theatres, concert halls, museums, libraries, -churches, shops, showrooms, factories, and ships; while perhaps gas may -long hold its own as the poor man’s friend, since it affords him warmth -as well as light. - -The incandescent light is entirely free from the products of combustion -which heat and vitiate the air; it enables us to see pictures and -flowers as by daylight; it supports plants instead of poisoning them, -and enables many industries to be carried on by night as well as by -day. Add to this an almost perfect immunity from danger of fire and -no fear of explosion. When it is realized that a gas flame gives -out seventeen times as much heat as an incandescent lamp of equal -light-giving power, and that an ordinary gas flame vitiates the air -as much as the breathing of ten persons, some idea may be formed of -the advantage of the electric light from a sanitary point of view. -To this may be added absence of injury to books, walls and ceilings. -Visitors to the Savoy Theatre in London will doubtless have seen the -adaptability of this light for places of public amusement and it is now -possible to sit out a play in a cool and pleasant atmosphere without -incurring a severe headache. To theatrical managers the light offers -in addition unusual facilities for producing spectacular effects, such -as the employment of green, red, and white lamps to represent night, -morning, and daylight. The freedom from weariness and lassitude after -spending an evening in an electrically lighted apartment must be -experienced in order to be appreciated. The electric light very readily -adapts itself to the interior fittings and decorations of houses and -public buildings, and it can be placed in positions where gas could not -be used on account of the danger of fire. The old lines of gas-fittings -should be avoided as far as possible, and the lights placed singly -where required and not “bunched” together. For the lighting of mines, -electricity must stand unrivalled, though little has as yet been done -in this direction. Its speedy adoption either voluntarily or by Act of -Parliament, with the employment of lime cartridges instead of blasting -by gunpowder, will in the future render explosions in mines almost an -impossibility. In some cases, gas may yet for some time compete with -the electric light both in brilliancy and economy; for the electric -light has spurred on the gas Companies to the improved lighting of many -of our public streets and places. - -With the general introduction of electricity for the purpose of -lighting comes the introduction of electricity for the production of -power; for the same current entering by the same conductors can be -used for the production of light or of power, or of both. The same -plant at the central stations will supply power by day and light by -night, with evident economy. Electricity will thus be used for driving -sewing-machines, grinding, mixing, brushing, cleaning, and many other -domestic purposes. In many trades requiring the application of power -for driving light machinery for short periods, electricity will be of -the greatest value, and artisans will have an ever ready source of -power at their command in their own homes. - -Is electricity to supersede gas altogether? By no means, for gas is -destined to play a more important part in the future than it has done -in the past. Following close upon the revolution in the production of -light comes a revolution in the production of heat for purposes of -warming and cooking, and for the production of power. Gas in the future -will be largely used not necessarily as an illuminant, but as a fuel -and a power producer. When gas is burned in an ordinary gas flame, -ninety-five per cent. of the gas is consumed in producing heat, and -the remaining five per cent. only in producing light. Gas is far more -efficient than raw coal as a heating agent; and it is also far cheaper -to turn coal into gas and use the gas in a gas-engine, than to burn -the coal directly under the boiler of a steam-engine; for gas-engines -are far more economical than steam-engines. Bearing these facts in -mind it cannot but be seen that the time is not far distant when, both -by rich and poor, gas will be used as the cheapest, most cleanly, and -most convenient means for heating and cooking, and raw coal need not -enter our houses; also that gas-engines must sooner or later supersede -steam-engines, and gas thus be used for driving the machine that -produces the electricity. In the case of towns distant not more than, -say, fifty miles from a coal-field, the gas-works could with advantage -be placed at the colliery, the gas being conveyed to its destination -in pipes. Thus, coal need no longer be seen, except at the colliery -and the gas-works. With the substitution of gas for coal, as a fuel, -will end the present abominable and wasteful production of smoke. When -smoke, “blacks,” and noxious gases are thus done away with, life in -our most populous towns may become a real pleasure. Trees, grass, and -flowers will flourish, and architecture be seen in all its beauty. -Personal comfort will be greatly enhanced by the absence of smuts, -“pea-soup” fogs, and noxious fumes; and monuments, public buildings, -and pictures saved from premature destruction. - -The present method of open fires is dirty, troublesome, wasteful, -and extravagant. With the introduction of gas as a heating agent, -there will be no more carting about of coals and ashes, and no more -troublesome lighting of fires with wood, paper, and matches. No more -coal-scuttles, no more smoky chimneys, no more chimney sweeps! On -the other hand, the old open coal fire is cheerful, “pokable,” and -conducive to ventilation; while the Englishman loves to stand in front -of it and toast himself. All this, however, may still be secured in -the gas stoves of the future, as any one could easily have satisfied -himself at the recent Smoke Abatement Exhibition in London. The gas -stove of the future must be an open radiating stove, and not a closed -stove, which warms the air by conduction and convection chiefly, and -renders the air of a room dry and uncomfortable. - -It has been frequently pointed out that our coal-fields are not -inexhaustible; but they doubtless contain a sufficient supply for -hundreds of years to come. Long before the supply is likely to run -short, other sources of nature will be largely drawn upon. These are -the winds, waterfalls, tides, and the motion of the waves. The two -former have to some extent been utilized; but little or nothing has -been done or attempted with the latter. Before these can be to any -extent made use of, means must be devised for storing energy in the -form of electricity; a problem which is now being vigorously attacked, -but as yet without much practical success. That electricity has a great -future before it cannot for a moment be doubted.—_Chambers’s Journal._ - - - - - BEYOND THE HAZE. - - A WINTER RAMBLE REVERIE. - - - The road was straight, the afternoon was gray, - The frost hung listening in the silent air; - On either hand the rimy fields were bare; - Beneath my feet unrolled the long, white way, - Drear as my heart, and brightened by no ray - From the wide winter sun, whose disc reclined - In distant copper sullenness behind - The broken network of the western hedge— - A crimson blot upon the fading day. - - Three travellers went before me—one alone— - Then two together, who their fingers nursed - Deep in their pockets; and I watched the first - Lapse in the curtain the slow haze had thrown - Across the vista which had been my own. - Next vanished the chill comrades, blotted out - Like him they followed, but I did not doubt - That there beyond the haze the travellers - Walked in the fashion that my sight had known. - - Only “beyond the haze;” oh, sweet belief! - That this is also Death; that those we’ve kissed - Between our sobs, are just “beyond the mist;” - An easy thought to juggle with to grief! - The gulf seems measureless, and Death a thief. - Can we, who were so high, and are so low, - So clothed in love, who now in tatters go, - Echo serenely, “Just beyond the haze,” - And of a sudden find a trite relief? - —_Cornhill Magazine_. - - - - -MRS. MONTAGU. - - -Matthew Robinson, of West Layton in Yorkshire, married when he was -eighteen, and before he was forty found himself father of a numerous -family—seven sons and two daughters. His wife, whose maiden name was -Drake, had inherited property in Cambridgeshire, and this seems to have -been the cause of their settling at Cambridge about the year 1727. They -may also have been induced to do so from the fact that Dr. Conyers -Middleton, Mrs. Robinson’s step-father, held the office of Public -Librarian there. Conyers Middleton became subsequently celebrated by -his “Life of Cicero”; but at this time he was chiefly known as the -malignant enemy of the learned Bentley, Master of Trinity College, and -as the author of various polemical tracts and treatises. - -Middleton took an interest in the grandchildren of his deceased wife. -His favorite among them was his god-daughter Elizabeth, the elder of -the two girls. When first he saw her she was not quite eight years old. -He was at once struck by her precocious intelligence, and undertook to -begin her education. Her power of attention, and strength of memory, -were tested in the following way. He kept her with him while conversing -with visitors on subjects far beyond her grasp, and expected her both -to listen, and to give him afterwards some account of what had passed. -The exercise was a severe one, but his little pupil profited by it. -Guided by him, she made her first steps in Latin, her knowledge of -which, in after-life, was an inexhaustible source of pleasure. She -often regretted that she had not learnt Greek as well. - -A favorite amusement of the young Robinsons was that of playing at -Parliament, their gentle mother sitting by and obligingly acting as -Speaker, a title which her children habitually used when mentioning -her among themselves. Often, when dispute waxed too warm, had she to -interfere, and restore order among the senators, of whom Elizabeth was -not the least eloquent. - -Wimpole Hall, now the home of the Yorkes, was, in the early part of -last century, inhabited by Lord Oxford.[42] In 1731, Mrs. Robinson went -from Cambridge to pay a visit there, taking her daughter Elizabeth -with her. Lord and Lady Oxford had an only child and heiress, Lady -Margaret Harley, who, a few years later, became Duchess of Portland. -Lady Margaret was eighteen, and Elizabeth Robinson eleven. In spite -of the difference in their ages, they became friends at once. -Lady Margaret was immensely diverted by Elizabeth’s liveliness of -mind, and restlessness of body, and—being addicted to dispensing -nicknames—called her Fidget. Elizabeth was doubtless flattered by the -notice the other accorded her. On getting back to Cambridge, she sat -down to write a letter to her new friend, but had difficulty in finding -something to say. One can imagine her chewing the feather of her pen, -and rolling her eyes, in the agony of composition. At last she began: - - “This Cambridge is the dullest place: it neither affords - anything entertaining nor ridiculous enough to put into - a letter. Were it half so difficult to find something - to say as something to write, what a melancholy set of - people should we be who love prating!” - -Letter-writing soon ceased to cause her the slightest effort. This -was well, for she was cut off for a period from all but epistolary -intercourse with Lady Margaret, owing to her father’s settling at a -place he owned in Kent, Mount Morris, near Hythe. Had Mr. Robinson -followed his inclination, he would have preferred living in London, for -he much appreciated the society of his fellow-men. But prudence forbade -this. Though comfortably off, he was not wealthy, and already his -elder sons were treading on his heels. He fell to repining at times, -declaring that living in the country was simply sleeping with his -eyes open. His daughter Elizabeth (evidently now an authority in the -household) would rally him sharply when he spoke so, and we learn from -one of her letters that she had taken to putting saffron in his tea to -enliven his spirits. His temper, for all that, continued most -uncertain. Once, after promising to take her to the Canterbury Races, -and the festivities which followed them, he changed his mind suddenly, -and decided on remaining at home. Keenly disappointed was Elizabeth, -who was so eager about dancing, that she fancied she had at some time -or other been bitten by the tarantula. But philosophy came to her aid, -and she confessed that writing a long letter to her dear duchess, was a -more rational pleasure than “jumping and cutting capers.” - -Her health was not altogether satisfactory. An affection of the -hip-joint was the cause of her being ordered to Bath in 1740. Neither -the place itself, nor the lounging life led by the bathers, were much -to her taste. It amused her, though, to comment satirically on the -people she saw. Who, one wonders, were the good folks thus turned -inside out?— - - “There is one family here that affect sense. Their stock - is indeed so low that, if they laid out much, they would - be in danger of becoming bankrupt; but, according to - their present economy, it will last them their lives. - And everybody commends them—for who will not praise - what they do not envy? To commend what they admire, is - above the capacity of the generality.” - -On leaving Bath, she spent some weeks with the Duke and Duchess of -Portland, at their grand house in Whitehall. During her visit she was -ordered by the doctor to enter on a fresh course of baths—this time -at Marylebone—and thither she used to proceed every morning in the -ducal coach. The duchess accompanied her on the first occasion, and was -“frightened out of her wits” at the intrepidity with which she plunged -in. Lord Dupplin, who was given to rhyming, actually found material for -an ode in the account he received of Miss Fidget’s aquatic feats. - -The following year, Mr. Robinson’s younger daughter, Sarah, caught -the smallpox. Elizabeth who, besides being rather delicate, had a -considerable share of beauty to lose, was at once removed by her -parents from Mount Morris, and sent to lodge in the house of a -gentleman farmer living a few miles off—a certain Mr. Smith of Hayton. -By most young women, familiar, as was she, with the delights of -Ranelagh, Vauxhall, and Marylebone Gardens, the life at Hayton would -have been thought supremely dull; but Elizabeth had a mind too well -stored to find time hang heavy. “I am not sorry,” she writes, “to be -without the appurtenances of equipage for a while, that I may know -how much of my happiness depends upon myself, and how much comes from -the things about me.” Mr. Smith who enjoyed an income of four hundred -a year, she describes as a busy, anxious person, very silent, and -disposed to be niggardly. Mrs. Smith was a good sort of body, excellent -at making cheeses and syllabubs. The two Miss Smiths were worthy -damsels, yet hardly interesting to the pupil of Conyers Middleton. -The house was as clean as a new pin; it contained much worm-eaten -panelling and antique furniture, well rubbed and polished. The room -assigned to Elizabeth was spacious though dark, owing to the masses of -ivy veiling the windows. Here she reigned undisturbed; a big clock on -the staircase-landing struck the hours with solemn regularity. From -without came the cawing of rooks, and the grating noise of a rusty -weathercock fixed in the stump of an old oak-tree. She wrote of course -to the Duchess of Portland apologising for addressing her grace on -paper “ungilded and unadorned.” To Miss Donnellan,[43] another favored -correspondent, whose acquaintance she had made at Bath, she gives the -following account of herself and her surroundings: - - “I am forced to go back to former ages for my - companions; Cicero and Plutarch’s heroes are my - only company. I cannot extract the least grain of - entertainment out of the good family I am with; my best - friends among the living are a colony of rooks who have - settled themselves in a grove by my window. They wake me - early in the morning, for which I am obliged to them for - some hours of reading, and some moments of reflection, - of which they are the subject. I have not yet discovered - the form of their government, but I imagine it is - democratical. There seems an equality of power and - property, and a wonderful agreement of opinion. I am apt - to fancy them wise for the same reason I have thought - some men and some books so, because they are solemn, and - because I do not understand them. If I continue here - long, I shall grow a good naturalist. I have applied - myself to nursing chickens, and have been forming the - manners of a young calf, but I find it a very dull - scholar.” - -At last, Sarah Robinson was pronounced convalescent; and the sisters, -who were devoted to one another, were permitted to have an interview, -in the open air, at a distance of six feet apart. Soon after, all fear -of infection being gone, Elizabeth bid adieu to Hayton and its inmates -(not forgetting the rook republic) and returned home. - -Miss Robinson was not of a susceptible nature. There is reason to -believe that, during her stay in London, she had several sighing swains -at her feet. There is mention too, in one of her letters, of a certain -clownish squire, a visitor at Hayton, who complimented her “with all -the force of rural gallantry.” But this gentleman she could only liken -to a calf, and his attentions were received with polite indifference. -Indeed, on the subject of marriage, she had decided opinions. - - “When I marry,” was her written declaration, “I do not - intend to enlist entirely under the banner of Cupid - or Plutus, but take prudent consideration, and decent - inclination, for my advisers. I like a coach and six - extremely; but a strong apprehension of repentance would - not suffer me to accept it from many that possess it.” - -A suitor of an approved type soon presented himself. In the person of -Edward Montagu, Esquire, the main requirements seemed combined. He was -of good birth, being a grandson of the first Lord Sandwich: he was -rich, and had prospects of increased wealth some day. He had a place in -Yorkshire, another in Berkshire, and a house in town. He represented -Huntingdon in Parliament. _Au reste_, he was a courteous gentleman, -grave in aspect and demeanor, and some thirty years her senior. It may -be added that he was a mathematician of distinction, happiest when -alone pursuing his studies. - -In August 1742, being then twenty-two, Elizabeth Robinson became Mrs. -Montagu. It was not without a flutter of anxiety that she took even -this prudent step, but the sequel showed that she had chosen wisely. A -more generous, indulgent husband she could not have found. “He has no -desire of power but to do good,” was her report, after some experience -of his temper, “and no use of it but to make happy.” She suffered a -heavy bereavement, two years afterwards, in the loss of an infant boy, -her only child. This affected her health, and we hear of frequent -visits paid by her to Tunbridge Wells to drink the waters. Here is a -picture of the folks she encountered on the Pantiles: - - “Tunbridge seems the parliament of the world, where - every country and every rank has its representative; we - have Jews of every tribe, and Christian people of all - nations and conditions. Next to some German, whose noble - blood might entitle him to be Grand Master of Malta, - sits a pin-maker’s wife from Smock Alley; pickpockets, - who are come to the top of their profession, play with - noble dukes at brag.” - -The letters of Mrs. Montagu have been compared with those of her -kinswoman by marriage, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, to the disadvantage -of the latter. Of the two, Lady Mary is the livelier and wittier on -paper, but her writings are disfigured by a coarseness which, with the -other’s taste, she might have avoided. Mrs. Montagu is seen at her best -when addressing intimate friends. Her style is then easy and natural, -and the good things that drop from her pen are worth picking up; but it -is another affair when she writes to a stranger, especially one whom -she intends to dazzle with her learning. She then drags in gods and -goddesses to adorn her pages, uses metaphor to straining, and moralises -at wearisome length. - -The Montagus, though living in perfect harmony, afforded each other -little companionship. When at Sandleford, their favorite residence near -Newbury, in Berkshire, Mr. Montagu was all day long shut up in his -study. His wife was thrown on her own resources for amusement. With -country neighbors often stupid, and oftener rough, she had nothing in -common. It is just possible that she felt the winged fiend _Ennui_ -hovering over her. Some remarks addressed to a correspondent on the -necessity of occupation give that impression: - - “It is better to pass one’s life _à faire des riens, qu’ - à rien faire_. Do but do something; the application to - it will make it appear important, and the being the doer - of it laudable, so that one is sure to be pleased one’s - self. To please others is a task so difficult, one may - never attain it, and perhaps not so necessary that one - is obliged to attempt it.” - -To please others was no such difficult task for her, and she must -have known it. Cultivated society was the element in which she was -made to move. She was always glad when the time arrived to get into -her postchaise, and roll over the fifty-six miles that lay between -Sandleford and her house in Hill Street, Berkeley Square. This -habitation was at once stately and convenient; one room was furnished -in the Chinese style: the walls were lively with pagodas, willow-trees, -and simpering celestials. Here she collected around her the witty -and the wise. Her _salon_ quickly became the fashion. We find her on -one occasion apologizing to a lady for not answering her letter, and -explaining that, on the previous day, “the Chinese room was filled by a -succession of people from eleven in the morning till eleven at night.” -She is said to have introduced the custom—which did not however take -permanent root—of giving mid-day breakfasts. Madame du Boccage, a -lady of eminence in the French literary world, who happened to be in -England in 1750, gives a description of one of them in a letter to her -sister Madame Duperron. It appears that bread-and-butter, cakes hot and -cold, biscuits of every shape and flavor, formed the solid portion of -the feast. Tea, coffee, and chocolate were the beverages provided. The -hostess, wearing a white apron, and a straw hat (like those with which -porcelain shepherdesses are crowned), stood at the table pouring out -the tea. Madame du Boccage was much impressed by the fine table-linen, -the gleaming cups and saucers, and the excellence of the tea, which in -those days cost about sixteen shillings a pound. But especially did -she admire the lady of the house, who deserved, she considered, “to be -served at the table of the gods.“ - -Mrs. Montagu had, all her life, been a student of Shakespeare, and an -ardent admirer of his works. Her indignation may be imagined therefore -when Voltaire dared to condemn what he was pleased to call _les farces -monstrueuses_ of the bard of Avon.[44] It was contended by Voltaire that -Corneille was immeasurably superior to Shakespeare as a dramatist, -inasmuch as the latter set at nought Aristotle’s unities of time and -place, and otherwise violated accepted rules of dramatic composition. -That the vigor and freedom which characterise Shakespeare’s genius -should be depreciated, and the stilted artificialities of the French -school held up to admiration, was more than Mrs. Montagu could stand. -She thus denounces the philosopher of Ferney, and his opinions, in a -letter to Gilbert West: - - “Foolish coxcomb! Rules can no more make a poet than - receipts a cook. There must be taste, there must be - skill. Oh, that we were as sure our fleets and armies - could drive the French out of America as that our poets - and tragedians can drive them out of Parnassus. I hate - to see these tame creatures, taught to pace by art, - attack fancy’s sweetest child.” - -There was nothing for it but to enter the lists herself, and measure -swords with the assailant. She accordingly set to work at her “Essay on -the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare,” and very well she acquitted -herself of the task. Her essay, though heavy, did credit to her taste -and erudition. It was published in 1769, and had no small success. From -first to last, six editions appeared. She treated Voltaire in it with -surprising forbearance; yet he is said to have been extremely nettled -at his sovereign dictum being called in question—and by a woman -too! This was not her only literary performance. To the “Dialogues -of the Dead,” of which her friend Lord Lyttleton was the author, she -contributed three, the brightest being that in which Mercury and -Mrs. Modish are made to converse. Mrs. Modish is a typical woman of -fashion of the day. Mercury summons her to cross the Styx with him, -and she—surprised and unprepared—pleads in excuse divers trumpery -engagements (balls, plays, card-assemblies, and the like), to meet -which she neglects all her home duties. As several fine ladies tossed -their heads on reading the dialogue, and declared the Modish utterances -to be “abominably satirical,” we may presume that the cap fitted. - -In 1770, Mrs. Montagu had completely established her empire in the -world of literature. A list of the remarkable people who assembled -beneath her roof would fill a page. She was on terms of friendly -intimacy with Johnson, Goldsmith, Burke, Hume, Reynolds, Walpole, -Garrick, Dr. Burney, Dr. Young, Bishop Percy, Lords Lyttleton, Bath, -Monboddo, and a host more. Of the other sex may be named Mesdames -Carter, Chapone, Barbauld, Boscawen, Thrale, Vesey, Ord, and Miss -Burney. Dr. Doran, in his memoir of Mrs. Montagu, explains how her -parties, and those given by Mrs. Vesey and Mrs. Ord, came to be called -_Bluestocking_ Assemblies. It seems that Mr. Benjamin Stillingfleet, -who was always a welcome guest at them, wore stockings of a bluish -grey; and this peculiarity was fixed upon, by those disposed to deride -such gatherings, as affording a good stamp wherewith to brand them. -A _Bluestocking Club_ never existed. There was a _Literary Club_, of -which Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Johnson were the promoters, and to -this the so-called bluestockings of both sexes belonged. - -It was in 1774 that Hannah More was first introduced to Mrs. Montagu. -Hannah was the daughter of a schoolmaster in Gloucestershire, and had -come up to town at the invitation of Garrick. Her ambition from her -earliest childhood had been to mix in intellectual society, and win for -herself, if possible, a place therein. This she succeeded in doing with -a swiftness that will surprise those who have tried to read the plays -and ballads by which she made her name. Her cleverness, sound sense, -and fresh enthusiasm, attracted the “female Mecænas of Hill Street” (so -she styles Mrs. Montagu), who invited her to dinner, Johnson, Reynolds, -and Mrs. Boscawen, being of the party. - - “I feel myself a worm,” she tells her sister, “the more - a worm from the consequence which was given me by mixing - with such a society. Mrs. Montagu received me with the - most encouraging kindness. She is not only the finest - genius, but the finest lady I ever saw. Her countenance - is the most animated in the world—the sprightly - vivacity of fifteen, with the judgment and experience - of a Nestor. But I fear she is hastening to decay very - fast; her spirits are so active that they must soon wear - out the little frail receptacle that holds them.” - -Cards were discountenanced in Hill Street. After dinner, the company, -augmented by fresh arrivals, divided itself into little groups, -and much animated conversation went on. The hostess was especially -brilliant, holding her own in a brisk argument against four clever -men. Hannah was amused at observing how “the fine ladies and pretty -gentlemen” who could only talk twaddle, herded together. - -Mrs. Montagu was generally happy in her friendships, which she made -with caution, and only abandoned for good reason. It is hard to say -what first caused a breach between her and Johnson, who sometimes -smothered her with compliments, and as often, in chatting with Boswell, -spoke of her with harshness and disrespect. She, it is stated, once -pronounced his “Rasselas” an opiate, and the remark of course was not -allowed to lie where it fell. In return, he fastened on her “Essay -on Shakespeare,” declaring that there was not one sentence of true -criticism in the whole book. There is reason to suppose also that -he was jealous of the respectful deference she showed to Garrick -and Lyttleton. He certainly caused her pain later on, by the sneers -he bestowed on the latter (then dead) in his “Lives of the Poets.” -He had shown her the manuscript of the Life in question, and the -expressions in it which offended her she had marked for omission. He, -however, thought fit to disregard her wishes, and sent it to press as -originally written. On opening the book, and finding her idol alluded -to as “poor Lyttleton,” and accused of vanity and a cringing fear of -criticism, she was naturally incensed. As it was not convenient to -seek out the offender in Bolt Court, she asked him to dinner, and he -had the temerity to go. The repast over, he attempted to engage her in -conversation, but her icy manner repelled him. Retiring discomfited, he -seated himself next General Paoli, to whom he remarked, “Mrs. Montagu, -sir, has dropped me. Now, sir, there are people whom one should like -very well to drop, but would not wish to be dropped by.” After this, -open war was declared on both sides. Malicious onlookers, for sport’s -sake, fomented the disagreement. Foremost among these was Horace -Walpole. He relates with infinite glee that, at a bluestocking assembly -at Lady Lucan’s, “Mrs. Montagu and Johnson kept at different ends of -the chamber, and set up altar against altar.” Johnson had many reasons -for feeling grateful to Mrs. Montagu; it is therefore satisfactory to -know that, at the time of his death, he and she were on cordial terms -again. - -Not only could she dispute with the learned, and frolic with the -fashionable, in town; but at Sandleford Mrs. Montagu kept the farm -accounts, and rattled away glibly about agriculture. Then again at -Denton, her husband’s place in Northumberland, where he owned extensive -coal-mines, it was she, not he, who visited the pits with the overseer, -and discussed the prospects of trade. Her husband’s apathy to what -went on around him, and disinclination to move, irritated her, as is -evident from the slightly petulant remarks she lets drop thereupon -in her letters. She lost all patience with her brother William, the -clergyman, who preferred a life of easy retirement to going ahead in -his profession. “He leads,” she writes, “a life of such privacy and -seriousness as looks to the beholders like wisdom; but for my part, no -life of inaction deserves that name.” In 1774, her husband’s health was -visibly failing. He scarcely left the house, sought his bed at five -o’clock in the evening, and did not leave it till near noon. He died -the following year, bequeathing all his property, real and personal, -to his widow. She, after an interval of seclusion at Sandleford, -proceeded to the North, and busied herself in visiting her coal-mines, -and feasting her tenants on a liberal scale. Her colliery people she -blew out with boiled beef and rice-pudding. “It is very pleasant,” -she remarks, “to see how the poor things cram themselves, and the -expense is not great. We buy rice cheap, and skimmed milk and coarse -beef serve the occasion.” Having projected various schemes of charity -and usefulness among her vassals in Northumberland, she proceeded to -Yorkshire, and with the state of affairs on her property there she was -equally pleased. A prolonged drought, it is true, had this summer burnt -the country to a brown crust; not a blade of grass was visible; cattle -had to be driven miles to water. Yet her tenants asked no indulgence -nor favor, but paid their rents like men, hoping philosophically that -the next season would be better. - -The following year, she was moving in a different scene. She was -in Paris, where her reputation as a _bel esprit_ of the first rank -was established. The doors of the greatest houses were thrown open -to receive her, and she was hurried hither and thither in a manner -bewildering. - -Voltaire was prevented by age and decrepitude from appearing in public; -but he heard of her arrival, and took the opportunity of addressing -a letter to the Academy renewing his attack on Shakespeare. She was -present when this letter (intended as a crushing response to her -essay) was read. The meeting over, the president observed to her -apologetically, “I fear, Madam, you must be annoyed at what you have -just heard.” She at once answered, “I, sir! Not at all. I am not one of -M. Voltaire’s friends!” - -She had already named as her heir her nephew Matthew Robinson (the -younger of the two sons of her third brother Morris), who assumed, by -royal licence, the surname and arms of Montagu. In young Matthew, now -a boy of fourteen, her hopes and affections were accordingly centred. -His education was her first care. She sent him to Harrow, where he -did dwell. In the holidays, she had him taught to ride and to dance, -the latter exercise being essential, in her opinion, for giving young -people a graceful deportment. She was indeed shocked at observing, on -one of her later visits to Tunbridge Wells, that owing to there being -a camp hard by at Coxheath, young ladies had adopted a military air, -strutting about with their arms akimbo, humming marches, and refusing -to figure in the courtly minuet. - -When he was seventeen, Matthew Montagu was entered at Trinity College, -Cambridge. Here again, without doing anything remarkable, he acquitted -himself creditably, and never got into a single scrape. While he was -thus progressing, his aunt was preparing to leave her residence in -Hill Street, and move into a far finer mansion which she had purchased -in Portman Square. This edifice, considerably altered and modernised, -fills up the north-west angle of the square. It is conspicuous for its -size, and the spacious enclosure surrounding it. Much building and -decorating had to be got through before the fortunate owner could -migrate thither. In the following extract from a letter written at the -time, she proves herself a sharp woman of business: - - “My new house is almost ready. I propose to move all my - furniture from Hill Street thither, and to let my house - unfurnished till a good purchaser offers. Then, should - I get a bad tenant, I can seize his goods for rent; and - such security becomes necessary in these extravagant - times.” - -Meantime, extensive improvements were being carried on at Sandleford. -Within the house, various Gothicisms, in imitation of Strawberry Hill, -were contrived. Without, what with widening of streams, levelling of -mounds, planting in and planting out, our good lady’s purse-strings -were kept perpetually untied. Yet she managed to keep well within -her income. The celebrated landscape-gardener, “Capability” Brown, -superintended matters. - - “He adapts his scheme,” she says, “to the character of - the place and my purse. We shall not erect temples to - heathen gods, build proud bridges over humble rivulets, - or do any of the marvellous things suggested by caprice, - and indulged by the wantonness of wealth.” - -The winter of 1782 found Mrs. Montagu established at her palace, -for so her foreign friends called it, in Portman Square. Everything -about it delighted her—the healthy open situation, the space and -the magnificence. We hear of one room with pillars of old Italian -green marble, and a ceiling painted by Angelica Kauffmann. At a later -date, she further adorned it with those wondrous feather hangings, to -form which, feathers were sought from every quarter, all kinds being -acceptable, from the flaring plumage of the peacock and the parrot to -the dingier garb of our native birds. It was with reference to this -feathering of her London nest that the poet Cowper wrote: - - “The birds put off their every hue, - To dress a room for Montagu.” - -When Matthew Montagu left Cambridge, there was a talk of his making the -grand tour. His aunt, however, decided that the atmosphere of home was -less likely to be corrupting. The scheme was therefore abandoned, and -he was sent forth instead into London society. The impression he made -was such as to satisfy her. She was of course anxious that, if he did -marry, he should exercise judgment in his choice. When therefore he -fixed his affections on a charming girl with fifty thousand pounds, -she could raise no objections. He entered Parliament as member for -Bossiney,[45] and in 1787 he seconded the Address to the Throne in a -maiden speech which appears to have attracted some attention; members -of both Houses called to congratulate his aunt upon his successful -start in public life: “indeed, for several mornings,” says she, “I had -a levée like a Minister.” - -In process of time a grand-nephew made his appearance, and then Mrs. -Montagu’s cup of joy seemed to be full. From this point her life flowed -smoothly onward to its close. Death had made sad havoc among those who -had assembled around her once, yet the gaps were quickly filled. She -entertained more splendidly than ever. Her parties differed from the -old gatherings in Hill Street. Royalty honored her with its presence. -Titles, stars, and decorations abounded: she herself had never been -more sparkling: yet the witty aroma being more diffused, smelt fainter. -While welcoming the rich, she did not forget the poor. Every May -Day, the courtyard before her house was thronged by a multitude of -chimney-sweeps, with faces washed for the occasion, and for these a -banquet of roast beef and plum pudding was provided. - -It surprised her friends that one so fragile in appearance, who looked -as though a breath of wind might blow her away, should be equal to -the fatigues of a worldly existence. Hannah More, when first she knew -her, had described her as “hastening to insensible decay by a slow but -sure hectic.” Twenty years after, on one of her brief visits to town, -she found her hectic patient (aged seventy-six) “well, bright, and in -full song,” The excitement afforded by mixing with the giddy world had -long since wearied and sickened the worthy Hannah, but to the mistress -of Montagu House it had become a necessity. Without it she would -have moped. She resigned her sceptre gradually and reluctantly. Sir -Nathaniel Wraxall alludes in a rather malicious tone to the splendor of -her attire, when in extreme old age, and especially to the quantity -of diamonds that flashed on head, neck, arms, and fingers. “I used -to think,” he says, “that these glittering appendages of opulence -sometimes helped to dazzle the disputant whom her arguments might not -always convince, or her literary reputation intimidate.” At length -failing strength obliged her to retire from a scene in which she had -long shone the brightest star, and we hear of her less and less. She -died in 1800, aged eighty. - -The gap left by her in society has never been exactly filled—except -possibly by Lady Blessington, who was a far shallower person than her -predecessor, with sympathies less exclusively literary. The kindness -Mrs. Montagu showed to struggling authors, and the assistance she lent -them in time of need, are pleasant to remember. It was to her influence -in a great measure, that Beattie owed the success of his “Minstrel,” -and Hannah More that of her windy play “Percy.” She condescended to -notice the humblest efforts—like those, for instance, of Mrs. -Yearsley, the ungrateful milk-woman of Bristol, in whose poetical -effusions she discovered a surprising “force of imagination and harmony -of numbers.” - -The literary _salon_, properly so called, appears to be a thing of the -past. Society is now too large, and time too precious, to admit of its -revival. Besides, workers in literature appeal to a discerning public, -and not to individual patrons and patronesses, for support. Even if -such a revival were possible, a leader like Mrs. Montagu could hardly -be found. It was Johnson himself who said of her: - - “She exerts more mind in conversation than any - person I ever met with; she displays such powers - of ratiocination, such radiations of intellectual - excellence, as are amazing.” - -This is strong praise, and it agrees with the opinions of others hardly -less celebrated. There are few, it would seem, at the present day, of -whom the same could, with truth, be said.—_Temple Bar._ - - - - -GENERAL GORDON AND THE SLAVE TRADE. - - -In an article in the _Fortnightly Review_ for the month of October,[46] -under the heading of “The Future of the Soudan,” grave charges are made -against General Gordon. - -It is alleged in that article that General Gordon’s proclamation -at Khartoum, of the 18th or 19th of February last, will have a -very injurious effect upon the condition of thousands of unhappy -negroes from the upper regions of the Nile, who are, or will become, -slaves. That General Gordon has undone by his own hands the work he -devoted years of his life to accomplish. That his proclamation to -the slaveholders showed that he was inclined to temporize with an -injustice, and that the English Government have confirmed the right -of man to sell man. It is further asserted that the issue of the -proclamation secured General Gordon’s safe arrival at Khartoum. - -The writer advocates the total abolition of slavery in Egypt at once, -without any compensation. He is of opinion that General Gordon should -not have accepted a commission from the Khedive. He thinks that if -an equitable administration, under the British Government, cannot be -established, it would be better to abandon the Soudan absolutely, and -leave the native chiefs to themselves, even at the risk of there being -a period of anarchy; but further on he says there is no reason why we -should allow the Soudan to sink into barbarism. And then he goes on to -assume that some form of government might be established, separate from -Egypt, and that the railway from Suakim to Berber ought to be made, -if we wish to keep open the road to Khartoum, and our access to the -heart of Africa. The writer considers that the garrisons of Kassala -and Sennaar should have been relieved through Abyssinia, and that -General Gordon was most unwisely empowered to settle the nomination of -the future native administration of the country, in place of frankly -withdrawing from the Soudan, and leaving the tribes to settle their -government among themselves. The writer then makes a direct charge -against General Gordon to the effect that he, in a proclamation of -February 26, said he had been compelled to send for British troops, who -were then on the road, and would arrive in a few days. In conclusion, -the writer of the article states that the despatch of the present -expedition is a sufficient proof that General Gordon overrated his -powers. - -Now what are the facts? - -According to the terms of the Convention[47] between the British and -Egyptian Governments for the suppression of the slave trade, dated -August 4, 1877, it was agreed that slave-hunting should cease, and that -any persons engaged therein should be treated as murderers, and it -was further arranged that after certain dates—viz., August 4, 1884, -in lower Egypt, and August 4, 1889, in the Soudan, all trafficking in -slaves between family and family, should be illegal, and be punished -with imprisonment. It was further resolved that a special ordinance -should be published throughout the land of Egypt, in order to prepare -the people for the change determined upon. - -General Gordon, during the time that he was Governor-General of the -Soudan, rigidly adhered to this Convention, and annually published a -proclamation to the effect that the sale of slaves between family and -family would determine in 1889. In Lower Egypt, where, by the terms -of the Convention, the sale of slaves has already become illegal, no -such proclamations have been promulgated, nor have any steps whatever -been taken to put the terms of the Convention into force. Although -General Gordon faithfully carried out the provisions of this article -of the Convention, he was adverse to the conditions. He saw that they -could not be carried out; and suggested that the only effectual way of -abolishing slavery would be the following:— - - 1. The registration of all existing slaves. - - 2. Registers to be kept in each Government office of the names of - slaves and their owners, with a description of each. - - 3. Every slave not registered within six months from a certain date - to be free. - - 4. All slaves born after a certain date to be free. - -And he suggested that the Convention should be cancelled, and that the -foregoing proposals should take its place. - -Prior to General Gordon’s arrival in the Soudan in February last, it -was rumored throughout that country by the emissaries of the Mahdi, -that General Gordon would proclaim the freedom of all slaves, which -form seven-eighths of the population of that province. In order to -counteract this baneful influence, General Gordon, on his arrival at -Khartoum, issued the proclamation[48] complained of. What are its terms? -It simply tells the people what they are by law entitled to—viz., -“That whoever has slaves shall have full right to their services, -and full control over them, and that no one shall interfere with -their property.” General Gordon had no power to cancel the Convention -and abolish slavery. What he did was in accordance with a solemn -convention entered into by the Governments of Great Britain and Egypt, -and in no way referred to the making of new slaves, and still less to -slave-hunting, against which nefarious traffic, as is well known, all -his energies have been exercised. - -It is not the case that the issue of the proclamation procured the safe -arrival of General Gordon at Khartoum. The proclamation was not issued -until after his arrival at Berber—most probably not until after his -arrival at Khartoum itself. - -With regard to the total abolition of slavery, without compensation, -at once—the writer can hardly have considered the question. For a -powerful nation like Great Britain to confiscate the personal property -of a people, with whom slavery dates from the time of the Pharaohs, -would be as impolitic as it would be unjust. We have no right, human -or divine, to so deal with property that is not our own. We did not -dare to act in this manner when we gave our slaves their freedom, we -began by proposing a loan of £15,000,000, and we ended by a gift of -£20,000,000. - -With respect to General Gordon’s commission as Governor-General which -is objected to—how could he have derived any power without it? The -number of Egyptian employés and troops could be counted by thousands, -each province being under the government of an Egyptian Pasha. How -could he have issued any orders unless he derived his authority from -the firman of the Khedive. - -The writer advocates the evacuation of the Soudan upon any terms, even -if such withdrawal would result in anarchy—always provided that Great -Britain is not prepared to exercise a protectorate over it—and then he -goes on to recommend the construction of the Suakim and Berber railway -under any circumstances, with the view of opening the road to Khartoum, -and giving us access to the heart of Africa. He seems to consider -that the people of the Soudan would, after a time of anarchy, form -good governments. It is asserted, on the contrary, that the country, -at present a productive one, would revert into barbarism, and, after -a scene of murder, rapine, and plunder, would become the resort of -slave-hunters,[49] who would carry on raids into all the surrounding -provinces. - -The writer does not say where the money is to come from for the -construction of the railway, or how it is to be maintained. When -he speaks of the garrisons of Sennaar and Kassala being withdrawn -through Abyssinia, he apparently forgets the extreme hatred that -exists between the natives of the Soudan and the Abyssinians. He -seems to have forgotten the thousands of people whom General Gordon -was sent to remove. Putting on one side the Egyptian garrisons in -the Bahr-el-Gazelle, and at the equator, and other places, Colonel -Coetlogen states[50] that the people to be removed from Khartoum and -Sennaar alone consists of from 40,000 to 50,000 persons, and is of -opinion that the evacuation would take two years to carry out, and -could only be carried out at great risk, and with much bloodshed. - -It is very difficult to explain the meaning of the proclamation of -February 26,[51] wherein General Gordon speaks of having sent for -British troops who would in a few days be in Khartoum. It would seem as -if the proclamation had been promulgated under some misapprehension or -misunderstanding open to explanation. General Gordon is not an Arabic -scholar, and his interpreter may have inserted words that he did not -use. Again, General Gordon may have intended to allude to Graham’s -force proceeding to Suakim,[52] since the proclamation is addressed to -the inhabitants of the Soudan generally, of which Suakim is an integral -part; or he may refer to the 200 Indian troops that on the same day -(February 26) he requests[53] may be sent to Wadi-Halfa. - -As this incident has nothing to do with the future of the Soudan, nor -with the slave proclamation, it would seem quite unnecessary for the -writer of the article in the _Fortnightly Review_ to go out of his way -to charge General Gordon, an absent officer, with having proclaimed an -untruth. - -As to the statement that “the dispatch of the present expedition is -a sufficient proof that General Gordon overrates his powers,” it is -not to be believed that the people of England will endorse any such -unfair statement. On the contrary, they will be of opinion that General -Gordon’s prestige has never stood so high as it does at this time. It -has certainly carried him through the perils of a terrible ordeal out -of which it seems probable that he and his companions will emerge with -undiminished reputation. Few persons will ever know the fearful anxiety -which he has undergone during this time of trial—not on account of -himself, but on account of those who were with him, and for whose lives -he considered himself responsible. General Gordon never asked for any -expedition to Khartoum. After Graham’s victories, he requested that -two squadrons of British cavalry should be sent to Berber, and 200 men -to Wadi-Halfa. He himself remarked, he made these requests solely on -account of the moral effect they would produce if acceded to. - -It is difficult to know for what purpose the present expedition is -sent, except it be to carry out the evacuation of this fertile country. -It is to be hoped, however, in the interests of humanity, that the -country may be retained under Egyptian rule, the more especially as -Khartoum is as essential to Egypt as our frontier position at Quetta -is to India. Under Egyptian rule it returned a surplus revenue of over -£100,000. - -The question of Zebehr requires no comment, and it is too long a -subject to go into. - -In conclusion, it may be observed that, while General Gordon would -perhaps deprecate any notice being taken of the article referred to, -yet in his absence his friends do not consider it should be allowed to -pass unobserved.—_Contemporary Review._ - - - - -WÜRZBURG AND VIENNA. - -SCRAPS FROM A DIARY. - -BY EMILE DE LAVELEYE. - - -Going to Vienna to collect books and documents, with the intention of -studying the results of Bosnia’s occupation by Austro-Hungary, I take -the Rhine route, and stop two days at Würzburg to see Ludwig Noiré and -have a talk on Schopenhauer. The _Vater Rhein_ is now changed beyond -recognition: _quantum mutatus ab illo_. How different all is to when -I visited it for the first time, years ago on foot, stopping at the -stages mentioned in Victor Hugo’s “Rhin,” which had just appeared. -All those grand peeps of Nature to be got on the old river, as it -forced its majestic way through barriers of riven rocks and volcanic -upheavals, have now almost wholly disappeared. The wine-grower has -planted his vineyards even in the most secluded nooks, and built stone -terraces where the rocks were too steep for cultivation. All along -the banks, these giant staircases climb to the summits of peaks and -ravines. The vines have stormed the position, and their aspect is -uniform. The Burgs, built on heaps of lava, “the Maus” and “the Katze,” -those sombre retreats of the Burgraves of old, now covered with the -green leaves of the vine, have lost their former wild aspect. The -Lorelei manufactures white wine, and the syren no longer intoxicates -sailors with the songs of her harp, but with the juice of the grape. -There is nothing here now to inspire Victor Hugo’s “Burgraves,” or -Heine’s - - “Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten, - Dass ich so traurig bin; - Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten, - Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.” - -Below, engineering skill has dammed in the waters of the river, and -the basaltic blocks form a black wall with white lines between the -stones. Black and white! Even the old God of the Rhine has adopted -the Prussian colors. Embankments have been constructed at the wide -points of the river, for the purpose of increasing its depth, and of -reconquering meadows, by the slow but natural process of raising the -level by mud deposits. Between Mannheim and Cologne, the current has -gained ten hours, and the dangers of navigation of legendary celebrity -have disappeared. All along the embankments immense white figures -inform navigators at what distance from them it is safe to pass. On -each bank, too, runs a railway, and on the river itself pass steamers -of every shape, form, and description—steamers with three decks, for -tourists, as in the United States, little pleasure-boats, iron barges -from Rotterdam, steam-tugs worked by paddle or screw, and dredgers of -various proportions; all these hundreds of chimneys vomit a continuance -of black smoke, which darkens the whole atmosphere. The carriage roads -are in admirable order; not a rut is visible, and they are lined with -fruit-trees, and with the same black and white basaltic blocks as the -river. The Prussian colors again; but the aim is to point out the road -for carriages on dark nights. When the way turns either to the right -or the left, the trees on each side of it are painted white, so as to -be distinctly visible. I have never anywhere seen a great river so -thoroughly tamed, subdued, and utilized, so completely bent to man’s -necessities. The free Rhine of Arminius and of the Burgraves is as well -disciplined as any grenadier of Brandenburg, The economist and the -engineer admire, but painters and poets bewail. - -Buffon, in a page published in every “Cours de Littérature,” sings -a hosanna to cultivated Nature, and appears unable to find words -strong enough to express his horror of Nature in its savage state, -“brute” Nature as he calls it. At the present day, our impression is -precisely the reverse of this. We seek on almost inaccessible summits, -in the region of eternal snow, and in the very heart of hitherto -unexplored continents, a spot where man has not yet penetrated, and -where we may behold Nature in her inviolate virginity. We are stifled -by civilization, wearied out with books, newspapers, reviews, and -periodicals, letters to write and to read; railway travelling, the -post, the telegraph, and the telephone, devour time and completely -mince up one’s life; any solitude for fruitful reflection is quite out -of the question. Shall I find it, at least, among the fir-trees of -the Carpathians, or beneath the shade of the old oaks of the Balkans? -Industry is spoiling and soiling our planet. Chemical produce poisons -the water, the dross from different works and factories covers the -country, quarries split up the picturesque slopes of valleys, black -coal smoke dulls the verdant foliage and the azure of the sky, the -drainage of large cities turns our rivers into sewers, whence emerge -the germs of typhus. The useful destroys the beautiful; and this -is so general as at times to bring tears to the eyes. Have not the -Italians on the lovely Isle of Sta. Heléna, near to the public gardens -in Venice, erected works for the building of engines, and replaced -the ruins of a fourth-century church by chimneys, whose opaque smoke, -produced by the detestable bituminous coal of the Saar, would soon -leave a sooty trace on the pink marble of the Doge’s palace and on -the mosaics of St. Mark, just as we see them on St. Paul’s Cathedral -in London, so ugly covered with sticky streaks. It is true that the -produce of this industrial activity becomes condensed in revenue, -which enriches many families, and adds considerably to the list of the -bourgeois population inhabiting the capital. Here, on the banks of the -Rhine, these revenues are represented by villas and castles, whose -pseudo-Greek or Gothic architecture peeps out from among masses of -exotic trees and plants in the most sought-after positions, near to -Bonn, Godesberg, St. Goar or Bingen. Look! there is an immense feudal -castle, beside which Stolzenfels, the Empress Augusta’s favorite -residence, would be a mere shooting box. This immense assemblage -of turrets, galleries, roofs, and terraces must have cost at least -£80,000. Has it sprung from coal or from Bessemer steel? It is -situated just below the noble ruin of Drachenfels. Will not the dragon -watching over the Niebelungen treasure in Nifelheim’s den, avenge this -impertinent challenge of modern plutocracy? - -All that I see on my way up the Rhine leads me to reflect on the -special characteristics of Prussian administration. The works which -have so marvellously “domesticated” the river as to make it a type of -what Pascal calls “un chemin qui marche,” have taken between thirty and -forty years, and have been carried out continuously, systematically and -scientifically. In her public works, as in her military preparations, -Prussia has succeeded in uniting two qualities which are only too often -lacking—a spirit of consistency, and the love of progress. The desire -to be as near as possible to perfection is apparent in the most minute -details. Not unfrequently consistency, and a too close following of -traditions, leads to routine which rejects innovations. Great strength -is attained, and the chances of success are considerably increased if, -while one aim is kept always in view, the best means to attain it are -selected and applied without delay. - -I have remarked, when speaking of parliamentary administration, that a -lack of consistency was one reason of the feebleness of democracies. -This should be guarded against as soon as it becomes apparent, or -inferiority will ensue. A few trifling facts will show that the -Prussians are as great lovers of useful novelties and of practical -improvement as the Americans. On the Rhine, at the ferries the old -ferry-boats have been replaced by little steamers, which are constantly -crossing the river from one side to the other. At the railway stations, -I notice that the trucks for luggage are made of steel, and are lighter -and stronger than any I have seen elsewhere. The system for warming -the railway compartments is also more perfected. Heated pipes run -under the seats of the carriages, and the passengers can regulate the -temperature by turning a needle on a disc from _Kalt_ (cold) to _Warm_ -or _vice-versâ_. At the summit of the tower of the Town Hall of Berlin -the different flagstaffs for the flags hoisted on the fête days are -ranged in order. Outside the highest gallery iron rings have been -fitted all round in which to fix the staffs, each of which has a number -corresponding to the same number on the ring it is to fit into. In this -manner both rapidity and regularity are insured. Order and foresight -are safe means to an end. - -I intended going to see at Stuttgart a former member of the Austrian -Cabinet, Albert Schüffle, who now devotes all his time to the study of -social questions, and has published some very well-known works—among -others, “Capitalismus und Socialismus,” and “Bau und Leben des Socialen -Körpers” (“Construction and Life of the Social Body”), books which -place him at the extreme left of Professorial Socialism. Unfortunately, -he is at the baths in the Black Forest. But I stop at Würzburg to -meet Ludwig Noiré, a philosopher and philologist, who has deigned -to study political economy. The sight of the socialistic pass to -which democratic tendencies are leading modern society, induces many -philosophers to turn their attention to social questions. This is -the case in France with Jules Simon, Paul Janet, Taine, Renouvier; -in England with Herbert Spencer, William Graham, and even with that -æstheticist of pre-Raphaelite art, Ruskin. - -I hold that political economy should go hand in hand with philosophy, -religion, and especially with morality; but as I cannot myself rise -to these elevated spheres of thought, I am only too happy when a -philosopher throws me out a bit of cord by which I may pull myself a -little higher, above our workaday world. Ludwig Noiré has written a -book, which is exactly what I needed in this respect, and which I hope -to be able to speak of at greater length a little later. It is entitled -“Das Werkzeug” (“The Tool”). It shows the truth of Franklin’s saying: -_Man is a tool-making creature_. Noiré says that the origin of tools -dates from the origin of Reason and Language. At the commencement, -as far back as one can conceive, man was forced to act on matter to -obtain food. This action on Nature for the purpose of satisfying wants -is labor. As men were living together in families and in tribes, labor -was carried on in common. A person making a muscular effort very -naturally pronounces certain sounds in connection with the effort he -is making. These sounds, repeated and heard by the entire group, were -after a time understood to signify the action of which they were the -spontaneous accompaniment. Thus was language born from natural activity -in view of supplying imperious needs, and the verb representing the -action preceded all their words. The effort to procure the necessary -and useful develops the reasoning powers, and tools soon became -necessary. Wherever traces of prehistoric men are found, there is also -to be found the flint implement. Thus reason, language, labor, and -implements, all manifestations of an intelligence capable of progress, -appeared almost simultaneously. - -Noiré has developed this theory fully in another book, entitled, -“Ursprung der Sprache” (“Origin of Speech”). When it was published, Max -Müller stated in the CONTEMPORARY REVIEW, that, although he -considered this system too exclusive, yet it was far superior to either -the onomatopœia or the interjection theory, and that it was certainly -the best and the most probable one brought forward at present. I can -but bow before this appreciation. - -Noiré is a fanatical Kantian, and an enthusiastic admirer of -Schopenhauer. He has succeeded in forming a committee for the purpose -of erecting a statue in honor of the modern Heraclites. The committee, -he says, _must_ be international, for if as a writer Schopenhauer be -German, as a philosopher he belongs to the entire world, and he asked -me to join it. “I am exceedingly flattered by the proposal,” said I; -“but I offer two objections.” In the first place, a humble economist has -not the right to place his name side by side with such as are already -on the list. Secondly, being an incurable disciple of Platonism, I fear -that Schopenhauer did not remain in the Cartesian line of spiritualism. -I feel persuaded that two notions, which, it appears, are at the -present day very old-fashioned—I speak of a belief in God and in the -soul’s immortality—should form the basis of all social science. He who -believes in nothing but matter cannot rise to a notion of what ‘ought -to be’—_i. e._, to an ideal of right and justice. This ideal can only -be conceived as a divine order of things imposing itself morally on -mankind. The ‘Revue Philosophique’ of October, 1882, says, ‘Positive -Science, as understood at the present day, considers not what _should_ -be, but only what _is_. It searches merely the formula of facts. -All idea of obligation, or of imperative prohibition, is completely -foreign to its code. Such a creed is a death-stroke to all notion of -duty. I believe that faith in a future life is indispensable for the -accomplishment of good works. Materialism weakens the moral sense, and -naturally leads to general decay.’ - -“Yes,” replied Noiré, “this is just the problem. How, side by side -with the dire necessities of Nature, or with Divine omnipotence, can -there be place for human personality and liberty? Nobody, neither -Christian nor Naturalist, has yet been able satisfactorily to answer -this. Hence has sprung, on the one hand, the predestination of the -Calvinists and Luther’s _De servo arbitrio_, and, on the other, -determinism and materialism. Kant is the first mortal who fearlessly -studied this problem and studied it satisfactorily. He plunged into -the abyss, like the diver of Schiller, and returned, having vanquished -the monsters he found there, and holding in his hand the golden cup -from which henceforward Humanity may drink the Divine beverage of -Truth. As nothing can be of greater interest to us than the solution of -this problem, so our gratitude, be it ever so considerable, can never -possibly equal the service rendered by this really prodigious effort -of the human mind. Kant has provided us with the only arm which can -combat materialism. It is full time we should make use of it, for this -detestable doctrine is everywhere undermining the foundations of human -society. I venerate the memory of Schopenhauer, because he has inspired -the truths revealed by Kant with more real life and penetrating vigor. -Schopenhauer is not well known in either France or England. Some of -his works have been translated, but no one has really understood him -thoroughly, because to understand a philosopher it is necessary not -only to admire but to be passionately attached to him. ‘The folly of -the Cross’ is an admirable expression. - -“Schopenhauer maintains that the will is the great source of all; it -means both personality and liberty. We are here at once planted at -the antipodes of naturalistic determinism. Free intelligence creates -matter. _Spiritus in nobis qui viget, ille facit._ God is the great -ideal. He does not make us move, but moves Himself in us. The more we -appropriate to ourselves this Ideal, the freer we become; we are the -reasonable and conscious authors of our actions, and liberty consists -in this. Schopenhauer’s moral law is precisely that of Christianity—a -law of abnegation, of resignation and asceticism. What Christians call -Charity, he designates as ‘Pity.’ He exhorts his followers to struggle -against self-will; not to let their eyes dwell on the passing delusions -of the outside world, but to seek their soul’s peace by sacrificing all -pursuits and interests which should fix their attentions solely on the -changing scenes of this life. Are not these also the Gospel principles? -Must they be rejected because Buddha also preached them? ‘The sovereign -proof of the truth of my doctrines,’ says Schopenhauer, ‘is the number -of Christian persons who have abandoned all their earthly treasure, -position and riches, and have embraced voluntary poverty, devoting -themselves wholly to the service of the poor and the sick and needy, -undaunted in their work of charity by the most frightful wounds, the -most revolting complaints. Their happiness consists in self-abnegation, -in their indifference to the pleasures of this life, in their living -faith, in the immortality of their being, and in a future of endless -bliss.’ - -“The chief aim of Kant’s metaphysics,” proceeds Noiré, “is to fix -a limit to the circle that can be embraced by man’s reason. ‘We -resemble,’ he says, ‘fish in a pond, who can see, just to the edge of -the water, the banks that imprison them, but are perfectly ignorant of -all that is beyond.’ Schopenhauer goes farther than Kant. ‘True,’ he -says, ‘we can only see the world from outside, and as a phenomenon, -but there is one little loophole left open to us by which we can get -a peep at substantial realities, and this loophole is each individual -“Myself,” revealed to us as “Will,” which gives us the key to the -“Transcendent.” You say, dear colleague, that you are incurably -Platonic; are you not then aware Schopenhauer constantly refers to -the ‘divine’ Plato, and to the incomparable, the prodigious, _der -erstaunliche_ Kant. His great merit is to have defended idealism -against all the wild beasts which Dante met with in the dark forest, -_nella selva oscura’_ into which he had strayed—materialism and -sensualism, and their worthy offspring selfishness and bestiality. -Nothing can be more false or dangerous than physics without -metaphysics, and yet this truth proclaimed at the present day by -great men merely provokes a laugh. The notion of duty is based on -metaphysics. Nothing in Nature teaches it, and physics are silent on -the subject. Nature is pitiless; brute force triumphs there. The better -armed destroys and devours his less favored brother. Where then is -right and justice? Materialists adopt as their motto the words which -Frenchmen falsely accuse our Chancellor of having uttered, ‘Might is -Right.’ Schopenhauer’s ‘Pity,’ Christian ‘Charity,’ the philosopher’s -and jurist’s ‘Justice,’ are diametrically opposed to instinct and -the voice of Nature, which urge us to sacrifice everything to the -satisfaction of animal appetites. Read the eloquent conclusion of the -book of Lange, ‘Geschichte des Materialismus.’ If materialism be not -vanquished while it is yet time, all the law courts, prisons, bayonets -and grape-shot in the world will not suffice to prevent the downfall of -the social edifice. This pernicious doctrine must be banished from the -brains of learned men, where it now reigns supreme. It has started from -thence, and has gradually obtained a hold on the public mind. It is the -duty of true philosophy to save the world.” - -“But,” I replied, “Schopenhauer’s philosophy will never be comprehended -but by a small minority; for myself, I humbly confess I have never read -but fragments translated.” - -“It is a pity you have never perused the original,” answered Noiré, -“the style is exceedingly clear and simple. He is one of our best -writers. He has exposed the most abstruse problems in the best possible -terms. No one has more thoroughly justified the truth of what our Jean -Paul said of Plato, Bacon and Leibnitz, the most learned reflection -need not exclude a brilliant setting to show it off in relief, any -more than a learned brain excludes a fine forehead and a fine face. -Unfortunately, M. de Hartmann, who popularized Schopenhauer, has too -frequently rendered his ideas unintelligible by his Hegelian Jargon. -Schopenhauer could not endure Hegelianism. Like an Iconoclast, he -smashed to shivers its idols with a heavy club. He approved of violent -expressions, and indulged in very strong terms. So, for instance, he -liked what he calls _die göttliche Grobheit_, ‘divine coarseness.’ -At the same time, he praises elegance and good manners, and even, -strange to say, has translated a little manual on ‘The Way to Behave -in Society,’ ‘El Oraculo Manual,’ published in 1658, by the Jesuit, -Baltasar Gracian. ‘There was a time,’ he writes, ‘when Germany’s three -great sophists, Fichte, Schelling, and especially Hegel, that seller -of senselessness, _der freche unsinnige Schmierer_, that impertinent -scribbler, imagined they would appear learned by becoming obscure. This -shameless humbug succeeded in winning the adulations of the multitude. -He reigned at the Universities, where his style was imitated. -Hegelianism became a religion, and a most intolerant one. Whosoever was -not Hegelian was suspected even by the Prussian State. All these good -gentlemen were in quest of the Absolute, and pretended that they had -found it, and brought it home in their carpet-bags.’ - -“Kant maintainedthat human reason can only grasp the relative. ‘Error,’ -cry in chorus Hegel, Schelling, Jacobi and Schleiermacher, and _tutti -quanti_. ‘The Absolute! Why, I know it intimately; it has no secrets -from me,’ and the different universities became the scenes of -revolutions of the Absolute which stirred all Germany. If it were -proposed to attempt to recall these illustrious maniacs to their -right reason, the question was asked, ‘Do you adequately comprehend -the Absolute?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then hold your tongue; you are a bad Christian -and a dangerous subject. Beware of the stronghold.’ The unfortunate -Beneke was so startled by this treatment that he went mad and drowned -himself. Finally these great authorities quarrelled between themselves. -They informed each other that they knew nothing of the Absolute. A -quarrel on this subject was very often deadly. These battles resemble -the discussion at Toledo between the Rabbi and the Monk in Heine’s -‘Romancero.’ After they had both lengthily discussed and quarrelled, -the king said to the queen: ‘Which of the two do you think is -right?’ ‘I think,’ replied the queen, ‘that they both smell equally -unpleasantly.’ - -“This nebulous system of the Hegelian Absolute-seekers, reminding -one of _Nephclokokkygia_, ‘the town in the clouds,’ in Aristophanes’ -‘Birds,’ has become a proverb with our French neighbors, who -very rightly are fond of clearness. When anything seems to them -unintelligible, they dub it as German metaphysics. Cousin did his best -to clarify all this indigestible stuff, and serve it up in a palatable -form. But in so doing he lost, not his Latin, but his German and his -French. I am sure you never understood that ‘pure Being’ was identical -with ‘no Being.’ Do you recollect Grimm’s story, ‘The Emperor’s Robe?’ -A tailor condemned to death promised, in order to obtain his pardon, to -make the Emperor the finest robe ever seen. He stitched, and stitched, -and stitched ceaselessly, and finally announced that the robe was -ready, but that it was invisible to all, save to wise people. All the -servants, officers, and chamberlains of the court came to examine -this work of art with the ministers and high dignitaries, and one -and all pronounced it magnificent. On the coronation day the Emperor -is supposed to put on the costume, and rides through the town in -procession. The streets and windows are crowded; no one will admit that -he has less wisdom than his neighbor, and all repeat; ‘How magnificent! -Was ever anything seen so lovely?’ At last a little child calls out, -‘But the Emperor is naked,’ and it was then admitted that the robe had -never existed, and the tailor was hanged. - -“Schopenhauer is the child revealing the misery, or rather the -non-existence of Hegelianism, and his writings were consequently -unappreciated for upwards of thirty years. The first edition of his -most important work found its way to the grocer’s shop and thence -to the rubbish heap. It is our duty to-day to make amends for such -injustice, and to render him the honor which is his due; his pessimism -need not stay you. ‘The world,’ he says, ‘is full of evil, and all -suffer here below. Man’s will is by nature perverse.’ Is not this -doctrine the very essence of Christianity? _Ingemui tomnis creatura._ -He maintains that our natural will is selfish and bad, but that, by an -effort over itself, it may become purified and rise above its natural -state to a state of grace, of holiness, of which the Church speaks, -δευτἑρος πλὁυς. This is the deliverance, the Redemption, for which -pious souls long, and it is to be attained by an indifference to and -condemnation of the world and of self. _Spernere mundum, spernere se, -spernere se sperni._”[54] - -Before leaving Würzburg I visit the Palace, formerly the residence -of the Prince-Bishops, and also several churches. The Palace, _die -Residenz_, is immense, and seems the more so when one reflects that it -was destined to ornament the chief town of a small bishopric. Built -between the years 1720 and 1744, after the plan of the palace of -Versailles, it is very nearly as large. There is not such another -staircase to be found anywhere. This, and the hall which precedes it, -occupy the entire width of the building and a third of its length, and -the effect is really of imperial magnificence. The trains of crowds -of cassocked prelates and fine ladies could sweep here with ease. -The cut stone balustrades are ornamented with statues. There is a -suite of 350 reception-rooms—all for show, none for use. A certain -number of these were decorated at the time of the French Empire. How -mean the paintings on the ceilings, the pseudo-classic walls, and the -mahogany furniture with brass ornaments, appear when compared to the -apartments completed at the beginning of the eighteenth century, where -the “chicorée” ornamentation exhibits all its seductions. I have never -seen, all over Europe, anything in this style so perfect or better -preserved. The curtains are in material of the period, and the chairs, -sofas, and arm-chairs are covered to match. Each room is of a dominant -color. There is a green one with metallic shades, like the wings of a -Brazilian beetle. The _broché_ silk on the furniture is to correspond. -The effect is magical. In another, splendid Gobelin tapestry, after -Lebrun, represents the triumph and the clemency of Alexander. Another, -again, is all mirrors, even to the door-panels, but groups of flowers -in oil-painting on the glass temper the excessive brilliancy. The -stoves are really marvels of inventive genius and good taste, all -in white and gold Saxony china. The blacksmith’s art never produced -anything finer than the immense wrought-iron gates which enclose the -pleasure-grounds, with their terraces, lawns, grass-plots, fountains, -and rustic retreats. This princely residence, which has been almost -invariably vacant since the suppression of episcopal sovereignty, has -remained perfectly intact. It has been deteriorated neither by popular -insurrections nor by changes in taste. What finished models of the -style of the Regency architects and furniture makers could find here to -copy from! - -The contemplation of all these grandeurs suggests two questions to -my mind. Where did these Sovereigns of tiny States find the money to -furnish themselves with splendors and luxuries which Louis XIV. might -have envied? My colleague, George Schanz, Professor of Political -Economy at the University of Würzburg, informs me that these bishops -had scarcely any troops to maintain. “Make,” he says, “builders, -joiners, upholsterers, and carpenters of all our soldiers all over the -land at the present day, and Germany might soon be covered with such -palaces.” - -Second question: How could these bishops, disciples of Him “who had -not where to lay His head,” spend the money raised by taxation of the -poor, on pomps and luxury worthy of a Darius or a Heliogabalus? Had -they not read the Gospel condemnation of Dives, and the commentaries -of the Church’s Fathers? Was the Christian doctrine of humility and of -charity, even to voluntary property, only understood in monasteries -and convents? Those grandees of the Church must have been completely -blinded by the mistaken sophism which leads to the belief that -extravagance and waste benefits the working man, the real producer. -This unfortunate error is only too harmful at the present day. - -During the eighteenth century the majority of the churches of -Würzburg were completely spoilt by being ornamented in that Louis -XV. style, suited only to the interior of palaces. As Boileau says, -“ce ne sont que festons, ce ne sont qu’astragales,” gothic arches -disappear beneath garlands of flowers, clouds with angel’s draperies -in relief and interlacings of “chicorée,” the whole in plaster and -covered with gilding. The altars are frequently entirely gilt. It is -a perfect profusion of make-believe riches. In the towns the façades -of some houses here and there are finished examples of this florid -architecture. Doubtless the radiance of Versailles magnificence urged -Germany to decorate her monuments and dwellings “à la Française,” even -after the Sun there had set. - -From my windows, which look out on to the square before the palace, I -see a battalion of troops march past to exercise. Even the guards at -Berlin could not march more automatically. The legs and the left arm -move exactly together, while the guns are held precisely at the same -angle by each soldier. Their steel barrels form a perfectly straight -line as they glisten in the sunshine. The ranks of soldiers are -absolutely rectilinear. The whole move in a body as if they were -fastened on to a rail. It is perfection. What care and pains must have -been bestowed before such a result could be attained! The Bavarians -have naturally done their very best to equal and even to surpass -the Prussians. They do not choose to be esteemed any longer as mere -beer-drinkers, heavy, and somewhat dense. I wonder if this exceedingly -severe drill, so effective on parade, is of use on a battle-field -of the present day, where it is usual to disperse to attack. I am -not competent to answer this question, but it is certain that rigid -discipline accustoms the soldier to order and obedience; two very -necessary virtues, especially in a democratic age. Obedience is -still more wanted when the iron hand of despotism gives place to the -authority of magistrates and laws. The mission of schools and military -service is to teach this lesson to the citizens of Republics. The more -the chief power loosens its hold, the more should free man bend at once -to the exigencies necessary for the maintenance of order in the State. -If this be not so, anarchy will result, and a return to despotism is -then inevitable, for anarchy cannot be tolerated. - -In the evening the sound of bugles is heard. It is the retreat sounding -for the garrison troops. It is a melancholy farewell to the day passing -away, and, religious, like a call to rest, from the night, which is -fast falling. Alas! how sad it is to think that these trumpets thus -harmoniously sounding the curfew will one day give the signal for -battle and bloodshed! Men are still as savage as wild beasts, and with -less motive, for they no longer devour their slaughtered enemy. I am a -member of at least four societies whose object is to preach peace and -recommend arbitration. No one listens to us. Even free nations prefer -to fight. I admit perfectly that when the security or the existence -of a country is at stake, it is impossible to have recourse to -arbitration, although its decisions would be at least as just as those -of violence and chance; but there are cases which I call “Jenkins’s -ears,” since reading Carlyle’s “Frederic the Great.”[55] In such as -these, where the question is one of _amour propre_, of obstinacy, and -frequently, I may say, also, of stupidity, arbitration might often -prevent conflicts. - -But if man is still hard on his fellow, he has become more tender -towards animals. He has forbidden their being uselessly tortured. I -take note of a touching example of this. I walk up to the Citadel, -whence there is a splendid view over all Franconia. I cross the bridge -over the Maine. In a street where the quaint pinions of the houses and -gaudy sign-posts over the doors would delight the eye of a painter, -I see a sort of sentry-box, on which is written in large characters, -_Theirschutz-Verein_ (“Society for the Protection of Animals”). A horse -is standing there. Why? To be at the disposal of waggoners with a heavy -load who are going up the slope to the bridge, and thus to prevent them -ill-treating their horses. This seems to me far more ingenious and -efficacious than the infliction of a fine. - -Würzburg is not an industrial town. There appears to be no special -reason why the population and the wealth of the city should increase -rapidly, and yet the old town is surrounded with fine new quarters, -fashionable squares, pretty walks and fine wide streets, handsome -houses and villas. Here, as elsewhere, that singular phenomenon of -our age, the immense increase in the number of well-to-do families, -is distinctly apparent. If this continue in the same proportions, the -“masses” of the future will not be composed of those who live on wages -and salaries, but of those living on profit, interest, or revenue. -Revolutions will become impossible, for the established order of things -would have more protectors than assailants. These countless comfortable -residences, these edifices of all kinds which spring up in every -direction, with their luxurious and opulent appointments, all this -wealth and well-being, is the result of the employment of machinery. -Machinery increases production and economizes labor, and as the wages -of labor have not diminished, the number of those who could live -without working has increased. - -Würzburg possesses an ancient University. It is a very old -sixteenth-century building, situated in the centre of the town. As they -recently did me the honor to confer on me the degree of _Doctor honoris -causa_, I wished to see the Rector to offer him my thanks, but I had -not the good fortune to meet him. On the Boulevard, special institutes -have been constructed for each separate science, for chemistry, -physics, and physiology. Immense sums have been spent in Germany to add -a number of those separate institutes to the different Universities. -The eminent professor of chemistry at Bonn, M. Kekulé, recently took -me over the building constructed for his branch of science. With -its Greek columns, and its palatial façade, it is considerably more -extensive than the whole of the old University. The subsoil devoted -to experimental and metallurgical chemistry resembles immense works -or foundries. The professor’s apartments are far more sumptuous than -those of the first authorities. Neither the Governor, the Bishop, nor -even the General himself, can boast of anything to be compared with -them. In the drawing-rooms and dancing saloons the whole town might -be assembled. This Institute has cost more than a million francs. -In Germany it is very rightly considered that a professor who has -experiments to make ought to live in the same building where are the -laboratories and lecture-rooms. It is only thus that he is able to -follow analyses which need his supervision, at times even at night. -Comparative anatomy and physiology have also each their palace. Several -professors of natural sciences complain that it is really an excess. -They say they are crushed by the extent and complications of their -appurtenances, and especially by the cares and responsibilities they -involve; nevertheless, if exaggeration there be, it is on the right -side. Bacon’s motto, “Knowledge is Power,” becomes truer every day. -The proper application of science is the chief source of wealth, and, -consequently, of power. Nations, do you wish to be powerful and rich? -Then encourage to the utmost your learned men. - -I stop a day _en route_ to revisit Nuremberg, the Pompeii of the -Middle Ages. I will not speak of its many interesting churches, -houses, towers, of the Woolding Chamber, nor of the terrible Iron -Virgin, covered inside with spikes, like Regulus’ barrel, which, in -closing, pierced its victim through and through, and opened to drop -the corpse into the torrent roaring a hundred feet below. Nothing -gives a more vivid idea of the refined cruelty of these dark ages. But -I have no wish to encroach upon Baedeker’s prerogative. A word only -as to what I see before the cathedral. I observe there a small Gothic -monument, which reminds me of the Roman column of Igel, on the Mosel, -near Trèves. It has a niche on each of the four sides, under glass. -In the first niche is a thermometer, in the second an hygrometer, in -the third a barometer, and in the fourth the day’s telegrams from -the observatory, and the meteorological maps. These instruments are -enormous, from four to five feet in height at least, so that the -figures may be large enough to be clearly legible. I have seen similar -monuments in several German towns, and in Switzerland, at Geneva, in -the gardens near the Rhone, at Vevey, close to the landing-stage, and -at Neuchatel, on the promenade near the lake. It would be excellent if -all towns would adopt them. I take every opportunity of urging this. -Their cost is but trifling. A perfectly plain one can be made for £40, -something more elegant might cost £80 or £100; they are a source of -amusement and a means of instructing the people, and a daily lesson in -physics for all classes. The laboring man learns there far better than -he would do at school the practical use of these instruments, which are -most useful for agricultural purposes and for sanitary precautions. - -Towards midnight I go on foot to the railway station, to take the -express to Vienna. The old castle throws a black shadow over the town, -the roofs of which seem to whiten in the silvery moonlight. This, I -say to myself, is the birthplace of the Hohenzollern family. What a -change has taken place in its destiny since its name first appeared -in history, in 1170, when Conrad of Hohenzollern was made Burgraaf of -Nuremberg! One of his descendants, Frederick, first Elector, left this -town in 1412 to take possession of Brandenburg, which the spendthrift -Emperor Sigismund had sold him for 400,000 florins of Hungarian -gold. He had already borrowed half this sum from Frederick, who was -as economical as the ant, and had even mortgaged the electorate as -security. Being unable to repay his debt, and in want of more money to -defray the costs of an expedition to Spain, he very willingly yielded -up this inhospitable northern “Mark,” the sands of the “Marquis of -Brandenburg,” which Voltaire so turned into ridicule. The Emperor -could not suppose that from this petty Burgrave would spring a future -wearer of the imperial crown. Economy is a small virtue made up of -small privations, but which makes much of little—_Molti pochi fanno un -assai_—“Mony a pickle maks a mickle,” as the Scotch say. Though far -too often forgotten or ignored by rulers, it is nevertheless even more -necessary for nations than for individuals. - -A short June night is soon passed in a sleeping car. I wake up and find -myself in Austria. I perceive it at once from the delicious coffee and -cream which is served me in a glass, by a fair young girl in a pink -print dress and with bare arms. It very nearly equals in quality that -of the _Posthof_ at Carlsbad. We are very soon in view of the Danube, -but the railway does not keep alongside it. Whatever the well-known -waltz, “The Blue Danube,” may say to the contrary, the river is not -blue at all. Its waters are yellow-green, like the Rhine, but how -infinitely more picturesque is the “Donau!” No vineyards, no factories, -and very few steamers. I saw but one, making its way with difficulty -against the rapid current. The hills on either side are covered with -forests and green meadows, and the branches of the willow trees -sweep the water. The farm-houses, very far apart, have a rustic and -mountain-like appearance. There is very little movement, very little -trade; the peasant is still the chief producer of riches. On this -lovely summer morning the sweet repose of this peaceful existence -seduces and penetrates me. How delightful it would be to live quietly -here, near these pine forests, and these beautiful meadows, where -the cattle are at pasture! But on the other side of the river where -there is no railway! There are several reasons for this great contrast -between the Rhine and the Danube. The Rhine flows towards Holland -and England, two markets that have been well established for upwards -of three hundred years, and ready to pay a high price for all the -river brings them. The Danube flows towards the Black Sea, where the -population is exceedingly poor, and can scarcely afford to purchase -what we should call here the necessaries of life. The produce of -Hungary, even live cattle, is taken westward by rail to London. The -transport by water is too long. Secondly, coal, the indispensable fuel -of all modern industry, is cheaper on the Rhine than anywhere else. And -thirdly, the Rhine, ever since the Roman conquest and at the earliest -period of the Middle Ages, has been a centre of civilization, whereas -that portion of the Danube the most valuable for traffic was, until -yesterday, in the hands of the Turks. - -At the Amstett Station I purchased the Vienna _Neue Freie Presse_, -which is, I think, with the _Pester Lloyd_, the best edited and the -pleasantest paper to read in the German language. The _Kölnische -Zeitung_ is exceedingly well-informed, and the _Allgemeine Zeitung_ -is also as complete and interesting as possible; but it is a terrible -pell-mell of subjects, a dreadful muddle, where, for instance, many -little paragraphs from France or Paris are disseminated haphazard in -the six sheets. I would rather read three _Times’_ than one -_Kölnische_, in spite of the respect with which that paper inspires me. -I have scarcely unfolded my _Neue Freie Presse_ than I find myself in -the very heart of the struggle of nationalities, just as I was sixteen -years previously, only that the strife is no longer, as it then was, -between Magyars and Germans. The Deak dual compromise created a _modus -vivendi_, which is still in force. The dispute is now between Tchecks -and Germans on the one hand, and between Magyars and Croatians on -the other. The Minister Taaffe has decided to dissolve the Bohemian -Parliament and there will be fresh elections. The national and feudal -Tchecks banding together will overthrow the Germans, who will no longer -possess more than a third of the votes in the Diet. The _Freie Presse_ -is perfectly disconsolate at this, and foresees the most terrible -disasters in consequence: if not the end of the world, at least the -upset of the monarchy. On account of these warnings, the numbers are -seized by Government order three or four times a month, even although -it be the organ of the Austrian “bourgeoisie.” It is Liberal, but -very moderate, like the _Débats_ and the _Temps_ in France. After two -or three months have elapsed, the numbers seized are returned to the -editor, only fit for the waste-paper basket. These confiscations (for -they are, in fact, nothing more nor less, although effected through the -Administration) are absolutely contrary to the law, as is proved by the -reiterated acquittals. Their constant recurrence reminds one of the -worst periods of the French Empire. Applied to a newspaper that defends -Austrian interests with so much skill as the _Freie Presse_, they are -more than surprising. If my friend, Eugène Pelletan, were aware of this -he would no longer claim for France “liberty as in Austria,” for which -saying he suffered at the time three months’ imprisonment. It is said -that the influence of the Tchecks dictates these confiscations, and -this alone is sufficient to show the violence of the enmity between the -races. The Viennese with whom I travel declare that this enmity is far -less bitter than it was fifteen years ago. At that period, I tell them, -I travelled across the country without meeting a single Austrian. -I met with Magyars, Croatians, Saxons, Tchecks, Tyrolians, Poles, -Ruthenians, Dalmatians, but never with Austrians. The common country -was ignored, the race was all in all. At the present day, my -fellow-travellers tell me this is very much subdued. You will find -plenty of excellent Austrians, they say, to-day amongst the Magyars, -and to-morrow amongst the Tchecks. - -The reader will permit a short digression here touching this -nationality question. You meet with it everywhere in the dual Empire. -It is the great preoccupation of the present, and it will be in fact -the chief agent in determining the future of the population of the -banks of the Danube and the Balkan peninsula. You Englishmen cannot -well understand the full force of this feeling which is so strong -in Eastern countries. England is for you your country, for which -you live and for which, if needs, you die. This love of country is -a religion which survives even when all other faith or religion has -ceased to exist. It is the same in France. M. Thiers who, as a rule, -so thoroughly grasped situations, never realized the immense force of -these aspirations of races, which completely rearranged, before his -eyes, the map of Europe on the nationality footing. Cavour and Bismarck -were, however, well aware of this, and knew how to take advantage of -this sentiment, in creating the unity of Italy and of Germany. - -One evening, Jules Simon took me to call on M. Thiers, in rue St. -Honoré, who asked me to explain the Flemish movement in Belgium. I did -so, and he seemed to consider the question as most unimportant, quite -childish in fact, and very much behind the age. He was at once both -right and wrong. He was right because true union is one of minds, not -of blood. Christ’s saying is here admirably applicable: “Whosoever -shall do the will of God the same is my brother and sister and mother” -(St. Mark iii. 35). - -I grant that mixed nationalities which, without consideration of -diversity of language and race, rest, as in Switzerland, on an identity -of historical reminiscences, of civilization and liberty, are of a -superior order; they are types and forerunners of the final fusion when -all mankind will be but one great family, or rather a federation. But -M. Thiers, being idealistic, like a true son of the French Revolution, -was wrong in not taking into account things as they actually are, and -the exigencies of the transitory situation. - -This awakening of nationalities is the inevitable outcome of the -development of democracy, of the press, and of literary culture. An -autocrat may govern twenty different peoples without in the least -troubling himself as to their language or race; but if once assemblies -be introduced, everything is changed. Speech governs. Then what -language is to be spoken? That of the people of course. Will you -educate the young? It must be done in their mother tongue. Is justice -to be administered? You cannot judge a man in a foreign language. You -wish to represent him in Parliament and ask for his votes; the least he -can claim in return is that he may understand what you say. And thus by -degrees the language of the multitude gains ground and is adopted in -Parliament, law-courts, and schools of every degree. In Finland, for -instance, the struggle is between the Swedes, who form the well-to-do -classes and live in the towns on the coast, and the rural population -who are Finns. When visiting the country with the son of the eminent -linguist, Castrén, who died while in Asia seeking out the origin of the -Finn language, I found that the latter was more spoken than Swedish, -even in the suburbs of large towns such as Abö and Helsingfors. All -official inscriptions are in the two languages. The instruction in the -communal schools is almost entirely in the Finn tongue. There are Finn -gymnasiums, and even at the University, lectures in this language. -There is also a national theatre, where I heard “Martha” sung in Finn. -In Gallicia, Polish has completely replaced German; but the Ruthenians -have also put in a claim for their idiom. In Bohemia the Tcheck dialect -triumphs so completely that German is in danger of being wholly cast -aside. At the opening of the Bohemian Diet, the Governor made a speech -in Tcheck and one in German. At Prague a Tcheck University has recently -been opened next to the German one. The clergy, the feudals, and -the population are strongly in favor of this national movement. The -Archbishop of Prague, the Prince of Schwarzenberg, although himself a -German, appoints none but Tcheck priests, even in the North of Bohemia -where Germans dominate. - -It is certain that in countries where two races are thus intermingled, -this growing feeling must occasion endless dissensions, and almost -insurmountable difficulties. It is a disadvantage to speak the idiom -of a small number, for it is a cause of isolation. It would certainly -be far better if but three or four languages were spoken in Europe, -and better still if but one were generally adopted; but, until this -acme of unity be attained, every free people called upon to establish -self-government, will claim rights for its mother tongue, and will -try to unite itself with those who speak it, unless the nation be -already fully satisfied with its mixed but historical nationality like -Switzerland and Belgium. Austria and the Balkan peninsula are now -agitated with these claims for the use of the national tongue, and with -aspirations for the formation of States based on the ethnic groups. - -As we near Vienna the train runs through the most lovely country. A -succession of small valleys, with little streamlets rippling through -them, and on either side green lawns between the hills covered with -woods, chiefly firs and oaks. One might imagine oneself in Styria or -in Upper Bavaria. Soon, however, houses make their appearance, often -charming châlets buried in creeping plants, “Gloire de Dijon” roses, -or jessamine and clematis. These become more and more frequent, and, -near the suburban stations, there are quite little hamlets of villas. I -know of no capital with such beautiful suburbs, save perhaps Stockholm. -Nothing could be more delightful than Baden, Möoling, Brühl, Schönbrun, -and all those little rustic nooks south of Vienna, on the road to the -Sömering.—_Contemporary Review._ - - - - -ANCIENT ORGANS OF PUBLIC OPINION.[56] - -BY PROF. R. C. JEBB. - - -During several weeks in the early part of this year, the attention -of the English public was fixed with intense anxiety on the fortunes -of one man, who had undertaken a perilous mission in the service of -his country. When the Egyptian difficulty was at its worst, General -Gordon had started for Khartoum, to aid the Government, by his personal -influence, in the policy of rescuing the garrisons and retiring from -the Soudan. The journey, while it reflected fresh honor on him, -necessarily imposed a grave responsibility on those who had sanctioned -it. Any moment might bring the news of his death. If such news came, it -was generally thought and said, the Ministry would fall. In a country -with the temperament of England, the mere existence of such a belief -set one thinking. A year ago, Gordon’s name, though familiar to the -well-informed classes, would not have acted like a spell on the nation. -But a popular biography of him which had appeared had given occasion -for much writing in the newspapers. A short time had sufficed to make -the broad facts of his career known throughout the length and breadth -of the land. People knew that he had welded a loose Chinese rabble -into an army which saved the reigning dynasty of China; that, alone of -Christians, he is named in the prayers of Mecca; that he does not care -for personal rewards; that he is fearless of death; and that he trusts -in God. To impress these facts on the popular imagination had been the -work of a few weeks; to concentrate the force of popular opinion, if he -had been sacrificed, would have been the work of a few hours. Seldom, -perhaps, has anything illustrated more vividly that great and -distinctive condition of modern existence in free countries,—the -double power wielded by the newspaper press, at once as the ubiquitous -instructor and as the rapid interpreter of a national mind. It -was natural at such a time, for one whose pursuits suggested the -comparison, to look from the modern to the ancient world, and to -attempt some estimate of the interval which separates them in this -striking and important respect. In the ancient civilisations, were -there any agencies which exercised a power analogous in kind, though -not comparable in degree, to that of the modern press? To begin with, -we feel at once that the despotic monarchies of the ancient East will -not detain us long. For them, national opinion normally meant the -opinion of the king. We know the general manner of record which is -found graven on stone, in connection with the images or symbols of -those monarchs. As doctors seem still to differ a good deal about the -precise translation of so many of those texts, it might be rash to -quote any, but this is the sort of style which seems to prevail among -the royal authors: “He came up with chariots. He said that he was my -first cousin. He lied. I impaled him. I am Artakhshatrá. I flayed -his uncles, his brothers, and his cousins. I am the king, the son of -Daryavush. I crucified two thousand of the principal inhabitants. I -am the shining one, the great and the good.” From the monarchical -East, we turn with more curiosity to Greece and Rome. There, at least, -there was a life of public opinion. Apart from institutions, which are -crystallised opinion, were there any living, non-official voices in -which this public opinion could be heard? - -The Homeric poems are not only the oldest monuments of Greek -literature, but also the earliest documents of the Greek race. Out of -the twilight of the prehistoric past, a new people, a new type of mind, -are suddenly disclosed in a medium of pellucid clearness. Like Athene -springing adult and full-armed from the head of Zeus, this new race, -when Homer reveals it, has already attained to a mature consciousness -of itself, and is already equipped with the aptitudes which are to -distinguish it throughout its later history. The genius of the Homeric -Greek has essentially the same traits which recur in the ripest age of -the Greek republics,—even as Achilles and Ulysses are personal ideals -which never lost their hold on the nation. This very fact points the -contrast between two aspects of Homeric life—the political, and the -social. In Homeric politics, public opinion has no proper place. The -king, with his council of nobles and elders, can alone originate or -discuss measures. The popular assembly has no active existence. But the -framework of Homeric monarchy contains a social life in which public -opinion is constantly alert. Its activity, indeed, could scarcely be -greater under the freest form of government. And we see that this -activity has its spring in distinctive and permanent attributes of the -Hellenic race. It arises from quickness of perception and readiness of -speech. The Homeric Greek feels keenly, observes shrewdly, and hastens -to communicate his thoughts. An undertone of popular comment pervades -the Homeric poems, and is rendered more impressive by the dramatic form -in which it is usually couched. The average man, who represents public -feeling, is expressed by the Greek indefinite pronoun, τις. “Thus would -a man speak, with a glance at his neighbor,” is the regular Homeric -formula. We hear opinion in the making. This spokesman of popular -sentiment is constantly introduced at critical moments: for the sake -of brevity we may call him by his Greek name _Tis_. When the fight is -raging over the corpse of Patroclus, _Tis_ remarks to his friends that -they will be disgraced for ever if they allow the Trojans to carry -off the body;—better die on the spot. Hector, in proposing a truce -to Ajax, suggests that they should exchange gifts, and imagines what -_Tis_ will say: _Tis_ will approve of it as a graceful courtesy between -chivalrous opponents. Menelaus considers that another hero, Antilochus, -has beaten him in a chariot race by unfair means; but thinks it -necessary to take precautions against _Tis_ imagining that he has -brought this complaint in the hope of prevailing by the influence -of his rank. This is perhaps one of the most remarkable Homeric -compliments to the penetration and to the influence of _Tis_. When the -sounds of music and dancing, as at a marriage feast, are heard in the -house of Odysseus in Ithaca, _Tis_ is listening outside; and he blamed -Penelope for her fancied hardness of heart, “because she had not had -the courage to keep the great house of her gentle lord steadfastly -till he should come home.” _Tis_ is not always the mouthpiece of such -elevated sentiments. With a frank truth to life and nature, Homer -depicts _Tis_ as indulging in an ignoble joy by stabbing the corpse -of his once-dreaded foe, Hector, and remarking that he is safer to -handle now than when he was burning the ships. In the _Odyssey_, when -the maiden Nausicaa is conducting Odysseus to the city of her father -Alcinous, we catch glimpses of a _Tis_ who nearly approaches the -character of Mrs. Grundy, with an element of spiteful gossip added. -The fidelity with which _Tis_ reflects public opinion is further seen -in the circumstance that his solicitude for the rights of man is not -strong enough to counteract his natural disposition to exalt over the -fallen. Thersites was a commoner who presumed to speak his mind among -his betters,—when one of them, Odysseus, dealt him a smart blow on -the back, and caused him to resume his seat in tears. _Tis_ laughed -for joy, saying in effect that it served Thersites right, and that he -probably would not do it again. The Tory sentiment of this passage -makes it appropriate to quote the version of it by the late Lord -Derby:— - - “The Greeks, despite their anger, laughed aloud, - And one to other said, ‘Good faith, of all - The many works Ulysses well hath done, - Wise in the council, foremost in the fight, - He ne’er hath done a better, than when now - He makes this scurril babbler hold his peace. - Methinks his headstrong spirit will not soon - Lead him again to vilify the kings.’” - -Here it might be said that _Tis_ figures as the earliest authentic -example of a being whose existence has sometimes been doubted by -British anthropologists, the Conservative working-man. But, if we would -be just to _Tis_ in his larger Homeric aspects, we must allow that his -sympathies are usually generous, and his utterances often edifying. -As to the feeling with which _Tis_ was regarded, Homer has a word for -it which is hard to translate: he calls it _aidos_. This _aidos_—the -sense of reverence or shame—is always relative to a standard of -public opinion, _i.e._ to the opinion formed by the collective sayings -of _Tis_; as, on the other hand, the listening to an inner voice, -the obedience to what we call a moral sense, is Homerically called -_nemesis_. And just as _Tis_ is sometimes merely the voice of smug -respectability, so _aidos_ is sometimes conventional in a low way. When -Diomedes is going by night to spy out the Trojan camp, several heroes -offer to go with him, but only _one_ can be chosen. Agamemnon tells -him that he must not yield to _aidos_, and take the man of highest -station rather than the man of highest merit: where _aidos_ appears as -in direct conflict with _nemesis_. But more often these two principles -are found acting in harmony,—recommending the same course of conduct -from two different points of view. There is a signal example of this -in the _Odyssey_, which is also noteworthy on another ground, viz., -as the only episode in the Homeric poems which involves a direct and -formal appeal from established right of might to the corrective agency -of public opinion. The suitors of Penelope have intruded themselves -into the house of her absent lord, and are wasting his substance by -riotous living. Her son Telemachus convenes the men of Ithaca in public -assembly, and calls on them to stop this cruel wrong. He appeals to -_nemesis_, to _aidos_, and to fear of the gods. “Resent it in your -own hearts; and have regard to others, neighboring folk who dwell -around,—and tremble ye at the wrath of the gods.” The appeal fails. -The public opinion exists, but it has not the power, or the courage, to -act. - -After the age which gave birth to the great epics, an interval elapses -before we again catch the distinct echoes of a popular voice. Our -Homeric friend _Tis_ is silent. Or, rather, to be more exact, _Tis_ -ceases to speak in his old character, as the nameless representative -of the multitude, and begins to speak in a new quality. The individual -mind now commences to express itself in forms of poetry which are -essentially personal, interpreting the belief and feelings of the poet -himself. _Tis_ emerges from the dim crowd, and appears as Tyrtaeus, -summoning the Spartans, in stirring elegy, to hear _his_ counsels; or -as Sappho, uttering _her_ passion in immortal lyrics; or as Pindar, -weaving _his_ thoughts into those magnificent odes which glorify -the heroes and the athletes of Greece. It is a capital distinction -of classical Greek literature that, when its history is viewed as a -whole, we do not find it falling into a series of artificial chapters, -determined by imitation of models which were in fashion at this or that -epoch. Greek literature is original, not derivative; we trace in it the -course of a natural growth; we hear in it the spontaneous utterance of -Greek life from generation to generation. The place of Pindar in this -development has one aspect of peculiar interest. There is a sense in -which he may be said to stand midway between Homeric epos and Athenian -drama.[57] His poetical activity belongs to the years which immediately -preceded and followed the invasions of Greece by the hosts of Persia. -A great danger had drawn the members of the Hellenic family closer -together; a signal deliverance had left them animated by the memory of -deeds which seemed to attest the legends of Agamemnon and Achilles; -warmed by a more vivid faith in those gods who had been present with -them through the time of trial; comforted by a new stability of -freedom; cheered by a sense of Hellenic energies which could expand -securely from the Danube to the Nile, from the Euxine to the Atlantic; -exalted in thought and fancy by the desire to embody their joy and hope -in the most beautiful forms which language and music, marble, ivory, -and gold could furnish for the honor of the gods, and for the delight -of men who, through the heroes, claimed a divine descent. The Greek -mind, stirred to its centre by the victorious efforts which had -repelled the barbarian, could no longer be satisfied by epic narratives -of the past. It longed to see the heroes moving; to hear them speaking; -to throw back upon their world the vivifying light of contemporary -reflection. In a word, the spirit of drama had descended upon Hellas; -and already it breathes in Pindar, the poet of the games. Olympia, -with its temples, its statues, and its living athletes, corresponded -to the essence of Greek drama—action idealised by art and consecrated -by religion. Pindar, the last of the great lyric poets, is the lyric -exponent of an impulse which received mature expression from Aeschylus, -Sophocles, and Euripides. - -The community which Athenian drama addressed was precisely in the mood -which best enables a dramatist to exert political and moral force. -There was much in its temper that might remind us of Elizabethan -England; but I would venture to illustrate it here by words borrowed -from the England of a later time. The greatest plea in the English -language for the liberty of the press—or perhaps we should rather -say, for the freedom of the mind—belongs to the close of that year -which saw the hopes of the Parliamentarians, in their struggle with -the Royalists, raised to an assurance of final success by the crushing -defeat of Rupert. An enthusiastic confidence in the large destinies -opening before the English people already fired the mind of the poet -who was to end his days, like Samson - - “Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves, - Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.” - -Then, in 1644, Milton, thinking of the victory of Marston Moor, was -rather like Aeschylus raising his dramatic paean for the victory -of Salamis; and the glowing language in which he describes the new -alertness of his country’s spirit might fitly be applied to the Athens -for which the great dramatists wrote. “As in a body, when the blood is -fresh, the spirits pure and vigorous not only to vital but to rational -faculties and those in the acutest and the pertest operations of wit -and suttlety, it argues in what good plight and constitution the body -is, so when the cherfulnesse of the people is so sprightly up, as that -it has not only wherewith to guard well its own freedom and safety -but to spare, and to bestow upon the solidest and sublimest points of -controversie and new invention, it betok’ns us not degenerated, nor -drooping to a fatall decay, but casting off the old and wrincl’d skin -of corruption to outlive these pangs and wax young again, entring the -glorious waies of Truth and prosperous vertue destin’d to become great -and honourable in these latter ages. Methinks I see in my mind a noble -and puissant Nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and -shaking her invincible locks. Methinks I see her as an Eagle muing her -mighty youth, and kindling her undazl’d eyes as the full mid-day beam, -purging and unscaling her long abused sight at the fountain it self of -heav’nly radiance.” - -In estimating the influence of Athenian drama on public opinion, -we must, first of all, remember the fact which makes the essential -difference between the position of the dramatist—viewed in this -light—and that of the epic poet. The epic poet gave expression to a -mass of popular belief and feeling in an age when they had as yet no -direct organ of utterance. But in the Athens of the dramatists the -popular assembly was the constitutional organ of public opinion. Every -Athenian citizen was, as such, a member of that assembly. The influence -of the Athenian dramatist was thus so far analogous to that of the -modern journalist, that it was brought to bear on men capable of giving -practical effect to their sentiments. A newspaper publishes an article -intended to influence the voters in a parliamentary division, or the -constituents whom they represent. An Athenian dramatist had for his -hearers, in the theatre of Dionysus, many thousands of the men who, -the next day might be called upon to decide a question of policy in -the assembly, or to try, in a law-court, one of those cases in which -the properly legal issues were often involved with considerations of a -social or moral kind. Even Tragedy, in its loftiest and severest form, -might be the instrument, in a skilful hand, of inculcating views or -tendencies which the poet advocated—nay, even of urging or opposing a -particular measure. Thus, in his _Furies_, Aeschylus finds occasion to -encourage his fellow-citizens in their claim to a disputed possession -in the Troad, and utters a powerful protest against the proposal to -curtail the powers of the Areopagus. He becomes, for the moment, the -mouthpiece of a party opposed to such reform. In verses like the -following, every one can recognize a ring as directly political as that -of any leading article or pamphlet. “In this place”—says the Athene of -Aeschylus—that is, on the hill of Ares, the seat of the court menaced -with reform— - - “Awe kin to dread shall stay the citizens - From sinning in the darkness or the light, - While their own voices do not change the laws ... - Between unruliness and rule by one - I bid my people reverence a mean, - Not banish all things fearful from the State. - For, with no fear before him, who is just? - In such a righteous dread, in such an awe, - Ye shall possess a bulwark of the land, - A safeguard of the city, not possess’d - By Scythia or the places of the south. - This court, majestic, incorruptible, - Instant in anger, over those who sleep - The sleepless watcher of my land, I set.” - -Again, there are at least two tragedies of Euripides—the _Heracleidae_ -and the _Supplices_—in which the strain of allusion to the politics of -the Peloponnesian War is unmistakable. It is needless to dwell on the -larger sense in which Euripides everywhere makes drama the vehicle of -teachings—political, social, moral—which could nowhere have received -such effective publicity as in the theatre. Nowadays, they would have -been found in the pages of a newspaper or a magazine accepted as the -organ of a party or a school. In the days of Voltaire, journalism, as -free countries now understand it, had no more existence than in the -days of Euripides; and, as a recent historian of French literature -remarks, it has been thought that the tragedies of Voltaire owed their -popularity chiefly to the adroit manner in which the author made them -opportunities for insinuating the popular opinions of the time.