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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..8df306f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53212 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53212) diff --git a/old/53212-0.txt b/old/53212-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 401f2ba..0000000 --- a/old/53212-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10730 +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, April 1885. - -Author: Various - -Release Date: October 5, 2016 [EBook #53212] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE--FOREIGN LITERATURE *** - - - - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - [Illustration: An open book, listing contents as Literature, Art, - Science, Belleslettres, History, Biography, Astronomy, Geology, etc.] - - - Eclectic Magazine - - OF - - FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. - - ———————————— - New Series. } { Old Series complete - Vol. XLI., No. 4. } April, 1885. { in 63 vols. - ———————————— - - - - - A WORD MORE ABOUT AMERICA. - - BY MATTHEW ARNOLD. - -When I was at Chicago last year, I was asked whether Lord Coleridge -would not write a book about America. I ventured to answer confidently -for him that he would do nothing of the kind. Not at Chicago only, but -almost wherever I went, I was asked whether I myself did not intend -to write a book about America. For oneself one can answer yet more -confidently than for one’s friends, and I always replied that most -assuredly I had no such intention. To write a book about America, on -the strength of having made merely such a tour there as mine was, -and with no fuller equipment of preparatory studies and of local -observations than I possess, would seem to me an impertinence. - -It is now a long while since I read M. de Tocqueville’s famous -work on Democracy in America. I have the highest respect for M. de -Tocqueville; but my remembrance of his book is that it deals too much -in abstractions for my taste, and that it is written, moreover, in a -style which many French writers adopt, but which I find trying—a style -cut into short paragraphs and wearing an air of rigorous scientific -deduction without the reality. Very likely, however, I do M. de -Tocqueville injustice. My debility in high speculation is well known, -and I mean to attempt his book on Democracy again when I have seen -America once more, and when years may have brought to me, perhaps, more -of the philosophic mind. Meanwhile, however, it will be evident how -serious a matter I think it to write a worthy book about the United -States, when I am not entirely satisfied with even M. de Tocqueville’s. - -But before I went to America, and when I had no expectation of ever -going there, I published, under the title of “A Word about America,” -not indeed a book, but a few modest remarks on what I thought -civilisation in the United States might probably be like. I had before -me a Boston newspaper-article which said that if I ever visited America -I should find there such and such things; and taking this article for -my text I observed, that from all I had read and all I could judge, -I should for my part expect to find there rather such and such other -things, which I mentioned. I said that of aristocracy, as we know it -here, I should expect to find, of course, in the United States the -total absence; that our lower class I should expect to find absent in a -great degree, while my old familiar friend, the middle class, I should -expect to find in full possession of the land. And then betaking myself -to those playful phrases which a little relieve, perhaps, the tedium of -grave disquisitions of this sort, I said that I imagined one would just -have in America our Philistines, with our aristocracy quite left out -and our populace very nearly. - -An acute and singularly candid American, whose name I will on no -account betray to his countrymen, read these observations of mine, and -he made a remark upon them to me which struck me a good deal. Yes, he -said, you are right, and your supposition is just. In general, what -you would find over there would be the Philistines, as you call them, -without your aristocracy and without your populace. Only this, too, -I say at the same time: you would find over there something besides, -something more, something which you do not bring out, which you cannot -know and bring out, perhaps, without actually visiting the United -States, but which you would recognise if you saw it. - -My friend was a true prophet. When I saw the United States I recognised -that the general account which I had hazarded of them was, indeed, not -erroneous, but that it required to have something added to supplement -it. I should not like either my friends in America or my countrymen -here at home to think that my “Word about America” gave my full and -final thoughts respecting the people of the United States. The new and -modifying impressions brought by experience I shall communicate, as I -did my original expectations, with all good faith, and as simply and -plainly as possible. Perhaps when I have yet again visited America, -have seen the great West, and have had a second reading of M. de -Tocqueville’s classical work on Democracy, my mind may be enlarged and -my present impressions still further modified by new ideas. If so, I -promise to make my confession duly; not indeed to make it, even then, -in a book about America, but to make it in a brief “Last Word” on that -great subject—a word, like its predecessors, of open-hearted and free -conversation with the readers of this Review. - - * * * * * - -I suppose I am not by nature disposed to think so much as most people -do of “institutions.” The Americans think and talk very much of their -“institutions;” I am by nature inclined to call all this sort of -thing _machinery_, and to regard rather men and their characters. -But the more I saw of America, the more I found myself led to treat -“institutions” with increased respect. Until I went to the United -States I had never seen a people with institutions which seemed -expressly and thoroughly suited to it. I had not properly appreciated -the benefits proceeding from this cause. - -Sir Henry Maine, in an admirable essay which, though not signed, -betrays him for its author by its rare and characteristic qualities of -mind and style—Sir Henry Maine in the _Quarterly Review_ adopts and -often reiterates a phrase of M. Scherer, to the effect that “Democracy -is only a form of government.” He holds up to ridicule a sentence of -Mr. Bancroft’s History, in which the American democracy is told that -its ascent to power “proceeded as uniformly and majestically as the -laws of being and was as certain as the decrees of eternity.” Let us be -willing to give Sir Henry Maine his way, and to allow no magnificent -claim of this kind on behalf of the American democracy. Let us treat -as not more solid the assertion in the Declaration of Independence, -that “all men are created equal, are endowed by their Creator with -certain inalienable rights, among them life, liberty, and the pursuit -of happiness.” Let us concede that these natural rights are a figment; -that chance and circumstance, as much as deliberate foresight and -design, have brought the United States into their present condition, -that moreover the British rule which they threw off was not the rule of -oppressors and tyrants which declaimers suppose, and that the merit of -the Americans was not that of oppressed men rising against tyrants, but -rather of sensible young people getting rid of stupid and overweening -guardians who misunderstood and mismanaged them. - -All this let us concede, if we will; but in conceding it let us not -lose sight of the really important point, which is this: that their -institutions do in fact suit the people of the United States so well, -and that from this suitableness they do derive so much actual benefit. -As one watches the play of their institutions, the image suggests -itself to one’s mind of a man in a suit of clothes which fits him to -perfection, leaving all his movements unimpeded and easy. It is loose -where it ought to be loose, and it sits close where its sitting close -is an advantage. The central government of the United States keeps in -its own hands those functions which, if the nation is to have real -unity, ought to be kept there; those functions it takes to itself -and no others. The State governments and the municipal governments -provide people with the fullest liberty of managing their own affairs, -and afford, besides, a constant and invaluable school of practical -experience. This wonderful suit of clothes, again (to recur to our -image), is found also to adapt itself naturally to the wearer’s growth, -and to admit of all enlargements as they successively arise. I speak of -the state of things since the suppression of slavery, of the state of -things which meets a spectator’s eye at the present time in America. -There are points in which the institutions of the United States may -call forth criticism. One observer may think that it would be well if -the President’s term of office were longer, if his ministers sate in -Congress or must possess the confidence of Congress. Another observer -may say that the marriage laws for the whole nation ought to be fixed -by Congress, and not to vary at the will of the legislatures of the -several States. I myself was much struck with the inconvenience of -not allowing a man to sit in Congress except for his own district; a -man like Wendell Phillips was thus excluded, because Boston would not -return him. It is as if Mr. Bright could have no other constituency -open to him if Rochdale would not send him to Parliament. But all -these are really questions of _machinery_ (to use my own term), and -ought not so to engage our attention as to prevent our seeing that the -capital fact as to the institutions of the United States is this: their -suitableness to the American people and their natural and easy working. -If we are not to be allowed to say, with Mr. Beecher, that this people -has “a genius for the organisation of States,” then at all events we -must admit that in its own organisation it has enjoyed the most signal -good fortune. - -Yes; what is called, in the jargon of the publicists, the political -problem and the social problem, the people of the United States does -appear to me to have solved, or Fortune has solved it for them, with -undeniable success. Against invasion and conquest from without they -are impregnably strong. As to domestic concerns, the first thing to -remember is, that the people over there is at bottom the same people -as ourselves, a people with a strong sense for conduct. But there -is said to be great corruption among their politicians and in the -public service, in municipal administration, and in the administration -of justice. Sir Lepel Griffin would lead us to think that the -administration of justice, in particular, is so thoroughly corrupt, that -a man with a lawsuit has only to provide his lawyer with the necessary -funds for bribing the officials, and he can make sure of winning his -suit. The Americans themselves use such strong language in describing -the corruption prevalent amongst them that they cannot be surprised if -strangers believe them. For myself, I had heard and read so much to -the discredit of American political life, how all the best men kept -aloof from it, and those who gave themselves to it were unworthy, that -I ended by supposing that the thing must actually be so, and the good -Americans must be looked for elsewhere than in politics. Then I had the -pleasure of dining with Mr. Bancroft in Washington; and however he -may, in Sir Henry Maine’s opinion, overlaud the pre-established harmony -of American democracy, he had at any rate invited to meet me half a -dozen politicians whom in England we should