[58] We -must not forget that peculiar feature of Greek drama, the Chorus, who -may be regarded as a lineal descendant of the Homeric _Tis_. The -interest of the Chorus, in this connection, does not depend so much on -the maxims that it uttered as on the fact that it constituted a visible -link between the audience and the drama, bringing the average spectator -into easier sympathy with the action, and thereby predisposing him to -seize any significance which it might have for the life of the day. I -have so far dwelt on this aspect of Athenian Tragedy, because we might -be rather apt to regard it as a form of art altogether detached from -contemporary interests, and to overlook the powerful influence—not the -less powerful because usually indirect—which it must undoubtedly have -exercised in expressing and moulding public sentiment. - -But we must now turn to that other form of Athenian drama in which -the resemblance to the power of the modern press is much more direct -and striking—that which is known as the Old Comedy of Athens. Mr. -Browning, in his _Apology of Aristophanes_, makes the great comic poet -indicate the narrow limits to the influence of Tragedy on opinion. The -passage is witty; and though, as I venture to think, it considerably -underrates the effect of Tragedy in this direction, at least it well -marks the contrast between the modes in which the two forms of drama -wrought. When we think of the analogy between Aristophanes and the -modern political journalist, one of the first things that strikes -us is the high and earnest view which Aristophanes took of his own -calling. He had gone through every stage of a laborious training -before he presumed to come before the Athenian public. He had seen his -predecessors fail, or fall from favor. So in the _Peace_, he claims -that he has banished the old vulgar tomfoolery from the stage, and -raised his art “like an edifice stately and grand.” He saw clearly the -enormous force which this literary engine, Comedy, might wield. He -resolved that, in his hands, it should be directed to more elevated and -more important aims. Instead of merely continuing the traditions of -scurrilous buffoonery, in which virulent personality was often the only -point, he would bring his wit to bear on larger aspects of politics and -society. - -But, while his wit and style had the stamp of bold originality, -Aristophanes is not the champion of original ideas. Rather his position -depends essentially on the fact that he represents a large body of -commonplace public opinion. He represents the great “stupid party,” -to use a name which the English Tories have borne not without pride, -and glories to represent it; the stupid party, who are not wiser than -their forefathers; who fail to understand how the tongue can swear, -and the soul remain unsworn; who sigh for the old days when the plain -seafaring citizen knew only to ask for his barley-cake, and to cry -“pull away;” who believe in the old-fashioned virtues, and worship -the ancient gods. He describes himself as the champion of the people, -doing battle for them, like a second Hercules, against superhuman -monsters. The demagogues, whom he lashes, try to represent him as -slandering the country to foreigners; but he is the country’s best -friend. Athenians are hasty, fickle and vain. He has taught them not -to be gulled by flattery. He has taught them to respect the rights and -redress the wrong of their subjects. The envoys who bring the tribute -from the island long to see him. The King of Persia, he says, asked two -questions about the combatants in the Peloponnesian War. Which side -had the strongest navy? and which side had Aristophanes? Thirlwall, -in his _History of Greece_, denies that Aristophanic Comedy produced -any serious effect. “We have no reason,” he says, “to believe that it -ever turned the course of public affairs, or determined the bias of -the public mind, or even that it considerably affected the credit and -fortunes of an obnoxious individual.” Grote’s opinion is much the same, -except that he is disposed to credit Comedy with a greater influence -on the reputations of particular men. The question is much of the same -nature as might be raised concerning the precise effect of political -writing in newspapers, or of literary reviews. The effect is one which -it is impossible to measure accurately, but which may nevertheless be -both wide and deep. - -In the first place, we must dismiss the notion that Comedy could make -no serious impression because the occasion was a sportive festival. The -feelings of Athenians at Comedy were not merely those of a modern -audience at a burlesque or a pantomime. Comedy, like Tragedy, was -still the worship of Dionysus. Precisely in those comedies which most -daringly ridicule the gods—such as the _Birds_ and the _Frogs_—we -find also serious expressions of a religious sense, illustrating what -might be called the principle of compensatory reverence. Again, the -power of the Old Athenian Comedy is not to be gauged by any influence -which it exercised, or sought, over special situations or definite -projects. Indeed, it rarely attempted this. Almost the only extant -instance occurs in the _Frogs_ of Aristophanes, where he urges that -a general amnesty should be granted to all citizens who had been -implicated in the Revolution of the Four Hundred. In such a sense, it -may be granted, Comedy might do little; but its real power operated -in a totally different way. When a large body of people has common -opinions or feelings, these are intensified in each individual by the -demonstration that so many others share them. A public meeting tends -in itself to quicken enthusiasm for a party or a cause, be the oratory -never so flat and the sentiments never so trite. Aristophanes gave the -most brilliant expression to a whole range of thought and feeling with -which thousands of minds were in general sympathy. Can it be doubted -that he contributed powerfully to strengthen the prejudice against -everything that he regarded as dangerous innovation? Or, again, can it -be doubted that he did much to give his fellow-citizens a more vivid -insight into the arts of unscrupulous demagogues? The cajolers of the -people, as depicted in the comedy of the _Knights_, are drawn in strong -colors, but with fine strokes also: while the character of Demus, the -People—their supposed dupe—is drawn with a tact which no satirist -or political journalist has ever surpassed. If I have to stake the -political power of Aristophanes on the evidence of one short passage, -it should be that dialogue in which the Knights deplore the dotage of -Demus, and Demus tells them that, while he seems to doze, he always has -one eye open (vv. 1111-1150). - -When a change of Ministry occurs in England, no one would undertake to -say exactly what share in that result is attributable to journalistic -repetition and suggestion—to the cumulative impression wrought on the -public mind, through weeks, months, and years, by the Conservative or -the Liberal press. And he would be a bold man who presumed to say how -little or how much the Old Comedy may have to do with the phenomena -of oligarchic reaction in the latter part of the Peloponnesian War, -or with the stimulation of all those sentiments which have their -record in the death of Socrates. The confused travesty of Socrates in -the _Clouds_ corresponds, in its general features, with the confused -prepossessions of which he was afterwards the victim. In this case, -as in others, Comedy was not the origin, but the organ, of a popular -opinion. It did not create the prepossessions; but it strengthened -them by the simple process of reflecting them in an exaggerated form. -Briefly, Aristophanic Comedy had many of the characteristics of -vehement party journalism, but was directed either against persons, -on the one hand, or against general principles and tendencies on -the other—not against measures. Its most obvious strength lay in -brilliant originality of form; but its political and social effect -depended essentially on its representative value. It was the great -ancient analogue of journalism which seems to lead opinion by skilfully -mirroring it—unsparing in attack, masterly in all the sources of -style, but careful, where positive propositions are concerned, to keep -within the limits of safe and accepted generalities. - -Just as the Old Comedy was losing its freedom of utterance, a new -agency began to appear, which invites comparison with journalism of a -calmer and more thoughtful type. Rhetoric, of which we already feel -the presence in Athenian drama, had now become a developed art. Skill -analogous to that of the modern journalist was often required, for -purposes of speaking, by the citizen of a Greek republic.[59] He might -desire to urge his views in a public assembly where the standard of -speaking was high and the audience critical. He might be compelled -to defend his fortunes, or even his life, before a popular jury of -many hundreds, when the result would depend in no small measure on -oratorical dexterity. Already a class of men existed who composed -speeches for private persons to deliver in law-courts. The new art was -naturally enlisted in the service of any party politics. A skilful -writer now felt that there was a way of producing an effect which would -be less transient than that of a speech in the assembly. From the end -of the fifth century B.C. we begin to meet with a species of -composition which may best be described as a political pamphlet. - -The paper on the Athenian polity, which has come down under Xenophon’s -name, is an aristocratic manifesto against the democracy, which -might have appeared in an ancient _Quarterly Review_. The paper on -the _Revenues of Athens_, belonging to the middle of the fourth -century B.C., is a similar article in favor of peace and -the commercial interests. Many of the extant pieces of the orator -Isocrates, in the fourth century B.C., though couched in the -form of speeches, were meant to be read, not spoken, and are in reality -highly finished political pamphlets. More, perhaps, than any other -writer of antiquity, Isocrates resembles a journalist who is deeply -impressed with the dignity and responsibility of his calling; who -spares no pains to make his work really good; and who has constantly -before his mind the feeling that his audience is wider, and his power -greater, than if he was actually addressing a public assembly on the -same theme. His articles—as we may fitly call them—are usually -intended to have a definite effect at a particular moment. He wishes -to make Athens and Sparta combine at once in an expedition to Asia. He -wishes to strike in with a telling argument for peace at the moment -when negotiations are pending between Athens and her allies. He desires -to strengthen the hands of the party, at Athens and at Sparta, who -refuse to recognize the restoration of Messene by the power of Thebes. -In this last case, we know that a pamphlet on the other side was -written by the rhetorician Alcidamas. Here then is an example of -literary controversy on contemporary public affairs. - -Nor is it merely in regard to the political questions of the day that -Isocrates performs the part of a journalist. He deals also with the -social life of Athens. He expresses the feeling with which men of the -old school observed a deterioration of manners connected, in their -views, with the decay of Conservative elements in the democracy. He -shows us the throngs of needy citizens, eagerly casting lots outside -the law-courts for the privilege of employment as paid jurymen—while -at the same time they are hiring mercenary troops to fight their -battles abroad. He pictures the lavish display which characterized the -festivals of the improvident city—where the amusement of the public -had now become a primary art of statesmanship—when men might be seen -blazing in gold spangled robes, who had been shivering through the -winter in rags. He brings before us the young men of a degenerate -Athens—no longer engaged in vigorous exercises of mind and body, in -hunting or athletics; no longer crossing the market-place with downcast -eyes, or showing marks of deference to their elders—but passing their -hours in the society of gamesters and flute-players, or lazily cooling -their wine in the fountain by the Ilissus. He is, in brief, a voice of -public opinion on all the chief matters which come within the province -of the publicist. In order that such a writer should have an influence -similar to that of a newspaper, it was enough that copies of his -writings should be sufficiently multiplied to leaven the conversation -of the market-place and of private society. Every possessor of a copy -was a centre from which the ideas would reach the members of his -own circle. And there is good evidence that, in the fourth century -B.C., the circulation of popular writings throughout the -Hellenic world was both wide and rapid. The copying industry, in the -Greece of that age, doubtless fell far short of the dimensions to which -the labor of cultivated slaves (the _literati_) afterwards raised it at -Rome—where we hear of Augustus, for instance, confiscating no fewer -than two thousand copies of a single work—the psuedo-Sibylline books. -But it was still amply sufficient to warrant a general comparison, -in the sense just defined, between the influence of such a writer as -Isocrates, and that of a modern journalist. - -We have hitherto spoken only of the written rhetoric, in which the -form of a speech was merely a literary fiction, like that adopted—in -imitation of Isocrates—by Milton, when he chose to couch his -_Areopagitica_ in the form of a speech addressed to the Lords and -Commons of England. But in passing, we should note that the actually -spoken rhetoric of antiquity—especially of Greece—bore a certain -analogy to the more elaborate efforts of journalism. This depends on -the fact that ancient usage fully recognised, and generally expected, -careful premeditation; while the speaker, conscious of the demand -for excellence of form, usually aimed at investing his speech with -permanent literary value. Demosthenes and Cicero are both witnesses to -this: Cicero, doubtless, piqued himself on a faculty of extemporising -at need, but probably trusted little to it on great occasions; while -with Demosthenes it was the rule, we are told, never to speak without -preparation. Take the oration delivered by Lysias at the Olympian -festival, where he is exhorting the assembled Greeks to unite against -the common foes of Hellas in Sicily and in Persia. Here the orator -is essentially an organ of patriotic opinion, and his highly-wrought -address is a finished leading-article, for which the author sought the -largest publicity. - -In turning from Greece to Rome, we are prepared to find literature -holding a different relation towards public opinion. The Greek -temperament with its quick play of thought and fancy, had an -instinctive craving to make the sympathy of thoughts continually felt -in words, and to accompany action with a running comment of speech. The -Roman, as we find him during Rome’s earlier career of conquest, was -usually content to feel that his action was in conformity with some -principle which he had expressed once for all in an institution or a -statute. His respect for authority, and his moral earnestness—in a -word his political and social gravity—rendered him independent of the -solace which the lively Greek derived from a demonstrated community of -feeling. Rome, strong in arms, severe, persistent, offering to people -after people the choice of submission or subjugation; Rome, the head of -the Latin name, the capital of Italy, the queen of the Mediterranean, -the empress of a pacified, because disarmed, world; Rome, who never -deemed a war done until conquest had been riveted by law which should -be the iron bond of peace,—this idea was the true inspiration of the -Roman; and, as the literature was matured, it was this which added -order to strength, and majesty to order, in the genius of the Roman -tongue. It is especially curious to observe the fate which Comedy -experienced when it first appeared at Rome, and endeavored to assume -something of the political significance which its parent, Greek Comedy, -had possessed at Athens. The poet Naevius appeared just after the -first Punic War. He was a champion of popular liberties against the -domination of the Senate; and, in his plays, he treated some of the -Senatorian chiefs with satire of a quality which, to judge from the -extant specimens, was exceedingly mild. “Who had so quickly ruined the -commonwealth?” was a query put in one of his comedies; and the reply -was, “New speakers came forward—foolish young men.” In another piece, -he alluded to the applauses bestowed on him as proving that he was -a true interpreter of the public mind, and deprecated any great man -interfering with him. A very slave in one of his comedies, he added, -was better off than a Roman citizen nowadays. Contrast these remarks -with the indescribable insults which Aristophanes had boldly heaped on -the Athenian demagogues. Mild as Naevius was, however, he was not mild -enough for the “foolish young men.” Having ventured to observe that the -accession of certain nobles of high office was due to a decree of fate, -he was promptly imprisoned; he was afterwards banished; and he died -in exile. This seems to have been the first and last attempt of Roman -Comedy to serve as an organ of popular opinion. The Roman reverence for -authority was outraged by the idea of a public man being presented in a -comic light on the boards of a theatre. On the other hand, Roman -feeling allowed a public man to be attacked, in speaking or in writing, -with almost any degree of personal violence, provided that the purpose -was seriously moral. Hence the personal criticism of statesmen, which -at Athens had belonged to Comedy, passed at Rome into another kind of -composition. It became an element of Satire. - -The name of Satire comes, as is well known, from the _lanx satura_, -the platter filled with first-fruits of various sorts, which was an -annual thank-offering to Ceres and Bacchus. “Satire” meant a medley, or -miscellany, and the first characteristic of Roman satire was that the -author wrote in an easy, familiar way about any and every subject that -was of interest to himself and his readers. As Juvenal says,— - - “Men’s hopes, men’s fear—their fond, their fretful dream— - Their joys, their fuss—that medley is my theme.” - -Politics, literature, philosophy, society—every topic of public or -private concern—belonged to the _Satura_, so long as the treatment was -popular. Among all the forms of Roman literature, Satire stands out -with a twofold distinction. First, it is genuinely national. Next, it -is the only one which has a continuous development, extending from the -vigorous age of the Commonwealth into the second century of the Empire. -Satire is pre-eminently the Roman literary organ of public opinion. The -tone of the Roman satirist is always that of an ordinary Roman citizen, -who is frankly speaking his mind to his fellow-citizens. An easy, -confidential manner in literature—as of one friend unbosoming himself -to another—seems to have been peculiarly congenial to the ancient -Italian taste. We may remember how the poet Ennius introduced into -his epic a picture of the intimate converse between himself and the -Roman general Servilius Geminus—a picture not unworthy of a special -war-correspondent attached to head-quarters. Then Satire profited by -the Italian gift for shrewd portraiture of manners. Take, for instance, -the picture of a coquette, drawn some twenty centuries ago by Naevius: - - “Like one playing at ball in a ring, she tosses about - from one to another, and is at home with all. To one - she nods, to another she winks; she makes love to one, - clings to another.... To one she gives a ring to look - at, to another blows a kiss; with one she sings, with - another corresponds by signs.”[60] - -The man who first established Satire as an outspoken review of Roman -life was essentially a slashing journalist. This was Lucilius, who -lived in the latter years of the second century B.C. He -attacked the high-born statesmen, who, as he put it, “thought that they -could blunder with impunity, and keep criticism at a distance by their -rank.” On the other hand, he did not spare plebeian offenders. As one -of his successors says, “he bit deep into the town of his day, and -broke his jawtooth on them.” Literature and society also came under his -censures. He lashes the new affectation of Greek manners and speech, -the passion for quibbling rhetoric, the extravagance of the gluttons -and the avarice of the misers. Even the Roman ladies of the time do -not wholly escape. He criticises the variations of their toilettes. -“When she is with _you_, anything is good enough; when visitors are -expected, all the resources of the wardrobe are taxed,” The writings -of this trenchant publicist formed the great standing example of free -speech for later Roman times. Horace eschews politics; indeed, when he -wrote, political criticism had become as futile as it was perilous; but -he is evidently anxious to impress on the Roman public that he is true -to the old tradition of satire by fearlessly lashing folly and vice. -Persius, who died at the age of twenty-eight in the reign of Nero, made -Roman Satire a voice of public opinion in a brave and a pure sense. -Horace had been an accomplished Epicurean, who found his public among -easy-going, cultivated men of the world. Persius spoke chiefly to minds -of a graver cast: he summoned Roman citizens to possess themselves of a -moral and intellectual freedom which no Cæsar could crush, the freedom -given by the Stoic philosophy,—that philosophy which had moulded the -jurisprudence of the Republic, and was now the refuge of thoughtful -minds under the despotism of the Empire. Then we have once more a -slashing publicist in Juvenal, who is national and popular in a broader -sense than Horace or Persius. His fierce indignation is turned against -the alien intruders, the scum of Greece and Asia, who are making Rome a -foreign city, and robbing Roman citizens of their bread. He denounces -the imported vices which are effacing the old Roman character. He is -the last of the Roman satirists, and in much he resembles the first. - -It may be noted that each of the three satirists of the Empire—Horace, -Persius, Juvenal—gives us a dialogue between himself and an imaginary -friend, who remonstrates with him for his rashness in imitating -Lucilius, the outspoken satirist of the Republic. Horace, replies, -in effect, “Never mind, _I’m_ not afraid—Augustus will stand by me -as Scipio and Laelius stood by Lucilius;” but, in fact, Horace never -strikes like Lucilius; he keeps us smiling while he probes our faults; -“he gains his entrance, and plays about the heart;” his censures even -when keen, show cautious tact. Persius replies: “You need not read me -if you do not like: but the joke is too good; I _must_ tell some one -that Midas has the ears of an ass.” When Juvenal is warned, we catch -quite a different tone in the answer. After painting the Rome of his -day, he says (I venture to give a version of my own):— - - “Nought worse remains: the men of coming times - Can but renew our lusts, repeat our crimes. - Vice holds the dizzy summit: spread thy sail, - Indignant Muse, and drive before the gale! - But who shall find, or whence—I hear thee ask— - An inspiration level with the task? - Whence that frank courage of an elder Rome, - When Satire, fearless, sent the arrow home? - ‘Whom am I bound,’ she then could cry, ‘to spare? - If high-placed guilt forgive not, do I care?’ - Paint _now_ the prompter of a Nero’s rage— - The torments of a Christian were thy wage,— - Pinned to the stake, in blazing pitch to stand, - Or, on the hook that dragg’d thee, plough the sand.... - - * * * * * - - No danger will attend thee if thou tell - How to Aeneas warlike Turnus fell; - No spite resents Achilles’ fateful day, - Or Hylas, with his urn, the Naiads’ prey; - But when Lucilius, all his soul afire, - Bared his good sword and wreak’d his generous ire, - Flush’d cheeks bewrayed the secrets lock’d within, - And chill hearts shivered with their conscious sin. - Hence wrath and tears. Ere trumpets sound, debate: - Warriors, once armed, repent of war too late. - ‘Then shall plain speech be tried on those whose clay - Rests by the Latin or Flaminian Way.’” - -He did indeed try the plainest of speech, not only on dead tyrants -and their ministers, but on the society of his own time. The elder -Disraeli remarks that Richard Steele meant the _Tatler_ to deal with -three provinces—manners, letters, and politics; and that, as to -politics, “it remained for the chaster genius of Addison to banish this -disagreeable topic from his elegant pages.” Horace was in this respect -the Addison of Satire under the Empire. In Juvenal, the Italian medley -once more exhibits, though with necessary modifications, the larger and -more vigorous spirit of its early prime. The poetical epistle, which in -Horace is so near to Satire, usually differed from it in having less -of the chatty miscellaneous character, and in being rather applied to -continuous didactic exposition. The prose epistle, which was often -meant for publication even when formally private, also contributed not -only to express, but to mould, public opinion. Epigrams and lampoons -might happen to be vehicles of a general feeling; but they differ from -the forms of literature here considered in being essentially personal, -like the satirical poetry of early Greece. - -There is yet another agency, common to Greece and Rome, at which we -must glance—the Oracles. Often, of course, they had a most important -part in directing public opinion at critical moments; but this was -not all. There were occasions on which an oracle became, in a strict -sense, the organ of a political party. Thus the noble Athenian family -of the Alcmaeonidae bribed the Delphian priests to make the oracle an -organ of public opinion in favor of freeing Athens from Peisistratus. -Accordingly, whenever Spartans came to consult the god on any subject -whatever, this topic was always worked into the response. Apollo, in -short, kept up a series of most urgent leading articles; and at last -the Spartans were roused to action. Then, when Cleomenes, one of the -two Spartan kings, wished to have his colleague Demaratus deposed, he -made friends with an influential man at Delphi; the influential man -bribed the priestess; and the oracle declared that Demaratus was not of -the blood royal. In this case, the fraud was found out; the priestess -was deposed; and when Cleomenes died mad, men said that this was the -hand of Apollo. When the Persians were about to invade Greece, the -Delphic oracle took the line of advising the Greeks to submit. The -Athenians sent to ask what they should do, and the oracle said, “Fly -to the ends of the earth.” The Athenians protested that they would not -leave the temple until they got a more comfortable answer. Hereupon an -influential Delphian advised them to assume the garb of suppliants; and -this time Apollo told them to trust to their wooden walls. Herodotus -mentions between seventy and eighty oracles (I believe) of one sort -or another, and less than half of these contain _predictions_. The -predictions usually belong to one of two classes; first, those -obviously founded on secret information or on a shrewd guess; and, -secondly, those in which the oracle had absolutely no ideas on the -subject, and took refuge in vagueness. - -Any one who reads the column of Answers to Correspondents in a -prudently conducted journal will recognize the principal types of -oracle. In truth, the Delphic oracle bore a strong resemblance to a -serious newspaper managed by a cautious editorial committee with no -principles in particular. In editing an oracle, it was then, as it -still is, of primary importance not to make bad mistakes. The Delphian -editors were not infallible; but, when a blunder had been made, they -often showed considerable resource. Thus, when Croesus had been utterly -ruined, he begged his conqueror to grant him one luxury—to allow him -to send to Delphi, and ask Apollo whether it was his usual practice to -treat his benefactors in this way. Apollo replied that, in point of -fact, he had done everything he could; he had personally requested -the Fates to put off the affair for a generation; but they would only -grant a delay of three years. Instead of showing annoyance, Croesus -ought to be grateful for having been ruined three years later than he -ought to have been. There are Irish landlords who would see a parable -in these things. Sometimes we can see that Apollo himself is slightly -irritated, as an editor might be by a wrong-headed or impertinent -querist. Some African colonists had been pestering Apollo about their -local troubles and his own former predictions; and the response from -Delphi begins with the sarcastic remark, “I admire your wisdom if you -know Africa better than I do,” The normal tendency of the Delphic -oracle was to discourage rash enterprise, and to inculcate maxims of -orthodox piety and moderation. The people of Cnidos wanted to make -their peninsula an island by digging a canal, but found it very hard -work; and the oracle told them that if Zeus had meant the peninsula -to be an island, he would have made it an island—which reminds one -of some of the arguments against the Channel Tunnel. In one special -direction, however, Delphi gave a real impulse to Hellenic progress. -It was a powerful promoter of colonization: for instance, the first -Greek settlements in Corsica and on the coast of Africa were directly -due to Delphic oracles. We even find the oracle designating individuals -for work abroad; as when it nominated a man of Mantinea to reform the -constitution of Cyrene. In Scotland we are wont to take a keen interest -in everything that bears on colonial careers for young men; and one day -a Greek class had been reading about the Delphic oracle telling some -Thracians to choose as their king the first man who should ask them to -dinner. Miltiades had this privilege, and forthwith got the Thracian -appointment. “Do you think,” a thoughtful student asked, “that there -could have been any collusion?” - -A brief mention is due to those Roman publications which, in form, -came nearest to our newspapers—the official gazettes. Julius Caesar, -when consul in 59 B.C., first caused the transactions of the Senate -(_Acta Senatus_) to be regularly published; before his time, there -had been only an occasional publication of its decrees. Augustus -stopped the issue of this Senatorial Gazette, though the minutes -continued to be regularly kept, at first by senators of the Emperor’s -choice, afterwards by a secretary specially appointed. Further, -Julius Caesar instituted a regular official gazette of general news, -the _Acta diurna_, which continued under the Empire. There was an -official editor; the gazette was exhibited daily in public, and copied -by scribes, who sold it to their customers; the original copy was -afterwards laid up in the public archives, where it could be consulted. -This gazette contained announcements or decrees by the Government, -notices relating to the magistrature and the law-courts, and other -matters of public interest; also a register of births, marriages, -and deaths, and occasionally other advertisements concerning private -families. This gazette had a wide circulation. Tacitus, for example, -says that a certain event could not be hidden from the army, because -the legionaries throughout the provinces had read it in the gazette. -But it was simply a bald record of facts; there was no comment. Cicero, -writing from Asia, complains that a private correspondent at Rome has -sent him only such news as appears in a gazette—about matches of -gladiators and adjournment of courts—and has given him no political -intelligence. - -The _Gentleman’s Magazine_ for 1740 contains a short and quaint paper -by Dr. Johnson, in which he transcribes some supposed fragments of a -Roman gazette for the year 168 B.C. These were first published -in 1615, and in 1692 were defended by Dodwell, but are now recognized -as fifteenth-century forgeries. We have no genuine fragments of the -Roman gazettes. None the less, Johnson’s comparison of them with the -English newspapers of 1740 may well suggest a reflection. The Roman -gazette under the Empire did not give the transactions of the Senate, -any more than it admitted political comment. In the newspapers of -Johnson’s time, the parliamentary reports were still very irregular and -imperfect; while criticism of public men was fain to take the disguise, -however thin, of allegory. Thus the _Gentleman’s Magazine_ regaled its -readers, from month to month, with “Proceedings and Debates in the -Senate of Lilliput.” It was when the House of Commons had ceased to -represent the public opinion of the country, that this opinion became -resolved to have an outlet in the press. Parliament having ceased to -discharge its proper function, the press became the popular court -of appeal. The battle for a free press, in the full modern sense, -was fought out between 1764 and 1771—beginning in 1764 with the -persecution of Wilkes for attacking Bute in the _North Briton_, and -ending with the successful resistance, in 1771, to the proclamation -by which the Commons had forbidden the publication of their debates. -Six printers, who had infringed it, were summoned to the bar of the -House; five obeyed; and the messenger of the House was sent to arrest -the sixth. The Lord Mayor of London sent the messenger to prison. The -House of Commons sent the Lord Mayor to the Tower. But he was followed -by cheering crowds. He was released at the next prorogation; and the -day on which he left the Tower marked the end of the last attempt to -silence the press. The next few years saw the beginning of the first -English journals which exercised a great political and social power. -The _Times_ dates from 1788. Thus a period memorable for Americans -has something of analogous significance for their kinsmen in England. -For the English people, also, those years contained a Declaration of -Independence; they brought us a title-deed of freedom greater, perhaps, -than the barons of the thirteenth century extorted from John—the -charter of a complete freedom in the daily utterance of public opinion. - -The attempt here has been to indicate some of the partial equivalents -for such an utterance which may be traced in classical literature. A -student of antiquity must always in one sense, resemble the wistful -Florentine who, with Virgil for his guide, explored the threefold realm -beyond the grave. His converse is with the few, the spirits signal for -good or for evil in their time; the shades of the great soldiers pass -before him,—he can scan them closely, and imagine how each bore -himself in the hour of defeat or victory on earth; he can know the -counsels of statesmen, and even share the meditations of their -leisure; the poets and the philosophers are present: but around and -beyond these are the nameless nations of the dead, the multitudes who -passed through the ancient world and left no memorial. With these -dim populations he can hold no direct communion; it is much as if at -times the great movements which agitated them are descried by him as -the surging of a shadowy crowd, or if the accents of their anguish or -triumph are borne from afar as the sound of many waters. So much the -more, those few clear voices which still come from the past are never -more significant than when they interpret the popular mind of their -generation. The modern development of representative institutions -has invested the collective sentiment of communities with power of a -kind to which antiquity can furnish no proper parallel. But this fact -cannot dispense the student of history from listening for the echoes -of the market-place. And such attention cannot fail to quicken our -sense of the inestimable gain which has accrued to modern life through -journalism. It is easy to forget the magnitude of a benefit when its -operation has become regular and familiar. The influence of the press -may sometimes be abused; its tone may sometimes be objectionable. -But take these three things—quickness in seeking and supplying -information,—continual vigilance of comment,—electric sympathy of -social feeling: where in the ancient world do we find these things -as national characteristics, except in so far as they were gifts of -nature to the small community of ancient Athens—gifts to which her -best literature owes so much of its incomparable freshness and of -its imperishable charm? It is mainly due to the agency of the press -that these things are now found throughout the world,—these, which, -in all lands where man has risen above barbarism, are the surest -safeguards of civilization and the ultimate pledges of constitutional -freedom.—_Fortnightly Review._ - - - - -THREE GLIMPSES OF A NEW ENGLAND VILLAGE. - - -Does the reader chance to know that bit of England round about -Haslemere, but an hour and a half’s journey from the heart of London, -where three counties meet, and the traveller may see at a glance, from -many a hill-top, the most rich and beautiful parts of Sussex, the -wildest and most picturesque of Surrey and Hampshire? At his feet lies -spread the weald of Sussex, whilst the dark wooded promontories and -long purple ridges of Blackdown, Marley, and Ironhill curve round or -jut out into this broad sea of fertility, and the distant South Downs -close the view with wavy outline and fluted sides, bare of everything -save fine turf, nibbling sheep, and the shadows of the clouds. Turning -round, Surrey culminates, as it were, in Hind Head, with triple -summit—no mere hill, but a miniature mountain in bold individuality of -form. And when he climbs this vantage-ground, Hampshire lies unfolded -before him as well as Surrey; Wolmer Forest—forest no longer, but -brown moorland; ranges of chalk hills, conspicuous among them one with -a white scar on its dark flank, which hides Selborne amid its trees; -solemn distances seen against the sunset sky, clothed with a deep -purple bloom, which haunt the memory like a strain of noble music. - -No less beautiful and strikingly similar in general character is -that part of Western Massachusetts wherein stands our New England -village—Northampton—village in size and rural aspect, though the -capital of Hampshire county. But the New England valley has one -advantage over the weald of Sussex in its broad and beautiful river, -with Indian name, Connecticut—Quonnektacut, the long river—which -winds through it. Mount Holyoke and Mount Tom, the Sugar Loaf and the -Pelham range are its Blackdown, Marley, Hind Head, and South Downs. -These hills are a couple of hundred feet or so higher than their -English prototypes, ranging from 1000 to 1300 feet above the sea, and -their old ribs are of harder and more ancient stuff than the chalk and -greensand of the South Downs and Surrey hills; witness the granite or -rather gneiss boulders scattered broadcast over the land, sometimes in -rugged upright masses, looking like some grey ruin, sometimes in small -rounded fragments, bestrewing the uplands like a flock of sheep, and -more rarely the black and still harder blocks of trap. In the museum -at Amherst, just over the river, are preserved slabs with the famous -bird-tracks—colossal footprints two feet long, found in the trias of -this part of the Connecticut valley—all tending to prove that the sun -shone down upon dry land here for some ages whilst the mother-country -was still mostly a waste of waters; and that, geologically speaking, -and so far as these parts at any rate are concerned, New England is -old, and old England new, by comparison. Broad, fertile, level meadows -border the river, and the hills are richly clothed with chestnut, -birch, hemlock (somewhat like the yew in aspect), hickory (a kind of -walnut), beech, oak, etc. It is hard to say whether the likeness or the -unlikeness to an English landscape strikes the traveller more. There -is the all-pervading difference of a dry and brilliant atmosphere, -which modifies both form and color, substituting the sharp-edged and -definite for the vague and rounded in distant objects, and brilliancy -and distinctness of hue for depth and softness. Apart, too, from the -brilliant and searching light, the leaves are absolutely of a lighter -green, and grow in a less dense and solid mass; the foliage looks more -feathery, the tree more spiral. Especially is this so with the American -oak, which has neither the dome-like head, the sturdiness of bough, nor -the dark bluish-green foliage of the English oak. If it be spring-time, -no gorse is to be seen with golden blossom set among matted thorns, -perfuming the sunshine; but everywhere abounding masses of the delicate -pink-clustered, odorless, warlike kalmia, called there laurel, and -growing to the full size of our laurels; and more shyly hidden, the -lovely azalea or swamp-pink, as the country people call it. Instead of -the daisy, the delicate little Housatonia, like Venus’ looking-glass -but growing singly, stars the ground; and for fragrance we must -stoop down and seek the pale pink clusters of the trailing arbutus -or May-flower, which richly reward the seeker. In July we miss -the splendid purpling of the hills with heather blossom; but the -pink spikes of the hardhack abound; gay lilies, lady’s earrings, -blue-fringed gentians, glowing cardinal flowers (_Lobelia cardinalis_), -with slender petals of a deeper crimson than the salvia, and a host -more new friends, or old friends with new ways grown democratic as -befits them, scatter their beauty freely by the wayside and the margins -of the brooks, instead of setting up as exclusives of the garden. - -Nor are the differences less marked in the aspect of the cultivated -land. The fertile valley has perhaps a look of greater breadth from -not being intersected with hedges and having few fences of any kind, -one crop growing beside another, and one owner’s beside another’s, -like different beds in a nursery-garden. But the effect of these large -undivided fields is to dwarf the appearance of the crops themselves. -The patches of tall tasselled Indian corn, the white-blossomed -buckwheat, and large-leaved tobacco, look diminutive. No haystacks, no -wheat-ricks are to be seen; only here and there a lonely, prison-like -tobacco barn or drying-house, full of narrow loopholes to let in air -without light. Everything else is housed in the big barn that adjoins -the farmhouse, which stands, not amid its own fields, but on the -outskirts of the nearest town or village. Of wheat little is grown; -of root-crops still less, for sheep-farming is not in favor. Tobacco, -with its large, glossy dark leaves, like those of the mangel-wurzel, -thrives well on the rich alluvial soil of the Connecticut valley; but, -fluctuating as it is in value, exhaustive of the soil, and easily -damaged by weather, the great gains of one year are often more than -counterbalanced by the losses of the next. The Indian corn remains -long upon the ground in autumn after it is cut, to ripen in stooks, -much as beans do with us; and then come to light the pumpkins which -were sown amongst it, and now lie basking and glowing in the sun -like giant oranges. Glowing, too, in the splendid sunshine, are the -apple-orchards, laden with fruit half as large and quite as red -as full-blown peonies. Never, even in the vale of Evesham or -Herefordshire, have I seen any so beautiful. - -As to the living creatures—feathered, four legged, or no-legged—there -are some conspicuous differences which it does not take a naturalist -to discover. Ten to one, indeed, if we come upon a rattlesnake; but a -few are still left in snug corners of Mount Holyoke and Mount Tom, as -anxious to avoid us as we them. The lively little chipmunk, diminutive -first cousin to the squirrel, with black stripe along the back, is -sure to make our acquaintance, for his kind seems as multitudinous -as the rabbit with us, and is a worse foe to the farmer, because he -has more audacity and a taste for the kernels of things, instead of -merely the leaves. Strange new sounds greet the ear from katydid -“working her chromatic reed”; from bull-frog with deep low, almost a -roar; from grasshoppers and locusts, whose loud brassy whirr resounds -all through the sunny hours with such persistency it seems at last a -very part of the hot sunshine. The chirp of our grasshoppers is the -mere ghost of a sound in comparison. At night fireflies glance in and -out of the darkness; and, if we remain under the trees, mosquitoes -soon make us unpleasantly aware of their existence. As to the birds, -the flame-colored oriole, the delicately shaped blue-bird, flit by -now and then as flashes of surprise and delight from the south; the -rose-breasted grossbeak has a sweet note; the robin, not round as a -ball and fierce and saucy, but grown tall, and slim, and mild—his -breast not so red, his song not so sweet, his eye not so bright—is -there. He is indeed a robin only in name,—really a species of -thrush. A cheerful twittering, chirping, whistling, the tuning of the -orchestra, a short sweet snatch or two of song I heard; but the steady, -long-sustained outpour of rich melody from throats never weary, the -chorus trilling joyously, with which our woods and hedgerows resound -in spring and early summer, I listened for in vain. Perhaps the -pathlessness of the woods and hills prevented my penetrating to the -secluded haunts of the sweetest singers, such as the hermit-thrush, and -I speak only of New England. Remembering what John Burroughs has said -on the subject, I will not venture to generalize the comparison. - - - GLIMPSE THE FIRST. - -About two hundred and forty years ago, towards the close of Cromwell’s -life, and thirty-four years after the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, -the Boston and Plymouth Settlement found itself vigorous enough to -send out offshoots; and having heard from the Dutch settlers of New -York of this rich and well-watered valley discovered by them in 1614, -the General Court appointed John Pynchon, Elizur Holyoke, and Samuel -Chapin of Springfield, settled seventeen years before, to negotiate -with the Indians for that tract of land called Nonotuck, where now -stand six small towns and villages, chief and first built of which was -Northampton. The price paid was a hundred fathoms of wampum (equal -to about £20), ten coats, some small gifts, and the ploughing up of -sixteen acres on the east side of the river. Wampum (Indian for white) -consisted of strings of beads made of white shells and _suckauhock_ -black or blue money, of black or purple shells. Both were used for more -purposes than trading with the Indians, coin being scarce. Eight white -and four black beads were worth a penny; and a man as often took out -a string of beads as a purse to pay an innkeeper or a ferryman, or to -balance a trading account. - -But Nonotuck was paid for with a good deal besides the wampum and -the ploughing. For a hundred and twenty-four years there was almost -incessant warfare with the Indians. Treacherous ambuscades lay in wait -for the trader on his journey, stealthy dark-skinned assassins for -the solitary husbandman, and not a few of these fertile fields were -watered by the blood of its first tillers. He carried his weapons with -him to his work and to the meeting-house, and expressed his gratitude -for hair-breadth escapes, Puritan fashion, by the pious names he gave -his children. Preserved Clapp, Submit Grout, Comfort Domo, Thankful -Medad, are names that figure in the records of this and the neighboring -villages; where we read also that one Praise-Ever Turner, and his -servant Uzackaby Shakspeare, were killed by the Indians. Within sight -of Northampton it was, just over the river, in the sister settlement -of Hadley,—that beautiful old village, with street eighteen rods -wide, set with a double avenue of superb elms, greensward in the -middle and a road on either side, looking more like the entrance to -a fine park than a village street,—here it was that a “deliverance” -occurred, long believed by the people to have been miraculous. One -Sunday, when nearly the whole scant population was gathered for worship -in the meeting-house, a large body of Indians fell upon them, and, -what with the panic and the want of a leader, all seemed lost, when -a majestic, venerable figure, dressed in a strange rich garb, fully -armed, appeared suddenly in their midst, assumed the command, rallied -their scattered numbers, and led them on to victory; then vanished as -suddenly as he had appeared, no man knew where or whence.[61] No man but -one—Mr. Russell, the minister. This venerable apparition was Goffe, -once a general in Cromwell’s army, and, like Whalley his companion in -exile, one of the judges who condemned Charles to death, now forced, -even in that far land, to hide for his life, since an active quest was -maintained, in obedience to the Home Government for both Goffe and -Whalley. For twelve years did good Mr. Russell shelter them, unknown -to all but his own family. Whalley died in his house; but Goffe -subsequently disappeared, and the rest of his career is unknown. - -Altogether the hardy band found ample scope for carrying into practice -the noble maxim of the Pilgrim Fathers rehearsed at Leyden: “All great -and honorable actions are accompanied with great difficulties, and -must be enterprised and overcome with answerable courages.” In order -to secure protection from Indians and wolves, the little community -built its dwellings, not each isolated on its own farm-lands, but side -by side, so as to form at once the main street; each house having its -“home lot” or strip of “interval,” as the rich meadow-land stretching -down to the river was called, and its “wood-lot” on the hillside. -Having chosen her “select men to direct all the fundamental affairs -of the town, to prevent anything which they judge shall be of damage, -and to order anything which shall be for the good of the town; to -hear complaints, arbitrate controversies, lay out highways, see to -the scouring of ditches, the killing of wolves, and the training -of children,” Northampton proceeded at once to build herself a -meeting-house “of sawen timber 26 feet long and 18 feet wide,” for the -sum of £14 sterling, to be paid in work or corn. There was no clock in -the settlement; so the worshippers were called together, sometimes by -a large cow-bell, sometimes by drum, and finally by trumpet, for the -blowing of which Jedediah Strong had a salary of eighteen shillings -a year. There was no minister for some years; and more finding in -themselves a vocation for preaching than for listening, or at any rate -for criticising than for meekly imbibing, disputes arose, the General -Court was appealed to, and its decision enforced that the service -should consist, besides praying and singing, of “the reading aloud -of known godly and orthodox books;” and for those who failed to obey -with seemly decorum the summons of Mr. Jedediah Strong’s trumpet, -severe was the chastisement. Joe Leonard and Sam Harmon, for instance, -“who were seen to whip and whisk one another with a stick before the -meeting-house door,” were fined five shillings; and Daniel, “for -idle watching about and not coming to the ordinances of the Lord,” -was adjudged worthy of stripes to the number “of five, _well laid -on_.” In 1672 the town voted that there be some sticks set up in the -“meeting-house, with fit persons placed near, to use them as occasion -shall require, to keep the youth from disorder.” Which staves were -fitted with a hare’s foot at one end and his tail at the other; the -former to give a hard rap to misbehaving boys, the latter a gentle -reminder to sleeping women. - -Something besides repression was done, however, for the benefit of -the youth of Northampton. The first school was started in 1663,—the -master to receive £6 a year and his charges for tuition. Bridges were -built and roads made by calling out every man to labor according to his -estate; and those who did not labor paid in grain at the rate -of half-a-crown a-day for exemption. For more than sixty years -Northampton had no doctor, only a “bone-setter”: on the whole, a lucky -circumstance, perhaps, considering what were the remedies then chiefly -in vogue. Sylvester Judd, from whose “History of Hadley,” and also -from Dr. Holland’s “History of Western Massachusetts,” the foregoing -details have been gathered, gives a curious list, taken from medical -prescriptions of the time:—the fat of a wild cat, blood of a goat, of -an ass, of a white pigeon taken from under the wing, the tongue and -lungs of a fox, liver of an eel and of a wolf, horns of a bug (beetle), -teeth of a sea-horse, bone from the heart of a stag, the left foot of a -tortoise, &c. - -After the Indian and the French and Indian wars were over, there was -but a short interval of rest before the War of Independence began. The -long rugged battle with the savage and the wilderness had done its -work well in training men for the struggle which was to sunder all -bonds, and convert the colony into a new nation, master of its own -destiny. Northampton was not the scene of any battles; but bore its -part in furnishing some brave and leading men, and money, or money’s -worth, to the army. After the war was over, came a time of depression -and disorganization in public affairs and in trade, which culminated -hereabouts in what is known as Shays’ Rebellion, so named from its -leader; but it was soon quelled, and peace and prosperity settled down -upon Northampton and upon the whole land. - - - GLIMPSE THE SECOND. - -If we lift a corner of the veil of time at the opening of the present -century, we find our handful of settlers become a population of -4000,—there was no immigration in those days to swell the numbers by -thousands and tens of thousands at a blow,—and possessed of resources -for their social and intellectual welfare pretty much on a par with -those of an English country town at that date of the same size: a -little behind still in material comforts and luxuries, a little ahead -in the amount of mental activity and the spirit of progress generated -partly by more complete self-dependence, by the great and stirring -times men had just passed through, and by hereditary influence from the -parent stock, which was the pick of Old England in these qualities. - -The spirit of fellowship thrives where all are fellow-workers. There -comes, it would seem, a happy transition time between the struggles, -privations, isolation of the pioneers, and the wealth, luxury, and -poverty (grim skeleton in the cupboard of advancing prosperity), -when there yet remains a good measure of that sense of neighborship -necessarily developed, when no man is independent of the free help -and good-will of others, no man is born with a silver spoon in his -mouth,—a time, in short, when sociability is and “society” is not, -and those to whom the lines have fallen in pleasant places can stretch -out a friendly hand to the less fortunate without suspicion of -condescension or patronage. - -For sample, we will take a single group, the door of whose hospitable -house has been set open for us by the privately printed memoirs of Mrs -Anne Jean Lyman. The inmates are a judge, his wife, and a large family -of children of all ages, for he has been twice married. The judge is -a genuine product of the soil, his family having for at least three -generations back been settled in Northampton. His wife, who is from -the neighborhood of Boston, of Scotch ancestry on one side, and on the -other descended from Anne Hutchinson (the eloquent woman-preacher, who, -banished for heterodoxy from their settlement by the Pilgrim Fathers, -was killed by the Indians in 1643), may be taken as a good but typical -instance of the New England woman of that day—capable, practical, -aspiring, intellectual, friendly above all. - -There are no stirring adventures, no record of any achievements of -genius in these memoirs, but the unpretending pages reflect a clear -image of two fine characters, well adjusted to the social conditions -amid which they lived. Both had beauty and dignity of person, warm -sympathies, good brains, abundant energy, and a spirit of hospitality -which made their home the focus where the worth and intellect of -the village were wont to gather and to shine brightest and warmest. -Northampton has now its row of thriving stores, to which the people -from neighboring villages flock on market-days, making a cheerful -bustle. The elms, planted by the pioneers on either side the street, -from the boughs of one of which Jonathan Edwards had preached to the -Indians, now spread a goodly shade. A four-horse stage from Boston, -ninety miles distant, comes in every evening with bugle horn sounding -gaily. The driver is the personal friend of the whole town, for his -tenacious memory never lets slip a single message or commission—save -on one memorable occasion, when he forgot to bring back his wife who -had been visiting in Boston, and so furnished the village with a -long-enduring joke. The social judge, when he hears the horn, takes -his hat and with alert step and cheerful face, glowing in the evening -light, hastens to Warner’s Tavern where the coach draws up, to welcome -the arrivals and bring any friend who may be among them to his own -home—and any stranger too, who seems in ill-health or sorrow, and -not likely to be made comfortable at an inn. When the judge and his -wife go yearly to Boston, a throng of neighbors flock into the library -overnight, where the packing goes on, not only to take an affectionate -leave, but to bring parcels of every size and commissions of every -variety,—a pattern with request to bring back dresses for a family -of five; and “could they go to the orphan asylum and see if a good -child of ten could be bound out till she was eighteen? and if so, -bring her back.” One requests them to call and see a sick mother at -Sudbury, another a sick sister at Ware. Finally, a little boy, with -bundle as large as himself, asks “if this would be too big to carry -to grandmother?” “I’ll carry anything short of a cooking-stove,” says -the kind lady; and wherever the stage stops to change horses, she runs -round to hunt up the sick friend or deliver the parcel. - -Here is a picture, in brief, of a day of home-life at a later period -when the children are mostly grown up and the judge has retired from -the Bench. It is the grey dawn of a summer’s day, and the mother is -already up and doing, while the rest of her large family, all but the -husband, are still asleep. Dressed in short skirt and white _sacque_, -she goes with broom and duster to her parlor and dining-room, opens -wide the windows to the sweet morning air and the song of the birds, -and puts all in order. At six o’clock she calls up her two maids, puts -on her morning-dress and white cap, takes the large work-basket that -always stands handy in the corner—for she mends not only for the -family but for the maids and the hired man—and works till breakfast, -when often fifteen or twenty cheerful souls assemble round the table. -After which, with help of children and grandchildren, the dishes are -swiftly washed, the table cleared, and husband and wife are then -wont to take their seat at the front door, that they may greet the -passer-by or send messages to neighbors: she with the work-basket -and the book that always lay handy under the work—some essay, poem, -history, novel (for she is an omnivorous reader, and her letters -intelligently discuss current literary topics)—or with the peas and -beans to shell and string for dinner; he with the newspaper. Among the -passers-by with whom they chat come, at certain seasons of the year, -the judges of the Supreme Court and other notable men,—Baron Renné, -Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, Emerson, too, while he was yet a young -unknown Unitarian minister. Seldom does the large family sit down to -dinner without guests, for any one who drops in is asked to stay, or -some wearied-looking passer-by is pressed to step in. In the afternoon -the mother’s chosen seat is at the window of the west parlor looking -towards the hills, and then the young people flock around while she -reads aloud through the long summer afternoons. All must share in -her enjoyment, and often is the wayfarer, some “good neighbor” or -“intellectual starveling,” beckoned in “just to hear this rich passage -we are reading—it won’t take long.” If she finds any with a strong -desire for knowledge, she never rests till the means to supply the want -are found, and more than one youth of promise afterwards fulfilled owed -his first good chance in life to this wise, generous-hearted woman. - - - GLIMPSE THE THIRD. - -Northampton to-day carries her two hundred and thirty odd years -lightly, and, save for the lofty and venerable elms, looks as young as -the youngest of towns. How, indeed, can anything but the trees ever -look old in America, since the atmosphere does not furnish old Time -with moisture enough to write the record of his flight in grey tones -and weather stains, and lichens, and worn and crumbling edges? -Hawthorne’s “old manse” at Concord was the only ancient-looking house I -saw. Either it had never been painted, or the paint was all worn off, -and so the wooden walls had taken a silver-grey color, and, with its -picturesque situation close to the Concord river and by the side of the -field in which was fought the first battle in the War of Independence, -it well deserves the honor and renown that have settled on it, both -as associated with Emerson’s ancestors, his own early days, and with -Hawthorne’s romance. But in general the yearly fresh coat of paint is a -sort of new birth to the old houses, which makes them indistinguishable -from modern ones, wood being still the material used in country-places -for detached houses. But step inside some one or two of these pretty -modest-looking cottages, under the shade of the Northampton elms, and -you will find the low ceiling, the massive beams, small doors and -windows, corner cupboards, and queer ups and downs along the passages, -which tell that they were put up by hands long since mouldered in the -grave, and make you feel as if you were at home again in some old Essex -village. - -Socially, the little town may be regarded as a kind of Cranford—but -Cranford with a difference. There is the same preponderance of maiden -ladies and widows—for what should the men do there? New England -farming is a very slow and unprofitable affair compared with farming -in the West, and there are no manufactures of any importance. There -are the same tea-parties, with a solitary beau in the centre, “like -the one white flower in the middle of a nosegay;” the same modest -goodness, kindliness, refinement, making the best of limited means and -of restricted interests. But even under these conditions the spirit -of enterprise and of public spirit lurks in an American Cranford, and -strikes out boldly in some direction or other. What would Miss Jenkyns -have said to the notion of a college which should embody the most -advanced ideas for giving young women precisely the same educational -opportunities as young men? She would justly have felt that it was -enough to make Dr. Johnson turn in his grave. Yet such a scheme has -been realized by one of the maiden ladies of Northampton or its -immediate neighborhood, in Smith College—a really noble institution; -where, also, the experiment is being tried of housing the students, -not in one large building, but in a cluster of pretty-looking, -moderate-sized homes, standing amid lawn and garden, where they are -allowed, under certain restrictions, to enter into and receive the -society of the village, so that their lives may not be a too monotonous -routine and “grind.” - -Another maiden lady has achieved a still more remarkable success, -for she had no wealth of her own to enable her to carry out her -idea—which was, to perfect and to introduce on a large scale the -method, devised in Spain some hundred years ago, developed by Heinicke, -a German, by Bell of Edinburgh, and by his son, in a system of “visible -speech,”—for enabling the deaf and dumb to speak, not with the fingers -but the voice, dumb no longer, and to hear with the eyes, so to speak, -by reading the movements of the lips. Miss Harriet Rogers, who had -never witnessed this method in operation, began by teaching a few -pupils privately till her success induced a generous inhabitant of -Northampton, Mr. Clarke, to come forward with £10,000 to found a Deaf -and Dumb Institution, of which her little school formed the nucleus, -and her unwearied devotion and special gifts the animating soul. Step -into a class-room in one of these cheerful looking houses, surrounded -by gay flower borders and well-kept lawns, standing on a hill just -outside the town,—for here, too, the plan of a group of buildings has -been adopted. About twenty children, boys and girls, are ranged, their -faces eagerly looking towards a lady who stands on a raised platform. -Her presence conveys a sense of that gentle yet resistless power which -springs from a firm will, combined with a rich measure of sympathy and -affection. She raises her hand a little way, and then moves it slowly -along in a horizontal direction. The children open their mouths -and utter a deep sustained tone, a plaintive, minor, wild, yet not -unmusical sound. She raises it a little higher, and again moves it -slowly along. The children immediately raise the pitch of their voices -and sustain a higher tone. Again the voices, following the hand, -sustain a yet higher, almost a shrill note. Then the hand waves up -and down rapidly, and the tones faithfully follow its lead in swift -transition, till they seem lost in a maze of varying inflexions; but -always the voices are obedient to the waving hand. The teacher then -makes a round O with thumb and forefinger, gradually parting them -like the opening of the mouth. This is the sign for crescendo and -diminuendo. The voices begin softly, swell into a great volume of -sound, then die away again, still with those peculiar plaintive tones; -yet much do the children seem to enjoy the exercise, though, to most -of them, remember, the room is all the while soundless as the grave. -They learn to vary the pitch of their voices partly by feeling with -the hand the vibrations of the throat and chest,—quick and in the -throat for high tones, slow and in the chest for low ones—partly by -help of Bell’s written signs, which represent the position peculiar -to each sound of the various organs of speech—throat, tongue, lips, -back of the mouth, &c. This was a class of beginners chiefly learning -to develop and control their hitherto unused voices. Inexhaustible is -the patience, wonderful the tact employed by Miss Rogers and her able -assistants in the far more difficult task of teaching actual speech. -A small percentage of the children will prove too slow and blunt of -perception ever to master it, and will have to be sent where the old -finger alphabet is still the method in use. Some, on the other hand, -will succeed so brilliantly that it will be impossible for a stranger -to detect that they were once deaf-mutes,—that they seize your words -with their eyes, not with their ears, and have never heard the sound of -human speech, though they can speak. And the great bulk will return to -their homes capable of understanding in the main what is going on -around them, and of making themselves intelligible to their friends -without recourse to signs. - -Our actual Cranford over the sea, then, has a considerable -advantage over the Cranford of romance, in that her heroines do -not wait for the (in fiction) inevitable, faithful, long-absent, -mysteriously-returning-at-the-right-moment lover to redeem their lives -from triviality, and renew their faded bloom. And, in the present state -of the world’s affairs, what is more needed than the single woman who -succeeds in making her life worth living, honorably independent, and -of value to others? Through such will certainly be given new scope and -impetus to the development of woman generally, and in the long run, -therefore, good results for all. - -Among the solid achievements of Northampton must also be mentioned an -excellent free library, with spacious airy reading-room, such as any -city might be proud of. There is also a State lunatic asylum, with -large farm attached, which not only supplies the most restorative -occupation for those of the inmates who are capable of work, but -defrays all the expenses of the institution, with an occasional surplus -for improvements. - -If I were asked what, after some years spent in America, impressed me -most unexpectedly, I should say of the people, as of the New England -landscape, So like! yet so different! I speak, of course, not of -superficial differences, but of mental physiognomy and temperament. -Given new conditions of climate, soil, space, with their subtle, slow, -yet deep and sure modifying influences,—new qualities to the pleasures -of life, new qualities to its pains and struggles, new social and -political conditions, new mixing of old races, different antecedents, -the primitive wrestle with nature by a people not primitive -but inheriting the habits and characteristics of advanced -civilization,—and how can there but result the shaping of a new race -out of old world stock, a fresh instrument in the great orchestra of -humanity? Indicate these differences, these traits! says the impatient -reader. They are too subtle for words, like the perfume of flowers, the -flavor of fruit,—too much intermingled with individual qualities also, -at any rate for mere descriptive words, though no doubt in time the -imaginative literature of America will creatively embody them. - -One lesson whoever has lived in, not merely travelled through -America, must learn perforce. It is that the swift steamers, bringing -a succession of more or less keen observers, the telegrams and -newspapers, which we fondly imagine annihilate space and make us fully -cognizant of the character and affairs of our far-off kindred are by -no means such wonder-workers. In spite of newspapers, and telegrams, -and travellers, and a common language and ancestry, we are full of -misconceptions about each other. Nay, I found the actual condition of -my own country drift slowly out of intelligible sight after a year or -two’s absence. Even if every word uttered and printed were true, that -which gives them their significance cannot be so transmitted; whilst -the great forces that are shaping and building up a people’s life and -character work silently beneath the surface, so that truly may it be -said of a nation, as of an individual, “The heart knoweth its own -bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.” Save by the -help of vital literature—in that, at last, the souls of the nations -speak to one another.—_Blackwood’s Magazine._ - - - - -LAST WORDS ABOUT AGNOSTICISM AND THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. - -BY HERBERT SPENCER. - - -Those who expected from Mr. Harrison an interesting rejoinder to -my reply, will not be disappointed. Those who looked for points -skilfully made, which either are, or seem to be, telling, will be fully -satisfied. Those who sought pleasure from witnessing a display of -literary power, will close his article gratified with the hour they -have spent over it. Those only will be not altogether contented who -supposed that my outspoken criticism of Mr. Harrison’s statements and -views, would excite him to an unusual display of that trenchant style -for which he is famous; since he has, for the most part, continued the -discussion with calmness. After saying thus much it may seem that some -apology is needed for continuing a controversy of which many, if not -most, readers, have by this time become weary. But gladly as I would -leave the matter where it stands, alike to save my own time and others’ -attention, there are sundry motives which forbid me. Partly my excuse -must be the profound importance and perennial interest of the questions -raised. Partly I am prompted by the consideration that it is a pity to -cease just when a few more pages will make clear sundry of the issues, -and leave readers in a better position for deciding. Partly it seems -to me wrong to leave grave misunderstandings unrectified. And partly -I am reluctant on personal grounds to pass by some of Mr. Harrison’s -statements unnoticed. - -One of these statements, indeed, it would be imperative on me to -notice, since it reflects on me in a serious way. Speaking of the -_Descriptive Sociology_, which contains a large part (though by no -means all) of the evidence used in the _Principles of Sociology_, and -referring to the compilers who, under my superintendence, selected the -materials forming that work, Mr. Harrison says:— - - Of course these intelligent gentlemen had little - difficulty in clipping from hundreds of books about - foreign races sentences which seem to support Mr. - Spencer’s doctrines. The whole proceeding is too much - like that of a famous lawyer who wrote a law book, and - then gave it to his pupils to find the “cases” which - supported his law. - -Had Mr. Harrison observed the dates, he would have seen that since -the compilation of the _Descriptive Sociology_ was commenced in -1867 and the writing of the _Principles of Sociology_ in 1874, the -parallel he draws is not altogether applicable: the fact being that the -_Descriptive Sociology_ was commenced seven years in advance for the -purpose (as stated in the preface) of obtaining adequate materials for -generalizations: sundry of which, I may remark in passing, have -been quite at variance with my pre-conceptions.[62] I think that on -consideration, Mr. Harrison will regret having made so grave an -insinuation without very good warrant; and he has no warrant. Charity -would almost lead one to suppose that he was not fully conscious of -its implications when he wrote the above passage; for he practically -cancels them immediately afterwards. He says:—“But of course one -can find in this medley of tables almost any view. And I find facts -which make for my view as often as any other.” How this last statement -consists with the insinuation that what Mr. Harrison calls a “medley” -of tables contains evidence vitiated by special selection of facts, it -is difficult to understand. If the purpose was to justify a foregone -conclusion, how does it happen that there are (according to Mr. -Harrison) as many facts which make against it as there are facts which -make for it? - -The question here incidentally raised concerns the primitive religious -idea. Which is the original belief, fetichism or the ghost-theory? -The answer should profoundly interest all who care to understand -the course of human thought; and I shall therefore not apologize for -pursuing the question a little further. - - * * * * * - -Having had them counted, I find that in those four parts of the -_Descriptive Sociology_ which give accounts of the uncivilized races, -there are 697 extracts which refer to the ghost-theory: illustrating -the belief in a wandering double which goes away during sleep, or -fainting, or other form of insensibility, and deserts the body for a -longer period at death,—a double which can enter into and possess -other persons, causing disease, epilepsy, insanity, etc., which -gives rise to ideas of spirits, demons, etc., and which originates -propitiation and worship of ghosts. On the other hand there are 87 -extracts which refer to the worship of inanimate objects or belief in -their supernatural powers. Now even did these 87 extracts support -Mr. Harrison’s view, this ratio of 8 to 1 would hardly justify his -statement that the facts “make for my [his] view as often as any -other.” But these 87 extracts do not make for his view. To get proof -that the inanimate objects are worshipped for themselves simply, -instances must be found in which such objects are worshipped among -peoples who have no ghost-theory; for wherever the ghost-theory -exists it comes into play and originates those supernatural powers -which certain objects are supposed to have. When by unrelated tribes -scattered all over the world, we find it held that the souls of the -dead are supposed to haunt the neighboring forests—when we learn -that the Karen thinks “the spirits of the departed dead crowd around -him;”[63] that the Society Islanders imagined spirits “surrounded them -night and day watching every action;”[64] that the Nicobar people -annually compel “all the bad spirits to leave the dwelling;”[65] that -an Arab never throws anything away without asking forgiveness of the -Efrits he may strike;[66] and that the Jews thought it was because of -the multitudes of spirits in synagogues that “the dress of the Rabbins -become so soon old and torn through their rubbing;”[67] when we find the -accompanying belief to be that ghosts or spirits are capable of going -into, and emerging from, solid bodies in general, as well as the bodies -of the quick and the dead; it becomes obvious that the presence of one -of these spirits swarming around, and capable of injuring or benefiting -living persons, becomes a sufficient reason for propitiating an object -it is assumed to have entered: the most trivial peculiarity sufficing -to suggest possession—such possession being, indeed, in some cases -conceived as universal, as by the Eskimo, who think every object is -ruled by “its or his, _inuk_, which word signifies “_man_,” -and also _owner_ or _inhabitant_.”[68] Such being the case, there can -be no proof that the worship of the objects themselves was primordial, -unless it is found to exist where the ghost-theory has not arisen; -and I know no instance showing that it does so. But while those facts -given in the _Descriptive Sociology_ which imply worship of inanimate -objects, or ascription of supernatural powers to them, fail to support -Mr. Harrison’s view, because always accompanied by the ghost-theory, -sundry of them directly negative his view. There is the fact that an -echo is regarded as the voice of the fetich; there is the fact that the -inhabiting spirit of the fetich is supposed to “enjoy the savory smell” -of meat roasted before it; and there is the fact that the fetich is -supposed to die and may be revived. Further, there is the summarized -statement made by Beecham, an observer of fetichism in the region where -it is supposed to be specially exemplified, who says that:— - - The fetiches are believed to be spiritual, intelligent - beings, who make the remarkable objects of nature their - residence, or enter occasionally into the images and - other artificial representations, which have been duly - consecrated by certain ceremonies.... They believe that - these fetiches are of both sexes, and that they require - food. - -These statements are perfectly in harmony with the conclusion that -fetichism is a development of the ghost-theory, and altogether -incongruous with the interpretation of fetichism which Mr. Harrison -accepts from Comte. - -Already I have named the fact that Dr. Tylor, who has probably read -more books about uncivilized peoples than any Englishman living or -dead, has concluded that fetichism is a form of spirit-worship, and -that (to give quotations relevant to the present issue) - - To class an object as a fetish, demands explicit - statement that a spirit is considered as embodied in it - or acting through it or communicating by it.[69] - - ... A further stretch of imagination enables the lower - races to associate the souls of the dead with mere - objects.[70] - - ... The spirits which enter or otherwise attach - themselves to objects may be human souls. Indeed, one of - the most natural cases of the fetish-theory is when a - soul inhabits or haunts the relics of its former body.[71] - -Here I may add an opinion to like effect which Dr. Tylor quotes from -the late Prof. Waitz, also an erudite anthropologist. He says:— - - “According to his [the negro’s] view, a spirit dwells - or can dwell in every sensible object, and often a - very great and mighty one in an insignificant thing. - This spirit he does not consider as bound fast and - unchangeably to the corporeal thing it dwells in, but it - has only its usual or principal abode in it.”[72] - -Space permitting I might add evidence furnished by Sir Alfred Lyall, -who, in his valuable papers published in the _Fortnightly Review_ -years ago on religion in India, has given the results of observations -made there. Writing to me from the North-West provinces under date -August 1, in reference to the controversy between Mr. Harrison and -myself, he incloses copies of a letter and accompanying memorandum -from the magistrate of Gorakhpur, in verification of the doctrine -that ghost-worship is the “chief source and origin” of religion. Not, -indeed, that I should hope by additional evidences to convince Mr. -Harrison. When I point to the high authority of Dr. Tylor as on the -side of the ghost-theory, Mr. Harrison says—“If Dr. Tylor has finally -adopted it, I am sorry.” And now I suppose that when I cite these -further high authorities on the same side, he will simply say -again “I am sorry,” and continue to believe as before. - -In respect of the fetichism distinguishable as nature-worship, -Mr. Harrison relies much on the Chinese. He says:— - - The case of China is decisive. There we have a religion - of vast antiquity and extent, perfectly clear and well - ascertained. It rests entirely on worship of Heaven, - and Earth, and objects of Nature, regarded as organized - beings, and not as the abode of human spirits. - -Had I sought for a case of “a religion of vast antiquity and extent, -perfectly clear and well ascertained,” which illustrates origin from -the ghost-theory, I should have chosen that of China; where the -State-religion continues down to the present day to be an elaborate -ancestor-worship, where each man’s chief thought in life is to secure -the due making of sacrifices to his ghost after death, and where the -failure of a first wife to bear a son who shall make these sacrifices, -is held a legitimate reason for taking a second. But Mr. Harrison -would, I suppose, say that I had selected facts to fit my hypothesis. -I therefore give him, instead, the testimony of a bystander. Count -D’Alviella has published a _brochure_ concerning these questions on -which Mr. Harrison and I disagree.[73] In it he says on page 15:— - - La thèse de M. Harrison, au contraire,—que l’homme - aurait commencé par l’adoration d’objets matériels - “franchement regardés comme tels,”—nous paraît - absolument contraire au raisonnement et à l’observation. - Il cite, à titre d’exemple, l’antique religion de la - Chine, “entièrement basée sur la vénération de la Terre, - du Ciel et des Ancêtres, considérés objectivement et - non comme la residence d’êtres immatériels.” [This - sentence is from Mr, Harrison’s first article, not - from his second.] C’est là jouer de malheur, car, sans - même insister sur ce que peuvent être des Ancêtres - “considérés objectivement,” il se trouve précisément que - la religion de l’ancien empire Chinois est le type le - plus parfait de l’animisme organise et qu’elle regarde - même les objets matériels, dont elle fait ses dieux, - comme la manifestation inséparable, l’enveloppe ou même - le corps d’esprits invisibles. [Here in a note Count - D’Alviella refers to authorities, notamment Tiele, - _Manuel de l’Histoire des Religions_, traduit par M. - Maurice Vernes, Liv. II, et dans la _Revue de l’Histoire - des Religions_, la _Religion de l’ancien empire Chinois_ - par M. Julius Happel (t. IV. no. 6).] - -Whether Mr. Harrison’s opinion is or is not changed by this array -of counter-opinion, he may at any rate be led somewhat to qualify -his original statement that “Nothing is more certain than that man -everywhere started with a simple lead worship of natural objects.” - -I pass now to Mr. Harrison’s endeavor to rebut my assertion that he had -demolished a _simulacrum_ and not the reality. - -I pointed out that he had inverted my meaning by representing as -negative that which I regarded as positive. What I have everywhere -referred to as the All-Being, he named the All-Nothingness. What answer -does he make when I show that my position is exactly the reverse of -that alleged? He says that while I am “dealing with transcendental -conceptions, intelligible only to certain trained metaphysicians,” he -is “dealing with religion as it affects the lives of men and women in -the world;” that “to ordinary men and women, an unknowable and -inconceivable Reality is practically an Unreality;” and that thus all -he meant to say was that the “Everlasting Yes” of the “evolutionist,” -“is in effect on the public a mere Everlasting No,” (p. 354). Now -compare these passages in his last article with the following passages -in his first article:—“One would like to know how much of the -Evolutionist’s day is consecrated to seeking the Unknowable in a devout -way, and what the religious exercises might be. How does the man of -science approach the All-Nothingness” (p. 502)? Thus we see that what -was at first represented as the unfitness of the creed considered as -offered to the select is now represented as its unfitness considered as -offered to the masses. What were originally the “Evolutionist” and the -“man of science” are now changed into “ordinary men and women” and “the -public;” and what was originally called the All-Nothingness has become -an “inconceivable Reality.” The statement which was to be justified is -not justified but something else is justified in its stead. - -Thus is it, too, with the paragraph in which Mr. Harrison seeks to -disprove my assertion that he had exactly transposed the doctrines -of Dean Mansel and myself, respecting our consciousness of that -which transcends perception. He quotes his original words, which -were “there is a gulf which separates even his all-negative _deity_ -from Mr. Spencer’s impersonal, unconscious, unthinkable Energy.” And -he then goes on to say “I was speaking of Mansel’s Theology, not of -his Ontology. I said “_deity_,” not the Absolute.” Very well; now -let us see what this implies. Mansel, as I was perfectly well aware, -supplements his ontological nihilism with a theological realism. That -which in his ontological argument he represents as a mere “negation -of conceivability,” he subsequently re-asserts on grounds of faith, -and clothes with the ordinarily-ascribed divine attributes. Which of -these did I suppose Mr. Harrison meant by “all-negative deity”? I was -compelled to conclude he meant that which in the ontological argument -was said to be a “negation of conceivability.” How could I suppose that -by “all-negative deity” Mr. Harrison meant the deity which Dean Mansel -as a matter of “duty” rehabilitates and worships in his official -capacity as priest. It was a considerable stretch of courage on the -part of Mr. Harrison to call the deity of the established church an -“all-negative deity.” Yet in seeking to escape from the charge of -misrepresenting me he inevitably does this by implication. - -In his second article Mr. Harrison does not simply ascribe to me ideas -which are wholly unlike those my words express, but he ascribes to me -ideas I have intentionally excluded. When justifying my use of the -word “proceed,” as the most colorless word I could find to indicate -the relation between the knowable manifestations present to perception -and the Unknowable Reality which transcends perception, I incidentally -mentioned, as showing that I wished to avoid those theological -implications which Mr. Harrison said were suggested, that the words -originally written were “created and sustained;” and that though in the -sense in which I used them the meanings of these words did not exceed -my thought, I had erased them because “the ideas” associated with these -words might mislead. Yet Mr. Harrison speaks of these erased words as -though I had finally adopted them, and saddles me with the ordinary -connotations. If Mr. Harrison defends himself by quoting my words to -the effect that the Inscrutable Existence manifested through phenomena -“stands towards our general conception of things in substantially the -same relation as does the Creative Power asserted by Theology;” then I -point to all my arguments as clearly meaning that when the attributes -and the mode of operation ordinarily ascribed to “that which lies -beyond the sphere of sense” cease to be ascribed, “that which lies -beyond the sphere of sense” will bear the same relation as before to -that which lies within it, in so far that it will occupy the same -relative position in the totality of our consciousness: no assertion -being made concerning the mode of connexion of the one with the other. -Surely when I have deliberately avoided the word “create” to express -the connexion between noumenal cause and the phenomenal effect, because -it might suggest the ordinary idea of a creating power separate from -the created thing, Mr. Harrison was not justified in basing arguments -against me on the assumption that I had used it. - -But the course in so many cases pursued by him of fathering upon -me ideas incongruous with those I have expressed, and making me -responsible for the resulting absurdities, is exhibited in the most -extreme degree, by the way in which he has built up for me a system -of beliefs and practices. In his first article occur such passages -as—“seeking the Unknowable in a devout way” (p. 502); can anyone “hope -anything of the Unknowable or find consolation therein?” (p. 503); and -to a grieving mother he represents me as replying to assuage her grief, -“Think on the Unknowable” (p. 503). Similarly in his second article -he writes “to tell them that they are to worship this Unknowable is -equivalent to telling them to worship nothing” (p. 357); “the worship -of the Unknowable is abhorrent to every instinct of genuine religion” -(p. 360); “praying to the Unknowable at home” (p. 376); and having -in these and kindred ways fashioned for me the observances of a -religion which he represents me as “proposing,” he calls it “one of -the most gigantic paradoxes in the history of thought” (p. 355). So -effectually has Mr. Harrison impressed everybody by these expressions -and assertions, that I read in a newspaper—“Mr. Spencer speaks of the -‘absurdities of the Comtean religion,’ but what about his own peculiar -cult?” - -Now the whole of this is a fabric framed out of Mr. Harrison’s -imaginations. I have nowhere “proposed” any object of religion.” I have -nowhere suggested that anyone should “worship this Unknowable.” No line -of mine gives ground for inquiring how the Unknowable is to be sought -“in a devout way,” or for asking what are “the religious exercises;” -nor have I suggested that anyone may find “consolation therein.” -Observe the facts. At the close of my article “Religion; a Retrospect -and Prospect,” I pointed out to “those who think that science is -dissipating religious beliefs and sentiments” that whatever of mystery -is taken from the old interpretation is added to the new;” increase -rather than diminution being the result. I said that in perpetually -extending our knowledge of the Universe, concrete science “enlarges -the sphere for religious sentiment;” and that progressing knowledge -is “accompanied by an increasing capacity for wonder.” And in my -second article, in further explanation, I have represented my thesis -to be “that whatever components of this [the religious] sentiment -disappear, there must ever survive those which are appropriate to the -consciousness of a Mystery that cannot be fathomed and a Power that -is omnipresent.” This is the sole thing for which I am responsible. -I have advocated nothing; I have proposed no worship; I have said -nothing about “devotion,” or “prayer,” or “religious exercises,” or -“hope,” or “consolation.” I have simply affirmed the permanence of -certain components in the consciousness which “is concerned with that -which lies beyond the sphere of sense.” If Mr. Harrison says that this -surviving sentiment is inadequate for what he thinks the purposes of -religion, I simply reply—I have said nothing about its adequacy or -inadequacy. The assertion that the emotions of awe and wonder form -but a fragment of religion, leaves me altogether unconcerned: I have -said nothing to the contrary. If Mr. Harrison sees well to describe -the emotions of awe and wonder as “some rags of religious sentiment -surviving” (p. 358), it is not incumbent on me to disprove the fitness -of his expression. I am responsible for nothing whatever beyond the -statement that these emotions will survive. If he shows this conclusion -to be erroneous, then indeed he touches me. This, however, he does not -attempt. Recognizing though he does that this is all I have asserted, -and even exclaiming “is that all!” (p. 358) he nevertheless continues -to father upon me a number of ideas quoted above, which I have neither -expressed nor implied, and asks readers to observe how grotesque is the -fabric formed of them. - - * * * * * - -I enter now on that portion of Mr. Harrison’s last article to which -is specially applicable its title “Agnostic Metaphysics.” In this -he recalls sundry of the insuperable difficulties set forth by Dean -Mansel, in his _Bampton Lectures_, as arising when we attempt to -frame any conception of that which lies beyond the realm of sense. -Accepting, as I did, Hamilton’s general arguments, which Mansel applied -to theological conceptions, I contended in _First Principles_ that -their arguments are valid, only on condition that that which transcends -the relative is regarded not as negative, but as positive; and that -the relative itself becomes unthinkable as such in the absence of a -postulated non-relative. Criticisms on my reasoning allied to those -made by Mr. Harrison, have been made before, and have before been -answered by me. To an able metaphysician, the Rev. James Martineau, I -made a reply which I may be excused here for reproducing, as I cannot -improve upon it:— - - Always implying terms in relation, thought implies that - both terms shall be more or less defined; and as fast - as one of them becomes indefinite, the relation also - becomes indefinite, and thought becomes indistinct. Take - the case of magnitudes. I think of an inch; I think - of a foot; and having tolerably-definite ideas of the - two, I have a tolerably-definite idea of the relation - between them. I substitute for the foot a mile; and - being able to represent a mile much less definitely, I - cannot so definitely think of the relation between an - inch and a mile—cannot distinguish it in thought from - the relation between an inch and two miles, as clearly - as I can distinguish in thought the relation between an - inch and one foot from the relation between an inch and - two feet. And now if I endeavor to think of the relation - between an inch and the 240,000 miles from here to the - Moon, or the relation between an inch and the 92,000,000 - miles from here to the Sun, I find that while these - distances, practically inconceivable, have become little - more than numbers to which I frame no answering ideas, - so, too, has the relation between an inch and either of - them become practically inconceivable. Now this partial - failure in the process of forming thought relations, - which happens even with finite magnitudes when one of - them is immense, passes into complete failure when - one of them cannot be brought within any limits. The - relation itself becomes unrepresentable at the same - time that one of its terms becomes unrepresentable. - Nevertheless, in this case it is to be observed that - the almost-blank form of relation preserves a certain - qualitative character. It is still distinguishable as - belonging to the consciousness of extensions, not to the - consciousnesses of forces or durations; and in so far - remains a vaguely-identifiable relation. But now suppose - we ask what happens when one term of the relation - has not simply magnitude having no known limits, - and duration of which neither beginning nor end is - cognizable, but is also an existence not to be defined? - In other words, what must happen if one term of the - relation is not only quantitatively but also - qualitatively unrepresentable? Clearly in this case - the relation does not simply cease to be thinkable - except as a relation of a certain class, but it lapses - completely. When one of the terms becomes wholly - unknowable, the law of thought can no longer be - conformed to; both because one term cannot be present, - and because relation itself cannot be framed.... In - brief then, to Mr. Martineau’s objection I reply, that - the insoluble difficulties he indicates arise here, - as elsewhere, when thought is applied to that which - transcends the sphere of thought; and that just as when - we try to pass beyond phenomenal manifestations to the - Ultimate Reality manifested, we have to symbolize it - out of such materials as the phenomenal manifestations - give us; so we have simultaneously to symbolize the - connexion between this Ultimate Reality and its - manifestations, as somehow allied to the connexions - among the phenomenal manifestations themselves. The - truth Mr. Martineau’s criticism adumbrates, is that - the law of thought fails where the elements of thought - fail; and this is a conclusion quite conformable to - the general view I defend. Still holding the validity - of my argument against Hamilton and Mansel, that in - pursuance of their own principle the Relative is not at - all thinkable _as such_, unless in contradiction to some - existence posited, however vaguely, as the other term - of a relation, conceived however indefinitely; it is - consistent on my part to hold that in this effort which - thought inevitably makes to pass beyond its sphere, not - only does the product of thought become a dim symbol - of a product, but the process of thought becomes a dim - symbol of a process; and hence any predicament inferable - from the law of thought cannot be asserted.[74] - -Thus then criticisms like this of Mr. Martineau, often recurring in -one shape or other, and now again made by Mr. Harrison, do not show -the invalidity of my argument, but once more show the imbecility of -human intelligence when brought to bear on the ultimate question. -Phenomenon without noumenon is unthinkable; and yet noumenon cannot -be thought of in the true sense of thinking. We are at once obliged -to be conscious of a reality behind appearance, and yet can neither -bring this consciousness of reality into any shape, nor can bring into -any shape, its connexion with appearance. The forms of our thought, -moulded on experiences of phenomena, as well as the connotations of -our words formed to express the relations of phenomena, involve us in -contradictions when we try to think of that which is beyond phenomena; -and yet the existence of that which is beyond phenomena is a necessary -datum alike of our thoughts and our words. We have no choice but to -accept a formless consciousness of the inscrutable. - - * * * * * - -I cannot treat with fulness the many remaining issues. To Mr. -Harrison’s statement that it was uncandid in me to implicate him with -the absurdities of the Comtean belief and ritual, notwithstanding his -public utterances, I reply that whereas ten years ago I was led to -think he gave but a qualified adhesion to Comte’s religious doctrine, -such public utterances of his as I have read of late years, fervid -in their eloquence, persuaded me that he had become a much warmer -adherent. On his summary mode of dealing with my criticism of the -Comtean creed some comment is called for. He remarks that there are -“good reasons for declining to discuss with Mr. Spencer the writings -of Comte;” and names, as the first, “that he knows [I know] nothing -whatever about them” (p. 365). Now as Mr. Harrison is fully aware -that thirty years ago I reviewed the English version of those parts -of the Positive Philosophy which treat of Mathematics, Astronomy and -Physics; and as he has referred to the pamphlet in which, ten years -later, I quoted a number of passages from the original to signalize my -grounds of dissent from Comte’s system; I am somewhat surprised by this -statement, and by the still more emphatic statement that to me “the -writings of Comte are, if not the Absolute Unknowable, at any rate the -Absolute Unknown” (p. 365). Doubtless these assertions are effective; -but like many effective assertions they do not sufficiently recognize -the facts. The remaining statements in this division of Mr. Harrison’s -argument, I pass over: not because answers equally adequate with those -I have thus far given do not exist, but because I cannot give them -without entering upon personal questions which I prefer to avoid. - -On the closing part of “Agnostic Metaphysics” containing Mr. Harrison’s -own version of the Religion of Humanity, I have at remark, as I find -others remarking, that it amounts, if not to an abandonment of his -original position, still to an entire change of front. Anxious, as he -has professed himself, to retain the “magnificent word, Religion” (p. -504), it now appears that when “the Religion of Humanity” is spoken -of, the usual connotations of the word are to be in a large measure -dropped: to give it these connotations is “to foist in theological -ideas where none are suggested by us” (p. 369). While, in his first -article, one of the objections raised to the “neo-theisms” as well -as “the Unknowable,” was that there is offered “no relation whatever -between worshipper and worshipped” (p. 505) (an objection tacitly -implying that Mr. Harrison’s religion supplies this relation), it now -appears that humanity is not to be worshipped in any ordinary sense; -but that by worship is simply meant “intelligent love and respect -for our human brotherhood,” and that “in plain words, the Religion -of Humanity means recognising your duty to your fellow-man on human -grounds” (p. 369). Certainly this is much less than what I and others -supposed to be included in Mr. Harrison’s version of the Religion of -Humanity. If he preaches nothing more than an ecstatic philanthropy, -few will object; but most will say that his name for it conveyed -to them a much wider meaning. Passing over all this, however, I am -concerned chiefly to point out another extreme misrepresentation made -by Mr. Harrison when discussing my criticism of Comte’s assertion -that “veneration and gratitude” are due to the Great Being Humanity. -After showing why I conceive “veneration and gratitude” are not due -to Humanity, I supposed an opponent to exclaim (putting the passage -within quotation marks) “But surely ‘veneration and gratitude’ are due -somewhere,” since civilized society, with all its products “must be -credited to some agency or other.” [This apostrophe, imagined as coming -from a disciple of Comte, Mr. Harrison, on p. 373, actually represents -as made in my own person!] To this apostrophe I have replied (p. 22) -that “if ‘veneration and gratitude’ are due at all, they are due to -that Ultimate Cause from which Humanity, individually and as a whole, -in common with all other things has proceeded.” Whereupon Mr. Harrison -changes my hypothetical statement into an actual statement. He drops -the “_if_,” and represents me as positively affirming that “veneration -and gratitude” are due somewhere: saying that Mr. Spencer “lavishes -his ‘veneration and gratitude,’ called out by the sum of human -civilization, upon his Unknowable and Inconceivable Postulate” (p. -373). I should have thought that even the most ordinary reader, much -more Mr. Harrison, would have seen that the argument is entirely an -argument _ad hominem_. I deliberately and carefully guarded myself by -the “_if_” against the ascription to me of any opinion, one way or -the other: being perfectly conscious that much is to be said for and -against. The optimist will unhesitatingly affirm that veneration and -gratitude are due; while by the pessimist it will be contended that -they are not due. One who dwells exclusively on what Emerson calls -“the saccharine” principle in things, as illustrated for example in -the adaptation of living beings to their conditions—the becoming -callous to pains that have to be borne, and the acquirement of liking -for labors that are necessary—may think there are good reasons for -veneration and gratitude. Contrariwise, these sentiments may be -thought inappropriate by one who contemplates the fact that there -are some thirty species of parasites which prey upon man, possessing -elaborate appliances for maintaining their hold on or within his body, -and having enormous degrees of fertility proportionate to the small -individual chances their germs have of getting into him and torturing -him. Either view may be supported by masses of evidence; and knowing -this I studiously avoided complicating the issue by taking either -side. As anyone may see who refers back, my sole purpose was that of -showing the absurdity of thinking that “veneration and gratitude” are -due to the product and not to the producer. Yet, Mr. Harrison having -changed my proposition “_if_ they are due, etc.” into the proposition -“they are due, etc.,” laughs over the contradictions in my views which -he deduces, and to which he time after time recurs, commenting on my -“astonishing perversity.” - -In this division of Mr. Harrison’s article occur five other cases in -which, after his manner, propositions are made to appear untenable or -ludicrous; though anyone who refers to them as expressed by me will -find them neither the one nor the other. But to show all this would -take much trouble to small purpose. Indeed, I must here close the -discussion, so far as my own desistence enables me. It is a wearisome -and profitless business, this of continually going back on the -record, now to show that the ideas ascribed to me are not the ideas I -expressed, and now to show that the statements my opponent defends are -not the statements he originally made. A controversy always opens side -issues. Each new issue becomes the parent of further ones. The original -questions become obscured in a swarm of collateral questions; and -energies, in my case ill-spared, are wasted to little purpose. - - * * * * * - -Before closing, however, let me again point out that nothing has been -said which calls for change of the views expressed in my first article. - -Setting out with the statement that “unlike the ordinary consciousness, -the religious consciousness is concerned with that which lies beyond -the sphere of sense,” I went on to show that the rise of this -consciousness begins among primitive men with the belief in a double -belonging to each individual, which, capable of wandering away from him -during life, becomes his ghost or spirit after death; and that from -this idea of a being eventually distinguished as supernatural, there -develop, in course of time, the ideas of supernatural beings of all -orders up to the highest. Mr. Harrison has alleged that the primitive -religion is not belief in, and propitiation of, the ghost, but is -worship of “physical objects treated frankly as physical objects” (p. -498). That he has disproved the one view and proved the other, no one -will, I think, assert. Contrariwise, he has given occasion for me to -cite weighty authorities against him. - -Next it was contended that in the assemblage of supernatural beings -thus originating in each tribe, some, derived from chiefs, were -superior to others; and that, as the compounding and recompounding of -tribes gave origin to societies having social grades and rulers of -different orders, there resulted that conception of a hierarchy of -ghosts or gods which polytheism shows us. Further it was argued that -while, with the growth of civilization and knowledge, the minor -supernatural agents became merged in the major supernatural agent, this -single great supernatural agent, gradually losing the anthropomorphic -attributes at first ascribed, has come in our days to retain but -few of them; and, eventually losing these, will then merge into a -consciousness of an Omnipresent Power to which no attributes can be -ascribed. This proposition has not been contested. - -In pursuance of the belief that the religious consciousness naturally -arising, and thus gradually transformed, will not disappear wholly, but -that “however much changed it must continue to exist,” it was argued -that the sentiments which had grown up around the conception of a -personal God, though modified when that conception was modified into -the conception of a Power which cannot be known or conceived, would not -be destroyed. It was held that there would survive, and might even -increase, the sentiments of wonder and awe in presence of a Universe of -which the origin and nature, meaning and destiny, can neither be known -nor imagined; or that, to quote a statement afterwards employed, there -must survive those emotions “which are appropriate to the consciousness -of a Mystery that cannot be fathomed and a Power that is omnipresent.” -This proposition has not been disproved; nor, indeed, has any attempt -been made to disprove it. - -Instead of assaults on these propositions to which alone I am -committed, there have been assaults on various propositions -gratuitously attached to them; and then the incongruities evolved have -been represented as incongruities for which I am responsible. - -I end by pointing out as I pointed out before, that “while the things I -have said have not been disproved, the things which have been disproved -are things I have not said.”—_Nineteenth Century._ - - - - -LITERARY NOTICES. - - - THE CORRESPONDENCE AND DIARIES OF JOHN WILSON CROKER, - SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY FROM 1809 TO 1830; A FOUNDER - AND FOR MANY YEARS A CHIEF CONTRIBUTOR TO THE QUARTERLY - REVIEW; AND THE POLITICAL, LITERARY OR PERSONAL - ASSOCIATE OF NEARLY ALL THE LEADING CHARACTERS IN THE - LIFE OF HIS TIME. - Edited by Louis J. Jennings. With portrait. - Two volumes. New York: _Charles Scribner’s Sons_. - -John Wilson Croker was one of the most noted men of his day, not -perhaps to the world at large, but to those who knew him in the -important relations he bore to the many distinguished personages -of his era. He knew everybody worth knowing; he was often in the -secret councils of the great; he had an official position of great -confidence; he was a literary man of brilliant ability which he, -however, sometimes used unscrupulously; he was the principal power -in one of the great English reviews, which fifty years ago were -formidable agencies in making and unmaking men and opinions. These -things make his reminiscences highly fascinating. He takes us into the -best company, Wellington, Canning, Lyndhurst, Peel, Lord Ashburton, -Lord Aberdeen, Sir James Graham, Guizot, Metternich, Sir Walter Scott, -Isaac D’Israeli, Lockhart, Madame de Staël and innumerable others of -similar celebrity. It need hardly be said that personal information, -anecdotes and gossip about such people, who filled a large place in -the public eye and mind, are all very fascinating. So we find, on -opening these thick volumes anywhere, a mine of the deepest interest, -and one can hardly go astray in turning over the pages. There can be -no doubt that aside from the personal interest of these reminiscences, -they constitute material of the richest character to the early history -of our century. The only way properly to represent the value of such -a work, is to give extracts from it indicating its quality, and this -we shall propose to do. Among the things to which we shall first call -attention, are the conversations with the Duke of Wellington, taken -down as they occurred. The Iron Duke expressed the following opinion of -his great antagonist, Napoleon, whom it seems he thoroughly despised -as a man, however much he admitted his military genius: “I never was a -believer in him, and I always thought that in the long-run we should -overturn him. He never seemed himself at his ease, and even in the -boldest things he did there was always a mixture of apprehension and -meanness. I used to call him _Jonathan Wild the Great_, and at each -new _coup_ he made I used to cry out ‘Well done, Jonathan,’ to the -great scandal of some of my hearers. But, the truth was, he had no -more care about what was right or wrong, just or unjust, honorable -or dishonorable, than _Jonathan_, though his great abilities, and -the great stakes he played for, threw the knavery into the shade.” -Again, he tells the following of Napoleon: “Buonaparte’s mind was, -in its details, low and ungentlemanlike. I suppose the narrowness of -his early prospects and habits stuck to him; what _we_ understand by -_gentlemanlike_ feelings he knew nothing at all about; I’ll give you a -curious instance. - -“I have a beautiful little watch, made by Breguet, at Paris, with a -map of Spain most admirably enamelled on the case. Sir Edward Paget -bought it at Paris, and gave it to me. What do you think the history -of this watch was—at least the history that Breguet told Paget, and -Paget told me? Buonaparte had ordered it as a present to his brother, -the King of Spain, but when he heard of the battle of Vittoria—he was -then at Dresden in the midst of all the preparations and negotiations -of the armistice, and one would think sufficiently busy with other -matters—when he heard of the battle of Vittoria, I say, he remembered -the watch he had ordered for one whom he saw would never be King of -Spain, and with whom he was angry for the loss of the battle, and -he wrote from Dresden to countermand the watch, and if it should be -ready, to forbid its being sent. The best apology one can make for this -strange littleness is, that he was offended with Joseph; but even in -that case, a _gentleman_ would not have taken the moment when the poor -devil had lost his _châteaux en Espagne_, to take away his watch also.” - -In a letter to Croker, the duke tells the story of the truth of his -order to the Household troops at Waterloo, “Up, Guards, and at ’em,” -so often quoted as the _mot d’ordre_ of that famous charge which -finally decided the day: “I certainly did not draw my sword. I may have -ordered, and I dare say I did order, the charge of the cavalry, and -pointed out its direction; but I did not charge as a common trooper. - -“I have at all times been in the habit of covering as much as possible -the troops exposed to the fire of cannon. I place them behind the top of -the rising ground, and make them sit and lie down, the better to cover -them from the fire. - -“After the fire of the enemy’s cannon, the enemy’s troops may have -advanced, or a favorable opportunity of attacking might have arrived. -What I must have said, and possibly did say was, Stand up, Guards! and -then gave the commanding officers the order to attack. - -“My common practice in a defensive position was to attack the enemy at -the very moment at which he was about to attack our troops.” - -Of Madame De Staël, of whom he saw much in London, he has many -interesting anecdotes. He enlarges on her facial ugliness, redeemed -by an eye of extraordinary brilliancy and meaning, her egotistic -eloquence, her dazzling coruscations of wit, and her mannishness with -a good deal of vigor. On the whole, Croker was not a great admirer -of this brilliant woman, and declares that some of her most pungent -sayings were audacious plagiarisms. He writes: “Moore in his lately -published ‘Life of Sheridan,’ has recorded the laborious care with -which he prepared his _bons-mots_. Madame de Staël condescended to -do the same. The first time I ever saw her was at dinner at Lord -Liverpool’s at Coombe Wood. Sir James Mackintosh was to have been -her guide, and they lost their way, and went to Addiscombe and some -other places by mistake, and when they got at last to Coombe Wood -they were again bewildered, and obliged to get out and walk in the -dark, and through the mire up the road through the wood. They arrived -consequently two hours too late and strange draggled figures, she -exclaiming by way of apology, ‘Coombe par ci, Coombe par là; nous avons -été par tous les Coombes de l’Angleterre.’ During dinner she talked -incessantly but admirably, but several of her apparently spontaneous -_mots_ were borrowed or prepared. For instance, speaking of the -relative states of England and the Continent at that period, the high -notion we had formed of the danger to the world from Buonaparte’s -despotism, and the high opinion the Continent had formed of the riches, -strength, and spirit of England; she insisted that these opinions were -both just, and added with an elegant _élan_, ‘Les étrangers sont la -postérité contemporaine.’ This striking expression I have since found -in the journal of Camille Desmoulins.” - -Several very funny stories were told him by Sir Walter Scott, as among -the traditions of Dr. Johnson’s visit to Scotland, and certainly they -well establish the reputation of this great man as a rude and unsocial -bear, except when he chose to be otherwise: “At Glasgow, Johnson had -a meeting with Smith (Adam Smith), which terminated strangely. John -Millar used to report that Smith, obviously much discomposed, came into -a party who were playing at cards. The Doctor’s appearance suspended -the amusement, for as all knew he was to meet Johnson that evening, -every one was curious to hear what had passed. Adam Smith, whose -temper seemed much ruffled, answered only at first, ‘He is a brute! -he is a brute!’ Upon closer examination it appeared that Dr. Johnson -no sooner saw Smith than he brought forward a charge against him for -something in his famous letter on the death of Hume. Smith said he had -vindicated the truth of the statement. ‘And what did the Doctor say?’ -was the universal query: ‘Why, he said—he said—’ said Smith, with the -deepest impression of resentment, ‘he said—“_You lie!_”’ ‘And what did -you reply?’ ‘I said, “You are a————!”’ On such terms did these -two great moralists meet and part, and such was the classic dialogue -betwixt them. - -“Johnson’s rudeness possibly arose from his retaining till late in life -the habits of a pedagogue, who is a man among boys and a boy among -men, and having the bad taste to think it more striking to leap over -the little differences and courtesies which form the turnpike gates in -society, and which fly open on payment of a trifling tribute. The _auld -Dominie_ hung vilely about him, and was visible whenever he was the -coaxed man of the company—a sad symptom of a _parvenu_. A lady who was -still handsome in the decline of years, and must have been exquisitely -beautiful when she was eighteen, dined in company with Johnson, and was -placed beside him at table with no little awe of her neighbor. He then -always drank lemonade, and the lady of the house desired Miss S——h to -acquaint him there was some on the sideboard. He made no answer except -an indistinct growl. ‘Speak louder, Miss S——h, the Doctor is deaf.’ -Another attempt, with as little success. ‘You do not speak loud enough -yet, my dear Miss S——h.’ The lady then ventured to raise her voice as -high as misses of eighteen may venture in the company of old doctors, -and her description of the reply was that she heard an internal -grumbling like Etna before explosion, which rolled up his mouth, and -there formed itself into the distinct words, ‘When I want any, I’ll -ask for it,’ which were the only words she heard him speak during -the day. Even the sirup food of flattery was rudely repelled if not -cooked to his mind. I was told that a gentleman called Pot, or some -such name, was introduced to him as a particular admirer of his. The -Doctor growled and took no further notice. ‘He admires in especial your -“Irene” as the finest tragedy of modern times,’ to which the Doctor -replied, ‘If Pot says so, Pot lies!’ and relapsed into his reverie.” - -Croker was in Paris during the days after Waterloo, just subsequent to -the accession of the Bourbon dynasty, and he is full of anecdotes of -the people he met there, among others Talleyrand and Fouché. - -“_July 17th._—We dined yesterday at Castlereagh’s with, besides the -Embassy, Talleyrand, Fouché, Marshal Gouvion St. Cyr, and the Baron -de Vitrolles, Lords Cathcart, Clancarty, Stewart, and Clive, and two -ladies, the Princesse de Vaudemont, a fat, ugly old woman, and a -Mademoiselle Chasse, her friend, a pretty young one. At so quiet a -dinner you may judge there was not much interesting conversation, and -accordingly I have not often been at a dinner of which I had less to -tell. The wonder was to find ourselves at table with Fouché, who, to be -sure, looks very like what one would naturally suppose him to be—a sly -old rogue; but I think he seems to feel a passion of which I did not -expect to find him capable; I mean _shame_, for he looks conscious and -embarrassed. He is a man about 5ft. 7in. high, very thin, with a grey -head, cropped and powdered, and a very acute expression of countenance. -Talleyrand, on the other hand, is fattish for a Frenchman; his ankles -are weak and his feet deformed, and he totters about in a strange way. -His face is not at all expressive, except it be of a kind of drunken -stupor; in fact, he looks altogether like an old fuddled, lame, village -schoolmaster, and his voice is deep and hoarse. I should suspect that -at the Congress his most natural employment would be keeping the unruly -boys in order. We dined very late—that is, for Paris, for we were not -at table till half-past six.” - -Macaulay hated Croker bitterly, on account of the latter’s severe -critiques on him in _The Quarterly_, and in no way was any love lost -between the two men. This personal quarrel is described in an amusing -way. Croker, by the way, was just as bitterly hated by Disraeli: though -the former had been a highly esteemed friend of Disraeli the elder, -author of the “Curiosities of Literature.” Among the amenities of the -Macaulay squabble we have the following: - - “Macaulay, as it clearly appears from his own letters, - was irritated beyond measure by Croker; he grew to - ‘detest’ him. Then he began casting about for some means - of revenge. This would seem incredible if he had not, - almost in so many words, revealed the secret. In July, - 1831, he wrote thus: ‘That impudent, leering Croker - congratulated the House on the proof which I had given - of my readiness. He was afraid, he said, that I had been - silent so long on account of the many allusions which - had been made to Calne. Now that I had risen again he - hoped that they should hear me often. _See whether I do - not dust that valet’s jacket for him in the next number - of the Blue and Yellow._ I _detest him_ more than cold - boiled veal.’ From that time forth he waited impatiently - for his opportunity to settle his account with Mr. - Croker. - - “In the previous month of March he had been looking out - eagerly for the publication of the ‘Boswell.’ ‘_I will - certainly review Croker’s “Boswell” when it comes - out_,’ he wrote to Mr. Napier. He was on the watch for - it, not with the object of doing justice to the book, - but of ‘dusting the jacket’ of the author. But as his - letters had not yet betrayed his malice to the world, - he gravely began the dusting process by remarking, - ‘This work has greatly disappointed us.’ What did he - hope for, when he took it up, but precisely such a - ‘disappointment?’ ‘Croker,’ he wrote, ‘looks across - the House of Commons at me with a leer of hatred, - which I repay with a gracious smile of pity.’ He had - cultivated his animosity of Croker until it became a - morbid passion. Yet it is conceivable that he did not - intend posterity to see him in the picture drawn by his - own hand, spending his time in the House of Commons - straining his eyes to see if there was a ‘leer’ on - Croker’s countenance, and returning it with gracious - smiles of pity.” - -Among the budget of anecdotes so profusely strewn through the book, -the following may be given at random. The following is from a letter -of Lady Ashburton to Croker, and reflects severely on one of the suave -defects of Sir Robert Peel, then recently returned from office: “I -must tell you an anecdote of Sir Bobby. If you read the list of people -congregated to see his pictures, you will have seen there, not only all -the artists, drawing-masters, men of science, but reporters and writers -for journals. Thackeray, who furnishes the wit for ‘Punch,’ told Milnes -that the ex-Minister came up to him and said, with the blandest smile: -‘Mr. Thackeray, I am rejoiced to see you. I have read with delight -_every line_ you ever wrote,’ Thackeray would have been better pleased -if the compliment had not included all his works; so, to turn the -subject, he observed that it must be a great gratification to live -surrounded by such interesting objects of art. Sir R. replied: ‘I can -assure you that it does not afford me the same satisfaction as finding -myself in such society as yours!!!’ This seeking popularity by fulsome -praise will not succeed.” - -Here we have a capital French story: - -“Old Languet, the celebrated Curé of St. Sulpice, was remarkable and -disagreeable for the importunity with which he solicited subscriptions -for finishing his church, which is not yet finished. One day at supper, -where Cardinal de Fleury was, he happened to say that he had seen his -Eminence’s portrait at some painter’s. The old Cardinal, who was stingy -in private as well as economical in public expenditure, was glad to -raise a laugh at the troublesome old curé, and replied, ‘I dare swear, -then, you asked it (the picture) to subscribe;’ ‘Oh, no, my Lord,’ said -Languet, ‘it was too like!’” - -The richness of the following situation could hardly be paralleled: - -“Every one knows the story of a gentleman’s asking Lord North who -‘that frightful woman was?’ and his lordship’s answering, that is my -wife. The other, to repair his blunder, said I did not mean _her_, -but that monster next to her. ‘Oh,’ said Lord North, ‘that monster is -my daughter.’ With this story Frederick Robinson, in his usual absent -enthusiastic way, was one day entertaining a lady whom he sat next to -at dinner, and lo! the lady was Lady Charlotte Lindsay—the monster in -question.” - -These chance excerpts (and just as good things lie scattered on every -page, so as to make a veritable _embarras des richesses_), indicate the -character of the book, and how amply it will repay, both for pleasure -and instruction, the reader who sits down to peruse it. Few works of -recent times are so compact and meaty in just those qualities which -make a work valuable alike for reference and continuous perusal. - - - THE STORY OF MY LIFE. By J. Marion Sims, M.D., L.L.D.. - Edited by his son, H. Marion Sims, M.D. - New York: _D. Appleton & Co._ - -The great name of Dr. Marion Sims in gynæcology, or the treatment -of women’s diseases, has never been equalled in the same line in -America, and the story of his life related in language of the plainest -homespun is quite a fascinating record. Dr. Sims has several titles -to fame, which we think will secure the perpetuity of his name in the -annals of surgery and medicine. These are: his treatment and care -of vesico-vaginal fistula, a most loathsome disease, before deemed -incurable; his invention of the speculum; his exposition of the true -pathology and method of treatment of trismus nascentium, or the lockjaw -of infants; and the fact that he was the founder and organizer of “The -Woman’s Hospital, of the State of New York,” the first institution ever -endowed exclusively for the treatment of women’s diseases. - -J. Marion Sims was a native of Alabama, and was educated academically -in the Charleston College. His account of his early struggles for -an education (for though born of a well-to-do family, money was not -over plenty in his father’s home), is very entertaining, and the -anecdotes of his juvenile life among a people full of idiosyncracies, -are marked by humor and point. His medical education was completed at -Jefferson College, Philadelphia, an institution which, ranking very -high to-day, had no rival in the country half a century since. It is -to be observed that Dr. Sims has a very graphic and simple method -of telling his story, showing a genuine mastery of the fundamental -idea of good writing, though he is always without pretence, and takes -occasion from time to time to deplore his own faults as a literary -worker. Yet no contributions to medical literature, aside from their -intrinsic value have been more admired than his for their simple, clear -force, and luminous treatment. After practising for several years -as a country doctor, our great embryo surgeon moved to the city of -Montgomery and began to devote himself more exclusively to operative -surgery, the branch in which his talents so palpably ran. It was at -Montgomery that he became specially interested in women’s diseases, and -began to experiment on methods of treating one of the most loathsome -and hitherto incurable diseases, which afflict woman, vesico-vaginal -fistula, a trouble so often produced by childbirth. Dr. Sims practised -on slave women, and turned his house and yard into a veritable -hospital, spending a large part of his income in his enthusiastic -devotion to the great discovery on the track of which he was moving. -At last, he perfected the method of the operation, and made peculiar -instruments for it. What had been impossible, he now performed with -almost unerring certainty, and rarely lost a case. This became -heralded abroad, and the name of Dr. Sims was discussed in New York -and Philadelphia, as one who had made one of the most extraordinary -discoveries in operative surgery. - -His own health had been bad for years; and, as a Southern climate did -not agree with him, he went to New York to live in 1852. Though at -first he had a hard struggle, he fought his way with the same rugged -pertinacity which he had previously shown. He was assailed with the -bitterest professional jealousies, but, nothing daunted him, and he -finally succeeded in founding his woman’s hospital, through the help -of the wealthy and generous women of New York. His great discovery was -attempted to be stolen from him by his envious rivals, but he had no -trouble in establishing his right to the glory. He overbore all the -opposition made against him, and settled his own reputation as one of -the greatest surgeons of this or any age. In 1861, when the war broke -out, Dr. Sims, who was strong in his secession sympathies, determined -to take his family to Europe, so bitter was the feeling against him in -New York. He went to Paris, and in a very short time his remarkable and -original method of treating vesico-vaginal fistula, by means of silver -sutures, gave him a European reputation, and honors were showered on -him from all sides. The great surgeons of Europe freely credited him -with the glory of having struck out an entirely new and splendid path -in surgery, and his operations in the leading hospitals of Paris, -London, Brussels and Berlin, were always brilliant ovations, always -attended by the most prominent men in the profession, and a swarm -of enthusiastic students. He also secured a very lucrative private -practice, and performed cures which were heralded as phenomenal in -medical books and journals. At different times he was the physician -of the Empress of the French, of the Queen of England, and of other -royal and distinguished personages. Patients came to him from the most -distant quarters, and though a large portion of his time was given to -hospital practice, his fees were very large and lucrative. His fame -was now established on a secure basis, and the greatest men in Europe -freely acknowledged in Dr. Sims their peer. Though the most seductive -offers were made to him, to settle permanently both in London and -Paris, his heart was among his own countrymen. So at the close of the -war he returned to New York. His most important work thenceforward was -in connection with the Woman’s Hospital, though he treated innumerable -private cases among the wealthy classes. The memoir proper ends with -his Parisian career, and the rest of Dr. Sims’s life is told in the -preface. He died in 1883, and so indomitable was his professional -devotion, that he took notes and memoranda of his own disease up to a -brief period before death. The life of Dr. Sims, while interesting to -the general reader, will be found peculiarly valuable and attractive by -professional men. A large portion of the book is given to a detailed -description of the various steps which he took in experimenting on -vesico-vaginal fistula, and of the difficulties which he so patiently -and at last so triumphantly surmounted. In addition to his professional -greatness, Dr. Sims was greatly beloved for the virtues of his private -life. He was in the latter years a most sincere and devout Christian, -and succeeded in avoiding that taint of scepticism, which so often -shows itself in the medical fraternity. - - - OUR GREAT BENEFACTORS. SHORT BIOGRAPHIES OF THE MEN AND - WOMEN MOST EMINENT IN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, PHILOSOPHY, - PHILANTHROPY, ART, ETC. - Edited by Samuel Adams Drake, - Author of “New England Legends and Folk-Lore,” - etc. With Nearly One Hundred Portraits Emblematically - Embellished. - Boston: _Roberts Brothers_. - -This volume of something over five hundred pages, is very briefly, but -yet truthfully, summed up in its title. The biographies are short and -well written, and the author knows how to be graphic and picturesque -without being in the least diffuse. He has selected the great leading -personages in the arts of peace, who have exemplified human progress -among the English speaking races, and given short sketches of them -in chronological order. Boys will be specially interested in such a -volume, and find in it both amusement and benefit. History has been -defined as “philosophy teaching by example.” If this is the case with -history, it is still more true of biography, for the concrete flesh -and blood facts are brought much nearer home to the imagination than -can be possible in history. The sketches vary from five to fifteen -pages long, and are completely given, omitting no essential fact in the -career, or essential trait in the character of those treated. The book -is beautifully embellished with portraits. - - - LIFE OF MARY WOOLSTONECRAFT. - By Elizabeth Robins Pennell. - Boston: _Roberts Brothers_. - -This last volume in the “Famous Women” Series is one of much interest. -The wife of William Godwin (the author of “Political Justice,” “Caleb -Williams,” “St. Leon,” and other books distinguished in their day) -and the mother of the wife of the poet Shelley, her life was one of -singular intellectual significance and full of pathetic personal -romance. Mary Woolstonecraft was born and bred under conditions which -fostered great mental and moral independence. She chafed under the -restraints of her sex, and was one of the first to embody in her -life and theories that protest against the position of comparative -inequality in her sex, which has of recent years been the battle-cry -of a very considerable body of both men and women. It is only just to -say, however, that very few of her successors have carried the doctrine -of personal rights so far as she did; for it is a fact beyond dispute -that she lived openly as the mistress of two men successively, Gilbert -Imlay an American, and William Godwin. The latter she married only -to legalize the birth of the child which she expected soon to bring -into the world, and whose birth was at the price of the mother’s life. -While her social errors are to be deplored, even those most downright -in condemning such departures from the established order of things, -when they look into all the circumstances of her life are disposed -to palliate them. Certainly it must be admitted that, in spite of -her deviation from that path which society so rigidly and properly -exacts from woman, Mary Woolstonecraft was a person of singularly -noble and pure instincts. We cannot go into the full explanation of -this paradox, and only hope that many will read the full account of -her life, if for no other reason, to find an illustration of the fact -that a sinner may sometimes be as noble and upright as the saint, and -that doctrinarianism in morals as well as in politics, finds many -an exception to the truth of its logic. Mary Woolstonecraft worked -enthusiastically for the elevation of her sex, nor did she ever seek -to enforce as a rule to be followed, that freedom of action which she -conceived to be justified by her own case. The earlier part of her life -was singularly stormy and tragic, and when her lover, Imlay, whom she -looked on as her husband, deserted her, she attempted to commit -suicide. When, at last, she met Godwin, her spirit had recovered from -the shock she had received, she was recognized as an intellectual force -in England, and her society was sought for and valued by many of the -worthiest and most distinguished people in England. Her connection -with Godwin, which was finally consecrated by marriage, was one of -great personal and intellectual happiness. Her labors for the rights -of woman, her fine appeals for national education, and her many -tractates on not a few social, political, and moral questions, are -marked by acuteness, breadth, and eloquence of statement. The author, -Mrs. Pennell, has performed her labor with a nice and discriminating -touch. While she does not pass lightly over the errors of her heroine, -she recognizes what was peculiar in her position, and how a woman of -her views could deliberately act in such a manner without essentially -falling from her high pedestal as a pure woman. The author has given -the world an interesting book not unworthy of the series, and one that -happily illustrates the fact that two and two may make five and not -four, though it would not do for the world to figure out its arithmetic -on this principle. - - - PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL ECONOMY. By John Stuart Mill. - Arranged with Critical, Bibliographical and - Explanatory Notes, and A Sketch of the History of - Political Economy, by J. Laurence McLaughlin, Ph.D., - Ass’t. Professor of Political Economy in Harvard - University. A Text-Book for Colleges. - New York: _D. Appleton & Co._ - -The views of John Stuart Mill, one of the clearest and strongest -thinkers on this and kindred subjects, of our century, on political -economy, have been so often discussed in all manner of forms, from -elaborate disquisitions to newspaper articles, that it is not -needed now to enter into any explanation of the differences which -distinguished him from the rest of his brother philosophers. The object -of the present edition is to add to the body of Mill’s opinion the -results of later thinking, which do not militate against his views; -with such illustrations as fit the Mill system better for American -students, by turning their attention to the facts peculiar to this -country. Mill’s two volumes have been abridged into one, and while -their lucidity is not impaired, the system is put into a much more -compact and readable form, care being taken to avoid technicality and -abstractness. Prof. McLaughlin’s own notes and additions (inserted -into the body of the text in smaller type) are printed in smaller type -so as to be readily distinguished. This compact arrangement of Mill’s -economical philosophy will attract many readers, who were frightened by -the large and complete edition. - - - A REVIEW OF THE HOLY BIBLE. CONTAINING THE OLD AND - NEW TESTAMENTS. By Edward B. Latch. - Philadelphia: _J. B. Lippincott & Co._ - -Whether this work will be regarded as throwing any light on the sacred -Scriptures, depends on the credulity of the reader, and his pious -sympathies. After a casual perusal of the work, it is difficult to -see any good end it serves, except so far as all exegetical comment -may be of value. The number of such books is already legion, and -their multiplication is a weariness to the flesh. The comments made -by Mr. Leach, whom we judge by implication to be a layman, are such -as any good orthodox preacher might make from his pulpit or in the -prayer-meeting room. While they are not distinguished by any noticeable -freshness and originality, they are soundly stated, accurate orthodoxy. -We fancy that many a poor pious soul in the depths of country -farm-houses will get spiritual refreshment, and certainly she will not -be likely to find much to clash with her prejudices. - - - THE YOUNG FOLKS’ JOSEPHUS. THE ANTIQUITIES OF THE JEWS - AND THE JEWISH WARS. Simplified by William Shepard. - Philadelphia: _J. B. Lippincott & Co._ - -Every year sees more of that sort of emasculation of standard -historians, annalists and others, adapted to make their matter not -only cleanly, but easily within the childish grasp. While there are -many reasons to deplore the necessity of doing this on the same -principle that one hates to see any noble work mutilated even of its -faults, there is enough advantage to justify it perhaps. The author -has simplified and condensed the history of the Jews by their great -annalist with taste and good judgment, by no means as easy a task as -it looks. We get all the stories of a special interest very neatly -told, properly arranged in chronological order, and put in sufficiently -simple language to meet the intelligence of youngsters. The work -is handsomely illustrated, beautifully printed, and altogether a -creditable piece of typography and binding. It will make a nice holiday -book for reading boys and girls, and we fancy that this is the special -reason for its being. - - - - -FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES. - - -Japanese newspaper enterprise is making rapid progress. It is stated -that no less than three vernacular newspapers published at Tokio and -one at Kobe have sent special correspondents to report the events of -the war in China. - - * * * * * - -From various quarters of the world reports are received of the -operations of the Society for Propagating the French Language, which -receives the full support of the Government and officials of the -Republic. It is doing its work in some places where English would -be expected to be maintained. For the promotion of our language no -effort is made, as an attempt of the Society of St. George met with no -practical result. It is true that the growth of population is adding to -the hundred millions of the English-speaking races, but there are many -regions where the language is neglected. - - * * * * * - -The event in literary circles in Constantinople is the appearance of -the second volume of the history of Turkey by Ahmed Jevdet Pasha. How -many years he has been engaged on this work we do not know, but at -all events a quarter of a century, and as he has been busy in high -office throughout the time his perseverance is the more remarkable. He -was among the first of the Ulema to acquire European languages, which -he did for the express purpose of this work. He has also co-operated -actively in promoting the local school of history. - - * * * * * - -At the last meeting but one of the New Shakspeare Society, Mr. Ewald -Flügel, of Leipsic, read some early eighteenth-century German opinions -on Shakspere which amused his hearers. They were from the works of his -great-grandfather Mencke, a celebrated professor of his day, who was -also the ancestor of Prince Bismarck’s wife. In 1700 Mencke declared -that “Certainly Dryden was the most excellent of English poets; in -every kind of poetry, but especially as a writer of tragedies. In -tragedy he was neither inferior to the French Corneille nor the -English Shakspere; and the latter he the more excelled inasmuch as -he (Dryden) was more versed in literature.” In 1702, Mencke reported -Dryden’s opinion that Shakspere was inferior to Ben Jonson, if not in -genius, yet certainly in art and finish, though Hales thought Shakspere -superior to every poet, then living or dead. In 1725, Mencke quoted -Richard Carew’s opinion (in Camden’s _Remaines_, 1614) that Catullus -had found his equal in Shakspere and Marlowe [Barlovius; Carew’s -“Barlow”]; and in his dictionary, 1733, Mencke gave the following -notice of Shakspere, “William Shakspere, an English dramatist, was born -at Stratford in 1654, was badly educated, and did not understand Latin; -nevertheless, he became a great poet. His genius was comical, but he -could be very serious, too; was excellent in tragedies, and had many -subtle and interesting controversies with Ben Jonson; but no one was -any the better for all these. He died at Stratford in 1616, April 23, -53 years old. His comedies and tragedies—and many did he write—have -been printed together in six parts in 1709 at London, and are very much -appreciated.” - - * * * * * - -There are now in London two societies for philosophical discussion—the -Aristotelian and the Philosophical. The latter society was founded last -winter under the chairmanship of Mr. J. S. Stuart-Glennie. Green’s -_Prolegomena to Ethics_ having been the general subject of discussion -during the year, the chairman brought the first year to a close last -month with a valedictory address on “The Criteria of Truth.” It is -proposed to continue the discussion of this subject in taking up Mr. -Herbert Spencer’s _Psychology_, and beginning with Part VII., “General -Analysis.” The society meets at Dr. Williams’s Library at eight o’clock -on the fourth Thursday of every month from October to July. - - * * * * * - -Mr. H. C. Maxwell Lyte is now so far advanced with the history of the -University of Oxford, upon which he has been engaged for some years, -that an instalment of it, tracing the growth of the University from the -earliest times to the revival of learning, is likely to be published by -Messrs. Macmillan & Co. early in the coming year. This volume will be -complete in itself, and accordingly provided with an index of its own. - - * * * * * - -The Cercle de la Librairie at Paris intends to open an exhibition of -the designs of Gustave Doré for the illustration of books. Many noted -French firms—Hachette, Mame, Jouvet, Hetzel, and Calmann Lévy—will -contribute, and so will _Le Journal pour Rire_, the _Monde Illustré_, -&c. Foreign publishers are also invited to take part. - - * * * * * - -At the opening of the winter season of the Arts Club in Manchester, -Mr. J. H. Nodal stated that more books were written and published -in Manchester than anywhere else in the kingdom, with the exception -of London and Edinburgh, and that he believed that Manchester as a -music-publishing centre came next to London. - - - - -MISCELLANY. - - -HELIGOLAND AS A STRATEGICAL ISLAND.—Regarded from a -_strategical_ point of view, the situation of Heligoland, only a few -miles off from the mouths of the Elbe and Weser rivers, and commanding -the sea entrance to the important trade centres of Bremen and Hamburg, -is of considerable importance. Although any hostile differences between -England and Germany are not very probable, in military circles in -Germany an agitation has been going on for some years to ensure its -possession by that country, as a necessary part of the coast defence -of the empire; and this suggestion has been powerfully supported by -Vice-Admiral Henck in the _German Review_, vol. ii. 1882. It has been -proposed to purchase the island from England, but a great many object -to the cost of the purchase, and the expense of the fortifications. -Some, indeed, go further than the military strategists, and say that -the abolition of the Heligoland Constitution in 1868 was illegitimate, -because it was in violation of old rights and explicit assurances; -destitute of well-grounded justification, because its ostensible -objects could have been more successfully attained by other means; -inadequate, because it failed to secure in any considerable degree -the results which it proposed to seek. It must be here mentioned that -a very good reason against any cession, voluntary or by sale, of the -island to Germany, is the probability of the misconstruction of such an -act by France, who, liable at any moment to a war with that country, -would see in England handing over Heligoland to her possible foe, for -the purpose of being formed into a marine fortress to defend the mouths -of the Elbe and the Weser, or into a naval depôt, an aid to Germany in -defence against that which France possesses, next to England, the most -powerful means of attacking, namely, her preponderance in naval power. -England and Germany are not likely to be embroiled in war, England and -France are too closely connected all over the world to wish to be so. -If Germany and France unfortunately come to blows again, England can -exercise the benevolent neutrality of 1870, and proudly, firmly, but -calmly, remain in possession of her distant island.—_Army and Navy -Magazine._ - - -HOW THE COLDSTREAMS GOT THEIR MOTTO.—The Coldstreams were -raised in the year 1650, in the little town near Berwick-on-Tweed -from whence the regiment takes its name. Their first colonel was the -renowned George Monk (afterwards Duke of Albemarle), a General in the -Parliamentary army and an Admiral of the fleet. It is owing to this -latter fact that a small Union Jack is permitted to be borne on the -Queen’s color of the regiment, a proud distinction enjoyed by no other -corps in the service. In the year 1660 brave Monk and his gallant -Coldstreamers materially assisted in the happy restoration of the -English monarchy, and to perform this patriotic and eminently loyal act -they marched from Berwick-on-Tweed to London, meeting with a warm and -enthusiastic greeting from the inhabitants of the towns and villages -through which they passed. After the Restoration was accomplished the -troops were paraded on Tower Hill for the purpose of taking the oath -of allegiance to the King, and among those present were the three -noble regiments that form the subject of this brief history. Having -grounded their arms in token of submission to the new _régime_, they -were at once commanded to take them up again as the First, Second and -Third Regiments of Foot Guards. The First and Third Regiments obeyed, -but the Coldstreamers stood firm, and their muskets remained upon -the ground. “Why does your regiment hesitate?” inquired the King of -General Monk. “May it please your Majesty,” said the stern old soldier, -“my Coldstreamers are your Majesty’s devoted soldiers, but after the -important service they have rendered your Highness they decline to take -up arms as second to any other regiment in your Majesty’s service!” -“They are right,” said the King, “and they shall be ‘second to none.’ -Let them take up their arms as my Coldstream regiment of Foot Guards.” -Monk rode back to his regiment and communicated to it the King’s -decision. It had a magical effect. The arms were instantly raised amid -frantic cries of “Long live the King!” Since this event the motto of -the regiment has been _Nulli Secundus_, which is borne in gold letters -upon its colors beneath the star and garter of the Royal House. There -also appear upon its colors the names of “Lincelles,” “Egypt” (with -the Sphinx), “Talavera,” “Barrosa,” “Peninsula,” “Waterloo,” “Alma,” -“Inkerman,” and “Sevastopol.” In the year 1850 this regiment held its -jubilee banquet to commemorate the two hundredth anniversary of its -birth.—_London Society._ - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Popular Astronomy, p. 145. - -[2] The Observatory, No. 43, p. 613. - -[3] Nature, vol. xxv. p. 537. - -[4] Silvered glass is considerably more reflective than speculum-metal, -and Mr. Common’s 36-inch mirror can be but slightly inferior in -luminous capacity to the Lick objective. It is, however, devoted almost -exclusively to celestial photography, in which it has done splendid -service. The Paris 4-foot mirror bent under its own weight when placed -in the tube in 1875, and has not since been remounted. - -[5] E. Holden, “The Lick Observatory,” Nature, vol. xxv. p. 298. - -[6] Monthly Notices, R. Astr. Soc. vol. xiv. p. 133 (1854). - -[7] Phil. Trans. vol. cxlviii. p. 455. - -[8] Captain Jacob unfortunately died August 16, 1862, when about to -assume the direction of a hill observatory at Poonah. - -[9] The height of the mercury at Guajara is 21·7 to 22 inches. - -[10] Phil. Trans. vol. cxlviii. p. 477. - -[11] We are told that three American observers in the Rocky Mountains, -belonging to the Eclipse Expedition of 1878, easily saw Jupiter’s -satellites night after night with the naked eye. That their discernment -is possible, even under comparatively disadvantageous circumstances -is rendered certain by the well-authenticated instance (related by -Humboldt, “Cosmos,” vol. iii. p. 66, Otte’s trans.) of a tailor named -Schön, who died at Breslau in 1837. This man habitually perceived the -first and third, but never could see the second or fourth Jovian moons. - -[12] Sir W. Herschel’s great undertakings, Bessel remarks (“Populäre -Vorlesungen,” p. 15), “were directed rather towards a physical -description of the heavens, than to astronomy proper.” - -[13] Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xiii. p. 89. - -[14] The characteristic orange line (D_{3}) of this unknown substance, -has recently been identified by Professor Palmieri in the spectrum of -lava from Vesuvius—a highly interesting discovery, if verified. - -[15] The Sun, p. 193. - -[16] R. D. Cutts, “Bulletin of the Philosophical Society of -Washington,” vol. i. p. 70. - -[17] This instrument may be described as an electric balance of the -utmost conceivable delicacy. The principle of its construction is -that the conducting power of metals is diminished by raising their -temperature. Thus, if heat be applied to one only of the wires -forming a circuit in which a galvanometer is included, the movement -of the needle instantly betrays the disturbance of the electrical -equilibrium. The conducting wires or “balance arms” of the bolometer -are platinum strips 1/120th of an inch wide and 1/25000 of an inch -thick, constituting metallic _antennæ_ sensitive to the chill even of -the fine dark lines in the solar spectrum, or to changes of temperature -estimated at 1/100000 of a degree Centigrade. - -[18] Defined by the tint of the second hydrogen-line, the bright -reversal of Fraunhofer’s F. The sun would also seem—adopting a medium -estimate—three or four times as brilliant as he now does. - -[19] Annales de Chimie et de Physique, t. x. p. 360. - -[20] S. P. Langley, “Nature,” vol. xxvi. p. 316. - -[21] Sir J. Herschel’s estimate of the “temperature of space” was -239°F.; Pouillet’s 224°F. below zero. Both are almost certainly much -too high. See Taylor, “Bull. Phil. Soc. Washington,” vol. ii. p. 73; -and Croll, “Nature,” vol. xxi, p. 521. - -[22] This is true only of the “normal spectrum,” formed by reflection -from a “grating” on the principle of interference. In the spectrum -produced by refraction, the red rays are _huddled together_ by the -distorting effect of the prism through which they are transmitted. - -[23] Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xx. p. 36. - -[24] Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xx. p. 41. - -[25] Report of the Paris Observatory, “Astronomical Register,” -Oct. 1883; and “Observatory,” No. 75. - -[26] Hipp. ad Phaenomena, lib. i. cap. xiv. - -[27] Cosmos, vol. iii. p. 272 _note_. - -[28] Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xx. p. 437. - -[29] Nature, vol. xxiii. p. 19. - -[30] An expression used by Mr. Warren de la Rue. - -[31] Optice, p. 107 (2nd ed. 1719.) “Author’s Monitio” -dated July 16, 1717. - -[32] “Der grosse Mann, der edle Pedagog, Der, sich zum Ruhm, -ein Heldenvolk erzogen.” - -[33] “Zwar sind sie an das Beste nicht gewöhnt, Allein sie -haben schrecklich viel gelesen.” - -[34] “Zwanzig Jahre liess sich gehn - Und genoss was mir beschieden; - Eine Reihe völlig schön - Wie die Zeit der Barmeciden.” - —_West. Div._ - -[35] “Sicherlich es muss das Beste Irgendwo zu finden sein.” - -[36] “Dass die Welt, wie sie auch kreise, - Liebevoll und dankbar sei.” - -[37] “Will ich in Kunst und Wissenschaft, - Wie immer, protestiren.” - -[38] “An diese Religion halten wir fest, aber auf eine eigene Weise.” - -[39] “Was kann der Mensch im Leben mehr gewinnen, - Als dass ihm Gott-Natur sich offenbare?” - -[40] “Von der Société St. Simonien bitte Dich fern zu halten;” so he -writes to Carlyle. - -[41] “Usi Natalizi, Nuziali e Funebri del Popolo Siciliano -descritti da G. Pitrè.” - -[42] Edward, second Earl. His father, Robert Harley, first Earl, was -Treasurer under Queen Anne. - -[43] The friend and correspondent of Dean Swift, Mrs. Delany, and other -people of note in her day. - -[44] This criticism was passed in reference to the comic scenes in -“Henry IV.” and “Henry V.” - -[45] A Cornish borough, now disfranchised. - -[46] See Eclectic Magazine for December, 1884. - -[47] Egypt, No. 1, 1878. - -[48] Egypt, No. 9, 1884. - -[49] See Egypt, No. 12, p, 132-133. - -[50] _Times_, September 12. - -[51] See Egypt, No. 12, p. 226. - -[52] Egypt, No. 8, 6. - -[53] Ibid., No. 12, 169. - - -[54] I learn that the Committee has now been formed for the purpose of -raising a statue to the memory of Schopenhauer. The following is a list -of members:—Ernest Rénan; Max Müller of Oxford; Brahmane Ragot Rampal -Sing; Von Benningsen, formerly President of the German Reichstag; -Rudolf von Thering, the celebrated Romanist of Göttingen; Gyldea, the -astronomer from Stockholm; Funger, President of the Imperial Court -(Reichsgericht) of Vienna; Wilhelm Gentz of Berlin; Otto Böhtlingk of -the Imperial Academy of Russia; Karl Hillebrand of Florence; Francis -Bowen, Professor at Harvard College in the United States; Professor -Rudolf Leuckart of Leipzig; Hans von Wolzogen of Bayreuth; Professor F. -Zarncke of Leipzig; Ludwig Noiré of Mayence; and Emile de Laveleye of -Liège. - -[55] On April 20, 1731, the English vessel _Rebecca_, Captain Jenkins, -is visited by the coast-guards of Havanna, who accuse the captain of -smuggling military goods. They find none on board, but they ill-treat -him by hanging him first to the yard and fastening the cabin boy to his -feet. The rope breaks, however, and they then proceed to cut off one of -his ears, telling him to take it to his king. Jenkins returns to London -and claims vengeance. Pope writes verses about his ear, but England -did not choose to quarrel with Spain just then, and all is apparently -forgotten. Eight years after, some insults offered by the Spaniards -to English vessels brought up again the topic of Jenkins’s ear. He -had preserved it in wadding. The sailors went about London wearing -the inscription “ear for ear” on their hats. The large merchants -and shipowners espoused their cause. William Pitt and the nation in -general desire war with Spain, and Walpole is forced to declare it. The -consequences are but too well-known. Bloodshed all over the world on -land and sea. Jenkins’s ear is indeed avenged. If the English people -were poetical, says Carlyle, this ear would have become a constellation -like Berenice’s crown. - -[56] The writer of these pages had the honor of delivering the annual -Oration in the Sanders Theatre of Harvard University, under the -auspices of the Φ. Β. Κ. Society, on June 26, 1884. The following paper -is the substance of the address then spoken, with such modifications as -appeared appropriate to the present form of publication. - -[57] In an essay on “Pindar” in the _Journal of Hellenic Studies_ -(vol. iii.), from which some points are repeated in this paragraph, -I have worked this out more in detail. - -[58] Saintsbury’s _Short History of French Literature_, p. 405. - -[59] In the _Attic Orators_, vol. ii. p. 42, I pointed out this analogy. - -[60] Professor Sellar’s rendering, _Roman Poets of the Republic_, p. 55. - -[61] Sir Walter Scott, Fenimore Cooper, Miss Sedgwick, and Hawthorne in -his story of “The Gray Champion,” have all made use of this striking -incident. - -[62] Elsewhere Mr. Harrison contemptuously refers to the _Descriptive -Sociology_ as “a pile of clippings made to order.” While I have been -writing, the original directions to compilers have been found by my -present secretary, Mr. James Bridge; and he has drawn my attention to -one of the “orders.” It says that all works are “to be read not with a -view to any particular class of facts but with a view to all classes of -facts.” - -[63] _Journal of Asiatic Society of Bengal_, xxiv. part ii., p. 196. - -[64] Ellis, _Polynesian Researches_, vol. i. p. 525. - -[65] _Journ. As. Soc. of Ben._, xv. pp. 348-49. - -[66] Bastian, _Mensch_, ii. 109, 113. - -[67] _Supernatural Religion_, 2nd ed., vol. i. p. 12. - -[68] Dr. Henry Rink, _Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo_, p. 37. - -[69] Tylor, _Primitive Culture_, vol. ii. p. 133. - -[70] _Ibid._ p. 139. - -[71] _Ibid._ p. 137. - -[72] Tylor, _Primitive Culture_, vol. ii. p. 144. - -[73] _Harrison contre Spencer sur la Valeur Religieuse de -L’Inconnaissable_, par le C^[te]. Goblet D’Alviella. Paris, Ernest -Leroux. - -[74] _Essays_, vol. iii. pp. 293-6. - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eclectic Magazine of Foreign -Literature, Science, and Art, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE *** - -***** This file should be named 52866-0.txt or 52866-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/8/6/52866/ - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Pelton. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -h1 {page-break-before: always; } -h2 {page-break-before: avoid;} - -p { margin-top: .51em; text-align: justify; text-indent: 1.5em; margin-bottom: .49em; } -p.no-indent { margin-top: .51em; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0em; margin-bottom: .49em;} -p.author { margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 5%; text-align: right;} -p.indent { text-indent: 1.5em;} -p.neg-indent { text-indent: -1.5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} -p.f90 { font-size: 90%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } -p.f120 { font-size: 120%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } -p.f150 { font-size: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } - -.space-above1 { margin-top: 1em; } -.space-above2 { margin-top: 2em; } -.space-above3 { margin-top: 3em; } - -.space-below1 { margin-bottom: 1em; } -.space-below3 { margin-bottom: 3em; } - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; - margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%; } -hr.r25 {width: 25%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em; - margin-left: 37.5%; margin-right: 37.5%; } -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%; } -hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%; } - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdl_max35 {text-align: left; max-width: 35em;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.s150 { font-size: 150%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } - -.pagenum { - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.bbox {border: solid 2px;} -.center {text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; } -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -img {max-width: 100%; height: auto;} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - - -.poetry-container { text-align: center; } -.poem { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; } - -.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - - .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 0.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i21 {display: block; margin-left: 10.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i26 {display: block; margin-left: 13em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, -Science, and Art, by Various - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Eclectic Magazine of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art - -Author: Various - -Release Date: August 21, 2016 [EBook #52866] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE *** - - - - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a> - <img src="images/frontis.jpg" alt="_" width="385" height="593" /> - <p class="center">Eng<sup>d</sup>. by J. T. Gage, New York.</p> - <p class="f120">THE LESSON.</p> -</div> -<p class="f90">The cover image was created by the transcriber, and is in the public domain.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<h1>THE ECLECTIC MAGAZINE OF FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.</h1> - -<p class="f120 space-above3 space-below3">OLD SERIES COMPLETE IN LXIII. VOLS.<br />JANUARY, 1844, TO DECEMBER, 1864.</p> -<p class="f120 space-above3 space-below3">NEW SERIES, VOL. XLI.<br />JANUARY TO JUNE, 1885.</p> -<p class="f120 space-above3 space-below3">NEW YORK:<br />E. R. PELTON, PUBLISHER, 25 BOND STREET.<br />1885.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span></p> -<h2>INDEX TO VOLUME XLI.</h2> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="center"><b><a href="#frontis">FRONTISPIECE:</a> THE LESSON.</b></p> - -<table border="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents." cellpadding="0"> - <tbody><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"> </td> - <td class="tdr"> <small>PAGE.</small></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Agnosticism and the Religion of Humanity, Last Words about.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Herbert Spencer</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#last_words">127</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">America, A Word More About.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Matthew Arnold</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">433</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">American Audience, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Henry Irving</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">475</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Ancient Organs of Public Opinion.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Prof. R. C. Jebb.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Arnold’s Lay Sermon, Mr.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Spectator</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">259</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Art, A Few Notes on Persian.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Chambers’s Journal</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">396</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Authors as Suppressors of their Books.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By W. H. Olding, LL.B.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">262</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Automatic Writing, or the Rationale of Planchette.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Frederick W. H. Myers</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">547</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Bank of England, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Henry May</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">679</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Behind the Scenes.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By F. C. Burnand</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">408</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Big Animals</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">778</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Bismarck’s Character, Prince</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Temple Bar</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">386</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Blackstone.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By G. P. Macdonell</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">703</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Bygone Celebrities and Literary Recollections.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Charles Mackay</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Bygone Celebrities and Literary Recollections.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Charles Mackay, LL.D.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">165</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Camorra, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Saturday Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />381</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Coleridge as a Spiritual Thinker.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Principal Tulloch.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">305</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Comparative Study of Ghost Stories, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Andrew Lang</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">805</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Comment on Christmas, A.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Matthew Arnold</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">836</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Concerning Eyes.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By William H. Hudson</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">772</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Corneille, Le Bonhomme.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Henry M. Trollope</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">359</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Curiosities of the Bank of England</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Chambers’s Journal</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">245</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Day of Storm, A</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>The Spectator</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />786</td> - - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">De Banana</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">529</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Della Crusca and Anna Matilda: An Episode in English Literature.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Armine T. Kent</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>National Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">336</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Democratic Victory in America, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By William Henry Hurlburt</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">183</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Dickens at Home, Charles.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"> <span class="smcap">With Especial Reference to His Relations with Children.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By his eldest daughter</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">362</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Dress, How Should We? The New German Theories on Clothing.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Dora de Blaquière</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Good Words</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">273</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Duelling, French.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By H. R. Haweis</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Belgravia</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">222</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Economic Effect of War.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Spectator</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />846</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Electricity and Gas, The Future of</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Chambers’s Journal</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Elliot, The Life of George.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By John Morley</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">506</td> - - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Emile De Laveleye</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">205</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Englishmen and Foreigners</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">215</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Exploration in a New Direction</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>The Spectator</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">689</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Faithless World, A.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Frances Power Cobbe</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">145</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Folk-lore for Sweethearts.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Rev. M. G. Watkins, M. A.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Belgravia</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">491</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Food and Feeding</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">155</td> - - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Foreign Literature Notes</span></td> - <td class="tdr" colspan="2">143, 284, 426, 571, 717</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">French Drama upon Abelard, A.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By a Conceptualist</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>National Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">633</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">General Gordon and the Slave Trade</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><a href="#gordon">92</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">German Abroad, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By C. E. Dawkins</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>National Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">811</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Goethe.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Prof. J. R. Seeley</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#goethe">16</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Go to the Ant.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">416</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Hittites, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Isaac Taylor</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>British Quarterly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">545</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">How Insects Breathe.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Theodore Wood</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Good Words</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">401</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">In the Norwegian Mountains.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Oscar Frederik, King of Sweden and Norway</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Temple Bar</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">521</td> - - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Interesting Words, Some.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Chambers’s Journal</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">826</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Irish Humor, The Decay of.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>The Spectator</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">383</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Jews, The Health and Longevity of the.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By P. Kirkpatrick Picard, M.D., M.R.C.S.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Leisure Hour</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">540</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Johnson, Samuel.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Edmund Gosse</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">178</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Laurel.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>All the Year Round</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />804<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><a href="#notices"><span class="smcap">Literary Notices</span>:</a></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl_max35" colspan="2"> The Correspondence and Diaries of John Wilson Croker, 136—The - Story of My Life, 139—Our Great Benefactors, 141—Life - of Mary Woolstonecraft, 141—Principles of Political Economy, - 142—A Review of the Holy Bible, 142—The Young Folks’ - Josephus, 142. True, and Other Stories, 281—Noble Blood, - 281—Prince Saroni’s Wife and the Pearl-shell Necklace, - 281—Dr. Grattan, 281—The Old-Fashioned Fairy Book, - 281—Katherine, 281—White Feathers, 281—Egypt and - Babylon, from Sacred and Profane Sources, 282—The Hundred - Greatest Men: Portraits of the Hundred Greatest Men in History, 283— - Eve’s Daughters; or, Common-Sense for Maid, Wife and Mother, 283—A - Review of the Holy Bible, containing the Old and New Testaments, 283— - The Elements of Moral Science, Theoretical and Practical, 284—Episodes - of My Second Life, 423—A Historical Reference Book, 424—Bermuda: An - Idyll of the Summer Islands, 425—Elements of Zoology, 425—The Reality - of Religion, 425—The Enchiridion of Wit: The Best Specimens of English - Conversational Wit, 426—The Dictionary of English History, 568—Personal - Traits of British Authors, 569—Italy from the Fall of Napoleon I. in - 1815, to the Death of Victor Emanuel in 1878, 569—Harriet Martineau - (Famous Women Series), 570—Weird Tales by E. T. W. Hoffman, 571— - Jelly-Fish, Star-Fish and Sea Urchins, 712—Origin of Cultivated Plants, - 713—The Adventures of Timias Terrystone, 714—The Secret of Death, 716— - Greater London: A Narrative of Its History, Its People, and Its Places, - 717—Russia Under the Tzars, 851—The French Revolution, 853—Louis - Pasteur: His Life and Labors, 855—A Grammar of the English Language in - a Series of Letters, 855—At the Sign of the Lyre, 856—Working People - and their Employers, 856.</td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">M. Jules Ferry and his Friends</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Temple Bar</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />753</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Macpherson’s Love Story.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By C. H. D. Stocker</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Leisure Hour</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">790</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Man in Blue, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By R. Davey</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Merry England</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">277</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Master, A Very Old</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">601</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Master in Islam on the Present Crisis, A.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"> <span class="smcap">Interview with Sheikh Djamal-ud-din Al Husseiny Al Afghany.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Pall Mall Gazette</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">849</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><a href="#Page_144"><span class="smcap">Miscellany:</span></a></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl_max35" colspan="2"> Heligoland as a Strategical Island How the Coldstreams got their - Motto Women as Cashiers The House of Lords: Can it be Reformed? - A Revolving Library A Child’s Metaphors Has England a School of - Musical Composition? Booty in War Sir Henry Bessemer Some Personal - Recollections of George Sand The American Senate Shakespeare and - Balzac The Dread of Old Age A True Critic An Aerial Ride The Condition - of Schleswig Chinese Notions of Immortality An Approaching Star - Germans and Russians in Persia Learning to Ride A Tragic Barring-Out - Intelligence in Cats The Migration of Birds, 858 Oriental Flower Lore - What’s in a Name? Historic Finance The Three Unities A Sunday-school - Scholar A Mahdi of the Last Century</td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Montagu, Mrs</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Temple Bar</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mountain Observatories</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Edinburgh Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1"> 1</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Mythology in New Apparel, Old.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By J. Theodore Bent</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">662</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">New England Village, Three Glimpses of a</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Nihilist, A Female.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Stepniak</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Odd Quarters.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Frederick Boyle</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Belgravia</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">648</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Organic Nature’s Riddle.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By St. George Mivart</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">591</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Organic Nature’s Riddle.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By St. George Mivart</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">763</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Organization of Democracy, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Goldwin Smith</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">609</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Outwitted: A Tale of the Abruzzi</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Belgravia</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">667</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Peking, The Summer Palace.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By C. F. Gordon Cumming.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Belgravia</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">373</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Pierre’s Motto: A Chacun Selon son Travail.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"> <span class="smcap">A Talk in a Parisian Workshop About the Unequal Distribution of Wealth</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> </td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Leisure Hour</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">405</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="3"><span class="smcap">Poetry:</span></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> <span class="smcap">Beyond the Haze. A Winter Ramble Reverie</span>.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#beyond_the_haze">84</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> <span class="smcap">Lord Tennyson.</span> By Paul H. Hayne</td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - <td class="tdr">520</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> <span class="smcap">On an Old Song.</span> By W. E. H. Lecky</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">474</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> <span class="smcap">Ronsard: On the Choice of His Tomb.</span> By J. P. M.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">202</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Poetry of Tennyson, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Roden Noel</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">459</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Political Situation of Europe, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By F. Nobili-Vitelleschi, Senator of Italy</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">577</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Popular English, Notes on.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By the late Isaac Todhunter.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">561</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Portrait, The.</span> A Story of the Seen and the Unseen.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">315</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Quandong’s Secret, The</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Chambers’s Journal</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />525</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Rebellion of 1798, An Actor in the.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> Letitia McClintock.</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Belgravia</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">173</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Review of the Year.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Frederic Harrison</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">445</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Romance of a Greek Statue, A.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By J. Theodore Bent</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">499</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">“Romeo and Juliet,” The Local Color of.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By William Archer</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#romeo">67</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Russian Advance in Central Asia, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Major-General Sir Henry Rawlinson, K.C.B</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">721</td> - - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Russian Philosopher on English Politics, A</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">692</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Rye House Plot, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Alexander Charles Ewald</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">249</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Sand, George</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Temple Bar</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />817</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Savage, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Prof. F. Max Müller</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">243</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Siberia to Switzerland, From.</span> The Story of an Escape.</td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By William Westfall</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">289</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Sir William Siemens.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By William Lant Carpenter</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">621</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Sir Tristram de Lyonesse.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By E. M. Smith</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Merry England</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">656</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Smith, William and Shakespeare, William</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Saturday Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">70</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Some Sicilian Customs.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By E. Lynn Linton</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Temple Bar</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#sicilian">73</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Social Science on the Stage.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By H. Sutherland Edwards</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">830</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">State</span> <i>versus</i> <span class="smcap">the Man, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Emile de Laveleye</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">732</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Stimulants and Narcotics.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Percy Greg</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">479</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">Thunderbolts</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Cornhill Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Trappists, Among the. A Glimpse of Life at Le Port Du Salut.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Surgeon-General H. L. Cowen</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Good Words</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#trappists">53</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">True Story of Wat Tyler, The.</span> By S. G. G.</td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - <td class="tdr">748</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Turkish Proverbs, Some</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>The Spectator</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">787</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Turning Air into Water</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><i>All the Year Round</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">536</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Unity of the Empire, The.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By the Marquis of Lorne</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Nineteenth Century</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">643</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><br /><span class="smcap">Vivisection, Scientific versus Bucolic.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By James Cotter Morison</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Fortnightly Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">558</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"><br /><span class="smcap">When Shall We Lose Our Pole-Star?</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><br /><i>Chambers’s Journal</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><br />802</td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Würzburg and Vienna. Scraps from a Diary.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By Emile De Laveleye</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Contemporary Review</i> </td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Würzburg and Vienna. Scraps from a Diary.</span></td> - <td class="tdr"> </td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdl"> By John Wycliffe: His Life and Work</td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i> </td> - <td class="tdr">224</td> - </tr> - </tbody> -</table> -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/masthead.jpg" alt="Masthead" width="600" height="395" /> -<p class="f150"><b>OF<br />FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE AND ART.</b></p> -</div> -<hr class="r25" /> -<table border="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Masthead" cellpadding="0"> - <tbody><tr> - <td class="tdr"><b>New Series.</b></td> - <td class="tdc s150" rowspan="2">  <b>JANUARY, 1885.</b>  </td> - <td class="tdl"><b>Old Series complete</b></td> - </tr><tr> - <td class="tdr"><b>Vol. XLI., No. 1.</b></td> - <td class="tdl"><b>in 63 vols.</b></td> - </tr> - </tbody> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> -<hr class="r25" /> -<h2>MOUNTAIN OBSERVATORIES.</h2> - -<p>On October 1st, 1876, one of the millionaires of the New World died at -San Francisco. Although owning a no more euphonious name than James -Lick, he had contrived to secure a future for it. He had founded and -endowed the first great astronomical establishment planted on the -heights, between the stars and the sea. How he came by his love of -science we have no means of knowing. Born obscurely at Fredericksburg, -in Pennsylvania, August 25th, 1796, he amassed some 30,000 dollars by -commerce in South America, and in 1847 transferred them and himself to -a village which had just exchanged its name of Yerba Buena for that -of San Francisco, situate on a long, sandy strip of land between the -Pacific and a great bay. In the hillocks and gullies of that wind-blown -barrier he invested his dollars, and never did virgin soil yield a -richer harvest. The gold-fever broke out in the spring of 1848. The -unremembered cluster of wooden houses, with no trouble or tumult of -population in their midst, nestling round a tranquil creek under a -climate which, but for a touch of sea-fog, might rival that of the -Garden of the Hesperides, became all at once a centre of attraction -to the outcast and adventurous from every part of the world. Wealth -poured in; trade sprang up; a population of six hundred increased to -a quarter of a million; hotels, villas, public edifices, places of -business spread, mile after mile, along the bay; building-ground rose -to a fabulous price, and James Lick found himself one of the richest -men in the United States.</p> - -<p>Thus he got his money; we have now to see how he spent it. Already the -munificent benefactor of the learned institutions of California, he -in 1874 formally set aside a sum of two million dollars for various -public purposes, philanthropic, patriotic, and scientific. Of these -two millions 700,000 were appropriated to the erection of a telescope -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> -“superior to, and more powerful than any ever yet made.” But this, he -felt instinctively, was not enough. Even in astronomy, although most -likely unable to distinguish the Pole-star from the Dog-star, this -“pioneer citizen” could read the signs of the times. It was no longer -instruments that were wanted; it was the opportunity of employing them. -Telescopes of vast power and exquisite perfection had ceased to be a -rarity; but their use seemed all but hopelessly impeded by the very -conditions of existence on the surface of the earth.</p> - -<p>The air we breathe is in truth the worst enemy of the astronomer’s -observations. It is their enemy in two ways. Part of the sight which -brings its wonderful, evanescent messages across inconceivable depths -of space, it stops; and what it does not stop, it shatters. And this -even when it is most transparent and seemingly still; when mist-veils -are withdrawn, and no clouds curtain the sky. Moreover, the evil grows -with the power of the instrument. Atmospheric troubles are magnified -neither more nor less than the objects viewed across them. Thus, Lord -Rosse’s giant reflector possesses—<i>nominally</i>—a magnifying power of -6,000; that is to say, it can reduce the <i>apparent</i> distances of the -heavenly bodies to 1/6000 their <i>actual</i> amount. The moon, for example, -which is in reality separated from the earth’s surface by an interval -of about 234,000 miles, is shown as if removed only thirty-nine miles. -Unfortunately, however, in theory only. Professor Newcomb compares the -sight obtained under such circumstances to a glimpse through several -yards of running water, and doubts whether our satellite has ever been -seen to such advantage as it would be if brought—substantially, not -merely optically—within 500 miles of the unassisted eye.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>Must, then, all the growing triumphs of the optician’s skill be -counteracted by this plague of moving air? Can nothing be done to get -rid of, or render it less obnoxious? Or is this an ultimate barrier, -set up by Nature herself, to stop the way of astronomical progress? -Much depends upon the answer—more than can, in a few words, be easily -made to appear; but there is fortunately reason to believe that it -will, on the whole, prove favorable to human ingenuity, and the rapid -advance of human knowledge on the noblest subject with which it is or -ever can be conversant.</p> - -<p>The one obvious way of meeting atmospheric impediments is to leave part -of the impeding atmosphere behind; and this the rugged shell of our -planet offers ample means of doing. Whether the advantages derived from -increased altitudes will outweigh the practical difficulties attending -such a system of observation when conducted on a great scale, has -yet to be decided. The experiment, however, is now about to be tried -simultaneously in several parts of the globe.</p> - -<p>By far the most considerable of these experiments is that of the -“Lick Observatory.” Its founder was from the first determined that -the powers of his great telescope should, as little as possible, be -fettered by the hostility of the elements. The choice of its local -habitation was, accordingly, a matter of grave deliberation to him for -some time previous to his death. Although close upon his eightieth -year, he himself spent a night upon the summit of Mount St. Helena with -a view to testing its astronomical capabilities, and a site already -secured in the Sierra Nevada was abandoned on the ground of climatic -disqualifications. Finally, one of the culminating peaks of the Coast -Range, elevated 4,440 feet above the sea, was fixed upon. Situated -about fifty miles south-east of San Francisco, Mount Hamilton lies far -enough inland to escape the sea-fog, which only on the rarest occasions -drifts upward to its triple crest. All through the summer the sky above -it is limpid and cloudless; and though winter storms are frequent, -their raging is not without highly available lucid intervals. As to the -essential point—the quality of telescopic vision—the testimony of Mr. -S. W. Burnham is in the highest degree encouraging. This well-known -observer spent two months on the mountain in the autumn of 1879, and -concluded, as the result of his experience during that time—with the -full concurrence of Professor Newcomb—that, “it is the finest observing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> -location in the United States.” Out of sixty nights he found forty-two -as nearly perfect as nights can well be, seven of medium quality, and -only eleven cloudy or foggy;<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> -his stay, nevertheless, embraced the first half of October, by no -means considered to belong to the choice part of the season. Nor was -his trip barren of discovery. A list of forty-two new double stars -gave an earnest of what may be expected from systematic work in such -an unrivalled situation. Most of these are objects which never rise -high enough in the sky to be examined with any profit through the -grosser atmosphere of the plains east of the Rocky Mountains; some are -well-known stars, not before seen clearly enough for the discernment -of their composite character; yet Mr. Burnham used the lesser of two -telescopes—a 6-inch and an 18-inch achromatic—with which he -had been accustomed to observe at Chicago.</p> - -<p>The largest refracting telescope as yet actually completed has a -light-gathering surface 27 inches in diameter. This is the great Vienna -equatorial, admirably turned out by Mr. Grubb, of Dublin, in 1880, -but still awaiting the commencement of its exploring career. It will, -however, soon be surpassed by the Pulkowa telescope, ordered more than -four years ago on behalf of the Russian Government from Alvan Clark -and Sons, of Cambridgeport, Massachusetts. Still further will it be -surpassed by the coming “Lick Refractor.” It is safe to predict that -the optical championship of the world is, at least for the next few -years, secured to this gigantic instrument, the completion of which may -be looked for in the immediate future. It will have a clear aperture of -<i>three feet</i>. A disc of flint-glass for the object-lens, 38·18 inches -across, and 170 kilogrammes in weight, was cast at the establishment of -M. Feil, in Paris, early in 1882. Four days were spent and eight tons -of coal consumed in the casting of this vast mass of flawless crystal; -it took a calendar month to cool, and cost 2,000<i>l.</i><a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> -It may be regarded as the highest triumph so far achieved in the art of -optical glass-making.</p> - -<p>A refracting telescope three feet in aperture collects rather more -light than a speculum of four feet.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> -In this quality, then, the Lick instrument will have—besides the -Rosse leviathan, which, for many reasons, may be considered to be out -of the running—but one rival. And over this rival—the -48-inch reflector of the Melbourne observatory—it will have all -the advantages of agility and robustness (so to speak) which its system -of construction affords; while the exquisite definition for which Alvan -Clark is famous will, presumably, not be absent.</p> - -<p>Already preparations are being made for its reception at Mount -Hamilton. The scabrous summit of “Observatory Peak” has been smoothed -down to a suitable equality of surface by the removal of 40,000 tons -of hard trap rock. Preliminary operations for the erection of a dome, -75 feet in diameter, to serve as its shelter, are in progress. The -water-supply has been provided for by the excavation of great cisterns. -Buildings are rapidly being pushed forward from designs prepared by -Professors Holden and Newcomb. Most of the subsidiary instruments -have for some time been in their places, constituting in themselves -an equipment of no mean order. With their aid Professor Holden and -Mr. Burnham observed the transit of Mercury of November 7th, 1881, -and Professor Todd obtained, December 6th, 1882, a series of 147 -photographs (of which seventy-one were of the highest excellence) -recording the progress of Venus across the face of the sun.</p> - -<p>We are informed that a great hotel will eventually add the inducement -of material well-being to those of astronomical interest and enchanting -scenery. No more delightful summer resort can well be imagined. The -road to the summit, of which the construction formed the subject of a -species of treaty between Mr. Lick and the county of Santa Clara in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> -1875, traverses from San José a distance, as a bird flies, of less -than thirteen miles, but doubled by the windings necessary in order to -secure moderate gradients. So successfully has this been accomplished, -that a horse drawing a light waggon can reach the observatory buildings -without breaking his trot.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> -As the ascending track draws its coils closer and closer round -the mountain, the view becomes at every turn more varied and more -extensive. On one side the tumultuous coast ranges, stooping gradually -to the shore, magnificently clad with forests of pine and red cedar; -the island-studded bay of San Francisco, and, farther south, a shining -glimpse of the Pacific; on the other, the thronging pinnacles of the -Sierras—granite needles, lava-topped bastions—fire-rent, -water-worn; right underneath, the rich valleys of Santa Clara and San -Joaquim, and, 175 miles away to the north (when the sapphire of the sky -is purest), the snowy cone of Mount Shasta.</p> - -<p>Thus, there seems some reason to apprehend that Mount Hamilton, with -its monster telescope, may become one of the show places of the New -World. <i>Absit omen!</i> Such a desecration would effectually mar one of -the fairest prospects opened in our time before astronomy. The true -votaries of Urania will then be driven to seek sanctuary in some less -accessible and less inviting spot. Indeed, the present needs of science -are by no means met by an elevation above the sea of four thousand and -odd feet, even under the most translucent sky in the world. Already -observing stations are recommended at four times that altitude, and -the ambition of the new species of climbing astronomers seems unlikely -to be satisfied until he can no longer find wherewith to fill his -lungs (for even an astronomer must breathe), or whereon to plant his -instruments.</p> - -<p>This ambition is no casual caprice. It has grown out of the growing -exigencies of celestial observation.</p> - -<p>From the time that Lord Rosse’s great reflector was pointed to the sky -in February, 1845, it began to be distinctly felt that instrumental -power had outrun its opportunities. To the sounding of further depths -of space it came to be understood that Atlantic mists and tremulous -light formed an obstacle far more serious than any mere optical or -mechanical difficulties. The late Mr. Lassell was the first to act on -this new idea. Towards the close of 1852 he transported his beautiful -24-inch Newtonian to Malta, and, in 1859-60, constructed, for service -there, one of four times its light capacity. Yet the chief results -of several years’ continuous observation under rarely favorable -conditions were, in his own words, “rather negative than positive.”<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> -He dispelled the “ghosts” of four Uranian moons which had, by glimpses, -haunted the usually unerring vision of the elder Herschel, and showed -that our acquaintance with the satellite families of Saturn, Uranus, -and Neptune must, for the present at any rate, be regarded as complete; -but the discoveries by which his name is chiefly remembered were made -in the murky air of Lancashire.</p> - -<p>The celebrated expedition to the Peak of Teneriffe, carried out in -the summer of 1856 by the present Astronomer Royal for Scotland, was -an experiment made with the express object of ascertaining “how much -astronomical observation can be benefited by eliminating the lower -third or fourth part of the atmosphere.”<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> -So striking were the advantages of which it seemed to hold out the -promise, that we count with surprise the many years suffered to elapse -before any adequate attempt was made to realize them.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> -Professor Piazzi Smyth made his principal station at Guajara, 8,903 -feet above the sea, close to the rim of the ancient crater from which -the actual peak rises to a further height of more than 3,000 feet. -There he found that his equatorial (five feet in focal length) showed -stars fainter by <i>four magnitudes</i> than at Edinburgh. On the Calton -Hill the companion of Alpha Lyræ (eleventh magnitude) could never, -under any circumstances, be made out. <span class="pagenum"><a -name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> At Guajara it was an easy -object twenty-five degrees from the zenith; and stars of the fourteenth -magnitude were discernible. Now, according to the usual estimate, a -step downwards from one magnitude to another means a decrease of lustre -in the proportion of two to five. A star of the fourteenth order of -brightness sends us accordingly only 1/39th as much light as an average -one of the tenth order. So that, in Professor Smyth’s judgment, the -grasp of his instrument was virtually <i>multiplied thirty-nine times</i> by -getting rid of the lowest quarter of the atmosphere.<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> In other words (since light falls off -in intensity as the square of the distance of its source increases), -the range of vision was more than sextupled, further depths of space -being penetrated to an extent probably to be measured by thousands of -billions of miles!</p> - -<p>This vast augmentation of telescopic compass was due as much to the -increased tranquillity as to the increased transparency of the air. -The stars hardly seemed to twinkle at all. Their rays, instead of -being broken and scattered by continual changes of refractive power -in the atmospheric layers through which their path lay, travelled -with relatively little disturbance, and thus produced a far more -vivid and concentrated impression upon the eye. Their images in the -telescope, with a magnifying power of 150, showed no longer the -“amorphous figures” seen at Edinburgh, but such minute, sharply-defined -discs as gladden the eyes of an astronomer, and seem, in Professor -Smyth’s phrase, to “provoke” (as the “cocked-hat” appearance surely -baffles) “the application of a wire-micrometer” for the purposes of -measurement.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p> - -<p>The lustre of the milky way and zodiacal light at this elevated station -was indescribable, and Jupiter shone with extraordinary splendor. -Nevertheless, not even the most fugitive glimpse of any of his -satellites was to be had without optical aid.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> -This was possibly attributable to the prevalent “dust-haze”, which must -have caused a diffusion of light in the neighborhood of the planet -more than sufficient to blot from sight such faint objects. The same -cause completely neutralized the darkening of the sky usually attendant -upon ascents into the more ethereal regions, and surrounded the sun -with an intense glare of reflected light. For reasons presently to be -explained, this circumstance alone would render the Peak of Teneriffe -wholly unfit to be the site of a modern observatory.</p> - -<p>Within the last thirty years a remarkable change, long in -preparation,<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> -has conspicuously affected the methods and aims of astronomy; or, -rather, beside the old astronomy—the astronomy of Laplace, of -Bessel, of Airy, Adams, and Leverrier—has grown up a younger -science, vigorous, inspiring, seductive, revolutionary, walking with -hurried or halting footsteps along paths far removed from the staid -courses of its predecessor. This new science concerns itself with -the <i>nature</i> of the heavenly bodies; the elder regarded exclusively -their <i>movements</i>. The aim of the one is <i>description</i>, of the other -<i>prediction</i>. This younger science inquires what sun, moon, stars, and -nebulæ are made of, what stores of heat they possess, what changes -are in progress within their substance, what vicissitudes they have -undergone or are likely to undergo. The elder has attained its object -when the theory of celestial motions shows no discrepancy with -fact—when the calculus can be brought to agree perfectly with the -telescope—when the coursers of the heavens come strictly up to -time, and their observed places square to a hair’s-breadth with their predicted places. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> - -<p>It is evident that very different modes of investigation must be -employed to further such different objects; in fact, the invention -of novel modes of investigation has had a prime share in bringing -about the change in question. Geometrical astronomy, or the astronomy -of position, seeks above all to measure with exactness, and is thus -more fundamentally interested in the accurate division and accurate -centering of circles than in the development of optical appliances. -Descriptive astronomy, on the other hand, seeks as the first condition -of its existence to <i>see</i> clearly and fully. It has no “method of -least squares” for making the best of bad observations—no process for -eliminating errors by their multiplication in opposite directions; -it is wholly dependent for its data on the quantity and quality of -the rays focussed by its telescopes, sifted by its spectroscopes, -or printed in its photographic cameras. Therefore, the loss and -disturbance suffered by those rays in traversing our atmosphere -constitute an obstacle to progress far more serious now than when the -exact determination of places was the primary and all-important task -of an astronomical observer. This obstacle, which no ingenuity can -avail to remove, may be reduced to less formidable dimensions. It may -be diminished or partially evaded by anticipating the most detrimental -part of the atmospheric transit—by carrying our instruments upwards -into a finer air—by meeting the light upon the mountains.</p> - -<p>The study of the sun’s composition, and of the nature of the stupendous -processes by which his ample outflow of light and heat is kept up and -diffused through surrounding space, has in our time separated, it -might be said, into a science apart. Its pursuit is, at any rate, far -too arduous to be conducted with less than a man’s whole energies; -while the questions which it has addressed itself to answer are -the fundamental problems of the new physical astronomy. There is, -however, but one opinion as to the expediency of carrying on solar -investigations at higher altitudes than have hitherto been more than -temporarily available.</p> - -<p>The spectroscope and the camera are now the chief engines of solar -research. Mere telescopic observation, though always an indispensable -adjunct, may be considered to have sunk into a secondary position. -But the spectroscope and the camera, still more than the telescope, -lie at the mercy of atmospheric vapors and undulations. The late -Professor Henry Draper, of New York, an adept in the art of celestial -photography, stated in 1877 that two years, during which he had -photographed the moon at his observatory on the Hudson on every -moonlit night, yielded <i>only three</i> when the air was still enough -to give good results, nor even then without some unsteadiness; and -Bond, of Cambridge (U. S.) informed him that he had watched in vain, -through no less than seventeen years for a faultless condition of our -troublesome environing medium.<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> -Tranquillity is the first requisite for a successful astronomical -photograph. The hour generally chosen for employing the sun as his -own limner is, for this reason, in the early morning, before the -newly emerged beams have had time to set the air in commotion, and so -blur the marvellous details of his surface-structure. By this means -a better definition is secured but at the expense of transparency. -Both are, at the sea-level, hardly ever combined. A certain amount of -haziness is the price usually paid for exceptional stillness, so that -it not unfrequently happens that astronomers see best in a fog, as on -the night of November 15th, 1850, when the elder Bond discovered the -“dusky ring” of Saturn, although at the time no star below the fourth -magnitude could be made out with the naked eye. Now on well-chosen -mountain stations, a union of these unhappy divorced conditions is at -certain times to be met with, opportunities being thus afforded with -tolerable certainty and no great rarity, which an astronomer on the -plains might think himself fortunate in securing once or twice in a -lifetime.</p> - -<p>For spectroscopic observations at the edge of the sun, on the contrary, -the <i>sine quâ non</i> is translucency. During the great “Indian eclipse” -of August 18th, 1868, the variously colored lines were, by the aid -of prismatic analysis, first described, which reveal the chemical -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> -constitution of the flamelike “prominences,” forming an ever-varying, -but rarely absent, feature of the solar surroundings. Immediately -afterwards, M. Janssen, at Guntoor, and Mr. Norman Lockyer, in England, -independently realised a method of bringing them into view without -the co-operation of the eclipsing moon. This was done by <i>fanning -out</i> with a powerfully dispersive spectroscope the diffused radiance -near the sun, until it became sufficiently attenuated to permit the -delicate flame-lines to appear upon its rainbow-tinted background. This -mischievous radiance—which it is the chief merit of a solar eclipse -to abolish during some brief moments—is due to the action of the -atmosphere, and chiefly of the watery vapors contained in it. Were our -earth stripped of its “cloud of all-sustaining air,” and presented, -like its satellite, bare to space, the sky would appear perfectly black -up to the very rim of the sun’s disc—a state of things of all others -(vital necessities apart) the most desirable to spectroscopists. The -best approach to its attainment is made by mounting a few thousand feet -above the earth’s surface. In the drier and purer air of the mountains, -“glare” notably diminishes, and the tell-tale prominence-lines are thus -more easily disengaged from the effacing lustre in which they hang, as -it were suspended.</p> - -<p>The Peak of Teneriffe, as we have seen, offers a marked exception to -this rule, the impalpable dust diffused through the air giving, even at -its summit, precisely the same kind of detailed reflection as aqueous -vapors at lower levels. It is accordingly destitute of one of the chief -qualifications for serving as a point of vantage to observers of the new type.</p> - -<p>The changes in the spectra of chromosphere and prominences (for they -are parts of a single appendage) present a subject of unsurpassed -interest to the student of solar physics. There, if anywhere, will be -found the key to the secret to the sun’s internal economy; in them, if -at all, the real condition of matter in the unimaginable abysses of -heat covered up by the relatively cool photosphere, whose radiations -could, nevertheless, vivify 2,300,000,000 globes like ours, will reveal -itself; revealing, at the same time, something more than we know of the -nature of the so-called “elementary” substances, hitherto tortured, -with little result, in terrestrial laboratories.</p> - -<p>The chromosphere and prominences might be figuratively described as an -ocean and clouds of tranquil incandescence, agitated and intermingled -with waterspouts, tornadoes, and geysers of raging fire. Certain -kinds of light are at all times emitted by them, showing that certain -kinds of matter (as, for instance, hydrogen and “helium”<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>) -form invariable constituents of their substance. Of these unfailing lines -Professor Young counts eleven.<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> -But a vastly greater number appear only occasionally, and, it would -seem, capriciously, under the stress of eruptive action from the -interior. And precisely this it is which lends them such significance; -for of what is going on there, they have doubtless much to tell, were -their message only legible by us. It has not as yet proved so; but the -characters in which it is written are being earnestly scrutinised and -compared, with a view to their eventual decipherment. The prodigious -advantages afforded by high altitudes for this kind of work were -illustrated by the brilliant results of Professor Young’s observations -in the Rocky Mountains during the summer of 1872. By the diligent -labor of several years he had, at that time, constructed a list of one -hundred and three distinct lines occasionally visible in the spectrum -of the chromosphere. In seventy-two days, at Sherman (8,335 feet above -the sea), it was extended to 273. Yet the weather was exceptionally -cloudy, and the spot (a station on the Union Pacific Railway, in the -Territory of Wyoming) not perhaps the best that might have been chosen -for an “astronomical reconnaissance.”<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a></p> - -<p>A totally different kind of solar research is that in aid of which -the Mount Whitney expedition was organized in 1881. Professor S. P. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> -Langley, director of the Alleghany observatory in Pennsylvania, has -long been engaged in the detailed study of the radiations emitted -by the sun; inventing, for the purpose of its prosecution, the -“bolometer,”<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> -an instrument twenty times as sensitive to changes of temperature -as the thermopile. But the solar spectrum as it is exhibited at the -surface of the earth, is a very different thing from the solar spectrum -as it would appear could it be formed of sunbeams, so to speak, <i>fresh -from space</i>, unmodified by atmospheric action. For not only does our -air deprive each ray of a considerable share of its energy (the total -loss may be taken at 20 to 25 per cent. when the sky is clear and the -sun in the zenith), but it deals unequally with them, robbing some more -than others, and thus materially altering their relative importance. -Now it was Professor Langley’s object to reconstruct the original state -of things, and he saw that this could be done most effectually by means -of simultaneous observations at the summit and base of a high mountain. -For the effect upon each separate ray of transmission through a known -proportion of the atmosphere being (with the aid of the bolometer) once -ascertained, a very simple calculation would suffice to eliminate the -remaining effects, and thus virtually secure an extra-atmospheric post -of observation.</p> - -<p>The honor of rendering this important service to science was adjudged -to the highest summit in the United States. The Sierra Nevada -culminates in a granite pile, rising, somewhat in the form of a -gigantic helmet, fronting eastwards, to a height of 14,887 feet. -Mount Whitney is thus entitled to rank as the Mount Blanc of its own -continent. In order to reach it, a railway journey of 3,400 miles, -from Pittsburg to San Francisco, and from San Francisco to Caliente, -was a brief and easy preliminary. The real difficulty began with -a march of 120 miles across the arid and glaring Inyo desert, the -thermometer standing at 110° in the shade (if shade there were to be -found.) Towards the end of July 1881, the party reached the settlement -of Lone Pine at the foot of the Sierras, where a camp for low-level -observations was pitched (at a height, it is true, of close upon 4,000 -feet), and the needful instruments were unpacked and adjusted. Close -overhead, as it appeared, but in reality sixteen miles distant, towered -the gaunt, and rifted, and seemingly inaccessible pinnacle which was -the ultimate goal of their long journey. The illusion of nearness -produced by the extraordinary transparency of the air was dispelled -when, on examination with a telescope, what had worn the aspect of -patches of moss, proved to be extensive forests.</p> - -<p>The ascent of such a mountain with a train of mules bearing a delicate -and precious freight of scientific apparatus, was a perhaps unexampled -enterprise. It was, however, accomplished without the occurrence, -though at the frequent and imminent risk, of disaster, after a -toilsome climb of seven or eight days through an unexplored and, to -less resolute adventurers, impassable waste of rocks, gullies, and -precipices. Finally a site was chosen for the upper station on a swampy -ledge, 13,000 feet above the sea; and there, notwithstanding extreme -discomforts from bitter cold, fierce sunshine, high winds, and, worst -of all, “mountain sickness,” with its intolerable attendant debility, -observations were determinedly carried on, in combination with those at -Lone Pine, and others daily made on the highest crest of the mountain, -until September 11. They were well worth the cost. By their means a -real extension was given to knowledge, and a satisfactory definiteness -introduced into subjects previously involved in very wide uncertainty.</p> - -<p>Contrary to the received opinion, it now appeared that the weight -of atmospheric absorption falls upon the upper or blue end of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> -spectrum, and that the obstacles to the transmission of light waves -through the air diminish as their length increases, and their -refrangibility consequently diminishes. A yellow tinge is thus imparted -to the solar rays by the imperfectly transparent medium through which -we see them. And, since the sun possesses an atmosphere of its own, -exercising an unequal or “selective” absorption of the same character, -it follows that, if both these dusky-red veils were withdrawn, the true -color of the photosphere would show as a very distinct <i>blue</i><a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>—not -merely <i>bluish</i>, but a real azure just tinted with green, like the hue -of a mountain lake fed with a glacier stream. Moreover, the further -consequence ensues, that the sun is hotter than had been supposed. For -the higher the temperature of a glowing body, the more copiously it -emits rays from the violet end of the spectrum. The blueness of its -light is, in fact, a measure of the intensity of its incandescence. -Professor Langley has not yet ventured (that we are aware of) on an -estimate of what is called the “effective temperature” of the sun—the -temperature, that is, which it would be necessary to attribute to the -surface of the radiating power of lamp-black to enable it to send us -just the quantity of heat that the sun does actually send us. Indeed, -the present state of knowledge still leaves an important hiatus—only -to be filled by more or less probable guessing in the reasoning by -which inferences on this subject must be formed; while the startling -discrepancies between the figures adopted by different, and equally -respectable, authorities sufficiently show that none are entitled to -any confidence. The amount of heat received in a given interval of -time by the earth from the sun is, however, another matter, and one -falling well within the scope of observation. This Professor Langley’s -experiments (when completely worked out) will, by their unequalled -precision, enable him to determine with some approach to finality. -Pouillet valued the “solar constant” at 1·7 “calories”; in other works, -had calculated that, our atmosphere being supposed removed, vertical -sunbeams would have power to heat in each minute of time, by one -degree centigrade, 1·7 gramme of water for each square centimetre of -the earth’s surface. This estimate was raised by Crova to 2·3, and -by Violle in 1877 to 2·5;<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> -Professor Langley’s new data bring it up (approximately as yet) to -three calories per square centimetre per minute. This result alone -would, by its supreme importance to meteorology, amply repay the labors -of the Mount Whitney expedition.</p> - -<p>Still more unexpected is the answer supplied to the question: Were -the earth wholly denuded of its aëriform covering, what would be the -temperature of its surface? We are informed in reply that it would -be <i>at the outside</i> 50 degrees of Fahrenheit below zero, or 82 of -frost. So that mercury would remain solid even when exposed to the -rays—undiminished by atmospheric absorption—of a tropical sun at -noon.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> -The paradoxical aspect of this conclusion—a perfectly legitimate -and reliable one—disappears when it is remembered that under -the imagined circumstances there would be absolutely nothing to -hinder radiation into the frigid depths of space, and that the solar -rays would, consequently, find abundant employment in maintaining a -difference of 189 degrees<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> -between the temperature of the mercury and that of its environment. -What we may with perfect accuracy call the <i>clothing function</i> of our -atmosphere is thus vividly brought home to us; for it protects the -teeming surface of our planet against the cold of space exactly in the -same way as, and much more effectually than, a lady’s sealskin mantle -keeps her warm in frosty weather. That is to say, it impedes radiation. -Or, again, to borrow another comparison, the gaseous envelope we -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -breathe in (and chiefly the watery part of it) may be literally -described as a “trap for sunbeams.” It permits their entrance -(exacting, it is true, a heavy toll), but almost totally bars their -exit. It is now easy to understand why it is that on the airless moon -no vapors rise to soften the hard shadow-outlines of craters or ridges -throughout the fierce blaze of the long lunar day. In immediate contact -with space (if we may be allowed the expression) water, should such -a substance exist on our enigmatical satellite, must remain frozen, -though exposed for endless æons of time to direct sunshine.</p> - -<p>Amongst the most noteworthy results of Professor Langley’s observations -in the Sierra Nevada was the enormous extension given by them to the -solar spectrum in the invisible region below the red. The first to make -any detailed acquaintance with their obscure beams was Captain Abney, -whose success in obtaining a substance—the so-called “blue bromide” -of silver—sensitive to their chemical action, enabled him to derive -photographic impressions from rays possessing the relatively great -wave-length of 1,200 millionths of a millimetre. This, be it noted, -approaches very closely to the theoretical limit set by Cauchy to that -end of the spectrum. The information was accordingly received with no -small surprise that the bolometer showed entirely unmistakable heating -effects from vibrations of the wave-length 2,800. The “dark continent” -of the solar spectrum was thus demonstrated to cover an expanse nearly -eight times that of the bright or visible part.<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> -And in this newly discovered region lie three-fifths of the entire -energy received from the sun—three-fifths of the vital force -imparted to our planet for keeping its atmosphere and ocean in -circulation, its streams rippling and running, its forests growing, its -grain ripening. Throughout this wide range of vibrations the modifying -power of our atmosphere is little felt. It is, indeed, interrupted by -great gaps produced by absorption <i>somewhere</i>; but since they show no -signs of diminution at high altitudes, they are obviously due to an -extra-terrestrial cause. Here a tempting field of inquiry lies open to -scientific explorers.</p> - -<p>On one other point, earlier ideas have had to give way to better -grounded ones derived from this fruitful series of investigation. -Professor Langley has effected a redistribution of energy in the -solar spectrum. The maximum of heat was placed by former inquirers in -the obscure tract of the infra-red; he has promoted it to a position -in the orange approximately coincident with the point of greatest -luminous intensity. The triple curve, denoting by its three distinct -summits the supposed places in the spectrum of the several maxima -of heat, light, and “actinism,” must now finally disappear from our -text-books, and with it the last vestige of belief in a corresponding -threefold distinction of qualities in the solar radiations. From one -end to the other of the whole gamut of them, there is but one kind of -difference—that of wave-length, or frequency in vibration; and there -is but one curve by which the rays of the spectrum can properly be -represented—that of energy, or the power of doing work on material -particles. What the effect of that work may be, depends upon the -special properties of such material particles, not upon any recondite -faculty in the radiations.</p> - -<p>These brilliant results of a month’s bivouac encourage the most -sanguine anticipation as to the harvest of new truths to be gathered by -a steady and well-organized pursuance of the same plan of operations. -It must, however, be remembered that the scheme completed on Mount -Whitney had been carefully designed, and in its preliminary parts -executed at Alleghany. The interrogatory was already prepared; it -only remained to register replies, and deduce conclusions. Nature -seldom volunteers information: usually it has to be extracted from her -by skilful cross-examination. The main secret of finding her a good -witness consists in having a clear idea beforehand what it is one wants -to find out. No opportunities of seeing will avail those who know not -what to look for. Thus, not the crowd of casual observers, but the few -who consistently and systematically <i>think</i>, will profit by the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -effort now being made to rid the astronomer of a small fraction of his -terrestrial impediments. It is, nevertheless, admitted on all hands -that no step can at present be taken at all comparable in its abundant -promise of increased astronomical knowledge to that of providing -suitably elevated sites for the exquisite instruments constructed by -modern opticians.</p> - -<p>Europe has not remained behind America in this significant movement. -An observatory on Mount Etna, at once astronomical, meteorological, -and seismological, was nominally completed in the summer of 1882, -and will doubtless before long begin to give proof of efficiency in -its threefold capacity. The situation is magnificent. Etna has long -been famous for the amplitude of the horizon commanded from it and -the serenity of its encompassing skies favors celestial no less than -terrestrial vision. Professor Langley, who made a stay of twenty days -upon the mountain in 1879-80, with the object of reducing to strict -measurement the advantages promised by it, came to the conclusion that -the “seeing” there is better than that in England (judging from data -given by Mr. Webb) in the proportion of three to two—that is to say, -a telescope of two inches aperture on Etna would show as much as one -of three in England. Yet the circumstances attending his visit were -of the least favorable kind. He was unable to find a suitable shelter -higher up than Casa del Bosco, an isolated hut within the forest belt -(as its name imports), at considerably less than half the elevation of -the new observatory; the imperfect mounting of his telescope rendered -observation all but impossible within a range of 30 degrees from the -zenith, thus excluding the most serene portion of the sky; moreover, -his arrival was delayed until December 25th, when the weather was -thoroughly broken, high winds were incessantly troublesome, and only -five nights out of seventeen proved astronomically available. It is, -accordingly, reassuring to learn that while, with the naked eye, at -ordinary levels, he could see but six Pleiades, with glimpses of a -seventh and eighth, on Etna he steadily distinguished nine even before -the moon had set;<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> -and that the telescopic definition though not uniformly good, was on -December 31st such as he had never before seen on the sun, “least of -all with a blue sky;”<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> -the “rice-grain” structure came out beautifully under a power of 212; -and for the spectroscopic examination of prominences, the fainter -orange light of their helium constituent served almost equally well -with the strong radiance of the crimson ray of hydrogen (C)—a -test of transparency which those accustomed to such studies will appreciate.</p> - -<p>The Etnean observatory is the most elevated building in Europe. It -stands at a height above the sea of 9,655 ft., or 1,483 ft. above the -monastery of the Great St. Bernard. Its walls enclose the well-known -“Casa Inglese,” where travellers were accustomed to spend the night -before undertaking the final ascent of the cone, and occupy a site -believed secure from the incursions of lava. Astronomical work is -designed to be carried on there from June to September. For the Merz -equatorial, 35 centimetres (13·8 inches) in aperture, which is <i>facile -primus</i> of its instrumental equipment, a duplicate mounting has been -provided at Catania, whither it will be removed during the winter -months. The primary aim of the establishment is the study of the -sun. Its great desirability for this purpose formed the theme of the -representations from Signor Tacchini (then director of the observatory -of Palermo, now of that of the Collegio Romano), which determined -the Italian government upon trying the experiment. But we hear with -pleasure that stellar spectroscopy will also come in for a large share -of attention. The privilege of observation from the summit of Etna will -not be enjoyed exclusively by the local staff. The Municipality of -Catania who have borne their share in the expense of the undertaking, -generously propose to give it somewhat of an international character, -by providing accommodation for any foreign astronomers who may -desire to enjoy a respite from the hampering conditions of low-level -star-gazing. We cannot doubt that such exceptional facilities will be -turned to the best account. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - -<p>Eight years have now passed since General de Nansonty, aided by the -engineer Vaussenat, established himself for the winter on the top of -the Pic du Midi. Zeal for the promotion of weather-knowledge was the -impelling motive of this adventure, which included, amongst other rude -incidents, a snow-siege of little less than six months. It resulted in -crowning one of the highest crests of the Pyrenees with a permanent -meteorological observatory opened for work in 1881. It is now designed -to render the station available for astronomical purposes as well.</p> - -<p>The important tasks in progress at the Paris observatory have of -late been singularly impeded by bad weather. During the latter half -of 1882 scarcely four or five good nights per month were secured, -and in December these were reduced to two.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> -Moreover, M. Thollon, who, according to his custom, arrived from Nice -in June for the summer’s work, returned thither in September without -having found the opportunity of making <i>one single</i> spectroscopic -observation. Yet within easy and immediate reach was a post, already in -scientific occupation, where as General de Nansonty reported, ordinary -print was legible by the radiance of the milky way and zodiacal light -alone, and fifteen or sixteen Pleiades could be counted with the naked -eye. At length Admiral Mouchez, the energetic director of the Paris -observatory, convinced of the urgent need of an adjunct establishment -under less sulky skies, issued to MM. Thollon and Trépied a commission -of inquiry into telescopic possibilities on the Pic du Midi. Their stay -lasted from August 17th, to September 22d, 1883, and their experiences -were summarised in a note (preliminary to a detailed report) published -in the “Comptes Rendus” for October 16th, glowing with a certain -technical enthusiasm difficult to be conveyed to those who have never -strained their eyes to catch the vanishing gleam of a “chromospheric -line” through a “milky” sky, and dim and tremulous air. The -definition, they declared, was simply marvellous. Not even in Upper -Egypt had they seen anything like it. The sun stood out, clean-cut and -vivid, on a dark blue sky, and so slight were the traces of diffusion, -that, for observations at his edge the conditions approached those -of a total eclipse. These advantages are forcibly illustrated by the -statement that, instead of eight lines ordinarily visible in the entire -spectrum of the chromosphere, more than thirty revealed themselves in -the orange and green parts of it alone (Dto. F)! A fact still more -remarkable is that prominences were actually seen, and their forms -distinguished, though foreshortened and faint, on the very disc of the -sun itself—and this not merely by such glimmering views as had -previously, at especially favorable moments, tantalised the sight of -Young and Tacchini, but steadily and with certainty. We are further -told that, on the mornings of September 19th and 20th, Venus was -discerned, without aid from glasses, within two degrees of the sun.</p> - -<p>These extraordinary facilities of vision disappeared, indeed, as, with -the advance of day, the slopes of the mountain became heated and set -the thin air quivering; but were reproduced at night in the tranquil -splendor of moon and stars.</p> - -<p>The expediency of using such opportunities was obvious; and it has -accordingly been determined to erect a good equatorial in this tempting -situation, elevated 9,375 feet above the troubles of the nether air. -The expense incurred will be trifling; no special staff will be -needed; the post will simply constitute a dependency of the Paris -establishment, where astronomers thrown out of work by the malice of -the elements may find a refuge from enforced idleness, as well as, -possibly, unlooked-for openings to distinction.</p> - -<p>We must now ask our readers to accompany us in one more brief flight -across the Atlantic. After a successful observation of the late transit -of Venus at Jamaica, Dr. Copeland, the chief astronomer of Lord -Crawford’s observatory at Dun Echt, took advantage of the railway which -now crosses the Western Andes at an elevation of 14,666 feet, to make a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -high-level tour of exploration in the interests of science. Some of the -results communicated by him to the British Association at Southport -last year, and published, with more detail, in the astronomical journal -“Copernicus,” are extremely suggestive. At La Paz, in Bolivia, 12,050 -feet above the sea, a naked-eye sketch of the immemorially familiar -star-groups in Taurus, <i>made in full moonlight</i>, showed seventeen -Hyades (two more than are given in Argelander’s “Uranometria Nova”) -and ten Pleiades. Now ordinary eyes under ordinary circumstances -see six, or at most seven, stars in the latter cluster. Hipparchus -censured Aratus—who took his facts on trust from Eudoxus—for stating -the lesser number, on the ground that, in serene weather, and in the -absence of the moon, a seventh was discernible.<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> -On the other hand, several of the ancients reckoned nine Pleiades, and -we are assured that Moestlin, the worthy preceptor of Kepler, was able -to detect, under the little propitious skies of Wurtemberg, no less than -fourteen.<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> -An instance of keensightedness but slightly inferior is afforded by a -contemporary American observer: Mr. Henry Carvil Lewis, of Germantown, -Pennsylvania, frequently perceives twelve of this interesting sidereal -community.<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> -The number of Pleiades counted is, then, without some acquaintance with -the observer’s ordinary range of sight, a quite indeterminate criterion -of atmospheric clearness; although we readily admit that Dr. Copeland’s -detection of ten in the very front of a full moon gives an exalted idea -of visual possibilities at La Paz.</p> - -<p>During the season of <i>tempestades</i>—from the middle of December to -the end of March—the weather in the Andes is simply abominable. Mr. -Whymper describes everything as “bottled up in mist” after one brief -bright hour in the early morning, and complains, writing from Quito, -March 18th, 1880,<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> -that his exertions had been left unrewarded by a single view from any -one of the giant peaks scaled by him. Dr. Copeland adds a lamentable -account—doubly lamentable to an astronomer in search of improved -definition—of thunderstorms, torrential rains merging into snow -or hail, overcast nocturnal skies, and “visible exhalations” from -the drenched pampas. At Puno, however, towards the end of March, he -succeeded in making some valuable observations, notwithstanding the -detention—as contraband of war, apparently—of a large part -of his apparatus. Puno is the terminal station on the Andes railway, -and is situated at an altitude of 12,540 feet.