pronounce to be members of -Parliament of the highest class, in bearing, manners, tone of feeling, -intelligence, information. I discovered that in truth the practice, so -common in America, of calling a politician “a thief,” does not mean -so very much more than is meant in England when we have heard Lord -Beaconsfield called “a liar” and Mr. Gladstone “a madman.” It means, -that the speaker disagrees with the politician in question and dislikes -him. Not that I assent, on the other hand, to the thick-and-thin -American patriots, who will tell you that there is no more corruption -in the politics and administration of the United States than in those -of England. I believe there _is_ more, and that the tone of both is -lower there; and this from a cause on which I shall have to touch -hereafter. But the corruption is exaggerated; it is not the wide and -deep disease it is often represented; it is such that the good elements -in the nation may, and I believe will, perfectly work it off; and even -now the truth of what I have been saying as to the suitableness and -successful working of American institutions is not really in the least -affected by it. - -Furthermore, American society is not in danger from revolution. Here, -again, I do not mean that the United States are exempt from the -operation of every one of the causes—such a cause as the division -between rich and poor, for instance—which may lead to revolution. But I -mean that comparatively with the old countries of Europe they are free -from the danger of revolution; and I believe that the good elements in -them will make a way for them to escape out of what they really have -of this danger also, to escape in the future as well as now—the future -for which some observers announce this danger as so certain and so -formidable. Lord Macaulay predicted that the United States must come -in time to just the same state of things which we witness in England; -that the cities would fill up and the lands become occupied, and then, -he said, the division between rich and poor would establish itself on -the same scale as with us, and be just as embarrassing. He forgot that -the United States are without what certainly fixes and accentuates the -division between rich and poor—the distinction of classes. Not only -have they not the distinction between noble and bourgeois, between -aristocracy and middle class; they have not even the distinction -between bourgeois and peasant or artisan, between middle and lower -class. They have nothing to create it and compel their recognition of -it. Their domestic service is done for them by Irish, Germans, Swedes, -Negroes. Outside domestic service, within the range of conditions which -an American may in fact be called upon to traverse, he passes easily -from one sort of occupation to another, from poverty to riches, and -from riches to poverty. No one of his possible occupations appears -degrading to him or makes him lose caste; and poverty itself appears to -him as inconvenient and disagreeable rather than as humiliating. When -the immigrant from Europe strikes root in his new home, he becomes as -the American. - -It may be said that the Americans, when they attained their -independence, had not the elements for a division into classes, and -that they deserve no praise for not having invented one. But I am -not now contending that they deserve praise for their institutions, -I am saying how well their institutions work. Considering, indeed, -how rife are distinctions of rank and class in the world, how prone -men in general are to adopt them, how much the Americans themselves, -beyond doubt, are capable of feeling their attraction, it shows, I -think, at least strong good sense in the Americans to have forborne -from all attempt to invent them at the outset, and to have escaped -or resisted any fancy for inventing them since. But evidently the -United States constituted themselves, not amid the circumstances of a -feudal age, but in a modern age; not under the conditions of an epoch -favorable to subordination, but under those of an epoch of expansion. -Their institutions did but comply with the form and pressure of the -circumstances and conditions then present. A feudal age, an epoch of -war, defence, and concentration, needs centres of power and property, -and it reinforces property by joining distinctions of rank and class -with it. Property becomes more honorable, more solid. And in feudal -ages this is well, for its changing hands easily would be a source -of weakness. But in ages of expansion, where men are bent that every -one shall have his chance, the more readily property changes hands -the better. The envy with which its holder is regarded diminishes, -society is safer. I think whatever may be said of the worship of -the almighty dollar in America, it is indubitable that rich men are -regarded there with less envy and hatred than rich men are in Europe. -Why is this? Because their condition is less fixed, because government -and legislation do not take them more seriously than other people, -make grandees of them, aid them to found families and endure. With -us, the chief holders of property are grandees already, and every -rich man aspires to become a grandee if possible. And therefore an -English country-gentleman regards himself as part of the system of -nature; government and legislation have invited him so to do. If the -price of wheat falls so low that his means of expenditure are greatly -reduced, he tells you that if this lasts he cannot possibly go on -as a country-gentleman; and every well-bred person amongst us looks -sympathising and shocked. An American would say: “Why should he?” The -Conservative newspapers are fond of giving us, as an argument for the -game-laws, the plea that without them a country-gentleman could not -be induced to live on his estate. An American would say: “What does -it matter?” Perhaps to an English ear this will sound brutal; but the -point is