</p> - -<p>Here he not only discovered, with a 6-inch achromatic, mounted as -need prescribed, several very close stellar pairs, of which Sir John -Herschel’s 18 inch speculum had given him no intelligence; but in -a few nights’ “sweeping” with a very small Vogel’s spectroscope, -he just doubled the known number of a restricted, but particularly -interesting, class of stars—if stars indeed they be. For while in -the telescope they exhibit the ordinary stellar appearance of lucid -points, they disclose, under the compulsion of prismatic analysis, the -characteristic marks of a gaseous constitution; that is to say, the -principal part of their light is concentrated in a few bright lines. -The only valid distinction at present recognisable by us between stars -and “nebulæ” is thus, if not wholly abolished, at least rendered of a -purely conventional character. We may agree to limit the term “nebulæ” -to bodies of a certain chemical constitution; but we cannot limit the -doings of Nature, or insist on the maintenance of an arbitrary line of -demarcation. From the keen rays of Vega to the undefined lustre of the -curdling wisps of cosmical fog clinging round the sword-hilt of Orion, -the distance is indeed enormous. But so it is from a horse to an oak -tree; yet when we descend to volvoxes and diatoms, it is impossible to -pronounce off-hand in which of the two great provinces of the kingdom -of life we are treading. It would now seem that the celestial spaces -have also their volvoxes and diatoms—“limiting instances,” as Bacon -termed such—bodies that share the characters, and hang on the borders -of two orders of creation. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - -<p>In 1867, MM. Wolf and Rayet, of Paris, discovered that three yellow -stars in the Swan, of about the eighth magnitude possessed the notable -peculiarity of a bright-line spectrum. It was found by Raspighi and Le -Sueur to be shared by one of the second order of brightness in Argo -(γ Argûs), and Professor Pickering, of Harvard, reinforced -the species, in 1880-81, with two further specimens. Dr. Copeland’s -necessarily discursive operations on the shores of Lake Titicaca raised -the number of its members at once from six to eleven or twelve. Now the -smaller “planetary” nebulæ—so named by Sir William Herschel from the -planet-like discs presented by the first-known and most conspicuous -amongst them—are likewise only distinguished from minute stars by -their spectra. Their light, when analysed with a prism, instead of -running out into a parti-colored line, gathers itself into one or more -bright dots. The position on the prismatic scale of those dots, alone -serves to mark them off from the Wolf-Rayet family of stars. Hence the -obvious inference that both nebulæ and stars (of this type) are bodies -similar in character, but dissimilar in constitution—that they agree -in the general plan of their structure, but differ in the particular -quality of the substances glowing in the vast, incandescent atmospheres -which display their characteristic bright lines in our almost -infinitely remote spectroscopes. Indeed, the fundamental identity of -the two species are virtually demonstrated, by the “migrations” (to use -a Baconian phrase) of the “new star” of 1876, which, as its original -conflagration died out, passed through the stages, successively, of -a Wolf-Rayet or <i>nebular star</i> (if we may be permitted to coin the -term), and of a planetary nebula. So that not all the stars in space -are suns—at least, not in the sense given to the word by our domestic -experience in the solar system.</p> - -<p>The investigation of these objects possesses extraordinary interest. -As an index to the true nature of the relation undoubtedly subsisting -between the lucid orbs and the “shining fluid” which equally form part -of the sidereal system, their hybrid character renders them of peculiar -value. Their distribution—so far restricted to the Milky Way and its -borders—may perhaps afford a clue to the organisation of, and processes -of change in that stupendous collection of worlds. At present, -speculation would be premature; what we want are facts—facts regarding -the distances of these anomalous objects—whether or not they fall -within the range of the methods of measurement at present available; -facts regarding their apparent motions; facts regarding the specific -differences of the light emitted by them: its analogies with that -of other bodies; its possible variations in amount or kind. The -accumulation of any sufficient information on these points will demand -with every external aid, the patient labor of years; under average -conditions at the earth’s surface, it can scarcely be considered as -practically feasible. The facility of Dr. Copeland’s discoveries -sufficiently sets off the prerogatives, in this respect, of elevated -stations; it is not too much to say that this purpose—were it solely -in view—would fully justify the demand for their establishment.</p> - -<p>Towards one other subject which we might easily be tempted to dwell -upon, we will barely glance. Most of our readers have heard something -of Dr. Huggins’s new method of photographing the corona. Its importance -consists in the prospect which it seems to offer for substituting -for scanty and hurried researches during the brief moments of total -eclipse, a leisurely and continuous study of that remarkable solar -appendage. The method may be described as a <i>differential</i> one. -It depends for its success on the superior intensity of coronal -to ordinary sunlight in the extreme violet region. And since it -happens that chloride of silver is sensitive to those rays <i>only</i> in -which the corona is strongest, the coronal form disengages itself -photographically, from the obliterating splendor which effectually -shrouds it visually, by the superior vigor of its impression upon a -chloride of silver film.</p> - -<p>Now if this ingenious mode of procedure is to be rendered of any -practical avail, advantage must, above all, be taken of the finer air -of the mountains. This for two reasons. First, because the glare which, -as it were, smothers the delicate structure we want to obtain records -of, is there at a minimum; secondly, because the violet rays by which -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -it impresses itself upon the “photographic retina”<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> -are there at a maximum. These, as Professor Langley’s experiments show, -suffer far more from atmospheric ravages than their less refrangible -companions in the spectrum; the gain thus to them, relatively to -the general gain, grows with every yard of ascent; the proportion, -in other words, of short and quick vibrations in the light received -becomes exalted as we press upwards—a fact brought into especial -prominence by Dr. Copeland’s solar observations at Vincocaya, -14,360 feet above the sea-level. Indeed, for all the operations of -celestial photography, the advantages of great altitudes can hardly -be exaggerated; and celestial photography is gradually assuming an -importance which its first tentative efforts, thirty-four years ago, -gave little reason to expect.</p> - -<p>Thus, in three leading departments of modern astronomy—solar physics, -stellar spectroscopy, and the wide field of photography—the aid of -mountain observatories may be pronounced indispensable; while in all -there is scarcely a doubt that it will prove eminently useful. There -are, indeed, difficulties and drawbacks to their maintenance. The -choice of a site, in the first place, is a matter requiring the most -careful deliberation. Not all elevated points are available for the -purpose. Some act persistently as vapor-condensers, and seldom doff -their sullen cap of clouds. From any mountain in the United Kingdom, -for instance, it would be folly to expect an astronomical benefit. -On Ben Nevis, the chief amongst them, a meteorological observatory -has recently been established with the best auguries of success; but -it would indeed be a sanguine star-gazer who should expect improved -telescopic opportunities from its misty summit.</p> - -<p>Even in more favored climates, storms commonly prevail on the heights -during several months of the year, and vehement winds give more or less -annoyance at all seasons; the direct sunbeams sear the skin like a hot -iron; the chill air congeals the blood. Dr. Copeland records that at -Vincocaya, one afternoon in June, the black bulb thermometer exposed -to solar radiation stood at 199°.1 of Fahrenheit—actually 13° above -the boiling-point of water in that lofty spot—while the dry bulb was -coated with ice! Still more formidable than these external discomforts -is the effect on the human frame itself of transportation into a -considerably rarer medium than that for existence in which it was -constituted. The head aches; the pulse throbs; every inspiration is a -gasp for breath; exertion becomes intolerable. Mr. Whymper’s example -seems to show that these extreme symptoms disappear with the resolute -endurance of them, and that the system gradually becomes inured to its -altered circumstances. But the probationary course is a severe one; -and even though life flow back to its accustomed channels, labor must -always be painfully impeded by a diminution of the vital supply. And -the minor but very sensible inconveniences caused by the difficulty -of cooking with water that boils twenty or thirty degrees (according -to the height) below 212°, by the reluctance of fires to burn, and of -tobacco to keep alight, and we complete a sufficiently deterrent list -of the penalties attendant on literal compliance with the magnanimous -motto, <i>Altiora petimus</i>.</p> - -<p>That they will, nevertheless, not prove deterrent we may safely -predict. Enthusiasm for science will assuredly overbear all -difficulties that are not impossibilities. Dr. Copeland, taking all -into account, ventures to recommend the occupation during the most -favorable season—say from October to December—of an “extra-elevated -station” 18,500 ft. above the sea, more than one promising site for -which might be found in the vicinity of Lake Titicaca. For a permanent -mountain observatory, however, he believes that 12,500 ft. would be the -outside limit of practical usefulness. It is probable, indeed, that -the Rocky Mountains will anticipate the Andes in lending the aid of -their broad shoulders to lift astronomers towards the stars. Already a -meteorological post has been established on Pike’s Peak in Colorado, -at an altitude of 14,151 ft. Telescopic vision there is said to be of -rare excellence; we shall be surprised if its benefits be not ere long rendered available. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<p>After all, the present strait of optical astronomy is but the -inevitable consequence of its astonishing progress. While instruments -remained feeble and imperfect, atmospheric troubles were comparatively -little felt; they became intolerable when all other obstacles to a vast -increase in the range of distinct vision were removed. The arrival of -that stage in the history of the telescope, when the advantages to be -derived from its further development should be completely neutralised -by the more and more sensibly felt disadvantages of our situation on an -air-encompassed globe, was only a question of time. The point was a -fixed one: it could be reached later only by a more sluggish advance. -Both the difficulty and its remedy were foreseen 167 years ago by the -greatest of astronomers and opticians.</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> -“If the theory of making telescopes,” Sir Isaac Newton wrote in -1717,<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> -“could at length be fully brought into practice, yet there would be -certain bounds beyond which telescopes could not perform. For the air -through which we look upon the stars is in a perpetual tremor as may -be seen by the tremulous motion of shadows cast from high towers, and -by the twinkling of the fixed stars. The only remedy is a most serene -and quiet air, such as may perhaps be found on the tops of the highest -mountains above the grosser clouds.”</p> - -<p class="author">—<i>Edinburgh Review</i>.</p> - -<div><a name="goethe"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>GOETHE</h2> -<p class="center"><b>BY PROF. J. R. SEELEY.</b></p> -<p class="center"><b>III.</b></p> - -<p>The highest rank in literature belongs to those who combine the -properly poetical with philosophical qualities, and crown both with a -certain robust sincerity and common sense. The sovereign poet must be -not merely a singer, but also a sage; to passion and music he must add -large ideas; he must extend in width as well as in height; but, besides -this, he must be no dreamer or fanatic, and must be rooted as firmly -in the hard earth as he spreads widely and mounts freely towards the -sky. Goethe, as we have described him, satisfies these conditions, and -as much can be said of no other man of the modern world but Dante and Shakspeare.</p> - -<p>Of this trio each is complete in all the three dimensions. Each feels -deeply, each knows and sees clearly, and each has a stout grasp of -reality. This completeness is what gives them their universal fame, and -makes them interesting in all times and places. Each, however, is less -complete in some directions than in others. Dante though no fanatic, -yet is less rational than so great a man should have been. Shakspeare -wants academic knowledge. Goethe, too, has his defects, but this is -rather the place for dwelling on his peculiar merits. In respect of -influence upon the world, he has for the present the advantage of being -the latest, and therefore the least obsolete and exhausted, of the -three. But he is also essentially much more of a teacher than his two -predecessors. Alone among them he has a system, a theory of life, which -he has thought and worked out for himself.</p> - -<p>From Shakspeare, no doubt, the world may learn, and has learnt, much, -yet he professed so little to be a teacher, that he has often been -represented as almost without personality, as a mere undisturbed -mirror, in which all Nature reflects itself. Something like a century -passed before it was perceived that his works deserved to be in a -serious sense studied. Dante was to his countrymen a great example -and source of inspiration, but hardly, perhaps, a great teacher. On -the other hand, Goethe was first to his own nation, and has since -been to the whole world, what he describes his own Chiron, “the noble -pedagogue,”<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> -a teacher and wise counsellor on all the most important subjects. To -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -students in almost every department of literature and art, to unsettled -spirits needing advice for the conduct of life, to the age itself in -a great transition, he offers his word of weighty counsel, and is an -acknowledged authority on a greater number of subjects than any other -man. It is the great point of distinction between him and Shakspeare -that he is so seriously didactic. Like Shakspeare myriad-minded, he -has nothing of that ironic indifference, that irresponsibility, which -has been often attributed to Shakspeare. He is, indeed, strangely -indifferent on many points, which other teachers count important; -but the lessons which he himself considers important, he teaches -over and over again with all the seriousness of one who is a teacher -by vocation. And, as I have said, when we look at his teaching as a -whole, we find that it has unity, that, taken together, it makes a -system, not, indeed in the academic sense, but in the sense that a -great principle or view of life is the root from which all the special -precepts proceed. This has, indeed, been questioned. Friedrich Schlegel -made it a complaint against Goethe, that he had “no centre;” but a -centre he has; only the variety of his subjects and styles is so great, -and he abandons himself to each in turn so completely, that in his -works, as in Nature itself, the unity is much less obvious than the -multiplicity. Now that we have formed some estimate of the magnitude -of his influence, and have also distinguished the stages by which -his genius was developed, and his influence in Germany and the world -diffused, it remains to examine his genius itself, the peculiar way of -thinking, and the fundamental ideas through which he influenced the world.</p> - -<p>Never, perhaps, was a more unfortunate formula invented than when, at -a moment of reaction against his ascendancy, it occurred to some one -to assert that Goethe had talent but not genius. No doubt the talent -is there; perhaps no work in literature exhibits a mastery of so many -literary styles as “Faust.” From the sublime lyric of the prologue, -which astonished Shelley, we pass through scenes in which the problems -of human character are dealt with, scenes in which the supernatural -is brought surprisingly near to real life, scenes of humble life -startlingly vivid, grotesque scenes of devilry, scenes of overwhelming -pathos; then, in the second part, we find an incomparable revival of -the Greek drama, and, at the close, a Dantesque vision of the Christian -heaven. Such versatility in a single work is unrivalled; and the -versatility of which Goethe’s writings, as a whole, gives evidence is -much greater still. But to represent him, on this account, as a sort -of mocking-bird, or ready imitator, is not merely unjust. Even if we -give this representation a flattering turn, and describe him as a being -almost superior to humanity, capable of entering fully into all that -men think and feel, but holding himself independent of it all, such -a being as is described (where, I suppose, Goethe is pointed at) in -the Palace of Art, again, I say, it is not merely unjust. Not merely -Goethe was not such a being, but we may express it more strongly and -say: such a being is precisely what Goethe was not. He had, no doubt, -a great power of entering into foreign literatures; he was, no doubt, -indifferent to many controversies which in England, when we began to -lead him, still raged hotly. But these were characteristic qualities, -not of Goethe personally, but of Germany in the age of Goethe. A sort -of cosmopolitan characterlessness marked the nation, so that Lessing -could say in Goethe’s youth that the character of the Germans was to -have no character. Goethe could not but share in the infirmity, but his -peculiarity was that from the beginning he felt it as an infirmity, and -struggled to overcome it. That unbounded intolerance, that readiness to -allow everything and appreciate every one, which was so marked in the -Germans of that time that it is clearly perceptible in their political -history, and contributed to their humiliation by Napoleon, is just -what is satirized in the delineation of Wilhelm Meister. Jarno says -to Wilhelm, “I am glad to see you out of temper; it would be better -still if you could be for once thoroughly angry.” This sentiment was -often in Goethe’s mouth; so far was he from priding himself upon serene -universal impartiality. Crabbe Robinson heard him say what an annoyance -he felt it to appreciate everything equally and to be able to hate -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -nothing. He flattered himself at that time that he had a real aversion. -“I hate,” he said, “everything Oriental” (“Eigentlich hasse ich alles -Orientalische”). He goes further in the “West-östlicher Divan,” -where, in enumerating the qualities a poet ought to have, he lays it -down as indispensable that he should hate many things (“Dann zuletzt -ist unerlässlich dass der Dichter <i>manches hasse</i>”). True, no doubt -that he found it difficult to hate. An infinite good nature was born -in him, and, besides this, he grew up in a society in which all -established opinions had been shaken, so that for a rational man it -was really difficult to determine what deserved hatred or love. What -is wholly untrue in that view of him, which was so fashionable forty -years ago—“I sit apart holding no form of creed, but contemplating -all”—is that this tolerance was the intentional result of cold pride -or self-sufficiency. He does not seem to me to have been either proud -or unsympathetic, and among the many things of which he might boast, -certainly he would not have included a want of definite opinions—he, -who was never tired of rebuking the Germans for their vagueness, and -who admired young Englishmen expressly because they seemed to know -their own minds, even when they had little mind to know. Distinctness, -character, is what he admires, what through life he struggles for, -what he and Schiller alike chide the Germans for wanting. But he -cannot attain it by a short cut. Narrowness is impossible to him, -not only because his mind is large, but because the German public -in their good-natured tolerance have made themselves familiar with -such vast variety of ideas. He cannot be a John Bull, however much he -may admire John Bull, because he does not live in an island. To have -distinct views he must make a resolute act of choice, since all ideas -have been laid before him, all are familiar to the society in which -he lives. This perplexity, this difficulty of choosing what was good -out of such a heap of opinions, he often expresses: “The people to be -sure are not accustomed to what is best, but then they are so terribly -well-read!”<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> -But it is just the struggle he makes for distinctness that is admirable -in him. The breadth, the tolerance, he has in common with his German -contemporaries; what he has to himself is the resolute determination to -arrive at clearness.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he may seem indifferent even to those whose minds are -less contracted than was the English mind half a century ago, for this -reason, that his aim, though not less serious than that of others, is -not quite the same. He seldom takes a side in the controversies of the -time. You do not find him weighing the claims of Protestantism and -Catholicism, nor following with eager interest the dispute between -orthodoxy and rationalism. Again when all intellectual Germany is -divided between the new philosophy of Kant and the old system, and -later, when varieties show themselves in the new philosophy, when -Fichte and Schelling succeed to the vogue of Kant, Goethe remains -undisturbed by all these changes of opinion. He is almost as little -affected by political controversy. The French Revolution irritates him, -but not so much because it is opposed to his convictions as because it -creates disturbance. Even the War of Liberation cannot rouse him. Was -he not then a quietest? Did he not hold himself aloof, whether in a -proud feeling of superiority or in mere Epicurean indifference, from -all the interests and passions of humanity? If this were the case, or -nearly the case, Goethe would have no claim to rank in the first class -of literature. He might pass for a prodigy of literary expertness and -versatility, but he would attract no lasting interest. Such quietism -in a man upon whom the eyes of a whole nation were bent, could never -be compared to the quietism of Shakspeare, who belonged to the -uninfluential classes, and to whom no one looked for guidance.</p> - -<p>But in truth the quietism of Goethe was the effect not of indifference -or of selfishness, but of preoccupation. He had prescribed to himself -in early life a task, and he declined to be drawn aside from it by the -controversies of the time. It was a task worthy of the powers of the -greatest man; it appeared to him, when he devoted himself to it, more -useful and necessary than the special undertakings of theologian or -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -philosopher. At the outset he might fairly claim to be the only -earnest man in Germany, and might regard the partisans alike of Church -and University as triflers in comparison with himself. The French -Revolution changed the appearance of things. He could not deny that -the political questions opened by that convulsion were of the greatest -importance. But he was now forty years old, and the work of his life -had begun so early, had been planned with so much care and prosecuted -with so much method, that he was less able than many men might have -been to make a new beginning at forty. Hence he was merely disturbed by -the change which inspired so many others, and to the end of his life -continued to look back upon the twenty odd years between the Seven -Years’ War and the Revolution as a golden time, as in a peculiar sense -his own time.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> -The new events disturbed him in his habits without actually forcing him -to form new habits; he found himself able, though with less comfort, -to lead the same sort of life as before; and so he passed into the -Napoleonic period and arrived in time at the year of liberation, 1813. -Then, indeed, his quietism became shocking, and he felt it so himself; -but it was now really too late to abandon a road on which he had -travelled so long, and which he had honestly selected as the best.</p> - -<p>What, then, was this task to which Goethe had so early devoted -himself, and which seemed to him too important to be postponed even -to the exigencies of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic periods? It -was that task about which, since Goethe’s time, so much has been -said—self-culture. “From my boyhood,” says Wilhelm, speaking evidently -for Goethe himself, “it has been my wish and purpose to develop -completely all that is in me.” Elsewhere he says, “to make my own -existence harmonious.” Here is the refined form of selfishness of which -Goethe has been so often accused. And undoubtedly the phrase is one -which will bear a selfish interpretation, just as a Christian may be -selfish when he devotes himself to the salvation of his soul. But in -the one case, as in the other, it is before all things evident that -the task undertaken is very serious, and that the man who undertakes -it must be of a very serious disposition. When, as in Goethe’s case it -is self-planned and self-imposed, such an undertaking is comparable -to those great practical experiments in the conduct of life which -were made by the early Greek philosophers. Right or wrong, such an -experiment can only be imagined by an original man, and can only be -carried into effect by a man of very steadfast will. But we may add -that it is no more necessary to give a selfish interpretation to this -formula than to the other formulæ by which philosophers have tried -to describe the object of a moral life. A harmonious existence does -not necessarily mean an existence passed in selfish enjoyment. Nor is -the pursuit of it necessarily selfish, since the best way to procure -a harmonious existence for others is to find out by an experiment -practised on oneself in what a harmonious existence consists, and by -what methods it may be attained. For the present, at least, let us -content ourselves with remarking that Goethe, who knew his own mind -as well as most people, considered himself to carry disinterestedness -almost to an extreme. What especially struck him in Spinoza, he says, -was the boundless unselfishness that shone out of such sentences as -this, “He who loves God must not require that God should love him -again.” “For,” he continues, “to be unselfish in everything, especially -in love and friendship, was my highest pleasure, my maxim, my -discipline, so that that petulant sentence written latter, ‘If I love -you, what does that matter to you?’ came from my very heart.”</p> - -<p>However this may be, when a man, so richly gifted otherwise, displays -the rarest of all manly qualities—viz., the power and persistent will -to make his life systematic, and place all his action under the control -of a principle freely and freshly conceived, he rises at once into the -highest class of men. It is the strenuous energy with which Goethe -enters into the battle of life, and fights there for a victory into -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -which others may enter, that makes him great, that makes him the -teacher of these later ages, and not some foppish pretension of -being above it all, of seeing through it and despising it. But just -because he conceived the problem in his own manner, and not precisely -as it is conceived by the recognized authorities on the conduct of -life, he could take little interest in the controversies which those -authorities held among themselves, and therefore passed for indifferent -to the problem itself. He did not admit that the question was to form -an opinion as to the conditions of the life after death, though he -himself hoped for such a future life, for he wanted rather rightly to -understand and to deal with the present life; nor did he want what is -called in the schools a philosophy, remarking probably that the most -approved professors of philosophy lived after all much in the same way -as other people. It seemed to him that he was more earnest than either -the theologians or the philosophers, just because he disregarded their -disputes and grappled directly with the question which they under -various pretexts evaded—how to make existence satisfactory.</p> - -<p>He grasps it in the rough unceremonious manner of one who means -business, and also in the manner which Rousseau had made fashionable. -We have desires given us by God or Nature, convertible terms to him; -these desires are meant to receive satisfaction, for the world is not -a stupid place, and the Maker of the world is not stupid. This notion -that human life is not a stupid affair, and that the fault must be ours -if it seems so, that for everything wrong there must be a remedy,<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> -is a sort of fundamental axiom with him, as it is with most moral -reformers. Even when he has death before his mind he still protests. -“‘He is no more!’ Ridiculous! Why ‘no more?’ ‘It is all over.’ What -can be the meaning of that? Then it might as well never have existed. -Give me rather an eternal void.” And this way of thinking brings him at -once, or so he thinks, into direct conflict with the reigning system -of morality, which is founded not on the satisfaction, but on the -mortification of desire. He declares war against the doctrine of -self-denial or abstinence. “Abstain, abstain!—that is the eternal -song that rings in every ear. In the morning I awake in horror, and am -tempted to shed bitter tears at the sight of day, which in its course -will not gratify one wish, not one single wish.” So speaks Faust, and -Goethe ratifies it in his own person, when he complains that, “we are -not allowed to develop what we have in us, and are denied what is -necessary to supply our deficiencies; robbed of what we have won by -labor or has been allowed us by kindness, and find ourselves compelled, -before we can form a clear opinion about it to give up our personality, -at first in instalments, but at last completely; also that we are -expected to make a more delighted face over the cup the more bitter it -tastes, lest the unconcerned spectator should be affronted by any thing -like a grimace.” He adds that this system is grounded on the maxim -that “All is vanity,” a maxim which characteristically he pronounces -false and blasphemous. That “all is <i>not</i> vanity” is indeed almost the -substance of Goethe’s philosophy. “His faith,” so he tells the Houri -who, at the gate of Paradise, requires him to prove his orthodoxy, “has -always been that the world, whichever way it rolls, is a thing to love, -a thing to be thankful for.”<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a></p> - -<p>This doctrine again, is not in itself or necessarily a doctrine of -selfishness, though it may easily be represented so. It may be true -that all virtue requires self-denial; but for that very reason we may -easily conceive a system of senseless and aimless self-denial setting -itself up in the place of virtue. It is not every kind of self-denial -that Goethe has in view, but the particular kind by which he has found -himself hampered. His indignation is not moved when he sees absistence -practised in order to attain some great end; it is the abstinence which -leads to nothing and aims at nothing that provokes him. He has given -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> -two striking dramatic pictures of it. There is Faust, who cannot -tolerate the emptiness of his secluded life; but does it appear that he -rebels against it simply because it brings no pleasure to himself, even -though it confers benefit upon others and upon the world? The burden -of his complaint is that his abstinence does no good to anybody, that -the studies for which he foregoes pleasure lead to no real knowledge; -and expressly to make this clear, Goethe introduces the story of the -plague, which Faust and his father had tried to cure by a drug, which -did infinitely more harm than the plague itself. The other picture is -that of Brother Martin in “Götz,” the young monk who envies Götz his -life so full of movement and emotion, while he is himself miserable -under the restraint of his vows. Here, again, the complaint is that no -good comes of such abstinence. The life of self-denial is conceived as -an utter stagnation, unhealthy even from a moral point of view. It is -contrasted with a life not of luxury, but of strenuous energy, at once -wholesome and useful to the world.</p> - -<p>So far, then, Goethe’s position is identical with that which -Protestants take up against monasticism, when they maintain that -powers were given to be used, desires implanted in order that they -might be satisfied. He does not, any more than they, assert that -when some great end is in view it may not be nobler to mortify -the desire than to indulge it. But he applies the principle more -consistently, and to a greater number of cases than they had applied -it. Not against celibacy or useless self-torture only, but against -all omission to satisfy desire, against all sluggishness or apathy -in enjoyment—understood always that no special end is to be gained -by the self-denial—he protests. In his poem, called the “General -Confession” (“Generalbeichte”) he calls his followers to repent of the -sin of having often let slip an opportunity of enjoyment, and makes -them solemnly resolve not to be guilty of such sins in future. Here, at -least, the reader may say, selfishness is openly preached; and perhaps -this is the interpretation most commonly put upon the poem. Yet it is -certainly unjust to pervert in this way an intentional paradox, and, in -fact, in that very poem Goethe introduces the most elevated utterance -of his philosophy; for the vow which the penitents are required to -take is that they will “wean themselves from half-measures and live -resolutely in the Whole, in the <i>Good</i>, and the Beautiful!” Goethe, in -short, holds, as many other philosophers have done, that an elevated -morality may be based on the idea of pleasure not less than on the idea of duty.</p> - -<p>This principle, not new in itself, led to very new and important -results when it was taken up not by a mere reasoner but by a man of -the most various gifts and of the greatest energy. By “pleasure” -or “satisfaction of desire” is usually meant something obvious, -something passive, merely a supply of agreeable sensations to each of -the five senses. In Goethe’s mouth the word takes quite a different -meaning. He cannot conceive pleasure without energetic action, and -the most necessary of all pleasures to him is that of imaginative -creation. The desires, again, for which he claims satisfaction—what -are they? Chief among them is the desire to enter into the secret of -the universe, to recognize “what it is which holds the world together -within.” Such desires as these might be satisfied, such pleasures -enjoyed, without any very culpable self-indulgence. And existence -would be satisfactory, or, as he calls it, harmonious, if it offered -continually and habitually food for desire so understood, which is -almost the same thing as capacity. But there are hindrances. The chief -of these is the supposition of self denial. Of course every practical -man knows that self-denial of a certain kind must be constantly -practised in life. The small object must be foregone for the sake of -the greater, the immediate pleasure for the sake of the remote, nay, -the personal pleasure for the sake of the pleasure which is generous -and sympathetic. But the timid superstition which sets up self-denial, -divorced from all rational ends, as a thing good and right in itself, -which makes us afraid of enjoyment as such, this is the chief -hindrance, and against this Goethe launches his chief work “Faust. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>” -There is another hindrance, less obvious and needing to be dealt with -in another way, which Goethe therefore attacks usually in prose rather -than in poetry.</p> - -<p>Man, as Goethe conceives him, is essentially active. The happiness he -seeks is not passive enjoyment, but an occupation, a pursuit adapted -to his inborn capacities. It follows that a principal condition of -happiness is a just self-knowledge. He will be happy, who knows what -he wants and what he can do. Here again Goethe gives importance -to a doctrine which in itself is obvious enough by the persistent -energy with which he applies it. He has been himself bewildered by -the multiplicity of his own tastes and aptitudes. He has wanted to -do everything in turn, and he has found himself capable to a certain -extent of doing everything. Hence the question—What is my true -vocation? has been to him exceptionally difficult. In studying it -he has become aware of the numberless illusions and misconceptions -which hide from most men the true nature of their own aptitudes, and -therefore the path of their happiness. He finds that the circumstances -of childhood, and especially our system of education, which “excites -wishes, instead of awakening tastes,” have the effect of creating a -multitude of unreal ambitions, deceptive impulses and semblances of -aptitudes. He finds that most men have been more or less misled by -these illusions, have more or less mistaken their true vocation, and -therefore missed their true happiness. On this subject he has collected -a vast mass of observations, and, in fact, added a new chapter to -practical morality. This is the subject of “Wilhelm Meister,” not -the most attractive nor the most perfect, but perhaps the most -characteristic, of Goethe’s works and, as it were, the text-book -of the Goethian philosophy. It is said not to be widely popular in -Germany. Most English readers lay it down bewildered, wondering what -Goethe’s admirers can see in it so extraordinary, and astonished at -the indifference to what we have agreed to call morality—that is, the -part of morality that concerns the relations of the sexes—which reigns -throughout it. I shall touch on this latter point later. Meanwhile, let -me remark, that few books have had a deeper influence upon modern -literature than this famous novel. It is the first important instance -of a novel which deals principally and on a large scale with opinions -or views of life. How Wilhelm mistook his vocation, and how this -mistake led to many others; how a secret society, the Society of the -Tower, taught a doctrine on the subject of vocations, and of the -method by which men are to be assisted in discovering their true -vocations; how Wilhelm is assisted and by what stages he arrives at -clearness—this is the subject of a long and elaborate narrative. It -is throughout most seriously instructive; it is seldom very amusing; -and we may add that the moral of the story is not brought out with very -convincing distinctness. But it has been the model upon which the novel -of the present day is formed. Written twenty years before the Waverley -Novels, which are in the opposite extreme, since they make no serious -attempt to teach anything and dwell upon everything which Goethe -disregards, adventure, surprise, costume, it began to produce its -effect among us when the influence of the Waverley Novel was exhausted. -The idea now prevalent, which gives to the novel a practical as well -as an artistic side, the idea which prompts us, when we wish to preach -any kind of social or moral reform, to write a novel about it, seems to -have made way chiefly through Goethe’s authority.</p> - -<p>But the substance of “Wilhelm Meister” is even more important than the -form. It presents the whole subject of morality under a new light, and -as in this respect it is only the fullest of a number of utterances -to the same effect made by Goethe, it can never be fully appreciated -when it is considered by itself, but must be judged in the closest -connection with his other works and with his life. Every attempt to -treat such a subject as morality in an original manner has something -alarming about it. Such attempts ought to be laid only before minds -strong enough to consider them calmly, and yet of necessity they -come to the knowledge of “the weak brethren,” who are frightened -or unsettled by them. Moreover, such attempts are always likely to -be one-sided. As it is usually an intense perception of something -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -overlooked into the orthodox morality that prompts them, the innovator -is apt to be hurried into the opposite extreme, and to overlook in his -turn what the orthodox morality has taught rightly. Goethe laid himself -open to the charge of immorality. “Wilhelm Meister” was received -with horror by the religious world; it was, if I remember right, -publicly burnt by Count Stolberg. In England, Wordsworth spoke of it -with disgust, and it still remains the book which chiefly justifies -the profound distrust and aversion with which Goethe has been and is -regarded among those who are Christian either in the dogmatic or in the -larger sense. Not unnaturally it must be confessed.</p> - -<p>But I do seriously submit that Christians should learn to be less timid -than they are. In their absorbing anxiety for “the weaker brethren” -they often seem to run the risk of becoming “weak brethren” themselves. -We ought not to come to the consideration of moral questions under the -influence of panic and nervous fright. It is true that few books seem -at first sight more directly opposed than “Wilhelm Meister” to that -practical Christianity which we love to think of as beyond controversy, -that spirit which, as it breathes from almost all Christian churches -and sects alike, strikes us as undoubtedly the essential part of -religion. At first sight the book seems secular, heathenish in an -extraordinary degree. Let us, then, if we will, warn young people -away from it; but let us ask ourselves at the same time how a man so -gifted, so serious and also so good natured—for there is no appearance -of rancor in the book, which even contains a picture, tenderly and -pleasingly drawn, of Christian pietism—could come to take a view so -different from that commonly accepted of questions about which we are -all so anxious. Such a course may lead us to see mistakes made by -modern Christianity, which may have led Goethe also into mistakes by -reaction; whereas the other course, of simply averting our eyes in -horror, can lead to no good.</p> - -<p>We may distinguish between the positive and the negative part of this -moral scheme. All that “Wilhelm Meister” contains on the subject of -vocations seems valuable, and the prominence which he gives to the -subject is immensely important. In considering how human life should be -ordered, Goethe begins with the fact that each man has an occupation, -which fills most of his time. It seems to him, therefore, the principal -problem to secure that this occupation should be not only worthy, but -suited to the capacity of the individual and pursued in a serious -spirit. What can be more simple and obvious? And yet, if we reflect, we -shall see that moralists have not usually taken this simple view, and -that in the accepted morality this whole class of questions is little -considered. Duties to this person and to that, to men, to women, to -dependents, to the poor, to the State—these are considered; but the -greatest of all duties, that of choosing one’s occupation rightly, is -overlooked. And yet it is the greatest of duties, because on it depend -the usefulness and effectiveness of the man’s life considered as a -whole, and, at the same time, his own peace of mind, or, as Goethe -calls it, his inward harmony. Nevertheless, it is so much overlooked -that in ordinary views of life all moral interest is, as it were, -concentrated upon the hours of leisure. The occupation is treated as a -matter of course, a necessary routine about which little can be said. -True life is regarded as beginning when work is over. In work men may -no doubt be honest or dishonest, energetic or slothful, persevering or -desultory, successful or unsuccessful, but that is all; it is only in -leisure that they can be interesting, highly moral, amiable, poetical. -Such a view of life is, to say the least, unfortunate. It surrenders to -deadness and dulness more than half of our existence.</p> - -<p>In primitive times, when the main business of life was war, this was -otherwise. Then men gave their hearts to the pursuit to which they -gave their time. What was most important was also most interesting, -and the poet when he sang of war sang of business too. Hence came the -inimitable fire and life of Homeric and Shakspearian poetry. But when -war gave place to industry, it seemed that this grand unity of human -life is gone. Business, the important half of life, became unpoetical, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -from the higher point of view uninteresting—for how could the -imagination dwell on the labors of the office or the factory?—and all -higher interest was confined to that part of life in which energy is -relaxed. Goethe’s peculiar realism at once prompts and enables him to -introduce a reform here. He denies that business is uninteresting, and -maintains that the fault is in our own narrowness and in our slavery -to a poetical tradition. It is the distinction of “Wilhelm Meister” -that it is actually a novel about business, not merely a realistic -novel venturing to approach the edge of that slough of dulness which -is supposed to be at the centre of all our lives, but actually a novel -about business as such, an attempt to show that the occupation to which -a man gives his life is a matter not only for serious thought, but that -it is a matter also for philosophy and poetry. That such a novel must -at first sight appear tame and dull is obvious; it undertakes to create -the taste by which it can be enjoyed, and will be condemned at once by -all who are not disposed to give it a serious trial. But the question -it raises is the fundamental question of modern life. Comprehensive and -practical at once, Goethe’s mind has found out that root of bitterness -which is at the bottom of all the uneasy social agitations of the -nineteenth century. We live in the industrial ages, and he has asked -the question whether industry must of necessity be a form of slavery, -or whether it can be glorified and made into a source of moral health -and happiness.</p> - -<p>It is commonly said that “Wilhelm Meister,” seems to make Art the one -object of life; but this is not Goethe’s intention. He was himself an -artist, and, as the work is in a great degree autobiographical, art -naturally comes into the foreground, and the book becomes especially -interesting to artists, but the real subject of it is vocations in -general. In the later books, indeed, art drops into the background, and -we have a view of feminine vocations. The “Beautiful Soul” represents -the pietistic view of life; then Therese appears in contrast, -representing the economic or utilitarian view; finally, Natalie hits -the golden mean, being practical like Therese but less utilitarian, -and, ideal like her aunt, the pietist, but less introspective. On the -whole, then, the lesson of the book is that we should give unity to -our lives by devoting them with hearty enthusiasm to some pursuit, and -that the pursuit is assigned to us by Nature through the capacities -she has given us. It is thus that Goethe substitutes for the idea of -pleasure that of the satisfaction of special inborn aptitudes different -in each individual. His system treats every man as a genius, for it -regards every man as having his own unique individuality, for which -it claims the same sort of tender consideration that is conceded to -genius. But in laying down such rules Goethe thinks first of himself. -He has spent long years in trying to make out his own vocation. He has -had an opportunity of living almost every kind of life in turn. It was -not till he returned from Italy that he felt himself to have arrived at -clearness. What was Goethe’s vocation? Or, since happiness consists in -faithful obedience to a natural vocation, what was Goethe’s happiness? -His happiness is a kind of religion, a perpetual rapt contemplation, a -beatific vision. The object of this contemplation is Nature, the laws -or order of the Universe to which we belong. Of such contemplation he -recognizes two kinds, one of which he calls Art and the other Science. -He was in the habit of thinking that in Art and Science taken together -he possessed an equivalent for what other men call their religion. -Thus, in 1817, on the occasion of the tercentenary of the Reformation, -he writes a poem in which he expresses his devout resolution of showing -his Protestantism, as ever, by Art and Science.<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> -It was because his view of Art was so realistic, that he was able -thus to regard Art as a sort of twin-sister of Science. But the -principle involved in this twofold contemplation of Nature is the very -principle of religion itself, and in one sense it is true that no man -was ever more deliberately and consciously religious than Goethe. No -man asserted more emphatically that the energy of action ought to be -accompanied by the energy of feeling. It is the consistent principle of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> -his life that the whole man ought to act together, and he pushes it -so far that he seems to forbid all division of labor in science. This -is the position taken up in “Faust” which perhaps is seldom rightly -understood. Science, according to “Faust,” must not be dry analysis -pursued at a desk in a close room; it must be direct wondering -contemplation of Nature. The secrets of the world must disclose -themselves to a loving gaze, not to dry thinking (<i>trocknes Sinnen</i>), -man must converse with Nature “as one spirit with another,” “look into -her breast as into the bosom of a friend.” How we should <i>not</i> study -is conveyed to us by the picture of Wagner, who is treated with so -much contempt. He is simply the ordinary man of science, perhaps we -may think the modest practical investigator, of the class to which -the advance of science is mainly due. But Goethe has no mercy on -him—why? Because his nature is divided, because his feelings do -not keep pace with his thoughts, because his attention is concentrated -upon single points. Such a man is to Goethe “the dry creeper,” “the -most pitiable of all the sons of earth.”</p> - -<p>Thus it is, then, that Art and Science taken together, the living, -loving, worshipping contemplation of Nature, out of which comes the -knowledge of Nature, are to Goethe religion. But is not such a religion -wholly different from religion as commonly understood, wholly different -from Christianity?</p> - -<p>It was, indeed, very different from such Christianity as he found -professed around him. In his youth Goethe was acquainted with several -eminently religious persons, Fräulein von Klettenberg, the Frankfurt -friend of his family, Jung Stilling, and Lavater. He listened to -these not only with his unfailing good humor, but at times with more -conviction than “Dichtung und Wahrheit” would lead us to suppose. In -some of his early letters he himself adopts pietistic language. But -as his own peculiar ideas developed themselves, they separated him -more and more from the religious world of his time. At the time of his -Italian journey and for some years afterwards, we find him speaking -of Christianity not merely with indifference, but with a good deal of -bitterness. This hostility took rather a peculiar form. As the whole -disposition of his mind leads him towards religion, as he can no more -help being religious than he can help being a poet, he does not reject -religion but changes his religion. He becomes, or tries to become, -a heathen in the positive sense of the word; for the description of -Goethe as the Great Heathen is not a mere epithet thrown at him by -his adversaries. He provoked and almost claimed it in his sketch of -Winckelmann, where, after enthusiastic praise of the ancients and of -Winckelmann as an interpreter of the ancient world, he inserted a -chapter entitled, “Heidnisches,” which begins thus: “This picture of -the antique spirit, absorbed in this world and its good things, leads -us directly to the reflection that such excellences are only compatible -with a heathenish way of thinking. The self-confidence, the attention -to the present, the pure worship of the gods as ancestors, the -admiration of them, as it were, only as works of art, the submission -to an irresistible fate, the future hope also confined to this world, -since it rests on the preciousness of posthumous fame; all this belongs -so necessarily together, makes such an indivisible whole, creates a -condition of human life intended by Nature herself, that we become -conscious, alike at the height of enjoyment, and in the depth of -sacrifice and even of ruin, of an indestructible health.” Clearly when -he wrote this (about 1804) Goethe wished and intended to pass for a -heathen. And, indeed, the antique attracts him scarcely at all from the -historical side—he is no republican, no lover of liberty—but almost -exclusively because it offers a religion which is to him the religion -of health and joy.</p> - -<p>Is it, then, true that Christianity is a system of morbid and -melancholy introspectiveness, sacrificing all the freshness and glory -of the present life to an awful future? He makes this assumption, and -had almost a right to make it, since the Christianity of his time had -almost exclusively this character. He was, however, himself half aware -that there was all the difference in the world between the Christianity -of his time and original Christianity or Christianity as it might be. -And even at the time of his greatest bitterness he drops expressions -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -which show that he does not altogether relinquish his interest in -Christianity, but keeps open for himself the alternative of appearing -as a reformer rather than an assailant of it. In the third period and -the old age his tone is a good deal more conciliating than in the -passage above quoted. In the Autobiography he appears, on the whole, as -a Christian, and even makes faint attempts here and there to write in -a style that Christians may find edifying. He tells us expressly that -he had little sympathy with the Encyclopædists, and, in a passage of -the “West-östlicher Divan,” he declares with real warmth that he “has -taken into his heart the glorious image of our sacred books, and, as -the Lord’s image was impressed on St. Veronica’s cloth, he refreshes -himself in the stillness of the breast in spite of all negation and -hindrance with the inspiring vision of faith.” Again, when in the -“Wanderjahre” he grapples constructively, but somewhat too late, with -the problems of the nineteenth century, we find him assuming a reformed -Christianity<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> -as the religion of the future.</p> - -<p>May we then regard Goethe as one who in reality only opposed the -corruptions of Christianity even when he seemed to oppose Christianity -itself? Certainly <i>other worldliness</i> does not now appear, at -least in England, as a necessary part of Christianity. Surely that -contrast between the healthy spirit of antiquity and the morbidness -of Christianity, which was like a fixed idea in the mind of Goethe’s -generation, need not trouble us now. Those sweeping generalizations -belonged to the infancy of the historical sciences. Mediævalism does -not now seem identical with Christianity. The sombre aspect of our -religion is clearing away. Christian self-denial now appears not as -the aimless, fruitless mortification of desire which Goethe detested, -but as the heroic strenuousness which he practiced. The world which -Christians renounce now appears to be, not the universe nor the present -life, but only conventionalism and tyrannous fashion. With such a -religion, Goethe’s philosophy is sufficiently in harmony. According to -these definitions the spirit even of “Wilhelm Meister” is not secular. -Even his avowal of heathenism comes to wear a different aspect, when -we find him writing thus of the religion of the old Testament: “Among -all heathen religions, for to this class belongs that of Israel as much -as any, this one has great points of superiority,” &c. (he mentions -particularly its “excellent collection of sacred books”). So that, -after all, Goethe may only have been a heathen as the prophet Isaiah -was a heathen!</p> - -<p>Thus hindrance after hindrance to our regarding Goethe as a great -prophet of the higher life and of the true religion disappears. There -remains one which is not so easily removed. What surprises the English -reader in “Wilhelm Meister” is not merely the prominence given to Art, -or the serious devotion to things present and to the present life, but -also the extraordinary levity with which it treats the relations of men -and women. The book might, in fact, be called thoroughly immoral, if -the use of that word which is common among us were justifiable. More -correctly speaking, it is immoral throughout on one point; immoral, in -Goethe’s peculiar, inimitable, good-natured manner. The levity is the -more startling in a book otherwise so remarkably grave. Every subject -but one is discussed with seriousness; in parts the solemnity of the -writer’s wisdom becomes quite oppressive; but on the relations of men -and women he speaks in a thoroughly worldly tone. Just where most -moralists grow serious, he becomes wholly libertine, indifferent, and -secular. There is nothing in this novel of the homely domestic morality -of the Teutonic races; a French tone pervades it, and this tone is more -or less perceptible in the other writings of Goethe, especially those -of the second period, with the exception of “Hermann und Dorothea.” On -this subject, the great and wise thinker descends to a lower level; he -seems incapable of regarding it with seriousness; or if he does treat -it seriously, as in the Elective Affinities, he startles us still more -by a certain crude audacity. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>It seems possible to trace how Goethe fell into this extraordinary -moral heresy. Starting from the idea of the satisfaction of desire, -and with a strong prejudice against all systems of self-denial, -he perceived, further, that chastity is the favorite virtue of -mediævalism, that it is peculiarly Catholic and monastic. Then, as -his mind turned more and more to the antique, he found himself in -a world of primitive morals, where the woman is half a slave. He -found that in the ancient world friendship is more and love less -than in the modern—to this point, too, Winckelmann had called his -attention—and, since he had adopted it as a principle that the -ancients were healthy-minded and that the moderns are morbid, he -jumped to the conclusion that the sentimental view of love is but a -modern illusion. He accustomed his imagination to the lower kind of -love which we meet with in classical poetry, the love of Achilles for -Briseis, of Ajax for Tecmessa. In his early pamphlet against Wieland -(“Götter, Helden und Wieland,” 1773), we find him already upon this -train of reasoning, and his conclusions are announced with the most -unceremonious plainness. How seriously they were adopted may be seen -from the “Roman Elegies,” written fifteen years later. Among the many -reactions which the eighteenth century witnessed against the spirit of -Christianity, scarcely any is so startling and remarkable as that which -comes to light in these poems. Here the woman has sunk again to her -ancient level, and we find ourselves once more among the Hetaeræ of old -Greek cities. After reading these wonderful poems, if we go through the -list of Goethe’s female characters we shall note how many among them -belong to the class of Hetaeræ—Clärchen. Marianne, Philine, Gretchen, -the Bayadere. And if we turn to his life, we find the man, who shrank -more than once from a worthy marriage, taking a Tecmessa to his tent. -The woman who became at last his wife was spoken of by him in a letter -to the Frau von Stein, as “that poor creature.” She is the very beauty -celebrated in the “Roman Elegies.”</p> - -<p>This strange moral theory could not but have strange consequences. -Love, as Goethe knows it, is very tender, and has a lyric note as fresh -as that of a song-bird; but it passes away like the songs of spring. In -his Autobiography, one love-passage succeeds another, each is -charmingly described, but each comes speedily to an end. How far in -each case he was to blame is matter of controversy. But he seems to -betray a way of thinking about women such as might be natural to an -Oriental Sultan. “I was in that agreeable phase,” he writes, “when a -new passion had begun to spring up in me before the old one had quite -disappeared.” About Friederika he blames himself without reserve, -and uses strong expressions of contrition; but he forgets the matter -strangely soon. In his distress of mind he says he found riding, and -especially skating, bring much relief. This reminds us of the famous -letter to the Frau von Stein about coffee. He is always ready in a -moment to shake off the deepest impressions and to receive new ones; -and he never looks back. A curious insensibility, which seems imitated -from the apparent insensibility of Nature herself, shows itself in his -works by the side of the deepest pathos. Faust never once mentions -Gretchen again, after that terrible prison scene; her remembrance does -not seem to trouble him; she seems entirely forgotten, until, just at -the end, among the penitents who surround the Mater Gloriosa, there -appears one who has borne the name of Gretchen. In like manner—this -shocked Schiller—when Mignon dies she seems instantly forgotten, and -the business of the novel scarcely pauses for a moment.</p> - -<p>We are also to remember that Goethe was a man of the old <i>régime</i>. -If he who had such an instinctive comprehension of feminine character, -at the same time treats women in this Oriental fashion, we are to -remember that he lived in a country of despotic Courts, and also that -he was entirely outside the movement of reform. Had he entered into the -reforming movement of his age, he might have striven to elevate women, -as he might have heralded and welcomed some of the ideas of 1789, and -the nationality movements of 1808 and 1813. He certainly felt at times -that all was not right in the status of women (“Der Frauen Schicksal -ist beklagenswerth”), and how narrowly confined was their happiness -(“Wie enggebunden ist des Weibes Glück,”), as he certainly felt how -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> -miserable was the political conditions of Germany. Nevertheless he did -not take the path either of social or of political reform. He worked in -another region, a deeper region. He was a reformer on the great scale -in literature, art, education, that is, in culture, but he was not a -reformer of institutions. And as he did not look forward to a change in -institutions, his views and his very morality rested on the assumption -of a state of society in many respects miserably bad.</p> - -<p>But the effect of this aberration upon Goethe’s character as a teacher -and upon his influence has been most disastrous. And inevitably, for -as it has been the practice in the Christian world to lay all the -stress of morality upon that very virtue which Goethe almost entirely -repudiates, he appears not only to be no moralist but an enemy of -morality. And as he once brought a devil upon the stage, we identify -him with his own Mephistopheles, though, in fact, the tone of cold -irony is not by any means congenial to him. He has the reputation of -a being awfully wise, who has experienced all feelings good and bad, -but has survived them, and from whose writings there rises a cold -unwholesome exhalation, the odor of moral decay. It is thought that he -offers culture, art, manifold intellectual enjoyment, but at the price -of virtue, faith, patriotism.</p> - -<p>If I have taken a just view, the good and bad characteristics of his -writings stand in a different relation. It is not morality itself that -he regards with indifference, but one important section of morality. -And he is an indifferentist here, partly because he is a man formed -in the last years of the old <i>régime</i>, partly because he is borne -too far on the tide of reaction against Catholic and monastic ideas. -Nevertheless, he remains a moralist; and in his positive teaching he is -one of the greatest moral teachers the world has ever seen. In his life -he displayed some of the greatest and most precious virtues, a nobly -conscientious use of great powers, a firm disregard of popularity, an -admirable capacity for the highest kind of friendship. His view of life -and literature is, in general, not ironical and not enervating, but -sincere, manly, and hopeful. And his view of morality and religion, if -we consider it calmly and not in that spirit of agonized timidity which -reigns in the religious world, will perhaps appear to be not now very -dangerous where it is wrong, and full of fresh instruction where it -is right. The drift of the nineteenth century, the progress of those -reforms in which Goethe took so little interest, have tended uniformly -to the elevation of woman, so that it seems now scarcely credible -that at the end of the last century great thinkers can seriously have -preferred to contemplate her in the half servile condition in which -classical poetry exhibits her. On this point at least the world is -not likely to become pagan again. On the other hand Carlyle himself -scarcely exaggerated the greatness of Goethe as a prophet of new -truth alike in morals and in religion. Just at the moment when the -supernaturalist theory, standing alone, seemed to have exhausted its -influence, and to be involving religion in its own decline, Goethe -stood forth as a rapt adorer of the God in Nature.<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a> -Naturalism in his hands appeared to be no dull system of platitudes, no -empty delusive survival of an exploded belief, but a system as definite -and important as Science, as rich and glorious as Art. Morality in his -hands appeared no longer morbid, unnaturally solemn, unwholesomely -pathetic, but robust, cheerful, healthy, a twin-sister of happiness. -In his hands also morality and religion appeared inseparably united, -different aspects of that free energy, which in him was genius, and in -every one who is capable of it resembles genius. Lastly, his bearing -towards Christianity, when he had receded from the exaggerations -of his second period, was better, so long as it seemed hopeless to -purge Christianity of its <i>other-worldliness</i>, than that of the -zealots on either side. He entered into no clerical or anti-clerical -controversies; but, while he spoke his mind with great frankness, did -not forget to distinguish between clericalism and true Christianity, -cherished no insane ambition of destroying the Church or founding a new religion,<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> -and counselled us in founding our future society to make Christianity -a principal element in its religion, and not to neglect the “excellent -collection of sacred books” left us by the Hebrews.—<i>Contemporary Review</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>BYGONE CELEBRITIES AND LITERARY RECOLLECTIONS.</h2> -<p class="center"><b>BY CHARLES MACKAY.</b></p> -<h3>I. <span class="smcap">Daniel O’Connell—Serjeant Talfourd—Robert Carruthers.</span></h3> - -<p>The three gentlemen whose names appear at the head of this chapter -of my reminiscences, breakfasted together at the table of Mr. -Rogers, along with our host and myself, in the summer of 1845. They -were all remarkable and agreeable men, and played a part more or -less distinguished in the social life of the time. Mr. O’Connell -called himself, and was called by his friends, the Liberator, but -was virtually the Dictator, or uncrowned king, of the Irish people. -Serjeant, afterwards Judge, Talfourd, was an eminent lawyer—a -very eloquent speaker, and a poet of some renown. Mr. Robert -Carruthers was the editor of the <i>Inverness Courier</i>, a paper of -much literary influence; a man of varied acquirements and extensive -reading, particularly familiar with the literature and history of -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and more especially with -the writings of Pope, his contemporaries and predecessors. Whenever -Mr. Macaulay, while engaged on the “History of England,” which, -unfortunately, he did not live to complete, was in doubt about an -incident, personal or national, that occurred during the reigns of -James II., William and Mary, or Queen Anne, and was too busy to -investigate for himself, he had only to appeal for information to Mr. -Carruthers, and the information was at once supplied from the abundant -stores of that gentleman’s memory. I was well acquainted with all of -these notables, but had never before met the three together.</p> - -<p>Mr. O’Connell had long passed his prime in 1845—being then in his 70th -year—but appeared to be in full bodily and mental vigor, and in the -height of his power, popularity, and influence. He had for years been -extravagantly praised by one half of the nation and as extravagantly -blamed and denounced by the other, and his support had been so -absolutely necessary to the existence of the Whig and Liberal -Ministry in England, that when this support seemed to be of doubtful -continuance, or any indications of his present lukewarmness or -future opposition were apparent, the baits of power, place, or high -professional promotion were constantly dangled before his eyes, to keep -him true to the cause to which he had never promised allegiance, but to -which he had always adhered with more or less of zeal and consistency. -For upwards of a quarter of a century his name figured more frequently -in the leading columns of all the most prominent journals of London and -the provinces than that of any statesman or public character of the -time. As he jocularly but truly said of himself, he was the best abused -man in the country; but though he did not choose to confess it, he was, -at the same time, the most belauded. He was a man of a fine personal -presence, of a burly and stalwart build, with quick glancing eyes full -of wit, humor and of what may be called “rollicking” fun; and of a -homely, persuasive, and telling eloquence, that no man of his day could -be truly said to have equalled. The speeches of his great contemporary -and countryman, Richard Lalor Shiel, were more elegant, scholarly, and -ambitious; but they were above the heads of the commonalty, and often -failed of their effect by being “caviare to the general,” and sometimes -tired or “bored” those who could understand and even appreciate them, -by their great length and too obvious straining after effect. No -exception of the kind could be taken to the speeches of Daniel—or, as -he was affectionately called, “Dan” O’Connell. They were all clear as -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> -day, logical as a mathematical demonstration, and warm as midsummer. -If he had many of the faults he had all the virtues of his Celtic -countrymen, and even in his strongest denunciations of his political -opponents there was always a touch of humor that forced a laugh -or a smile from the persons he attacked. He once, in Parliament, -spoke of the great Duke of Wellington as “a stunted corporal with -two left legs,” and the Duke of Wellington, who was said to be -proud of his legs, remarking to Lucas, the artist who had painted -his portrait, pointing to his legs—without taking notice of the -facial likeness—“those are my legs,” had sense enough to laugh. -The description, however, was not quite original, inasmuch as Pope, -more than a hundred years previously, had applied the same epithet -to Lintot the bookseller. Daniel O’Connell could excite at will the -laughter or the indignation of the multitude, and was not in reality -an ill-tempered or an ill-conditioned man, though he often appeared -to be so when it suited his purpose. But though choleric he was never malicious.</p> - -<p>On this occasion the conversation was almost entirely literary. -O’Connell’s voice was peculiarly sweet and musical, and in the -recitation of poetry, of which he had a keen and critical appreciation, -it was impossible to excel, and difficult to equal him, in either comic -or pathetic passages. The manner in which he declaimed “The Minstrel -Boy to the War Has Gone,” “The Last Rose of Summer,” and other favorite -songs of Thomas Moore was perfect, and had almost as pleasant an effect -upon the hearer’s mind as if they had been sung by a well-trained -singer. He was, in short, a delightful companion, and fascinated every -society in which he felt himself sufficiently at ease to be induced -to give free play to his wit, his humor, his imagination, and his -wonderful power of mimicry.</p> - -<p>Though seemingly at this time in the full high noon of his power and -popularity, his influence was in reality on the wane, and circumstances -over which he had no control, and which he had done nothing to produce, -were at work to divert from his person and his cause the attention and -the love of the Irish people. The first symptoms of the mysterious -disease in the potato, which was unfortunately the chief food of the -Irish millions, began to make themselves apparent, and to divert the -attention of the Irish from political to more urgent questions of life -and death. The too probable consequences of this great calamity tended -necessarily to diminish the rent or tribute collected from the needy as -well as the prosperous to recompense the “Liberator” for the sacrifices -he had made in relinquishing the practice of his profession to devote -his time, talent, and energies entirely to the parliamentary service -of the people. Added to this, a race of younger and more impulsive -men, fired by his example, had arisen to agitate the question of the -Repeal of the Union on which he had set his heart, and scorning, in -their impatience, the peaceful and legal methods which he employed, did -their best to goad the impulsive people into open rebellion. Foremost -among these were Mr. Smith O’Brien, whose futile treason came to an -inglorious collapse in a cabbage garden; and next, the members of the -party of Young Ireland, and the gifted poets of the “Nation,” among -whom were Mr. D’Arcy McGee, and Sir Charles Gavan Duffy, whose tuneful -violence was far more agreeable to the youthful agitators of the new -generation than the more prudent strategy of O’Connell. The potato -disease and the fearful famine that followed on its devastating track, -which sent at least a million of people to the United States and two -millions into untimely graves in Ireland, preyed upon the spirit of the -great agitator, impaired his health, and ultimately led to his death -of a broken heart, at Genoa, in 1847, in the 72nd year of his age. He -was, at the time, on a pilgrimage to Rome to crave the blessing of -the Pope, but was not destined to reach the, to him, “holy city,” the -capital of his faith. His heart, however, was embalmed and taken to -Rome, and his corpse conveyed to his native country for interment. I -little thought on that joyous morning of 1845, when we sat seriously -merry and intellectually sportive at the social board of Mr. Rogers in -St. James’s Place, that the end was so near, and that the light which -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> -shone so brilliantly was so speedily to be extinguished, and the -sceptre of democratic authority to be so shattered that none could take -it up when it fell from the hands which had so long wielded it.</p> - -<p>The second of the guests this morning was also an orator, not -celebrated for his power over crowds, but highly distinguished in -the Senate and the Forum. Serjeant Talfourd did not speak often in -Parliament or at public meetings, but when he did he was listened to -with pleasure and attention. The scenes of his triumphs were the law -courts, and especially the Court of Common Pleas, where he was the -leading practitioner. He was noted among the members of the Bar and -the attorneys for his power over the minds of jurymen, and his winning -ways of extorting a favorable verdict for the client who was fortunate -enough to have him for an advocate. He had room enough in his head -both for law and literature—the law for his profit and his worldly -advancement, and literature for the charm and consolation of his life. -He was well known too, and highly esteemed by the leading literary -men of his time, and took especial interest in the laws affecting -artistic, musical, and literary copyright. He was largely instrumental -in extending the previously allotted term of twenty-eight years to -forty-two years, and for seven years after the death of the artist, -composer, or author. This measure put considerable and well-deserved -profits into the pockets of the heirs of Sir Walter Scott, and was said -at the time to have been specially devised and enacted for that purpose -and for that only. This, however, was an error which Serjeant Talfourd -emphatically contradicted whenever it was hinted or asserted. It had, -incidentally, that effect, which no one was churlish and ungrateful -enough to grudge or lament, but was advocated in the interest of all -men of letters, and of literature itself in its widest extent, and if -it erred at all, only erred on the side of undue restriction to so -short a period as forty-two years. It ought to have been extended to -the third generation of the benefactors of their country, and probably -will be so extended at a future time, when the rights of authors will -be as strictly protected—and will be thought of at least as much -importance—as the right of landlords to their acres; of butchers, -bakers, and tailors to be paid for their commodities; or those of -doctors and lawyers to be paid for their time and talents.</p> - -<p>Mr. Charles Dickens dedicated to Serjeant Talfourd the “Posthumous -Papers of the Pickwick Club”—the early work by which his great fame -was established—in grateful acknowledgment of the Serjeant’s services -to the cause of all men of genius, in the enactment of the new law -of copyright. “Many a fevered head,” he said, “and palsied hand will -gather new vigor in the hour of sickness and distress, from your -exalted exertions; many a widowed mother and orphaned child, who would -otherwise reap nothing from the fame of departed genius but its too -pregnant legacy of sorrow and suffering, will bear in their altered -condition higher testimony to the value of your labors than the most -lavish encomiums from lip or pen could ever afford.”</p> - -<p>Serjeant Talfourd was raised to the Bench in 1848, being then in -his fifty-third year. This promotion had the natural consequence of -removing him from the House of Commons. He was a singularly amiable -man—of gentle, almost feminine character—of delicate health and -fragile form. He possessed little or none of the staid or stern gravity -popularly associated with the idea of a judge, and looked more like -the poet that he undoubtedly was, than the busy lawyer or magistrate. -He died suddenly in the year 1854, under circumstances peculiarly sad -and pathetic. After attending Divine Service on Sunday, the 11th March, -in the Assize town of Stafford, apparently in his usual health, he -took his seat on the bench on the following morning, and proceeded to -address the grand jury on the state of the calendar. It contained a -list of more than one hundred prisoners, an unusually large number of -whom were charged with atrocious offences, many of which were to be -directly traced to intemperance. He took occasion, in the course of his -remarks, to comment upon the growing estrangement in England between -the upper and lower classes of society, and the want of interest and -sympathy exhibited between the former and the latter, which he -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> -regarded as of evil augury for the future peace and prosperity of the -country. While uttering these words he became flushed and excited—his -speech became thick and incoherent, and he suddenly fell forward with -his face on the desk at which he was sitting. He was removed at once -to his lodgings in the immediate vicinity of the court, but life was -found to be extinct on his arrival. Thus perished a singularly able and -estimable man, universally beloved by his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carruthers, who resided in the little town of Inverness, sometimes -called by its inhabitants the “Capital of the Highlands,” was often -blamed by his intimate friends for hiding his great abilities in so -small a sphere, and not launching boldly forth upon the great sea of -London, which they considered a more suitable arena for the exercise -of his talents and the acquirement of fame and fortune by the pursuits -of literature. But he was not to be persuaded. He loved quiet; he -loved the grand and solemn scenery of his beautiful native country, -and perhaps if all the truth were told, he preferred to be a great -man in a provincial town, than a comparatively small one in a mighty -metropolis. In Inverness he shone as a star of the first magnitude. In -London, though his light might have been as great, it might have failed -to attract equal recognition. In addition to all these considerations, -the atmosphere of great cities did not agree with his health, and the -fine, free, fresh invigorating air of the sea and the mountains was -necessary to his physical well-being. This he enjoyed to the full -in Inverness. The editing of the weekly journal, which supplied him -with even greater pecuniary results than were necessary to supply the -moderate wants of himself and his household, left him abundant leisure -for other and congenial work. He soon made his mark in literature, and -became noted not only for the vigor and elegance of his style, but for -his remarkable accuracy of statement, even in the minutest details of -his literary and historical work. He edited, with copious and accurate -notes, an edition of Pope, and of Johnson and Boswell’s “Tour to the -Hebrides,” and greatly added to the value of those interesting books by -notes descriptive and anecdotical of all the places and persons -mentioned in them. He also contributed largely to the valuable -“Cyclopædia of English Literature” edited by Messrs. Chambers, of -Edinburgh; besides contributing essays and criticisms to many popular -serials and reviews, published in London and Edinburgh. He was one of -the most admirable story tellers of his time, or indeed of any time, -had a most retentive and abundantly furnished memory, and never missed -the point of a joke, or overlaid it with inappropriate or unnecessary -words or phrases. His fund of Scottish anecdotes—brimful of wit and -humor—was apparently inexhaustible, and his stories followed each -other with such rapidity as to suggest to the mind of the listener the -beautiful lines of Samuel Rogers:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Couched in the hidden chambers of the brain</span> -<span class="i0">Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain,</span> -<span class="i0">Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise,</span> -<span class="i0">Each stamps its image as the other flies.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The good things for which Mr. Carruthers was famous were not derived -from books, but from actual intercourse with men, and if collected, -would have formed a finer and more diverting repertory of Scottish wit -and humor, than has ever been given to the world. He was often urged -to prepare them for publication, and as often promised to undertake -the work, but always postponed it until he had more leisure than he -possessed at the time of promising. But that day unfortunately never -came. If it had come, the now celebrated work of Dean Ramsay on the -same subject would have been eclipsed, or altogether superseded in the -literary market.</p> - -<p>His local knowledge, and the fascination of his conversation were so -great, that every person of any note in the literary or political world -who visited Inverness, came armed with a letter of introduction to Mr. -Carruthers, or made themselves known to him during their stay in the -Highlands. The first time that I travelled so far North, through the -magnificent chain of freshwater lochs that are connected with each -other by the Caledonian Canal, a leading citizen of Inverness, who was -a fellow-passenger on the trip, seeing I was a stranger, took the pains -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> -to point out to me all the objects of interest on the way, and to name -the mountains, the straths, the glens, and the waterfalls on either -side. On our arrival at Inverness, he directed my attention to several -mountains and eminences visible from the boat when nearing the pier. -“That,” said he, “is Ben Wyvis, the highest mountain in Ross-shire; -that is ‘Tom-na-hurich,’ or the hill of the fairies; that is Craig -Phadrig, once a vitrified fort of the original Celtic inhabitants; and -that,” pointing to a gentleman in the foremost rank of the spectators -on the landing-place, “is Mr. Carruthers, the editor of the <i>Courier</i>!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Carruthers used to relate with much glee that he escorted the -great Sir Robert Peel to the battle-field of Culloden, and pointed out -to him the graves of the highland warriors who had been slain in that -fatal encounter. Seeing a shepherd watching his flocks feeding on the -scant herbage of the Moor, he stepped aside to inform the man of the -celebrity of his companion. The information fell upon inattentive ears. -“Did you never hear of Sir Robert Peel?” inquired Mr. Carruthers. -“Never <i>dud</i>!” (did), replied the shepherd. “Is it possible you never -heard of him. He was once Prime Minister of England.” “Well!” replied -the shepherd, “he seems to be a very respectable man!”</p> - -<p>On another occasion, he escorted Mr. Serjeant Talfourd and his friend -Mr. John Forster, who was also the intimate friend of Mr. Charles -Dickens, over the same scene, and was fond of telling the story -that the same or some other shepherd shouted suddenly to another of -the same occupation at a short distance on the Moor, “<i>Ian! Ian!</i>” -Serjeant Talfourd, who was the author of the once celebrated tragedy -of “Ion,”—with a bland smile of triumph or satisfaction on his face, -turned to Mr. Forster, laid his hand upon his breast, and said, -“Forster, this <i>is</i> fame.” He did not know that <i>Ian</i> was the Gaelic -for John, and that the man was merely calling to his friend by his -Christian name.</p> - -<p>Among the odd experiences of the little town in which he passed his -days, Mr. Carruthers related that a gentleman, who had made a large -fortune in India, retired to pass the evening of his life in his native -place. Finding the time hanging heavy on his hands, and being of an -active mind, he established a newspaper, sometime about the year 1840. -He grew tired of it after two or three years, and discontinued it in -a day without a word of notice or explanation. With equal suddenness -he resumed its publication in 1850, and addressed his readers, in his -first editorial, “Since the publication of our last paper, nothing of -importance has occurred in the political world.” Nothing had occurred -of more importance than the French Revolution of 1848—the dethronement -and flight of King Louis Philippe—and convulsions in almost every -country in Europe, Great Britain excepted.</p> - -<p>Mr. Carruthers, who had received the degree of Doctor of Laws a few -years previously, died in 1878, full of years and honors, regretted and -esteemed by all the North of Scotland, and by a wide circle of friends -and admirers in every part of the world where English literature is -appreciated; and Scotsmen retain a fond affection for their native -country, and the men whose lives and genius reflect honor upon it.</p> - -<h3>II. <span class="smcap">Patric Park, Sculptor.</span></h3> - -<p>I am glad to be able in these pages to render tribute, however feeble, -to one of the great but unappreciated geniuses of his time; a man of -powerful intellect as well as powerful frame, a true artist of heroic -mould and thought, who dwarfed the poor pigmies of the day in which his -lot was cast by conceptions too grand to find a market: Patric Park, -sculptor, who concealed under a somewhat rude and rough exterior as -tender a heart as ever beat in a human bosom. Had he been an ancient -Greek, his name might have become immortal. Had he been a modern -Frenchman, the art in which he excelled would have brought him not only -bread, but fortune. But as he was only a portrayer of the heroic in -the very prosaic country in which his lot was cast, it was as much as -he could do to pay his way by the scanty rewards of an art which few -people appreciated, or even understood, and to waste upon the marble -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> -busts of rich men, who had a fancy for that style of portraiture, the -talents, or rather the genius, which, had encouragement come, might -have produced epics in stone to have rivalled the masterpieces of antiquity.</p> - -<p>Patrick, or, as he usually signed himself, Patric, Park was born in -Glasgow in 1809, and I made his acquaintance in the <i>Morning Chronicle</i> -office in 1842, when he was in the prime of his early manhood. He sent -a letter to the editor to request the insertion of a modest paragraph -in reference to a work of his which had found a tardy purchaser in -Stirling, where it was destined to adorn the beautiful public cemetery -of the city. The paragraph was inserted not as he wrote it, but with -a kindly addition in praise of his work and of his genius. He came to -the office next day to know the writer’s name. And when the writer -avowed himself, a friendship sprung up between the two, which suffered -no abatement during the too short life of the grateful man of genius, -who, for the first time, had been publicly recognized by the humble -pen of one who could command, in artistic and literary matters, the -columns of a powerful journal. Park’s nature was broad and bold, and -scorned conventionalities and false pretence. George Outram, a lawyer -and editor of a Glasgow newspaper, author of several humorous songs -and lyrics upon the odds and ends of legal practice, among which -the “Annuity” survives in perennial youth in Edinburgh and Glasgow -society, and brother of the gallant Sir James Outram, of Indian fame, -used to say of Park, that he liked him because he was not smooth -and conventional. “There is not in the world,” he said to me on one -occasion, “another man with so many delightful corners in his character -as Park. We are all of us much too smooth and rounded off. Give me Park -and genuine nature, and all the more corners the better.”</p> - -<p>Park had a very loud voice, and sang Scotch songs perhaps with more -vehemence than many people would admire, but with a hearty appreciation -that was pleasant to witness. It is related that a deputation of -Glasgow bailies came up to London, with Lord Provost Lumsden at their -head, in reference to the Loch Katrine Water Bill, for the supply of -Glasgow with pure water, which was then before Parliament, and that -they invited their distinguished townsman to dine with them at the -Victoria Hotel, Euston Square. After dinner Park was called upon -for a song, and as there was nobody in the dining-room but one old -gentleman, who, according to the waiter, was very deaf, Park consented -to sing, and sang in his very best style the triumphant Jacobite -ballad of “Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet,” till, as one of the -bailies said, “he made the rafters ring, and might have been heard at -St. Paul’s.” The deaf gentleman, as soon as the song was concluded, -is reported to have made his way to the table, and apologising for -addressing a company of strangers, to have turned to Park and said, -with extraordinary fervor and emotion, “May God Almighty bless you, -sir, and pour his choicest blessings upon your head! For thirty years I -have been stone deaf and have not heard the sound of the human voice. -But I heard your song, every word of it; God bless you!”</p> - -<p>Upon one occasion, when we were travelling together in the Western -Highlands, the captain of one of the Hutcheson steamers was exceedingly -courteous and attentive to his passengers, and took great pains to -point out to those who were making this delightful journey for the -first time all the picturesque objects on the route. At one of the -landing-places the young Earl of Durham was taken on board, with his -servants, and from that moment the captain had neither eyes nor ears -for any other person in the vessel. He lavished the most obsequious -and fulsome attention upon his lordship, and when Park asked him a -question, cut him short with a snappish reply. Park was disgusted, and -expressed his opinion of the captain in a manner more forcible than -polite. As there was a break in the navigation in consequence of some -repairs that were being effected in one of the locks, the passengers -had to disembark and proceed by omnibus to another steamer that awaited -their arrival at Loch Lochy. Park mounted on the box by the side of the -driver, and was immediately addressed by the captain, “Come down out -of that, you sir! That seat’s reserved for his lordship!” Park’s anger -flashed forth like an electric spark, “And who are <i>you</i>, sir, that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> -you dare address a gentleman in that manner?”</p> - -<p>“I am the captain of the boat, sir, and I order you to come down out of that.”</p> - -<p>“Captain, be hanged!” said Park, “the coachman might as well call -himself a captain as you. The only difference between you is, that -he is the driver of a land omnibus and that you are the driver of an -aquatic omnibus.” The young Earl laughed, and quietly took his place in -the interior of the vehicle, leaving Park in undisputed possession of -the box-seat.</p> - -<p>His contempt for toadyism in all its shapes and manifestations was -extreme. There was an engineer of some repute in his day, with whom he -had often come into contact, and whom he especially disliked for his -slavish subservience to rank and title. The engineer meeting Park on -board of the boat, said, “Mr. Park, I wish you not to talk about me! -I am told that you said, I was not worth a damn! Is it true?” “Well,” -replied Park, “it may be; but if I said so I underrated you. I think -you are worth two damns, and I damn you twice!”</p> - -<p>On another occasion, when attending a <i>soirée</i> at Lady Byron’s, he -was so annoyed at finding no other refreshment than tea, which he did -not care for, and very weak port wine negus, which he detested as -an unmanly and unheroic drink, that he took his departure, resolved -to go in search of some stronger potation. The footman in the hall, -addressing him deferentially in search of a “tip,” said, “Shall I call -your carriage, my lord?” “I’m not a lord,” said Park, in a voice like -that of a stentor. “I beg pardon, sir, shall I call your carriage?” -“I have not got a carriage! Give me my walking stick! And now,” he -added, slipping a shilling into the man’s hand, “can you tell me of -any decent public-house in the neighborhood where I can get a glass of -brandy-and-water? The very smell of her ladyship’s negus is enough to -make one sick.”</p> - -<p>Park resided for a year or two in Edinburgh, and procured several -commissions for the busts of legal and other notabilities, and, -what was in a higher degree in accordance with his tastes, for some -life-size statues of characters in the poems and novels of Sir Walter -Scott, to complete the Scott monument in Princes Street. He also -executed, without a commission, a gigantic model for a statue of Sir -William Wallace, for whose name and fame he had the most enthusiastic -veneration, with the idea that the patriotic feelings of the Scottish -nation would be so far excited by his work as to justify an appeal to -the public to set it up in bronze or marble (he preferred bronze,) on -the Calton Hill, amid other monuments to the memory of illustrious -Scotsmen. But the deeds of Wallace were too far back in the haze of -bygone ages to excite much contemporary interest. The model was a -noble work, eighteen feet high, and wholly nude. Some of his friends -suggested to him that a little drapery would be more in accordance with -Scottish ideas, than a figure so nude that it dispensed even with the -customary fig-leaf. Park revolted at the notion of the fig-leaf, “a -cowardly, indecent subterfuge,” he said. “To the pure all things are -pure, as St. Paul says. There is nothing impure in nature, but only in -the mind of man. Rather than put on the fig-leaf I would dash the model -to pieces.” “But the drapery?” said a friend, the late Alexander Russel -of the <i>Scotsman</i>. “What I have done I have done, and I will not spoil -my design. Wallace was once a man, and if he had lived in the last -century and I had to model his statue, I would have draped it or put it -in armor as if he had been the Duke of Marlborough or Prince Eugene. -But the memory of Wallace is scarcely the memory of a man but of a -demigod. Wallace is a myth; and as a myth he does not require clothes.” -“Very true,” said Russel, “but you are anxious to procure the public -support and the public guineas, and you’ll never get them for a naked -giant.” “Then I’ll smash the model,” said the indignant and dispirited -artist. And he did so, and a beautiful work was lost to the world for ever.</p> - -<p>At the time of our first acquaintance Park was somewhat smitten by the -charms of a beautiful young woman in Greenock, the daughter of one of -his oldest and best friends. The lady had no knowledge of art, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> -scarcely knew what was meant by the word sculptor. She asked him one -day whether he cut marble chimney-pieces? This was too much. He was -<i>désillusionné</i> and humiliated, and the amatory flame flickered out, no -more to be relighted.</p> - -<p>Park and I and three or four friends were once together on the top of -Ben Lomond, on a fine clear day in August. The weather was lovely, -but oppressively hot, and the fatigue of climbing was great, but not -excessive. At the summit, so pure was the atmosphere that looking -eastward we could distinctly see Arthur’s Seat, overlooking Edinburgh, -and the Bass Rock in the Firth of Forth, twenty miles beyond. Looking -westward, we could distinctly see Ailsa Craig in the Firth of Clyde. -Thus the eye surveyed the whole diameter of Scotland. By a strange -effect of atmosphere the peak of Goatfell in Arran, separated optically -from the mountain by a belt of thick white cloud, seemed to be -preternaturally raised to a height of at least 20,000 feet above the -sea. I pointed it out to Park. “Nonsense!” he said. “Why Goatfell would -be higher than the Himalayas if your notion were correct.” “But I know -the shape of the peak,” I replied; “I have been on the top of Goatfell -at least half-a-dozen times, and would swear to it, as to the nose on -your face.” And as we were speaking the white cloud was dissipated, and -the Himalayan peak seemed to descend slowly and take its place on the -body of Goatfell, from which it had appeared to have been dissevered. -“Well,” he said, “things are not what they seem, and I maintain that it -was as high as the Himalayas or Chimborazo while the appearance lasted.”</p> - -<p>The mountain at this time shone in pale rose-like glow, and Park, -inspired by the grandeur of the scene, preached us a very eloquent -little sermon, addressing himself to the sun, on the inherent dignity -and beauty of sun-worship as practised by the modern Parsees and -the ancient Druids. He concluded by a lament that his own art was -powerless to represent or personify the grand forces of nature as the -Greeks had attempted to do. “The Apollo Belvidere,” he said, “is the -representative of a beautiful young man. But it is not Apollo. Art -can represent Venus—the perfection of female beauty, and Mars—the -perfection of manly vigor; but Apollo; no! Yet I think I would have -tried Apollo myself if I had lived in Athens two thousand years ago.”</p> - -<p>“‘A living dog is better than a dead lion.’”</p> - -<p>“True,” said Park, “I am a living dog, Phidias is a dead lion. I have -to model the unintellectual faces of rich cheesemongers, or grocers, or -iron masters, and put dignity into them, if I can, which is difficult. -And when I add the dignity, they complain of the bad likeness, so that -I often think I’d rather be a cheesemonger than a sculptor.”</p> - -<p>I called at Park’s studio one morning, and was informed that he every -minute expected a visit from the great General Sir Charles James -Napier—for whose character and achievements he had the highest -admiration. He considered him by far the greatest soldier of modern -times—and had prevailed upon the general to sit to him for his bust. -Park asked me to stay and be introduced to him, and nothing loth, I -readily consented. I had not long to wait. The general had a nose like -the beak of an eagle—larger and more conspicuous on his leonine and -intellectual face than that of the Duke of Wellington, whose nose was -familiar in the purlieus of the Horse Guards. It procured for him the -title of “conkey” from the street urchins, and I recognised him at -a glance as soon as he entered. On his taking the seat for Park to -model his face in clay, the sculptor asked him not to think of too -many things at a time, but to keep his mind fixed on one subject. The -general did his best to comply with the request, with the result that -his face soon assumed a fixed and sleepy expression, without a trace of -intellectual animation. Park suddenly startled him by inquiring, “Is it -true, general, that you gave way—retreated in fact—at the battle of -——?” (naming the place, which I have forgotten). The general’s eyes -flashed sudden fire, and he was about to reply indignantly when Park -quietly remarked, plying his modelling tool on the face at the time, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -“That’ll do, general, the expression is admirable!” The general saw -through the manœuvre, and laughed heartily.</p> - -<p>The general’s statue in Trafalgar Square is an admirable likeness. Park -was much disappointed at not receiving the commission to execute it.</p> - -<p>Park modelled a bust of myself, for which he would not accept payment. -He found it a very difficult task to perform. I had to sit to him at -least fifty times before he could please himself with his work. On one -occasion he lost all patience, and swearing lustily, <i>more suo</i>, dashed -the clay into a shapeless mass with his fist. “D—n you,” he said, “why -don’t you keep to one face? You seem to have fifty faces in a minute, -and all different! I never but once had another face that gave me half -the trouble.”</p> - -<p>“And whose was the other?” I inquired.</p> - -<p>“Sir Charles Barry’s” (architect of the Houses of Parliament at -Westminster). “He drove me to despair with his sudden changes of -expression. He was a very Proteus as far as his face was concerned, -and you’re another. Why don’t you keep thinking of one thing while I -am modelling, or why can’t you retain one expression for at least five -minutes?”</p> - -<p>It was not till fully three months after this outburst that he took -courage to begin again, growling and grumbling at his work, but -determining, he said, not to be beaten either by Sir Charles or myself. -“Poets and architects, and painters and musicians, and novelists,” he -said, “are all difficult subjects for the sculptor. Give me the face -of a soldier,” he added, “such a face as that of the Emperor Napoleon. -There is no mistake about <i>that</i>; or, better still, that of Sir Charles -James Napier! If there is not very much immortal soul, so called, in -the faces of such men, there is a very great deal of body.”</p> - -<p>Park was commissioned by the late Duke of Hamilton to model a bust -of Napoleon III., and produced, perhaps the very finest of all the -fine portrait-busts which ever proceeded from his chisel. The Emperor -impressed Park in the most favorable manner, and he always spoke of him -in terms of enthusiastic admiration, as well for the innate heroism as -for the tenderness of his character. “All true heroes,” he said, “are -tender-hearted; and the man who can fight most bravely has always the -readiest drop of moisture in his eye when a noble deed is mentioned or -a chord of human sympathy is touched.” The bust of Napoleon was lost -in the wreck of the vessel that conveyed it from Dover to Calais, but -the Duke of Hamilton commissioned the sculptor to execute a second copy -from the clay model, which duly reached its destination.</p> - -<p>Patric Park died before he was fifty, and when, to all appearance, -there were many happy and prosperous years before him, when having -surmounted his early difficulties, he might have looked forward to -the design and completion of the many noble works to which he pined -to devote his mature energies, after emancipation from the slavery -of what he called “busting” the effigies of “cheesemongers.” He had -been for some months in Manchester, plying his vocation among the -rich notabilities of that prosperous city, when one day, emerging -from a carriage at the railway station, he observed a porter with a -huge basket of ice upon his head, staggering under the load and ready -to fall. Park rushed forward to the man’s assistance, prevented him -from falling, steadied the load upon his head by a great muscular -exertion, and suddenly found his mouth full of blood. He had broken -a blood-vessel; and stretching forth his hand, took a lump of ice -from the basket, and held it in his mouth to stop the bleeding. He -proceeded to the nearest chemist’s shop for advice and relief, and was -forthwith conveyed to his hotel delirious. A neighboring doctor was -called in, Park beseeching him for brandy. The brandy was refused. -A telegram was sent to his own physician in London. He came down by -the next train, and expressed a strong opinion on seeing the body and -learning all the facts, that the brandy ought to have been given. But -he arrived too late. The noble, the generous, the gifted Park was no -more, and an attached young wife and hundreds of friends, amongst whom -the writer of these words was one of the most attached, were “left -lamenting.”—<i>Gentleman’s Magazine.</i></p> - -<p class="center">(<i>To be concluded.</i>)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>A FEMALE NIHILIST</h2> -<p class="center"><b>BY STEPNIAK.</b></p> -<h3>I.</h3> - -<p>On the 27th of July, in the year 1878, the little town of Talutorovsk, -in Western Siberia, was profoundly excited by a painful event. A -political prisoner, named Olga Liubatovitch, it was said had miserably -put an end to her days. She was universally loved and esteemed, and -her violent death therefore produced a most mournful impression -throughout the town, and the <i>Ispravnik</i> or chief of the police, was -secretly accused of having driven the poor young girl, by his unjust -persecutions, to take away her life.</p> - -<p>Olga was sent to Talutorovsk, some months after the trial known as -that of the “fifty” of Moscow, in which she was condemned to nine -years’ hard labor for Socialist propagandism, a punishment afterwards -commuted into banishment for life. Unprovided with any means whatever -of existence, for her father, a poor engineer with a large family, -could send her nothing, Olga succeeded, by indefatigable industry, in -establishing herself in a certain position. Although but little skilled -in female labor, she endeavored to live by her needle, and became -the milliner of the semi-civilized ladies of the town, who went into -raptures over her work. These fair dames were firmly convinced—it is -impossible to know why—that the elegance of a dress depends above all -things upon the number of its pockets. The more pockets there were, -the more fashionable the dress. Olga never displayed the slightest -disinclination to satisfy this singular taste. She put pockets upon -pockets, upon the body, upon the skirts, upon the underskirts; before, -behind, everywhere. The married ladies and the young girls were as -proud as peacocks, and were convinced that they were dressed like the -most fashionable Parisian, and, though they were less profuse with -their money than with their praises, yet in that country, where living -costs so little, it was easy to make two ends meet. Later on, Olga -had an occupation more congenial to her habits. Before entering the -manufactories and workshops as a sempstress in order to carry on the -Socialist propaganda, she had studied medicine for some years at -Zurich, and she could not now do less than lend her assistance in -certain cases of illness. This soon gave her a reputation, and at the -request of the citizens, the police accorded to her the permission to -fill the post of apothecary and phlebotomist, as the former occupant -of that post, owing to habitual drunkenness, was fit for nothing. Not -unfrequently she even took the place of the district doctor, a worthy -man who, owing to old age and a partiality for brandy, was in such a -state that he could not venture upon delicate operations, because his -hands shook. She acted for him also in many serious cases baffling his -antediluvian knowledge. Some of her cures were considered miraculous; -among others, that of the district judge, whom, by determined -treatment, she had saved after a violent attack of <i>delirium tremens</i>, -a malady common to almost all men in that wild country.</p> - -<p>In a word, Olga was in great favor with the peaceful citizens of -Talutorovsk. The hatred of the police towards her was all the greater -for that reason. Her proud and independent disposition would not -permit her to submit to the stupid and humiliating exigencies of the -representatives of the Government. Those representatives, barbarous and -overbearing as they were, considered every attempt to defend personal -dignity a want of respect toward themselves—nay, a provocation, and -neglected no occasion of taking their revenge. There was always a -latent war between Olga and her guardians, a war of the weak, bound -hand and foot, against the strong, armed at all points; for the police -have almost arbitrary power over the political prisoners who are under -their surveillance. In this very unequal struggle, however, Olga did -not always come off the worst, as often happens in the case of those -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -who, proud, daring, and fearing nothing, are always ready to risk -everything for the merest trifle. One of these conflicts, which -lasted four days and kept the whole of the little town in a state of -excitement by its dramatic incidents, was so singular that it deserves -to be related.</p> - -<p>Olga had sent from her parents a parcel of books, which, in her -position, was a gift indeed. She went to the <i>Ispravnik</i> to get them, -but met with an unforeseen obstacle. Among the books sent to her was a -translation of the “Sociology” of Herbert Spencer, and the <i>Ispravnik</i> -mistook it for a work on <i>Socialism</i>, and would not on any account give -it up to her. In vain Olga pointed out to him that the incriminated -book had been published at St. Petersburg with the license of the -Censorship; that sociology and socialism were very different things, -etc. The <i>Ispravnik</i> was stubborn. The discussion grew warm. Olga -could not restrain some sharp remarks upon the gross ignorance of her -opponent, and ended by telling him that his precautions were utterly -useless, as she had at home a dozen books like that of Herbert Spencer.</p> - -<p>“Oh! you have books like this at home, have you?” exclaimed the -<i>Ispravnik</i>. “Very well; we’ll come and search the house this very day.”</p> - -<p>“No,” exclaimed Olga, in a fury; “you will do nothing of the kind; you -have no right, and if you dare to come I will defend myself.”</p> - -<p>With these words she left the place, thoroughly enraged.</p> - -<p>War was declared, and the rumor spread throughout the town, and -everywhere excited a kind of timorous curiosity.</p> - -<p>Directly Olga reached her home she shut herself up and barricaded -the door. The <i>Ispravnik</i>, on his side, prepared for the attack. -He mustered a band of policemen, with some <i>poniatye</i>, or -citizen-witnesses, and sent them to the enemy’s house.</p> - -<p>Finding the entrance closed and the door barricaded, the valorous army -began to knock energetically, and ordered the inmate to open.</p> - -<p>“I will not open the door,” replied the voice of Olga within.</p> - -<p>“Open, in the name of the law.”</p> - -<p>“I will not open the door. Break it in! I will defend myself.”</p> - -<p>At this explicit declaration the band became perplexed. A council of -war was held. “We must break open the door,” they all said. But as all -these valiant folks had families, wives, and children whom they did -not wish to leave orphans, no one cared to face the bullets of this -mad-woman, whom they knew to be capable of anything. Each urged his -neighbor onward, but no one cared to go forward himself.</p> - -<p>Recourse was had to diplomacy.</p> - -<p>“Open the door, miss.”</p> - -<p>No reply.</p> - -<p>“Please to open the door, or you will repent it.”</p> - -<p>“I will not open the door,” replied the firm voice of the besieged.</p> - -<p>What was to be done? A messenger was sent to the <i>Ispravnik</i> to inform -him that Olga Liubatovitch had shut herself up in her house, had -pointed a pistol at them, and had threatened to blow out the brains of -the first who entered.</p> - -<p>The <i>Ispravnik</i>, considering that the task of leadership would fall -to him as supreme chief (and he also had a family), did not care -to undertake the perilous enterprise. His army, seeing itself thus -abandoned by its leader, was in dismay; it lost courage; demoralisation -set in, and after a few more diplomatic attempts, which led to nothing, -it beat a disgraceful retreat. A select corps of observation remained, -however, near the enemy’s citadel, intrenched behind the hedges of the -adjoining kitchen-gardens. It was hoped that the enemy, elated by the -victory in this first encounter, would make a sortie, and then would be -easily taken, in flank and rear, surrounded, and defeated.</p> - -<p>But the enemy displayed as much prudence as firmness. Perceiving the -manœuvres of her adversaries, Olga divined their object, and did not -issue from the house all that day, or the day after, or even on the -third day. The house was provided with provisions and water, and Olga -was evidently prepared to sustain a long siege.</p> - -<p>It was clear that if no one would risk his life, which naturally no -one was disposed to risk, nothing could be done save to reduce her by -hunger. But who, in that case, could tell how long the scandal of this -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -flagrant rebellion would last? And then, who could guarantee that this -Fury would not commit suicide instead of surrendering? And then, what -complaints, what reprimands from superiors!</p> - -<p>In this perplexity, the <i>Ispravnik</i> resolved to select the least among -many evils, and on the fourth day he raised the siege.</p> - -<p>Thus ended the little drama of July 1878, known in Siberia as the -“Siege of Olga Liubatovitch.” The best of the joke was, however, that -she had no arms of a more warlike character than a pen-knife and some -kitchen utensils. She herself had not the slightest idea what would -have happened had they stormed her house, but that she would have -defended herself in some way or other is quite certain.</p> - -<p>The <i>Ispravnik</i> might have made her pay for her rebellion by several -years of confinement, but how could he confess to his superiors the -cowardice of himself and his subordinates? He preferred, therefore, -to leave her in peace. But he chafed in secret, for he saw that the -partisans of the young Socialist—and they were far from few—ridiculed -himself and his men behind their backs. He determined to vindicate his -offended dignity at all cost, and, being of a stubborn disposition, he -carried out his resolve in the following manner.</p> - -<p>A fortnight after the famous siege, he sent a message to Olga to come -to his office at eight o’clock in the morning. She went. She waited an -hour; two hours; but no one came to explain what she was wanted for. -She began to lose patience, and declared that she would go away. But -the official in attendance told her that she must not go; that she must -wait; such were the orders of the <i>Ispravnik</i>. She waited until eleven -o’clock. No one came. At last a subaltern appeared, and Olga addressed -herself to him and asked what she was wanted for. The man replied that -he did not know, that the <i>Ispravnik</i> would tell her when he came in. -He could not say, however, when the <i>Ispravnik</i> would arrive.</p> - -<p>“In that case,” said Olga, “I should prefer to return some other time.”</p> - -<p>But the police officer declared that she must continue to wait in the -antechamber of the office, for such were the orders of the -<i>Ispravnik</i>. There could be no doubt that all this was a disgraceful -attempt to provoke her, and Olga, who was of a very irascible -disposition, replied with some observations not of the most respectful -character, and not particularly flattering to the <i>Ispravnik</i> or his deputy.</p> - -<p>“Oh! that’s how you treat the representatives of the Government in the -exercise of their functions, is it?” exclaimed the deputy, as though -prepared for this. And he immediately called in another policeman as a -witness, and drew up a statement of the charge against her.</p> - -<p>Olga went away. But proceedings were taken against her before the -district judge, the very man whom she had cured of <i>delirium tremens</i>, -who sentenced her to three days’ solitary confinement. It was -confinement in a dark, fetid hole, full of filth and vermin.</p> - -<p>Merely in entering it, she was overcome with disgust. When she was -released, she seemed to have passed through a serious illness. It was -not, however, the physical sufferings she had undergone so much as the -humiliation she had endured which chafed her proud disposition.</p> - -<p>From that time she became gloomy, taciturn, abrupt. She spent whole -days shut up in her room, without seeing anybody, or wandered away -from the town into the neighboring wood, and avoided people. She was -evidently planning something. Among the worthy citizens of Talutorovsk, -who had a compassionate feeling towards her, some said one thing, some -another, but no one foresaw such a tragic ending as that of which -rumors ran on July 27.</p> - -<p>In the morning the landlady entered her room and found it empty. The -bed, undisturbed, clearly showed that she had not slept in it. She had -disappeared. The first idea which flashed through the mind of the old -dame was that Olga had escaped, and she ran in all haste to inform the -<i>Ispravnik</i>, fearing that any delay would be considered as a proof of -complicity.</p> - -<p>The <i>Ispravnik</i> did not lose a moment. Olga Liubatovitch being one of -the most seriously compromised women, he feared the severest censure, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> -perhaps even dismissal, for his want of vigilance. He immediately -hastened to the spot in order to discover if possible the direction the -fugitive had taken. But directly he entered the room he found upon the -table two letters signed and sealed, one addressed to the authorities, -the other to the sister of Olga, Vera Liubatovitch, who had also been -banished to another Siberian town. These letters were immediately -opened by the <i>Ispravnik</i>, and they revealed the mournful fact that the -young girl had not taken to flight, but had committed suicide. In the -letter addressed to the authorities she said, in a few lines, that she -died by her own hand, and begged that nobody might be blamed. To her -sister she wrote more fully, explaining that her life of continuous -annoyance, of inactivity, and of gradual wasting away, which is the -life of a political prisoner in Siberia, had become hateful to her, -that she could no longer endure it, and preferred to drown herself in -the Tobol. She finished by affectionately begging her sister to forgive -her for the grief she might cause her and her friends and companions in -misfortune.