that the American does not take his rich man so seriously as -we do ours, does not make him into a grandee; the thing, if proposed -to him, would strike him as an absurdity. I suspect that Mr. Winans -himself, the American millionaire who adds deer-forest to deer-forest, -and will not suffer a cottier to keep a pet lamb, regards his own -performance as a colossal stroke of American humor, illustrating the -absurdities of the British system of property and privilege. Ask Mr. -Winans if he would promote the introduction of the British game-laws -into the United States, and he would tell you with a merry laugh that -the idea is ridiculous, and that these British follies are for home -consumption. - -The example of France must not mislead us. There the institutions, -an objector may say, are republican, and yet the division and hatred -between rich and poor is intense. True; but in France, though -the institutions may be republican, the ideas and morals are not -republican. In America not only are the institutions republican, but -the ideas and morals are prevailingly republican also. They are those -of a plain, decent middle class. The ideal of those who are the public -instructors of the people is the ideal of such a class. In France -the ideal of the mass of popular journalists and popular writers of -fiction, who are now practically the public instructors there, is, if -you could see their hearts, a Pompadour or du Barry _régime_, with -themselves for the part of Faublas. With this ideal prevailing, this -vision of the objects for which wealth is desirable, the possessors of -wealth become hateful to the multitude which toils and endures, and -society is undermined. This is one of the many inconvenience which -the French have to suffer from that worship of the great goddess -Lubricity to which they are at present vowed. Wealth excites the most -savage enmity there, because it is conceived as a means for gratifying -appetites of the most selfish and vile kind. But in America Faublas is -no more the ideal than Coriolanus. Wealth is no more conceived as the -minister to the pleasures of a class of rakes, than as the minister to -the magnificence of a class of nobles. It is conceived as a thing which -almost any American may attain, and which almost every American will -use respectably. Its possession, therefore, does not inspire hatred, -and so I return to the thesis with which I started—America is not in -danger of revolution. The division between rich and poor is alleged to -us as a cause of revolution which presently, if not now, must operate -there, as elsewhere; and yet we see that this cause has not there, in -truth, the characters to which we are elsewhere accustomed. - -A people homogeneous, a people which had to constitute itself in a -modern age, an epoch of expansion, and which has given to itself -institutions entirely fitted for such an age and epoch, and which suit -it perfectly—a people not in danger of war from without, not in danger -of revolution from within—such is the people of the United States. The -political and social problem, then, we must surely allow that they -solve successfully. There remains, I know, the human problem also; -the solution of that too has to be considered; but I shall come to -that hereafter. My point at present is, that politically and socially -the United States are a community living in a natural condition, and -conscious of living in a natural condition. And being in this healthy -case, and having this healthy consciousness, the community there uses -its understanding with the soundness of health; it in general sees its -political and social concerns straight, and sees them clear. So that -when Sir Henry Maine and M. Scherer tell us that democracy is “merely -a form of government,” we may observe to them that it is in the United -States a form of government in which the community feels itself in a -natural condition and at ease; in which, consequently, it sees things -straight and sees them clear. - -More than half one’s interest in watching the English people of the -United States comes, of course, from the bearing of what one finds -there upon things at home, amongst us English people ourselves in these -islands. I have frankly recorded what struck me and came as most new -to me in the condition of the English race in the United States. I had -said beforehand, indeed, that I supposed the American Philistine was a -livelier sort of Philistine than ours, because he had not that pressure -of the Barbarians to stunt and distort him which befalls his English -brother here. But I did not foresee how far his superior liveliness and -naturalness of condition, in the absence of that pressure, would carry -the American Philistine. I still use my old name _Philistine_, because -it does in fact seem to me as yet to suit the bulk of the community -over there, as it suits the strong central body of the community here. -But in my mouth the name is hardly a reproach, so clearly do I see the -Philistine’s necessity, so willingly I own his merits, so much I find -of him in myself. The American Philistine, however, is certainly far -more different from his English brother than I had beforehand supposed. -And on that difference we English of the old country may with great -profit turn our regards for awhile, and I am now going to speak of it. - -Surely if there is one thing more than another which all the world -is saying of our community at present, and of which the truth cannot -well be disputed, it is this: that we act like people who do not think -straight and see clear. I know that the Liberal newspapers used to -be fond of saying that what characterised our middle class was its -“clear, manly intelligence, penetrating through sophisms, ignoring -commonplaces, and giving to conventional illusions their true value.” -Many years ago I took alarm at seeing the _Daily News_, and the -_Morning Star_, like Zedekiah the son of Chenaanah, thus making horns -of iron for the middle class and bidding it “Go up and prosper!” and my -first efforts as a writer on public matters were prompted by a desire -to utter, like Micaiah the son of Imlah, my protest against these -misleading assurances of the false prophets. And though often and often -smitten on the cheek, just as Micaiah was, still I persevered; and at -the Royal Institution I said how we seemed to flounder and to beat -the air, and at Liverpool I singled out as our chief want the want of -lucidity. But now everybody is really saying of us the same thing: that -we fumble because we cannot make up our mind, and that we cannot make -up our mind because we do not know what to be after. If our foreign -policy is not that of “the British Philistine, with his likes and -dislikes, his effusion and confusion, his hot and cold fits, his want -of dignity and of the steadfastness which comes from dignity, his want -of ideas and of the steadfastness which comes from ideas,” then all the -world at the present time is, it must be owned, very much mistaken. - -Let us not, therefore, speak of foreign affairs; it is needless, -because the thing I wish to show is so manifest there to everybody. -But we will consider matters at home. Let us take the present state of -the House of Commons. Can anything be more confused, more unnatural? -That assembly has got into a condition utterly embarrassed, and seems -impotent to bring itself right. The members of the House themselves -may find entertainment in the personal incidents which such a state -of confusion is sure to bring forth abundantly, and excitement in the -opportunities thus often afforded for the display of Mr. Gladstone’s -wonderful powers. But to any judicious Englishman outside the House -the spectacle is simply an afflicting and humiliating one; the sense -aroused by it is not a sense of delight at Mr. Gladstone’s tireless -powers, it is rather a sense of disgust at their having to be so -exercised. Every day the House of Commons does not sit judicious -people feel relief, every day that it sits they are oppressed with -apprehension. Instead of being an edifying influence, as such an -assembly ought to be, the House of Commons is at present an influence -which does harm; it sets an example which rebukes and corrects none -of the nation’s faults, but rather encourages them. The best thing to -be done at present, perhaps, is to avert one’s eyes from the House -of Commons as much as possible; if one keeps on constantly watching -it welter in its baneful confusion, one is likely to fall into the -fulminating style of the wrathful Hebrew prophets, and to call it “an -astonishment, a hissing, and a curse.” - -Well, then, our greatest institution, the House of Commons, we -cannot say is at present working, like the American institutions, -easily and successfully. Suppose we now pass to Ireland. I will not -ask if our institutions work easily and successfully in Ireland; to -ask such a question would be too bitter, too cruel a mockery. Those -hateful cases which have been tried in the Dublin Courts this last -year suggest the dark and ill-omened word which applies to the whole -state of Ireland—_anti-natural_. _Anti-natural_, _anti-nature_—that -is the word which rises irresistibly in my mind as I survey Ireland. -Everything is unnatural there—the proceedings of the English who -rule, the proceedings of the Irish who resist. But it is with the -working of our English institutions there that I am now concerned. -It is unnatural that Ireland should be governed by Lord Spencer and -Mr. Campbell Bannerman—as unnatural as for Scotland to be governed by -Lord Cranbrook and Mr. Healy. It is unnatural that Ireland should -be governed under a Crimes Act. But there is necessity, replies -the Government. Well, then, if there is such evil necessity, it is -unnatural that the Irish newspapers should be free to write as they -write and the Irish members to speak as they speak—free to inflame -and further exasperate a seditious people’s mind, and to promote the -continuance of the evil necessity. A necessity for the Crimes Act is -a necessity for absolute government. By our patchwork proceedings we -set up, indeed, a make-believe of Ireland’s being constitutionally -governed. But it is not constitutionally governed; nobody supposes it -to be constitutionally governed, except, perhaps, that born swallower -of all clap-trap, the British Philistine. The Irish themselves, -the all-important personages in this case, are not taken in; our -make-believe does not produce in them the very least gratitude, the -very least softening. At the same time it adds an hundred fold to the -difficulties of an absolute government. - -The working of our institutions being thus awry, is the working of -our thoughts upon them more smooth and natural? I imagine to myself -an American, his own institutions and his habits of thought being -such as we have seen, listening to us as we talk politics and discuss -the strained state of things over here. “Certainly these men have -considerable difficulties,” he would say; “but they never look at them -straight, they do not think straight.” Who does not admire the fine -qualities of Lord Spencer?—and I, for my part, am quite ready to admit -that he may require for a given period not only the present Crimes -Act, but even yet more stringent powers of repression. _For a given -period_, yes!