</p> - -<p>Without wasting a moment, the <i>Ispravnik</i> hastened to the Tobol, and -there he found the confirmation of the revelation of Olga. Parts of -her dress dangled upon the bushes, under which lay her bonnet, lapped -by the rippling water. Some peasants said that on the previous day -they had seen the young girl wandering on the bank with a gloomy and -melancholy aspect, looking fixedly at the turbid waters of the river. -The <i>Ispravnik</i>, through whose hands all the correspondence passed of -the political prisoners banished to his district, recalled certain -expressions and remarks that had struck him in the last letters of Olga -Liubatovitch, the meaning of which now became clear.</p> - -<p>There could no longer be any doubt. The <i>Ispravnik</i> sent for all the -fishermen near, and began to drag the river with poles, casting in -nets to recover the body. This, however, led to nothing. Nor was it -surprising: the broad river was so rapid that in a single night it must -have carried a body away—who knows how many leagues? For three days -the <i>Ispravnik</i> continued his efforts, and stubbornly endeavored to -make the river surrender its prey. But at last, after having worn out -all his people and broken several nets against the stones and old -trunks which the river mocked him with, he had to give up the attempt -as unavailing.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>The body of Olga, her heart within it throbbing with joy and -uncertainty, had meanwhile been hurried away, not by the yellow waters -of the Tobol, but by a vehicle drawn by two horses galloping at full -speed.</p> - -<p>Having made arrangements with a young rustic whom, in her visits to -the neighboring cottages in a medical capacity, she had succeeded in -converting to Socialism, Olga disposed everything so as to make it be -believed that she had drowned herself, and on the night fixed secretly -left her house and proceeded to the neighboring forest, where, at a -place agreed upon, her young disciple was awaiting her. The night was -dark. Beneath the thick foliage of that virgin forest nothing could -be seen, nothing could be heard but the hootings of the owls, and -sometimes, brought from afar, the howling of the wolves, which infest -the whole of Siberia.</p> - -<p>As an indispensable precaution, the meeting-place was fixed at a -distance of about three miles, in the interior of the forest. Olga -had to traverse this distance in utter darkness, guided only by the -stars, which occasionally pierced through the dense foliage. She was -not afraid, however, of the wild beasts, or of the highwaymen and -vagrants who are always prowling round the towns in Siberia. It was -the cemetery-keeper’s dog she was afraid of. The cemeteries are always -well looked after in that country, for among the horrible crimes -committed by the scum of the convicts one of the most common is that -of disinterring and robbing the newly buried dead. Now the keeper of -the cemetery of Talutorovsk was not to be trifled with; his dog still -less so. It was a mastiff, as big as a calf, ferocious and vigilant, -and could hear the approach of any one a quarter of a mile off. -Meanwhile the road passed close to the cottage of the solitary keeper. -It was precisely for the purpose of avoiding it that Olga, instead of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> -following the road, had plunged into the forest, notwithstanding the -great danger of losing her way.</p> - -<p>Stumbling at every step against the roots and old fallen trunks, -pricked by the thorny bushes, her face lashed by boughs elastic as -though moved by springs, she kept on for two hours with extreme -fatigue, sustained only by the hope that she would shortly reach the -place of meeting, which could not be far off. At last indeed, the -darkness began to diminish somewhat and the trees to become thinner, -and a moment afterwards she entered upon open ground. She suddenly -stopped, looked around, her blood freezing with terror, and recognised -the keeper’s cottage. She had lost her way in the forest, and, after so -many windings, had gone straight to the point she wished to avoid.</p> - -<p>Her first impulse was to run away as fast as her remaining strength -would enable her, but a moment afterwards a thought flashed through -her mind which restrained her. No sound came from the cottage; all -was silent. What could this indicate but the absence of the occupant? -She stood still and listened, holding her breath. In the cottage not -a sound could be heard, but in another direction she heard, in the -silence of the night, the distant barking of a dog, which seemed, -however, to be approaching nearer. Evidently the keeper had gone out, -but at any moment might return, and his terrible dog was perhaps -running in front of him, as though in search of prey. Fortunately from -the keeper’s house to the place of appointment there was a path which -the fugitive had no need to avoid, and she set off and ran as fast as -the fear of being seized and bitten by the ferocious animal would allow -her. The barking, indeed, drew nearer, but so dense was the forest that -not even a dog could penetrate it. Olga soon succeeded in reaching the -open ground, breathless, harassed by the fear of being followed and -the doubt that she might not find any one at the place of appointment. -Great was her delight when she saw in the darkness the expected -vehicle, and recognised the young peasant.</p> - -<p>To leap into the vehicle and to hurry away was the work of an instant. -In rather more than five hours of hard driving they reached Tumen, a -town of about 18,000 inhabitants, fifty miles distant from Talutorovsk. -A few hundred yards from the outskirts the vehicle turned into a -dark lane and very quietly approached a house where it was evidently -expected. In a window on the first floor a light was lit, and the -figure of a man appeared. Then the window was opened, and the man, -having recognised the young girl, exchanged a few words in a low tone -with the peasant who was acting as driver. The latter, without a word, -rose from his seat, took the young girl in his arms, for she was small -and light, and passed her on like a baby into the robust hands of the -man, who introduced her into his room. It was the simplest and safest -means of entering unobserved. To have opened the door at such an -unusual hour would have awakened people, and caused gossip.</p> - -<p>The peasant went his way, wishing the young girl all success, and -Olga was at last able to take a few hours rest. Her first step had -succeeded. All difficulties were far indeed, however, from being -overcome; for in Siberia it is not so much walls and keepers as -immeasurable distance which is the real gaoler.</p> - -<p>In this area, twice as large as all Europe, and with a total population -only twice that of the English capital, towns and villages are -only imperceptible points, separated by immense deserts absolutely -uninhabitable, in which if any one ventured he would die of hunger, -or be devoured by wolves. The fugitive thus has no choice, and must -take one of the few routes which connect the towns with the rest of -the world. Pursuit is therefore extremely easy, and thus, while the -number of the fugitives from the best-guarded prisons and mines amounts -to hundreds among the political prisoners, and to thousands among the -common offenders, those who succeed in overcoming all difficulties and -in escaping from Siberia itself may be counted on the fingers.</p> - -<p>There are two means of effecting an escape. The first, which is very -hazardous, is that of profiting, in order to get a good start, by the -first few days, when the police furiously scour their own district -only, without giving information of the escape to the great centres, in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -the hope, which is often realised, of informing their superiors of -the escape and capture of the prisoner at the same time. In the most -favorable cases, however, the fugitive gains only three or four days -of time, while the entire journey lasts many weeks, and sometimes many -months. With the telegraph established along all the principal lines -of communication, and even with mere horse patrols, the police have -no difficulty whatever in making up for lost time, and exceptional -cleverness or good fortune is necessary in order to keep out of their -clutches. But this method, as being the simplest and comparatively -easy, as it requires few preparations and but little external -assistance, is adopted by the immense majority of the fugitives, and it -is precisely for this reason that ninety-nine per cent. of them only -succeed in reaching a distance of one or two hundred miles from the -place of their confinement.</p> - -<p>Travelling being so dangerous, the second mode is much more safe—that -of remaining hidden in some place of concealment, carefully prepared -beforehand, in the province itself, for one, two, three, six months, -until the police, after having carried on the chase so long in vain, -come to the conclusion that the fugitive must be beyond the frontiers -of Siberia, and slacken or entirely cease their vigilance. This was the -plan followed in the famous escape of Lopatin, who remained more than -a month at Irkutsk, and of Debagorio Mokrievitch, who spent more than -a year in various places in Siberia before undertaking his journey to Russia.</p> - -<p>Olga Liubatovitch did not wish, however, to have recourse to the latter -expedient, and selected the former. It was a leap in the dark. But -she built her hopes upon the success of the little stratagem of her -supposed suicide, and the very day after her arrival at Tumen she set -out towards Europe by the postal and caravan road to Moscow.</p> - -<p>To journey by post in Russia, a travelling passport (<i>podorojna</i>) must -be obtained, signed by the governor. Olga certainly had none, and could -not lose time in procuring one. She had, therefore, to find somebody in -possession of this indispensable document whom she could accompany. As -luck would have it, a certain Soluzeff, who had rendered himself famous -a few years before by certain forgeries and malversations on a grand -scale, had been pardoned by the Emperor and was returning to Russia. -He willingly accepted the company of a pretty countrywoman, as Olga -represented herself to him to be, who was desirous of going to Kazan, -where her husband was lying seriously ill, and consented to pay her -share of the travelling expenses. But here another trouble arose. This -Soluzeff, being on very good terms with the gendarmes and the police, -a whole army of them accompanied him to the post-station. Now Olga had -begun her revolutionary career at sixteen, she was arrested for the -first time at seventeen, and during the seven years of that career had -been in eleven prisons, and had passed some few months in that of Tumen -itself. It was little short of a miracle that no one recognised the -celebrated Liubatovitch in the humble travelling companion of their -common friend.</p> - -<p>At last, however, the vehicle set out amid the shouts and cheers of the -company. Olga breathed more freely. Her tribulations were not, however, -at an end.</p> - -<p>I need not relate the various incidents of her long journey. Her -companion worried her. He was a man whom long indulgence in luxury had -rendered effeminate, and at every station said he was utterly worn out, -and stopped to rest himself and take some tea with biscuits, preserves, -and sweets, an abundance of which he carried with him. Olga, who was -in agonies, as her deception might be found out at any moment, and -telegrams describing her be sent to all the post-stations of the line, -had to display much cunning and firmness to keep this poltroon moving -on without arousing suspicions respecting herself. When, however, near -the frontier of European Russia, she was within an ace of betraying -herself. Soluzeff declared that he was incapable of going any farther, -that he was thoroughly knocked up by this feverish hurry-skurry, and -must stop a few days to recover himself. Olga had some thought of -disclosing everything, hoping to obtain from his generosity what she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> -could not obtain from his sluggish selfishness. There is no telling -what might have happened if a certain instinct, which never left Olga -even when she was most excited, had not preserved her from this very -dangerous step.</p> - -<p>A greater danger awaited her at Kazan. No sooner had she arrived than -she hastened away to take her ticket by the first steamboat going up -the Volga towards Nijni-Novgorod. Soluzeff, who said he was going -south, would take the opposite direction. Great, therefore, was her -surprise and bewilderment when she saw her travelling companion upon -the same steamer. She did everything she could to avoid him, but in -vain. Soluzeff recognised her, and, advancing towards her, exclaimed in -a loud voice:—</p> - -<p>“What! you here? Why, you told me your husband was lying ill in the -Kazan Hospital.”</p> - -<p>Some of the passengers turned round and looked, and among them the -gendarme who was upon the boat. The danger was serious. But Olga, -without losing her self-possession, at once invented a complete -explanation of the unexpected change in her itinerary. Soluzeff took it -all in, as did the gendarme who was listening.</p> - -<p>At Moscow she was well known, having spent several months in its -various prisons. Not caring to go to the central station, which is -always full of gendarmes on duty, she was compelled to walk several -leagues, to economise her small stock of money, and take the train at a -small station, passing the night in the open air.</p> - -<p>Many were the perils from which, thanks to her cleverness, she escaped. -But her greatest troubles awaited her in the city she so ardently -desired to reach, St. Petersburg.</p> - -<p>When a Nihilist, after a rather long absence, suddenly reaches some -city without previously conferring with those who have been there -recently, his position is a very singular one. Although he may know he -is in the midst of friends and old companions in arms, he is absolutely -incapable of finding any of them. Being “illegal” people, or outlaws, -they live with false passports, and are frequently compelled to change -their names and their places of abode. To inquire for them under their -old names is not to be thought of, for these continuous changes are not -made for mere amusement, but from the necessity, constantly recurring, -of escaping from some imminent danger, more or less grave. To go to the -old residence of a Nihilist and ask for him under his old name would be -voluntarily putting one’s head into the lion’s mouth.</p> - -<p>Under such circumstances, a Nihilist is put to no end of trouble, -and has to wander hither and thither in order to find his friends. -He applies to old acquaintances among people who are “legal” and -peaceful—that is to say, officials, business men, barristers, doctors, -etc., who form an intermediate class, unconsciously connecting the -most active Nihilists with those who take the least interest in public -affairs. In this class there are people of all ranks. Some secretly -aid the Nihilists more or less energetically. Others receive them into -their houses, simply as friends, without having any “serious” business -with them. Others, again, see them only casually, but know from whom -more or less accurate information is to be obtained; and so on. All -these people being unconnected with the movement, or almost so, run -little risk of being arrested, and living as they do “legally”—that is -to say, under their own names—they are easy to be found, and supply -the Ariadne’s thread which enables any one to penetrate into the -Nihilist labyrinth who has not had time, or who has been unable, to -obtain the addresses of the affiliated.</p> - -<p>Having reached St. Petersburg, Olga Liubatovitch was precisely in this -position. But to find the clue in such cases is easy only to those who, -having long resided in the city, have many connections in society. Olga -had never stayed more than a few days in the capital. Her acquaintances -among “legal” people were very few in number, and then she had reached -St. Petersburg in the month of August, when every one of position is -out of town. With only sixty kopecks in her pocket, for in her great -haste she had been unable to obtain a sufficient sum of money, she -dragged her limbs from one extremity of the capital to the other. She -might have dropped in the street from sheer exhaustion, and been taken -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> -up by the police as a mere vagabond, had not the idea occurred to her -to call upon a distant relative whom she knew to be in St. Petersburg. -She was an old maid, who affectionately welcomed her to the house, -although, at the mere sight of Olga, her hair stood on end. She -remained there two days; but the fear of the poor lady was so extreme -that Olga did not care to stay longer. Supplied with a couple of -roubles, she recommenced her pilgrimage, and at last met a barrister -who, as luck would have it, had come up that day from the country on -business.</p> - -<p>From that moment all her tribulations ended. The barrister, who had -known her previously, placed his house at her disposal, and immediately -communicated the news of her arrival to some friends of his among -the affiliated. The next day the good news spread throughout all St. -Petersburg of the safe arrival of Olga Liubatovitch.</p> - -<p>She was immediately supplied with money and a passport, and taken to a -safe place of concealment, secure against police scrutiny.</p> - -<h3>III.</h3> - -<p>It was at St. Petersburg that I first met her.</p> - -<p>It was not at a “business” gathering, but one of mere pleasure, in a -family. With the “legal” and the “illegal” there must have been about -fifteen persons. Among those present were some literary men. One of -them was a singular example of an “illegal” man, much sought for at -one time, who, living for six or seven years with false passports, -almost succeeded in legalising himself, as a valuable and well-known -contributor to various newspapers. There was a barrister who, after -having defended others in several political trials, at last found -himself in the prisoner’s dock. There was a young man of eighteen in -gold lace and military epaulettes, who was the son of one of the most -furious persecutors of the Revolutionary party. There was an official -of about fifty, the head of a department in one of the ministries, who, -for five years running, was our Keeper of the Seals—who kept, that is -to say, a large chest full to the brim of seals, false marks, stamps, -etc., manufactured by his niece, a charming young lady, very clever in -draughtsmanship and engraving. It was a very mixed company, and strange -for any one not accustomed to the singular habits of the Palmyra of the North.</p> - -<p>With the freedom characteristic of all Russian gatherings, especially -those of the Nihilists, every one did as he liked and talked with -those who pleased him. The company was split up into various groups, -and the murmur of voice filled the room and frequently rose above the -exclamations and laughter.</p> - -<p>Having saluted the hosts and shaken hands with some friends, I joined -one of these little groups.</p> - -<p>I had no difficulty in recognising Olga Liubatovitch, for the portraits -of the principal prisoners in the trial of the “fifty,” of whom she was -one of the most distinguished figures, circulated by thousands, and -were in every hand.</p> - -<p>She was seated at the end of the sofa, and, with her head bent, was -slowly sipping a cup of tea. Her thick black hair, of which she had -an abundance, hung over her shoulders, the ends touching the bottom -of the sofa. When she rose it almost reached to her knees. The color -of her face, a golden brown, like that of the Spaniards, proclaimed -her Southern origin, her father and grandfather having been political -refugees from Montenegro who had settled in Russia. There was nothing -Russian, in fact, in any feature of her face. With her large and black -eyebrows, shaped like a sickle as though she kept them always raised, -there was something haughty and daring about her, which struck one at -first sight, and gave her the appearance of the women belonging to her -native land. From her new country she had derived, however, a pair of -blue eyes, which always appeared half-closed by their long lashes, and -cast flitting shadows upon her soft cheeks when she moved her eyelids, -and a lithe, delicate, and rather slim figure, which somewhat relieved -the severe and rigid expression of her face. She had, too, a certain -unconscious charm, slightly statuesque, which is often met with among -women from the South. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - -<p>Gazing at this stately face, to which a regular nose with wide nostrils -gave a somewhat aquiline shape, I thought that this was precisely -what Olga Liubatovitch ought to be as I had pictured her from the -account of her adventures. But on a sudden she smiled, and I no longer -recognised her. She smiled, not only with the full vermilion lips of a -brunette, but also with her blue eyes, with her rounded cheeks, with -every muscle of her face, which was suddenly lit up and irradiated like -that of a child.</p> - -<p>When she laughed heartily she closed her eyes, bashfully bent her head, -and covered her mouth with her hand or her arm, exactly as our shy -country lasses do. On a sudden, however, she composed herself, and her -face darkened and became gloomy, serious, almost stern, as before.</p> - -<p>I had a great desire to hear her voice, in order to learn whether it -corresponded with either of the two natures revealed by these sudden -changes. But I had no opportunity of gratifying this desire. Olga did -not open her mouth the whole evening. Her taciturnity did not proceed -from indifference, for she listened attentively to the conversation, -and her veiled eyes were turned from side to side. It did not seem, -either, to arise from restraint. It was due rather to the absence of -any motive for speaking. She seemed to be quite content to listen and -reflect, and her serious mouth appeared to defy all attempts to open it.</p> - -<p>It was not until some days afterwards, when I met her alone on certain -“business,” that I heard her voice, veiled like her eyes, and it was -only after many months’ acquaintance that I was able to understand -her disposition, the originality of which consisted in its union -of two opposite characteristics. She was a child in her candor, -bordering on simplicity, in the purity of her mind, and in the modesty -which displayed itself even in familiar intercourse and gave to her -sentiments a peculiar and charming delicacy. But at the same time this -child astounded the toughest veterans by her determination, her ability -and coolness in the face of danger, and especially by her ardent and -steadfast strength of will, which, recognising no obstacles, made her -sometimes attempt impossibilities.</p> - -<p>To see this young girl, so simple, so quiet, and so modest, who -became burning red, bashfully covered her face with both hands, -and hurried away upon hearing some poetry dedicated to her by some -former disciple—to see this young girl, I say, it was difficult to -believe that she was an escaped convict, familiar with condemnations, -prisons, trials, escapes, and adventures of every kind. It was only -necessary, however, to see her for once at work to believe instantly -in everything. She was transformed, displaying a certain natural and -spontaneous instinct which was something between the cunning of a -fox and the skill of a warrior. This outward simplicity and candor -served her then like the shield of Mambrino, and enabled her to issue -unscathed from perils in which many men, considered able, would -unquestionably have lost their lives.</p> - -<p>One day the police, while making a search, really had her in their -grasp. A friend, distancing the gendarmes by a few moments, had merely -only time to rush breathless up the stairs, dash into the room where -she was, and exclaim, “Save yourself! the police!” when the police were -already surrounding the house. Olga had not even time to put on her -bonnet. Just as she was, she rushed to the back stairs, and hurried -down at full speed. Fortunately the street door was not yet guarded -by the gendarmes, and she was able to enter a little shop on the -ground floor. She had only twenty kopecks in her pockets, having been -unable, in her haste, to get any money. But this did not trouble her. -For fifteen kopecks she bought a cotton handkerchief, and fastened it -round her head in the style adopted by coquettish servant-girls. With -the five kopecks remaining she bought some nuts, and left the shop -eating them, in such a quiet and innocent manner that the detachment -of police, which meanwhile had advanced and surrounded the house on -that side, let her pass without even asking her who she was, although -the description of her was well known, for her photograph had been -distributed to all the agents, and the police have always strict orders -to let no one who may arouse the slightest suspicion leave a house -which they have surrounded. This was not the only time that she slipped -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -like an eel through the fingers of the police. She was inexhaustible -in expedients, in stratagems, and in cunning, which she always had at -her command at such times; and with all this she maintained her serious -and severe aspect, so that she seemed utterly incapable of lending -herself to deceit or stimulation. Perhaps she did not think, but acted -upon instinct rather than reflection, and that was why she could meet -every danger with the lightning-like rapidity of a fencer who parries a thrust.</p> - -<h3>IV.</h3> - -<p>The romance of her life commenced during her stay in St. Petersburg -after her escape. She was one of the so-called “Amazons,” and was one -of the most fanatical. She ardently preached against love and advocated -celibacy, holding that with so many young men and young girls of the -present day love was a clog upon revolutionary activity. She kept her -vow for several years, but was vanquished by the invincible. There was -at that time in St. Petersburg a certain Nicholas Morosoff, a young -poet and brave fellow, handsome, and fascinating as his poetic dreams. -He was of a graceful figure, tall as a young pine-tree, with a fine -head, an abundance of curly hair, and a pair of chestnut eyes, which -soothed, like a whisper of love, and sent forth glances that shone like -diamonds in the dark whenever a touch of enthusiasm moved him.</p> - -<p>The bold “Amazon” and the young poet met, and their fate was decided. I -will not tell of the delirium and transports through which they passed. -Their love was like some delicate and sensitive plant, which must not -be rudely touched. It was a spontaneous and irresistible feeling. They -did not perceive it until they were madly enamoured of each other. -They became husband and wife. It was said of them that when they were -together inexorable Fate had no heart to touch them, and that its cruel -hand became a paternal one, which warded off the blows that threatened -them. And, indeed, all their misfortunes happened to them when they -were apart.</p> - -<p>This was the incident which did much to give rise to the saying.</p> - -<p>In November 1879, Olga fell into the hands of the police. It should be -explained that when these succeed in arresting a Nihilist they always -leave in the apartments of the captured person a few men to take into -custody any one who may come to see that person. In our language, this -is called a trap. Owing to the Russian habit of arranging everything -at home and not in the cafés, as in Europe, the Nihilists are often -compelled to go to each other houses, and thus these traps become -fatal. In order to diminish the risk, safety signals are generally -placed in the windows, and are taken away at the first sound of the -police. But, owing to the negligence of the Nihilists themselves, -accustomed as they are to danger, and so occupied that they sometimes -have not time to eat a mouthful all day long, the absence of these -signals is often disregarded, or attributed to some combination -of circumstances—the difficulty, or perhaps the topographical -impossibility, of placing signals in many apartments in such a manner -that they can be seen from a distance. This measure of public security -frequently, therefore, does not answer its purpose, and a good half of -all the Nihilists who have fallen into the hands of the Government have -been caught in these very traps.</p> - -<p>A precisely similar misfortune happened to Olga, and the worst of -it was that it was in the house of Alexander Kviatkovsky, one of -the Terrorist leaders, where the police found a perfect magazine of -dynamite, bombs, and similar things, together with a plan of the -Winter Palace, which, after the explosion there, led to his capital -conviction. As may readily be believed, the police would regard with -anything but favorable eyes every one who came to the house of such a man.</p> - -<p>Directly she entered, Olga was immediately seized by two policemen, in -order to prevent her from defending herself. She, however, displayed -not the slightest desire to do so. She feined surprise, astonishment, -and invented there and then the story that she had come to see some -dressmakers (who had, in fact, their names on a door-plate below, and -occupied the upper floor) for the purpose of ordering something, but -had mistaken the door; that she did not know what they wanted with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> -her, and wished to return to her husband, etc.; the usual subterfuges -to which the police are accustomed to turn a deaf ear. But Olga played -her part so well that the <i>pristav</i>, or head of the police of the -district, was really inclined to believe her. He told her that anyhow, -if she did not wish to be immediately taken to prison, she must give -her name and conduct him to her own house. Olga gave the first name -which came into her mind, which naturally enough was not that under -which she was residing in the capital, but as to her place of residence -she declared, with every demonstration of profound despair, that she -could not, and would not, take him there or say where it was. The -<i>pristav</i> insisted, and, upon her reiterated refusal, observed to the -poor simple thing that her obstinacy was not only prejudicial to her, -but even useless, as, knowing her name, he would have no difficulty in -sending some one to the Adressni Stol and obtaining her address. Struck -by this unanswerable argument, Olga said she would take him to her house.</p> - -<p>No sooner had she descended into the street, accompanied by the -<i>pristav</i> and some of his subalterns, than Olga met a friend, Madame -Maria A., who was going to Kviatkovsky’s, where a meeting of Terrorists -had actually been fixed for that very day. It was to this chance -meeting that the Terrorists owed their escape from the very grave -danger which threatened them; for the windows of Kviatkovsky’s rooms -were so placed that it was impossible to see any signals there from the street.</p> - -<p>Naturally enough the two friends made no sign to indicate that they -were acquainted with each other, but Madame Maria A., on seeing Olga -with the police, ran in all haste to inform her friends of the arrest -of their companion, about which there could be no doubt.</p> - -<p>The first to be warned was Nicholas Morosoff, as the police in a short -time would undoubtedly go to his house and make the customary search. -Olga felt certain that this was precisely what her friend would do, and -therefore her sole object now was to delay her custodians so as to give -Morosoff time to “clear” his rooms (that is to say, destroy or take -away papers and everything compromising), and to get away himself. It -was this that she was anxious about, for he had been accused by the -traitor Goldenberg of having taken part in the mining work connected -with the Moscow attempt, and by the Russian law was liable to the -penalty of death.</p> - -<p>Greatly emboldened by this lucky meeting with her friend, Olga, -without saying a word, conducted the police to the Ismailovsky Polk, -one of the quarters of the town most remote from the place of her -arrest, which was in the Nevsky district. They found the street and -the house indicated to them. They entered and summoned the <i>dvornik</i> -(doorkeeper), who has to be present at every search made. Then came the -inevitable explanation. The <i>dvornik</i> said that he did not know the -lady, and that she did not lodge in that house.</p> - -<p>Upon hearing this statement, Olga covered her face with her hands, and -again gave way to despair. She sobbingly admitted that she had deceived -them from fear of her husband, who was very harsh, that she had not -given her real name and address, and wound up by begging them to let -her go home.</p> - -<p>“What’s the use of all this, madam?” exclaimed the <i>pristav</i>. “Don’t -you see that you are doing yourself harm by these tricks? I’ll forgive -you this time, because of your inexperience, but take care you don’t -do it again, and lead us at once to your house, or otherwise you will -repent it.”</p> - -<p>After much hesitation, Olga, resolved to obey the injunctions of the -<i>pristav</i>. She gave her name, and said she lived in one of the lines of -the Vasili Ostrov.</p> - -<p>It took an hour to reach the place. At last they arrived at the house -indicated. Here precisely the same scene with the <i>dvornik</i> was -repeated. Then the <i>pristav</i> lost all patience, and wanted to take -her away to prison at once, without making a search in her house. -Upon hearing the <i>pristav’s</i> harsh announcement, Olga flung herself -into an arm-chair and had a violent attack of hysterics. They fetched -some water and sprinkled her face with it to revive her. When she had -somewhat recovered, the <i>pristav</i> ordered her to rise and go at once -to the prison of the district. Her hysterical attack recommenced. But the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> -<i>pristav</i> would stand no more nonsense, and told her to get up, or -otherwise he would have her taken away in a cab by main force.</p> - -<p>The despair of the poor lady was now at its height.</p> - -<p>“Listen!” she exclaimed. “I will tell you everything now.”</p> - -<p>And she began the story of her life and marriage. She was the daughter -of a rustic, and she named the province and the village. Up to the age -of sixteen she remained with her father and looked after the sheep. But -one day an engineer, her future husband, who was at work upon a branch -line of railway, came to stop in the house. He fell in love with her, -took her to town, placed her with his aunt, and had teachers to educate -her, as she was illiterate and knew nothing. Then he married her, and -they lived very happily together for four years; but he had since -become discontented, rough, irritable, and she feared that he loved her -no longer; but she loved him as much as ever, as she owed everything -to him, and could not be ungrateful. Then she said that he would be -dreadfully angry with her, and would perhaps drive her away if she went -to the house in charge of the police; that it would be a scandal; that -he would think she had stolen something; and so on.</p> - -<p>All this, and much more of the same kind, with endless details and -repetitions, did Olga narrate; interrupting her story from time to time -by sighs, exclamations, and tears. She wept in very truth, and her -tears fell copiously, as she assured me when she laughingly described -this scene to me afterwards. I thought at the time that she would have -made a very good actress.</p> - -<p>The <i>pristav</i>, though impatient, continued to listen. He was vexed at -the idea of returning with empty hands, and he hoped this time at all -events her story would lead to something. Then, too, he had not the -slightest suspicion, and would have taken his oath that the woman he -had arrested was a poor simple creature, who had fallen into his hands -without having done anything whatever, as so frequently happens in -Russia, where houses are searched on the slightest suspicion. When Olga -had finished her story the <i>pristav</i> began to console her. He said that -her husband would certainly pardon her when he heard her explanation; -that the same thing might happen to any one; and so on. Olga resisted -for a while, and asked the <i>pristav</i> to promise that he would assure -her husband she had done nothing wrong; and more to the same effect. -The <i>pristav</i> promised everything, in order to bring the matter to an -end, and this time Olga proceeded towards her real residence. She had -gained three hours and a half; for her arrest took place at about two -o’clock, and she did not reach her own home until about half-past five. -She had no doubt that Morosoff had got away, and after having “cleared” -the rooms had thrice as much time as he required for the operation.</p> - -<p>Having ascended the stairs, accompanied by the <i>dvorniks</i> and the -police, she rang the bell. The door opened and the party entered, first -the antechamber, then the sitting-room. There a terrible surprise -awaited her. Morosoff in person was seated at a table, in his dressing -gown, with a pencil in his hand and a pen in his ear. Olga fell into -hysterics. This time they were real, not simulated.</p> - -<p>How was it that he had remained in the house?</p> - -<p>The lady previously mentioned had not failed to hasten at once and -inform Morosoff, whom she found at home with three or four friends. At -the announcement of the arrest of Olga they all had but one idea—that -of remaining where they were, of arming themselves, and of awaiting -her arrival, in order to rescue her by main force. But Morosoff -energetically opposed this proposal. He said, and rightly said, that it -presented more dangers than advantages, for the police being in numbers -and reinforced by the <i>dvorniks</i> of the house, who are all a species of -police agents of inferior grade, the attempt at the best would result -in the liberation of one person at the cost of several others. His view -prevailed, and the plan, which was more generous than prudent, was -abandoned. The rooms were at once “cleared” with the utmost rapidity, -so that the fate of the person arrested, which was sure to be a hard -one and was now inevitable, should not be rendered more grievous. When -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> -all was ready and they were about to leave, Morosoff staggered his -friends by acquainting them with the plan he had thought of. He would -remain in the house alone and await the arrival of the police. They -thought he had lost his senses; for everybody knew, and no one better -than himself, that, with the terrible accusation hanging over his -head, if once arrested it would be all over with him. But he said he -hoped it would not come to that—nay, he expected to get clear off -with Olga, and in any case would share her fate. They would escape or -perish together. His friends heard him announce this determination -with mingled feelings of grief, astonishment, and admiration. Neither -entreaties nor remonstrances could shake his determination. He was -firm, and remained at home after saying farewell to his friends, who -took leave of him as of a man on the point of death.</p> - -<p>He had drawn up his plan, which by the suggestion of some mysterious -instinct perfectly harmonised with that of Olga, although they had -never in any way arranged the matter. He also had determined to feign -innocence, and had arranged everything in such a manner as to make it -seem as though he were the most peaceful of citizens. As he lived under -the false passport of an engineer, he covered his table with a heap of -plans of various dimensions, and, having put on his dressing-gown and -slippers, set diligently to work to copy one, while waiting the arrival -of his unwelcome guests.</p> - -<p>It was in this guise and engaged in this innocent occupation that he -was surprised by the police. The scene which followed may easily be -imagined. Olga flung her arms round his neck, and poured forth a stream -of broken words, exclamations, excuses, and complaints of these men who -had arrested her because she wished to call upon her milliner. In the -midst, however, of these exclamations, she whispered in his ear, “Have -you not been warned?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he replied in the same manner, everything is in order. -“Don’t be alarmed.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile he played the part of an affectionate husband mortified by -this scandal. After a little scolding and then a little consolation, he -turned to the <i>pristav</i> and asked him for an explanation, as he could -not quite understand what had happened from the disconnected words of -his wife. The <i>pristav</i> politely told the whole story. The engineer -appeared greatly surprised and grieved, and could not refrain from -somewhat bitterly censuring his wife for her unpardonable imprudence. -The <i>pristav</i>, who was evidently reassured by the aspect of the husband -and of the whole household, declared nevertheless that he must make a search.</p> - -<p>“I hope you will excuse me, sir,” he added, “but I am obliged to do it; -it is my duty.”</p> - -<p>“I willingly submit to the law,” nobly replied the engineer.</p> - -<p>Thereupon he pointed to the room, so as to indicate that the <i>pristav</i> -was free to search it thoroughly, and having lit a candle with his -own hand, for at that hour in St. Petersburg it was already dark, he -quietly opened the door of the adjoining room, which was his own little -place.</p> - -<p>The search was made. Certainly not a single scrap of paper was found, -written or printed, which smelt of Nihilism.</p> - -<p>“By rights I ought to take the lady to prison,” said the <i>pristav</i>, -when he had finished his search, “especially as her previous behavior -was anything but what it ought to have been; but I won’t do that. I -will simply keep you under arrest here until your passports have been -verified. You see, sir,” he added, “we police officers are not quite so -bad as the Nihilists make us out.”</p> - -<p>“There are always honest men in every occupation,” replied the engineer -with a gracious bow.</p> - -<p>More compliments of the same kind, which I need not repeat, were -exchanged between them, and the <i>pristav</i> went away with most of his -men, well impressed with such a polite and pleasant reception. He left, -however, a guard in the kitchen, with strict injunctions not to lose -sight of the host and hostess, until further orders.</p> - -<p>Morosoff and Olga were alone. The first act of the comedy they had -improvised had met with complete success. But the storm was far from -having blown over. The verification of their passports would show that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> -they were false. The inevitable consequence would be a warrant for -their arrest, which might be issued at any moment if the verification -were made by means of the telegraph. The sentinel, rigid, motionless, -with his sword by his side and his revolver in his belt, was seated in -the kitchen, which was at the back, exactly opposite the outer door, -so that it was impossible to approach the door without being seen by -him. For several hours they racked their brains and discussed, in a low -voice, various plans of escape. To free themselves by main force was -not to be thought of. No arms had been left in the place, for they had -been purposely taken away. Yet without weapons, how could they grapple -with this big sturdy fellow, armed as he was? They hoped that as the -hours passed on he would fall asleep. But this hope was not realised. -When, at about half-past ten, Morosoff, under the pretext of going into -his little room, which was used for various domestic purposes, passed -near the kitchen, he saw the man still at his post, with his eyes wide -open, attentive and vigilant as at first. Yet when Morosoff returned -Olga would have declared that the way was quite clear and that they had -nothing to do but to leave, so beaming were his eyes. He had, in fact, -found what he wanted—a plan simple and safe. The little room opened -into the small corridor which served as a sort of antechamber, and its -door flanked that of the kitchen. In returning to the sitting-room, -Morosoff observed that when the door of the little room was wide open, -it completely shut out the view of the kitchen, and consequently hid -from the policeman the outer door, and also that of the sitting-room. -It would be possible, therefore, at a given moment, to pass through -the antechamber without being seen by the sentinel. But this could not -be done unless some one came and opened the door of the little room. -Neither Olga nor Morosoff could do this, for if, under some pretext, -they opened it, they would of course have to leave it open. This would -immediately arouse suspicion, and the policeman would run after them -and catch them perhaps before they had descended the staircase. Could -they trust the landlady? The temptation to do so was great. If she -consented to assist them, success might be considered certain. But if -she refused! Who could guarantee that, from fear of being punished as -an accomplice, she would not go and reveal everything to the police? Of -course she did not suspect in the least what kind of people her lodgers were.</p> - -<p>Nothing, therefore, was said to her, but they hoped nevertheless to -have her unconscious assistance, and it was upon that Morosoff had -based his plan. About eleven o’clock she went into the little room, -where the pump was placed, to get the water to fill the kitchen -cistern for next day’s consumption. As the room was very small, she -generally left one of the two pails in the corridor, while she filled -the other with water, and, of course, was thus obliged to leave the -door open. Everything thus depended upon the position in which she -placed her pail. An inch or two on one side or the other would decide -their fate; for it was only when the door of the little room was wide -open that it shut out the view of the kitchen and concealed the end -of the antechamber. If not wide open, part of the outer door could be -seen. There remained half an hour before the decisive moment, which -both employed in preparing for flight. Their wraps were hanging up in -the wardrobe in the antechamber. They had, therefore, to put on what -they had with them in the sitting-room. Morosoff put on a light summer -overcoat. Olga threw over her shoulders a woollen scarf, to protect -her somewhat from the cold. In order to deaden as much as possible -the sounds of their hasty footsteps, which might arouse the attention -of the sentinel in the profound silence of the night, both of them -put on their goloshes, which, being elastic, made but little noise. -They had to put them on next to their stockings, although it was not -particularly agreeable at that season, for they were in their slippers, -their shoes having been purposely sent into the kitchen to be cleaned -for the following day, in order to remove all suspicion respecting -their intentions.</p> - -<p>Everything being prepared, they remained in readiness, listening to -every sound made by the landlady. At last came the clanging of the -empty pails. She went to the little room, threw open the door, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> -began her work. The moment had arrived. Morosoff cast a hasty glance. -Oh, horror! The empty pail scarcely projected beyond the threshold, and -the door was at a very acute angle, so that even from the door of the -sitting-room where they were part of the interior of the kitchen could -be seen. He turned towards Olga, who was standing behind him holding -her breath, and made an energetic sign in the negative. A few minutes -passed, which seemed like hours. The pumping ceased; the pail was full. -She was about to place it on the floor. Both stretched their necks and -advanced a step, being unable to control the anxiety of their suspense. -This time the heavy pail banged against the door and forced it back on -its hinges, a stream of water being spilt. The view of the kitchen was -completely shut out, but another disaster had occurred. Overbalanced -by the heavy weight, the landlady had come half out into the corridor. -“She has seen us,” whispered Morosoff, falling back pale as death. -“No,” replied Olga, excitedly; and she was right. The landlady -disappeared into the little room, and a moment afterwards recommenced -her clattering work.</p> - -<p>Without losing a moment, without even turning round, Morosoff gave the -signal to his companion by a firm grip of the hand, and both issued -forth, hastily passed through the corridor, softly opened the door, and -found themselves upon the landing of the staircase. With cautious steps -they descended, and were in the street, ill clad but very light of -heart. A quarter of an hour afterwards they were in a house where they -were being anxiously awaited by their friends, who welcomed them with a -joy more easy to imagine than to describe.</p> - -<p>In their own abode their flight was not discovered until late in the -morning, when the landlady came to do the room.</p> - -<p>Such was the adventure, narrated exactly as it happened, which -contributed, as I have said, to give rise to the saying that these two -were invincible when together. When the police became aware of the -escape of the supposed engineer and his wife, they saw at once that -they had been outwitted. The <i>pristav</i>, who had been so thoroughly -taken in, had a terrible time of it, and proceeded with the utmost -eagerness to make investigations somewhat behindhand. The verification -of the passports of course showed that they were false. The two -fugitives were therefore “illegal” people, but the police wished to -know, at all events, who they were, and to discover this was not very -difficult, for both had already been in the hands of the police, who, -therefore, were in possession of their photographs. The landlady and -the <i>dvornik</i> recognised them among a hundred shown to them by the -gendarmes. A comparison with the description of them, also preserved in -the archives of the gendarmerie, left no doubt of their identity. It -was in this manner the police found out what big fish they had stupidly -allowed to escape from their net, as may be seen by reading the report -of the trial of Sciriaeff and his companions. With extreme but somewhat -tardy zeal, the gendarmes ransacked every place in search of them. They -had their trouble for nothing. A Nihilist who thoroughly determines -to conceal himself can never be found. He falls into the hands of the -police only when he returns to active life.</p> - -<p>When the search for them began to relax, Olga and Morosoff quitted -their place of concealment and resumed their positions in the ranks. -Some months afterwards they went abroad in order to legitimatise their -union, so that if some day they were arrested it might be recognised by -the police. They crossed the frontier of Roumania unmolested, stopped -there some time, and having arranged their private affairs went to -reside for awhile at Geneva, where Morosoff wished to finish a work of -some length upon the Russian revolutionary movement. Here, Olga gave -birth to a daughter, and for awhile it seemed that all the strength -of her ardent and exceptional disposition would concentrate itself in -maternal love. She did not appear to care for anything. She seemed even -to forget her husband in her exclusive devotion to the little one. -There was something almost wild in the intensity of her love.</p> - -<p>Four months passed, and Morosoff, obeying the call of duty, chafing at -inactivity, and eager for the struggle, returned to Russia. Olga could -not follow him with her baby at the breast, and, oppressed by a -mournful presentiment, allowed him to depart alone.</p> - -<p>A fortnight after he was arrested.</p> - -<p>On hearing this terrible news, Olga did not swoon, she did not wring -her hands, she did not even shed a single tear. She stifled her grief. -A single, irresistible, and supreme idea pervaded her—to fly to him; -to save him at all costs; by money, by craft, by the dagger, by poison, -even at the risk of her own life, so that she could but save him.</p> - -<p>And the child? That poor little weak and delicate creature, who needed -all her maternal care to support its feeble life? What could she do -with the poor innocent babe, already almost an orphan?</p> - -<p>She could not take it with her. She must leave it behind.</p> - -<p>Terrible was the night which the poor mother passed with her child -before setting out. Who can depict the indescribable anguish of her -heart, with the horrible alternative placed before her of forsaking her -child to save the man she loved, or of forsaking him to save the little -one. On the one side was maternal feeling; on the other her ideal, her -convictions, her devotion to the cause which he steadfastly served.</p> - -<p>She did not hesitate for a moment. She must go.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the day fixed she took leave of all her friends, shut -herself up alone with her child, and remained with it for some minutes -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> -to bid it farewell. When she issued forth, her face was pale as death -and wet with tears.</p> - -<p>She set out. She moved heaven and earth to save her husband. Twenty -times she was within an ace of being arrested. But it was impossible -for her efforts to avail. As implicated in the attempt against the life -of the Emperor, he was confined in the fortress of St. Peter and St. -Paul; and there is no escape from there. She did not relax her efforts, -but stubbornly and doggedly continued them, and all this while was in -agony if she did not constantly hear about her child. If the letters -were delayed a day or two, her anguish could not be restrained. The -child was ever present in her mind. One day she took compassion on a -little puppy, still blind, which she found upon a heap of rubbish, -where it had been thrown. “My friends laugh at me,” she wrote, “but I -love it because its little feeble cries remind me of those of my child.”</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the child died. For a whole month no one had the courage to -tell the sad news. But at last the silence had to be broken.</p> - -<p>Olga herself was arrested a few weeks afterwards.</p> - -<p>Such is the story, the true story, of Olga Liubatovitch. Of Olga -Liubatovitch, do I say? No—of hundreds and hundreds of others. I -should not have related it had it not been so.—<i>Cornhill Magazine</i>.</p> - -<div><a name="trappists"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>AMONG THE TRAPPISTS.<br /> -<small>A GLIMPSE OF LIFE AT LE PORT DU SALUT.</small></h2> -<p class="center space-below1"><b>BY SURGEON-GENERAL H. L. COWEN.</b></p> - -<p>The monastic order of Trappists—a branch of the Cistercian—possesses -monasteries in many parts of Europe, one, composed of German brethren, -being in Turkey. Some of these establishments are agricultural or -industrial associations; others are reformatories for juvenile -delinquents; while some have been instituted for effecting works that -might be dangerous to health and life, such as draining marshy lands -where the fatal malaria broods.</p> - -<p>The Monastery of La Trappe le Port du Salut, the subject of the present -description, stands near the village of Entrammes, at Port Raingeard, -on the river Mayenne, on the borders of Maine, Anjou, and Brittany. -Its site has been most picturesquely chosen in a charming nook, where -the stream having rapidly passed through some rocky cliffs suddenly -expands, and flows slowly through rich pasture-lands. With its church, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> -farms, water-mill, cattle-sheds, gardens, and orchards, the whole -settlement looks like a hamlet surrounded with an enclosure (<i>clôture</i>) -marking the limits of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction. A narrow -passage between two high walls leads to the entrance-gate, bearing the -inscription, “Hic est Portus Salutis,”—“Here is the haven of safety.” -A long chain with an iron cross for a handle being pulled and a bell -rung, a porter opens a wicket, bows his head down to his knees—the -obligatory salutation of the Trappist—and in silence awaits the -ringer’s interrogation. The latter may have come simply from curiosity, -or he may be a traveller seeking for shelter and hospitality, a beggar -asking alms, or even a wrong-doer in search of an asylum; he may be -rich or poor, Christian, Jew, or Mohammedan—no matter! the porter at -once grants admittance, conducts him to the guests’ reception-room, and -summons the hostelier.</p> - -<p>A monk in white robes appears, his head shaven with the exception -of a ring of hair. He bows as did the porter. If the visitor only -contemplates a stay of a few hours no formality is gone through; -a meal and refreshments are offered, and he is conducted over the -monastery. But if he proposes to sleep there, the monk, whose rules are -to consider that every guest has been guided to the place by our Lord -Himself, says, “I must worship in your person Jesus Christ, suffering -and asking hospitality; pray do not heed what I am about to do.” He -then falls prostrate on the ground, and so remains for a short time, -in silent devotion. After this he leads the way to an adjoining room, -and requests the visitor to write his name in a book, open here, as -elsewhere in France, for the inspection of the police. The entry made, -the father hostelier (as he is called) reads from “The Imitation of -Jesus Christ” the first passage that attracts his eye. In the case of -our informant it was “I come to you, my son, because you have called -me.” But whatever the text may be, he adds, “Let these words form the -subject of your meditations during your stay at La Trappe.”</p> - -<p>The <i>Communauté</i> is the name of the monks’ private buildings, where -no strangers are permitted to penetrate, except by special permission -and accompanied by a father. Here perpetual silence is prescribed, -save during the times of religious service, and the visitor is warned -that in his tour around the domicile he is to kneel, pray, and make -the sign of the cross when and where he sees his companion do so. This -proceeding would at first sight seem to exclude from the monastery all -non-Roman Catholics. The member of any religious communion, however, is -welcome, provided he pays a certain deference to the rules, and as the -Trappist guide walks in advance, and never turns round to observe how -his guest is engaged, all derelictions in minor matters are purposely -allowed to escape his notice. Were it otherwise, he would at once -retrace his steps, lead the way to the entrance-door, show the visitor -out, and without uttering a single word, bow and leave him there.</p> - -<p>The church is a part of the <i>Communauté</i>, and is plain in architecture -and simple in ornamentation. Here it is that each Trappist is brought -to die. Whenever any monk is in the throes of death, an assistant -of the hospital runs about the monastery striking with a stick on a -board. At that well-known summons the brethren flock to the church, -where their dying brother has been already laid on ashes strewn on the -stones in the shape of a cross, and covered with a bundle of straw. -A solemn joy lights up every face, and the Trappist passes away amid -the thanksgiving of his companions who envy his happiness. It is the -<i>finis coronat opus</i> of his life-work.</p> - -<p>The Trappist must always be ready for the grave, and as he is to be -buried in his religious vestments, so he is bound to sleep in those -same vestments, even to the extent of keeping his shoes on. The -dormitory is common to all, the abbot included. The beds are made -of quilted straw, as hard as a board, and are separated by a wooden -partition, without doors, reaching more than half way to the ceiling. -There is not the least distinction of accommodation. The Superior rests -not more luxuriously than the brethren, because equality rules here as -elsewhere in the monastery. For La Trappe is a republic governed by a -Chapter, the abbot being only the executive for all temporal affairs, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> -and wielding absolute power in spiritual matters alone. But although -he holds authority from the see of Rome, yet he is elected by the -brethren, who may if they choose elevate the humblest official of the -monastery. There are no menial occupations, as the world esteems them, -inside the religious houses of the order. The commonest duties may be -performed by inmates of the highest social rank.</p> - -<p>The Chapter House answers the double purpose of a hall for meetings and -of a reading-room. The Chapter assembles daily at 5 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>—the -fathers in their white gowns, the brethren in their brown ones—in -order to discuss any matter, temporal or spiritual, interesting to -the general community. When the secular business of the day has been -gone through the abbot says, “Let us speak concerning our rules,” -implying that any derelictions which may have occurred during the -past twenty-four hours are to be considered. Then all the monks in -succession, as they may have occasion, accuse themselves of any -neglect, even the most trivial. One may say, “Reverend Father,” -addressing the abbot, “I accidentally dropped my tools when working;” -another, “I did not bow low enough when Brother Joseph passed me;” a -third, “I saw that Brother Antony carried a load that was too heavy, -and I did not assist him.” These and such like self-accusations may -seem puerile, but they lead up to the preservation of some of the -essential precepts of the order, unremitting attention while at labor, -deferential demeanor and Christian courtesy towards brethren.</p> - -<p>But if any brother may have omitted to mention derelictions of which he -himself was not aware it then devolves upon his companions, with the -view of maintaining rules, on the observance of which the happiness -of all is concerned, to state to the abbot what those faults may have -been. For instance, one will say, “When Brother Simeon comes to the -Chapter he sometimes forgets to make the sign for the brethren who -stood up on his arrival to sit down again, and yesterday Brother Peter -remained standing for one hour, until another brother came in and made -the sign to be seated.” Thus warned Brother Simeon rises and kisses the -informant, thanking him in this way for kindly reproving him. These -accusations are considered by the brethren as showing their zeal for -reciprocal improvement.</p> - -<p>The Trappist is bound to make the abbot acquainted at once with -everything that occurs within the precinct of the monastery, and -minutiæ of the most trifling and sometimes even ludicrous nature must -be reported without delay. To the same ear, and in private, must also -be communicated those confessions in which personal feelings—even -against himself—are concerned. To quote a single instance. It once so -happened that a brother of Le Port du Salut took a dislike to -Dom. H. M., the abbot, and came to tell him of it.</p> - -<p>“Reverend Father, I am very unhappy.”</p> - -<p>“Why so, brother?”</p> - -<p>“Reverend Father, I cannot bear the sight of you.”</p> - -<p>“Why so?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know; but when I see you I feel hatred towards you, and it -destroys my peace of mind.”</p> - -<p>“It is a temptation as bad, but not worse, than any other,” replied the -abbot; “bear it patiently; do not heed it; and whenever you feel it -again come at once and tell me, and especially warn me if I say or do -anything that displeases you.”</p> - -<p>The common belief that Trappists never speak is altogether erroneous. -They do speak at stated times and under certain conditions, and -they make use besides of most expressive signs, each of which is -symbolical. Thus joining the fingers of both hands at a right angle, -imitating as it does the roof of a house, means <i>house</i>; touching the -forehead signifies the <i>abbot</i>; the chin, a <i>stranger</i>; the heart, a -<i>brother</i>; the eyes, to <i>sleep</i>, and so on with some hundreds of like -signs invented by Abbé de Rance, the founder of the order. Trappists -converse in this manner with amazing rapidity, and may be heard -laughing heartily at the comicality of a story told entirely by signs. -Strange to say there is no austere gloom about the Trappist. His face -invariably bears the stamp of serenity, often that of half-subdued -gaiety. The life he leads is nevertheless a very hard one. No fire is -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> -allowed in the winter except in the <i>chauffoir</i> or stove-room, and -there the monks are permitted during excessive cold weather to come -in for fifteen minutes only, the man nearest the stove yielding his -place to the new-comer. The <i>chauffoir</i> and the hospital are the only -artificially heated apartments in the building.</p> - -<p>The Trappist takes but one meal and a slight refection per day. He is -the strictest of all vegetarians, for he is not allowed to partake of -any other food except milk and cheese. From the 14th of September to -the Saturday in Passion week, he must not even touch milk. Vegetables -cooked in water, with a little salt, together with some cider apples, -pears and almonds, being all that is permitted him, and during that -long period he takes food but once daily. The diet is not precisely -the same in all monasteries, certain modifications being authorised, -according to the produce of the monastic lands. Thus at Le Port du -Salut they brew and drink beer and at other places where wine is made -they use that in very limited quantities, largely diluted with water.</p> - -<p>Trappists wait in turn at table upon their brethren. No one, not even -the abbot, is to ask for anything for himself, but each monk is bound -to see that those seated on either side of him get everything they are -entitled to, and to give notice of any omission by giving a slight tap -upon the table and pointing with the finger to the neglected brother.</p> - -<p>Any monk arriving in the refectory after grace prostrates himself in -the middle of the room and remains there until the abbot knocks with a -small hammer and thus liberates him. A graver punishment is inflicted -now and again at the conclusion of dinner. The culprit, so called, lies -flat on the stones across the doorway, and each brother and guest is -compelled to step over him as he makes his exit. I say guest advisedly, -for it is the privilege of all who receive hospitality at La Trappe to -dine once—not oftener—in the monks’ refectory. During meals one of -the Brotherhood reads aloud, in accordance with Cistercian practice.</p> - -<p>The dinner at Le Port du Salut consists generally of vegetable soup, -salad without oil, whole-meal bread, cheese, and a modicum of light -beer. Though the cooking is of the plainest description the quality of -the vegetables is excellent, and the cheese has become quite famous. -The meal never lasts longer than twenty minutes, and when over, all -remaining scraps are distributed to the poor assembled at the gate. -Six hundred pounds weight of bread and several casks of soup are also -distributed weekly, besides what the abbot may send to any sick person -in the vicinity.</p> - -<p>The ailing Trappist is allowed to indulge in what is called <i>Le -Soulagement</i>, viz. two eggs taken early in the morning. In cases of -very severe illness, and when under medical treatment in the hospital, -animal food may be used; but the attachment to rules is so great that -the authority of the Superiors has frequently to be exercised in order -to enforce the doctor’s prescription. In the words of Father Martin, -the attendant of the hospital, “When a Trappist consents to eat meat, -he is at death’s very door.”</p> - -<p>The cemetery is surrounded on all sides by the buildings of the -<i>Communauté</i>, so that from every window the monks may see their last -resting place. The graves are indicated by a slight rising of the grass -and by a cross bearing the saint’s name assumed by the brother on his -<i>profession</i>. Nothing else is recorded save his age and the date of -his death. Threescore years and ten seem to be the minimum of life at -La Trappe, and astonishing as this longevity may appear <i>primâ facie</i>, -it is more so when one considers that the vocation of most postulants -has been determined by a desire to separate themselves from a world, -in which they had previously lost their peace of soul and their bodily health.</p> - -<p>Under the regularity of monastic life, its labor, its tranquillity, -and either despite the severity of the diet or in virtue of it, it is -wonderful how soon the dejected and feeble become restored to health. -Out of fifteen novices, statistics show that only one remains to be -what is called a <i>profès</i>, the other fourteen leaving the monastery -before the expiration of two years. A touching custom may be here -mentioned. Trappists are told in their Chapter meeting, “Brethren, one -of us has lost a father (or any other relation); let us pray for the -departed soul.” But none know the name of the bereft brother. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - -<p>After having taken vows as a <i>profès</i> the Trappist holds a -co-proprietorship in the buildings and lands of the association and -must live and die in the monastery. Death is his goal and best hope. -In order to remind him of it, a grave is always ready in the cemetery; -but the belief is altogether erroneous that each Trappist digs his own -grave. When the earth yawning for the dead has been filled, another pit -is opened <i>by any one ordered for the task</i>. Each Trappist then comes -and prays at the side of this grave which may be his own. Neither do -Trappists when they meet each other say, “Brother, we must die,” as is -also generally accredited to them. This is, we think, the salute of the -disciples of Bruno at La Grande Chartreuse.</p> - -<p>The farm buildings of Le Port du Salut are many and various, including -sheds for cattle, a corn-mill, and looms for the manufacture of the -woollen and cotton clothing the monks wear. There is much land, -outside, as well as inside the walls of the precinct, which the monks -cultivate, and they may be often seen in their full robes, despite the -heat of the summer, working steadfastly in the fields, and the abbot -harder than any of them.</p> - -<p>During the twenty-four hours of an ordinary working day the Trappist -is thus employed. He rises generally at two <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, -but on feast days at midnight or at one o’clock in the morning according to -the importance of the festival. He immediately goes to church, which -is shrouded in darkness, except the light that glimmers from the small -lamps perpetually burning before the altar as in all Roman Catholic -churches. The first service continues until three o’clock; at that -hour and with the last words of the hymn all the monks prostrate -themselves on the stones and remain in silent meditation during thirty -minutes. The nave is then lighted, and the chants are resumed until -five <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>, when masses commence. The number of hours -given to liturgic offices is, on an average, seven per day. Singing, but in a -peculiar way, forms a part of the worship. All the musical notes are -long and of equal duration, and this because the Trappist must sing -hymns “for the love of God, and not for his own delectation.” Moreover, -he must exert his voice to its utmost, and this being prolonged at -intervals during seven hours per diem proves a greater fatigue than -even manual labor.</p> - -<p>The distribution of the labor takes place every day under the -superintendence of the abbot, the prior, and the cellérier, the last -named official having the care of all the temporalities of the place, -and being permitted, like the Superior, to hold intercourse with the -outer world. The cellérier stands indeed in the same relation to the -monastery as does a supercargo to a ship.</p> - -<p>Labor is regular or occasional. To the first the brethren are -definitely appointed, and their work is every day the same; the latter, -which is mainly agricultural, is alloted by the Superior according -to age, physical condition, and aptitude, but it is imperative that -every monk <i>must participate in manual labor</i>. Even a guest may, if he -pleases, claim, what is considered as <i>a privilege</i>, three hours of -work a day.</p> - -<p>After dinner the Trappist gives one hour to rest, but the maximum never -exceeds seven hours, and on feast days is materially reduced by earlier -rising. The mid-day siesta over, labor continues until a quarter to -five o’clock, which is the hour of refection. Then comes the last -religious office of the day, the “Salve Regina,” at which guests as -well as brethren are expected to assist. The last word of the hymn at -this service is the last word of the day. It is called “The Time of the -Great Silence.” Monks and guests then leave the church, smothering the -sound of their footsteps as much as possible, and noiselessly retire -to their respective resting places; lights are put out, except in case -of special permission of the abbot, and a death-like quiet and gloom -reigns everywhere throughout the habitation.</p> - -<p>The life of guests at Le Port du Salut differs from that of a Trappist. -There is a parlor common to all, with a fire burning in it during -winter, but each one sleeps in a separate cell, and has three meals -a day; he may eat eggs from Easter until September, and have his -vegetables cooked with butter. Last, though not least, his wants are -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> -attended to, and his cell swept and cleaned by the father and the -brother of the hostelerie, who are also at liberty to hold conversation -with him.</p> - -<p>A guest may stay in the monastery for three days without giving any -particulars of himself, for fourteen days if he chooses to disclose who -and what he is, and for as much as three months if his circumstances -seem to need it. After that time, if he be poor, he may be sent away to -another monastery at the cost of the senders; but the abbot is free to -extend a guest’s visit to any duration.</p> - -<p>Trappists are most useful citizens. They perform, per head, more labor -than any farmer; they expend upon their own maintenance the very -minimum necessary to support existence; they undertake at the cost of -their lives works of great public utility, such as the draining of the -extensive marshes of Les Dombes, in the south of France, and of La -Metidja, at Staouëli, near Algiers, which they are converting into -fruitful fields. As horticulturists, agriculturists, dairymen, millers, -and breeders of cattle they are unrivalled; for men whose faith is -that to work is to pray, cannot fail to excel those with whom work -is, if even necessary, a tiresome obligation. Lastly, in all new -establishments, the Trappist only considers his monastery founded when -a dead brother has taken possession of the land and lies buried in the -first open grave.</p> - -<p>Such is the real life of the Trappists. It is apparently a happy one; -and it is with feelings of deep regret and of friendly remembrance that -the departing guest, as he reaches a turning of the road, and sees the -steeple of the monastery of Le Port du Salut disappear, stands for a -moment to cast a last look upon that peaceful abode ere he wends his -way again into the wide, wide world.—<i>Good Words.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>THUNDERBOLTS.</h2> - -<p>The subject of thunderbolts is a very fascinating one, and all the -more so because there are no such things in existence at all as -thunderbolts of any sort. Like the snakes of Iceland, their whole -history might, from the positive point of view at least, be summed up -in the simple statement of their utter nonentity. But does that do away -in the least, I should like to know, with their intrinsic interest and -importance? Not a bit of it. It only adds to the mystery and charm of -the whole subject. Does any one feel as keenly interested in any real -living cobra or anaconda as in the non-existent great sea-serpent? -Are ghosts and vampires less attractive objects of popular study than -cats and donkeys? Can the present King of Abyssinia, interviewed by -our own correspondent, equal the romantic charm of Prester John, or -the butcher in the next street rival the personality of Sir Roger -Charles Doughty Tichborne, Baronet? No, the real fact is this: if -there <i>were</i> thunderbolts, the question of their nature and action -would be a wholly dull, scientific, and priggish one; it is their -unreality alone that invests them with all the mysterious weirdness -of pure fiction. Lightning, now, is a common thing that one reads -about wearily in the books on electricity, a mere ordinary matter of -positive and negative, density and potential, to be measured in ohms -(whatever they may be), and partially imitated with Leyden jars and -red sealing-wax apparatus. Why, did not Benjamin Franklin, a fat old -gentleman in ill-fitting small clothes, bring it down from the clouds -with a simple door-key, somewhere near Philadelphia? and does not Mr. -Robert Scott (of the Meteorological Office) calmly predict its probable -occurrence within the next twenty-four hours in his daily report, as -published regularly in the morning papers? This is lightning, mere -vulgar lightning, a simple result of electrical conditions in the upper -atmosphere, inconveniently connected with algebraical formulas in <i>x</i>, -<i>y</i>, <i>z</i>, with horrid symbols interspersed in Greek letters. But -the real thunderbolts of Jove, the weapons that the angry Zeus, or Thor, -or Indra hurls down upon the head of the trembling malefactor—how -infinitely grander, more fearsome, and more mysterious! -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p>And yet even nowadays, I believe, there are a large number of -well-informed people, who have passed the sixth standard, taken prizes -at the Oxford Local, and attended the dullest lectures of the Society -for University Extension, but who nevertheless in some vague and dim -corner of their consciousness retain somehow a lingering faith in the -existence of thunderbolts. They have not yet grasped in its entirety -the simple truth that lightning is the reality of which thunderbolts -are the mythical or fanciful or verbal representation. We all of us -know now that lightning is a mere flash of electric light and heat; -that it has no solid existence or core of any sort; in short, that it -is dynamical rather than material, a state or movement rather than a -body or thing. To be sure, local newspapers still talk with much show -of learning about the “electric fluid” which did such remarkable damage -last week upon the slated steeple of Peddington Torpida church; but the -well-crammed schoolboy of the present day has long since learned that -the electric fluid is an exploded fallacy, and that the lightning which -pulled the ten slates off the steeple in question was nothing more in -its real nature than a very big immaterial spark. However, the word -thunderbolt has survived to us from the days when people still believed -that the thing which did the damage during a thunderstorm was really -and truly a gigantic white-hot bolt or arrow; and as there is a natural -tendency in human nature to fit an existence to every word, people -even now continue to imagine that there must be actually something or -other somewhere called a thunderbolt. They don’t figure this thing to -themselves as being identical with the lightning; on the contrary, they -seem to regard it as something infinitely rarer, more terrible, and -more mystic; but they firmly hold that thunderbolts do exist in real -life, and even sometimes assert that they themselves have positively -seen them.</p> - -<p>But if seeing is believing, it is equally true, as all who have looked -into the phenomena of spiritualism and “psychical research” (modern -English for ghost-hunting), know too well that believing is seeing -also. The origin of the faith in thunderbolts must be looked for (like -the origin of the faith in ghosts and “psychical phenomena”) far -back in the history of our race. The noble savage, at that early -period when wild in woods he ran, naturally noticed the existence -of thunder and lightning, because thunder and lightning are things -that forcibly obtrude themselves upon the attention of the observer, -however little he may by nature be scientifically inclined. Indeed, -the noble savage, sleeping naked on the bare ground, in tropical -countries where thunder occurs almost every night on an average, was -sure to be pretty often awaked from his peaceful slumbers by the -torrents of rain that habitually accompany thunderstorms in the happy -realms of everlasting dog-days. Primitive man was thereupon compelled -to do a little philosophising on his own account as to the cause and -origin of the rumbling and flashing which he saw so constantly around -him. Naturally enough, he concluded that the sound must be the voice -of somebody; and that the fiery shaft, whose effects he sometimes -noted upon trees, animals, and his fellow-man, must be the somebody’s -arrow. It is immaterial from this point of view whether, as the -scientific anthropologists hold, he was led to his conception of these -supernatural personages from his prior belief in ghosts and spirits, or -whether, as Professor Max Müller will have it, he felt a deep yearning -in his primitive savage breast toward the Infinite and the Unknowable -(which he would doubtless have spelt like the professor, with a capital -initial, had he been acquainted with the intricacies of the yet -uninvented alphabet); but this much at least is pretty certain, that he -looked upon the thunder and the lightning as in some sense the voice -and the arrows of an aërial god.</p> - -<p>Now, this idea about the arrows is itself very significant of the -mental attitude of primitive man, and of the way that mental attitude -has colored all subsequent thinking and superstition upon this very -subject. Curiously enough, to the present day the conception of the -thunderbolt is essentially one of a <i>bolt</i>—that is to say, an arrow, -or at least an arrowhead. All existing thunderbolts (and there are -plenty of them lying about casually in country houses and local -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> -museums) are more or less arrow-like in shape and appearance; some of -them, indeed, as we shall see by-and-by, are the actual stone arrow -heads of primitive man himself in person. Of course the noble savage -was himself in the constant habit of shooting at animals and enemies -with a bow and arrow. When, then, he tried to figure to himself the -angry god, seated in the stormclouds, who spoke with such a loud -rumbling voice, and killed those who displeased him, with his fiery -darts, he naturally thought of him as using in his cloudy home the -familiar bow and arrow of this nether planet. To us nowadays, if we -were to begin forming the idea for ourselves all over again <i>de novo</i>, -it would be far more natural to think of the thunder as the noise of -a big gun, of the lightning as the flash of the powder, and of the -supposed “bolt” as a shell or bullet. There is really a ridiculous -resemblance between a thunderstorm and a discharge of artillery. But -the old conception derived from so many generations of primitive men -has held its own against such mere modern devices as gunpowder and -rifle balls; and none of the objects commonly shown as thunderbolts -are ever round: they are distinguished, whatever their origin, by the -common peculiarity that they more or less closely resemble a dart or -arrowhead.</p> - -<p>Let us begin, then, by clearly disembarrassing our minds of any -lingering belief in the existence of thunderbolts. There are absolutely -no such things known to science. The two real phenomena that underlie -the fable are simply thunder and lightning. A thunderstorm is merely -a series of electrical discharges between one cloud and another, or -between clouds and the earth; and these discharges manifest themselves -to our senses under two forms—to the eye as lightning, to the ear as -thunder. All that passes in each case is a huge spark—a commotion, -not a material object. It is in principle just like the spark from -an electrical machine; but while the most powerful machine of human -construction will only send a spark for three feet, the enormous -electrical apparatus provided for us by nature will send one for -four, five, or even ten miles. Though lightning when it touches the -earth always seems to us to come from the clouds to the ground, it is -by no means certain that the real course may not at least occasionally -be in the opposite direction. All we know is that sometimes there is an -instantaneous discharge between one cloud and another, and sometimes an -instantaneous discharge between a cloud and the earth.</p> - -<p>But this idea of a mere passage of highly concentrated energy from -one point to another was far too abstract, of course, for primitive -man, and is far too abstract even now for nine out of ten of our -fellow-creatures. Those who don’t still believe in the bodily -thunderbolt, a fearsome aërial weapon which buries itself deep in the -bosom of the earth, look upon lightning as at least an embodiment of -the electric fluid, a long spout or line of molten fire, which is -usually conceived of as striking the ground and then proceeding to -hide itself under the roots of a tree or beneath the foundations of a -tottering house. Primitive man naturally took to the grosser and more -material conception. He figured to himself the thunderbolt as a barbed -arrowhead; and the forked zigzag character of the visible flash, as it -darts rapidly from point to point, seemed almost inevitably to suggest -to him the barbs, as one sees them represented on all the Greek and -Roman gems, in the red right hand of the angry Jupiter.</p> - -<p>The thunderbolt being thus an accepted fact, it followed naturally -that whenever any dart-like object of unknown origin was dug up out -of the ground, it was at once set down as being a thunderbolt; and, -on the other hand, the frequent occurrence of such dart-like objects, -precisely where one might expect to find them in accordance with -the theory, necessarily strengthened the belief itself. So commonly -are thunderbolts picked up to the present day that to disbelieve in -them seems to many country people a piece of ridiculous and stubborn -scepticism. Why, they’ve ploughed up dozens of them themselves in their -time, and just about the very place where the thunderbolt struck the -old elm-tree two years ago, too.</p> - -<p>The most favorite form of thunderbolt is the polished stone hatchet or -“celt” of the newer stone age men. I have never heard the very rude -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> -chipped and unpolished axes of the older drift men or cave men described -as thunderbolts: they are too rough and shapeless ever to attract -attention from any except professed archæologists. Indeed, the wicked -have been known to scoff at them freely as mere accidental lumps of -broken flint, and to deride the notion of their being due in any way -to deliberate human handicraft. These are the sort of people who would -regard a grand piano as a fortuitous concourse of atoms. But the -shapely stone hatchet of the later neolithic farmer and herdsman is -usually a beautifully polished wedge-shaped piece of solid greenstone; -and its edge has been ground to such a delicate smoothness that it -seems rather like a bit of nature’s exquisite workmanship than a simple -relic of prehistoric man. There is something very fascinating about -the naïf belief that the neolithic axe is a genuine unadulterated -thunderbolt. You dig it up in the ground exactly where you would expect -a thunderbolt (if there were such things) to be. It is heavy, smooth, -well shaped, and neatly pointed at one end. If it could really descend -in a red-hot state from the depths of the sky, launched forth like a -cannon-ball by some fierce discharge of heavenly artillery, it would -certainly prove a very formidable weapon indeed; and one could easily -imagine it scoring the bark of some aged oak, or tearing off the tiles -from a projecting turret, exactly as the lightning is so well known to -do in this prosaic workaday world of ours. In short, there is really -nothing on earth against the theory of the stone axe being a true -thunderbolt, except the fact that it unfortunately happens to be a -neolithic hatchet.</p> - -<p>But the course of reasoning by which we discover the true nature of -the stone axe is not one that would in any case appeal strongly to -the fancy or the intelligence of the British farmer. It is no use -telling him that whenever one opens a barrow of the stone age one is -pretty sure to find a neolithic axe and a few broken pieces of pottery -beside the mouldering skeleton of the old nameless chief who lies -there buried. The British farmer will doubtless stolidly retort that -thunderbolts often strike the tops of hills, which are just the places -where barrows and tumuli (tumps, he calls them) most do congregate; -and that as to the skeleton, isn’t it just as likely that the man was -killed by the thunderbolt as that the thunderbolt was made by a man? -Ay, and a sight likelier, too.</p> - -<p>All the world over, this simple and easy belief, that the buried stone -axe is a thunderbolt, exists among Europeans and savages alike. In -the West of England, the laborers will tell you that the thunder-axes -they dig up fell from the sky. In Brittany, says Mr. Tylor, the old -man who mends umbrellas at Carnac, beside the mysterious stone avenues -of that great French Stonehenge, inquires on his rounds for <i>pierres -de tonnerre</i>, which of course are found with suspicious frequency in -the immediate neighborhood of prehistoric remains. In the Chinese -Encyclopædia we are told that the “lightning stones” have sometimes -the shape of a hatchet, sometimes that of a knife, and sometimes that -of a mallet. And then, by a curious misapprehension, the sapient -author of that work goes on to observe that these lightning stones are -used by the wandering Mongols instead of copper and steel. It never -seems to have struck his celestial intelligence that the Mongols made -the lightning stones instead of digging them up out of the earth. So -deeply had the idea of the thunderbolt buried itself in the recesses -of his soul, that though a neighboring people were still actually -manufacturing stone axes almost under his very eyes, he reversed -mentally the entire process, and supposed they dug up the thunderbolts -which he saw them using, and employed them as common hatchets. This -is one of the finest instances on record of the popular figure which -grammarians call the <i>hysteron proteron</i>, and ordinary folk describe -as putting the cart before the horse. Just so, while in some parts -of Brazil the Indians are still laboriously polishing their stone -hatchets, in other parts the planters are digging up the precisely -similar stone hatchets of earlier generations, and religiously -preserving them in their houses as undoubted thunderbolts. I have -myself had pressed upon my attention as genuine lightning stones, in -the West Indies, the exquisitely polished greenstone tomahawks of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -old Carib marauders. But then, in this matter, I am pretty much in the -position of that philosophic sceptic who, when he was asked by a lady -whether he believed in ghosts, answered wisely, “No, madam, I have seen -by far too many of them.”</p> - -<p>One of the finest accounts ever given of the nature of thunderbolts -is that mentioned by Adrianus Tollius in his edition of “Boethius on -Gems.” He gives illustrations of some neolithic axes and hammers, and -then proceeds to state that in the opinion of philosophers they are -generated in the sky by a fulgureous exhalation (whatever that may -look like) conglobed in a cloud by a circumfixed humor, and baked -hard, as it were, by intense heat. The weapon, it seems, then becomes -pointed by the damp mixed with it flying from the dry part, and leaving -the other end denser; while the exhalations press it so hard that -it breaks out through the cloud, and makes thunder and lightning. A -very lucid explanation certainly, but rendered a little difficult of -apprehension by the effort necessary for realising in a mental picture -the conglobation of a fulgureous exhalation by a circumfixed humor.</p> - -<p>One would like to see a drawing of the process, though the sketch -would probably much resemble the picture of a muchness, so admirably -described by the mock turtle. The excellent Tollius himself, however, -while demurring on the whole to this hypothesis of the philosophers, -bases his objection mainly on the ground that if this were so, then -it is odd that thunderbolts are not round, but wedge-shaped, and that -they have holes in them, and those holes not equal throughout, but -widest at the ends. As a matter of fact Tollius has here hit the right -nail on the head quite accidentally; for the holes are really there, -of course, to receive the haft of the axe or hammer. But if they were -truly thunderbolts, and if the bolts were shafted, then the holes would -have been lengthwise as in an arrowhead, not crosswise, as in an axe or -hammer. Which is a complete <i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of the philosophic -opinion.</p> - -<p>Some of the cerauniæ, says Pliny, are like hatchets. He would have -been nearer the mark if he had said “are hatchets” outright. But this -<i>aperçu</i>, which was to Pliny merely a stray suggestion, became to the -northern peoples a firm article of belief, and caused them to represent -to themselves their god Thor or Thunor as armed, not with a bolt, but -with an axe or hammer. Etymologically Thor, Thunor, and thunder are the -self-same word; but while the southern races looked upon Zeus or Indra -as wielding his forked darts in his red right hand, the northern races -looked upon the Thunder-god as hurling down an angry hammer from his -seat in the clouds. There can be but little doubt that the very notion -of Thor’s hammer itself was derived from the shape of the supposed -thunderbolt, which the Scandinavians and Teutons rightly saw at once -to be an axe or mallet, not an arrowhead. The “fiery axe” of Thunor is -a common metaphor in Anglo-Saxon poetry. Thus, Thor’s hammer is itself -merely the picture which our northern ancestors formed to themselves, -by compounding the idea of thunder and lightning with the idea of the -polished stone hatchets they dug up among the fields and meadows.</p> - -<p>Flint arrowheads of the stone age are less often taken for -thunderbolts, no doubt because they are so much smaller that they look -quite too insignificant for the weapons of an angry god. They are more -frequently described as fairy-darts or fairy-bolts. Still, I have known -even arrowheads regarded as thunderbolts and preserved superstitiously -under that belief. In Finland, stone arrows are universally so viewed; -and the rainbow is looked upon as the bow of Tiermes, the thunder-god, -who shoots with it the guilty sorcerers.</p> - -<p>But why should thunderbolts, whether stone axes or flint arrowheads, be -preserved, not merely as curiosities, but from motives of superstition? -The reason is a simple one. Everybody knows that in all magical -ceremonies it is necessary to have something belonging to the person -you wish to conjure against, in order to make your spells effectual. A -bone, be it but a joint of the little finger, is sufficient to raise -the ghost to which it once belonged; cuttings of hair or clippings of -nails are enough to put their owner magically in your power; and that -is the reason why, if you are a prudent person, you will always burn -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> -all such off-castings of your body, lest haply an enemy should get hold -of them, and cast the evil eye upon you with their potent aid. In the -same way, if you can lay hands upon anything that once belonged to an -elf, such as a fairy-bolt or flint arrowhead, you can get its former -possessor to do anything you wish by simply rubbing it and calling -upon him to appear. This is the secret of half the charms and amulets -in existence, most of which are real old arrowheads, or carnelians cut -in the same shape, which has now mostly degenerated from the barb to -the conventional heart, and been mistakenly associated with the idea -of love. This is the secret, too, of all the rings, lamps, gems, and -boxes, possession of which gives a man power over fairies, spirits, -gnomes, and genii. All magic proceeds upon the prime belief that you -must possess something belonging to the person you wish to control, -constrain, or injure. And, failing anything else, you must at least -have a wax image of him, which you call by his name, and use as his -substitute in your incantations.</p> - -<p>On this primitive principle, possession of a thunderbolt gives you -some sort of hold, as it were, over the thunder-god himself in person. -If you keep a thunderbolt in your house it will never be struck by -lightning. In Shetland, stone axes are religiously preserved in every -cottage as a cheap and simple substitute for lightning-rods. In -Cornwall the stone hatchets and arrowheads not only guard the house -from thunder, but also act as magical barometers, changing color with -the changes of the weather, as if in sympathy with the temper of the -thunder-god. In Germany, the house where a thunderbolt is kept is safe -from the storm; and the bolt itself begins to sweat on the approach -of lightning-clouds. Nay, so potent is the protection afforded by a -thunderbolt that where the lightning has once struck it never strikes -again; the bolt already buried in the soil seems to preserve the -surrounding place from the anger of the deity. Old and pagan in their -nature as are these beliefs, they yet survive so thoroughly into -Christian times that I have seen a stone hatchet built into the steeple -of a church to protect it from lightning. Indeed, steeples have always -of course attracted the electric discharge to a singular degree by -their height and tapering form, especially before the introduction of -lightning-rods; and it was a sore trial of faith to mediæval reasoners -to understand why heaven should hurl its angry darts so often against -the towers of its very own churches. In the Abruzzi the flint axe has -actually been Christianised into St. Paul’s arrows—<i>saetti de San -Paolo</i>. Families hand down the miraculous stone from father to son as a -precious legacy; and mothers hang them on their children’s necks side -by side with medals of saints and madonnas, which themselves are hardly -so prized as the stones that fall from heaven.</p> - -<p>Another and very different form of thunderbolt is the belemnite, a -common English fossil often preserved in houses in the west country -with the same superstitious reverence as the neolithic hatchets. The -very form of the belemnite at once suggests the notion of a dart or -lance-head, which has gained for it its scientific name. At the present -day, when all our girls go to Girton and enter for the classical -tripos, I need hardly translate the word belemnite “for the benefit -of the ladies,” as people used to do in the dark and unemancipated -eighteenth century; but as our boys have left off learning Greek -just as their sisters are beginning to act the “Antigone” at private -theatricals, I may perhaps be pardoned if I explain, “for the -benefit of the gentlemen,” that the word is practically equivalent -to javelin-fossil. The belemnites are the internal shells of a sort -of cuttle-fish which swam about in enormous numbers in the seas -whose sediment forms our modern lias, oolite, and gault. A great -many different species are known and have acquired charming names in -very doubtful Attic at the hands of profoundly learned geological -investigators, but almost all are equally good representatives of -the mythical thunderbolt. The finest specimens are long, thick, -cylindrical, and gradually tapering, with a hole at one end as if on -purpose to receive the shaft. Sometimes they have petrified into iron -pyrites or copper compounds, shining like gold, and then they make very -noble thunderbolts indeed, heavy as lead, and capable of doing profound -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -mischief if properly directed. At other times they have crystallised -in transparent spar, and then they form very beautiful objects, as -smooth and polished as the best lapidary could possibly make them. -Belemnites are generally found in immense numbers together, especially -in the marlstone quarries of the Midlands, and in the lias cliffs of -Dorsetshire. Yet the quarrymen who find them never seem to have their -faith shaken in the least by the enormous quantities of thunderbolts -that would appear to have struck a single spot with such extraordinary -frequency. This little fact also tells rather hardly against the theory -that the lightning never falls twice upon the same place.</p> - -<p>Only the largest and heaviest belemnites are known as thunder stones; -the smaller ones are more commonly described as agate pencils. In -Shakespeare’s country their connection with thunder is well known, so -that in all probability a belemnite is the original of the beautiful -lines in “Cymbeline”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fear no more the lightning flash,</span> -<span class="i0">Nor the all-dreaded thunder stone,</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>where the distinction between the lightning and the thunderbolt is -particularly well indicated. In every part of Europe belemnites and -stone hatchets are alike regarded as thunderbolts; so that we have the -curious result that people confuse under a single name a natural fossil -of immense antiquity and a human product of comparatively recent but -still prehistoric date. Indeed, I have had two thunderbolts shown me at -once, one of which was a large belemnite and the other a modern Indian -tomahawk. Curiously enough, English sailors still call the nearest -surviving relatives of the belemnites, the squids or calamaries of the -Atlantic, by the appropriate name of sea-arrows.</p> - -<p>Many other natural or artificial objects have added their tittle to -the belief in thunderbolts. In the Himalayas, for example, where -awful thunderstorms are always occurring as common objects of the -country, the torrents which follow them tear out of the loose soil -fossil bones and tusks and teeth, which are universally looked upon as -lightning-stones. The nodules of pyrites, often picked up on beaches, -with their false appearance of having been melted by intense heat, pass -muster easily with children and sailor folk for the genuine -thunderbolts. But the grand upholder of the belief, the one true -undeniable reality which has kept alive the thunderbolt even in a -wicked and sceptical age, is beyond all question the occasional falling -of meteoric stones. Your meteor is an incontrovertible fact; there is -no getting over him; in the British Museum itself you will find him -duly classified and labelled and catalogued. Here, surely, we have -the ultimate substratum of the thunderbolt myth. To be sure, meteors -have no kind of natural connection with thunderstorms; they may fall -anywhere and at any time; but to object thus is to be hypercritical. -A stone that falls from heaven, no matter how or when, is quite good -enough to be considered as a thunderbolt.</p> - -<p>Meteors, indeed, might very easily be confounded with lightning, -especially by people who already have the full-blown conception of a -thunderbolt floating about vaguely in their brains. The meteor leaps -upon the earth suddenly with a rushing noise; it is usually red-hot -when it falls, by friction against the air; it is mostly composed of -native iron and other heavy metallic bodies; and it does its best to -bury itself in the ground in the most orthodox and respectable manner. -The man who sees this parlous monster come whizzing through the clouds -from planetary space, making a fiery track like a great dragon as it -moves rapidly across the sky, and finally ploughing its way into the -earth in his own back garden, may well be excused for regarding it -as a fine specimen of the true antique thunderbolt. The same virtues -which belong to the buried stone are in some other places claimed for -meteoric iron, small pieces of which are worn as charms, specially -useful in protecting the wearer against thunder, lightning, and evil -incantations. In many cases miraculous images have been hewn out of the -stones that have fallen from heaven; and in others the meteorite itself -is carefully preserved or worshipped as the actual representative of -god or goddess, saint or madonna. The image that fell down from Jupiter -may itself have been a mass of meteoric iron. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<p>Both meteorites and stone hatchets, as well as all other forms of -thunderbolt, are in excellent repute as amulets, not only against -lightning, but against the evil eye generally. In Italy they protect -the owner from thunder, epidemics, and cattle disease, the last two of -which are well known to be caused by witchcraft; while Prospero in the -“Tempest” is a surviving proof how thunderstorms, too, can be magically -produced. The tongues of sheep-bells ought to be made of meteoric iron -or of elf-bolts, in order to insure the animals against foot-and-mouth -disease or death by storm. Built into walls or placed on the threshold -of stables, thunderbolts are capital preventives of fire or other -damage, though not perhaps in this respect quite equal to a rusty -horseshoe from a prehistoric battle-field. Thrown into a well they -purify the water; and boiled in the drink of diseased sheep they render -a cure positively certain. In Cornwall thunderbolts are a sovereign -remedy for rheumatism; and in the popular pharmacopœia of Ireland they -have been employed with success for ophthalmia, pleurisy, and many -other painful diseases. If finely powdered and swallowed piecemeal, -they render the person who swallows them invulnerable for the rest -of his lifetime. But they cannot conscientiously be recommended for -dyspepsia and other forms of indigestion.</p> - -<p>As if on purpose to confuse our already very vague ideas about -thunderbolts, there is one special kind of lightning which really seems -intentionally to simulate a meteorite, and that is the kind known as -fireballs or (more scientifically) globular lightning. A fireball -generally appears as a sphere of light, sometimes only as big as a -Dutch cheese, sometimes as large as three feet in diameter. It moves -along very slowly and demurely through the air, remaining visible for -a whole minute or two together; and in the end it generally bursts -up with great violence, as if it were a London railway station being -experimented upon by Irish patriots. At Milan one day a fireball of -this description walked down one of the streets so slowly that a small -crowd walked after it admiringly, to see where it was going. It made -straight for a church steeple, after the common but sacrilegious -fashion of all lightning, struck the gilded cross on the topmost -pinnacle, and then immediately vanished, like a Virgilian apparition, -into thin air.</p> - -<p>A few years ago, too, Dr. Tripe was watching a very severe -thunderstorm, when he saw a fireball come quietly gliding up to him, -apparently rising from the earth rather than falling towards it. -Instead of running away, like a practical man, the intrepid doctor -held his ground quietly and observed the fiery monster with scientific -nonchalance. After continuing its course for some time in a peaceful -and regular fashion, however, without attempting to assault him, it -finally darted off at a tangent in another direction, and turned -apparently into forked lightning. A fireball, noticed among the -Glendowan Mountains in Donegal, behaved even more eccentrically, as -might be expected from its Irish antecedents. It first skirted the -earth in a leisurely way for several hundred yards like a cannon-ball; -then it struck the ground, ricochetted, and once more bounded along -for another short spell; after which it disappeared in the boggy soil, -as if it were completely finished and done for. But in another moment -it rose again, nothing daunted, with Celtic irrepressibility, several -yards away, pursued its ghostly course across a running stream (which -shows, at least, there could have been no witchcraft in it), and -finally ran to earth for good in the opposite bank, leaving a round -hole in the sloping peat at the spot where it buried itself. Where it -first struck, it cut up the peat as if with a knife, and made a broad -deep trench which remained afterwards as a witness of its eccentric -conduct. If the person who observed it had been of a superstitious -turn of mind, we should have had here one of the finest and most -terrifying ghost stories on the entire record, which would have made -an exceptionally splendid show in the Transactions of the Society -for Psychical Research. Unfortunately, however, he was only a man of -science, ungifted with the precious dower of poetical imagination; -so he stupidly called it a remarkable fireball, measured the ground -carefully like a common engineer, and sent an account of the phenomenon -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> -to that far more prosaic periodical, the “Quarterly Journal of the -Meteorological Society.” Another splendid apparition thrown away -recklessly, forever!</p> - -<p>There is a curious form of electrical discharge, somewhat similar to -the fireball but on a smaller scale, which may be regarded as the exact -opposite of the thunderbolt, inasmuch as it is always quite harmless. -This is St. Elmo’s fire, a brush of lambent light, which plays around -the masts of ships and the tops of trees, when clouds are low and -tension great. It is, in fact, the equivalent in nature of the brush -discharge from an electric machine. The Greeks and Romans looked upon -this lambent display as a sign of the presence of Castor and Pollux, -“fratres Helenæ, lucida sidera,” and held that its appearance was an -omen of safety, as everybody who has read the “Lays of Ancient Rome” -must surely remember. The modern name, St. Elmo’s fire, is itself a -curiously twisted and perversely Christianized reminiscence of the -great twin brethren; for St. Elmo it’s merely a corruption of Helena, -made masculine and canonised by the grateful sailors. It was as Helen’s -brothers that they best knew the Dioscuri in the good old days of -the upper empire; and when the new religion forbade them any longer -to worship those vain heathen deities, they managed to hand over the -flames at the masthead to an imaginary St. Elmo, whose protection stood -them in just as good stead as that of the original alternate immortals.</p> - -<p>Finally, the effects of lightning itself are sometimes such as to -produce upon the mind of an impartial but unscientific beholder the -firm idea that a bodily thunderbolt must necessarily have descended -from heaven. In sand or rock, where lightning has struck, it often -forms long hollow tubes, known to the calmly discriminating geological -intelligence as fulgurites, and looking for all the world like -gigantic drills such as quarrymen make for putting in a blast. They -are produced, of course, by the melting of the rock under the terrific -heat of the electric spark; and they grow narrower and narrower as they -descend till they finally disappear. But to a casual observer, they -irresistibly suggest the notion that a material weapon has struck the -ground, and buried itself at the bottom of the hole. The summit of -Little Ararat, that weather-beaten and many-fabled peak (where an -enterprising journalist not long ago discovered the remains of Noah’s -Ark), has been riddled through and through by frequent lightnings, till -the rock is now a mere honeycombed mass of drills and tubes, like an -old target at the end of a long day’s constant rifle practice. Pieces -of the red trachyte from the summit, a foot long, have been brought -to Europe, perforated all over with these natural bullet marks, each -of them lined with black glass, due to the fusion of the rock by the -passage of the spark. Specimens of such thunder-drilled rock may be -seen in most geological museums. On some which Humboldt collected -from a peak in Mexico, the fused slag from the wall of the tube has -overflowed on to the surrounding surface, thus conclusively proving (if -proof were necessary) that the holes are due to melting heat alone, and -not to the passage of any solid thunderbolt.</p> - -<p>But it was the introduction and general employment of lightning-rods -that dealt a final deathblow to the thunderbolt theory. A -lightning-conductor consists essentially of a long piece of metal, -pointed at the end, whose business it is, not so much (as most people -imagine) to carry off the flash of lightning harmlessly, should it -happen to strike the house to which the conductor is attached, but -rather to prevent the occurrence of a flash at all, by gradually and -gently drawing off the electricity as fast as it gathers, before it has -had time to collect in sufficient force for a destructive discharge. -It resembles in effect an overflow pipe, which drains off the surplus -water of a pond as soon as it runs in, in such a manner as to prevent -the possibility of an inundation, which might occur if the water -were allowed to collect in force behind a dam or embankment. It is a -floodgate, not a moat: it carries away the electricity of the air -quietly to the ground, without allowing it to gather in sufficient -amount to produce a flash of lightning. It might thus be better -called a lightning-preventor than a lightning-conductor: it conducts -electricity, but it prevents lightning. At first, all lightning-rods -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> -used to be made with knobs on the top, and then the electricity used -to collect at the surface until the electric force was sufficient to -cause a spark. In those happy days, you had the pleasure of seeing -that the lightning was actually being drawn off from your neighborhood -piecemeal. Knobs, it was held, must be the best things, because you -could incontestably see the sparks striking them with your own eyes. -But as time went on, electricians discovered that if you fixed a fine -metal point to the conductor of an electric machine it was impossible -to get up any appreciable charge, because the electricity kept always -leaking out by means of the point. Then it was seen that if you made -your lightning-rods pointed at the end, you would be able in the same -way to dissipate your electricity before it ever had time to come to a -head in the shape of lightning. From that moment the thunderbolt was -safely dead and buried. It was urged, indeed, that the attempt thus to -rob Heaven of its thunders was wicked and impious: but the common-sense -of mankind refused to believe that absolute omnipotence could be -sensibly defied by twenty yards of cylindrical iron tubing. Thenceforth -the thunderbolt ceased to exist, save in poetry, country houses, and -the most rural circles; even the electric fluid was generally relegated -to the provincial press, where it still keeps company harmoniously with -caloric, the devouring element, nature’s abhorrence of a vacuum, and -many other like philosophical fossils: while lightning itself, shorn of -its former glories, could no longer wage impious war against cathedral -towers, but was compelled to restrict itself to blasting a solitary -rider now and again in the open fields, or drilling more holes in the -already crumbling summit of Mount Ararat. Yet it will be a thousand -years more, in all probability, before the last thunderbolt ceases -to be shown as a curiosity here and there to marvelling visitors, -and takes its proper place in some village museum as a belemnite, a -meteoric stone, or a polished axe head of our neolithic ancestors. Even -then, no doubt, the original bolt will still survive as a recognised -property in the stock-in-trade of every well-equipped poet.-<i>Cornhill Magazine.</i></p> - -<div><a name="romeo"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>THE LOCAL COLOR OF “ROMEO AND JULIET.”</h2> -<p class="center space-below1"><b>BY WILLIAM ARCHER.</b></p> - -<p>“Romeo and Juliet” affords a good illustration of the fallacy which -lies at the root of the Shakespearologists’ panegyrics of the poet’s -“local color.” We are told that every touch and tint is correctly and -vividly Italian. Schlegel, Coleridge, and Philarète Chasles have sought -to concentrate in impassioned word-pictures the coloring at once of -“Romeo and Juliet” and of Italy. What Shakespeare designed to paint, in -vivid but perfectly general hues, was an ideal land of love, a land of -moonlight and nightingales, a land to which he had certainly travelled, -perhaps before leaving the banks of the Avon. It happens that Italy, -of all countries in the material world, most closely resembles this -fairyland of the youthful fantasy. If we must place it on the earth -at all, we place it there. Therefore did Shakespeare willingly accept -the Italian names for scene and characters provided in his original; -and, therefore, our scenic artists very properly draw their inspiration -from Italian orange groves and Italian palaces. But it is a fundamental -error to regard Romeo and Juliet as specifically Italians, or their -country as Italy and nothing but Italy. Their pure-humanity is of no -race, their Italy has no latitude or longitude. Shakespeare could not -if he would, and would not if he could, have given it the minutely -accurate local color of which we hear so much.</p> - -<p>Could not if he would, for even the most devout believers in his visit -to Italy place it after the date of “Romeo and Juliet” and before that -of “The Merchant of Venice.” Now, to maintain that the poet evolved -Italian local color out of his inner consciousness is merely a piece of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> -the supernaturalism which infects Shakespearology. Schiller, by -diligent study and conversations with Goethe, grasped the cruder local -colors of Switzerland, but Shakespeare had no means or opportunity -for such study, and no Goethe to aid him. By lifelong love two modern -Englishmen have attempted to construct an Italy in their imagination; -Rossetti quite successfully, Mr. Shorthouse more or less so. -Shakespeare had neither the motives nor the means for attempting any -such feat.</p> - -<p>But further, had Shakespeare known Italy as well as Mr. Browning, -he would still have refrained from loading “Romeo and Juliet” with -local color. His audience did not want it, could not understand it, -would have been bewildered by it. The very youth of Juliet (“she is -not fourteen”) proves, it is said, that the poet thought of her as an -early-developed Italian girl. Now, the physiological observation here -implied is in itself questionable, and, had it conflicted with their -pre-conceptions as to the due period of first love in girls, would have -been incomprehensible, if not repellent, to an Elizabethan audience. -We, though taught to regard it as “local color,” are, by our social -conventions, so accustomed to place the marriageable age later, that in -our imagination we always add three or four years to Juliet’s fourteen; -and on the stage the addition is generally made in so many words. But -the social conventions of Shakespeare’s time tended in precisely the -opposite direction. Anne, daughter of Sir Peter Warburton, was only -twelve when, in 1539, she was married to Sir Edward Fitton. In Porter’s -“Angrie Women of Abington,” published in 1599, some five years after -the probable date of “Romeo and Juliet,” it is explicitly stated that -fifteen was the ordinary age at which girls married. That was the age -of Lady Jane Grey at her marriage: the wife of Sir Simon d’Ewes was -even younger; and a little research could easily supply a hundred other -cases. In Johnson’s “Crowne Garland of Goulden Roses” (1612) a girl who -is single at twenty expresses her despair of ever being married. Thus -we find that this renowned proof of Juliet’s Italian nature resolves -itself into a familiar trait of English social habit in the sixteenth -century. Had it been otherwise, it would have been a fault and not a -merit in a play which addressed itself, not to an ethnological society, -but to a popular audience.</p> - -<p>A touch which may possibly have conveyed to Shakespeare’s audience a -peculiarly Italian impression, is Lady Capulet’s suggestion that Romeo -should be poisoned. In the sixteenth century poisoning was commonly -known in England as “the Italian crime,” and was probably connected -with Italy in the popular mind as are macaroni and organ-grinders -at the present day. But poison is part of the stock-in-trade of the -tragic dramatist, and plays a prominent part in the two most distinctly -northern of the poet’s works, “Hamlet” and “Lear,” Again, the -Apothecary’s speech,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such mortal drugs I have; but Mantua’s law</span> -<span class="i0">Is death to any he that utters them,</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>is held up as a peculiarly Italian touch, no such law appearing in the -English statute-book of the time. The fact is that Shakespeare found -the idea in Brooke’s “Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Juliet,” and -used it simply to heighten the terror of the situation.