—but afterwards? Has Lord Spencer any clear vision of the -great, the profound changes still to be wrought before a stable and -prosperous society can arise in Ireland? Has he even any ideal for -the future there, beyond that of a time when he can go to visit Lord -Kenmare, or any other great landlord who is his friend, and find all -the tenants punctually paying their rents, prosperous and deferential, -and society in Ireland settling quietly down again upon the old basis? -And he might as well hope to see Strongbow come to life again! Which -of us does not esteem and like Mr. Trevelyan, and rejoice in the high -promise of his career? And how all his friends applauded when he turned -upon the exasperating and insulting Irish members, and told them that -he was “an English gentleman”! Yet, if one thinks of it, Mr. Trevelyan -was thus telling the Irish members simply that he was just that -which Ireland does not want, and which can do her no good. England, -to be sure, has given Ireland plenty of her worst, but she has also -given her not scantily of her best. Ireland has had no insufficient -supply of the English gentleman, with his honesty, personal courage, -high bearing, good intentions, and limited vision; what she wants is -statesmen with just the qualities which the typical English gentleman -has not—flexibility, openness of mind, a free and large view of things. - -Everywhere we shall find in our thinking a sort of warp inclining it -aside of the real mark, and thus depriving it of value. The common run -of peers who write to the _Times_ about reform of the House of Lords -one would not much expect, perhaps, to “understand the signs of this -time.” But even the Duke of Argyll, delivering his mind about the -land-question in Scotland, is like one seeing, thinking, and speaking -in some other planet than ours. A man of even Mr. John Morley’s gifts -is provoked with the House of Lords, and straightway he declares -himself against the existence of a Second Chamber at all; although—if -there be such a thing as demonstration in politics—the working of the -American Senate demonstrates a well-composed Second Chamber to be the -very need and safeguard of a modern democracy. What a singular twist, -again, in a man of Mr. Frederic Harrison’s intellectual power, not, -perhaps, to have in the exuberance of youthful energy weighted himself -for the race of life by taking up a grotesque old French pedant upon -his shoulders, but to have insisted, in middle age, in taking up the -Protestant Dissenters too; and now, when he is becoming elderly, it -seems as if nothing would serve him but he must add the Peace Society -to his load! How perverse, yet again, in Mr. Herbert Spencer, at the -very moment when past neglects and present needs are driving men -to co-operation, to making the community act for the public good in -its collective and corporate character of _the State_, how perverse -to seize this occasion for promulgating the extremest doctrine of -individualism; and not only to drag this dead horse along the public -road himself, but to induce Mr. Auberon Herbert to devote his days to -flogging it! - -We think thus unaccountably because we are living in an unnatural and -strained state. We are like people whose vision is deranged by their -looking through a turbid and distorting atmosphere, or whose movements -are warped by the cramping of some unnatural constraint. Let us just -ask ourselves, looking at the thing as people simply desirous of -finding the truth, how men who saw and thought straight would proceed, -how an American, for instance—whose seeing and thinking has, I have -said, if not in all matters, yet commonly in political and social -concerns, this quality of straightness—how an American would proceed -in the three confusions which I have given as instances of the many -confusions now embarrassing us: the confusion of our foreign affairs, -the confusion of the House of Commons, the confusion of Ireland. And -then, when we have discovered the kind of proceeding natural in these -cases, let us ask ourselves, with the same sincerity, what is the cause -of that warp of mind hindering most of us from seeing straight in them, -and also where is our remedy. - -The Angra Pequeña business has lately called forth from all sides many -and harsh animadversions upon Lord Granville, who is charged with the -direction of our foreign affairs. I shall not swell the chorus of -complainers. Nothing has happened but what was to be expected. Long ago -I remarked that it is not Lord Granville himself who determines our -foreign policy and shapes the declarations of Government concerning it, -but a power behind Lord Granville. He and his colleagues would call it -the power of public opinion. It is really the opinion of that great -ruling class amongst us on which Liberal Governments have hitherto had -to depend for support—the Philistines or middle class. It is not, -I repeat, with Lord Granville in his natural state and force that a -foreign Government has to deal; it is with Lord Granville waiting -in devout expectation to see how the cat will jump—and that cat the -British Philistine! When Prince Bismarck deals with Lord Granville, -he finds that he is not dealing mind to mind with an intelligent -equal, but that he is dealing with a tumult of likes and dislikes, -hopes and fears, stock-jobbing intrigues, missionary interests, -quidnuncs, newspapers—dealing, in short, with _ignorance_ behind his -intelligent equal. Yet ignorant as our Philistine middle class may be, -its volitions on foreign affairs would have more intelligibility and -consistency if uttered through a spokesman of their own class. Coming -through a nobleman like Lord Granville, who has neither the thoughts, -habits, nor ideals of the middle class, and yet wishes to act as -proctor for it, they have every disadvantage. He cannot even do justice -to the Philistine mind, such as it is, for which he is spokesman; -he apprehends it uncertainly and expounds it ineffectively. And so -with the house and lineage of Murdstone thundering at him (and these, -again, through Lord Derby as their interpreter) from the Cape, and the -inexorable Prince Bismarck thundering at him from Berlin, the thing -naturally ends by Lord Granville at last wringing his adroit hands and -ejaculating disconsolately: “It is a misunderstanding altogether!” Even -yet more to be pitied, perhaps, was the hard case of Lord Kimberley -after the Majuba Hill disaster. Who can ever forget him, poor man, -studying