</p> - -<p>The insult of “biting the thumb” is said, rather doubtfully, to be -characteristically Italian; but what can be more English than the cry -for “clubs, bills, and partisans” which immediately follows it? Lord -Campbell, indeed, seeks to prove Shakespeare’s minute knowledge of -<i>English</i> law by the frequent and accurate references to it in this -opening scene. The “grove of sycamore” under which Romeo is described -as wandering, is said to be of unmistakably Italian growth; why, then, -does Schlegel, though one of the originators of the local-color theory, -seek to make it still more Italian by translating it “Kastanienhain”? -Had Shakespeare possessed either the will or the ability to transport -his hearers into specifically Italian scenes, would he have confined -himself to mentioning one tree, which is neither peculiar to Italy nor -a particularly prominent feature in Italian landscapes? Where are the -oranges and olives, the poplar, the cypress, and the laurel? Where are -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> -the rushing Adige and the gleaming Alps? Where is the allusion to the -Amphitheatre, which could scarcely have been wanting had the poet known -or cared anything about Verona except as the capital of his mythic -love-land? It might as well be argued that he intended the local color -to be peculiarly English because he makes Capulet call Paris an “Earl.”</p> - -<p>The truth is that when the reader’s imagination is heated to a -certain point, the colors which subtle associations have implanted -in it flush out of their own accord, with no stronger stimulus from -the poet than is involved in the mere mention of a name. There is a -strict analogy in the Elizabethan theatre. Given poetry and acting -which powerfully excited the feelings, and the placard bearing the -name of “Agincourt” made all the glaring incongruities vanish, and -conjured up in the mind of each hearer such a picture of the tented -field as his individual imagination had room for. So it is with the -Italy of “Romeo and Juliet.” Our fancy being quickened by the mere -glow of the poetry, the very name “Verona” places before us a vivid -picture composed of all sorts of reminiscences of art, literature, and -travel. The pulsing life of the two lovers—types of pure-humanity as -general as ever poet fashioned—easily puts on a southern physiognomy -with their Italian names. The might of a name has power to cloak even -openly incongruous details. It is only on reflection, for instance, -that we recognize in Mercutio a most un-Italian and distinctly Teutonic -figure, an “angelsächsisch-treuherzig” humorist, as Kreyssig truly -says, who is even made to ridicule Italian manners and phrases with the -true Englishman’s provincial intolerance. Thus all of us, in reading -“Romeo and Juliet,” are haunted by visions of Italy, whose origin the -commentators strive to find in individual touches of local color and -costume, instead of in the powerful stimulus given to all sorts of -latent associations by the whole force of the poet’s genius. Even apart -from travel, pictures and descriptions which do actually aim at local -color have made us far more familiar with Italy than any Elizabethan -audience can possibly have been. It is scarcely paradoxical to maintain -that the least imaginative among us gives to the love-land of “Romeo -and Juliet” far more accurately Italian hues than it wore in the -imagination of Shakespeare himself. In the same way I, for my part, -never read Marlowe’s “Jew of Malta” without forming a vivid picture -of the narrow, sultry stairways of Valetta (which I have never seen), -conjured up, not certainly by any individual touches of description in -the text, but by the mere imaginative vigor of the whole presentation. -Conversely, too, a work of small vitality, a second-rate French tragedy -for instance, may be full of accurate local and historical allusion, -and may yet transport us no whither beyond the cheerless steppes of -frigid alexandrines. There is an art, and a high art, to which definite -local color is essential, but Shakespeare’s is of another order. If -we want a masterpiece of strictly Italian coloring we must go, not to -“Romeo and Juliet,” but to Alfred de Musset’s “Lorenzaccio.”</p> - -<p>Shakespeare, in short, presents us with so much, or so little, of -the Italian manners depicted in Brooke and Paynter as would be -readily comprehensible to his audience. The fact, too, that the whole -love-poetry of the period was influenced by Cisalpine models gave to -the forms of expression in certain portions of his work a slightly -Italian turn. For the rest, he imbued the great erotic myth with the -warmest human life, and left it to create an atmosphere and scenery of -its own in the imagination of the beholder. No atmosphere or scenery -can be more appropriate than those of an Italian summer, and therefore -it is right that our scenic artists should strain their resources to -reproduce its warm luxuriance of color. “For now these hot days is the -mad blood stirring,” says Benvolio, and if we choose to call this hot -air a scirocco, why not? But Shakespeare knew nothing of scirocco or -tramontana; he knew that warmth is the life-element of passion, and -made summer in the air harmonise with summer in the blood. That is the -whole secret of his “local color.”—<i>Gentleman’s Magazine.</i> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>WILLIAM SMITH AND WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.</h2> - -<p>In the year 1856 Lord Ellesmere, then President of the Shakspeare -Society, received one day a little pamphlet bearing the at that time -astounding title, “Was Lord Bacon the author of Shakspeare’s Plays?” -The writer’s name was Smith. Mr. William Henry Smith, of 76 Harley -Street, writer on Shakspeare, is the style he goes by in the Catalogue -of the British Museum, to distinguish him from others of the name, -whose works fill no less than eight volumes of that Catalogue, and have -a special index all to themselves, thereby nobly confirming the truth -of our Mr. Smith’s answer to some irreverent critics who had jested -on his patronym, that it was “a name which some wise and many worthy -men have borne—which though not unique, is perfectly genteel.” What -Lord Ellesmere, either in his presidential or merely human capacity, -thought of the pamphlet, we do not know; but Lord Palmerston (who had -passed the threescore years then) is said to have declared himself -convinced by it, though he is also said to have added that he cared -not a jot who the author of the plays might have been provided he was -an Englishman. By some of the critics poor Mr. Smith was very roughly -handled, and what seems to have galled him most was an insinuation by -Nathaniel Hawthorne (then at Liverpool as American Consul) that he had -merely taken for his own the ideas of Miss Delia Bacon, whose book -was not published till the year after Mr. Smith’s pamphlet, but of -whose speculation some rumors had before that come “across the Atlantic -wave.” This Mr. Smith (in his next publication, <i>Bacon and Shakspeare; -an Inquiry touching Players, Playhouses, and Play-writers in the Days -of Elizabeth</i>, 1857) most emphatically denied. He had never heard the -name of Miss Bacon till he saw it in a review of his pamphlet: he could -not for a long while find what or where she had written, and when he -did so the alleged insinuation seemed to him too preposterous to be -worth notice. Out of courtesy to Mr. Hawthorne, however, he made his -denial public; Mr. Hawthorne returned the courtesy of acceptance, and -so this part of the great Baconian controversy slept in peace. In 1866 -appeared in New York, a book called <i>The Authorship of Shakspeare</i>, -the work of a Mr. Nathaniel Holmes, which so enchanted Mr. Smith that -he vowed “Providence had provided exactly the champion the cause -required,” and that for him it remained only “to retire to the rear of -this unexpected American contingent,” and to “make himself useful in -the commissariat department.” This American book had, among its other -striking merits, this unique one—of being such that no man could -possibly quarrel with it. “If argument,” says Mr, Smith, “is ever to -outweigh preconception and prejudice, the preponderance can only be in -one direction”—perhaps the only judgment ever formulated by mortal man -which it would be literally impossible to traverse. In this rearward -position Mr. Smith modestly abode for eighteen years; but now—“now -that the triumph seems so near at hand, we cannot resist coming to the -front to congratulate those that have fought the battle upon their -success, and, we candidly own, to show ourselves as a veteran who has -survived the campaign, and is ready to give an honest account of the -stores which still remain on his hands.” This congratulation and these -stores may be read and seen in another little pamphlet just published -by Mr. Smith, and to be bought at Mr. Skeffington’s shop in Piccadilly.</p> - -<p>It is in no spirit of cavil or disparagement that we overhaul those -stores, but solely out of curiosity. We have read Mr. Smith’s last -pamphlet, and read again his two earlier ones, with the most lively -interest and amusement. Indeed, we have never for our part, been -able to see the necessity for that “lyric fury” into which some of -Mr. Smith’s opponents have lashed themselves. His theory has amused -thousands of readers—readers of Bacon (both Francis and Delia), of -Shakspeare, and of Mr. Smith; it has harmed nobody; it has added fresh -lustre to the memories of two great men. Surely, then, we should do ill -to be angry, and to be angry with one so courteous and good-humored as -Mr. Smith would be a twofold impossibility. Moreover, we have always -felt that there was a great deal to be said for the theory that Francis -Bacon wrote the plays printed under the name of William Shakspeare, -just as there is a great deal to be said for the converse of the -theory, or for any other speculation with which the restless mind of -man chooses for the moment to concern itself. After a certain lapse of -years there can be no proof positive, no mathematical proof, that any -man did or did not write anything. The mere fact of a work having gone -for any length of time under such or such a name <i>proves</i> nothing; that -the manuscript is confessedly in a particular man’s handwriting, or -the undisputed receipt of a manuscript from a particular man, really, -when one comes to consider it, <i>proves</i> nothing, so far as authorship -is concerned. Take the excellent ballad of “Kafoozleum,” for instance. -That, like Shakspeare’s plays, was known and popular before it was -printed; like those, it was printed anonymously; no manuscript of it is -known to exist; the authorship is unknown. A hundred years hence who -will be able to <i>prove</i> it was not written by Lord Tennyson, let us -say? One line in it runs “A sound there falls from ruined walls.” Why -should not some speculative Smith a hundred years hence point to this -line as proof conclusive that it must be the work of him who wrote, -“The splendor falls on castle walls”? The parallel would be at least -incomparably closer than any of those as yet found in the undisputed -writings of Bacon and the alleged writings of Shakspeare. Let this -be, however; we are not now concerned with any attempt to destroy Mr. -Smith’s theory, for which, we repeat, we still feel, as we have always -felt, there is very much to be said—very much to be said, of course, -on both sides; the puzzle is how very little Mr. Smith, and those about -him, have found to say on their side.</p> - -<p>And, in truth, little as Mr. Smith had found to say in 1856-57 he -has found still less to add now in 1884. His “stores” are still very -scanty. He has, indeed, satisfied himself (he had “an intuitive idea” -of it in 1856) that Shakspeare could neither read nor write, beyond -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> -scrawling most illegibly his own name (the reading he passes by), and -curiously enough on the evidence, or rather hypothesis, of another -Smith one William James! But, of course, as no scrap of Shakspeare’s -handwriting is known to exist beyond six signatures, all tolerably like -each other, this hypothesis cannot stand for very much. Yet really this -is the only fresh “fact” Mr. Smith has added to his stores in all these -seven-and-twenty years. He recapitulates his old “facts” and, we must -add, some of his old blunders, when he says “there is no record of his -having been in any way connected with literature until the year 1600,” -forgetful of the mention of Shakspeare’s name as author of <i>The Rape -of Lucrece</i> in the prelude to Willobie’s <i>Avisa</i> (1594), the marginal -reference to the same work in Clarke’s <i>Polimanteia</i> (1595), and the -long catalogue of the works then attributed to Shakspeare, as well as -the very high praise given to him and them in Meres’s <i>Palladis Tamia</i>, -1598. The allusions in Greene’s <i>Groatsworth of Wit</i> and Chettle’s -<i>Kind-Harts Dreame</i> we put by as hypotheses merely; but how curious -it is to find the champions of this theory so strangely ignorant, -or careless of facts familiar, we will not say to every student of -Shakspeare’s writings, because the word student in connexion with those -works has come to have a rather distasteful sound in these Alexandrian -days, but to every one who has ever had any curiosity about the man -to whom these marvellous works are commonly attributed. Nor is this -knowledge within the reach only of those who have money, leisure, or -learning. Any one who is able to procure a ticket of admission to -the Reading-Room of the British Museum may get it at first hand for -himself; numberless books exist any one of which at the cost of a few -shillings will furnish him with it at second-hand. We remember to have -been much struck last year, when turning over the leaves of Mrs. Pott’s -edition of the <i>Promus</i>, with many proofs of the same ignorance of what -one may call the very alphabet of the subject. Coleridge, as we all -know now blundered much in the same way in his lectures on Shakspeare; -but our knowledge both of the poet and his times has very greatly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> -increased since Coleridge lectured. Mr. Smith and Mrs. Pott cannot -now soothe themselves with the thought that it is better to err with -Coleridge than to shine with Mr. Halliwell-Phillips or Mr. Furnivall; -they have only themselves to blame if the world declines to take -seriously a theory which its champions have been at so little serious -pains to examine and support.</p> - -<p>The well-known passage in the <i>Sonnets</i> (Bacon’s or Shakspeare’s)</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And almost thence my nature is subdued</span> -<span class="i0">To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand,</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>receives curious confirmation from Mr. Smith’s writings. He has -studied Bacon’s works so closely and long that he has insensibly -infected himself with some of that great man’s peculiarities. It is -the vice, says Bacon, in the <i>Novum Organum</i>, of high and discursive -intellects to attach too much importance to slight resemblances, a vice -which leads men to catch at shadows instead of substances. Mr. Smith -quotes this saying; yet how must this vice have got possession of his -intellect when he drew up that list of “Parallel passages, and peculiar -phrases, from Bacon and Shakspeare,” which may be read in his <i>Bacon -and Shakspeare</i>! Take one instance only:—In the <i>Life of Henry VII.</i> -occurs this passage: “As his victory gave him the knee, so his purposed -marriage with the Lady Elizabeth gave him the heart, so that both knee -and heart did truly bow before him”; in <i>Richard II.</i> is this line, -“Show heaven the humbled heart and not the knee”; and in <i>Hamlet</i> this, -“And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee.” Is it possible that Mr. -Smith would seriously have us draw any inference from the fact that in -these three passages the word “knee” occurs and in two of them the word -“heart”? Really, he might as well insist that, because Mr. Swinburne -has written “Cry aloud; for the old world is broken” and because Mr. -Arnold has declared himself to be “Wandering between two worlds, one -dead, the other powerless to be born,” the author of <i>Dolores</i> and the -author of the <i>Stanzas from the Grand Chartreuse</i> must be one and the -same man! Again, Macaulay has noticed how, contrary to general custom, -the later writings of Bacon are far superior to the earlier ones in -richness of illustration. It is the same with Mr. Smith. His first -pamphlet, though direct and lucid enough, was singularly free from -all illustration or ornament of any kind. His next contains passages -of wonderful richness and imagination. Bacon, he says, is like an -orange-tree, “where we may observe the bud, the blossom, and the -fruit in every stage of ripeness, all exhibited in one plant at the -same time.” And he goes on in a strain of splendid eloquence:—“The -stentorian orator in the City Forum, who, restoring his voice with the -luscious fruit, continues his harangue to the applauding multitude, -little reflects, that the delicate blossom which grew by its side, and -was gathered at the same time, decorates the fair brow of the fainting -bride in the far-off village church.” Never surely before has the -familiar fruit of domestic life been so poetized since “Bon Gaultier” -wrote of the subjects of the Moorish tyrant how they would fain have -sympathized with his Christian prisoner:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But they feared the grizzly despot and his myrmidons in steel,</span> -<span class="i0">So their sympathy descended in the fruitage of Seville.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>We cannot conclude without offering to Mr. Smith, in all humility, a -little theory of our own, vague as yet and unsubstantial, but worth, -we do venture to think, his consideration or the consideration of -anybody who is in want of a theory to sport with. This is, that these -plays, or at any rate a considerable number of them, were really -and truly written by Walter Raleigh. We have not as yet had time to -examine this theory very closely, or (like Mr. Smith with his) to find -very much evidence in support of it. But of what we have done in that -direction we freely make him a present. The following plays were all -produced after the year 1603, the year when Raleigh was sent to the -Tower for his alleged share in the Cobham plot:—<i>Othello</i>, <i>Measure -for Measure</i>, <i>Lear</i>, <i>Pericles</i>, <i>Antony and Cleopatra</i>, -<i>Macbeth</i>, <i>Cymbeline</i>, <i>Winter’s Tale</i>, <i>Tempest</i>, -<i>Henry VIII.</i>, <i>Taming of the Shrew</i>. It has been allowed on -Mr. Smith’s side that Bacon, amid all his variety of business, both -public and private, must have been very hard put to it to find the mere -time to write the plays. No man of that age could have had at that time -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> -so much leisure on his hands as Raleigh. But that is not all. In the -ninth chapter of his <i>Instructions to his Son</i>, on the inconveniences -arising from the immoderate use of wine, is a passage which might -almost be described as a paraphrase of Cassio’s famous discourse on the -same subject. Nor is this all. Raleigh had been in the Tower before, -in 1592, on a rather delicate matter, in which Mistress Throckmorton, -afterward Lady Raleigh, had a share. The injustice of his second -imprisonment would naturally recall the first to his mind, equally or -still more unjust as he probably thought. To the second he would hardly -dare to allude; but what was more likely than that he should find a -sort of melancholy pleasure in recalling the first? Now, if Mr. Smith -will turn to the second scene of the first act of <i>Measure for Measure</i> -(first acted in December 1604, and written therefore in the first year -of Raleigh’s imprisonment), he will find an allusion to the unfortunate -cause of his first disgrace obvious to the dullest comprehension. -The apparently no less obvious allusion in <i>Twelfth Night</i> to Cole’s -brutality at Raleigh’s trial cannot, unfortunately, stand, as we know -for certain from John Manningham’s Diary that the comedy was played in -the Middle Temple Hall in the previous year. But from such evidence as -we have given (and, did time and space serve we could add to it) we -think a very good case could be made out for Raleigh, and we commend -the making of it to Mr. Smith, who seems to have plenty of time to -spare on such matters. At any rate if he will not have Shakspeare for -the author of these plays, he must really now begin to think of getting -some other Simon Pure than Bacon, if within a quarter of a century -and more he has been able to find no better warranty for his theory -than that he has given us. But we must entreat him to be a little more -careful of poor Raleigh, if he discard our suggestion, than he has -been of poor Shakspeare, the only evidence of whose existence he has -declared to be the date of his death! But perhaps he is only following -Plutarch, whom Bacon praises for saying “Surely I had rather a great -deal men should say there was no such man at all as Plutarch, than that -they should say there was one Plutarch that would eat his children as -soon as they were born.”—<i>Saturday Review.</i></p> - -<div><a name="sicilian"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>SOME SICILIAN CUSTOMS.</h2> -<p class="center space-below1"><b>BY E. LYNN LINTON.</b></p> - -<p>Naturally the most important events of human life are birth, -marriage, death. Hence we find among all peoples who have emerged -from primitive barbarism, ceremonies and customs special to these -three supreme circumstances. These ceremonies and customs are of most -picturesque observance and most quaint significance in the middle -term of civilization;—amongst those who are neither savages not yet -blocked out into fair form, nor educated gentlefolk smoothed down to -the dead level of European civilization; but who are still in that -quasi-mythical and fetichistic state, when usages have a superstitious -meaning beyond their social importance, and charms, signs, omens, and -incantations abound as the ornamental flourishes to the endorsement of -the law.</p> - -<p>We will take for our book of reference no certain Sicilian customs,<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> -one of Dr. Pitrè’s exhaustive cycle. We could not have a better guide. -Dr. Pitrè has devoted twenty good years of his life, health, and -fortune to collecting and preserving the records of all the popular -superstitions, habits, legends and customs of Sicily. Some of these are -already things of the past; others are swiftly vanishing; others again -are in full vigor. Dr. Pitrè’s work is valuable enough now; in a short -time it will be priceless to students and ethnologists who care to -trace likenesses and track to sources, and who are not content with the -mere surface of things without delving down to causes and meanings.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> -<p>All women, the world over, who expect to become mothers, are curious -as to the sex of the unborn child; and every old wife has a bundle -of unfailing signs and omens which determine the question out of -hand without leaving room for doubt. In Sicily these signs are as -follows—among others of dubious modesty, which it is as well to leave -in obscurity. If you suddenly ask an expectant mother: “What is the -matter with your hand?” and she holds up or turns out the palm of her -right hand, her child will be a boy. If she holds up her left hand or -turns out the back of her right, it will be a girl. If she strews salt -before the threshold, the sex of the first person who enters in at the -door determines that of the unborn—a man for a boy, a woman for a -girl. If she goes to draw water from the well, and throws a few drops -over her shoulder without looking back, the sex of the first person -who passes, after the performance of this “sortilegio,” in like manner -determines the sex of the child. After the first child, the line in -which the hair grows at the nape of the neck of the preceding is an -unfailing sign of that which is coming after. If it grows in a peak it -presages a boy, if straight a girl. This is also one of the infallible -signs in India. If the woman sees an ugly or a deformed creature, -and does not say in an audible voice: “Diu ca lu fici”—God has made -it—she will produce a monster. If she repeats the charm, devoutly as -she ought, she has saved her child from deformity.</p> - -<p>The patron saint of expectant mothers in Sicily is S. Francisco di -Paola. To secure his intervention in their behalf they go to church -every Friday to pray specially to him. The first time they go they -are blessed by putting on the cord or girdle proper to this saint; by -receiving, before their own offering, two blessed beans, a few blessed -wafers, and a small wax taper, also blessed, round which is twisted a -slip of paper whereon is printed—“Ora pro nobis Sancte Pater Francisce -di Paola.” The cord is worn during the time of pregnancy; the candle -is lighted during the pains of childbirth, when heavenly interposition -is necessary; and the beans and wafers are eaten as an act of devotion -which results in all manner of good to both mother and child.</p> - -<p>In country places pregnant women who believe in the knowledge of the -midwife rather than in the science of the doctor, are still bled at -stated times, generally on the “even” months. Dr. Pitrè knew personally -one woman who had been bled the incredible number of two hundred and -thirteen times during her pregnancy. She had moreover heart disease; -and she offered herself as a wet-nurse.</p> - -<p>The quarter in which the moon chances to be at the time of birth has -great influence on the future character and career of the new-born. So -have special days and months. All children born in March, which is the -“mad” month of Italy (“Marzo è pazzo”), are predisposed to insanity. -Woe to the female child who has the ill-luck to be born on a cloudy, -stormy, rainy day! She must infallibly become an ugly woman. Woe to -the boy who is born with the new moon! He will become a “loup garou,” -and he will be recognized by his inordinately long nails. But well is -it for the child who first sees the light of day on a Friday—unlike -ourselves, with whom “Friday’s child is sour and sad”—or who is born -on St. Paul’s night. He will be bright, strong, bold and cheerful. He -will be able to handle venomous snakes with impunity for his own part, -and to cure by licking those who have been bitten. He will be able to -control lunatics and to discover things secret and hidden; and he will -be a chatterbox.</p> - -<p>More things go to make a successful or unsuccessful “time” in Sicily -than we recognize in England. A woman in her hour of trial is held and -hindered as much as was ever poor Alcmena, when Lucina sat crosslegged -before her gate, if a woman “in disgrazia di Dio”—that is, leading an -immoral life—either in secret or openly, enters the room. The best -counter-agent then is to invoke very loudly Santa Leocarda, the Dea -Partula of Catholicism. If she be not sufficiently powerful, and things -are still delayed, then all the other saints, the Madonna, and finally -God himself, are appealed to with profound faith in a speedy release. -In one place the church bells are rung; on which all the women within -earshot repeat an Ave. In another, the silver chain of La Madonna della -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> -Catena is the surest obstetrician; and science and the doctor have -no power over the mind of the suffering woman where this has all. To -this day is believed the story of a poor mother who, when her pain had -begun, hurried off to the church to pray to the Madonna della Catena -for aid. When she returned home, the Holy Virgin herself assisted her, -and not only brought her child into the world, but also gave her bread, -clothes and jewels.</p> - -<p>If the child be born weak or dying, and the need is therefore imminent, -the midwife baptizes it. For which reason she must never be one who -is deaf and dumb—nor one who stutters or stammers. Before baptism -no one must kiss a new-born infant, seeing that it is still a pagan; -which thing would therefore be a sin. In Modica the new-born child -is no longer under the protection of the Madonna, but under that of -certain mysterious beings called “Le Padrone della Casa.” To ensure -this protection the oldest of the women present lays on the table, or -the clothes chest, nine black beans in the form of a wedge—repeating -between her teeth a doggerel charm, which will prevent “Le Padrone -della Casa” from harming the babe or its mother. Others, instead of -black beans, put their trust in a reel or winder with two little bits -of cane fastened to it crosswise, which they lay on the bed, and which -also is certain to prevent all evil handling by these viewless forms. -At Marsala, the night after that following the birth, the windows -of the room where the infant lies are shut close, a pinch of salt -is strewn behind the door, and the light is left burning, so that a -certain malignant spirit called ’Nserra may not enter to hurt the -new-born. In other places they hide in the woman’s bed—generally -under the pillow—a key, or a small ball, or a clove of garlic, or the -mother’s thimble, or scissors, all or any of which does the same good -office of exorcism as the pinch of salt, and the light left burning. -For the first drink, a whole partridge, beak and feet, is put into a -pint of water, which is then boiled down to a cupful, and given to the -woman as the best restorative art and science can devise. When she is -allowed to eat solids she has a chicken, of which she is careful to -give the neck to her husband. Were she herself to eat it, her child’s -neck would be undeniably weak.</p> - -<p>When taken to the church to be baptized, the infant, if a boy, is -carried on the right arm—if a girl, on the left. In the church the -father proper effaces himself as of no account in the proceedings; and -the godfather carries off all the honors. The more pompous ceremonial -at baptism occurs only at the birth of the first son. The Sicilian -proverb has it: “The first son is born a baron.”</p> - -<p>Immediately after the baptism Sicilian Albanians dance a special dance; -and when they go home they throw out roasted peas to the people. Hence: -“When shall we have the peas?” is used as a periphrasis for: “When -does she expect her confinement?” The water in which the “chrism,” or -christening cup is washed, is accounted holy, because of the sacred oil -which it has touched. It is flung out on to a hedge, so that no foot of -man may tread the soil which has received it. Also the water in which -the child is first washed is treated as a thing apart. It is thrown on -to the highway, if the babe be a boy; under the bed, or the oven, or in -some other part of the house, if it be a girl;—the one signifying that -a man must fare forth, the other that a woman must bide within.</p> - -<p>When the child “grows two days in one,” and “smiles to the angels?” -it is under the guardianship of certain other viewless, formless and -mysterious creatures, who seem to be vagabonds and open-air doubles of -the “Padrone della Casa.” These are “Le Donne di fuori.” The mother -asks permission of these “Donne,” before she lifts the child from the -cradle. “In the name of God,” she says, as she takes it up, “with your -permission, my ladies.” These “Donne di fuori,” are not always to be -relied on, for now they do, and now they do not, protect the little -one. It is all a matter of caprice and humor; but certainly no mother -who loved her child would omit this courteous entreaty to the, “Donne” -who are supposed to have had the creature in their keeping while she -was absent, and it was sleeping.</p> - -<p>Not everyone in Sicily can marry according to his desire and the -apparent fitness of things; for there are old feuds between parish and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -parish, as bitter as were ever those of Guelf and Ghibelline in times -past; and the devotees of one saint will have as little to say to the -devotees of another as will Jew and Gentile, True Believer and Giaour. -In early times this local rivalry was, naturally, more pronounced than -it is at present; but even now in Modica it is extremely rare if a San -Giorgioaro marries a Sampietrana, or vice versâ—each considering the -other as of a different and heretical religion. A marriage made not -long ago between two people of these several parishes turned out ill -solely on the religious question, the husband and wife not agreeing to -differ, but each wanting to convert the other from the false to the -true faith, and indignant because of ill-success. Just lately, says Dr. -Pitrè, a Syracusan girl, whose patron saint was Saint Philip, and who -was betrothed to a young man of the confraternity of the Santo Spirito, -sent all adrift because, a few days before the marriage was to take -place, she went to see her lover, lying ill in bed, and found hanging -to the pillow a picture of the objectionable Santo Spirito. Whereat, -furious and enraged she snatched down the picture, tore it into a -thousand pieces which she trampled under foot, and then and there made -it a sine quâ non that her husband-elect should substitute for this -a picture of Saint Philip. This the young man refused to do; and the -marriage was broken off.</p> - -<p>Here in Sicily, as elsewhere, the seafaring population have little or -nothing to say to the landsfolk by way of marriage; holding themselves -more moral, more industrious, and in every way superior to those who -live by the harvests of the earth or by the quick returns and easy -profits of trade. But there is much more than this. The daughter of a -small landed proprietor will not be given to the master of men in any -kind of business, nor will the son of the former be suffered to marry -the daughter of the latter. A peasant farmer, without sixpence, would -not let his girl marry a well-to-do shepherd. A workman or rather a -day laborer—“bracciante”—would not be received into the family of a -muleteer, nor he again into one where the head was the keeper of swine -or of cattle. The husbandman who can prune vines disdains the man who -cannot dig, let him be what he will; the cow-herd disdains the ox-herd, -and he again the man who looks after the calves. The shepherd is above -the goat-herd; and so on, down to the most microscopic differences, -surpassing even those of caste-ridden India.</p> - -<p>When conditions, however, are equal, and there are no overt objections -to the desired marriage, the mother of the young man takes the thing -in hand. She knows that her son wants to marry, because he is sullen, -silent, rude, contradictious and fault-finding; because last Saturday -night he hitched up the ass to the hook in the house wall, instead of -stabling it as he ought, and himself passed the night out of doors; or -because—in one place in Sicily—he sat on the chest, stamped his feet -and kicked his heels, so that his parents, hearing the noise, might -know that he was disturbed in his mind, and wanted to marry so soon as -convenient. Then the mother knows what is before her, and accepts her -duties as a good woman should.</p> - -<p>She dresses herself a little smartly and goes to the house of the Nina -or Rosa with whom her son has fallen in love, to see what the girl is -like when at home, and to find out the amount of dower likely to be -given with her. She hides under her shawl a weaver’s comb, which, as -soon as she is seated, she brings out, asking the girl’s mother if she -can lend her one like it? This latter answers that she will look for -one, and will do all she can to meet her visitor’s wishes. She then -sends the daughter into another room, and the two begin the serious -business of means and dowry.</p> - -<p>In olden times the girl who did not know how to weave the thread she -had already spun had small chance of finding a husband, how great -soever her charms or virtues. Power looms and cheap cloth have changed -all this and substituted a more generalized kind of industriousness; -but, all the same, she must be industrious—or have the wit to appear -so—else the maternal envoy will have none of her; but leaving the -house hurriedly, crosses herself and repeats thrice the Sicilian word -for “Renounced.” In Modica the young man’s mother sets a broom against -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> -the girl’s house-door at night which does the same as the weaver’s -comb elsewhere; and, if all other things suit, the young people are -betrothed the following Saturday. And after they are betrothed the -girl’s mother goes to a church at some distance from her own home, -where she stands behind the door, and, according to the words said by -the first persons who pass through, foretells the happiness or the -unhappiness of the marriage set on foot.</p> - -<p>The inventory of the girl’s possessions—chiefly house and -body-linen—is made by a public writer, and always begins with an -invocation to “Gesù, Maria, Giuseppe”—the Holy Family. It is sent -to the bridegroom-elect wrapped in a handkerchief. If considered -satisfactory, it is kept; if insufficient, it is returned. If accepted -as sufficient, there is a solemn conclave of the parents and kinsfolk -of the two houses. The girl is seated in the middle of the room. -Her future mother-in-law, or the nearest married kinswoman of the -bridegroom if she be dead, takes down and then plaits and dresses -her hair—all people who have been to Italy know what a universal -office of maternal care is this of dressing the girl’s hair;—slips -the engaged ring on her finger; puts a comb in her head; gives her -a silk-handkerchief, and kisses her. After this the girl rises, -kisses the hands of her future father-and mother-in-law, and seats -herself afresh, between her own kinsfolk on her left, and those of -her “promesso sposo,” on her right. In some places is added to these -manifestations a bit of flame-colored ribbon (“color rosso-fuoco; -colore obbligato”), which the future mother-in-law plaits into the -girl’s tresses while combing her hair, and which this latter never puts -off till the day of the wedding. Formerly a “promessa sposa” wore a -broad linen band across her brow and down her face, tied under her chin -with a purple ribbon.</p> - -<p>On her side the girl’s mother gives the future son-in-law a scapulary -of the Madonna del Carmine, fastened to a long blue ribbon. When the -formal kiss of betrothal is given between the young people, the guests -break out into “Evvivas!” and the wine and feasting begin. Formerly -a “promessa sposa” shaved off one or both of her eyebrows. But this -custom was inconvenient. If anything happened to prevent the marriage -it spoilt all chances for the future.</p> - -<p>Gifts from the man to the woman are de rigueur—a survival of the old -mode of barter or purchase. These gifts are generally of jewelry; -but sometimes the pair exchange useful presents of body-linen, &c. -At Easter the man gives the woman either a luscious sweet called -“cassata,” or a “peccorella di pasta reale,” that is a lamb couchant -made of almond paste, crowned with a tinsel crown, carrying a flag, -and colored after nature. At the Feast of St. Peter—the 29th of July; -not the same as Saints Peter and Paul—he gives keys made of flour and -honey, or of almonds, or of caramel. On the 2nd of November—the day -off All Souls’—he takes her sweet brown cakes with a white mortuary -figure raised in high relief, as a child, or a man, or a death’s head -and cross bones, or a well-defined set of ribs to symbolize a skeleton, -according to the nearest relative she may have lost. But in Mazarra -no one who loved his bride would give her aught in the likeness of a -cat, as this would presage her speedy death. Biscuits for St. Martin’s -day; gingerbread in true lovers’ knots, tough and tasteless, and -sugar bambini for Christmas; huge hearts, of a rather coarse imitation -of mincemeat, and sugared over, for the Feast of the Annunciation; on -the day of Saints Cosmo and Damian, medlars, quinces and the saints -themselves done in honey and sugar—and so on;—these are the little -courtesies of the betrothal which no man who respected himself, -or desired the love of her who was to be his wife, would dream of -neglecting.</p> - -<p>During the time of betrothal, how long so ever it may last, the young -people are never suffered to be one moment alone, nor to say anything -to each other which all the world does not hear. The man may go once -a week to the girl’s house; where he seats himself at the corner of -the room opposite to that where she is sitting; but he may not touch -her hand nor speak to her below his breath. In the country, when they -cannot marry for yet awhile, they engage themselves from year to year. -But they are always kept apart and rigorously watched. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<p>Formerly marriages were somewhat earlier than now. Now they are delayed -until the young fellow has served his three years in the army. They -used to be most general when he was twenty and she eighteen; and a -proverb says that at eighteen a girl either marries or dies. The church -did not sanction marriages earlier than these several ages, save in -exceptional cases; and any one who assisted at the marriage of a girl -below the age of eighteen, without the consent of her parents and -guardians, was imprisoned for life and forfeited all he had. This law, -however, was frequently broken in remote places, and especially about -Palermo, where “the marriages of Monreale” have passed into a proverb. -When a young girl, say of sixteen, marries and has a good childbirth, -they say, “She has been to Monreale.”</p> - -<p>May and August are unlucky months in which to be married. September -and the following three months are the most propitious. The prejudice -against May dates from old classic times; while June was considered as -fit by the Romans as it is now by the Palermitans. Up to the end of the -sixteenth century the day of days was St. John the Baptist’s. Two days -in the week are unlucky for marriage—Tuesday and Friday:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Nè di Venere nè di Marte</span> -<span class="i1">Non si sposa nè si parte.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Sunday is the best day of all; especially in country places, where it -is evidently the most convenient.</p> - -<p>If the bride or one of the bridal party slips by the way, if the ring -or one of the candles on the altar falls in church, the young couple -may look out for sorrow. If two sisters are married on the same day, -ill will fare the younger. If one candle shines with less brilliancy -than the other, or one of the kneeling spouses rises before the other, -that one whose candle has not burnt as it should, or the one who has -risen before the partner, will die first or die soon.</p> - -<p>In Piano de’ Greci—the Greek Colony about twelve miles from -Palermo—the young husband keeps his Phrygian cap on his head in -church, as a sign that he too is now the head of a new family; and in -olden times the bride used to come into church on horseback. In one -place, Salaparuta, the bride enters in at the small door and goes out -by the large; and she must perforce pass beneath the campanile, else -she has not been married properly. In the Sicilian-Albanian colonies, -after the wedding-rings—of gold for the man, of silver for the woman, -as marking her inferior condition—have been placed on their fingers -and the wedding crowns on their heads, the officiating priest puts a -white veil on himself. He then steeps some bread in a glass of wine, -and gives the young couple to eat three times; after which, invoking -the name of the Lord, he dashes the glass to the ground. Then they all -dance a certain dance, decorous, not to say lugubrious, consisting -properly of only three turns made round and round as a kind of waltz, -guided by the priest, with the accompaniment of two hymns, one to the -Prophet Isaiah, and the other—Absit omen—to the Holy Martyrs. After -the dance comes the Holy Kiss. The priest kisses the husband only, and -he all the men and his bride. She kisses only all the women.</p> - -<p>On their return from church “confetti” are thrown in the way before the -newly-married couple; or if not, then boxes of sweetmeats—like the -dragées of a French christening—are afterwards given to the parents -and kinsfolk. In one place they throw dried peas, beans, almonds -and corn—this last is the sign of plenty. Or they vary these with -vegetables, bread and corn and salt mixed; or with corn and nuts; or -“dolci” made of wheaten flour and honey. In Syracuse they throw salt -and wheat—the former the symbol of wisdom, the latter of plenty. The -Romans used to throw corn at their wedding feasts; and the nut-throwing -of Sicily dates from the times when young Caius or Julius flung to -his former companions those “nuces juglandes,” as a sign that he was -no longer a boy ready to play as formerly with them all. In Avola, -the nearest neighbor goes up to the bride with an apron full of -orange leaves, which she flings in her face, saying, “Continence and -boy-children!” then strews the remainder before the house-door. To -this ceremony is added another as significant—breaking two hen’s eggs -at the feet of the “sposi.” At one place they sprinkle the threshold -with wine before entering. Another custom at Avola, as sacred as our -wedding-cake, is to give each of the guests a spoonful of “ammilata, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>” -almonds pounded up with honey. At Piano de’ Greci, and in the other -Sicilian-Greek colonies, the mother-in-law stands at the door of the -house waiting for her daughter-in-law to give her a spoonful of honey -as soon as she enters, to which are added “ciambelle”—small cakes in -the form of a ring. The bride’s house is adorned with flowers, but it -is a bad omen if two bits of wire get put by chance crosswise.</p> - -<p>At dinner the bridegroom leaves the bride to go to his own home, but he -returns in the middle of the meal to finish it with his bride; which -seems a daft-like custom, serving no good purpose beyond the waste -of time. They are very particular as to who shall sit on the right -and who on the left of the bride, when, gayly dressed and set under -a looking-glass, she sits like a doll to receive the congratulations -of her friends. The first day of these receptions all the invitations -are given by the mother of the bride; the second they are given by -the mother of the bridegroom. There is good store of maccheroni and -the like; and at Modica a plate is set to receive the contributions -of the guests—like our Penny Weddings in the North. Some give money, -some jewelry, etc., and the amount raised is generally of sufficient -worth in view of the condition of the high contracting parties. In the -evening they dance, when the “sposo” or “zitu,” cap in hand, makes a -profound bow to the bride or “zita,” who rises joyously and dances -“di tutta lena.” After a few turns the “zitu” makes another profound -bow and sits down; when the bride dances once round the room alone, -then selects first one partner then another. “Non prigari zita pr’ -abballari.” Songs and dances finished, the mother-in-law accompanies -the bride to the bride-chamber. In default of her, this time-honored -office devolves on the bridegroom’s married sister or otherwise -nearest relation. This is de rigueur; and there was an ugly affray -at Palermo not so long ago on this very matter, which ended in the -wounding and imprisonment of the bridegroom and his kinsfolk. Often -all sorts of rude practical jokes are played, especially on old people -or second marriages; some of which are horribly unseemly, and all are -inconvenient. The bride stays eight days in the house receiving visits, -and having a “good time” generally; after which she goes to church -dressed all in white. In the marriage contract it is specified to what -festas and amusements the husband shall take her during the year; and -in olden times was added the number of dishes she was to have at her -meals, the number of dresses she was to be allowed during the year, -down to the most minute arrangements for her comfort and consideration.</p> - -<p>Now comes the last scene of all—the last rites sacred to the shuffling -off this mortal coil, which close the trilogy of life.</p> - -<p>Among old Sicilian rules was one which enjoined, after three days’ -illness, the Viaticum. This is eloquent enough of the rapidity with -which Death snatched his victims when once he had laid his hand on -their heads. The most common prognostications of death are: the -midnight howling of a dog; the hooting of an owl; the crowing of a -hen at midnight; to dream of dead friends or kinsfolk; to sweep the -house at night; or to make a new opening of any kind in an inhabited -house. Boys are of evil omen when they accompany the Viaticum, but as -they always do accompany it, it would seem as if no one who has once -received the Last Sacraments has a chance of recovery. He has not much; -but it does at times happen that he breaks the bonds of death already -woven round him and comes out with renewed life and vigor. Death is -expected at midnight or at the first hours of the morning or at mid-day. -If delayed, something supernatural is suspected. Had the dying man when -in health burnt the yoke of a plough? Is there an unwashed linen-thread -in his mattress? Perhaps he once, like care, killed a cat. If he delays -his dying, the friends must call out his name in seven Litanies, or at -least put his clothes out of doors. In any case he dies because the -doctor has misunderstood his case and given him a wrong medicine; else -Saints Cosmo and Damian, Saints Francisco and Paolo, would have saved -him. When he dies the women raise the death-howl and let loose their -hair about their shoulders. All his good qualities are enumerated and -his bad ones are forgotten. He is dressed in white, and after he is -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> -dressed his shroud is sewn tight. This pious work gains indulgences -for those who perform it; and the very needle is preserved as a sacred -possession. Sometimes, however, it is left in the grave-clothes to -be buried with the corpse. In certain places the women are buried -in their wedding-dress, which they have kept all these years to -serve as their shroud. Seated or in bed the corpse is always laid -out feet foremost to the door, and for this reason no one in Sicily -makes a bed with the head to the window and the feet to the door. -It would be a bad omen. About the corpse-bed stand lighted candles, -or, however poor the family, at least one little oil lamp. The hired -mourners, “repulatrici,” were once so numerous and costly as to demand -legislative interference and municipal regulation. To this day they -tear their hair and throw it in handfuls on the corpse; and the sisters -who lament their brothers—rustic Antigones and Electras—exhale their -sorrows in sweet and mournful songs.</p> - -<p>In past ages a piece of money was put into the mouth of the corpse—a -survival of the fare which Charon was bound to receive. A virgin has a -palm branch and a crown in her coffin; a child a garland of flowers. It -is the worst possible omen for a bridal procession to meet a funeral. -It has to be averted by making the “horns”—or “le fiche” (thrusting -the thumb between the first two fingers) or by putting a pomegranate -before the door or in the window. At Piano de’ Greci certain little -loaves or bread-cakes in the form of a cross are given to the poor on -the day of a death. In Giacosa, behind the funeral procession comes an -ass laden with food, which, after the burial, is distributed either -here in the open or under cover in some house. The Sicilian-Albanians -do not sit on chairs during the first days of mourning, but on the -dead man’s mattress. In some houses all is thrown into intentional -confusion—turned upside down, to mark the presence of death. Others -put out the mattress to show that the invalid is dead; others again -remake the bed as for marriage, placing on it the crucifix which the -sick man had held in his hand when dying. Woe to those who let the -candle go out while burning at the foot of the bed! On the first day of -mourning, there is one only of these corpse-lights; on the second day -two; on the third three. Men and women sit round—the men covered up in -their cloaks with a black ribbon round their throats—the women with -their black mantles drawn close over the head, all in deep mourning. -For the first nine days, friends, also in strict mourning, throng the -house to pay their formal visits of condolence. The mourners do not -speak nor look up, but sit there like statues, and talk of the dead in -solemn phrases and with bated breath, but entering into the minute and -sometimes most immodest details. The mourning lasts one or two years -for parents, husband or wife, and brothers and sisters; six months for -grandparents, and uncles and aunts; three months for a cousin.</p> - -<p>Babies are buried in white with a red ribbon as a sash, or disposed -over the body in the form of a cross. They lie in a basket on the table -with wax candles set round, and their faces are covered with a fine -veil. They are covered with flowers, and on the little head is also -a garland of flowers. No one must weep for the death of an infant. -It would be an offence against God, who had compassion on the little -creature and took it to make of it an angel in Paradise before it had -learned to sin. The announcement of its death is received with a cry of -“Glory and Paradise!” and in some places the joybells are rung as for a -festa. When taken to the Campo Santo, it is accompanied with music and singing.</p> - -<p>The soul of the dead is to be seen as a butterfly, a dove, an angel. -The soul of a murdered man hovers about the cross raised to his memory -on the place of his murder; the soul of one righteously executed by the -law, remains on earth to frighten the timid; the soul of the suicide -goes plumb to hell, “casal-diavolo,” unless the poor wretch repents -at the supreme moment. Judas is condemned to hover always over the -“tamarix Gallica,” on which he hanged himself, and which still bears -his name; children go to the stars; while certain women believe that -their souls will go up the “stairs of St. Japicu di Galizia,” which -plain people call the Milky Way.</p> - -<p>These are the most striking and picturesque of the customs and usages -collected by Dr. Pitrè in his exhaustive and instructive little book. -What remains is either too purely local, or too little differenced to -be of interest to people not of the place. Also have been omitted a few -unimportant details of a certain “breadth” and naturalistic simplicity -which would not bear translating into English.—<i>Temple Bar.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>THE FUTURE OF ELECTRICITY AND GAS.</h2> - -<p>More than eighty years ago, Davy first produced and exhibited the -arc-light to an admiring and dazzled audience at the Royal Institution; -and forty years later, at the same place, Faraday, by means of his -memorable experiments in electro-dynamics, laid down the laws on which -the modern dynamo-electric machine is founded. Though known at the -beginning of the century, the electric light remained little more than -a scientific curiosity until within the last ten years, during which -period the dynamo-electric machine has been brought to its present -perfection, and electric lighting on a large and economical scale thus -rendered possible. The first practical incandescent lamps were produced -only seven years ago, though the idea of lighting by incandescence -dates back some forty years or more; but all attempts to manufacture an -efficient lamp were rendered futile by the impossibility of obtaining a -perfect vacuum. The year 1881 will long be remembered as that in which -electric lighting by incandescence was first shown to be possible and -practicable.</p> - -<p>The future history of the world will doubtless be founded more or less -on the history of scientific progress. No branch of science at present -rivals in interest that of electricity, and at no time in the history -of the world has any branch of science made so great or so rapid -progress as electrical science during the past five years.</p> - -<p>And now it may be asked, where are the evidences of this wonderful -progress, at least in that branch of electricity which is the subject -of the present paper? Quite recently, the wonders of the electric light -were in the mouths of every one; while at present, little or nothing is -heard about it except in professional quarters. Is the electric light -a failure, and are all the hopes that have been placed on it to end in -nothing? Assuredly not. The explanation of the present lull in electric -lighting is not far to seek; it is due almost solely and entirely -to speculation. The reins, so to say, had been taken from the hands -of engineers and men of science; the stock-jobbers had mounted the -chariot, and the mad gallop that followed has ended in ruin and -collapse. Many will remember the electric-light mania several years -ago, and the panic that took place among those holding gas shares. -The public knew little or nothing about electricity, and consequently -nothing was too startling or too ridiculous to be believed. Then came a -time of wild excitement and reckless speculation, inevitably followed -by a time of depression and ruination. Commercial enterprise was -brought to a stand-still; real investors lost all confidence; capital -was diverted elsewhere; the innocent suffered, and are still suffering; -and the electric light suffered all the blame. The government was -forced to step in for the protection of the public; and the result of -their legislation is the Electric Lighting Act which authorizes the -Board of Trade to grant licenses to Companies and local authorities -to supply electricity under certain conditions. These conditions have -reference chiefly to the limits of compulsory and permissive supply, -the securing of a regular and efficient supply, the safety of the -public, the limitation of prices to be charged, and regulations as to -inspection and inquiry.</p> - -<p>That the electric light has not proved a failure may be gleaned from a -rough survey of what has been done during the past two years, in spite -of unmerited depression and depreciation. In this country, permanent -installations have been established at several theatres in London and -the provinces; the Royal Courts of Justice, the Houses of Parliament, -Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, the Bank of England, and other -well-known buildings; while numerous railway stations, hotels, clubs, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> -factories, and private mansions throughout the country, have also -adopted the new light either entirely or in part. In addition to this, -over forty steamships have been fitted with the electric light during -the past year; and the Holborn Viaduct, with its shops and buildings, -has been lighted without interruption for the past two years. On the -continent, in addition to a large number of factories, private houses -and public buildings, numerous theatres at Paris, Munich, Stuttgart, -Brunn, Vienna, Berlin, Prague and Milan have been electrically -lighted. In New York, an installation of ten thousand lights has been -successfully running for the last year or two. Any one wishing to -see the electric light to advantage and its suitability to interior -decoration, should visit the Holborn Restaurant. This building, with -its finely decorated rooms, its architectural beauties, and ornamental -designs in the renaissance style, when viewed by the electric light, is -without doubt one of the chief sights of London.</p> - -<p>The electric light in the form of the well-known powerful and dazzling -arc-light is the favorite illuminant for lighting harbors, railway -stations, docks, public works, and other large spaces. But it is to -the incandescent lamp that one must look par excellence for the “light -of the future.” It has been satisfactorily established that lighting -by incandescence is as cheap as lighting by gas, provided that it be -carried out on an extensive scale.</p> - -<p>Very contradictory statements have from time to time been published -as to the relative cost of lighting by electricity and gas; and a few -remarks on the subject, without entering into detailed figures, will -explain much of this discrepancy. These remarks will refer to electric -lighting by incandescence.</p> - -<p>In the first place, the lighting may be effected in one of three -ways—(1) by primary batteries; (2) by dynamo-machines; or (3) by a -combination of dynamo machines and secondary batteries. The expense of -working with primary batteries is altogether prohibitory, except in the -case of very small installations; while secondary batteries have not -yet been made a practical success; so that the second method mentioned -above is the only one at present in the field. In the second place, a -distinction must be made between isolated installations and a general -system of lighting from central stations. Up to the present time, -nearly all the lighting by electricity has been effected by isolated -installations. If every man requiring one hundred or even several -hundred lights were to set up his own gas-works and supply himself from -them, the cost of lighting by gas would be enormously increased. Hence -it is manifestly unfair to compare the cost of electric light obtained -from isolated installations with gas obtained from gas-works supplying -many thousands of lights; yet this is being constantly done. Central -stations supplying at least, say, ten thousand lights, and gas-works on -an equal scale, must be compared in order to arrive at a true estimate -of the relative cost of electricity and gas. Several such extended -installations are now being erected in London and elsewhere. With -improved generating apparatus, and above all, with improved lamps, it -is confidently anticipated that the electric light will eventually be -cheaper than gas. Even if dearer than gas, it will be largely used for -lighting dwelling-houses, theatres, concert halls, museums, libraries, -churches, shops, showrooms, factories, and ships; while perhaps gas may -long hold its own as the poor man’s friend, since it affords him warmth -as well as light.</p> - -<p>The incandescent light is entirely free from the products of combustion -which heat and vitiate the air; it enables us to see pictures and -flowers as by daylight; it supports plants instead of poisoning them, -and enables many industries to be carried on by night as well as by -day. Add to this an almost perfect immunity from danger of fire and -no fear of explosion. When it is realized that a gas flame gives -out seventeen times as much heat as an incandescent lamp of equal -light-giving power, and that an ordinary gas flame vitiates the air -as much as the breathing of ten persons, some idea may be formed of -the advantage of the electric light from a sanitary point of view. -To this may be added absence of injury to books, walls and ceilings. -Visitors to the Savoy Theatre in London will doubtless have seen the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> -adaptability of this light for places of public amusement and it is now -possible to sit out a play in a cool and pleasant atmosphere without -incurring a severe headache. To theatrical managers the light offers -in addition unusual facilities for producing spectacular effects, such -as the employment of green, red, and white lamps to represent night, -morning, and daylight. The freedom from weariness and lassitude after -spending an evening in an electrically lighted apartment must be -experienced in order to be appreciated. The electric light very readily -adapts itself to the interior fittings and decorations of houses and -public buildings, and it can be placed in positions where gas could not -be used on account of the danger of fire. The old lines of gas-fittings -should be avoided as far as possible, and the lights placed singly -where required and not “bunched” together. For the lighting of mines, -electricity must stand unrivalled, though little has as yet been done -in this direction. Its speedy adoption either voluntarily or by Act of -Parliament, with the employment of lime cartridges instead of blasting -by gunpowder, will in the future render explosions in mines almost an -impossibility. In some cases, gas may yet for some time compete with -the electric light both in brilliancy and economy; for the electric -light has spurred on the gas Companies to the improved lighting of many -of our public streets and places.</p> - -<p>With the general introduction of electricity for the purpose of -lighting comes the introduction of electricity for the production of -power; for the same current entering by the same conductors can be -used for the production of light or of power, or of both. The same -plant at the central stations will supply power by day and light by -night, with evident economy. Electricity will thus be used for driving -sewing-machines, grinding, mixing, brushing, cleaning, and many other -domestic purposes. In many trades requiring the application of power -for driving light machinery for short periods, electricity will be of -the greatest value, and artisans will have an ever ready source of -power at their command in their own homes.</p> - -<p>Is electricity to supersede gas altogether? By no means, for gas is -destined to play a more important part in the future than it has done -in the past. Following close upon the revolution in the production of -light comes a revolution in the production of heat for purposes of -warming and cooking, and for the production of power. Gas in the future -will be largely used not necessarily as an illuminant, but as a fuel -and a power producer. When gas is burned in an ordinary gas flame, -ninety-five per cent. of the gas is consumed in producing heat, and -the remaining five per cent. only in producing light. Gas is far more -efficient than raw coal as a heating agent; and it is also far cheaper -to turn coal into gas and use the gas in a gas-engine, than to burn -the coal directly under the boiler of a steam-engine; for gas-engines -are far more economical than steam-engines. Bearing these facts in -mind it cannot but be seen that the time is not far distant when, both -by rich and poor, gas will be used as the cheapest, most cleanly, and -most convenient means for heating and cooking, and raw coal need not -enter our houses; also that gas-engines must sooner or later supersede -steam-engines, and gas thus be used for driving the machine that -produces the electricity. In the case of towns distant not more than, -say, fifty miles from a coal-field, the gas-works could with advantage -be placed at the colliery, the gas being conveyed to its destination -in pipes. Thus, coal need no longer be seen, except at the colliery -and the gas-works. With the substitution of gas for coal, as a fuel, -will end the present abominable and wasteful production of smoke. When -smoke, “blacks,” and noxious gases are thus done away with, life in -our most populous towns may become a real pleasure. Trees, grass, and -flowers will flourish, and architecture be seen in all its beauty. -Personal comfort will be greatly enhanced by the absence of smuts, -“pea-soup” fogs, and noxious fumes; and monuments, public buildings, -and pictures saved from premature destruction.</p> - -<p>The present method of open fires is dirty, troublesome, wasteful, -and extravagant. With the introduction of gas as a heating agent, -there will be no more carting about of coals and ashes, and no more -troublesome lighting of fires with wood, paper, and matches. No more -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> -coal-scuttles, no more smoky chimneys, no more chimney sweeps! On -the other hand, the old open coal fire is cheerful, “pokable,” and -conducive to ventilation; while the Englishman loves to stand in front -of it and toast himself. All this, however, may still be secured in -the gas stoves of the future, as any one could easily have satisfied -himself at the recent Smoke Abatement Exhibition in London. The gas -stove of the future must be an open radiating stove, and not a closed -stove, which warms the air by conduction and convection chiefly, and -renders the air of a room dry and uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>It has been frequently pointed out that our coal-fields are not -inexhaustible; but they doubtless contain a sufficient supply for -hundreds of years to come. Long before the supply is likely to run -short, other sources of nature will be largely drawn upon. These are -the winds, waterfalls, tides, and the motion of the waves. The two -former have to some extent been utilized; but little or nothing has -been done or attempted with the latter. Before these can be to any -extent made use of, means must be devised for storing energy in the -form of electricity; a problem which is now being vigorously attacked, -but as yet without much practical success. That electricity has a great -future before it cannot for a moment be doubted.—<i>Chambers’s Journal.</i></p> - -<div><a name="beyond_the_haze"></a><hr class="r25 space-above1" /></div> -<h2>BEYOND THE HAZE.</h2> -<p class="center"><b>A WINTER RAMBLE REVERIE.</b></p> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The road was straight, the afternoon was gray,</span> -<span class="i2">The frost hung listening in the silent air;</span> -<span class="i2">On either hand the rimy fields were bare;</span> -<span class="i0">Beneath my feet unrolled the long, white way,</span> -<span class="i0">Drear as my heart, and brightened by no ray</span> -<span class="i2">From the wide winter sun, whose disc reclined</span> -<span class="i2">In distant copper sullenness behind</span> -<span class="i0">The broken network of the western hedge—</span> -<span class="i2">A crimson blot upon the fading day.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Three travellers went before me—one alone—</span> -<span class="i2">Then two together, who their fingers nursed</span> -<span class="i2">Deep in their pockets; and I watched the first</span> -<span class="i0">Lapse in the curtain the slow haze had thrown</span> -<span class="i0">Across the vista which had been my own.</span> -<span class="i2">Next vanished the chill comrades, blotted out</span> -<span class="i2">Like him they followed, but I did not doubt</span> -<span class="i0">That there beyond the haze the travellers</span> -<span class="i2">Walked in the fashion that my sight had known.</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only “beyond the haze;” oh, sweet belief!</span> -<span class="i2">That this is also Death; that those we’ve kissed</span> -<span class="i2">Between our sobs, are just “beyond the mist;”</span> -<span class="i0">An easy thought to juggle with to grief!</span> -<span class="i0">The gulf seems measureless, and Death a thief.</span> -<span class="i2">Can we, who were so high, and are so low,</span> -<span class="i2">So clothed in love, who now in tatters go,</span> -<span class="i0">Echo serenely, “Just beyond the haze,”</span> -<span class="i2">And of a sudden find a trite relief?</span> -<span class="i26">—<i>Cornhill Magazine</i>.</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> -<hr class="r25" /> -<h2>MRS. MONTAGU.</h2> - -<p>Matthew Robinson, of West Layton in Yorkshire, married when he was -eighteen, and before he was forty found himself father of a numerous -family—seven sons and two daughters. His wife, whose maiden name was -Drake, had inherited property in Cambridgeshire, and this seems to have -been the cause of their settling at Cambridge about the year 1727. They -may also have been induced to do so from the fact that Dr. Conyers -Middleton, Mrs. Robinson’s step-father, held the office of Public -Librarian there. Conyers Middleton became subsequently celebrated by -his “Life of Cicero”; but at this time he was chiefly known as the -malignant enemy of the learned Bentley, Master of Trinity College, and -as the author of various polemical tracts and treatises.</p> - -<p>Middleton took an interest in the grandchildren of his deceased wife. -His favorite among them was his god-daughter Elizabeth, the elder of -the two girls. When first he saw her she was not quite eight years old. -He was at once struck by her precocious intelligence, and undertook to -begin her education. Her power of attention, and strength of memory, -were tested in the following way. He kept her with him while conversing -with visitors on subjects far beyond her grasp, and expected her both -to listen, and to give him afterwards some account of what had passed. -The exercise was a severe one, but his little pupil profited by it. -Guided by him, she made her first steps in Latin, her knowledge of -which, in after-life, was an inexhaustible source of pleasure. She -often regretted that she had not learnt Greek as well.</p> - -<p>A favorite amusement of the young Robinsons was that of playing at -Parliament, their gentle mother sitting by and obligingly acting as -Speaker, a title which her children habitually used when mentioning -her among themselves. Often, when dispute waxed too warm, had she to -interfere, and restore order among the senators, of whom Elizabeth was -not the least eloquent.</p> - -<p>Wimpole Hall, now the home of the Yorkes, was, in the early part of -last century, inhabited by Lord Oxford.<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> -In 1731, Mrs. Robinson went from Cambridge to pay a visit there, taking -her daughter Elizabeth with her. Lord and Lady Oxford had an only child -and heiress, Lady Margaret Harley, who, a few years later, became -Duchess of Portland. Lady Margaret was eighteen, and Elizabeth Robinson -eleven. In spite of the difference in their ages, they became friends -at once. Lady Margaret was immensely diverted by Elizabeth’s liveliness -of mind, and restlessness of body, and—being addicted to -dispensing nicknames—called her Fidget. Elizabeth was doubtless -flattered by the notice the other accorded her. On getting back to -Cambridge, she sat down to write a letter to her new friend, but had -difficulty in finding something to say. One can imagine her chewing the -feather of her pen, and rolling her eyes, in the agony of composition. -At last she began:</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“This Cambridge is the dullest place: it neither -affords anything entertaining nor ridiculous enough to put into a -letter. Were it half so difficult to find something to say as something -to write, what a melancholy set of people should we be who love prating!”</p> - -<p>Letter-writing soon ceased to cause her the slightest effort. This -was well, for she was cut off for a period from all but epistolary -intercourse with Lady Margaret, owing to her father’s settling at a -place he owned in Kent, Mount Morris, near Hythe. Had Mr. Robinson -followed his inclination, he would have preferred living in London, for -he much appreciated the society of his fellow-men. But prudence forbade -this. Though comfortably off, he was not wealthy, and already his -elder sons were treading on his heels. He fell to repining at times, -declaring that living in the country was simply sleeping with his -eyes open. His daughter Elizabeth (evidently now an authority in the -household) would rally him sharply when he spoke so, and we learn from -one of her letters that she had taken to putting saffron in his tea to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -enliven his spirits. His temper, for all that, continued most -uncertain. Once, after promising to take her to the Canterbury Races, -and the festivities which followed them, he changed his mind suddenly, -and decided on remaining at home. Keenly disappointed was Elizabeth, -who was so eager about dancing, that she fancied she had at some time -or other been bitten by the tarantula. But philosophy came to her aid, -and she confessed that writing a long letter to her dear duchess, was a -more rational pleasure than “jumping and cutting capers.”</p> - -<p>Her health was not altogether satisfactory. An affection of the -hip-joint was the cause of her being ordered to Bath in 1740. Neither -the place itself, nor the lounging life led by the bathers, were much -to her taste. It amused her, though, to comment satirically on the -people she saw. Who, one wonders, were the good folks thus turned -inside out?—</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“There is one family here that affect sense. Their -stock is indeed so low that, if they laid out much, they would be in -danger of becoming bankrupt; but, according to their present economy, -it will last them their lives. And everybody commends them—for -who will not praise what they do not envy? To commend what they admire, -is above the capacity of the generality.”</p> - -<p>On leaving Bath, she spent some weeks with the Duke and Duchess of -Portland, at their grand house in Whitehall. During her visit she was -ordered by the doctor to enter on a fresh course of baths—this time -at Marylebone—and thither she used to proceed every morning in the -ducal coach. The duchess accompanied her on the first occasion, and was -“frightened out of her wits” at the intrepidity with which she plunged -in. Lord Dupplin, who was given to rhyming, actually found material for -an ode in the account he received of Miss Fidget’s aquatic feats.</p> - -<p>The following year, Mr. Robinson’s younger daughter, Sarah, caught -the smallpox. Elizabeth who, besides being rather delicate, had a -considerable share of beauty to lose, was at once removed by her -parents from Mount Morris, and sent to lodge in the house of a -gentleman farmer living a few miles off—a certain Mr. Smith of Hayton. -By most young women, familiar, as was she, with the delights of -Ranelagh, Vauxhall, and Marylebone Gardens, the life at Hayton would -have been thought supremely dull; but Elizabeth had a mind too well -stored to find time hang heavy. “I am not sorry,” she writes, “to be -without the appurtenances of equipage for a while, that I may know -how much of my happiness depends upon myself, and how much comes from -the things about me.” Mr. Smith who enjoyed an income of four hundred -a year, she describes as a busy, anxious person, very silent, and -disposed to be niggardly. Mrs. Smith was a good sort of body, excellent -at making cheeses and syllabubs. The two Miss Smiths were worthy -damsels, yet hardly interesting to the pupil of Conyers Middleton. -The house was as clean as a new pin; it contained much worm-eaten -panelling and antique furniture, well rubbed and polished. The room -assigned to Elizabeth was spacious though dark, owing to the masses of -ivy veiling the windows. Here she reigned undisturbed; a big clock on -the staircase-landing struck the hours with solemn regularity. From -without came the cawing of rooks, and the grating noise of a rusty -weathercock fixed in the stump of an old oak-tree. She wrote of course -to the Duchess of Portland apologising for addressing her grace on -paper “ungilded and unadorned.” To Miss Donnellan,<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> -another favored correspondent, whose acquaintance she had made at Bath, -she gives the following account of herself and her surroundings:</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “I am forced to go back to former ages for my -companions; Cicero and Plutarch’s heroes are my only company. I cannot -extract the least grain of entertainment out of the good family I am -with; my best friends among the living are a colony of rooks who have -settled themselves in a grove by my window. They wake me early in the -morning, for which I am obliged to them for some hours of reading, -and some moments of reflection, of which they are the subject. I have -not yet discovered the form of their government, but I imagine it is -democratical. There seems an equality of power and property, and a -wonderful agreement of opinion. I am apt to fancy them wise for the -same reason I have thought some men and some books so, because they -are solemn, and because I do not understand them. If I continue here -long, I shall grow a good naturalist. I have applied myself to nursing -chickens, and have been forming the manners of a young calf, but I find -it a very dull scholar.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> -At last, Sarah Robinson was pronounced convalescent; and the sisters, -who were devoted to one another, were permitted to have an interview, -in the open air, at a distance of six feet apart. Soon after, all fear -of infection being gone, Elizabeth bid adieu to Hayton and its inmates -(not forgetting the rook republic) and returned home.</p> - -<p>Miss Robinson was not of a susceptible nature. There is reason to -believe that, during her stay in London, she had several sighing swains -at her feet. There is mention too, in one of her letters, of a certain -clownish squire, a visitor at Hayton, who complimented her “with all -the force of rural gallantry.” But this gentleman she could only liken -to a calf, and his attentions were received with polite indifference. -Indeed, on the subject of marriage, she had decided opinions.</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “When I marry,” was her written declaration, -“I do not intend to enlist entirely under the banner of Cupid or -Plutus, but take prudent consideration, and decent inclination, for my -advisers. I like a coach and six extremely; but a strong apprehension -of repentance would not suffer me to accept it from many that possess it.”</p> - -<p>A suitor of an approved type soon presented himself. In the person of -Edward Montagu, Esquire, the main requirements seemed combined. He was -of good birth, being a grandson of the first Lord Sandwich: he was -rich, and had prospects of increased wealth some day. He had a place in -Yorkshire, another in Berkshire, and a house in town. He represented -Huntingdon in Parliament. <i>Au reste</i>, he was a courteous gentleman, -grave in aspect and demeanor, and some thirty years her senior. It may -be added that he was a mathematician of distinction, happiest when -alone pursuing his studies.</p> - -<p>In August 1742, being then twenty-two, Elizabeth Robinson became Mrs. -Montagu. It was not without a flutter of anxiety that she took even -this prudent step, but the sequel showed that she had chosen wisely. A -more generous, indulgent husband she could not have found. “He has no -desire of power but to do good,” was her report, after some experience -of his temper, “and no use of it but to make happy.” She suffered a -heavy bereavement, two years afterwards, in the loss of an infant boy, -her only child. This affected her health, and we hear of frequent -visits paid by her to Tunbridge Wells to drink the waters. Here is a -picture of the folks she encountered on the Pantiles:</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “Tunbridge seems the parliament of the world, -where every country and every rank has its representative; we have Jews -of every tribe, and Christian people of all nations and conditions. -Next to some German, whose noble blood might entitle him to be Grand -Master of Malta, sits a pin-maker’s wife from Smock Alley; pickpockets, -who are come to the top of their profession, play with noble dukes at -brag.”</p> - -<p>The letters of Mrs. Montagu have been compared with those of her -kinswoman by marriage, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, to the disadvantage -of the latter. Of the two, Lady Mary is the livelier and wittier on -paper, but her writings are disfigured by a coarseness which, with the -other’s taste, she might have avoided. Mrs. Montagu is seen at her best -when addressing intimate friends. Her style is then easy and natural, -and the good things that drop from her pen are worth picking up; but it -is another affair when she writes to a stranger, especially one whom -she intends to dazzle with her learning. She then drags in gods and -goddesses to adorn her pages, uses metaphor to straining, and moralises -at wearisome length.</p> - -<p>The Montagus, though living in perfect harmony, afforded each other -little companionship. When at Sandleford, their favorite residence near -Newbury, in Berkshire, Mr. Montagu was all day long shut up in his -study. His wife was thrown on her own resources for amusement. With -country neighbors often stupid, and oftener rough, she had nothing in -common. It is just possible that she felt the winged fiend <i>Ennui</i> -hovering over her. Some remarks addressed to a correspondent on the -necessity of occupation give that impression:</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “It is better to pass one’s life <i>à faire des -riens, qu’ à rien faire</i>. Do but do something; the application to it -will make it appear important, and the being the doer of it laudable, -so that one is sure to be pleased one’s self. To please others is -a task so difficult, one may never attain it, and perhaps not so -necessary that one is obliged to attempt it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> -To please others was no such difficult task for her, and she must -have known it. Cultivated society was the element in which she was -made to move. She was always glad when the time arrived to get into -her postchaise, and roll over the fifty-six miles that lay between -Sandleford and her house in Hill Street, Berkeley Square. This -habitation was at once stately and convenient; one room was furnished -in the Chinese style: the walls were lively with pagodas, willow-trees, -and simpering celestials. Here she collected around her the witty -and the wise. Her <i>salon</i> quickly became the fashion. We find her on -one occasion apologizing to a lady for not answering her letter, and -explaining that, on the previous day, “the Chinese room was filled by a -succession of people from eleven in the morning till eleven at night.” -She is said to have introduced the custom—which did not however take -permanent root—of giving mid-day breakfasts. Madame du Boccage, a -lady of eminence in the French literary world, who happened to be in -England in 1750, gives a description of one of them in a letter to her -sister Madame Duperron. It appears that bread-and-butter, cakes hot and -cold, biscuits of every shape and flavor, formed the solid portion of -the feast. Tea, coffee, and chocolate were the beverages provided. The -hostess, wearing a white apron, and a straw hat (like those with which -porcelain shepherdesses are crowned), stood at the table pouring out -the tea. Madame du Boccage was much impressed by the fine table-linen, -the gleaming cups and saucers, and the excellence of the tea, which in -those days cost about sixteen shillings a pound. But especially did -she admire the lady of the house, who deserved, she considered, “to be -served at the table of the gods.“</p> - -<p>Mrs. Montagu had, all her life, been a student of Shakespeare, and an -ardent admirer of his works. Her indignation may be imagined therefore -when Voltaire dared to condemn what he was pleased to call <i>les farces -monstrueuses</i> of the bard of Avon.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> -It was contended by Voltaire that -Corneille was immeasurably superior to Shakespeare as a dramatist, -inasmuch as the latter set at nought Aristotle’s unities of time and -place, and otherwise violated accepted rules of dramatic composition. -That the vigor and freedom which characterise Shakespeare’s genius -should be depreciated, and the stilted artificialities of the French -school held up to admiration, was more than Mrs. Montagu could stand. -She thus denounces the philosopher of Ferney, and his opinions, in a -letter to Gilbert West:</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “Foolish coxcomb! Rules can no more make a poet -than receipts a cook. There must be taste, there must be skill. Oh, -that we were as sure our fleets and armies could drive the French out -of America as that our poets and tragedians can drive them out of -Parnassus. I hate to see these tame creatures, taught to pace by art, -attack fancy’s sweetest child.”</p> - -<p>There was nothing for it but to enter the lists herself, and measure -swords with the assailant. She accordingly set to work at her “Essay on -the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare,” and very well she acquitted -herself of the task. Her essay, though heavy, did credit to her taste -and erudition. It was published in 1769, and had no small success. From -first to last, six editions appeared. She treated Voltaire in it with -surprising forbearance; yet he is said to have been extremely nettled -at his sovereign dictum being called in question—and by a woman -too! This was not her only literary performance. To the “Dialogues -of the Dead,” of which her friend Lord Lyttleton was the author, she -contributed three, the brightest being that in which Mercury and -Mrs. Modish are made to converse. Mrs. Modish is a typical woman of -fashion of the day. Mercury summons her to cross the Styx with him, -and she—surprised and unprepared—pleads in excuse divers trumpery -engagements (balls, plays, card-assemblies, and the like), to meet -which she neglects all her home duties. As several fine ladies tossed -their heads on reading the dialogue, and declared the Modish utterances -to be “abominably satirical,” we may presume that the cap fitted.</p> - -<p>In 1770, Mrs. Montagu had completely established her empire in the -world of literature. A list of the remarkable people who assembled -beneath her roof would fill a page. She was on terms of friendly -intimacy with Johnson, Goldsmith, Burke, Hume, Reynolds, Walpole, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> -Garrick, Dr. Burney, Dr. Young, Bishop Percy, Lords Lyttleton, Bath, -Monboddo, and a host more. Of the other sex may be named Mesdames -Carter, Chapone, Barbauld, Boscawen, Thrale, Vesey, Ord, and Miss -Burney. Dr. Doran, in his memoir of Mrs. Montagu, explains how her -parties, and those given by Mrs. Vesey and Mrs. Ord, came to be called -<i>Bluestocking</i> Assemblies. It seems that Mr. Benjamin Stillingfleet, -who was always a welcome guest at them, wore stockings of a bluish -grey; and this peculiarity was fixed upon, by those disposed to deride -such gatherings, as affording a good stamp wherewith to brand them. -A <i>Bluestocking Club</i> never existed. There was a <i>Literary Club</i>, of -which Sir Joshua Reynolds and Dr. Johnson were the promoters, and to -this the so-called bluestockings of both sexes belonged.</p> - -<p>It was in 1774 that Hannah More was first introduced to Mrs. Montagu. -Hannah was the daughter of a schoolmaster in Gloucestershire, and had -come up to town at the invitation of Garrick. Her ambition from her -earliest childhood had been to mix in intellectual society, and win for -herself, if possible, a place therein. This she succeeded in doing with -a swiftness that will surprise those who have tried to read the plays -and ballads by which she made her name. Her cleverness, sound sense, -and fresh enthusiasm, attracted the “female Mecænas of Hill Street” (so -she styles Mrs. Montagu), who invited her to dinner, Johnson, Reynolds, -and Mrs. Boscawen, being of the party.</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “I feel myself a worm,” she tells her sister, -“the more a worm from the consequence which was given me by mixing with -such a society. Mrs. Montagu received me with the most encouraging -kindness. She is not only the finest genius, but the finest lady I -ever saw. Her countenance is the most animated in the world—the -sprightly vivacity of fifteen, with the judgment and experience of a -Nestor. But I fear she is hastening to decay very fast; her spirits are -so active that they must soon wear out the little frail receptacle that -holds them.”</p> - -<p>Cards were discountenanced in Hill Street. After dinner, the company, -augmented by fresh arrivals, divided itself into little groups, -and much animated conversation went on. The hostess was especially -brilliant, holding her own in a brisk argument against four clever -men. Hannah was amused at observing how “the fine ladies and pretty -gentlemen” who could only talk twaddle, herded together.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Montagu was generally happy in her friendships, which she made -with caution, and only abandoned for good reason. It is hard to say -what first caused a breach between her and Johnson, who sometimes -smothered her with compliments, and as often, in chatting with Boswell, -spoke of her with harshness and disrespect. She, it is stated, once -pronounced his “Rasselas” an opiate, and the remark of course was not -allowed to lie where it fell. In return, he fastened on her “Essay -on Shakespeare,” declaring that there was not one sentence of true -criticism in the whole book. There is reason to suppose also that -he was jealous of the respectful deference she showed to Garrick -and Lyttleton. He certainly caused her pain later on, by the sneers -he bestowed on the latter (then dead) in his “Lives of the Poets.” -He had shown her the manuscript of the Life in question, and the -expressions in it which offended her she had marked for omission. He, -however, thought fit to disregard her wishes, and sent it to press as -originally written. On opening the book, and finding her idol alluded -to as “poor Lyttleton,” and accused of vanity and a cringing fear of -criticism, she was naturally incensed. As it was not convenient to -seek out the offender in Bolt Court, she asked him to dinner, and he -had the temerity to go. The repast over, he attempted to engage her in -conversation, but her icy manner repelled him. Retiring discomfited, he -seated himself next General Paoli, to whom he remarked, “Mrs. Montagu, -sir, has dropped me. Now, sir, there are people whom one should like -very well to drop, but would not wish to be dropped by.” After this, -open war was declared on both sides. Malicious onlookers, for sport’s -sake, fomented the disagreement. Foremost among these was Horace -Walpole. He relates with infinite glee that, at a bluestocking assembly -at Lady Lucan’s, “Mrs. Montagu and Johnson kept at different ends of -the chamber, and set up altar against altar.” Johnson had many reasons -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> -for feeling grateful to Mrs. Montagu; it is therefore satisfactory to -know that, at the time of his death, he and she were on cordial terms again.</p> - -<p>Not only could she dispute with the learned, and frolic with the -fashionable, in town; but at Sandleford Mrs. Montagu kept the farm -accounts, and rattled away glibly about agriculture. Then again at -Denton, her husband’s place in Northumberland, where he owned extensive -coal-mines, it was she, not he, who visited the pits with the overseer, -and discussed the prospects of trade. Her husband’s apathy to what -went on around him, and disinclination to move, irritated her, as is -evident from the slightly petulant remarks she lets drop thereupon -in her letters. She lost all patience with her brother William, the -clergyman, who preferred a life of easy retirement to going ahead in -his profession. “He leads,” she writes, “a life of such privacy and -seriousness as looks to the beholders like wisdom; but for my part, no -life of inaction deserves that name.” In 1774, her husband’s health was -visibly failing. He scarcely left the house, sought his bed at five -o’clock in the evening, and did not leave it till near noon. He died -the following year, bequeathing all his property, real and personal, -to his widow. She, after an interval of seclusion at Sandleford, -proceeded to the North, and busied herself in visiting her coal-mines, -and feasting her tenants on a liberal scale. Her colliery people she -blew out with boiled beef and rice-pudding. “It is very pleasant,” -she remarks, “to see how the poor things cram themselves, and the -expense is not great. We buy rice cheap, and skimmed milk and coarse -beef serve the occasion.” Having projected various schemes of charity -and usefulness among her vassals in Northumberland, she proceeded to -Yorkshire, and with the state of affairs on her property there she was -equally pleased. A prolonged drought, it is true, had this summer burnt -the country to a brown crust; not a blade of grass was visible; cattle -had to be driven miles to water. Yet her tenants asked no indulgence -nor favor, but paid their rents like men, hoping philosophically that -the next season would be better.</p> - -<p>The following year, she was moving in a different scene. She was -in Paris, where her reputation as a <i>bel esprit</i> of the first rank -was established. The doors of the greatest houses were thrown open -to receive her, and she was hurried hither and thither in a manner -bewildering.</p> - -<p>Voltaire was prevented by age and decrepitude from appearing in public; -but he heard of her arrival, and took the opportunity of addressing -a letter to the Academy renewing his attack on Shakespeare. She was -present when this letter (intended as a crushing response to her -essay) was read. The meeting over, the president observed to her -apologetically, “I fear, Madam, you must be annoyed at what you have -just heard.” She at once answered, “I, sir! Not at all. I am not one of -M. Voltaire’s friends!”</p> - -<p>She had already named as her heir her nephew Matthew Robinson (the -younger of the two sons of her third brother Morris), who assumed, by -royal licence, the surname and arms of Montagu. In young Matthew, now -a boy of fourteen, her hopes and affections were accordingly centred. -His education was her first care. She sent him to Harrow, where he -did dwell. In the holidays, she had him taught to ride and to dance, -the latter exercise being essential, in her opinion, for giving young -people a graceful deportment. She was indeed shocked at observing, on -one of her later visits to Tunbridge Wells, that owing to there being -a camp hard by at Coxheath, young ladies had adopted a military air, -strutting about with their arms akimbo, humming marches, and refusing -to figure in the courtly minuet.</p> - -<p>When he was seventeen, Matthew Montagu was entered at Trinity College, -Cambridge. Here again, without doing anything remarkable, he acquitted -himself creditably, and never got into a single scrape. While he was -thus progressing, his aunt was preparing to leave her residence in -Hill Street, and move into a far finer mansion which she had purchased -in Portman Square. This edifice, considerably altered and modernised, -fills up the north-west angle of the square. It is conspicuous for its -size, and the spacious enclosure surrounding it. Much building and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -decorating had to be got through before the fortunate owner could -migrate thither. In the following extract from a letter written at the -time, she proves herself a sharp woman of business:</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “My new house is almost ready. I propose to -move all my furniture from Hill Street thither, and to let my house -unfurnished till a good purchaser offers. Then, should I get a bad -tenant, I can seize his goods for rent; and such security becomes -necessary in these extravagant times.” </p> - -<p>Meantime, extensive improvements were being carried on at -Sandleford. Within the house, various Gothicisms, in imitation of -Strawberry Hill, were contrived. Without, what with widening of -streams, levelling of mounds, planting in and planting out, our good -lady’s purse-strings were kept perpetually untied. Yet she managed -to keep well within her income. The celebrated landscape-gardener, -“Capability” Brown, superintended matters.</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “He adapts his scheme,” she says, “to the -character of the place and my purse. We shall not erect temples to -heathen gods, build proud bridges over humble rivulets, or do any -of the marvellous things suggested by caprice, and indulged by the -wantonness of wealth.” </p> - -<p>The winter of 1782 found Mrs. Montagu established at her palace, -for so her foreign friends called it, in Portman Square. Everything -about it delighted her—the healthy open situation, the space and -the magnificence. We hear of one room with pillars of old Italian -green marble, and a ceiling painted by Angelica Kauffmann. At a later -date, she further adorned it with those wondrous feather hangings, to -form which, feathers were sought from every quarter, all kinds being -acceptable, from the flaring plumage of the peacock and the parrot to -the dingier garb of our native birds. It was with reference to this -feathering of her London nest that the poet Cowper wrote:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“The birds put off their every hue,</span> -<span class="i1">To dress a room for Montagu.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>When Matthew Montagu left Cambridge, there was a talk of his making the -grand tour. His aunt, however, decided that the atmosphere of home was -less likely to be corrupting. The scheme was therefore abandoned, and -he was sent forth instead into London society. The impression he made -was such as to satisfy her. She was of course anxious that, if he did -marry, he should exercise judgment in his choice. When therefore he -fixed his affections on a charming girl with fifty thousand pounds, -she could raise no objections. He entered Parliament as member for -Bossiney,<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> - and in 1787 he seconded the Address to the Throne in a -maiden speech which appears to have attracted some attention; members -of both Houses called to congratulate his aunt upon his successful -start in public life: “indeed, for several mornings,” says she, “I had -a levée like a Minister.”</p> - -<p>In process of time a grand-nephew made his appearance, and then Mrs. -Montagu’s cup of joy seemed to be full. From this point her life flowed -smoothly onward to its close. Death had made sad havoc among those who -had assembled around her once, yet the gaps were quickly filled. She -entertained more splendidly than ever. Her parties differed from the -old gatherings in Hill Street. Royalty honored her with its presence. -Titles, stars, and decorations abounded: she herself had never been -more sparkling: yet the witty aroma being more diffused, smelt fainter. -While welcoming the rich, she did not forget the poor. Every May -Day, the courtyard before her house was thronged by a multitude of -chimney-sweeps, with faces washed for the occasion, and for these a -banquet of roast beef and plum pudding was provided.</p> - -<p>It surprised her friends that one so fragile in appearance, who looked -as though a breath of wind might blow her away, should be equal to -the fatigues of a worldly existence. Hannah More, when first she knew -her, had described her as “hastening to insensible decay by a slow but -sure hectic.” Twenty years after, on one of her brief visits to town, -she found her hectic patient (aged seventy-six) “well, bright, and in -full song,” The excitement afforded by mixing with the giddy world had -long since wearied and sickened the worthy Hannah, but to the mistress -of Montagu House it had become a necessity. Without it she would -have moped. She resigned her sceptre gradually and reluctantly. Sir -Nathaniel Wraxall alludes in a rather malicious tone to the splendor of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -her attire, when in extreme old age, and especially to the quantity -of diamonds that flashed on head, neck, arms, and fingers. “I used -to think,” he says, “that these glittering appendages of opulence -sometimes helped to dazzle the disputant whom her arguments might not -always convince, or her literary reputation intimidate.” At length -failing strength obliged her to retire from a scene in which she had -long shone the brightest star, and we hear of her less and less. She -died in 1800, aged eighty.</p> - -<p>The gap left by her in society has never been exactly filled—except -possibly by Lady Blessington, who was a far shallower person than her -predecessor, with sympathies less exclusively literary. The kindness -Mrs. Montagu showed to struggling authors, and the assistance she lent -them in time of need, are pleasant to remember. It was to her influence -in a great measure, that Beattie owed the success of his “Minstrel,” -and Hannah More that of her windy play “Percy.” She condescended to -notice the humblest efforts—like those, for instance, of Mrs. -Yearsley, the ungrateful milk-woman of Bristol, in whose poetical -effusions she discovered a surprising “force of imagination and harmony -of numbers.”</p> - -<p>The literary <i>salon</i>, properly so called, appears to be a thing of the -past. Society is now too large, and time too precious, to admit of its -revival. Besides, workers in literature appeal to a discerning public, -and not to individual patrons and patronesses, for support. Even if -such a revival were possible, a leader like Mrs. Montagu could hardly -be found. It was Johnson himself who said of her:</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “She exerts more mind in conversation than any -person I ever met with; she displays such powers of ratiocination, such -radiations of intellectual excellence, as are amazing.”</p> - -<p>This is strong praise, and it agrees with the opinions of others hardly -less celebrated. There are few, it would seem, at the present day, of -whom the same could, with truth, be said.—<i>Temple Bar.</i></p> - -<div><a name="gordon"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>GENERAL GORDON AND THE SLAVE TRADE.</h2> - -<p>In an article in the <i>Fortnightly Review</i> for the month of -October,<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> -under the heading of “The Future of the Soudan,” grave charges are made -against General Gordon.</p> - -<p>It is alleged in that article that General Gordon’s proclamation -at Khartoum, of the 18th or 19th of February last, will have a -very injurious effect upon the condition of thousands of unhappy -negroes from the upper regions of the Nile, who are, or will become, -slaves. That General Gordon has undone by his own hands the work he -devoted years of his life to accomplish. That his proclamation to -the slaveholders showed that he was inclined to temporize with an -injustice, and that the English Government have confirmed the right -of man to sell man. It is further asserted that the issue of the -proclamation secured General Gordon’s safe arrival at Khartoum.</p> - -<p>The writer advocates the total abolition of slavery in Egypt at once, -without any compensation. He is of opinion that General Gordon should -not have accepted a commission from the Khedive. He thinks that if -an equitable administration, under the British Government, cannot be -established, it would be better to abandon the Soudan absolutely, and -leave the native chiefs to themselves, even at the risk of there being -a period of anarchy; but further on he says there is no reason why we -should allow the Soudan to sink into barbarism. And then he goes on to -assume that some form of government might be established, separate from -Egypt, and that the railway from Suakim to Berber ought to be made, -if we wish to keep open the road to Khartoum, and our access to the -heart of Africa. The writer considers that the garrisons of Kassala -and Sennaar should have been relieved through Abyssinia, and that -General Gordon was most unwisely empowered to settle the nomination of -the future native administration of the country, in place of frankly -withdrawing from the Soudan, and leaving the tribes to settle their -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -government among themselves. The writer then makes a direct charge -against General Gordon to the effect that he, in a proclamation of -February 26, said he had been compelled to send for British troops, who -were then on the road, and would arrive in a few days. In conclusion, -the writer of the article states that the despatch of the present -expedition is a sufficient proof that General Gordon overrated his powers.</p> - -<p>Now what are the facts?</p> - -<p>According to the terms of the Convention<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> -between the British and Egyptian Governments for the suppression of the -slave trade, dated August 4, 1877, it was agreed that slave-hunting -should cease, and that any persons engaged therein should be treated -as murderers, and it was further arranged that after certain -dates—viz., August 4, 1884, in lower Egypt, and August 4, 1889, -in the Soudan, all trafficking in slaves between family and family, -should be illegal, and be punished with imprisonment. It was further -resolved that a special ordinance should be published throughout the -land of Egypt, in order to prepare the people for the change determined upon.</p> - -<p>General Gordon, during the time that he was Governor-General of the -Soudan, rigidly adhered to this Convention, and annually published a -proclamation to the effect that the sale of slaves between family and -family would determine in 1889. In Lower Egypt, where, by the terms -of the Convention, the sale of slaves has already become illegal, no -such proclamations have been promulgated, nor have any steps whatever -been taken to put the terms of the Convention into force. Although -General Gordon faithfully carried out the provisions of this article -of the Convention, he was adverse to the conditions. He saw that they -could not be carried out; and suggested that the only effectual way of -abolishing slavery would be the following:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot no-indent"> -1. The registration of all existing slaves.<br /> -2. Registers to be kept in each Government office of the names of -slaves and their owners, with a description of each.<br /> -3. Every slave not registered within six months from a certain date to be free.<br /> -4. All slaves born after a certain date to be free.</p> - -<p>And he suggested that the Convention should be cancelled, and that the -foregoing proposals should take its place.</p> - -<p>Prior to General Gordon’s arrival in the Soudan in February last, it -was rumored throughout that country by the emissaries of the Mahdi, -that General Gordon would proclaim the freedom of all slaves, which -form seven-eighths of the population of that province. In order to -counteract this baneful influence, General Gordon, on his arrival at -Khartoum, issued the proclamation<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> -complained of. What are its terms? It simply tells the people what -they are by law entitled to—viz., “That whoever has slaves shall -have full right to their services, and full control over them, and -that no one shall interfere with their property.” General Gordon had -no power to cancel the Convention and abolish slavery. What he did was -in accordance with a solemn convention entered into by the Governments -of Great Britain and Egypt, and in no way referred to the making of -new slaves, and still less to slave-hunting, against which nefarious -traffic, as is well known, all his energies have been exercised.</p> - -<p>It is not the case that the issue of the proclamation procured the safe -arrival of General Gordon at Khartoum. The proclamation was not issued -until after his arrival at Berber—most probably not until after his -arrival at Khartoum itself.</p> - -<p>With regard to the total abolition of slavery, without compensation, -at once—the writer can hardly have considered the question. For a -powerful nation like Great Britain to confiscate the personal property -of a people, with whom slavery dates from the time of the Pharaohs, -would be as impolitic as it would be unjust. We have no right, human -or divine, to so deal with property that is not our own. We did not -dare to act in this manner when we gave our slaves their freedom, we -began by proposing a loan of £15,000,000, and we ended by a gift of -£20,000,000.</p> - -<p>With respect to General Gordon’s commission as Governor-General which -is objected to—how could he have derived any power without it? The -number of Egyptian employés and troops could be counted by thousands, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> -each province being under the government of an Egyptian Pasha. How -could he have issued any orders unless he derived his authority from -the firman of the Khedive.</p> - -<p>The writer advocates the evacuation of the Soudan upon any terms, even -if such withdrawal would result in anarchy—always provided that Great -Britain is not prepared to exercise a protectorate over it—and then he -goes on to recommend the construction of the Suakim and Berber railway -under any circumstances, with the view of opening the road to Khartoum, -and giving us access to the heart of Africa. He seems to consider -that the people of the Soudan would, after a time of anarchy, form -good governments. It is asserted, on the contrary, that the country, -at present a productive one, would revert into barbarism, and, after -a scene of murder, rapine, and plunder, would become the resort of -slave-hunters,<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> -who would carry on raids into all the surrounding provinces.</p> - -<p>The writer does not say where the money is to come from for the -construction of the railway, or how it is to be maintained. When -he speaks of the garrisons of Sennaar and Kassala being withdrawn -through Abyssinia, he apparently forgets the extreme hatred that -exists between the natives of the Soudan and the Abyssinians. He -seems to have forgotten the thousands of people whom General Gordon -was sent to remove. Putting on one side the Egyptian garrisons in -the Bahr-el-Gazelle, and at the equator, and other places, Colonel -Coetlogen states<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> -that the people to be removed from Khartoum and Sennaar alone consists -of from 40,000 to 50,000 persons, and is of opinion that the evacuation -would take two years to carry out, and could only be carried out at -great risk, and with much bloodshed.</p> - -<p>It is very difficult to explain the meaning of the proclamation of -February 26,<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> -wherein General Gordon speaks of having sent for British troops -who would in a few days be in Khartoum. It would seem as if the -proclamation had been promulgated under some misapprehension or -misunderstanding open to explanation. General Gordon is not an Arabic -scholar, and his interpreter may have inserted words that he did not -use. Again, General Gordon may have intended to allude to Graham’s -force proceeding to Suakim,<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> -since the proclamation is addressed to the inhabitants of the Soudan -generally, of which Suakim is an integral part; or he may refer to the -200 Indian troops that on the same day (February 26) he requests<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> -may be sent to Wadi-Halfa.</p> - -<p>As this incident has nothing to do with the future of the Soudan, nor -with the slave proclamation, it would seem quite unnecessary for the -writer of the article in the <i>Fortnightly Review</i> to go out of his way -to charge General Gordon, an absent officer, with having proclaimed an untruth.</p> - -<p>As to the statement that “the dispatch of the present expedition is -a sufficient proof that General Gordon overrates his powers,” it is -not to be believed that the people of England will endorse any such -unfair statement. On the contrary, they will be of opinion that General -Gordon’s prestige has never stood so high as it does at this time. It -has certainly carried him through the perils of a terrible ordeal out -of which it seems probable that he and his companions will emerge with -undiminished reputation. Few persons will ever know the fearful anxiety -which he has undergone during this time of trial—not on account of -himself, but on account of those who were with him, and for whose lives -he considered himself responsible. General Gordon never asked for any -expedition to Khartoum. After Graham’s victories, he requested that -two squadrons of British cavalry should be sent to Berber, and 200 men -to Wadi-Halfa. He himself remarked, he made these requests solely on -account of the moral effect they would produce if acceded to.</p> - -<p>It is difficult to know for what purpose the present expedition is -sent, except it be to carry out the evacuation of this fertile country. -It is to be hoped, however, in the interests of humanity, that the -country may be retained under Egyptian rule, the more especially as -Khartoum is as essential to Egypt as our frontier position at Quetta -is to India. Under Egyptian rule it returned a surplus revenue of over £100,000.</p> - -<p>The question of Zebehr requires no comment, and it is too long a -subject to go into.</p> - -<p>In conclusion, it may be observed that, while General Gordon would -perhaps deprecate any notice being taken of the article referred to, -yet in his absence his friends do not consider it should be allowed to -pass unobserved.—<i>Contemporary Review.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>WÜRZBURG AND VIENNA.<br /> -<small>SCRAPS FROM A DIARY.</small></h2> -<p class="center space-below1"><b>BY EMILE DE LAVELEYE.</b></p> - -<p>Going to Vienna to collect books and documents, with the intention of -studying the results of Bosnia’s occupation by Austro-Hungary, I take -the Rhine route, and stop two days at Würzburg to see Ludwig Noiré and -have a talk on Schopenhauer. The <i>Vater Rhein</i> is now changed beyond -recognition: <i>quantum mutatus ab illo</i>. How different all is to when -I visited it for the first time, years ago on foot, stopping at the -stages mentioned in Victor Hugo’s “Rhin,” which had just appeared. -All those grand peeps of Nature to be got on the old river, as it -forced its majestic way through barriers of riven rocks and volcanic -upheavals, have now almost wholly disappeared. The wine-grower has -planted his vineyards even in the most secluded nooks, and built stone -terraces where the rocks were too steep for cultivation. All along -the banks, these giant staircases climb to the summits of peaks and -ravines. The vines have stormed the position, and their aspect is -uniform. The Burgs, built on heaps of lava, “the Maus” and “the Katze,” -those sombre retreats of the Burgraves of old, now covered with the -green leaves of the vine, have lost their former wild aspect. The -Lorelei manufactures white wine, and the syren no longer intoxicates -sailors with the songs of her harp, but with the juice of the grape. -There is nothing here now to inspire Victor Hugo’s “Burgraves,” or Heine’s</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten,</span> -<span class="i1">Dass ich so traurig bin;</span> -<span class="i1">Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,</span> -<span class="i1">Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Below, engineering skill has dammed in the waters of the river, and -the basaltic blocks form a black wall with white lines between the -stones. Black and white! Even the old God of the Rhine has adopted -the Prussian colors. Embankments have been constructed at the wide -points of the river, for the purpose of increasing its depth, and of -reconquering meadows, by the slow but natural process of raising the -level by mud deposits. Between Mannheim and Cologne, the current has -gained ten hours, and the dangers of navigation of legendary celebrity -have disappeared. All along the embankments immense white figures -inform navigators at what distance from them it is safe to pass. On -each bank, too, runs a railway, and on the river itself pass steamers -of every shape, form, and description—steamers with three decks, for -tourists, as in the United States, little pleasure-boats, iron barges -from Rotterdam, steam-tugs worked by paddle or screw, and dredgers of -various proportions; all these hundreds of chimneys vomit a continuance -of black smoke, which darkens the whole atmosphere. The carriage roads -are in admirable order; not a rut is visible, and they are lined with -fruit-trees, and with the same black and white basaltic blocks as the -river. The Prussian colors again; but the aim is to point out the road -for carriages on dark nights. When the way turns either to the right -or the left, the trees on each side of it are painted white, so as to -be distinctly visible. I have never anywhere seen a great river so -thoroughly tamed, subdued, and utilized, so completely bent to man’s -necessities. The free Rhine of Arminius and of the Burgraves is as well -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> -disciplined as any grenadier of Brandenburg, The economist and the -engineer admire, but painters and poets bewail.