the faces of the representatives of the dissenting interest -and exclaiming: “A sudden thought strikes me! May we not be incurring -the sin of blood-guiltiness?” To this has come the tradition of Lord -Somers, the Whig oligarchy of 1688, and all Lord Macaulay’s Pantheon. - -I said that a source of strength to America, in political and -social concerns, was the homogeneous character of American society. -An American statesman speaks with more effect the mind of his -fellow-citizens from his being in sympathy with it, understanding -and sharing it. Certainly one must admit that if, in our country of -classes, the Philistine middle class is really the inspirer of our -foreign policy, that policy would at least be expounded more forcibly -if it had a Philistine for its spokesman. Yet I think the true moral -to be drawn is rather, perhaps, this: that our foreign policy would be -improved if our whole society were homogeneous. - -As to the confusion in the House of Commons, what, apart from defective -rules of procedure, are its causes? First and foremost, no doubt, the -temper and action of the Irish members. But putting this cause of -confusion out of view for a moment, every one can see that the House -of Commons is far too large, and that it undertakes a quantity of -business which belongs more properly to local assemblies. The confusion -from these causes is one which is constantly increasing, because, as -the country becomes fuller and more awakened, business multiplies, and -more and more members of the House are inclined to take part in it. Is -not the cure for this found in a course like that followed in America, -in having a much less numerous House of Commons, and in making over a -large part of its business to local assemblies, elected, as the House -of Commons itself will henceforth be elected, by household suffrage? -I have often said that we seem to me to need at present, in England, -three things in especial: more equality, education for the middle -classes, and a thorough municipal system. A system of local assemblies -is but the natural complement of a thorough municipal system. Wholes -neither too large nor too small, not necessarily of equal population -by any means, but with characters rendering them in themselves fairly -homogeneous and coherent, are the fit units for choosing these -local assemblies. Such units occur immediately to one’s mind in the -provinces of Ireland, the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, Wales -north and south, groups of English counties such as present themselves -in the circuits of the judges or under the names of East Anglia or -the Midlands. No one will suppose me guilty of the pedantry of here -laying out definitive districts; I do but indicate such units as may -enable the reader to conceive the kind of basis required for the local -assemblies of which I am speaking. The business of these districts -would be more advantageously done in assemblies of the kind; they -would form a useful school for the increasing number of aspirants to -public life, and the House of Commons would be relieved. - -The strain in Ireland would be relieved too, and by natural and safe -means. Irishmen are to be found, who, in desperation at the present -state of their country, cry out for making Ireland independent and -separate, with a national Parliament in Dublin, with her own foreign -office and diplomacy, her own army and navy, her own tariff, coinage -and currency. This is manifestly impracticable. But here again let -us look at what is done by people who in politics think straight -and see clear; let us observe what is done in the United States. -The Government at Washington reserves matters of imperial concern, -matters such as those just enumerated, which cannot be relinquished -without relinquishing the unity of the empire. Neither does it allow -one great South to be constituted, or one great West, with a Southern -Parliament, or a Western. Provinces that are too large are broken up, -as Virginia has been broken up. But the several States are nevertheless -real and important wholes, each with its own legislature; and to each -the control, within its own borders, of all except imperial concerns -is freely committed. The United States Government intervenes only to -keep order in the last resort. Let us suppose a similar plan applied -in Ireland. There are four provinces there, forming four natural -wholes—or perhaps (if it should seem expedient to put Munster and -Connaught together) three. The Parliament of the empire would still be -in London, and Ireland would send members to it. But at the same time -each Irish province would have its own legislature, and the control of -its own real affairs. The British landlord would no longer determine -the dealings with land in an Irish province, nor the British Protestant -the dealings with church and education. Apart from imperial concerns, -or from disorder such as to render military intervention necessary, the -government in London would leave Ireland to manage itself. Lord Spencer -and Mr. Campbell Bannerman would come back to England. Dublin Castle -would be the State House of Leinster. Land-questions, game-laws, -police, church, education, would be regulated by the people and -legislature of Leinster for Leinster, of Ulster for Ulster, of Munster -and Connaught for Munster and Connaught. The same with the like matters -in England and Scotland. The local legislatures would regulate them. - -But there is more. Everybody who watches the working of our -institutions perceives what strain and friction is caused in it at -present, by our having a Second Chamber composed almost entirely of -great landowners, and representing the feelings and interests of the -class of landowners almost exclusively. No one, certainly, under the -condition of a modern age and our actual life, would ever think of -devising such a Chamber. But we will allow ourselves to do more than -merely state this truism, we