</p> - -<p>Buffon, in a page published in every “Cours de Littérature,” sings -a hosanna to cultivated Nature, and appears unable to find words -strong enough to express his horror of Nature in its savage state, -“brute” Nature as he calls it. At the present day, our impression is -precisely the reverse of this. We seek on almost inaccessible summits, -in the region of eternal snow, and in the very heart of hitherto -unexplored continents, a spot where man has not yet penetrated, and -where we may behold Nature in her inviolate virginity. We are stifled -by civilization, wearied out with books, newspapers, reviews, and -periodicals, letters to write and to read; railway travelling, the -post, the telegraph, and the telephone, devour time and completely -mince up one’s life; any solitude for fruitful reflection is quite out -of the question. Shall I find it, at least, among the fir-trees of -the Carpathians, or beneath the shade of the old oaks of the Balkans? -Industry is spoiling and soiling our planet. Chemical produce poisons -the water, the dross from different works and factories covers the -country, quarries split up the picturesque slopes of valleys, black -coal smoke dulls the verdant foliage and the azure of the sky, the -drainage of large cities turns our rivers into sewers, whence emerge -the germs of typhus. The useful destroys the beautiful; and this -is so general as at times to bring tears to the eyes. Have not the -Italians on the lovely Isle of Sta. Heléna, near to the public gardens -in Venice, erected works for the building of engines, and replaced -the ruins of a fourth-century church by chimneys, whose opaque smoke, -produced by the detestable bituminous coal of the Saar, would soon -leave a sooty trace on the pink marble of the Doge’s palace and on -the mosaics of St. Mark, just as we see them on St. Paul’s Cathedral -in London, so ugly covered with sticky streaks. It is true that the -produce of this industrial activity becomes condensed in revenue, -which enriches many families, and adds considerably to the list of the -bourgeois population inhabiting the capital. Here, on the banks of the -Rhine, these revenues are represented by villas and castles, whose -pseudo-Greek or Gothic architecture peeps out from among masses of -exotic trees and plants in the most sought-after positions, near to -Bonn, Godesberg, St. Goar or Bingen. Look! there is an immense feudal -castle, beside which Stolzenfels, the Empress Augusta’s favorite -residence, would be a mere shooting box. This immense assemblage -of turrets, galleries, roofs, and terraces must have cost at least -£80,000. Has it sprung from coal or from Bessemer steel? It is -situated just below the noble ruin of Drachenfels. Will not the dragon -watching over the Niebelungen treasure in Nifelheim’s den, avenge this -impertinent challenge of modern plutocracy?</p> - -<p>All that I see on my way up the Rhine leads me to reflect on the -special characteristics of Prussian administration. The works which -have so marvellously “domesticated” the river as to make it a type of -what Pascal calls “un chemin qui marche,” have taken between thirty and -forty years, and have been carried out continuously, systematically and -scientifically. In her public works, as in her military preparations, -Prussia has succeeded in uniting two qualities which are only too often -lacking—a spirit of consistency, and the love of progress. The desire -to be as near as possible to perfection is apparent in the most minute -details. Not unfrequently consistency, and a too close following of -traditions, leads to routine which rejects innovations. Great strength -is attained, and the chances of success are considerably increased if, -while one aim is kept always in view, the best means to attain it are -selected and applied without delay.</p> - -<p>I have remarked, when speaking of parliamentary administration, that a -lack of consistency was one reason of the feebleness of democracies. -This should be guarded against as soon as it becomes apparent, or -inferiority will ensue. A few trifling facts will show that the -Prussians are as great lovers of useful novelties and of practical -improvement as the Americans. On the Rhine, at the ferries the old -ferry-boats have been replaced by little steamers, which are constantly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> -crossing the river from one side to the other. At the railway stations, -I notice that the trucks for luggage are made of steel, and are lighter -and stronger than any I have seen elsewhere. The system for warming -the railway compartments is also more perfected. Heated pipes run -under the seats of the carriages, and the passengers can regulate the -temperature by turning a needle on a disc from <i>Kalt</i> (cold) to <i>Warm</i> -or <i>vice-versâ</i>. At the summit of the tower of the Town Hall of Berlin -the different flagstaffs for the flags hoisted on the fête days are -ranged in order. Outside the highest gallery iron rings have been -fitted all round in which to fix the staffs, each of which has a number -corresponding to the same number on the ring it is to fit into. In this -manner both rapidity and regularity are insured. Order and foresight -are safe means to an end.</p> - -<p>I intended going to see at Stuttgart a former member of the Austrian -Cabinet, Albert Schüffle, who now devotes all his time to the study of -social questions, and has published some very well-known works—among -others, “Capitalismus und Socialismus,” and “Bau und Leben des Socialen -Körpers” (“Construction and Life of the Social Body”), books which -place him at the extreme left of Professorial Socialism. Unfortunately, -he is at the baths in the Black Forest. But I stop at Würzburg to -meet Ludwig Noiré, a philosopher and philologist, who has deigned -to study political economy. The sight of the socialistic pass to -which democratic tendencies are leading modern society, induces many -philosophers to turn their attention to social questions. This is -the case in France with Jules Simon, Paul Janet, Taine, Renouvier; -in England with Herbert Spencer, William Graham, and even with that -æstheticist of pre-Raphaelite art, Ruskin.</p> - -<p>I hold that political economy should go hand in hand with philosophy, -religion, and especially with morality; but as I cannot myself rise -to these elevated spheres of thought, I am only too happy when a -philosopher throws me out a bit of cord by which I may pull myself a -little higher, above our workaday world. Ludwig Noiré has written a -book, which is exactly what I needed in this respect, and which I hope -to be able to speak of at greater length a little later. It is entitled -“Das Werkzeug” (“The Tool”). It shows the truth of Franklin’s saying: -<i>Man is a tool-making creature</i>. Noiré says that the origin of tools -dates from the origin of Reason and Language. At the commencement, -as far back as one can conceive, man was forced to act on matter to -obtain food. This action on Nature for the purpose of satisfying wants -is labor. As men were living together in families and in tribes, labor -was carried on in common. A person making a muscular effort very -naturally pronounces certain sounds in connection with the effort he -is making. These sounds, repeated and heard by the entire group, were -after a time understood to signify the action of which they were the -spontaneous accompaniment. Thus was language born from natural activity -in view of supplying imperious needs, and the verb representing the -action preceded all their words. The effort to procure the necessary -and useful develops the reasoning powers, and tools soon became -necessary. Wherever traces of prehistoric men are found, there is also -to be found the flint implement. Thus reason, language, labor, and -implements, all manifestations of an intelligence capable of progress, -appeared almost simultaneously.</p> - -<p>Noiré has developed this theory fully in another book, entitled, -“Ursprung der Sprache” (“Origin of Speech”). When it was published, Max -Müller stated in the <span class="smcap">Contemporary Review</span>, that, although he -considered this system too exclusive, yet it was far superior to either -the onomatopœia or the interjection theory, and that it was certainly -the best and the most probable one brought forward at present. I can -but bow before this appreciation.</p> - -<p>Noiré is a fanatical Kantian, and an enthusiastic admirer of -Schopenhauer. He has succeeded in forming a committee for the purpose -of erecting a statue in honor of the modern Heraclites. The committee, -he says, <i>must</i> be international, for if as a writer Schopenhauer be -German, as a philosopher he belongs to the entire world, and he asked -me to join it. “I am exceedingly flattered by the proposal,” said I; -“but I offer two objections.” In the first place, a humble economist has -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -not the right to place his name side by side with such as are already -on the list. Secondly, being an incurable disciple of Platonism, I fear -that Schopenhauer did not remain in the Cartesian line of spiritualism. -I feel persuaded that two notions, which, it appears, are at the -present day very old-fashioned—I speak of a belief in God and in the -soul’s immortality—should form the basis of all social science. He who -believes in nothing but matter cannot rise to a notion of what ‘ought -to be’—<i>i. e.</i>, to an ideal of right and justice. This ideal can only -be conceived as a divine order of things imposing itself morally on -mankind. The ‘Revue Philosophique’ of October, 1882, says, ‘Positive -Science, as understood at the present day, considers not what <i>should</i> -be, but only what <i>is</i>. It searches merely the formula of facts. -All idea of obligation, or of imperative prohibition, is completely -foreign to its code. Such a creed is a death-stroke to all notion of -duty. I believe that faith in a future life is indispensable for the -accomplishment of good works. Materialism weakens the moral sense, and -naturally leads to general decay.’</p> - -<p>“Yes,” replied Noiré, “this is just the problem. How, side by side -with the dire necessities of Nature, or with Divine omnipotence, can -there be place for human personality and liberty? Nobody, neither -Christian nor Naturalist, has yet been able satisfactorily to answer -this. Hence has sprung, on the one hand, the predestination of the -Calvinists and Luther’s <i>De servo arbitrio</i>, and, on the other, -determinism and materialism. Kant is the first mortal who fearlessly -studied this problem and studied it satisfactorily. He plunged into -the abyss, like the diver of Schiller, and returned, having vanquished -the monsters he found there, and holding in his hand the golden cup -from which henceforward Humanity may drink the Divine beverage of -Truth. As nothing can be of greater interest to us than the solution of -this problem, so our gratitude, be it ever so considerable, can never -possibly equal the service rendered by this really prodigious effort -of the human mind. Kant has provided us with the only arm which can -combat materialism. It is full time we should make use of it, for this -detestable doctrine is everywhere undermining the foundations of human -society. I venerate the memory of Schopenhauer, because he has inspired -the truths revealed by Kant with more real life and penetrating vigor. -Schopenhauer is not well known in either France or England. Some of -his works have been translated, but no one has really understood him -thoroughly, because to understand a philosopher it is necessary not -only to admire but to be passionately attached to him. ‘The folly of -the Cross’ is an admirable expression.</p> - -<p>“Schopenhauer maintains that the will is the great source of all; it -means both personality and liberty. We are here at once planted at -the antipodes of naturalistic determinism. Free intelligence creates -matter. <i>Spiritus in nobis qui viget, ille facit.</i> God is the great -ideal. He does not make us move, but moves Himself in us. The more we -appropriate to ourselves this Ideal, the freer we become; we are the -reasonable and conscious authors of our actions, and liberty consists -in this. Schopenhauer’s moral law is precisely that of Christianity—a -law of abnegation, of resignation and asceticism. What Christians call -Charity, he designates as ‘Pity.’ He exhorts his followers to struggle -against self-will; not to let their eyes dwell on the passing delusions -of the outside world, but to seek their soul’s peace by sacrificing all -pursuits and interests which should fix their attentions solely on the -changing scenes of this life. Are not these also the Gospel principles? -Must they be rejected because Buddha also preached them? ‘The sovereign -proof of the truth of my doctrines,’ says Schopenhauer, ‘is the number -of Christian persons who have abandoned all their earthly treasure, -position and riches, and have embraced voluntary poverty, devoting -themselves wholly to the service of the poor and the sick and needy, -undaunted in their work of charity by the most frightful wounds, the -most revolting complaints. Their happiness consists in self-abnegation, -in their indifference to the pleasures of this life, in their living -faith, in the immortality of their being, and in a future of endless bliss.’ -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The chief aim of Kant’s metaphysics,” proceeds Noiré, “is to fix -a limit to the circle that can be embraced by man’s reason. ‘We -resemble,’ he says, ‘fish in a pond, who can see, just to the edge of -the water, the banks that imprison them, but are perfectly ignorant of -all that is beyond.’ Schopenhauer goes farther than Kant. ‘True,’ he -says, ‘we can only see the world from outside, and as a phenomenon, -but there is one little loophole left open to us by which we can get -a peep at substantial realities, and this loophole is each individual -“Myself,” revealed to us as “Will,” which gives us the key to the -“Transcendent.” You say, dear colleague, that you are incurably -Platonic; are you not then aware Schopenhauer constantly refers to -the ‘divine’ Plato, and to the incomparable, the prodigious, <i>der -erstaunliche</i> Kant. His great merit is to have defended idealism -against all the wild beasts which Dante met with in the dark forest, -<i>nella selva oscura’</i> into which he had strayed—materialism and -sensualism, and their worthy offspring selfishness and bestiality. -Nothing can be more false or dangerous than physics without -metaphysics, and yet this truth proclaimed at the present day by -great men merely provokes a laugh. The notion of duty is based on -metaphysics. Nothing in Nature teaches it, and physics are silent on -the subject. Nature is pitiless; brute force triumphs there. The better -armed destroys and devours his less favored brother. Where then is -right and justice? Materialists adopt as their motto the words which -Frenchmen falsely accuse our Chancellor of having uttered, ‘Might is -Right.’ Schopenhauer’s ‘Pity,’ Christian ‘Charity,’ the philosopher’s -and jurist’s ‘Justice,’ are diametrically opposed to instinct and -the voice of Nature, which urge us to sacrifice everything to the -satisfaction of animal appetites. Read the eloquent conclusion of the -book of Lange, ‘Geschichte des Materialismus.’ If materialism be not -vanquished while it is yet time, all the law courts, prisons, bayonets -and grape-shot in the world will not suffice to prevent the downfall of -the social edifice. This pernicious doctrine must be banished from the -brains of learned men, where it now reigns supreme. It has started from -thence, and has gradually obtained a hold on the public mind. It is the -duty of true philosophy to save the world.”</p> - -<p>“But,” I replied, “Schopenhauer’s philosophy will never be comprehended -but by a small minority; for myself, I humbly confess I have never read -but fragments translated.”</p> - -<p>“It is a pity you have never perused the original,” answered Noiré, -“the style is exceedingly clear and simple. He is one of our best -writers. He has exposed the most abstruse problems in the best possible -terms. No one has more thoroughly justified the truth of what our Jean -Paul said of Plato, Bacon and Leibnitz, the most learned reflection -need not exclude a brilliant setting to show it off in relief, any -more than a learned brain excludes a fine forehead and a fine face. -Unfortunately, M. de Hartmann, who popularized Schopenhauer, has too -frequently rendered his ideas unintelligible by his Hegelian Jargon. -Schopenhauer could not endure Hegelianism. Like an Iconoclast, he -smashed to shivers its idols with a heavy club. He approved of violent -expressions, and indulged in very strong terms. So, for instance, he -liked what he calls <i>die göttliche Grobheit</i>, ‘divine coarseness.’ -At the same time, he praises elegance and good manners, and even, -strange to say, has translated a little manual on ‘The Way to Behave -in Society,’ ‘El Oraculo Manual,’ published in 1658, by the Jesuit, -Baltasar Gracian. ‘There was a time,’ he writes, ‘when Germany’s three -great sophists, Fichte, Schelling, and especially Hegel, that seller -of senselessness, <i>der freche unsinnige Schmierer</i>, that impertinent -scribbler, imagined they would appear learned by becoming obscure. This -shameless humbug succeeded in winning the adulations of the multitude. -He reigned at the Universities, where his style was imitated. -Hegelianism became a religion, and a most intolerant one. Whosoever was -not Hegelian was suspected even by the Prussian State. All these good -gentlemen were in quest of the Absolute, and pretended that they had -found it, and brought it home in their carpet-bags.’</p> - -<p>“Kant maintainedthat human reason can only grasp the relative. ‘Error,’ -cry in chorus Hegel, Schelling, Jacobi and Schleiermacher, and <i>tutti quanti</i>. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -‘The Absolute! Why, I know it intimately; it has no secrets -from me,’ and the different universities became the scenes of -revolutions of the Absolute which stirred all Germany. If it were -proposed to attempt to recall these illustrious maniacs to their -right reason, the question was asked, ‘Do you adequately comprehend -the Absolute?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then hold your tongue; you are a bad Christian -and a dangerous subject. Beware of the stronghold.’ The unfortunate -Beneke was so startled by this treatment that he went mad and drowned -himself. Finally these great authorities quarrelled between themselves. -They informed each other that they knew nothing of the Absolute. A -quarrel on this subject was very often deadly. These battles resemble -the discussion at Toledo between the Rabbi and the Monk in Heine’s -‘Romancero.’ After they had both lengthily discussed and quarrelled, -the king said to the queen: ‘Which of the two do you think is -right?’ ‘I think,’ replied the queen, ‘that they both smell equally unpleasantly.’</p> - -<p>“This nebulous system of the Hegelian Absolute-seekers, reminding -one of <i>Nephclokokkygia</i>, ‘the town in the clouds,’ in Aristophanes’ -‘Birds,’ has become a proverb with our French neighbors, who -very rightly are fond of clearness. When anything seems to them -unintelligible, they dub it as German metaphysics. Cousin did his best -to clarify all this indigestible stuff, and serve it up in a palatable -form. But in so doing he lost, not his Latin, but his German and his -French. I am sure you never understood that ‘pure Being’ was identical -with ‘no Being.’ Do you recollect Grimm’s story, ‘The Emperor’s Robe?’ -A tailor condemned to death promised, in order to obtain his pardon, to -make the Emperor the finest robe ever seen. He stitched, and stitched, -and stitched ceaselessly, and finally announced that the robe was -ready, but that it was invisible to all, save to wise people. All the -servants, officers, and chamberlains of the court came to examine -this work of art with the ministers and high dignitaries, and one -and all pronounced it magnificent. On the coronation day the Emperor -is supposed to put on the costume, and rides through the town in -procession. The streets and windows are crowded; no one will admit that -he has less wisdom than his neighbor, and all repeat; ‘How magnificent! -Was ever anything seen so lovely?’ At last a little child calls out, -‘But the Emperor is naked,’ and it was then admitted that the robe had -never existed, and the tailor was hanged.</p> - -<p>“Schopenhauer is the child revealing the misery, or rather the -non-existence of Hegelianism, and his writings were consequently -unappreciated for upwards of thirty years. The first edition of his -most important work found its way to the grocer’s shop and thence -to the rubbish heap. It is our duty to-day to make amends for such -injustice, and to render him the honor which is his due; his pessimism -need not stay you. ‘The world,’ he says, ‘is full of evil, and all -suffer here below. Man’s will is by nature perverse.’ Is not this -doctrine the very essence of Christianity? <i>Ingemui tomnis creatura.</i> -He maintains that our natural will is selfish and bad, but that, by an -effort over itself, it may become purified and rise above its natural -state to a state of grace, of holiness, of which the Church speaks, -δευτἑρος πλὁυς. This is the deliverance, the Redemption, for which -pious souls long, and it is to be attained by an indifference to and -condemnation of the world and of self. <i>Spernere mundum, spernere se, -spernere se sperni.</i>”<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a></p> - -<p>Before leaving Würzburg I visit the Palace, formerly the residence -of the Prince-Bishops, and also several churches. The Palace, <i>die -Residenz</i>, is immense, and seems the more so when one reflects that it -was destined to ornament the chief town of a small bishopric. Built -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -between the years 1720 and 1744, after the plan of the palace of -Versailles, it is very nearly as large. There is not such another -staircase to be found anywhere. This, and the hall which precedes it, -occupy the entire width of the building and a third of its length, and -the effect is really of imperial magnificence. The trains of crowds -of cassocked prelates and fine ladies could sweep here with ease. -The cut stone balustrades are ornamented with statues. There is a -suite of 350 reception-rooms—all for show, none for use. A certain -number of these were decorated at the time of the French Empire. How -mean the paintings on the ceilings, the pseudo-classic walls, and the -mahogany furniture with brass ornaments, appear when compared to the -apartments completed at the beginning of the eighteenth century, where -the “chicorée” ornamentation exhibits all its seductions. I have never -seen, all over Europe, anything in this style so perfect or better -preserved. The curtains are in material of the period, and the chairs, -sofas, and arm-chairs are covered to match. Each room is of a dominant -color. There is a green one with metallic shades, like the wings of a -Brazilian beetle. The <i>broché</i> silk on the furniture is to correspond. -The effect is magical. In another, splendid Gobelin tapestry, after -Lebrun, represents the triumph and the clemency of Alexander. Another, -again, is all mirrors, even to the door-panels, but groups of flowers -in oil-painting on the glass temper the excessive brilliancy. The -stoves are really marvels of inventive genius and good taste, all -in white and gold Saxony china. The blacksmith’s art never produced -anything finer than the immense wrought-iron gates which enclose the -pleasure-grounds, with their terraces, lawns, grass-plots, fountains, -and rustic retreats. This princely residence, which has been almost -invariably vacant since the suppression of episcopal sovereignty, has -remained perfectly intact. It has been deteriorated neither by popular -insurrections nor by changes in taste. What finished models of the -style of the Regency architects and furniture makers could find here to -copy from!</p> - -<p>The contemplation of all these grandeurs suggests two questions to -my mind. Where did these Sovereigns of tiny States find the money to -furnish themselves with splendors and luxuries which Louis XIV. might -have envied? My colleague, George Schanz, Professor of Political -Economy at the University of Würzburg, informs me that these bishops -had scarcely any troops to maintain. “Make,” he says, “builders, -joiners, upholsterers, and carpenters of all our soldiers all over the -land at the present day, and Germany might soon be covered with such palaces.”</p> - -<p>Second question: How could these bishops, disciples of Him “who had -not where to lay His head,” spend the money raised by taxation of the -poor, on pomps and luxury worthy of a Darius or a Heliogabalus? Had -they not read the Gospel condemnation of Dives, and the commentaries -of the Church’s Fathers? Was the Christian doctrine of humility and of -charity, even to voluntary property, only understood in monasteries -and convents? Those grandees of the Church must have been completely -blinded by the mistaken sophism which leads to the belief that -extravagance and waste benefits the working man, the real producer. -This unfortunate error is only too harmful at the present day.</p> - -<p>During the eighteenth century the majority of the churches of -Würzburg were completely spoilt by being ornamented in that Louis -XV. style, suited only to the interior of palaces. As Boileau says, -“ce ne sont que festons, ce ne sont qu’astragales,” gothic arches -disappear beneath garlands of flowers, clouds with angel’s draperies -in relief and interlacings of “chicorée,” the whole in plaster and -covered with gilding. The altars are frequently entirely gilt. It is -a perfect profusion of make-believe riches. In the towns the façades -of some houses here and there are finished examples of this florid -architecture. Doubtless the radiance of Versailles magnificence urged -Germany to decorate her monuments and dwellings “à la Française,” even -after the Sun there had set.</p> - -<p>From my windows, which look out on to the square before the palace, I -see a battalion of troops march past to exercise. Even the guards at -Berlin could not march more automatically. The legs and the left arm -move exactly together, while the guns are held precisely at the same -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> -angle by each soldier. Their steel barrels form a perfectly straight -line as they glisten in the sunshine. The ranks of soldiers are -absolutely rectilinear. The whole move in a body as if they were -fastened on to a rail. It is perfection. What care and pains must have -been bestowed before such a result could be attained! The Bavarians -have naturally done their very best to equal and even to surpass -the Prussians. They do not choose to be esteemed any longer as mere -beer-drinkers, heavy, and somewhat dense. I wonder if this exceedingly -severe drill, so effective on parade, is of use on a battle-field -of the present day, where it is usual to disperse to attack. I am -not competent to answer this question, but it is certain that rigid -discipline accustoms the soldier to order and obedience; two very -necessary virtues, especially in a democratic age. Obedience is -still more wanted when the iron hand of despotism gives place to the -authority of magistrates and laws. The mission of schools and military -service is to teach this lesson to the citizens of Republics. The more -the chief power loosens its hold, the more should free man bend at once -to the exigencies necessary for the maintenance of order in the State. -If this be not so, anarchy will result, and a return to despotism is -then inevitable, for anarchy cannot be tolerated.</p> - -<p>In the evening the sound of bugles is heard. It is the retreat sounding -for the garrison troops. It is a melancholy farewell to the day passing -away, and, religious, like a call to rest, from the night, which is -fast falling. Alas! how sad it is to think that these trumpets thus -harmoniously sounding the curfew will one day give the signal for -battle and bloodshed! Men are still as savage as wild beasts, and with -less motive, for they no longer devour their slaughtered enemy. I am a -member of at least four societies whose object is to preach peace and -recommend arbitration. No one listens to us. Even free nations prefer -to fight. I admit perfectly that when the security or the existence -of a country is at stake, it is impossible to have recourse to -arbitration, although its decisions would be at least as just as those -of violence and chance; but there are cases which I call “Jenkins’s -ears,” since reading Carlyle’s “Frederic the Great.”<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> -In such as these, where the question is one of <i>amour propre</i>, of -obstinacy, and frequently, I may say, also, of stupidity, arbitration -might often prevent conflicts.</p> - -<p>But if man is still hard on his fellow, he has become more tender -towards animals. He has forbidden their being uselessly tortured. I -take note of a touching example of this. I walk up to the Citadel, -whence there is a splendid view over all Franconia. I cross the bridge -over the Maine. In a street where the quaint pinions of the houses and -gaudy sign-posts over the doors would delight the eye of a painter, -I see a sort of sentry-box, on which is written in large characters, -<i>Theirschutz-Verein</i> (“Society for the Protection of Animals”). A horse -is standing there. Why? To be at the disposal of waggoners with a heavy -load who are going up the slope to the bridge, and thus to prevent them -ill-treating their horses. This seems to me far more ingenious and -efficacious than the infliction of a fine.</p> - -<p>Würzburg is not an industrial town. There appears to be no special -reason why the population and the wealth of the city should increase -rapidly, and yet the old town is surrounded with fine new quarters, -fashionable squares, pretty walks and fine wide streets, handsome -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> -houses and villas. Here, as elsewhere, that singular phenomenon of -our age, the immense increase in the number of well-to-do families, -is distinctly apparent. If this continue in the same proportions, the -“masses” of the future will not be composed of those who live on wages -and salaries, but of those living on profit, interest, or revenue. -Revolutions will become impossible, for the established order of things -would have more protectors than assailants. These countless comfortable -residences, these edifices of all kinds which spring up in every -direction, with their luxurious and opulent appointments, all this -wealth and well-being, is the result of the employment of machinery. -Machinery increases production and economizes labor, and as the wages -of labor have not diminished, the number of those who could live -without working has increased.</p> - -<p>Würzburg possesses an ancient University. It is a very old -sixteenth-century building, situated in the centre of the town. As they -recently did me the honor to confer on me the degree of <i>Doctor honoris -causa</i>, I wished to see the Rector to offer him my thanks, but I had -not the good fortune to meet him. On the Boulevard, special institutes -have been constructed for each separate science, for chemistry, -physics, and physiology. Immense sums have been spent in Germany to add -a number of those separate institutes to the different Universities. -The eminent professor of chemistry at Bonn, M. Kekulé, recently took -me over the building constructed for his branch of science. With -its Greek columns, and its palatial façade, it is considerably more -extensive than the whole of the old University. The subsoil devoted -to experimental and metallurgical chemistry resembles immense works -or foundries. The professor’s apartments are far more sumptuous than -those of the first authorities. Neither the Governor, the Bishop, nor -even the General himself, can boast of anything to be compared with -them. In the drawing-rooms and dancing saloons the whole town might -be assembled. This Institute has cost more than a million francs. -In Germany it is very rightly considered that a professor who has -experiments to make ought to live in the same building where are the -laboratories and lecture-rooms. It is only thus that he is able to -follow analyses which need his supervision, at times even at night. -Comparative anatomy and physiology have also each their palace. Several -professors of natural sciences complain that it is really an excess. -They say they are crushed by the extent and complications of their -appurtenances, and especially by the cares and responsibilities they -involve; nevertheless, if exaggeration there be, it is on the right -side. Bacon’s motto, “Knowledge is Power,” becomes truer every day. -The proper application of science is the chief source of wealth, and, -consequently, of power. Nations, do you wish to be powerful and rich? -Then encourage to the utmost your learned men.</p> - -<p>I stop a day <i>en route</i> to revisit Nuremberg, the Pompeii of the -Middle Ages. I will not speak of its many interesting churches, -houses, towers, of the Woolding Chamber, nor of the terrible Iron -Virgin, covered inside with spikes, like Regulus’ barrel, which, in -closing, pierced its victim through and through, and opened to drop -the corpse into the torrent roaring a hundred feet below. Nothing -gives a more vivid idea of the refined cruelty of these dark ages. But -I have no wish to encroach upon Baedeker’s prerogative. A word only -as to what I see before the cathedral. I observe there a small Gothic -monument, which reminds me of the Roman column of Igel, on the Mosel, -near Trèves. It has a niche on each of the four sides, under glass. -In the first niche is a thermometer, in the second an hygrometer, in -the third a barometer, and in the fourth the day’s telegrams from -the observatory, and the meteorological maps. These instruments are -enormous, from four to five feet in height at least, so that the -figures may be large enough to be clearly legible. I have seen similar -monuments in several German towns, and in Switzerland, at Geneva, in -the gardens near the Rhone, at Vevey, close to the landing-stage, and -at Neuchatel, on the promenade near the lake. It would be excellent if -all towns would adopt them. I take every opportunity of urging this. -Their cost is but trifling. A perfectly plain one can be made for £40, -something more elegant might cost £80 or £100; they are a source of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> -amusement and a means of instructing the people, and a daily lesson in -physics for all classes. The laboring man learns there far better than -he would do at school the practical use of these instruments, which are -most useful for agricultural purposes and for sanitary precautions.</p> - -<p>Towards midnight I go on foot to the railway station, to take the -express to Vienna. The old castle throws a black shadow over the town, -the roofs of which seem to whiten in the silvery moonlight. This, I -say to myself, is the birthplace of the Hohenzollern family. What a -change has taken place in its destiny since its name first appeared -in history, in 1170, when Conrad of Hohenzollern was made Burgraaf of -Nuremberg! One of his descendants, Frederick, first Elector, left this -town in 1412 to take possession of Brandenburg, which the spendthrift -Emperor Sigismund had sold him for 400,000 florins of Hungarian -gold. He had already borrowed half this sum from Frederick, who was -as economical as the ant, and had even mortgaged the electorate as -security. Being unable to repay his debt, and in want of more money to -defray the costs of an expedition to Spain, he very willingly yielded -up this inhospitable northern “Mark,” the sands of the “Marquis of -Brandenburg,” which Voltaire so turned into ridicule. The Emperor -could not suppose that from this petty Burgrave would spring a future -wearer of the imperial crown. Economy is a small virtue made up of -small privations, but which makes much of little—<i>Molti pochi fanno un -assai</i>—“Mony a pickle maks a mickle,” as the Scotch say. Though far -too often forgotten or ignored by rulers, it is nevertheless even more -necessary for nations than for individuals.</p> - -<p>A short June night is soon passed in a sleeping car. I wake up and find -myself in Austria. I perceive it at once from the delicious coffee and -cream which is served me in a glass, by a fair young girl in a pink -print dress and with bare arms. It very nearly equals in quality that -of the <i>Posthof</i> at Carlsbad. We are very soon in view of the Danube, -but the railway does not keep alongside it. Whatever the well-known -waltz, “The Blue Danube,” may say to the contrary, the river is not -blue at all. Its waters are yellow-green, like the Rhine, but how -infinitely more picturesque is the “Donau!” No vineyards, no factories, -and very few steamers. I saw but one, making its way with difficulty -against the rapid current. The hills on either side are covered with -forests and green meadows, and the branches of the willow trees -sweep the water. The farm-houses, very far apart, have a rustic and -mountain-like appearance. There is very little movement, very little -trade; the peasant is still the chief producer of riches. On this -lovely summer morning the sweet repose of this peaceful existence -seduces and penetrates me. How delightful it would be to live quietly -here, near these pine forests, and these beautiful meadows, where -the cattle are at pasture! But on the other side of the river where -there is no railway! There are several reasons for this great contrast -between the Rhine and the Danube. The Rhine flows towards Holland -and England, two markets that have been well established for upwards -of three hundred years, and ready to pay a high price for all the -river brings them. The Danube flows towards the Black Sea, where the -population is exceedingly poor, and can scarcely afford to purchase -what we should call here the necessaries of life. The produce of -Hungary, even live cattle, is taken westward by rail to London. The -transport by water is too long. Secondly, coal, the indispensable fuel -of all modern industry, is cheaper on the Rhine than anywhere else. And -thirdly, the Rhine, ever since the Roman conquest and at the earliest -period of the Middle Ages, has been a centre of civilization, whereas -that portion of the Danube the most valuable for traffic was, until -yesterday, in the hands of the Turks.</p> - -<p>At the Amstett Station I purchased the Vienna <i>Neue Freie Presse</i>, -which is, I think, with the <i>Pester Lloyd</i>, the best edited and the -pleasantest paper to read in the German language. The <i>Kölnische -Zeitung</i> is exceedingly well-informed, and the <i>Allgemeine Zeitung</i> -is also as complete and interesting as possible; but it is a terrible -pell-mell of subjects, a dreadful muddle, where, for instance, many -little paragraphs from France or Paris are disseminated haphazard in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -the six sheets. I would rather read three <i>Times’</i> than one -<i>Kölnische</i>, in spite of the respect with which that paper inspires me. -I have scarcely unfolded my <i>Neue Freie Presse</i> than I find myself in -the very heart of the struggle of nationalities, just as I was sixteen -years previously, only that the strife is no longer, as it then was, -between Magyars and Germans. The Deak dual compromise created a <i>modus -vivendi</i>, which is still in force. The dispute is now between Tchecks -and Germans on the one hand, and between Magyars and Croatians on -the other. The Minister Taaffe has decided to dissolve the Bohemian -Parliament and there will be fresh elections. The national and feudal -Tchecks banding together will overthrow the Germans, who will no longer -possess more than a third of the votes in the Diet. The <i>Freie Presse</i> -is perfectly disconsolate at this, and foresees the most terrible -disasters in consequence: if not the end of the world, at least the -upset of the monarchy. On account of these warnings, the numbers are -seized by Government order three or four times a month, even although -it be the organ of the Austrian “bourgeoisie.” It is Liberal, but -very moderate, like the <i>Débats</i> and the <i>Temps</i> in France. After two -or three months have elapsed, the numbers seized are returned to the -editor, only fit for the waste-paper basket. These confiscations (for -they are, in fact, nothing more nor less, although effected through the -Administration) are absolutely contrary to the law, as is proved by the -reiterated acquittals. Their constant recurrence reminds one of the -worst periods of the French Empire. Applied to a newspaper that defends -Austrian interests with so much skill as the <i>Freie Presse</i>, they are -more than surprising. If my friend, Eugène Pelletan, were aware of this -he would no longer claim for France “liberty as in Austria,” for which -saying he suffered at the time three months’ imprisonment. It is said -that the influence of the Tchecks dictates these confiscations, and -this alone is sufficient to show the violence of the enmity between the -races. The Viennese with whom I travel declare that this enmity is far -less bitter than it was fifteen years ago. At that period, I tell them, -I travelled across the country without meeting a single Austrian. -I met with Magyars, Croatians, Saxons, Tchecks, Tyrolians, Poles, -Ruthenians, Dalmatians, but never with Austrians. The common country -was ignored, the race was all in all. At the present day, my -fellow-travellers tell me this is very much subdued. You will find -plenty of excellent Austrians, they say, to-day amongst the Magyars, -and to-morrow amongst the Tchecks.</p> - -<p>The reader will permit a short digression here touching this -nationality question. You meet with it everywhere in the dual Empire. -It is the great preoccupation of the present, and it will be in fact -the chief agent in determining the future of the population of the -banks of the Danube and the Balkan peninsula. You Englishmen cannot -well understand the full force of this feeling which is so strong -in Eastern countries. England is for you your country, for which -you live and for which, if needs, you die. This love of country is -a religion which survives even when all other faith or religion has -ceased to exist. It is the same in France. M. Thiers who, as a rule, -so thoroughly grasped situations, never realized the immense force of -these aspirations of races, which completely rearranged, before his -eyes, the map of Europe on the nationality footing. Cavour and Bismarck -were, however, well aware of this, and knew how to take advantage of -this sentiment, in creating the unity of Italy and of Germany.</p> - -<p>One evening, Jules Simon took me to call on M. Thiers, in rue St. -Honoré, who asked me to explain the Flemish movement in Belgium. I did -so, and he seemed to consider the question as most unimportant, quite -childish in fact, and very much behind the age. He was at once both -right and wrong. He was right because true union is one of minds, not -of blood. Christ’s saying is here admirably applicable: “Whosoever -shall do the will of God the same is my brother and sister and mother” -(St. Mark iii. 35).</p> - -<p>I grant that mixed nationalities which, without consideration of -diversity of language and race, rest, as in Switzerland, on an identity -of historical reminiscences, of civilization and liberty, are of a -superior order; they are types and forerunners of the final fusion when -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> -all mankind will be but one great family, or rather a federation. But -M. Thiers, being idealistic, like a true son of the French Revolution, -was wrong in not taking into account things as they actually are, and -the exigencies of the transitory situation.</p> - -<p>This awakening of nationalities is the inevitable outcome of the -development of democracy, of the press, and of literary culture. An -autocrat may govern twenty different peoples without in the least -troubling himself as to their language or race; but if once assemblies -be introduced, everything is changed. Speech governs. Then what -language is to be spoken? That of the people of course. Will you -educate the young? It must be done in their mother tongue. Is justice -to be administered? You cannot judge a man in a foreign language. You -wish to represent him in Parliament and ask for his votes; the least he -can claim in return is that he may understand what you say. And thus by -degrees the language of the multitude gains ground and is adopted in -Parliament, law-courts, and schools of every degree. In Finland, for -instance, the struggle is between the Swedes, who form the well-to-do -classes and live in the towns on the coast, and the rural population -who are Finns. When visiting the country with the son of the eminent -linguist, Castrén, who died while in Asia seeking out the origin of the -Finn language, I found that the latter was more spoken than Swedish, -even in the suburbs of large towns such as Abö and Helsingfors. All -official inscriptions are in the two languages. The instruction in the -communal schools is almost entirely in the Finn tongue. There are Finn -gymnasiums, and even at the University, lectures in this language. -There is also a national theatre, where I heard “Martha” sung in Finn. -In Gallicia, Polish has completely replaced German; but the Ruthenians -have also put in a claim for their idiom. In Bohemia the Tcheck dialect -triumphs so completely that German is in danger of being wholly cast -aside. At the opening of the Bohemian Diet, the Governor made a speech -in Tcheck and one in German. At Prague a Tcheck University has recently -been opened next to the German one. The clergy, the feudals, and -the population are strongly in favor of this national movement. The -Archbishop of Prague, the Prince of Schwarzenberg, although himself a -German, appoints none but Tcheck priests, even in the North of Bohemia -where Germans dominate.</p> - -<p>It is certain that in countries where two races are thus intermingled, -this growing feeling must occasion endless dissensions, and almost -insurmountable difficulties. It is a disadvantage to speak the idiom -of a small number, for it is a cause of isolation. It would certainly -be far better if but three or four languages were spoken in Europe, -and better still if but one were generally adopted; but, until this -acme of unity be attained, every free people called upon to establish -self-government, will claim rights for its mother tongue, and will -try to unite itself with those who speak it, unless the nation be -already fully satisfied with its mixed but historical nationality like -Switzerland and Belgium. Austria and the Balkan peninsula are now -agitated with these claims for the use of the national tongue, and with -aspirations for the formation of States based on the ethnic groups.</p> - -<p>As we near Vienna the train runs through the most lovely country. A -succession of small valleys, with little streamlets rippling through -them, and on either side green lawns between the hills covered with -woods, chiefly firs and oaks. One might imagine oneself in Styria or -in Upper Bavaria. Soon, however, houses make their appearance, often -charming châlets buried in creeping plants, “Gloire de Dijon” roses, -or jessamine and clematis. These become more and more frequent, and, -near the suburban stations, there are quite little hamlets of villas. I -know of no capital with such beautiful suburbs, save perhaps Stockholm. -Nothing could be more delightful than Baden, Möoling, Brühl, Schönbrun, -and all those little rustic nooks south of Vienna, on the road to the -Sömering.—<i>Contemporary Review.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>ANCIENT ORGANS OF PUBLIC OPINION.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></h2> -<p class="center space-below1"><b>BY PROF. R. C. JEBB.</b></p> - -<p>During several weeks in the early part of this year, the attention -of the English public was fixed with intense anxiety on the fortunes -of one man, who had undertaken a perilous mission in the service of -his country. When the Egyptian difficulty was at its worst, General -Gordon had started for Khartoum, to aid the Government, by his personal -influence, in the policy of rescuing the garrisons and retiring from -the Soudan. The journey, while it reflected fresh honor on him, -necessarily imposed a grave responsibility on those who had sanctioned -it. Any moment might bring the news of his death. If such news came, it -was generally thought and said, the Ministry would fall. In a country -with the temperament of England, the mere existence of such a belief -set one thinking. A year ago, Gordon’s name, though familiar to the -well-informed classes, would not have acted like a spell on the nation. -But a popular biography of him which had appeared had given occasion -for much writing in the newspapers. A short time had sufficed to make -the broad facts of his career known throughout the length and breadth -of the land. People knew that he had welded a loose Chinese rabble -into an army which saved the reigning dynasty of China; that, alone of -Christians, he is named in the prayers of Mecca; that he does not care -for personal rewards; that he is fearless of death; and that he trusts -in God. To impress these facts on the popular imagination had been the -work of a few weeks; to concentrate the force of popular opinion, if he -had been sacrificed, would have been the work of a few hours. Seldom, -perhaps, has anything illustrated more vividly that great and -distinctive condition of modern existence in free countries,—the -double power wielded by the newspaper press, at once as the ubiquitous -instructor and as the rapid interpreter of a national mind. It -was natural at such a time, for one whose pursuits suggested the -comparison, to look from the modern to the ancient world, and to -attempt some estimate of the interval which separates them in this -striking and important respect. In the ancient civilisations, were -there any agencies which exercised a power analogous in kind, though -not comparable in degree, to that of the modern press? To begin with, -we feel at once that the despotic monarchies of the ancient East will -not detain us long. For them, national opinion normally meant the -opinion of the king. We know the general manner of record which is -found graven on stone, in connection with the images or symbols of -those monarchs. As doctors seem still to differ a good deal about the -precise translation of so many of those texts, it might be rash to -quote any, but this is the sort of style which seems to prevail among -the royal authors: “He came up with chariots. He said that he was my -first cousin. He lied. I impaled him. I am Artakhshatrá. I flayed -his uncles, his brothers, and his cousins. I am the king, the son of -Daryavush. I crucified two thousand of the principal inhabitants. I -am the shining one, the great and the good.” From the monarchical -East, we turn with more curiosity to Greece and Rome. There, at least, -there was a life of public opinion. Apart from institutions, which are -crystallised opinion, were there any living, non-official voices in -which this public opinion could be heard?</p> - -<p>The Homeric poems are not only the oldest monuments of Greek -literature, but also the earliest documents of the Greek race. Out of -the twilight of the prehistoric past, a new people, a new type of mind, -are suddenly disclosed in a medium of pellucid clearness. Like Athene -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -springing adult and full-armed from the head of Zeus, this new race, -when Homer reveals it, has already attained to a mature consciousness -of itself, and is already equipped with the aptitudes which are to -distinguish it throughout its later history. The genius of the Homeric -Greek has essentially the same traits which recur in the ripest age of -the Greek republics,—even as Achilles and Ulysses are personal ideals -which never lost their hold on the nation. This very fact points the -contrast between two aspects of Homeric life—the political, and the -social. In Homeric politics, public opinion has no proper place. The -king, with his council of nobles and elders, can alone originate or -discuss measures. The popular assembly has no active existence. But the -framework of Homeric monarchy contains a social life in which public -opinion is constantly alert. Its activity, indeed, could scarcely be -greater under the freest form of government. And we see that this -activity has its spring in distinctive and permanent attributes of the -Hellenic race. It arises from quickness of perception and readiness of -speech. The Homeric Greek feels keenly, observes shrewdly, and hastens -to communicate his thoughts. An undertone of popular comment pervades -the Homeric poems, and is rendered more impressive by the dramatic form -in which it is usually couched. The average man, who represents public -feeling, is expressed by the Greek indefinite pronoun, τις. “Thus would -a man speak, with a glance at his neighbor,” is the regular Homeric -formula. We hear opinion in the making. This spokesman of popular -sentiment is constantly introduced at critical moments: for the sake -of brevity we may call him by his Greek name <i>Tis</i>. When the fight is -raging over the corpse of Patroclus, <i>Tis</i> remarks to his friends that -they will be disgraced for ever if they allow the Trojans to carry -off the body;—better die on the spot. Hector, in proposing a truce -to Ajax, suggests that they should exchange gifts, and imagines what -<i>Tis</i> will say: <i>Tis</i> will approve of it as a graceful courtesy between -chivalrous opponents. Menelaus considers that another hero, Antilochus, -has beaten him in a chariot race by unfair means; but thinks it -necessary to take precautions against <i>Tis</i> imagining that he has -brought this complaint in the hope of prevailing by the influence -of his rank. This is perhaps one of the most remarkable Homeric -compliments to the penetration and to the influence of <i>Tis</i>. When the -sounds of music and dancing, as at a marriage feast, are heard in the -house of Odysseus in Ithaca, <i>Tis</i> is listening outside; and he blamed -Penelope for her fancied hardness of heart, “because she had not had -the courage to keep the great house of her gentle lord steadfastly -till he should come home.” <i>Tis</i> is not always the mouthpiece of such -elevated sentiments. With a frank truth to life and nature, Homer -depicts <i>Tis</i> as indulging in an ignoble joy by stabbing the corpse -of his once-dreaded foe, Hector, and remarking that he is safer to -handle now than when he was burning the ships. In the <i>Odyssey</i>, when -the maiden Nausicaa is conducting Odysseus to the city of her father -Alcinous, we catch glimpses of a <i>Tis</i> who nearly approaches the -character of Mrs. Grundy, with an element of spiteful gossip added. -The fidelity with which <i>Tis</i> reflects public opinion is further seen -in the circumstance that his solicitude for the rights of man is not -strong enough to counteract his natural disposition to exalt over the -fallen. Thersites was a commoner who presumed to speak his mind among -his betters,—when one of them, Odysseus, dealt him a smart blow on -the back, and caused him to resume his seat in tears. <i>Tis</i> laughed -for joy, saying in effect that it served Thersites right, and that he -probably would not do it again. The Tory sentiment of this passage -makes it appropriate to quote the version of it by the late Lord -Derby:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“The Greeks, despite their anger, laughed aloud,</span> -<span class="i1">And one to other said, ‘Good faith, of all</span> -<span class="i1">The many works Ulysses well hath done,</span> -<span class="i1">Wise in the council, foremost in the fight,</span> -<span class="i1">He ne’er hath done a better, than when now</span> -<span class="i1">He makes this scurril babbler hold his peace.</span> -<span class="i1">Methinks his headstrong spirit will not soon</span> -<span class="i1">Lead him again to vilify the kings.’”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Here it might be said that <i>Tis</i> figures as the earliest authentic -example of a being whose existence has sometimes been doubted by -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> -British anthropologists, the Conservative working-man. But, if we would -be just to <i>Tis</i> in his larger Homeric aspects, we must allow that his -sympathies are usually generous, and his utterances often edifying. -As to the feeling with which <i>Tis</i> was regarded, Homer has a word for -it which is hard to translate: he calls it <i>aidos</i>. This <i>aidos</i>—the -sense of reverence or shame—is always relative to a standard of -public opinion, <i>i.e.</i> to the opinion formed by the collective sayings -of <i>Tis</i>; as, on the other hand, the listening to an inner voice, -the obedience to what we call a moral sense, is Homerically called -<i>nemesis</i>. And just as <i>Tis</i> is sometimes merely the voice of smug -respectability, so <i>aidos</i> is sometimes conventional in a low way. When -Diomedes is going by night to spy out the Trojan camp, several heroes -offer to go with him, but only <i>one</i> can be chosen. Agamemnon tells -him that he must not yield to <i>aidos</i>, and take the man of highest -station rather than the man of highest merit: where <i>aidos</i> appears as -in direct conflict with <i>nemesis</i>. But more often these two principles -are found acting in harmony,—recommending the same course of conduct -from two different points of view. There is a signal example of this -in the <i>Odyssey</i>, which is also noteworthy on another ground, viz., -as the only episode in the Homeric poems which involves a direct and -formal appeal from established right of might to the corrective agency -of public opinion. The suitors of Penelope have intruded themselves -into the house of her absent lord, and are wasting his substance by -riotous living. Her son Telemachus convenes the men of Ithaca in public -assembly, and calls on them to stop this cruel wrong. He appeals to -<i>nemesis</i>, to <i>aidos</i>, and to fear of the gods. “Resent it in your -own hearts; and have regard to others, neighboring folk who dwell -around,—and tremble ye at the wrath of the gods.” The appeal fails. -The public opinion exists, but it has not the power, or the courage, to act.</p> - -<p>After the age which gave birth to the great epics, an interval elapses -before we again catch the distinct echoes of a popular voice. Our -Homeric friend <i>Tis</i> is silent. Or, rather, to be more exact, <i>Tis</i> -ceases to speak in his old character, as the nameless representative -of the multitude, and begins to speak in a new quality. The individual -mind now commences to express itself in forms of poetry which are -essentially personal, interpreting the belief and feelings of the poet -himself. <i>Tis</i> emerges from the dim crowd, and appears as Tyrtaeus, -summoning the Spartans, in stirring elegy, to hear <i>his</i> counsels; or -as Sappho, uttering <i>her</i> passion in immortal lyrics; or as Pindar, -weaving <i>his</i> thoughts into those magnificent odes which glorify -the heroes and the athletes of Greece. It is a capital distinction -of classical Greek literature that, when its history is viewed as a -whole, we do not find it falling into a series of artificial chapters, -determined by imitation of models which were in fashion at this or that -epoch. Greek literature is original, not derivative; we trace in it the -course of a natural growth; we hear in it the spontaneous utterance of -Greek life from generation to generation. The place of Pindar in this -development has one aspect of peculiar interest. There is a sense in -which he may be said to stand midway between Homeric epos and Athenian -drama.<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> -His poetical activity belongs to the years which immediately preceded -and followed the invasions of Greece by the hosts of Persia. A great -danger had drawn the members of the Hellenic family closer together; a -signal deliverance had left them animated by the memory of deeds which -seemed to attest the legends of Agamemnon and Achilles; warmed by a -more vivid faith in those gods who had been present with them through -the time of trial; comforted by a new stability of freedom; cheered -by a sense of Hellenic energies which could expand securely from the -Danube to the Nile, from the Euxine to the Atlantic; exalted in thought -and fancy by the desire to embody their joy and hope in the most -beautiful forms which language and music, marble, ivory, and gold could -furnish for the honor of the gods, and for the delight of men who, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> -through the heroes, claimed a divine descent. The Greek mind, stirred -to its centre by the victorious efforts which had repelled the -barbarian, could no longer be satisfied by epic narratives of the past. -It longed to see the heroes moving; to hear them speaking; to throw -back upon their world the vivifying light of contemporary reflection. -In a word, the spirit of drama had descended upon Hellas; and already -it breathes in Pindar, the poet of the games. Olympia, with its -temples, its statues, and its living athletes, corresponded to the -essence of Greek drama—action idealised by art and consecrated -by religion. Pindar, the last of the great lyric poets, is the lyric -exponent of an impulse which received mature expression from Aeschylus, -Sophocles, and Euripides.</p> - -<p>The community which Athenian drama addressed was precisely in the mood -which best enables a dramatist to exert political and moral force. -There was much in its temper that might remind us of Elizabethan -England; but I would venture to illustrate it here by words borrowed -from the England of a later time. The greatest plea in the English -language for the liberty of the press—or perhaps we should rather -say, for the freedom of the mind—belongs to the close of that year -which saw the hopes of the Parliamentarians, in their struggle with -the Royalists, raised to an assurance of final success by the crushing -defeat of Rupert. An enthusiastic confidence in the large destinies -opening before the English people already fired the mind of the poet -who was to end his days, like Samson</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves,</span> -<span class="i1">Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Then, in 1644, Milton, thinking of the victory of Marston Moor, was -rather like Aeschylus raising his dramatic paean for the victory -of Salamis; and the glowing language in which he describes the new -alertness of his country’s spirit might fitly be applied to the Athens -for which the great dramatists wrote. “As in a body, when the blood is -fresh, the spirits pure and vigorous not only to vital but to rational -faculties and those in the acutest and the pertest operations of wit -and suttlety, it argues in what good plight and constitution the body -is, so when the cherfulnesse of the people is so sprightly up, as that -it has not only wherewith to guard well its own freedom and safety -but to spare, and to bestow upon the solidest and sublimest points of -controversie and new invention, it betok’ns us not degenerated, nor -drooping to a fatall decay, but casting off the old and wrincl’d skin -of corruption to outlive these pangs and wax young again, entring the -glorious waies of Truth and prosperous vertue destin’d to become great -and honourable in these latter ages. Methinks I see in my mind a noble -and puissant Nation rousing herself like a strong man after sleep, and -shaking her invincible locks. Methinks I see her as an Eagle muing her -mighty youth, and kindling her undazl’d eyes as the full mid-day beam, -purging and unscaling her long abused sight at the fountain it self of -heav’nly radiance.”</p> - -<p>In estimating the influence of Athenian drama on public opinion, -we must, first of all, remember the fact which makes the essential -difference between the position of the dramatist—viewed in this -light—and that of the epic poet. The epic poet gave expression to a -mass of popular belief and feeling in an age when they had as yet no -direct organ of utterance. But in the Athens of the dramatists the -popular assembly was the constitutional organ of public opinion. Every -Athenian citizen was, as such, a member of that assembly. The influence -of the Athenian dramatist was thus so far analogous to that of the -modern journalist, that it was brought to bear on men capable of giving -practical effect to their sentiments. A newspaper publishes an article -intended to influence the voters in a parliamentary division, or the -constituents whom they represent. An Athenian dramatist had for his -hearers, in the theatre of Dionysus, many thousands of the men who, -the next day might be called upon to decide a question of policy in -the assembly, or to try, in a law-court, one of those cases in which -the properly legal issues were often involved with considerations of a -social or moral kind. Even Tragedy, in its loftiest and severest form, -might be the instrument, in a skilful hand, of inculcating views or -tendencies which the poet advocated—nay, even of urging or opposing a -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> -particular measure. Thus, in his <i>Furies</i>, Aeschylus finds occasion to -encourage his fellow-citizens in their claim to a disputed possession -in the Troad, and utters a powerful protest against the proposal to -curtail the powers of the Areopagus. He becomes, for the moment, the -mouthpiece of a party opposed to such reform. In verses like the -following, every one can recognize a ring as directly political as that -of any leading article or pamphlet. “In this place”—says the Athene of -Aeschylus—that is, on the hill of Ares, the seat of the court menaced -with reform—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Awe kin to dread shall stay the citizens</span> -<span class="i1">From sinning in the darkness or the light,</span> -<span class="i1">While their own voices do not change the laws ...</span> -<span class="i1">Between unruliness and rule by one</span> -<span class="i1">I bid my people reverence a mean,</span> -<span class="i1">Not banish all things fearful from the State.</span> -<span class="i1">For, with no fear before him, who is just?</span> -<span class="i1">In such a righteous dread, in such an awe,</span> -<span class="i1">Ye shall possess a bulwark of the land,</span> -<span class="i1">A safeguard of the city, not possess’d</span> -<span class="i1">By Scythia or the places of the south.</span> -<span class="i1">This court, majestic, incorruptible,</span> -<span class="i1">Instant in anger, over those who sleep</span> -<span class="i1">The sleepless watcher of my land, I set.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Again, there are at least two tragedies of Euripides—the <i>Heracleidae</i> -and the <i>Supplices</i>—in which the strain of allusion to the politics of -the Peloponnesian War is unmistakable. It is needless to dwell on the -larger sense in which Euripides everywhere makes drama the vehicle of -teachings—political, social, moral—which could nowhere have received -such effective publicity as in the theatre. Nowadays, they would have -been found in the pages of a newspaper or a magazine accepted as the -organ of a party or a school. In the days of Voltaire, journalism, as -free countries now understand it, had no more existence than in the -days of Euripides; and, as a recent historian of French literature -remarks, it has been thought that the tragedies of Voltaire owed their -popularity chiefly to the adroit manner in which the author made them -opportunities for insinuating the popular opinions of the time.<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> -We must not forget that peculiar feature of Greek drama, the Chorus, who -may be regarded as a lineal descendant of the Homeric <i>Tis</i>. The -interest of the Chorus, in this connection, does not depend so much on -the maxims that it uttered as on the fact that it constituted a visible -link between the audience and the drama, bringing the average spectator -into easier sympathy with the action, and thereby predisposing him to -seize any significance which it might have for the life of the day. I -have so far dwelt on this aspect of Athenian Tragedy, because we might -be rather apt to regard it as a form of art altogether detached from -contemporary interests, and to overlook the powerful influence—not the -less powerful because usually indirect—which it must undoubtedly have -exercised in expressing and moulding public sentiment.</p> - -<p>But we must now turn to that other form of Athenian drama in which -the resemblance to the power of the modern press is much more direct -and striking—that which is known as the Old Comedy of Athens. Mr. -Browning, in his <i>Apology of Aristophanes</i>, makes the great comic poet -indicate the narrow limits to the influence of Tragedy on opinion. The -passage is witty; and though, as I venture to think, it considerably -underrates the effect of Tragedy in this direction, at least it well -marks the contrast between the modes in which the two forms of drama -wrought. When we think of the analogy between Aristophanes and the -modern political journalist, one of the first things that strikes -us is the high and earnest view which Aristophanes took of his own -calling. He had gone through every stage of a laborious training -before he presumed to come before the Athenian public. He had seen his -predecessors fail, or fall from favor. So in the <i>Peace</i>, he claims -that he has banished the old vulgar tomfoolery from the stage, and -raised his art “like an edifice stately and grand.” He saw clearly the -enormous force which this literary engine, Comedy, might wield. He -resolved that, in his hands, it should be directed to more elevated and -more important aims. Instead of merely continuing the traditions of -scurrilous buffoonery, in which virulent personality was often the only -point, he would bring his wit to bear on larger aspects of politics and society. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>But, while his wit and style had the stamp of bold originality, -Aristophanes is not the champion of original ideas. Rather his position -depends essentially on the fact that he represents a large body of -commonplace public opinion. He represents the great “stupid party,” -to use a name which the English Tories have borne not without pride, -and glories to represent it; the stupid party, who are not wiser than -their forefathers; who fail to understand how the tongue can swear, -and the soul remain unsworn; who sigh for the old days when the plain -seafaring citizen knew only to ask for his barley-cake, and to cry -“pull away;” who believe in the old-fashioned virtues, and worship -the ancient gods. He describes himself as the champion of the people, -doing battle for them, like a second Hercules, against superhuman -monsters. The demagogues, whom he lashes, try to represent him as -slandering the country to foreigners; but he is the country’s best -friend. Athenians are hasty, fickle and vain. He has taught them not -to be gulled by flattery. He has taught them to respect the rights and -redress the wrong of their subjects. The envoys who bring the tribute -from the island long to see him. The King of Persia, he says, asked two -questions about the combatants in the Peloponnesian War. Which side -had the strongest navy? and which side had Aristophanes? Thirlwall, -in his <i>History of Greece</i>, denies that Aristophanic Comedy produced -any serious effect. “We have no reason,” he says, “to believe that it -ever turned the course of public affairs, or determined the bias of -the public mind, or even that it considerably affected the credit and -fortunes of an obnoxious individual.” Grote’s opinion is much the same, -except that he is disposed to credit Comedy with a greater influence -on the reputations of particular men. The question is much of the same -nature as might be raised concerning the precise effect of political -writing in newspapers, or of literary reviews. The effect is one which -it is impossible to measure accurately, but which may nevertheless be -both wide and deep.</p> - -<p>In the first place, we must dismiss the notion that Comedy could make -no serious impression because the occasion was a sportive festival. The -feelings of Athenians at Comedy were not merely those of a modern -audience at a burlesque or a pantomime. Comedy, like Tragedy, was -still the worship of Dionysus. Precisely in those comedies which most -daringly ridicule the gods—such as the <i>Birds</i> and the <i>Frogs</i>—we -find also serious expressions of a religious sense, illustrating what -might be called the principle of compensatory reverence. Again, the -power of the Old Athenian Comedy is not to be gauged by any influence -which it exercised, or sought, over special situations or definite -projects. Indeed, it rarely attempted this. Almost the only extant -instance occurs in the <i>Frogs</i> of Aristophanes, where he urges that -a general amnesty should be granted to all citizens who had been -implicated in the Revolution of the Four Hundred. In such a sense, it -may be granted, Comedy might do little; but its real power operated -in a totally different way. When a large body of people has common -opinions or feelings, these are intensified in each individual by the -demonstration that so many others share them. A public meeting tends -in itself to quicken enthusiasm for a party or a cause, be the oratory -never so flat and the sentiments never so trite. Aristophanes gave the -most brilliant expression to a whole range of thought and feeling with -which thousands of minds were in general sympathy. Can it be doubted -that he contributed powerfully to strengthen the prejudice against -everything that he regarded as dangerous innovation? Or, again, can it -be doubted that he did much to give his fellow-citizens a more vivid -insight into the arts of unscrupulous demagogues? The cajolers of the -people, as depicted in the comedy of the <i>Knights</i>, are drawn in strong -colors, but with fine strokes also: while the character of Demus, the -People—their supposed dupe—is drawn with a tact which no satirist -or political journalist has ever surpassed. If I have to stake the -political power of Aristophanes on the evidence of one short passage, -it should be that dialogue in which the Knights deplore the dotage of -Demus, and Demus tells them that, while he seems to doze, he always has -one eye open (vv. 1111-1150). -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<p>When a change of Ministry occurs in England, no one would undertake to -say exactly what share in that result is attributable to journalistic -repetition and suggestion—to the cumulative impression wrought on the -public mind, through weeks, months, and years, by the Conservative or -the Liberal press. And he would be a bold man who presumed to say how -little or how much the Old Comedy may have to do with the phenomena -of oligarchic reaction in the latter part of the Peloponnesian War, -or with the stimulation of all those sentiments which have their -record in the death of Socrates. The confused travesty of Socrates in -the <i>Clouds</i> corresponds, in its general features, with the confused -prepossessions of which he was afterwards the victim. In this case, -as in others, Comedy was not the origin, but the organ, of a popular -opinion. It did not create the prepossessions; but it strengthened -them by the simple process of reflecting them in an exaggerated form. -Briefly, Aristophanic Comedy had many of the characteristics of -vehement party journalism, but was directed either against persons, -on the one hand, or against general principles and tendencies on -the other—not against measures. Its most obvious strength lay in -brilliant originality of form; but its political and social effect -depended essentially on its representative value. It was the great -ancient analogue of journalism which seems to lead opinion by skilfully -mirroring it—unsparing in attack, masterly in all the sources of -style, but careful, where positive propositions are concerned, to keep -within the limits of safe and accepted generalities.</p> - -<p>Just as the Old Comedy was losing its freedom of utterance, a new -agency began to appear, which invites comparison with journalism of a -calmer and more thoughtful type. Rhetoric, of which we already feel -the presence in Athenian drama, had now become a developed art. Skill -analogous to that of the modern journalist was often required, for -purposes of speaking, by the citizen of a Greek republic.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> -He might desire to urge his views in a public assembly where the -standard of speaking was high and the audience critical. He might be -compelled to defend his fortunes, or even his life, before a popular -jury of many hundreds, when the result would depend in no small measure -on oratorical dexterity. Already a class of men existed who composed -speeches for private persons to deliver in law-courts. The new art was -naturally enlisted in the service of any party politics. A skilful -writer now felt that there was a way of producing an effect which -would be less transient than that of a speech in the assembly. From -the end of the fifth century <span class="smcap">b.c.</span> we begin -to meet with a species of composition which may best be described as a -political pamphlet.</p> - -<p>The paper on the Athenian polity, which has come down under Xenophon’s -name, is an aristocratic manifesto against the democracy, which -might have appeared in an ancient <i>Quarterly Review</i>. The paper on -the <i>Revenues of Athens</i>, belonging to the middle of the fourth -century <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, is a similar article in favor of peace and -the commercial interests. Many of the extant pieces of the orator -Isocrates, in the fourth century <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, though couched in the -form of speeches, were meant to be read, not spoken, and are in reality -highly finished political pamphlets. More, perhaps, than any other -writer of antiquity, Isocrates resembles a journalist who is deeply -impressed with the dignity and responsibility of his calling; who -spares no pains to make his work really good; and who has constantly -before his mind the feeling that his audience is wider, and his power -greater, than if he was actually addressing a public assembly on the -same theme. His articles—as we may fitly call them—are usually -intended to have a definite effect at a particular moment. He wishes -to make Athens and Sparta combine at once in an expedition to Asia. He -wishes to strike in with a telling argument for peace at the moment -when negotiations are pending between Athens and her allies. He desires -to strengthen the hands of the party, at Athens and at Sparta, who -refuse to recognize the restoration of Messene by the power of Thebes. -In this last case, we know that a pamphlet on the other side was -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> -written by the rhetorician Alcidamas. Here then is an example of -literary controversy on contemporary public affairs.</p> - -<p>Nor is it merely in regard to the political questions of the day that -Isocrates performs the part of a journalist. He deals also with the -social life of Athens. He expresses the feeling with which men of the -old school observed a deterioration of manners connected, in their -views, with the decay of Conservative elements in the democracy. He -shows us the throngs of needy citizens, eagerly casting lots outside -the law-courts for the privilege of employment as paid jurymen—while -at the same time they are hiring mercenary troops to fight their -battles abroad. He pictures the lavish display which characterized the -festivals of the improvident city—where the amusement of the public -had now become a primary art of statesmanship—when men might be seen -blazing in gold spangled robes, who had been shivering through the -winter in rags. He brings before us the young men of a degenerate -Athens—no longer engaged in vigorous exercises of mind and body, in -hunting or athletics; no longer crossing the market-place with downcast -eyes, or showing marks of deference to their elders—but passing their -hours in the society of gamesters and flute-players, or lazily cooling -their wine in the fountain by the Ilissus. He is, in brief, a voice of -public opinion on all the chief matters which come within the province -of the publicist. In order that such a writer should have an influence -similar to that of a newspaper, it was enough that copies of his -writings should be sufficiently multiplied to leaven the conversation -of the market-place and of private society. Every possessor of a copy -was a centre from which the ideas would reach the members of his -own circle. And there is good evidence that, in the fourth century -<span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, the circulation of popular writings throughout the -Hellenic world was both wide and rapid. The copying industry, in the -Greece of that age, doubtless fell far short of the dimensions to which -the labor of cultivated slaves (the <i>literati</i>) afterwards raised it at -Rome—where we hear of Augustus, for instance, confiscating no fewer -than two thousand copies of a single work—the psuedo-Sibylline books. -But it was still amply sufficient to warrant a general comparison, -in the sense just defined, between the influence of such a writer as -Isocrates, and that of a modern journalist.</p> - -<p>We have hitherto spoken only of the written rhetoric, in which the -form of a speech was merely a literary fiction, like that adopted—in -imitation of Isocrates—by Milton, when he chose to couch his -<i>Areopagitica</i> in the form of a speech addressed to the Lords and -Commons of England. But in passing, we should note that the actually -spoken rhetoric of antiquity—especially of Greece—bore a certain -analogy to the more elaborate efforts of journalism. This depends on -the fact that ancient usage fully recognised, and generally expected, -careful premeditation; while the speaker, conscious of the demand -for excellence of form, usually aimed at investing his speech with -permanent literary value. Demosthenes and Cicero are both witnesses to -this: Cicero, doubtless, piqued himself on a faculty of extemporising -at need, but probably trusted little to it on great occasions; while -with Demosthenes it was the rule, we are told, never to speak without -preparation. Take the oration delivered by Lysias at the Olympian -festival, where he is exhorting the assembled Greeks to unite against -the common foes of Hellas in Sicily and in Persia. Here the orator -is essentially an organ of patriotic opinion, and his highly-wrought -address is a finished leading-article, for which the author sought the -largest publicity.</p> - -<p>In turning from Greece to Rome, we are prepared to find literature -holding a different relation towards public opinion. The Greek -temperament with its quick play of thought and fancy, had an -instinctive craving to make the sympathy of thoughts continually felt -in words, and to accompany action with a running comment of speech. The -Roman, as we find him during Rome’s earlier career of conquest, was -usually content to feel that his action was in conformity with some -principle which he had expressed once for all in an institution or a -statute. His respect for authority, and his moral earnestness—in a -word his political and social gravity—rendered him independent of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> -solace which the lively Greek derived from a demonstrated community of -feeling. Rome, strong in arms, severe, persistent, offering to people -after people the choice of submission or subjugation; Rome, the head of -the Latin name, the capital of Italy, the queen of the Mediterranean, -the empress of a pacified, because disarmed, world; Rome, who never -deemed a war done until conquest had been riveted by law which should -be the iron bond of peace,—this idea was the true inspiration of the -Roman; and, as the literature was matured, it was this which added -order to strength, and majesty to order, in the genius of the Roman -tongue. It is especially curious to observe the fate which Comedy -experienced when it first appeared at Rome, and endeavored to assume -something of the political significance which its parent, Greek Comedy, -had possessed at Athens. The poet Naevius appeared just after the -first Punic War. He was a champion of popular liberties against the -domination of the Senate; and, in his plays, he treated some of the -Senatorian chiefs with satire of a quality which, to judge from the -extant specimens, was exceedingly mild. “Who had so quickly ruined the -commonwealth?” was a query put in one of his comedies; and the reply -was, “New speakers came forward—foolish young men.” In another piece, -he alluded to the applauses bestowed on him as proving that he was -a true interpreter of the public mind, and deprecated any great man -interfering with him. A very slave in one of his comedies, he added, -was better off than a Roman citizen nowadays. Contrast these remarks -with the indescribable insults which Aristophanes had boldly heaped on -the Athenian demagogues. Mild as Naevius was, however, he was not mild -enough for the “foolish young men.” Having ventured to observe that the -accession of certain nobles of high office was due to a decree of fate, -he was promptly imprisoned; he was afterwards banished; and he died -in exile. This seems to have been the first and last attempt of Roman -Comedy to serve as an organ of popular opinion. The Roman reverence for -authority was outraged by the idea of a public man being presented in a -comic light on the boards of a theatre. On the other hand, Roman -feeling allowed a public man to be attacked, in speaking or in writing, -with almost any degree of personal violence, provided that the purpose -was seriously moral. Hence the personal criticism of statesmen, which -at Athens had belonged to Comedy, passed at Rome into another kind of -composition. It became an element of Satire.</p> - -<p>The name of Satire comes, as is well known, from the <i>lanx satura</i>, -the platter filled with first-fruits of various sorts, which was an -annual thank-offering to Ceres and Bacchus. “Satire” meant a medley, or -miscellany, and the first characteristic of Roman satire was that the -author wrote in an easy, familiar way about any and every subject that -was of interest to himself and his readers. As Juvenal says,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Men’s hopes, men’s fear—their fond, their fretful dream—</span> -<span class="i1">Their joys, their fuss—that medley is my theme.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Politics, literature, philosophy, society—every topic of public or -private concern—belonged to the <i>Satura</i>, so long as the treatment was -popular. Among all the forms of Roman literature, Satire stands out -with a twofold distinction. First, it is genuinely national. Next, it -is the only one which has a continuous development, extending from the -vigorous age of the Commonwealth into the second century of the Empire. -Satire is pre-eminently the Roman literary organ of public opinion. The -tone of the Roman satirist is always that of an ordinary Roman citizen, -who is frankly speaking his mind to his fellow-citizens. An easy, -confidential manner in literature—as of one friend unbosoming himself -to another—seems to have been peculiarly congenial to the ancient -Italian taste. We may remember how the poet Ennius introduced into -his epic a picture of the intimate converse between himself and the -Roman general Servilius Geminus—a picture not unworthy of a special -war-correspondent attached to head-quarters. Then Satire profited by -the Italian gift for shrewd portraiture of manners. Take, for instance, -the picture of a coquette, drawn some twenty centuries ago by Naevius: -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “Like one playing at ball in a ring, she tosses -about from one to another, and is at home with all. To one she nods, -to another she winks; she makes love to one, clings to another.... To -one she gives a ring to look at, to another blows a kiss; with one she -sings, with another corresponds by signs.”<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p> - -<p>The man who first established Satire as an outspoken review of Roman -life was essentially a slashing journalist. This was Lucilius, who -lived in the latter years of the second century <span class="smcap">b.c.</span> -He attacked the high-born statesmen, who, as he put it, “thought that they -could blunder with impunity, and keep criticism at a distance by their -rank.” On the other hand, he did not spare plebeian offenders. As one -of his successors says, “he bit deep into the town of his day, and -broke his jawtooth on them.” Literature and society also came under his -censures. He lashes the new affectation of Greek manners and speech, -the passion for quibbling rhetoric, the extravagance of the gluttons -and the avarice of the misers. Even the Roman ladies of the time do -not wholly escape. He criticises the variations of their toilettes. -“When she is with <i>you</i>, anything is good enough; when visitors are -expected, all the resources of the wardrobe are taxed,” The writings -of this trenchant publicist formed the great standing example of free -speech for later Roman times. Horace eschews politics; indeed, when he -wrote, political criticism had become as futile as it was perilous; but -he is evidently anxious to impress on the Roman public that he is true -to the old tradition of satire by fearlessly lashing folly and vice. -Persius, who died at the age of twenty-eight in the reign of Nero, made -Roman Satire a voice of public opinion in a brave and a pure sense. -Horace had been an accomplished Epicurean, who found his public among -easy-going, cultivated men of the world. Persius spoke chiefly to minds -of a graver cast: he summoned Roman citizens to possess themselves of a -moral and intellectual freedom which no Cæsar could crush, the freedom -given by the Stoic philosophy,—that philosophy which had moulded the -jurisprudence of the Republic, and was now the refuge of thoughtful -minds under the despotism of the Empire. Then we have once more a -slashing publicist in Juvenal, who is national and popular in a broader -sense than Horace or Persius. His fierce indignation is turned against -the alien intruders, the scum of Greece and Asia, who are making Rome a -foreign city, and robbing Roman citizens of their bread. He denounces -the imported vices which are effacing the old Roman character. He is -the last of the Roman satirists, and in much he resembles the first.</p> - -<p>It may be noted that each of the three satirists of the Empire—Horace, -Persius, Juvenal—gives us a dialogue between himself and an imaginary -friend, who remonstrates with him for his rashness in imitating -Lucilius, the outspoken satirist of the Republic. Horace, replies, -in effect, “Never mind, <i>I’m</i> not afraid—Augustus will stand by me -as Scipio and Laelius stood by Lucilius;” but, in fact, Horace never -strikes like Lucilius; he keeps us smiling while he probes our faults; -“he gains his entrance, and plays about the heart;” his censures even -when keen, show cautious tact. Persius replies: “You need not read me -if you do not like: but the joke is too good; I <i>must</i> tell some one -that Midas has the ears of an ass.” When Juvenal is warned, we catch -quite a different tone in the answer. After painting the Rome of his -day, he says (I venture to give a version of my own):—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Nought worse remains: the men of coming times</span> -<span class="i1">Can but renew our lusts, repeat our crimes.</span> -<span class="i1">Vice holds the dizzy summit: spread thy sail,</span> -<span class="i1">Indignant Muse, and drive before the gale!</span> -<span class="i1">But who shall find, or whence—I hear thee ask—</span> -<span class="i1">An inspiration level with the task?</span> -<span class="i1">Whence that frank courage of an elder Rome,</span> -<span class="i1">When Satire, fearless, sent the arrow home?</span> -<span class="i0">‘Whom am I bound,’ she then could cry, ‘to spare?</span> -<span class="i1">If high-placed guilt forgive not, do I care?’</span> -<span class="i1">Paint <i>now</i> the prompter of a Nero’s rage—</span> -<span class="i1">The torments of a Christian were thy wage,—</span> -<span class="i1">Pinned to the stake, in blazing pitch to stand,</span> -<span class="i1">Or, on the hook that dragg’d thee, plough the sand....</span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -</div></div></div> - -<hr class="r25" /> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No danger will attend thee if thou tell</span> -<span class="i0">How to Aeneas warlike Turnus fell;</span> -<span class="i0">No spite resents Achilles’ fateful day,</span> -<span class="i0">Or Hylas, with his urn, the Naiads’ prey;</span> -<span class="i0">But when Lucilius, all his soul afire,</span> -<span class="i0">Bared his good sword and wreak’d his generous ire,</span> -<span class="i0">Flush’d cheeks bewrayed the secrets lock’d within,</span> -<span class="i0">And chill hearts shivered with their conscious sin.</span> -<span class="i0">Hence wrath and tears. Ere trumpets sound, debate:</span> -<span class="i0">Warriors, once armed, repent of war too late.</span> -<span class="i0">‘Then shall plain speech be tried on those whose clay</span> -<span class="i0">Rests by the Latin or Flaminian Way.’”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>He did indeed try the plainest of speech, not only on dead tyrants -and their ministers, but on the society of his own time. The elder -Disraeli remarks that Richard Steele meant the <i>Tatler</i> to deal with -three provinces—manners, letters, and politics; and that, as to -politics, “it remained for the chaster genius of Addison to banish this -disagreeable topic from his elegant pages.” Horace was in this respect -the Addison of Satire under the Empire. In Juvenal, the Italian medley -once more exhibits, though with necessary modifications, the larger and -more vigorous spirit of its early prime. The poetical epistle, which in -Horace is so near to Satire, usually differed from it in having less -of the chatty miscellaneous character, and in being rather applied to -continuous didactic exposition. The prose epistle, which was often -meant for publication even when formally private, also contributed not -only to express, but to mould, public opinion. Epigrams and lampoons -might happen to be vehicles of a general feeling; but they differ from -the forms of literature here considered in being essentially personal, -like the satirical poetry of early Greece.</p> - -<p>There is yet another agency, common to Greece and Rome, at which we -must glance—the Oracles. Often, of course, they had a most important -part in directing public opinion at critical moments; but this was -not all. There were occasions on which an oracle became, in a strict -sense, the organ of a political party. Thus the noble Athenian family -of the Alcmaeonidae bribed the Delphian priests to make the oracle an -organ of public opinion in favor of freeing Athens from Peisistratus. -Accordingly, whenever Spartans came to consult the god on any subject -whatever, this topic was always worked into the response. Apollo, in -short, kept up a series of most urgent leading articles; and at last -the Spartans were roused to action. Then, when Cleomenes, one of the -two Spartan kings, wished to have his colleague Demaratus deposed, he -made friends with an influential man at Delphi; the influential man -bribed the priestess; and the oracle declared that Demaratus was not of -the blood royal. In this case, the fraud was found out; the priestess -was deposed; and when Cleomenes died mad, men said that this was the -hand of Apollo. When the Persians were about to invade Greece, the -Delphic oracle took the line of advising the Greeks to submit. The -Athenians sent to ask what they should do, and the oracle said, “Fly -to the ends of the earth.” The Athenians protested that they would not -leave the temple until they got a more comfortable answer. Hereupon an -influential Delphian advised them to assume the garb of suppliants; and -this time Apollo told them to trust to their wooden walls. Herodotus -mentions between seventy and eighty oracles (I believe) of one sort -or another, and less than half of these contain <i>predictions</i>. The -predictions usually belong to one of two classes; first, those -obviously founded on secret information or on a shrewd guess; and, -secondly, those in which the oracle had absolutely no ideas on the -subject, and took refuge in vagueness.</p> - -<p>Any one who reads the column of Answers to Correspondents in a -prudently conducted journal will recognize the principal types of -oracle. In truth, the Delphic oracle bore a strong resemblance to a -serious newspaper managed by a cautious editorial committee with no -principles in particular. In editing an oracle, it was then, as it -still is, of primary importance not to make bad mistakes. The Delphian -editors were not infallible; but, when a blunder had been made, they -often showed considerable resource. Thus, when Croesus had been utterly -ruined, he begged his conqueror to grant him one luxury—to allow him -to send to Delphi, and ask Apollo whether it was his usual practice to -treat his benefactors in this way. Apollo replied that, in point of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> -fact, he had done everything he could; he had personally requested -the Fates to put off the affair for a generation; but they would only -grant a delay of three years. Instead of showing annoyance, Croesus -ought to be grateful for having been ruined three years later than he -ought to have been. There are Irish landlords who would see a parable -in these things. Sometimes we can see that Apollo himself is slightly -irritated, as an editor might be by a wrong-headed or impertinent -querist. Some African colonists had been pestering Apollo about their -local troubles and his own former predictions; and the response from -Delphi begins with the sarcastic remark, “I admire your wisdom if you -know Africa better than I do,” The normal tendency of the Delphic -oracle was to discourage rash enterprise, and to inculcate maxims of -orthodox piety and moderation. The people of Cnidos wanted to make -their peninsula an island by digging a canal, but found it very hard -work; and the oracle told them that if Zeus had meant the peninsula -to be an island, he would have made it an island—which reminds one -of some of the arguments against the Channel Tunnel. In one special -direction, however, Delphi gave a real impulse to Hellenic progress. -It was a powerful promoter of colonization: for instance, the first -Greek settlements in Corsica and on the coast of Africa were directly -due to Delphic oracles. We even find the oracle designating individuals -for work abroad; as when it nominated a man of Mantinea to reform the -constitution of Cyrene. In Scotland we are wont to take a keen interest -in everything that bears on colonial careers for young men; and one day -a Greek class had been reading about the Delphic oracle telling some -Thracians to choose as their king the first man who should ask them to -dinner. Miltiades had this privilege, and forthwith got the Thracian -appointment. “Do you think,” a thoughtful student asked, “that there -could have been any collusion?”</p> - -<p>A brief mention is due to those Roman publications which, in -form, came nearest to our newspapers—the official gazettes. -Julius Caesar, when consul in 59 <span class="smcap">b.c.</span>, -first caused the transactions of the Senate (<i>Acta Senatus</i>) to -be regularly published; before his time, there had been only an -occasional publication of its decrees. Augustus stopped the issue of -this Senatorial Gazette, though the minutes continued to be regularly -kept, at first by senators of the Emperor’s choice, afterwards by a -secretary specially appointed. Further, Julius Caesar instituted a -regular official gazette of general news, the <i>Acta diurna</i>, which -continued under the Empire. There was an official editor; the gazette -was exhibited daily in public, and copied by scribes, who sold it -to their customers; the original copy was afterwards laid up in the -public archives, where it could be consulted. This gazette contained -announcements or decrees by the Government, notices relating to the -magistrature and the law-courts, and other matters of public interest; -also a register of births, marriages, and deaths, and occasionally -other advertisements concerning private families. This gazette had a -wide circulation. Tacitus, for example, says that a certain event could -not be hidden from the army, because the legionaries throughout the -provinces had read it in the gazette. But it was simply a bald record -of facts; there was no comment. Cicero, writing from Asia, complains -that a private correspondent at Rome has sent him only such news as -appears in a gazette—about matches of gladiators and adjournment -of courts—and has given him no political intelligence.</p> - -<p>The <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> for 1740 contains a short and quaint paper -by Dr. Johnson, in which he transcribes some supposed fragments of a -Roman gazette for the year 168 <span class="smcap">b.c.</span> These were first published -in 1615, and in 1692 were defended by Dodwell, but are now recognized -as fifteenth-century forgeries. We have no genuine fragments of the -Roman gazettes. None the less, Johnson’s comparison of them with the -English newspapers of 1740 may well suggest a reflection. The Roman -gazette under the Empire did not give the transactions of the Senate, -any more than it admitted political comment. In the newspapers of -Johnson’s time, the parliamentary reports were still very irregular and -imperfect; while criticism of public men was fain to take the disguise, -however thin, of allegory. Thus the <i>Gentleman’s Magazine</i> regaled its -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -readers, from month to month, with “Proceedings and Debates in the -Senate of Lilliput.” It was when the House of Commons had ceased to -represent the public opinion of the country, that this opinion became -resolved to have an outlet in the press. Parliament having ceased to -discharge its proper function, the press became the popular court -of appeal. The battle for a free press, in the full modern sense, -was fought out between 1764 and 1771—beginning in 1764 with the -persecution of Wilkes for attacking Bute in the <i>North Briton</i>, and -ending with the successful resistance, in 1771, to the proclamation -by which the Commons had forbidden the publication of their debates. -Six printers, who had infringed it, were summoned to the bar of the -House; five obeyed; and the messenger of the House was sent to arrest -the sixth. The Lord Mayor of London sent the messenger to prison. The -House of Commons sent the Lord Mayor to the Tower. But he was followed -by cheering crowds. He was released at the next prorogation; and the -day on which he left the Tower marked the end of the last attempt to -silence the press. The next few years saw the beginning of the first -English journals which exercised a great political and social power. -The <i>Times</i> dates from 1788. Thus a period memorable for Americans -has something of analogous significance for their kinsmen in England. -For the English people, also, those years contained a Declaration of -Independence; they brought us a title-deed of freedom greater, perhaps, -than the barons of the thirteenth century extorted from John—the -charter of a complete freedom in the daily utterance of public opinion.</p> - -<p>The attempt here has been to indicate some of the partial equivalents -for such an utterance which may be traced in classical literature. A -student of antiquity must always in one sense, resemble the wistful -Florentine who, with Virgil for his guide, explored the threefold realm -beyond the grave. His converse is with the few, the spirits signal for -good or for evil in their time; the shades of the great soldiers pass -before him,—he can scan them closely, and imagine how each bore -himself in the hour of defeat or victory on earth; he can know the -counsels of statesmen, and even share the meditations of their -leisure; the poets and the philosophers are present: but around and -beyond these are the nameless nations of the dead, the multitudes who -passed through the ancient world and left no memorial. With these -dim populations he can hold no direct communion; it is much as if at -times the great movements which agitated them are descried by him as -the surging of a shadowy crowd, or if the accents of their anguish or -triumph are borne from afar as the sound of many waters. So much the -more, those few clear voices which still come from the past are never -more significant than when they interpret the popular mind of their -generation. The modern development of representative institutions -has invested the collective sentiment of communities with power of a -kind to which antiquity can furnish no proper parallel. But this fact -cannot dispense the student of history from listening for the echoes -of the market-place. And such attention cannot fail to quicken our -sense of the inestimable gain which has accrued to modern life through -journalism. It is easy to forget the magnitude of a benefit when its -operation has become regular and familiar. The influence of the press -may sometimes be abused; its tone may sometimes be objectionable. -But take these three things—quickness in seeking and supplying -information,—continual vigilance of comment,—electric sympathy of -social feeling: where in the ancient world do we find these things -as national characteristics, except in so far as they were gifts of -nature to the small community of ancient Athens—gifts to which her -best literature owes so much of its incomparable freshness and of -its imperishable charm? It is mainly due to the agency of the press -that these things are now found throughout the world,—these, which, -in all lands where man has risen above barbarism, are the surest -safeguards of civilization and the ultimate pledges of constitutional -freedom.—<i>Fortnightly Review.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap space-above1" /> -<h2>THREE GLIMPSES OF A NEW ENGLAND VILLAGE.</h2> - -<p>Does the reader chance to know that bit of England round about -Haslemere, but an hour and a half’s journey from the heart of London, -where three counties meet, and the traveller may see at a glance, from -many a hill-top, the most rich and beautiful parts of Sussex, the -wildest and most picturesque of Surrey and Hampshire? At his feet lies -spread the weald of Sussex, whilst the dark wooded promontories and -long purple ridges of Blackdown, Marley, and Ironhill curve round or -jut out into this broad sea of fertility, and the distant South Downs -close the view with wavy outline and fluted sides, bare of everything -save fine turf, nibbling sheep, and the shadows of the clouds. Turning -round, Surrey culminates, as it were, in Hind Head, with triple -summit—no mere hill, but a miniature mountain in bold individuality of -form. And when he climbs this vantage-ground, Hampshire lies unfolded -before him as well as Surrey; Wolmer Forest—forest no longer, but -brown moorland; ranges of chalk hills, conspicuous among them one with -a white scar on its dark flank, which hides Selborne amid its trees; -solemn distances seen against the sunset sky, clothed with a deep -purple bloom, which haunt the memory like a strain of noble music.</p> - -<p>No less beautiful and strikingly similar in general character is -that part of Western Massachusetts wherein stands our New England -village—Northampton—village in size and rural aspect, though the -capital of Hampshire county. But the New England valley has one -advantage over the weald of Sussex in its broad and beautiful river, -with Indian name, Connecticut—Quonnektacut, the long river—which -winds through it. Mount Holyoke and Mount Tom, the Sugar Loaf and the -Pelham range are its Blackdown, Marley, Hind Head, and South Downs. -These hills are a couple of hundred feet or so higher than their -English prototypes, ranging from 1000 to 1300 feet above the sea, and -their old ribs are of harder and more ancient stuff than the chalk and -greensand of the South Downs and Surrey hills; witness the granite or -rather gneiss boulders scattered broadcast over the land, sometimes in -rugged upright masses, looking like some grey ruin, sometimes in small -rounded fragments, bestrewing the uplands like a flock of sheep, and -more rarely the black and still harder blocks of trap. In the museum -at Amherst, just over the river, are preserved slabs with the famous -bird-tracks—colossal footprints two feet long, found in the trias of -this part of the Connecticut valley—all tending to prove that the sun -shone down upon dry land here for some ages whilst the mother-country -was still mostly a waste of waters; and that, geologically speaking, -and so far as these parts at any rate are concerned, New England is -old, and old England new, by comparison. Broad, fertile, level meadows -border the river, and the hills are richly clothed with chestnut, -birch, hemlock (somewhat like the yew in aspect), hickory (a kind of -walnut), beech, oak, etc. It is hard to say whether the likeness or the -unlikeness to an English landscape strikes the traveller more. There -is the all-pervading difference of a dry and brilliant atmosphere, -which modifies both form and color, substituting the sharp-edged and -definite for the vague and rounded in distant objects, and brilliancy -and distinctness of hue for depth and softness. Apart, too, from the -brilliant and searching light, the leaves are absolutely of a lighter -green, and grow in a less dense and solid mass; the foliage looks more -feathery, the tree more spiral. Especially is this so with the American -oak, which has neither the dome-like head, the sturdiness of bough, nor -the dark bluish-green foliage of the English oak. If it be spring-time, -no gorse is to be seen with golden blossom set among matted thorns, -perfuming the sunshine; but everywhere abounding masses of the delicate -pink-clustered, odorless, warlike kalmia, called there laurel, and -growing to the full size of our laurels; and more shyly hidden, the -lovely azalea or swamp-pink, as the country people call it. Instead of -the daisy, the delicate little Housatonia, like Venus’ looking-glass -but growing singly, stars the ground; and for fragrance we must -stoop down and seek the pale pink clusters of the trailing arbutus -or May-flower, which richly reward the seeker. In July we miss -the splendid purpling of the hills with heather blossom; but the -pink spikes of the hardhack abound; gay lilies, lady’s earrings, -blue-fringed gentians, glowing cardinal flowers (<i>Lobelia cardinalis</i>), -with slender petals of a deeper crimson than the salvia, and a host -more new friends, or old friends with new ways grown democratic as -befits them, scatter their beauty freely by the wayside and the margins -of the brooks, instead of setting up as exclusives of the garden.</p> - -<p>Nor are the differences less marked in the aspect of the cultivated -land. The fertile valley has perhaps a look of greater breadth from -not being intersected with hedges and having few fences of any kind, -one crop growing beside another, and one owner’s beside another’s, -like different beds in a nursery-garden. But the effect of these large -undivided fields is to dwarf the appearance of the crops themselves. -The patches of tall tasselled Indian corn, the white-blossomed -buckwheat, and large-leaved tobacco, look diminutive. No haystacks, no -wheat-ricks are to be seen; only here and there a lonely, prison-like -tobacco barn or drying-house, full of narrow loopholes to let in air -without light. Everything else is housed in the big barn that adjoins -the farmhouse, which stands, not amid its own fields, but on the -outskirts of the nearest town or village. Of wheat little is grown; -of root-crops still less, for sheep-farming is not in favor. Tobacco, -with its large, glossy dark leaves, like those of the mangel-wurzel, -thrives well on the rich alluvial soil of the Connecticut valley; but, -fluctuating as it is in value, exhaustive of the soil, and easily -damaged by weather, the great gains of one year are often more than -counterbalanced by the losses of the next. The Indian corn remains -long upon the ground in autumn after it is cut, to ripen in stooks, -much as beans do with us; and then come to light the pumpkins which -were sown amongst it, and now lie basking and glowing in the sun -like giant oranges. Glowing, too, in the splendid sunshine, are the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> -apple-orchards, laden with fruit half as large and quite as red -as full-blown peonies. Never, even in the vale of Evesham or -Herefordshire, have I seen any so beautiful.</p> - -<p>As to the living creatures—feathered, four legged, or no-legged—there -are some conspicuous differences which it does not take a naturalist -to discover. Ten to one, indeed, if we come upon a rattlesnake; but a -few are still left in snug corners of Mount Holyoke and Mount Tom, as -anxious to avoid us as we them. The lively little chipmunk, diminutive -first cousin to the squirrel, with black stripe along the back, is -sure to make our acquaintance, for his kind seems as multitudinous -as the rabbit with us, and is a worse foe to the farmer, because he -has more audacity and a taste for the kernels of things, instead of -merely the leaves. Strange new sounds greet the ear from katydid -“working her chromatic reed”; from bull-frog with deep low, almost a -roar; from grasshoppers and locusts, whose loud brassy whirr resounds -all through the sunny hours with such persistency it seems at last a -very part of the hot sunshine. The chirp of our grasshoppers is the -mere ghost of a sound in comparison. At night fireflies glance in and -out of the darkness; and, if we remain under the trees, mosquitoes -soon make us unpleasantly aware of their existence. As to the birds, -the flame-colored oriole, the delicately shaped blue-bird, flit by -now and then as flashes of surprise and delight from the south; the -rose-breasted grossbeak has a sweet note; the robin, not round as a -ball and fierce and saucy, but grown tall, and slim, and mild—his -breast not so red, his song not so sweet, his eye not so bright—is -there. He is indeed a robin only in name,—really a species of -thrush. A cheerful twittering, chirping, whistling, the tuning of the -orchestra, a short sweet snatch or two of song I heard; but the steady, -long-sustained outpour of rich melody from throats never weary, the -chorus trilling joyously, with which our woods and hedgerows resound -in spring and early summer, I listened for in vain. Perhaps the -pathlessness of the woods and hills prevented my penetrating to the -secluded haunts of the sweetest singers, such as the hermit-thrush, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> -I speak only of New England. Remembering what John Burroughs has said -on the subject, I will not venture to generalize the comparison.</p> - -<h3>GLIMPSE THE FIRST.</h3> - -<p>About two hundred and forty years ago, towards the close of Cromwell’s -life, and thirty-four years after the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, -the Boston and Plymouth Settlement found itself vigorous enough to -send out offshoots; and having heard from the Dutch settlers of New -York of this rich and well-watered valley discovered by them in 1614, -the General Court appointed John Pynchon, Elizur Holyoke, and Samuel -Chapin of Springfield, settled seventeen years before, to negotiate -with the Indians for that tract of land called Nonotuck, where now -stand six small towns and villages, chief and first built of which was -Northampton. The price paid was a hundred fathoms of wampum (equal -to about £20), ten coats, some small gifts, and the ploughing up of -sixteen acres on the east side of the river. Wampum (Indian for white) -consisted of strings of beads made of white shells and <i>suckauhock</i> -black or blue money, of black or purple shells. Both were used for more -purposes than trading with the Indians, coin being scarce. Eight white -and four black beads were worth a penny; and a man as often took out -a string of beads as a purse to pay an innkeeper or a ferryman, or to -balance a trading account.</p> - -<p>But Nonotuck was paid for with a good deal besides the wampum and -the ploughing. For a hundred and twenty-four years there was almost -incessant warfare with the Indians. Treacherous ambuscades lay in wait -for the trader on his journey, stealthy dark-skinned assassins for -the solitary husbandman, and not a few of these fertile fields were -watered by the blood of its first tillers. He carried his weapons with -him to his work and to the meeting-house, and expressed his gratitude -for hair-breadth escapes, Puritan fashion, by the pious names he gave -his children. Preserved Clapp, Submit Grout, Comfort Domo, Thankful -Medad, are names that figure in the records of this and the neighboring -villages; where we read also that one Praise-Ever Turner, and his -servant Uzackaby Shakspeare, were killed by the Indians. Within sight -of Northampton it was, just over the river, in the sister settlement -of Hadley,—that beautiful old village, with street eighteen rods -wide, set with a double avenue of superb elms, greensward in the -middle and a road on either side, looking more like the entrance to -a fine park than a village street,—here it was that a “deliverance” -occurred, long believed by the people to have been miraculous. One -Sunday, when nearly the whole scant population was gathered for worship -in the meeting-house, a large body of Indians fell upon them, and, -what with the panic and the want of a leader, all seemed lost, when -a majestic, venerable figure, dressed in a strange rich garb, fully -armed, appeared suddenly in their midst, assumed the command, rallied -their scattered numbers, and led them on to victory; then vanished as -suddenly as he had appeared, no man knew where or whence.<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> -No man but one—Mr. Russell, the minister. This venerable -apparition was Goffe, once a general in Cromwell’s army, and, like -Whalley his companion in exile, one of the judges who condemned -Charles to death, now forced, even in that far land, to hide for his -life, since an active quest was maintained, in obedience to the Home -Government for both Goffe and Whalley. For twelve years did good Mr. -Russell shelter them, unknown to all but his own family. Whalley died -in his house; but Goffe subsequently disappeared, and the rest of his -career is unknown.</p> - -<p>Altogether the hardy band found ample scope for carrying into practice -the noble maxim of the Pilgrim Fathers rehearsed at Leyden: “All great -and honorable actions are accompanied with great difficulties, and -must be enterprised and overcome with answerable courages.” In order -to secure protection from Indians and wolves, the little community -built its dwellings, not each isolated on its own farm-lands, but side -by side, so as to form at once the main street; each house having its -“home lot” or strip of “interval,” as the rich meadow-land stretching -down to the river was called, and its “wood-lot” on the hillside. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -Having chosen her “select men to direct all the fundamental affairs -of the town, to prevent anything which they judge shall be of damage, -and to order anything which shall be for the good of the town; to -hear complaints, arbitrate controversies, lay out highways, see to -the scouring of ditches, the killing of wolves, and the training -of children,” Northampton proceeded at once to build herself a -meeting-house “of sawen timber 26 feet long and 18 feet wide,” for the -sum of £14 sterling, to be paid in work or corn. There was no clock in -the settlement; so the worshippers were called together, sometimes by -a large cow-bell, sometimes by drum, and finally by trumpet, for the -blowing of which Jedediah Strong had a salary of eighteen shillings -a year. There was no minister for some years; and more finding in -themselves a vocation for preaching than for listening, or at any rate -for criticising than for meekly imbibing, disputes arose, the General -Court was appealed to, and its decision enforced that the service -should consist, besides praying and singing, of “the reading aloud -of known godly and orthodox books;” and for those who failed to obey -with seemly decorum the summons of Mr. Jedediah Strong’s trumpet, -severe was the chastisement. Joe Leonard and Sam Harmon, for instance, -“who were seen to whip and whisk one another with a stick before the -meeting-house door,” were fined five shillings; and Daniel, “for -idle watching about and not coming to the ordinances of the Lord,” -was adjudged worthy of stripes to the number “of five, <i>well laid -on</i>.” In 1672 the town voted that there be some sticks set up in the -“meeting-house, with fit persons placed near, to use them as occasion -shall require, to keep the youth from disorder.” Which staves were -fitted with a hare’s foot at one end and his tail at the other; the -former to give a hard rap to misbehaving boys, the latter a gentle -reminder to sleeping women.</p> - -<p>Something besides repression was done, however, for the benefit of -the youth of Northampton. The first school was started in 1663,—the -master to receive £6 a year and his charges for tuition. Bridges were -built and roads made by calling out every man to labor according to his -estate; and those who did not labor paid in grain at the rate -of half-a-crown a-day for exemption. For more than sixty years -Northampton had no doctor, only a “bone-setter”: on the whole, a lucky -circumstance, perhaps, considering what were the remedies then chiefly -in vogue. Sylvester Judd, from whose “History of Hadley,” and also -from Dr. Holland’s “History of Western Massachusetts,” the foregoing -details have been gathered, gives a curious list, taken from medical -prescriptions of the time:—the fat of a wild cat, blood of a goat, of -an ass, of a white pigeon taken from under the wing, the tongue and -lungs of a fox, liver of an eel and of a wolf, horns of a bug (beetle), -teeth of a sea-horse, bone from the heart of a stag, the left foot of a -tortoise, &c.</p> - -<p>After the Indian and the French and Indian wars were over, there was -but a short interval of rest before the War of Independence began. The -long rugged battle with the savage and the wilderness had done its -work well in training men for the struggle which was to sunder all -bonds, and convert the colony into a new nation, master of its own -destiny. Northampton was not the scene of any battles; but bore its -part in furnishing some brave and leading men, and money, or money’s -worth, to the army. After the war was over, came a time of depression -and disorganization in public affairs and in trade, which culminated -hereabouts in what is known as Shays’ Rebellion, so named from its -leader; but it was soon quelled, and peace and prosperity settled down -upon Northampton and upon the whole land.</p> - -<h3>GLIMPSE THE SECOND.</h3> - -<p>If we lift a corner of the veil of time at the opening of the present -century, we find our handful of settlers become a population of -4000,—there was no immigration in those days to swell the numbers by -thousands and tens of thousands at a blow,—and possessed of resources -for their social and intellectual welfare pretty much on a par with -those of an English country town at that date of the same size: a -little behind still in material comforts and luxuries, a little ahead -in the amount of mental activity and the spirit of progress generated -partly by more complete self-dependence, by the great and stirring -times men had just passed through, and by hereditary influence from the -parent stock, which was the pick of Old England in these qualities. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>The spirit of fellowship thrives where all are fellow-workers. There -comes, it would seem, a happy transition time between the struggles, -privations, isolation of the pioneers, and the wealth, luxury, and -poverty (grim skeleton in the cupboard of advancing prosperity), -when there yet remains a good measure of that sense of neighborship -necessarily developed, when no man is independent of the free help -and good-will of others, no man is born with a silver spoon in his -mouth,—a time, in short, when sociability is and “society” is not, -and those to whom the lines have fallen in pleasant places can stretch -out a friendly hand to the less fortunate without suspicion of -condescension or patronage.</p> - -<p>For sample, we will take a single group, the door of whose hospitable -house has been set open for us by the privately printed memoirs of Mrs -Anne Jean Lyman. The inmates are a judge, his wife, and a large family -of children of all ages, for he has been twice married. The judge is -a genuine product of the soil, his family having for at least three -generations back been settled in Northampton. His wife, who is from -the neighborhood of Boston, of Scotch ancestry on one side, and on the -other descended from Anne Hutchinson (the eloquent woman-preacher, who, -banished for heterodoxy from their settlement by the Pilgrim Fathers, -was killed by the Indians in 1643), may be taken as a good but typical -instance of the New England woman of that day—capable, practical, -aspiring, intellectual, friendly above all.</p> - -<p>There are no stirring adventures, no record of any achievements of -genius in these memoirs, but the unpretending pages reflect a clear -image of two fine characters, well adjusted to the social conditions -amid which they lived. Both had beauty and dignity of person, warm -sympathies, good brains, abundant energy, and a spirit of hospitality -which made their home the focus where the worth and intellect of -the village were wont to gather and to shine brightest and warmest. -Northampton has now its row of thriving stores, to which the people -from neighboring villages flock on market-days, making a cheerful -bustle. The elms, planted by the pioneers on either side the street, -from the boughs of one of which Jonathan Edwards had preached to the -Indians, now spread a goodly shade. A four-horse stage from Boston, -ninety miles distant, comes in every evening with bugle horn sounding -gaily. The driver is the personal friend of the whole town, for his -tenacious memory never lets slip a single message or commission—save -on one memorable occasion, when he forgot to bring back his wife who -had been visiting in Boston, and so furnished the village with a -long-enduring joke. The social judge, when he hears the horn, takes -his hat and with alert step and cheerful face, glowing in the evening -light, hastens to Warner’s Tavern where the coach draws up, to welcome -the arrivals and bring any friend who may be among them to his own -home—and any stranger too, who seems in ill-health or sorrow, and -not likely to be made comfortable at an inn. When the judge and his -wife go yearly to Boston, a throng of neighbors flock into the library -overnight, where the packing goes on, not only to take an affectionate -leave, but to bring parcels of every size and commissions of every -variety,—a pattern with request to bring back dresses for a family -of five; and “could they go to the orphan asylum and see if a good -child of ten could be bound out till she was eighteen? and if so, -bring her back.” One requests them to call and see a sick mother at -Sudbury, another a sick sister at Ware. Finally, a little boy, with -bundle as large as himself, asks “if this would be too big to carry -to grandmother?” “I’ll carry anything short of a cooking-stove,” says -the kind lady; and wherever the stage stops to change horses, she runs -round to hunt up the sick friend or deliver the parcel.</p> - -<p>Here is a picture, in brief, of a day of home-life at a later period -when the children are mostly grown up and the judge has retired from -the Bench. It is the grey dawn of a summer’s day, and the mother is -already up and doing, while the rest of her large family, all but the -husband, are still asleep. Dressed in short skirt and white <i>sacque</i>, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> -she goes with broom and duster to her parlor and dining-room, opens -wide the windows to the sweet morning air and the song of the birds, -and puts all in order. At six o’clock she calls up her two maids, puts -on her morning-dress and white cap, takes the large work-basket that -always stands handy in the corner—for she mends not only for the -family but for the maids and the hired man—and works till breakfast, -when often fifteen or twenty cheerful souls assemble round the table. -After which, with help of children and grandchildren, the dishes are -swiftly washed, the table cleared, and husband and wife are then -wont to take their seat at the front door, that they may greet the -passer-by or send messages to neighbors: she with the work-basket -and the book that always lay handy under the work—some essay, poem, -history, novel (for she is an omnivorous reader, and her letters -intelligently discuss current literary topics)—or with the peas and -beans to shell and string for dinner; he with the newspaper. Among the -passers-by with whom they chat come, at certain seasons of the year, -the judges of the Supreme Court and other notable men,—Baron Renné, -Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, Emerson, too, while he was yet a young -unknown Unitarian minister. Seldom does the large family sit down to -dinner without guests, for any one who drops in is asked to stay, or -some wearied-looking passer-by is pressed to step in. In the afternoon -the mother’s chosen seat is at the window of the west parlor looking -towards the hills, and then the young people flock around while she -reads aloud through the long summer afternoons. All must share in -her enjoyment, and often is the wayfarer, some “good neighbor” or -“intellectual starveling,” beckoned in “just to hear this rich passage -we are reading—it won’t take long.” If she finds any with a strong -desire for knowledge, she never rests till the means to supply the want -are found, and more than one youth of promise afterwards fulfilled owed -his first good chance in life to this wise, generous-hearted woman.</p> - -<h3>GLIMPSE THE THIRD.</h3> - -<p>Northampton to-day carries her two hundred and thirty odd years -lightly, and, save for the lofty and venerable elms, looks as young as -the youngest of towns. How, indeed, can anything but the trees ever -look old in America, since the atmosphere does not furnish old Time -with moisture enough to write the record of his flight in grey tones -and weather stains, and lichens, and worn and crumbling edges? -Hawthorne’s “old manse” at Concord was the only ancient-looking house I -saw. Either it had never been painted, or the paint was all worn off, -and so the wooden walls had taken a silver-grey color, and, with its -picturesque situation close to the Concord river and by the side of the -field in which was fought the first battle in the War of Independence, -it well deserves the honor and renown that have settled on it, both -as associated with Emerson’s ancestors, his own early days, and with -Hawthorne’s romance. But in general the yearly fresh coat of paint is a -sort of new birth to the old houses, which makes them indistinguishable -from modern ones, wood being still the material used in country-places -for detached houses. But step inside some one or two of these pretty -modest-looking cottages, under the shade of the Northampton elms, and -you will find the low ceiling, the massive beams, small doors and -windows, corner cupboards, and queer ups and downs along the passages, -which tell that they were put up by hands long since mouldered in the -grave, and make you feel as if you were at home again in some old Essex village.</p> - -<p>Socially, the little town may be regarded as a kind of Cranford—but -Cranford with a difference. There is the same preponderance of maiden -ladies and widows—for what should the men do there? New England -farming is a very slow and unprofitable affair compared with farming -in the West, and there are no manufactures of any importance. There -are the same tea-parties, with a solitary beau in the centre, “like -the one white flower in the middle of a nosegay;” the same modest -goodness, kindliness, refinement, making the best of limited means and -of restricted interests. But even under these conditions the spirit -of enterprise and of public spirit lurks in an American Cranford, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> -strikes out boldly in some direction or other. What would Miss Jenkyns -have said to the notion of a college which should embody the most -advanced ideas for giving young women precisely the same educational -opportunities as young men? She would justly have felt that it was -enough to make Dr. Johnson turn in his grave. Yet such a scheme has -been realized by one of the maiden ladies of Northampton or its -immediate neighborhood, in Smith College—a really noble institution; -where, also, the experiment is being tried of housing the students, -not in one large building, but in a cluster of pretty-looking, -moderate-sized homes, standing amid lawn and garden, where they are -allowed, under certain restrictions, to enter into and receive the -society of the village, so that their lives may not be a too monotonous -routine and “grind.”</p> - -<p>Another maiden lady has achieved a still more remarkable success, -for she had no wealth of her own to enable her to carry out her -idea—which was, to perfect and to introduce on a large scale the -method, devised in Spain some hundred years ago, developed by Heinicke, -a German, by Bell of Edinburgh, and by his son, in a system of “visible -speech,”—for enabling the deaf and dumb to speak, not with the fingers -but the voice, dumb no longer, and to hear with the eyes, so to speak, -by reading the movements of the lips. Miss Harriet Rogers, who had -never witnessed this method in operation, began by teaching a few -pupils privately till her success induced a generous inhabitant of -Northampton, Mr. Clarke, to come forward with £10,000 to found a Deaf -and Dumb Institution, of which her little school formed the nucleus, -and her unwearied devotion and special gifts the animating soul. Step -into a class-room in one of these cheerful looking houses, surrounded -by gay flower borders and well-kept lawns, standing on a hill just -outside the town,—for here, too, the plan of a group of buildings has -been adopted. About twenty children, boys and girls, are ranged, their -faces eagerly looking towards a lady who stands on a raised platform. -Her presence conveys a sense of that gentle yet resistless power which -springs from a firm will, combined with a rich measure of sympathy and -affection. She raises her hand a little way, and then moves it slowly -along in a horizontal direction. The children open their mouths -and utter a deep sustained tone, a plaintive, minor, wild, yet not -unmusical sound. She raises it a little higher, and again moves it -slowly along. The children immediately raise the pitch of their voices -and sustain a higher tone. Again the voices, following the hand, -sustain a yet higher, almost a shrill note. Then the hand waves up -and down rapidly, and the tones faithfully follow its lead in swift -transition, till they seem lost in a maze of varying inflexions; but -always the voices are obedient to the waving hand. The teacher then -makes a round O with thumb and forefinger, gradually parting them -like the opening of the mouth. This is the sign for crescendo and -diminuendo. The voices begin softly, swell into a great volume of -sound, then die away again, still with those peculiar plaintive tones; -yet much do the children seem to enjoy the exercise, though, to most -of them, remember, the room is all the while soundless as the grave. -They learn to vary the pitch of their voices partly by feeling with -the hand the vibrations of the throat and chest,—quick and in the -throat for high tones, slow and in the chest for low ones—partly by -help of Bell’s written signs, which represent the position peculiar -to each sound of the various organs of speech—throat, tongue, lips, -back of the mouth, &c. This was a class of beginners chiefly learning -to develop and control their hitherto unused voices. Inexhaustible is -the patience, wonderful the tact employed by Miss Rogers and her able -assistants in the far more difficult task of teaching actual speech. -A small percentage of the children will prove too slow and blunt of -perception ever to master it, and will have to be sent where the old -finger alphabet is still the method in use. Some, on the other hand, -will succeed so brilliantly that it will be impossible for a stranger -to detect that they were once deaf-mutes,—that they seize your words -with their eyes, not with their ears, and have never heard the sound of -human speech, though they can speak. And the great bulk will return to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> -their homes capable of understanding in the main what is going on -around them, and of making themselves intelligible to their friends -without recourse to signs.</p> - -<p>Our actual Cranford over the sea, then, has a considerable -advantage over the Cranford of romance, in that her heroines do -not wait for the (in fiction) inevitable, faithful, long-absent, -mysteriously-returning-at-the-right-moment lover to redeem their lives -from triviality, and renew their faded bloom. And, in the present state -of the world’s affairs, what is more needed than the single woman who -succeeds in making her life worth living, honorably independent, and -of value to others? Through such will certainly be given new scope and -impetus to the development of woman generally, and in the long run, -therefore, good results for all.</p> - -<p>Among the solid achievements of Northampton must also be mentioned an -excellent free library, with spacious airy reading-room, such as any -city might be proud of. There is also a State lunatic asylum, with -large farm attached, which not only supplies the most restorative -occupation for those of the inmates who are capable of work, but -defrays all the expenses of the institution, with an occasional surplus -for improvements.</p> - -<p>If I were asked what, after some years spent in America, impressed me -most unexpectedly, I should say of the people, as of the New England -landscape, So like! yet so different! I speak, of course, not of -superficial differences, but of mental physiognomy and temperament. -Given new conditions of climate, soil, space, with their subtle, slow, -yet deep and sure modifying influences,—new qualities to the pleasures -of life, new qualities to its pains and struggles, new social and -political conditions, new mixing of old races, different antecedents, -the primitive wrestle with nature by a people not primitive -but inheriting the habits and characteristics of advanced -civilization,—and how can there but result the shaping of a new race -out of old world stock, a fresh instrument in the great orchestra of -humanity? Indicate these differences, these traits! says the impatient -reader. They are too subtle for words, like the perfume of flowers, the -flavor of fruit,—too much intermingled with individual qualities also, -at any rate for mere descriptive words, though no doubt in time the -imaginative literature of America will creatively embody them.</p> - -<p>One lesson whoever has lived in, not merely travelled through -America, must learn perforce. It is that the swift steamers, bringing -a succession of more or less keen observers, the telegrams and -newspapers, which we fondly imagine annihilate space and make us fully -cognizant of the character and affairs of our far-off kindred are by -no means such wonder-workers. In spite of newspapers, and telegrams, -and travellers, and a common language and ancestry, we are full of -misconceptions about each other. Nay, I found the actual condition of -my own country drift slowly out of intelligible sight after a year or -two’s absence. Even if every word uttered and printed were true, that -which gives them their significance cannot be so transmitted; whilst -the great forces that are shaping and building up a people’s life and -character work silently beneath the surface, so that truly may it be -said of a nation, as of an individual, “The heart knoweth its own -bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its joy.” Save by the -help of vital literature—in that, at last, the souls of the nations -speak to one another.—<i>Blackwood’s Magazine.</i></p> - -<div><a name="last_words"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>LAST WORDS ABOUT AGNOSTICISM AND THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY.</h2> -<p class="center space-below1"><b>BY HERBERT SPENCER.</b></p> - -<p>Those who expected from Mr. Harrison an interesting rejoinder to -my reply, will not be disappointed. Those who looked for points -skilfully made, which either are, or seem to be, telling, will be fully -satisfied. Those who sought pleasure from witnessing a display of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> -literary power, will close his article gratified with the hour they -have spent over it. Those only will be not altogether contented who -supposed that my outspoken criticism of Mr. Harrison’s statements and -views, would excite him to an unusual display of that trenchant style -for which he is famous; since he has, for the most part, continued the -discussion with calmness. After saying thus much it may seem that some -apology is needed for continuing a controversy of which many, if not -most, readers, have by this time become weary. But gladly as I would -leave the matter where it stands, alike to save my own time and others’ -attention, there are sundry motives which forbid me. Partly my excuse -must be the profound importance and perennial interest of the questions -raised. Partly I am prompted by the consideration that it is a pity to -cease just when a few more pages will make clear sundry of the issues, -and leave readers in a better position for deciding. Partly it seems -to me wrong to leave grave misunderstandings unrectified. And partly -I am reluctant on personal grounds to pass by some of Mr. Harrison’s -statements unnoticed.</p> - -<p>One of these statements, indeed, it would be imperative on me to -notice, since it reflects on me in a serious way. Speaking of the -<i>Descriptive Sociology</i>, which contains a large part (though by no -means all) of the evidence used in the <i>Principles of Sociology</i>, and -referring to the compilers who, under my superintendence, selected the -materials forming that work, Mr. Harrison says:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> Of course these intelligent gentlemen had -little difficulty in clipping from hundreds of books about foreign -races sentences which seem to support Mr. Spencer’s doctrines. The -whole proceeding is too much like that of a famous lawyer who wrote -a law book, and then gave it to his pupils to find the “cases” which -supported his law.</p> - -<p>Had Mr. Harrison observed the dates, he would have seen that since -the compilation of the <i>Descriptive Sociology</i> was commenced in -1867 and the writing of the <i>Principles of Sociology</i> in 1874, the -parallel he draws is not altogether applicable: the fact being that the -<i>Descriptive Sociology</i> was commenced seven years in advance for the -purpose (as stated in the preface) of obtaining adequate materials for -generalizations: sundry of which, I may remark in passing, have -been quite at variance with my pre-conceptions.<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a> -I think that on consideration, Mr. Harrison will regret having made -so grave an insinuation without very good warrant; and he has no -warrant. Charity would almost lead one to suppose that he was not fully -conscious of its implications when he wrote the above passage; for he -practically cancels them immediately afterwards. He says:—“But -of course one can find in this medley of tables almost any view. And I -find facts which make for my view as often as any other.” How this last -statement consists with the insinuation that what Mr. Harrison calls a -“medley” of tables contains evidence vitiated by special selection of -facts, it is difficult to understand. If the purpose was to justify a -foregone conclusion, how does it happen that there are (according to -Mr. Harrison) as many facts which make against it as there are facts -which make for it?</p> - -<p>The question here incidentally raised concerns the primitive religious -idea. Which is the original belief, fetichism or the ghost-theory? -The answer should profoundly interest all who care to understand -the course of human thought; and I shall therefore not apologize for -pursuing the question a little further.</p> - -<hr class="r25" /> - -<p>Having had them counted, I find that in those four parts of the -<i>Descriptive Sociology</i> which give accounts of the uncivilized races, -there are 697 extracts which refer to the ghost-theory: illustrating -the belief in a wandering double which goes away during sleep, or -fainting, or other form of insensibility, and deserts the body for a -longer period at death,—a double which can enter into and possess -other persons, causing disease, epilepsy, insanity, etc., which -gives rise to ideas of spirits, demons, etc., and which originates -propitiation and worship of ghosts. On the other hand there are 87 -extracts which refer to the worship of inanimate objects or belief in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> -their supernatural powers. Now even did these 87 extracts support -Mr. Harrison’s view, this ratio of 8 to 1 would hardly justify his -statement that the facts “make for my [his] view as often as any -other.” But these 87 extracts do not make for his view. To get proof -that the inanimate objects are worshipped for themselves simply, -instances must be found in which such objects are worshipped among -peoples who have no ghost-theory; for wherever the ghost-theory -exists it comes into play and originates those supernatural powers -which certain objects are supposed to have. When by unrelated tribes -scattered all over the world, we find it held that the souls of the -dead are supposed to haunt the neighboring forests—when we learn -that the Karen thinks “the spirits of the departed dead crowd around -him;”<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> -that the Society Islanders imagined spirits -“surrounded them night and day watching every action;”<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> -that the Nicobar people annually compel “all the bad spirits to leave the dwelling;”<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> -that an Arab never throws anything away without asking forgiveness of the -Efrits he may strike;<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> -and that the Jews thought it was because of the multitudes of spirits -in synagogues that “the dress of the Rabbins become so soon old and -torn through their rubbing;”<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a> -when we find the accompanying belief to be that ghosts or spirits are -capable of going into, and emerging from, solid bodies in general, as -well as the bodies of the quick and the dead; it becomes obvious that -the presence of one of these spirits swarming around, and capable of -injuring or benefiting living persons, becomes a sufficient reason for -propitiating an object it is assumed to have entered: the most trivial -peculiarity sufficing to suggest possession—such possession -being, indeed, in some cases conceived as universal, as by the Eskimo, -who think every object is ruled by “its or his, <i>inuk</i>, which word -signifies “<i>man</i>,” and also <i>owner</i> or <i>inhabitant</i>.”<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> -Such being the case, there can be no proof that the worship of the -objects themselves was primordial, unless it is found to exist where -the ghost-theory has not arisen; and I know no instance showing that -it does so. But while those facts given in the <i>Descriptive Sociology</i> -which imply worship of inanimate objects, or ascription of supernatural -powers to them, fail to support Mr. Harrison’s view, because always -accompanied by the ghost-theory, sundry of them directly negative his -view. There is the fact that an echo is regarded as the voice of the -fetich; there is the fact that the inhabiting spirit of the fetich -is supposed to “enjoy the savory smell” of meat roasted before it; -and there is the fact that the fetich is supposed to die and may be -revived. Further, there is the summarized statement made by Beecham, -an observer of fetichism in the region where it is supposed to be -specially exemplified, who says that:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> The fetiches are believed to be spiritual, -intelligent beings, who make the remarkable objects of nature their -residence, or enter occasionally into the images and other artificial -representations, which have been duly consecrated by certain -ceremonies.... They believe that these fetiches are of both sexes, and -that they require food. </p> - -<p>These statements are perfectly in harmony with the conclusion that -fetichism is a development of the ghost-theory, and altogether -incongruous with the interpretation of fetichism which Mr. Harrison -accepts from Comte.</p> - -<p>Already I have named the fact that Dr. Tylor, who has probably read -more books about uncivilized peoples than any Englishman living or -dead, has concluded that fetichism is a form of spirit-worship, and -that (to give quotations relevant to the present issue)</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>To class an object as a fetish, demands explicit statement that -a spirit is considered as embodied in it or acting through it or -communicating by it.<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a></p> - -<p> ... A further stretch of imagination enables the lower races to -associate the souls of the dead with mere objects.<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a></p> - -<p> ... The spirits which enter or otherwise attach themselves to -objects may be human souls. Indeed, one of the most natural cases of -the fetish-theory is when a soul inhabits or haunts the relics of its -former body.<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> -Here I may add an opinion to like effect which Dr. Tylor quotes from -the late Prof. Waitz, also an erudite anthropologist. He says:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> “According to his [the negro’s] view, a spirit -dwells or can dwell in every sensible object, and often a very great -and mighty one in an insignificant thing. This spirit he does not -consider as bound fast and unchangeably to the corporeal thing it -dwells in, but it has only its usual or principal abode in it.”<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a></p> - -<p>Space permitting I might add evidence furnished by Sir Alfred Lyall, -who, in his valuable papers published in the <i>Fortnightly Review</i> -years ago on religion in India, has given the results of observations -made there. Writing to me from the North-West provinces under date -August 1, in reference to the controversy between Mr. Harrison and -myself, he incloses copies of a letter and accompanying memorandum -from the magistrate of Gorakhpur, in verification of the doctrine -that ghost-worship is the “chief source and origin” of religion. Not, -indeed, that I should hope by additional evidences to convince Mr. -Harrison. When I point to the high authority of Dr. Tylor as on the -side of the ghost-theory, Mr. Harrison says—“If Dr. Tylor has finally -adopted it, I am sorry.” And now I suppose that when I cite these -further high authorities on the same side, he will simply say -again “I am sorry,” and continue to believe as before.</p> - -<p>In respect of the fetichism distinguishable as nature-worship, -Mr. Harrison relies much on the Chinese. He says:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> The case of China is decisive. There we have -a religion of vast antiquity and extent, perfectly clear and well -ascertained. It rests entirely on worship of Heaven, and Earth, and -objects of Nature, regarded as organized beings, and not as the abode -of human spirits. </p> - -<p>Had I sought for a case of “a religion of vast antiquity and extent, -perfectly clear and well ascertained,” which illustrates origin from -the ghost-theory, I should have chosen that of China; where the -State-religion continues down to the present day to be an elaborate -ancestor-worship, where each man’s chief thought in life is to secure -the due making of sacrifices to his ghost after death, and where the -failure of a first wife to bear a son who shall make these sacrifices, -is held a legitimate reason for taking a second. But Mr. Harrison -would, I suppose, say that I had selected facts to fit my hypothesis. -I therefore give him, instead, the testimony of a bystander. Count -D’Alviella has published a <i>brochure</i> concerning these questions on -which Mr. Harrison and I disagree.<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> -In it he says on page 15:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> La thèse de M. Harrison, au contraire,—que -l’homme aurait commencé par l’adoration d’objets matériels “franchement -regardés comme tels,”—nous paraît absolument contraire au -raisonnement et à l’observation. Il cite, à titre d’exemple, l’antique -religion de la Chine, “entièrement basée sur la vénération de la Terre, -du Ciel et des Ancêtres, considérés objectivement et non comme la -residence d’êtres immatériels.” [This sentence is from Mr, Harrison’s -first article, not from his second.] C’est là jouer de malheur, car, -sans même insister sur ce que peuvent être des Ancêtres “considérés -objectivement,” il se trouve précisément que la religion de l’ancien -empire Chinois est le type le plus parfait de l’animisme organise et -qu’elle regarde même les objets matériels, dont elle fait ses dieux, -comme la manifestation inséparable, l’enveloppe ou même le corps -d’esprits invisibles. [Here in a note Count D’Alviella refers to -authorities, notamment Tiele, <i>Manuel de l’Histoire des Religions</i>, -traduit par M. Maurice Vernes, Liv. II, et dans la <i>Revue de -l’Histoire des Religions</i>, la <i>Religion de l’ancien empire Chinois</i> -par M. Julius Happel (t. IV. no. 6).] </p> - -<p>Whether Mr. Harrison’s opinion is or is not changed by this array -of counter-opinion, he may at any rate be led somewhat to qualify -his original statement that “Nothing is more certain than that man -everywhere started with a simple lead worship of natural objects.”</p> - -<p>I pass now to Mr. Harrison’s endeavor to rebut my assertion that he had -demolished a <i>simulacrum</i> and not the reality.</p> - -<p>I pointed out that he had inverted my meaning by representing as -negative that which I regarded as positive. What I have everywhere -referred to as the All-Being, he named the All-Nothingness. What answer -does he make when I show that my position is exactly the reverse of -that alleged? He says that while I am “dealing with transcendental -conceptions, intelligible only to certain trained metaphysicians,” he -is “dealing with religion as it affects the lives of men and women in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> -the world;” that “to ordinary men and women, an unknowable and -inconceivable Reality is practically an Unreality;” and that thus all -he meant to say was that the “Everlasting Yes” of the “evolutionist,” -“is in effect on the public a mere Everlasting No,” (p. 354). Now -compare these passages in his last article with the following passages -in his first article:—“One would like to know how much of the -Evolutionist’s day is consecrated to seeking the Unknowable in a devout -way, and what the religious exercises might be. How does the man of -science approach the All-Nothingness” (p. 502)? Thus we see that what -was at first represented as the unfitness of the creed considered as -offered to the select is now represented as its unfitness considered as -offered to the masses. What were originally the “Evolutionist” and the -“man of science” are now changed into “ordinary men and women” and “the -public;” and what was originally called the All-Nothingness has become -an “inconceivable Reality.” The statement which was to be justified is -not justified but something else is justified in its stead.</p> - -<p>Thus is it, too, with the paragraph in which Mr. Harrison seeks to -disprove my assertion that he had exactly transposed the doctrines -of Dean Mansel and myself, respecting our consciousness of that -which transcends perception. He quotes his original words, which -were “there is a gulf which separates even his all-negative <i>deity</i> -from Mr. Spencer’s impersonal, unconscious, unthinkable Energy.” And -he then goes on to say “I was speaking of Mansel’s Theology, not of -his Ontology. I said “<i>deity</i>,” not the Absolute.” Very well; now -let us see what this implies. Mansel, as I was perfectly well aware, -supplements his ontological nihilism with a theological realism. That -which in his ontological argument he represents as a mere “negation -of conceivability,” he subsequently re-asserts on grounds of faith, -and clothes with the ordinarily-ascribed divine attributes. Which of -these did I suppose Mr. Harrison meant by “all-negative deity”? I was -compelled to conclude he meant that which in the ontological argument -was said to be a “negation of conceivability.” How could I suppose that -by “all-negative deity” Mr. Harrison meant the deity which Dean Mansel -as a matter of “duty” rehabilitates and worships in his official -capacity as priest. It was a considerable stretch of courage on the -part of Mr. Harrison to call the deity of the established church an -“all-negative deity.” Yet in seeking to escape from the charge of -misrepresenting me he inevitably does this by implication.</p> - -<p>In his second article Mr. Harrison does not simply ascribe to me ideas -which are wholly unlike those my words express, but he ascribes to me -ideas I have intentionally excluded. When justifying my use of the -word “proceed,” as the most colorless word I could find to indicate -the relation between the knowable manifestations present to perception -and the Unknowable Reality which transcends perception, I incidentally -mentioned, as showing that I wished to avoid those theological -implications which Mr. Harrison said were suggested, that the words -originally written were “created and sustained;” and that though in the -sense in which I used them the meanings of these words did not exceed -my thought, I had erased them because “the ideas” associated with these -words might mislead. Yet Mr. Harrison speaks of these erased words as -though I had finally adopted them, and saddles me with the ordinary -connotations. If Mr. Harrison defends himself by quoting my words to -the effect that the Inscrutable Existence manifested through phenomena -“stands towards our general conception of things in substantially the -same relation as does the Creative Power asserted by Theology;” then I -point to all my arguments as clearly meaning that when the attributes -and the mode of operation ordinarily ascribed to “that which lies -beyond the sphere of sense” cease to be ascribed, “that which lies -beyond the sphere of sense” will bear the same relation as before to -that which lies within it, in so far that it will occupy the same -relative position in the totality of our consciousness: no assertion -being made concerning the mode of connexion of the one with the other. -Surely when I have deliberately avoided the word “create” to express -the connexion between noumenal cause and the phenomenal effect, because -it might suggest the ordinary idea of a creating power separate from -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> -the created thing, Mr. Harrison was not justified in basing arguments -against me on the assumption that I had used it.</p> - -<p>But the course in so many cases pursued by him of fathering upon -me ideas incongruous with those I have expressed, and making me -responsible for the resulting absurdities, is exhibited in the most -extreme degree, by the way in which he has built up for me a system -of beliefs and practices. In his first article occur such passages -as—“seeking the Unknowable in a devout way” (p. 502); can anyone “hope -anything of the Unknowable or find consolation therein?” (p. 503); and -to a grieving mother he represents me as replying to assuage her grief, -“Think on the Unknowable” (p. 503). Similarly in his second article -he writes “to tell them that they are to worship this Unknowable is -equivalent to telling them to worship nothing” (p. 357); “the worship -of the Unknowable is abhorrent to every instinct of genuine religion” -(p. 360); “praying to the Unknowable at home” (p. 376); and having -in these and kindred ways fashioned for me the observances of a -religion which he represents me as “proposing,” he calls it “one of -the most gigantic paradoxes in the history of thought” (p. 355). So -effectually has Mr. Harrison impressed everybody by these expressions -and assertions, that I read in a newspaper—“Mr. Spencer speaks of the -‘absurdities of the Comtean religion,’ but what about his own peculiar cult?”</p> - -<p>Now the whole of this is a fabric framed out of Mr. Harrison’s -imaginations. I have nowhere “proposed” any object of religion.” I have -nowhere suggested that anyone should “worship this Unknowable.” No line -of mine gives ground for inquiring how the Unknowable is to be sought -“in a devout way,” or for asking what are “the religious exercises;” -nor have I suggested that anyone may find “consolation therein.” -Observe the facts. At the close of my article “Religion; a Retrospect -and Prospect,” I pointed out to “those who think that science is -dissipating religious beliefs and sentiments” that whatever of mystery -is taken from the old interpretation is added to the new;” increase -rather than diminution being the result. I said that in perpetually -extending our knowledge of the Universe, concrete science “enlarges -the sphere for religious sentiment;” and that progressing knowledge -is “accompanied by an increasing capacity for wonder.” And in my -second article, in further explanation, I have represented my thesis -to be “that whatever components of this [the religious] sentiment -disappear, there must ever survive those which are appropriate to the -consciousness of a Mystery that cannot be fathomed and a Power that -is omnipresent.” This is the sole thing for which I am responsible. -I have advocated nothing; I have proposed no worship; I have said -nothing about “devotion,” or “prayer,” or “religious exercises,” or -“hope,” or “consolation.” I have simply affirmed the permanence of -certain components in the consciousness which “is concerned with that -which lies beyond the sphere of sense.” If Mr. Harrison says that this -surviving sentiment is inadequate for what he thinks the purposes of -religion, I simply reply—I have said nothing about its adequacy or -inadequacy. The assertion that the emotions of awe and wonder form -but a fragment of religion, leaves me altogether unconcerned: I have -said nothing to the contrary. If Mr. Harrison sees well to describe -the emotions of awe and wonder as “some rags of religious sentiment -surviving” (p. 358), it is not incumbent on me to disprove the fitness -of his expression. I am responsible for nothing whatever beyond the -statement that these emotions will survive. If he shows this conclusion -to be erroneous, then indeed he touches me. This, however, he does not -attempt. Recognizing though he does that this is all I have asserted, -and even exclaiming “is that all!” (p. 358) he nevertheless continues -to father upon me a number of ideas quoted above, which I have neither -expressed nor implied, and asks readers to observe how grotesque is the -fabric formed of them.</p> - -<hr class="r25" /> - -<p>I enter now on that portion of Mr. Harrison’s last article to which -is specially applicable its title “Agnostic Metaphysics.” In this -he recalls sundry of the insuperable difficulties set forth by Dean -Mansel, in his <i>Bampton Lectures</i>, as arising when we attempt to -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> -frame any conception of that which lies beyond the realm of sense. -Accepting, as I did, Hamilton’s general arguments, which Mansel applied -to theological conceptions, I contended in <i>First Principles</i> that -their arguments are valid, only on condition that that which transcends -the relative is regarded not as negative, but as positive; and that -the relative itself becomes unthinkable as such in the absence of a -postulated non-relative. Criticisms on my reasoning allied to those -made by Mr. Harrison, have been made before, and have before been -answered by me. To an able metaphysician, the Rev. James Martineau, I -made a reply which I may be excused here for reproducing, as I cannot -improve upon it:—</p> - -<p class="blockquot"> Always implying terms in relation, thought -implies that both terms shall be more or less defined; and as fast as -one of them becomes indefinite, the relation also becomes indefinite, -and thought becomes indistinct. Take the case of magnitudes. I think -of an inch; I think of a foot; and having tolerably-definite ideas of -the two, I have a tolerably-definite idea of the relation between them. -I substitute for the foot a mile; and being able to represent a mile -much less definitely, I cannot so definitely think of the relation -between an inch and a mile—cannot distinguish it in thought -from the relation between an inch and two miles, as clearly as I can -distinguish in thought the relation between an inch and one foot from -the relation between an inch and two feet. And now if I endeavor to -think of the relation between an inch and the 240,000 miles from here -to the Moon, or the relation between an inch and the 92,000,000 miles -from here to the Sun, I find that while these distances, practically -inconceivable, have become little more than numbers to which I frame no -answering ideas, so, too, has the relation between an inch and either -of them become practically inconceivable. Now this partial failure -in the process of forming thought relations, which happens even with -finite magnitudes when one of them is immense, passes into complete -failure when one of them cannot be brought within any limits. The -relation itself becomes unrepresentable at the same time that one of -its terms becomes unrepresentable. Nevertheless, in this case it is to -be observed that the almost-blank form of relation preserves a certain -qualitative character. It is still distinguishable as belonging to -the consciousness of extensions, not to the consciousnesses of forces -or durations; and in so far remains a vaguely-identifiable relation. -But now suppose we ask what happens when one term of the relation has -not simply magnitude having no known limits, and duration of which -neither beginning nor end is cognizable, but is also an existence -not to be defined? In other words, what must happen if one term -of the relation is not only quantitatively but also qualitatively -unrepresentable? Clearly in this case the relation does not simply -cease to be thinkable except as a relation of a certain class, but it -lapses completely. When one of the terms becomes wholly unknowable, -the law of thought can no longer be conformed to; both because -one term cannot be present, and because relation itself cannot be -framed.... In brief then, to Mr. Martineau’s objection I reply, that -the insoluble difficulties he indicates arise here, as elsewhere, when -thought is applied to that which transcends the sphere of thought; -and that just as when we try to pass beyond phenomenal manifestations -to the Ultimate Reality manifested, we have to symbolize it out of -such materials as the phenomenal manifestations give us; so we have -simultaneously to symbolize the connexion between this Ultimate Reality -and its manifestations, as somehow allied to the connexions among -the phenomenal manifestations themselves. The truth Mr. Martineau’s -criticism adumbrates, is that the law of thought fails where the -elements of thought fail; and this is a conclusion quite conformable to -the general view I defend. Still holding the validity of my argument -against Hamilton and Mansel, that in pursuance of their own principle -the Relative is not at all thinkable <i>as such</i>, unless in contradiction -to some existence posited, however vaguely, as the other term of a -relation, conceived however indefinitely; it is consistent on my part -to hold that in this effort which thought inevitably makes to pass -beyond its sphere, not only does the product of thought become a dim -symbol of a product, but the process of thought becomes a dim symbol of -a process; and hence any predicament inferable from the law of thought -cannot be asserted.<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a></p> - -<p>Thus then criticisms like this of Mr. Martineau, often recurring in -one shape or other, and now again made by Mr. Harrison, do not show -the invalidity of my argument, but once more show the imbecility of -human intelligence when brought to bear on the ultimate question. -Phenomenon without noumenon is unthinkable; and yet noumenon cannot -be thought of in the true sense of thinking. We are at once obliged -to be conscious of a reality behind appearance, and yet can neither -bring this consciousness of reality into any shape, nor can bring into -any shape, its connexion with appearance. The forms of our thought, -moulded on experiences of phenomena, as well as the connotations of -our words formed to express the relations of phenomena, involve us in -contradictions when we try to think of that which is beyond phenomena; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> -and yet the existence of that which is beyond phenomena is a necessary -datum alike of our thoughts and our words. We have no choice but to -accept a formless consciousness of the inscrutable.</p> - -<hr class="r25" /> - -<p>I cannot treat with fulness the many remaining issues. To Mr. -Harrison’s statement that it was uncandid in me to implicate him with -the absurdities of the Comtean belief and ritual, notwithstanding his -public utterances, I reply that whereas ten years ago I was led to -think he gave but a qualified adhesion to Comte’s religious doctrine, -such public utterances of his as I have read of late years, fervid -in their eloquence, persuaded me that he had become a much warmer -adherent. On his summary mode of dealing with my criticism of the -Comtean creed some comment is called for. He remarks that there are -“good reasons for declining to discuss with Mr. Spencer the writings -of Comte;” and names, as the first, “that he knows [I know] nothing -whatever about them” (p. 365). Now as Mr. Harrison is fully aware -that thirty years ago I reviewed the English version of those parts -of the Positive Philosophy which treat of Mathematics, Astronomy and -Physics; and as he has referred to the pamphlet in which, ten years -later, I quoted a number of passages from the original to signalize my -grounds of dissent from Comte’s system; I am somewhat surprised by this -statement, and by the still more emphatic statement that to me “the -writings of Comte are, if not the Absolute Unknowable, at any rate the -Absolute Unknown” (p. 365). Doubtless these assertions are effective; -but like many effective assertions they do not sufficiently recognize -the facts. The remaining statements in this division of Mr. Harrison’s -argument, I pass over: not because answers equally adequate with those -I have thus far given do not exist, but because I cannot give them -without entering upon personal questions which I prefer to avoid.</p> - -<p>On the closing part of “Agnostic Metaphysics” containing Mr. Harrison’s -own version of the Religion of Humanity, I have at remark, as I find -others remarking, that it amounts, if not to an abandonment of his -original position, still to an entire change of front. Anxious, as he -has professed himself, to retain the “magnificent word, Religion” -(p. 504), it now appears that when “the Religion of Humanity” is spoken -of, the usual connotations of the word are to be in a large measure -dropped: to give it these connotations is “to foist in theological -ideas where none are suggested by us” (p. 369). While, in his first -article, one of the objections raised to the “neo-theisms” as well -as “the Unknowable,” was that there is offered “no relation whatever -between worshipper and worshipped” (p. 505) (an objection tacitly -implying that Mr. Harrison’s religion supplies this relation), it now -appears that humanity is not to be worshipped in any ordinary sense; -but that by worship is simply meant “intelligent love and respect -for our human brotherhood,” and that “in plain words, the Religion -of Humanity means recognising your duty to your fellow-man on human -grounds” (p. 369). Certainly this is much less than what I and others -supposed to be included in Mr. Harrison’s version of the Religion of -Humanity. If he preaches nothing more than an ecstatic philanthropy, -few will object; but most will say that his name for it conveyed -to them a much wider meaning. Passing over all this, however, I am -concerned chiefly to point out another extreme misrepresentation made -by Mr. Harrison when discussing my criticism of Comte’s assertion -that “veneration and gratitude” are due to the Great Being Humanity. -After showing why I conceive “veneration and gratitude” are not due -to Humanity, I supposed an opponent to exclaim (putting the passage -within quotation marks) “But surely ‘veneration and gratitude’ are due -somewhere,” since civilized society, with all its products “must be -credited to some agency or other.” [This apostrophe, imagined as coming -from a disciple of Comte, Mr. Harrison, on p. 373, actually represents -as made in my own person!] To this apostrophe I have replied (p. 22) -that “if ‘veneration and gratitude’ are due at all, they are due to -that Ultimate Cause from which Humanity, individually and as a whole, -in common with all other things has proceeded.” Whereupon Mr. Harrison -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> -changes my hypothetical statement into an actual statement. He drops -the “<i>if</i>,” and represents me as positively affirming that “veneration -and gratitude” are due somewhere: saying that Mr. Spencer “lavishes -his ‘veneration and gratitude,’ called out by the sum of human -civilization, upon his Unknowable and Inconceivable Postulate” (p. -373). I should have thought that even the most ordinary reader, much -more Mr. Harrison, would have seen that the argument is entirely an -argument <i>ad hominem</i>. I deliberately and carefully guarded myself by -the “<i>if</i>” against the ascription to me of any opinion, one way or -the other: being perfectly conscious that much is to be said for and -against. The optimist will unhesitatingly affirm that veneration and -gratitude are due; while by the pessimist it will be contended that -they are not due. One who dwells exclusively on what Emerson calls -“the saccharine” principle in things, as illustrated for example in -the adaptation of living beings to their conditions—the becoming -callous to pains that have to be borne, and the acquirement of liking -for labors that are necessary—may think there are good reasons for -veneration and gratitude. Contrariwise, these sentiments may be -thought inappropriate by one who contemplates the fact that there -are some thirty species of parasites which prey upon man, possessing -elaborate appliances for maintaining their hold on or within his body, -and having enormous degrees of fertility proportionate to the small -individual chances their germs have of getting into him and torturing -him. Either view may be supported by masses of evidence; and knowing -this I studiously avoided complicating the issue by taking either -side. As anyone may see who refers back, my sole purpose was that of -showing the absurdity of thinking that “veneration and gratitude” are -due to the product and not to the producer. Yet, Mr. Harrison having -changed my proposition “<i>if</i> they are due, etc.” into the proposition -“they are due, etc.,” laughs over the contradictions in my views which -he deduces, and to which he time after time recurs, commenting on my -“astonishing perversity.”</p> - -<p>In this division of Mr. Harrison’s article occur five other cases in -which, after his manner, propositions are made to appear untenable or -ludicrous; though anyone who refers to them as expressed by me will -find them neither the one nor the other. But to show all this would -take much trouble to small purpose. Indeed, I must here close the -discussion, so far as my own desistence enables me. It is a wearisome -and profitless business, this of continually going back on the -record, now to show that the ideas ascribed to me are not the ideas I -expressed, and now to show that the statements my opponent defends are -not the statements he originally made. A controversy always opens side -issues. Each new issue becomes the parent of further ones. The original -questions become obscured in a swarm of collateral questions; and -energies, in my case ill-spared, are wasted to little purpose.</p> - -<hr class="r25" /> - -<p>Before closing, however, let me again point out that nothing has been -said which calls for change of the views expressed in my first article.</p> - -<p>Setting out with the statement that “unlike the ordinary consciousness, -the religious consciousness is concerned with that which lies beyond -the sphere of sense,” I went on to show that the rise of this -consciousness begins among primitive men with the belief in a double -belonging to each individual, which, capable of wandering away from him -during life, becomes his ghost or spirit after death; and that from -this idea of a being eventually distinguished as supernatural, there -develop, in course of time, the ideas of supernatural beings of all -orders up to the highest. Mr. Harrison has alleged that the primitive -religion is not belief in, and propitiation of, the ghost, but is -worship of “physical objects treated frankly as physical objects” -(p. 498). That he has disproved the one view and proved the other, no one -will, I think, assert. Contrariwise, he has given occasion for me to -cite weighty authorities against him.</p> - -<p>Next it was contended that in the assemblage of supernatural beings -thus originating in each tribe, some, derived from chiefs, were -superior to others; and that, as the compounding and recompounding of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> -tribes gave origin to societies having social grades and rulers of -different orders, there resulted that conception of a hierarchy of -ghosts or gods which polytheism shows us. Further it was argued that -while, with the growth of civilization and knowledge, the minor -supernatural agents became merged in the major supernatural agent, this -single great supernatural agent, gradually losing the anthropomorphic -attributes at first ascribed, has come in our days to retain but -few of them; and, eventually losing these, will then merge into a -consciousness of an Omnipresent Power to which no attributes can be -ascribed. This proposition has not been contested.</p> - -<p>In pursuance of the belief that the religious consciousness naturally -arising, and thus gradually transformed, will not disappear wholly, but -that “however much changed it must continue to exist,” it was argued -that the sentiments which had grown up around the conception of a -personal God, though modified when that conception was modified into -the conception of a Power which cannot be known or conceived, would not -be destroyed. It was held that there would survive, and might even -increase, the sentiments of wonder and awe in presence of a Universe of -which the origin and nature, meaning and destiny, can neither be known -nor imagined; or that, to quote a statement afterwards employed, there -must survive those emotions “which are appropriate to the consciousness -of a Mystery that cannot be fathomed and a Power that is omnipresent.” -This proposition has not been disproved; nor, indeed, has any attempt -been made to disprove it.</p> - -<p>Instead of assaults on these propositions to which alone I am -committed, there have been assaults on various propositions -gratuitously attached to them; and then the incongruities evolved have -been represented as incongruities for which I am responsible.</p> - -<p>I end by pointing out as I pointed out before, that “while the things I -have said have not been disproved, the things which have been disproved -are things I have not said.”—<i>Nineteenth Century.</i></p> - -<div><a name="notices"></a><hr class="chap space-above1" /></div> -<h2>LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> - -<p class="neg-indent space-above2"><span class="smcap">The -Correspondence and Diaries of John Wilson Croker, Secretary to the -Admiralty from 1809 to 1830; a Founder and for Many Years a Chief -Contributor to the Quarterly Review; and the Political, Literary or -Personal Associate of Nearly All the Leading Characters in the Life -of his Time.</span> Edited by Louis J. Jennings. With portrait. Two -volumes. New York: <i>Charles Scribner’s Sons</i>.</p> - -<p>John Wilson Croker was one of the most noted men of his day, not -perhaps to the world at large, but to those who knew him in the -important relations he bore to the many distinguished personages -of his era. He knew everybody worth knowing; he was often in the -secret councils of the great; he had an official position of great -confidence; he was a literary man of brilliant ability which he, -however, sometimes used unscrupulously; he was the principal power -in one of the great English reviews, which fifty years ago were -formidable agencies in making and unmaking men and opinions. These -things make his reminiscences highly fascinating. He takes us into the -best company, Wellington, Canning, Lyndhurst, Peel, Lord Ashburton, -Lord Aberdeen, Sir James Graham, Guizot, Metternich, Sir Walter Scott, -Isaac D’Israeli, Lockhart, Madame de Staël and innumerable others of -similar celebrity. It need hardly be said that personal information, -anecdotes and gossip about such people, who filled a large place in -the public eye and mind, are all very fascinating. So we find, on -opening these thick volumes anywhere, a mine of the deepest interest, -and one can hardly go astray in turning over the pages. There can be -no doubt that aside from the personal interest of these reminiscences, -they constitute material of the richest character to the early history -of our century. The only way properly to represent the value of such -a work, is to give extracts from it indicating its quality, and this -we shall propose to do. Among the things to which we shall first call -attention, are the conversations with the Duke of Wellington, taken -down as they occurred. The Iron Duke expressed the following opinion of -his great antagonist, Napoleon, whom it seems he thoroughly despised -as a man, however much he admitted his military genius: “I never was a -believer in him, and I always thought that in the long-run we should -overturn him. He never seemed himself at his ease, and even in the -boldest things he did there was always a mixture of apprehension and -meanness. I used to call him <i>Jonathan Wild the Great</i>, and at each -new <i>coup</i> he made I used to cry out ‘Well done, Jonathan,’ to the -great scandal of some of my hearers. But, the truth was, he had no -more care about what was right or wrong, just or unjust, honorable -or dishonorable, than <i>Jonathan</i>, though his great abilities, and -the great stakes he played for, threw the knavery into the shade.” -Again, he tells the following of Napoleon: “Buonaparte’s mind was, -in its details, low and ungentlemanlike. I suppose the narrowness of -his early prospects and habits stuck to him; what <i>we</i> understand by -<i>gentlemanlike</i> feelings he knew nothing at all about; I’ll give you a -curious instance.</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“I have a beautiful little watch, made by Breguet, -at Paris, with a map of Spain most admirably enamelled on the case. -Sir Edward Paget bought it at Paris, and gave it to me. What do you -think the history of this watch was—at least the history that -Breguet told Paget, and Paget told me? Buonaparte had ordered it as a -present to his brother, the King of Spain, but when he heard of the -battle of Vittoria—he was then at Dresden in the midst of all the -preparations and negotiations of the armistice, and one would think -sufficiently busy with other matters—when he heard of the battle -of Vittoria, I say, he remembered the watch he had ordered for one whom -he saw would never be King of Spain, and with whom he was angry for the -loss of the battle, and he wrote from Dresden to countermand the watch, -and if it should be ready, to forbid its being sent. The best apology -one can make for this strange littleness is, that he was offended with -Joseph; but even in that case, a <i>gentleman</i> would not have taken the -moment when the poor devil had lost his <i>châteaux en Espagne</i>, to take -away his watch also.”</p> - -<p>In a letter to Croker, the duke tells the story of the truth of his -order to the Household troops at Waterloo, “Up, Guards, and at ’em,” -so often quoted as the <i>mot d’ordre</i> of that famous charge which -finally decided the day: “I certainly did not draw my sword. I may have -ordered, and I dare say I did order, the charge of the cavalry, and -pointed out its direction; but I did not charge as a common trooper. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have at all times been in the habit of covering as much as possible -the troops exposed to the fire of cannon. I place them behind the top of -the rising ground, and make them sit and lie down, the better to cover -them from the fire.</p> - -<p>“After the fire of the enemy’s cannon, the enemy’s troops may have -advanced, or a favorable opportunity of attacking might have arrived. -What I must have said, and possibly did say was, Stand up, Guards! and -then gave the commanding officers the order to attack.</p> - -<p>“My common practice in a defensive position was to attack the enemy at -the very moment at which he was about to attack our troops.”</p> - -<p>Of Madame De Staël, of whom he saw much in London, he has many -interesting anecdotes. He enlarges on her facial ugliness, redeemed -by an eye of extraordinary brilliancy and meaning, her egotistic -eloquence, her dazzling coruscations of wit, and her mannishness with -a good deal of vigor. On the whole, Croker was not a great admirer -of this brilliant woman, and declares that some of her most pungent -sayings were audacious plagiarisms. He writes: “Moore in his lately -published ‘Life of Sheridan,’ has recorded the laborious care with -which he prepared his <i>bons-mots</i>. Madame de Staël condescended to -do the same. The first time I ever saw her was at dinner at Lord -Liverpool’s at Coombe Wood. Sir James Mackintosh was to have been -her guide, and they lost their way, and went to Addiscombe and some -other places by mistake, and when they got at last to Coombe Wood -they were again bewildered, and obliged to get out and walk in the -dark, and through the mire up the road through the wood. They arrived -consequently two hours too late and strange draggled figures, she -exclaiming by way of apology, ‘Coombe par ci, Coombe par là; nous avons -été par tous les Coombes de l’Angleterre.’ During dinner she talked -incessantly but admirably, but several of her apparently spontaneous -<i>mots</i> were borrowed or prepared. For instance, speaking of the -relative states of England and the Continent at that period, the high -notion we had formed of the danger to the world from Buonaparte’s -despotism, and the high opinion the Continent had formed of the riches, -strength, and spirit of England; she insisted that these opinions were -both just, and added with an elegant <i>élan</i>, ‘Les étrangers sont la -postérité contemporaine.’ This striking expression I have since found -in the journal of Camille Desmoulins.” -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> - -<p>Several very funny stories were told him by Sir Walter Scott, as among -the traditions of Dr. Johnson’s visit to Scotland, and certainly they -well establish the reputation of this great man as a rude and unsocial -bear, except when he chose to be otherwise: “At Glasgow, Johnson had -a meeting with Smith (Adam Smith), which terminated strangely. John -Millar used to report that Smith, obviously much discomposed, came into -a party who were playing at cards. The Doctor’s appearance suspended -the amusement, for as all knew he was to meet Johnson that evening, -every one was curious to hear what had passed. Adam Smith, whose -temper seemed much ruffled, answered only at first, ‘He is a brute! -he is a brute!’ Upon closer examination it appeared that Dr. Johnson -no sooner saw Smith than he brought forward a charge against him for -something in his famous letter on the death of Hume. Smith said he had -vindicated the truth of the statement. ‘And what did the Doctor say?’ -was the universal query: ‘Why, he said—he said—’ said Smith, with the -deepest impression of resentment, ‘he said—“<i>You lie!</i>”’ ‘And what did -you reply?’ ‘I said, “You are a————!”’ On such terms did these -two great moralists meet and part, and such was the classic dialogue betwixt them.</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“Johnson’s rudeness possibly arose from his -retaining till late in life the habits of a pedagogue, who is a man -among boys and a boy among men, and having the bad taste to think it -more striking to leap over the little differences and courtesies which -form the turnpike gates in society, and which fly open on payment of -a trifling tribute. The <i>auld Dominie</i> hung vilely about him, and was -visible whenever he was the coaxed man of the company—a sad -symptom of a <i>parvenu</i>. A lady who was still handsome in the decline of -years, and must have been exquisitely beautiful when she was eighteen, -dined in company with Johnson, and was placed beside him at table with -no little awe of her neighbor. He then always drank lemonade, and the -lady of the house desired Miss S——h to acquaint him there -was some on the sideboard. He made no answer except an indistinct -growl. ‘Speak louder, Miss S——h, the Doctor is deaf.’ -Another attempt, with as little success. ‘You do not speak loud enough -yet, my dear Miss S——h.’ The lady then ventured to raise -her voice as high as misses of eighteen may venture in the company of -old doctors, and her description of the reply was that she heard an -internal grumbling like Etna before explosion, which rolled up his -mouth, and there formed itself into the distinct words, ‘When I want -any, I’ll ask for it,’ which were the only words she heard him speak -during the day. Even the sirup food of flattery was rudely repelled if -not cooked to his mind. I was told that a gentleman called Pot, or some -such name, was introduced to him as a particular admirer of his. The -Doctor growled and took no further notice. ‘He admires in especial your -“Irene” as the finest tragedy of modern times,’ to which the Doctor -replied, ‘If Pot says so, Pot lies!’ and relapsed into his reverie.”</p> - -<p>Croker was in Paris during the days after Waterloo, just subsequent to -the accession of the Bourbon dynasty, and he is full of anecdotes of -the people he met there, among others Talleyrand and Fouché.</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“<i>July 17th.</i>—We dined yesterday at -Castlereagh’s with, besides the Embassy, Talleyrand, Fouché, Marshal -Gouvion St. Cyr, and the Baron de Vitrolles, Lords Cathcart, Clancarty, -Stewart, and Clive, and two ladies, the Princesse de Vaudemont, a fat, -ugly old woman, and a Mademoiselle Chasse, her friend, a pretty young -one. At so quiet a dinner you may judge there was not much interesting -conversation, and accordingly I have not often been at a dinner of -which I had less to tell. The wonder was to find ourselves at table -with Fouché, who, to be sure, looks very like what one would naturally -suppose him to be—a sly old rogue; but I think he seems to feel a -passion of which I did not expect to find him capable; I mean <i>shame</i>, -for he looks conscious and embarrassed. He is a man about 5ft. 7in. -high, very thin, with a grey head, cropped and powdered, and a very -acute expression of countenance. Talleyrand, on the other hand, is -fattish for a Frenchman; his ankles are weak and his feet deformed, and -he totters about in a strange way. His face is not at all expressive, -except it be of a kind of drunken stupor; in fact, he looks altogether -like an old fuddled, lame, village schoolmaster, and his voice is deep -and hoarse. I should suspect that at the Congress his most natural -employment would be keeping the unruly boys in order. We dined very -late—that is, for Paris, for we were not at table till half-past six.”</p> - -<p>Macaulay hated Croker bitterly, on account of the latter’s severe -critiques on him in <i>The Quarterly</i>, and in no way was any love lost -between the two men. This personal quarrel is described in an amusing -way. Croker, by the way, was just as bitterly hated by Disraeli: though -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> -the former had been a highly esteemed friend of Disraeli the elder, -author of the “Curiosities of Literature.” Among the amenities of the -Macaulay squabble we have the following:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p>“Macaulay, as it clearly appears from his own letters, was irritated -beyond measure by Croker; he grew to ‘detest’ him. Then he began -casting about for some means of revenge. This would seem incredible -if he had not, almost in so many words, revealed the secret. In July, -1831, he wrote thus: ‘That impudent, leering Croker congratulated the -House on the proof which I had given of my readiness. He was afraid, he -said, that I had been silent so long on account of the many allusions -which had been made to Calne. Now that I had risen again he hoped -that they should hear me often. <i>See whether I do not dust that -valet’s jacket for him in the next number of the Blue and Yellow.</i> -I <i>detest him</i> more than cold boiled veal.’ From that time forth he -waited impatiently for his opportunity to settle his account with Mr. Croker.</p> - -<p>“In the previous month of March he had been looking out eagerly for -the publication of the ‘Boswell.’ ‘<i>I will certainly review Croker’s -“Boswell” when it comes out</i>,’ he wrote to Mr. Napier. He was on -the watch for it, not with the object of doing justice to the book, but -of ‘dusting the jacket’ of the author. But as his letters had not yet -betrayed his malice to the world, he gravely began the dusting process -by remarking, ‘This work has greatly disappointed us.’ What did he -hope for, when he took it up, but precisely such a ‘disappointment?’ -‘Croker,’ he wrote, ‘looks across the House of Commons at me with a -leer of hatred, which I repay with a gracious smile of pity.’ He had -cultivated his animosity of Croker until it became a morbid passion. -Yet it is conceivable that he did not intend posterity to see him in -the picture drawn by his own hand, spending his time in the House of -Commons straining his eyes to see if there was a ‘leer’ on Croker’s -countenance, and returning it with gracious smiles of pity.”</p></div> - -<p>Among the budget of anecdotes so profusely strewn through the book, -the following may be given at random. The following is from a letter -of Lady Ashburton to Croker, and reflects severely on one of the suave -defects of Sir Robert Peel, then recently returned from office: “I -must tell you an anecdote of Sir Bobby. If you read the list of people -congregated to see his pictures, you will have seen there, not only all -the artists, drawing-masters, men of science, but reporters and writers -for journals. Thackeray, who furnishes the wit for ‘Punch,’ told Milnes -that the ex-Minister came up to him and said, with the blandest smile: -‘Mr. Thackeray, I am rejoiced to see you. I have read with delight -<i>every line</i> you ever wrote,’ Thackeray would have been better pleased -if the compliment had not included all his works; so, to turn the -subject, he observed that it must be a great gratification to live -surrounded by such interesting objects of art. Sir R. replied: ‘I can -assure you that it does not afford me the same satisfaction as finding -myself in such society as yours!!!’ This seeking popularity by fulsome -praise will not succeed.”</p> - -<p>Here we have a capital French story:</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“Old Languet, the celebrated Curé of St. Sulpice, -was remarkable and disagreeable for the importunity with which he -solicited subscriptions for finishing his church, which is not yet -finished. One day at supper, where Cardinal de Fleury was, he happened -to say that he had seen his Eminence’s portrait at some painter’s. The -old Cardinal, who was stingy in private as well as economical in public -expenditure, was glad to raise a laugh at the troublesome old curé, and -replied, ‘I dare swear, then, you asked it (the picture) to subscribe;’ -‘Oh, no, my Lord,’ said Languet, ‘it was too like!’”</p> - -<p>The richness of the following situation could hardly be paralleled:</p> - -<p class="blockquot">“Every one knows the story of a gentleman’s -asking Lord North who ‘that frightful woman was?’ and his lordship’s -answering, that is my wife. The other, to repair his blunder, said -I did not mean <i>her</i>, but that monster next to her. ‘Oh,’ said Lord -North, ‘that monster is my daughter.’ With this story Frederick -Robinson, in his usual absent enthusiastic way, was one day -entertaining a lady whom he sat next to at dinner, and lo! the lady was -Lady Charlotte Lindsay—the monster in question.”</p> - -<p>These chance excerpts (and just as good things lie scattered on every -page, so as to make a veritable <i>embarras des richesses</i>), indicate the -character of the book, and how amply it will repay, both for pleasure -and instruction, the reader who sits down to peruse it. Few works of -recent times are so compact and meaty in just those qualities which -make a work valuable alike for reference and continuous perusal.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="neg-indent"><span class="smcap">The Story of My Life.</span> -By J. Marion Sims, M.D., L.L.D.. Edited by his son, -H. Marion Sims, M.D. New York: <i>D. Appleton & Co.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> -The great name of Dr. Marion Sims in gynæcology, or the treatment -of women’s diseases, has never been equalled in the same line in -America, and the story of his life related in language of the plainest -homespun is quite a fascinating record. Dr. Sims has several titles -to fame, which we think will secure the perpetuity of his name in the -annals of surgery and medicine. These are: his treatment and care -of vesico-vaginal fistula, a most loathsome disease, before deemed -incurable; his invention of the speculum; his exposition of the true -pathology and method of treatment of trismus nascentium, or the lockjaw -of infants; and the fact that he was the founder and organizer of “The -Woman’s Hospital, of the State of New York,” the first institution ever -endowed exclusively for the treatment of women’s diseases.</p> - -<p>J. Marion Sims was a native of Alabama, and was educated academically -in the Charleston College. His account of his early struggles for -an education (for though born of a well-to-do family, money was not -over plenty in his father’s home), is very entertaining, and the -anecdotes of his juvenile life among a people full of idiosyncracies, -are marked by humor and point. His medical education was completed at -Jefferson College, Philadelphia, an institution which, ranking very -high to-day, had no rival in the country half a century since. It is -to be observed that Dr. Sims has a very graphic and simple method -of telling his story, showing a genuine mastery of the fundamental -idea of good writing, though he is always without pretence, and takes -occasion from time to time to deplore his own faults as a literary -worker. Yet no contributions to medical literature, aside from their -intrinsic value have been more admired than his for their simple, clear -force, and luminous treatment. After practising for several years -as a country doctor, our great embryo surgeon moved to the city of -Montgomery and began to devote himself more exclusively to operative -surgery, the branch in which his talents so palpably ran. It was at -Montgomery that he became specially interested in women’s diseases, and -began to experiment on methods of treating one of the most loathsome -and hitherto incurable diseases, which afflict woman, vesico-vaginal -fistula, a trouble so often produced by childbirth. Dr. Sims practised -on slave women, and turned his house and yard into a veritable -hospital, spending a large part of his income in his enthusiastic -devotion to the great discovery on the track of which he was moving. -At last, he perfected the method of the operation, and made peculiar -instruments for it. What had been impossible, he now performed with -almost unerring certainty, and rarely lost a case. This became -heralded abroad, and the name of Dr. Sims was discussed in New York -and Philadelphia, as one who had made one of the most extraordinary -discoveries in operative surgery.</p> - -<p>His own health had been bad for years; and, as a Southern climate did -not agree with him, he went to New York to live in 1852. Though at -first he had a hard struggle, he fought his way with the same rugged -pertinacity which he had previously shown. He was assailed with the -bitterest professional jealousies, but, nothing daunted him, and he -finally succeeded in founding his woman’s hospital, through the help -of the wealthy and generous women of New York. His great discovery was -attempted to be stolen from him by his envious rivals, but he had no -trouble in establishing his right to the glory. He overbore all the -opposition made against him, and settled his own reputation as one of -the greatest surgeons of this or any age. In 1861, when the war broke -out, Dr. Sims, who was strong in his secession sympathies, determined -to take his family to Europe, so bitter was the feeling against him in -New York. He went to Paris, and in a very short time his remarkable and -original method of treating vesico-vaginal fistula, by means of silver -sutures, gave him a European reputation, and honors were showered on -him from all sides. The great surgeons of Europe freely credited him -with the glory of having struck out an entirely new and splendid path -in surgery, and his operations in the leading hospitals of Paris, -London, Brussels and Berlin, were always brilliant ovations, always -attended by the most prominent men in the profession, and a swarm -of enthusiastic students. He also secured a very lucrative private -practice, and performed cures which were heralded as phenomenal in -medical books and journals. At different times he was the physician -of the Empress of the French, of the Queen of England, and of other -royal and distinguished personages. Patients came to him from the most -distant quarters, and though a large portion of his time was given to -hospital practice, his fees were very large and lucrative. His fame -was now established on a secure basis, and the greatest men in Europe -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -freely acknowledged in Dr. Sims their peer. Though the most seductive -offers were made to him, to settle permanently both in London and -Paris, his heart was among his own countrymen. So at the close of the -war he returned to New York. His most important work thenceforward was -in connection with the Woman’s Hospital, though he treated innumerable -private cases among the wealthy classes. The memoir proper ends with -his Parisian career, and the rest of Dr. Sims’s life is told in the -preface. He died in 1883, and so indomitable was his professional -devotion, that he took notes and memoranda of his own disease up to a -brief period before death. The life of Dr. Sims, while interesting to -the general reader, will be found peculiarly valuable and attractive by -professional men. A large portion of the book is given to a detailed -description of the various steps which he took in experimenting on -vesico-vaginal fistula, and of the difficulties which he so patiently -and at last so triumphantly surmounted. In addition to his professional -greatness, Dr. Sims was greatly beloved for the virtues of his private -life. He was in the latter years a most sincere and devout Christian, -and succeeded in avoiding that taint of scepticism, which so often -shows itself in the medical fraternity.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="neg-indent"><span class="smcap">Our Great Benefactors. Short -Biographies of the Men and Women most Eminent in Literature, Science, -Philosophy, Philanthropy, Art, etc.</span> Edited by Samuel Adams -Drake, Author of “New England Legends and Folk-Lore,” etc. With Nearly -One Hundred Portraits Emblematically Embellished. Boston: <i>Roberts Brothers</i>.</p> - -<p>This volume of something over five hundred pages, is very briefly, but -yet truthfully, summed up in its title. The biographies are short and -well written, and the author knows how to be graphic and picturesque -without being in the least diffuse. He has selected the great leading -personages in the arts of peace, who have exemplified human progress -among the English speaking races, and given short sketches of them -in chronological order. Boys will be specially interested in such a -volume, and find in it both amusement and benefit. History has been -defined as “philosophy teaching by example.” If this is the case with -history, it is still more true of biography, for the concrete flesh -and blood facts are brought much nearer home to the imagination than -can be possible in history. The sketches vary from five to fifteen -pages long, and are completely given, omitting no essential fact in the -career, or essential trait in the character of those treated. The book -is beautifully embellished with portraits.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="neg-indent"> -<span class="smcap">Life of Mary Woolstonecraft.</span> -By Elizabeth Robins Pennell. Boston: <i>Roberts Brothers</i>.</p> - -<p>This last volume in the “Famous Women” Series is one of much interest. -The wife of William Godwin (the author of “Political Justice,” “Caleb -Williams,” “St. Leon,” and other books distinguished in their day) -and the mother of the wife of the poet Shelley, her life was one of -singular intellectual significance and full of pathetic personal -romance. Mary Woolstonecraft was born and bred under conditions which -fostered great mental and moral independence. She chafed under the -restraints of her sex, and was one of the first to embody in her -life and theories that protest against the position of comparative -inequality in her sex, which has of recent years been the battle-cry -of a very considerable body of both men and women. It is only just to -say, however, that very few of her successors have carried the doctrine -of personal rights so far as she did; for it is a fact beyond dispute -that she lived openly as the mistress of two men successively, Gilbert -Imlay an American, and William Godwin. The latter she married only -to legalize the birth of the child which she expected soon to bring -into the world, and whose birth was at the price of the mother’s life. -While her social errors are to be deplored, even those most downright -in condemning such departures from the established order of things, -when they look into all the circumstances of her life are disposed -to palliate them. Certainly it must be admitted that, in spite of -her deviation from that path which society so rigidly and properly -exacts from woman, Mary Woolstonecraft was a person of singularly -noble and pure instincts. We cannot go into the full explanation of -this paradox, and only hope that many will read the full account of -her life, if for no other reason, to find an illustration of the fact -that a sinner may sometimes be as noble and upright as the saint, and -that doctrinarianism in morals as well as in politics, finds many -an exception to the truth of its logic. Mary Woolstonecraft worked -enthusiastically for the elevation of her sex, nor did she ever seek -to enforce as a rule to be followed, that freedom of action which she -conceived to be justified by her own case. The earlier part of her life -was singularly stormy and tragic, and when her lover, Imlay, whom she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> -looked on as her husband, deserted her, she attempted to commit -suicide. When, at last, she met Godwin, her spirit had recovered from -the shock she had received, she was recognized as an intellectual force -in England, and her society was sought for and valued by many of the -worthiest and most distinguished people in England. Her connection -with Godwin, which was finally consecrated by marriage, was one of -great personal and intellectual happiness. Her labors for the rights -of woman, her fine appeals for national education, and her many -tractates on not a few social, political, and moral questions, are -marked by acuteness, breadth, and eloquence of statement. The author, -Mrs. Pennell, has performed her labor with a nice and discriminating -touch. While she does not pass lightly over the errors of her heroine, -she recognizes what was peculiar in her position, and how a woman of -her views could deliberately act in such a manner without essentially -falling from her high pedestal as a pure woman. The author has given -the world an interesting book not unworthy of the series, and one that -happily illustrates the fact that two and two may make five and not -four, though it would not do for the world to figure out its arithmetic -on this principle.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="neg-indent"> <span class="smcap">Principles of Political Economy.</span> -By John Stuart Mill. Arranged with Critical, Bibliographical and -Explanatory Notes, and A Sketch of the History of Political Economy, by -J. Laurence McLaughlin, Ph.D., Ass’t. Professor of Political Economy in -Harvard University. A Text-Book for Colleges. New York: <i>D. Appleton & Co.</i></p> - -<p>The views of John Stuart Mill, one of the clearest and strongest -thinkers on this and kindred subjects, of our century, on political -economy, have been so often discussed in all manner of forms, from -elaborate disquisitions to newspaper articles, that it is not -needed now to enter into any explanation of the differences which -distinguished him from the rest of his brother philosophers. The object -of the present edition is to add to the body of Mill’s opinion the -results of later thinking, which do not militate against his views; -with such illustrations as fit the Mill system better for American -students, by turning their attention to the facts peculiar to this -country. Mill’s two volumes have been abridged into one, and while -their lucidity is not impaired, the system is put into a much more -compact and readable form, care being taken to avoid technicality and -abstractness. Prof. McLaughlin’s own notes and additions (inserted -into the body of the text in smaller type) are printed in smaller type -so as to be readily distinguished. This compact arrangement of Mill’s -economical philosophy will attract many readers, who were frightened by -the large and complete edition.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="neg-indent"> <span class="smcap">A Review of the Holy Bible. -Containing the Old and New Testaments.</span> By Edward B. Latch. -Philadelphia: <i>J. B. Lippincott & Co.</i></p> - -<p>Whether this work will be regarded as throwing any light on the sacred -Scriptures, depends on the credulity of the reader, and his pious -sympathies. After a casual perusal of the work, it is difficult to -see any good end it serves, except so far as all exegetical comment -may be of value. The number of such books is already legion, and -their multiplication is a weariness to the flesh. The comments made -by Mr. Leach, whom we judge by implication to be a layman, are such -as any good orthodox preacher might make from his pulpit or in the -prayer-meeting room. While they are not distinguished by any noticeable -freshness and originality, they are soundly stated, accurate orthodoxy. -We fancy that many a poor pious soul in the depths of country -farm-houses will get spiritual refreshment, and certainly she will not -be likely to find much to clash with her prejudices.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="neg-indent"> <span class="smcap">The Young Folks’ Josephus. -The Antiquities of the Jews and the Jewish Wars.</span> Simplified by -William Shepard. Philadelphia: <i>J. B. Lippincott & Co.</i></p> - -<p>Every year sees more of that sort of emasculation of standard -historians, annalists and others, adapted to make their matter not -only cleanly, but easily within the childish grasp. While there are -many reasons to deplore the necessity of doing this on the same -principle that one hates to see any noble work mutilated even of its -faults, there is enough advantage to justify it perhaps. The author -has simplified and condensed the history of the Jews by their great -annalist with taste and good judgment, by no means as easy a task as -it looks. We get all the stories of a special interest very neatly -told, properly arranged in chronological order, and put in sufficiently -simple language to meet the intelligence of youngsters. The work -is handsomely illustrated, beautifully printed, and altogether a -creditable piece of typography and binding. It will make a nice holiday -book for reading boys and girls, and we fancy that this is the special reason for its being. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.</h2> - -<p>Japanese newspaper enterprise is making rapid progress. It is stated -that no less than three vernacular newspapers published at Tokio and -one at Kobe have sent special correspondents to report the events of -the war in China.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>From various quarters of the world reports are received of the -operations of the Society for Propagating the French Language, which -receives the full support of the Government and officials of the -Republic. It is doing its work in some places where English would -be expected to be maintained. For the promotion of our language no -effort is made, as an attempt of the Society of St. George met with no -practical result. It is true that the growth of population is adding to -the hundred millions of the English-speaking races, but there are many -regions where the language is neglected.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The event in literary circles in Constantinople is the appearance of -the second volume of the history of Turkey by Ahmed Jevdet Pasha. How -many years he has been engaged on this work we do not know, but at -all events a quarter of a century, and as he has been busy in high -office throughout the time his perseverance is the more remarkable. He -was among the first of the Ulema to acquire European languages, which -he did for the express purpose of this work. He has also co-operated -actively in promoting the local school of history.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>At the last meeting but one of the New Shakspeare Society, Mr. Ewald -Flügel, of Leipsic, read some early eighteenth-century German opinions -on Shakspere which amused his hearers. They were from the works of his -great-grandfather Mencke, a celebrated professor of his day, who was -also the ancestor of Prince Bismarck’s wife. In 1700 Mencke declared -that “Certainly Dryden was the most excellent of English poets; in -every kind of poetry, but especially as a writer of tragedies. In -tragedy he was neither inferior to the French Corneille nor the -English Shakspere; and the latter he the more excelled inasmuch as -he (Dryden) was more versed in literature.” In 1702, Mencke reported -Dryden’s opinion that Shakspere was inferior to Ben Jonson, if not in -genius, yet certainly in art and finish, though Hales thought Shakspere -superior to every poet, then living or dead. In 1725, Mencke quoted -Richard Carew’s opinion (in Camden’s <i>Remaines</i>, 1614) that Catullus -had found his equal in Shakspere and Marlowe [Barlovius; Carew’s -“Barlow”]; and in his dictionary, 1733, Mencke gave the following -notice of Shakspere, “William Shakspere, an English dramatist, was born -at Stratford in 1654, was badly educated, and did not understand Latin; -nevertheless, he became a great poet. His genius was comical, but he -could be very serious, too; was excellent in tragedies, and had many -subtle and interesting controversies with Ben Jonson; but no one was -any the better for all these. He died at Stratford in 1616, April 23, -53 years old. His comedies and tragedies—and many did he write—have -been printed together in six parts in 1709 at London, and are very much appreciated.”</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>There are now in London two societies for philosophical discussion—the -Aristotelian and the Philosophical. The latter society was founded last -winter under the chairmanship of Mr. J. S. Stuart-Glennie. Green’s -<i>Prolegomena to Ethics</i> having been the general subject of discussion -during the year, the chairman brought the first year to a close last -month with a valedictory address on “The Criteria of Truth.” It is -proposed to continue the discussion of this subject in taking up Mr. -Herbert Spencer’s <i>Psychology</i>, and beginning with Part VII., “General -Analysis.” The society meets at Dr. Williams’s Library at eight o’clock -on the fourth Thursday of every month from October to July.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>Mr. H. C. Maxwell Lyte is now so far advanced with the history of the -University of Oxford, upon which he has been engaged for some years, -that an instalment of it, tracing the growth of the University from the -earliest times to the revival of learning, is likely to be published by -Messrs. Macmillan & Co. early in the coming year. This volume will be -complete in itself, and accordingly provided with an index of its own.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>The Cercle de la Librairie at Paris intends to open an exhibition of -the designs of Gustave Doré for the illustration of books. Many noted -French firms—Hachette, Mame, Jouvet, Hetzel, and Calmann Lévy—will -contribute, and so will <i>Le Journal pour Rire</i>, the <i>Monde Illustré</i>, -&c. Foreign publishers are also invited to take part.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>At the opening of the winter season of the Arts Club in Manchester, -Mr. J. H. Nodal stated that more books were written and published -in Manchester than anywhere else in the kingdom, with the exception -of London and Edinburgh, and that he believed that Manchester as a -music-publishing centre came next to London.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> -<hr class="chap" /> -<h2>MISCELLANY.</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">Heligoland as a Strategical Island.</span>—Regarded from a -<i>strategical</i> point of view, the situation of Heligoland, only a few -miles off from the mouths of the Elbe and Weser rivers, and commanding -the sea entrance to the important trade centres of Bremen and Hamburg, -is of considerable importance. Although any hostile differences between -England and Germany are not very probable, in military circles in -Germany an agitation has been going on for some years to ensure its -possession by that country, as a necessary part of the coast defence -of the empire; and this suggestion has been powerfully supported by -Vice-Admiral Henck in the <i>German Review</i>, vol. ii. 1882. It has been -proposed to purchase the island from England, but a great many object -to the cost of the purchase, and the expense of the fortifications. -Some, indeed, go further than the military strategists, and say that -the abolition of the Heligoland Constitution in 1868 was illegitimate, -because it was in violation of old rights and explicit assurances; -destitute of well-grounded justification, because its ostensible -objects could have been more successfully attained by other means; -inadequate, because it failed to secure in any considerable degree -the results which it proposed to seek. It must be here mentioned that -a very good reason against any cession, voluntary or by sale, of the -island to Germany, is the probability of the misconstruction of such an -act by France, who, liable at any moment to a war with that country, -would see in England handing over Heligoland to her possible foe, for -the purpose of being formed into a marine fortress to defend the mouths -of the Elbe and the Weser, or into a naval depôt, an aid to Germany in -defence against that which France possesses, next to England, the most -powerful means of attacking, namely, her preponderance in naval power. -England and Germany are not likely to be embroiled in war, England and -France are too closely connected all over the world to wish to be so. -If Germany and France unfortunately come to blows again, England can -exercise the benevolent neutrality of 1870, and proudly, firmly, but -calmly, remain in possession of her distant island.—<i>Army and Navy Magazine.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">How the Coldstreams got their Motto.</span>—The Coldstreams were -raised in the year 1650, in the little town near Berwick-on-Tweed -from whence the regiment takes its name. Their first colonel was the -renowned George Monk (afterwards Duke of Albemarle), a General in the -Parliamentary army and an Admiral of the fleet. It is owing to this -latter fact that a small Union Jack is permitted to be borne on the -Queen’s color of the regiment, a proud distinction enjoyed by no other -corps in the service. In the year 1660 brave Monk and his gallant -Coldstreamers materially assisted in the happy restoration of the -English monarchy, and to perform this patriotic and eminently loyal act -they marched from Berwick-on-Tweed to London, meeting with a warm and -enthusiastic greeting from the inhabitants of the towns and villages -through which they passed. After the Restoration was accomplished the -troops were paraded on Tower Hill for the purpose of taking the oath -of allegiance to the King, and among those present were the three -noble regiments that form the subject of this brief history. Having -grounded their arms in token of submission to the new <i>régime</i>, they -were at once commanded to take them up again as the First, Second and -Third Regiments of Foot Guards. The First and Third Regiments obeyed, -but the Coldstreamers stood firm, and their muskets remained upon -the ground. “Why does your regiment hesitate?” inquired the King of -General Monk. “May it please your Majesty,” said the stern old soldier, -“my Coldstreamers are your Majesty’s devoted soldiers, but after the -important service they have rendered your Highness they decline to take -up arms as second to any other regiment in your Majesty’s service!” -“They are right,” said the King, “and they shall be ‘second to none.’ -Let them take up their arms as my Coldstream regiment of Foot Guards.” -Monk rode back to his regiment and communicated to it the King’s -decision. It had a magical effect. The arms were instantly raised amid -frantic cries of “Long live the King!” Since this event the motto of -the regiment has been <i>Nulli Secundus</i>, which is borne in gold letters -upon its colors beneath the star and garter of the Royal House. There -also appear upon its colors the names of “Lincelles,” “Egypt” (with -the Sphinx), “Talavera,” “Barrosa,” “Peninsula,” “Waterloo,” “Alma,” -“Inkerman,” and “Sevastopol.” In the year 1850 this regiment held its -jubilee banquet to commemorate the two hundredth anniversary of its -birth.—<i>London Society.</i></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - -<div class="footnotes"><h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"> -<span class="label">[1]</span></a> Popular Astronomy, p. 145.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"> -<span class="label">[2]</span></a> The Observatory, No. 43, p. 613.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"> -<span class="label">[3]</span></a> Nature, vol. xxv. p. 537.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"> -<span class="label">[4]</span></a> -Silvered glass is considerably more reflective than speculum-metal, -and Mr. Common’s 36-inch mirror can be but slightly inferior in -luminous capacity to the Lick objective. It is, however, devoted almost -exclusively to celestial photography, in which it has done splendid -service. The Paris 4-foot mirror bent under its own weight when placed -in the tube in 1875, and has not since been remounted.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"> -<span class="label">[5]</span></a> E. Holden, “The Lick Observatory,” -Nature, vol. xxv. p. 298.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"> -<span class="label">[6]</span></a> Monthly Notices, R. Astr. Soc. vol. xiv. p. 133 (1854).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"> -<span class="label">[7]</span></a> Phil. Trans. vol. cxlviii. p. 455.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"> -<span class="label">[8]</span></a> Captain Jacob unfortunately died August 16, 1862, -when about to assume the direction of a hill observatory at Poonah.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"> -<span class="label">[9]</span></a> -The height of the mercury at Guajara is 21·7 to 22 inches.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"> -<span class="label">[10]</span></a> Phil. Trans. vol. cxlviii. p. 477.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"> -<span class="label">[11]</span></a> -We are told that three American observers in the Rocky Mountains, -belonging to the Eclipse Expedition of 1878, easily saw Jupiter’s -satellites night after night with the naked eye. That their discernment -is possible, even under comparatively disadvantageous circumstances -is rendered certain by the well-authenticated instance (related by -Humboldt, “Cosmos,” vol. iii. p. 66, Otte’s trans.) of a tailor named -Schön, who died at Breslau in 1837. This man habitually perceived -the first and third, but never could see the second or fourth Jovian moons.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"> -<span class="label">[12]</span></a> -Sir W. Herschel’s great undertakings, Bessel remarks (“Populäre -Vorlesungen,” p. 15), “were directed rather towards a physical -description of the heavens, than to astronomy proper.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"> -<span class="label">[13]</span></a> Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xiii. p. 89.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"> -<span class="label">[14]</span></a> -The characteristic orange line (D<sub>3</sub>) of this unknown -substance, has recently been identified by Professor Palmieri in the -spectrum of lava from Vesuvius—a highly interesting discovery, if -verified.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"> -<span class="label">[15]</span></a> The Sun, p. 193.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"> -<span class="label">[16]</span></a> -R. D. Cutts, “Bulletin of the Philosophical Society of Washington,” vol. i. p. 70.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"> -<span class="label">[17]</span></a> -This instrument may be described as an electric balance of the utmost -conceivable delicacy. The principle of its construction is that the -conducting power of metals is diminished by raising their temperature. -Thus, if heat be applied to one only of the wires forming a circuit in -which a galvanometer is included, the movement of the needle instantly -betrays the disturbance of the electrical equilibrium. The conducting -wires or “balance arms” of the bolometer are platinum strips 1/120th -of an inch wide and 1/25000 of an inch thick, constituting metallic -<i>antennæ</i> sensitive to the chill even of the fine dark lines in the -solar spectrum, or to changes of temperature estimated at 1/100000 of a -degree Centigrade.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"> -<span class="label">[18]</span></a> -Defined by the tint of the second hydrogen-line, the bright -reversal of Fraunhofer’s F. The sun would also seem—adopting -a medium estimate—three or four times as brilliant as he now does.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"> -<span class="label">[19]</span></a> Annales de Chimie et de Physique, t. x. p. 360.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"> -<span class="label">[20]</span></a> S. P. Langley, “Nature,” vol. xxvi. p. 316.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"> -<span class="label">[21]</span></a> -Sir J. Herschel’s estimate of the “temperature of space” was 239°F.; -Pouillet’s 224°F. below zero. Both are almost certainly much too high. -See Taylor, “Bull. Phil. Soc. Washington,” vol. ii. p. 73; and Croll, -“Nature,” vol. xxi, p. 521.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"> -<span class="label">[22]</span></a> -This is true only of the “normal spectrum,” formed by reflection from -a “grating” on the principle of interference. In the spectrum produced -by refraction, the red rays are <i>huddled together</i> by the distorting -effect of the prism through which they are transmitted.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"> -<span class="label">[23]</span></a> Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xx. p. 36.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"> -<span class="label">[24]</span></a> Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xx. p. 41.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"> -<span class="label">[25]</span></a> Report of the Paris Observatory, -“Astronomical Register,” Oct. 1883; and “Observatory,” No. 75.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"> -<span class="label">[26]</span></a> Hipp. ad Phaenomena, lib. i. cap. xiv.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"> -<span class="label">[27]</span></a> Cosmos, vol. iii. p. 272 <i>note</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"> -<span class="label">[28]</span></a> Am. Jour. of Science, vol. xx. p. 437.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"> -<span class="label">[29]</span></a> Nature, vol. xxiii. p. 19.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"> -<span class="label">[30]</span></a> An expression used by Mr. Warren de la Rue.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"> -<span class="label">[31]</span></a> -Optice, p. 107 (2nd ed. 1719.) “Author’s Monitio” dated July 16, 1717.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"> -<span class="label">[32]</span></a> -“Der grosse Mann, der edle Pedagog, Der, sich zum Ruhm, ein Heldenvolk erzogen.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"> -<span class="label">[33]</span></a> -“Zwar sind sie an das Beste nicht gewöhnt, Allein sie haben schrecklich viel gelesen.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"> -<span class="label">[34]</span></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Zwanzig Jahre liess sich gehn</span> -<span class="i1">Und genoss was mir beschieden;</span> -<span class="i1">Eine Reihe völlig schön</span> -<span class="i1">Wie die Zeit der Barmeciden.”</span> -<span class="i21">—<i>West. Div.</i></span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"> -<span class="label">[35]</span></a> -“Sicherlich es muss das Beste Irgendwo zu finden sein.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"> -<span class="label">[36]</span></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Dass die Welt, wie sie auch kreise,</span> -<span class="i1">Liebevoll und dankbar sei.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"> -<span class="label">[37]</span></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Will ich in Kunst und Wissenschaft,</span> -<span class="i1">Wie immer, protestiren.”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"> -<span class="label">[38]</span></a> -“An diese Religion halten wir fest, aber auf eine eigene Weise.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"> -<span class="label">[39]</span></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Was kann der Mensch im Leben mehr gewinnen,</span> -<span class="i1">Als dass ihm Gott-Natur sich offenbare?”</span> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"> -<span class="label">[40]</span></a> -“Von der Société St. Simonien bitte Dich fern zu halten;” so he writes to Carlyle.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"> -<span class="label">[41]</span></a> -“Usi Natalizi, Nuziali e Funebri del Popolo Siciliano descritti da G. Pitrè.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"> -<span class="label">[42]</span></a> -Edward, second Earl. His father, Robert Harley, first Earl, was Treasurer under Queen Anne.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"> -<span class="label">[43]</span></a> -The friend and correspondent of Dean Swift, Mrs. Delany, and other people of note in her day.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"> -<span class="label">[44]</span></a> -This criticism was passed in reference to the comic scenes in “Henry IV.” and “Henry V.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"> -<span class="label">[45]</span></a> -A Cornish borough, now disfranchised.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"> -<span class="label">[46]</span></a> -See Eclectic Magazine for December, 1884.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"> -<span class="label">[47]</span></a> -Egypt, No. 1, 1878.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"> -<span class="label">[48]</span></a> -Egypt, No. 9, 1884.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"> -<span class="label">[49]</span></a> -See Egypt, No. 12, p, 132-133.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"> -<span class="label">[50]</span></a> -<i>Times</i>, September 12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"> -<span class="label">[51]</span></a> -See Egypt, No. 12, p. 226.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"> -<span class="label">[52]</span></a> -Egypt, No. 8, 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"> -<span class="label">[53]</span></a> -Ibid., No. 12, 169.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"> -<span class="label">[54]</span></a> -I learn that the Committee has now been formed for the purpose of -raising a statue to the memory of Schopenhauer. The following is a -list of members:—Ernest Rénan; Max Müller of Oxford; Brahmane -Ragot Rampal Sing; Von Benningsen, formerly President of the German -Reichstag; Rudolf von Thering, the celebrated Romanist of Göttingen; -Gyldea, the astronomer from Stockholm; Funger, President of the -Imperial Court (Reichsgericht) of Vienna; Wilhelm Gentz of Berlin; -Otto Böhtlingk of the Imperial Academy of Russia; Karl Hillebrand of -Florence; Francis Bowen, Professor at Harvard College in the United -States; Professor Rudolf Leuckart of Leipzig; Hans von Wolzogen of -Bayreuth; Professor F. Zarncke of Leipzig; Ludwig Noiré of Mayence; and -Emile de Laveleye of Liège.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"> -<span class="label">[55]</span></a> -On April 20, 1731, the English vessel <i>Rebecca</i>, Captain Jenkins, is -visited by the coast-guards of Havanna, who accuse the captain of -smuggling military goods. They find none on board, but they ill-treat -him by hanging him first to the yard and fastening the cabin boy to his -feet. The rope breaks, however, and they then proceed to cut off one of -his ears, telling him to take it to his king. Jenkins returns to London -and claims vengeance. Pope writes verses about his ear, but England -did not choose to quarrel with Spain just then, and all is apparently -forgotten. Eight years after, some insults offered by the Spaniards -to English vessels brought up again the topic of Jenkins’s ear. He -had preserved it in wadding. The sailors went about London wearing -the inscription “ear for ear” on their hats. The large merchants -and shipowners espoused their cause. William Pitt and the nation in -general desire war with Spain, and Walpole is forced to declare it. The -consequences are but too well-known. Bloodshed all over the world on -land and sea. Jenkins’s ear is indeed avenged. If the English people -were poetical, says Carlyle, this ear would have become a constellation -like Berenice’s crown.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"> -<span class="label">[56]</span></a> -The writer of these pages had the honor of delivering the annual -Oration in the Sanders Theatre of Harvard University, under the -auspices of the Φ. Β. Κ. Society, on June 26, 1884. The following paper -is the substance of the address then spoken, with such modifications as -appeared appropriate to the present form of publication.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"> -<span class="label">[57]</span></a> -In an essay on “Pindar” in the <i>Journal of Hellenic Studies</i> (vol. -iii.), from which some points are repeated in this paragraph, I have -worked this out more in detail.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"> -<span class="label">[58]</span></a> -Saintsbury’s <i>Short History of French Literature</i>, p. 405.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"> -<span class="label">[59]</span></a> -In the <i>Attic Orators</i>, vol. ii. p. 42, I pointed out this analogy.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"> -<span class="label">[60]</span></a> -Professor Sellar’s rendering, <i>Roman Poets of the Republic</i>, p. 55.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"> -<span class="label">[61]</span></a> -Sir Walter Scott, Fenimore Cooper, Miss Sedgwick, and Hawthorne in -his story of “The Gray Champion,” have all made use of this striking incident.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"> -<span class="label">[62]</span></a> -Elsewhere Mr. Harrison contemptuously refers to the <i>Descriptive -Sociology</i> as “a pile of clippings made to order.” While I have been -writing, the original directions to compilers have been found by my -present secretary, Mr. James Bridge; and he has drawn my attention to -one of the “orders.” It says that all works are “to be read not with a -view to any particular class of facts but with a view to all classes of -facts.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"> -<span class="label">[63]</span></a> -<i>Journal of Asiatic Society of Bengal</i>, xxiv. part ii., p. 196.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"> -<span class="label">[64]</span></a> -Ellis, <i>Polynesian Researches</i>, vol. i. p. 525.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"> -<span class="label">[65]</span></a> -<i>Journ. As. Soc. of Ben.</i>, xv. pp. 348-49.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"> -<span class="label">[66]</span></a> -Bastian, <i>Mensch</i>, ii. 109, 113.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"> -<span class="label">[67]</span></a> -<i>Supernatural Religion</i>, 2nd ed., vol. i. p. 12.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"> -<span class="label">[68]</span></a> -Dr. Henry Rink, <i>Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo</i>, p. 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"> -<span class="label">[69]</span></a> -Tylor, <i>Primitive Culture</i>, vol. ii. p. 133.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"> -<span class="label">[70]</span></a> -<i>Ibid.</i> p. 139.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"> -<span class="label">[71]</span></a> -<i>Ibid.</i> p. 137.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"> -<span class="label">[72]</span></a> -Tylor, <i>Primitive Culture</i>, vol. ii. p. 144.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"> -<span class="label">[73]</span></a> -<i>Harrison contre Spencer sur la Valeur Religieuse de L’Inconnaissable</i>, -par le C<sup>te</sup>. Goblet D’Alviella. Paris, Ernest Leroux.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p> -<a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"> -<span class="label">[74]</span></a> -<i>Essays</i>, vol. iii. pp. 293-6.</p></div> -</div> - -<div class="transnote bbox"> -<p class="f120 space-above1">Transcriber Notes:</p> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="indent">Only references within this volume are hyperlinked.</p> -<p class="indent">Uncertain or antiquated spellings or ancient words were not corrected.</p> -<p class="indent">Errors in punctuation and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected - unless otherwise noted.</p> -<p class="indent">Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations - in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eclectic Magazine of Foreign -Literature, Science, and Art, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE *** - -***** This file should be named 52866-h.htm or 52866-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/8/6/52866/ - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Paul Marshall and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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