will allow ourselves to ask what sort -of Second Chamber people who thought straight and saw clear would, -under the conditions of a modern age and of our actual life, naturally -make. And we find, from the experience of the United States, that such -provincial legislatures as we have just now seen to be the natural -remedy for the confusion in the House of Commons, the natural remedy -for the confusion in Ireland, have the further great merit besides -of giving us the best basis possible for a modern Second Chamber. -The United States Senate is perhaps, of all the institutions of that -country, the most happily devised, the most successful in its working. -The legislature of each State of the Union elects two senators to the -Second Chamber of the national Congress at Washington. The senators -are the Lords—if we like to keep, as it is surely best to keep, for -designating the members of the Second Chamber, the title to which -we have been for so many ages habituated. Each of the provincial -legislatures of Great Britain and Ireland would elect members to the -House of Lords. The colonial legislatures also would elect members to -it; and thus we should be complying in the most simple and yet the most -signal way possible with the present desire of both this country and -the colonies for a closer union together, for some representation of -the colonies in the Imperial Parliament. Probably it would be found -expedient to transfer to the Second Chamber the representatives of the -Universities. But no scheme for a Second Chamber will at the present -day be found solid unless it stands on a genuine basis of election -and representation. All schemes for forming a Second Chamber through -nomination, whether by the Crown or by any other voice, of picked -noblemen, great officials, leading merchants and bankers, eminent men -of letters and science, are fantastic. Probably they would not give -us by any means a good Second Chamber. But certainly they would not -satisfy the country or possess its confidence, and therefore they would -be found futile and unworkable. - -So we discover what would naturally appear the desirable way out of -some of our worst confusions to anybody who saw clear and thought -straight. But there is little likelihood, probably, of any such way -being soon perceived and followed by our community here. And why is -this? Because, as a community, we have so little lucidity, we so little -see clear and think straight. And why, again, is this? Because our -community is so little homogeneous. The lower class has yet to show -what it will do in politics. Rising politicians are already beginning -to flatter it with servile assiduity, but their praise is as yet -premature, the lower class is too little known. The upper class and the -middle class we know. They have each their own supposed interests, and -these are very different from the true interests of the community. Our -very classes make us dim-seeing. In a modern time, we are living with a -system of classes so intense, a society of such unnatural complication, -that the whole action of our minds is hampered and falsened by it. I -return to my old thesis: inequality is our bane. The great impediments -in our way of progress are aristocracy and Protestant dissent. People -think this is an epigram; alas, it is much rather a truism! - -An aristocratical society like ours is often said to be the society -from which artists and men of letters have most to gain. But an -institution is to be judged, not by what one can oneself gain from it, -but by the ideal which it sets up. And aristocracy—if I may once more -repeat words which, however often repeated, have still a value from -their truth—aristocracy now sets up in our country a false ideal, which -materialises our upper class, vulgarises our middle class, brutalises -our lower class. It misleads the young, makes the worldly more worldly, -the limited more limited, the stationary more stationary. Even to the -imaginative, whom Lord John Manners thinks its sure friend, it is more -a hindrance than a help. Johnson says well: “Whatever makes the past, -the distant, or the future, predominate over the present, advances us -in the dignity of thinking beings.” But what is a Duke of Norfolk or -an Earl Warwick, dressed in broadcloth and tweed, and going about his -business or pleasure in hansom cabs and railways like the rest of us? -Imagination herself would entreat him to take himself out of the way, -and to leave us to the Norfolks and Warwicks of history. - -I say this without a particle of hatred, and with esteem, admiration, -and affection for many individuals in the aristocratical class. But -the action of time and circumstance is fatal. If one asks oneself what -is really to be desired, what is expedient, one would go far beyond -the substitution of an elected Second Chamber for the present House of -Lords. All confiscation is to be reprobated, all deprivation (except in -bad cases of abuse) of what is actually possessed. But one would wish, -if one set about wishing, for the extinction of title after the death -of the holder, and for the dispersion of property by a stringent law of -bequest. Our society should be homogeneous, and only in this way can it -become so. - -But aristocracy is in little danger. “I suppose, sir,” a dissenting -minister said to me the other day, “you found, when you were in -America, that they envied us there our great aristocracy.” It was his -sincere belief that they did, and such probably is the sincere belief -of our middle class in general; or at any rate, that if the Americans -do not envy us this possession, they ought to. And my friend, one of -the great Liberal party which has now, I suppose, pretty nearly run -down its deceased wife’s sister, poor thing, has his hand and heart -full, so far as politics are concerned, of the question of church -disestablishment. He is eager to set to work at a change which, even -if it were desirable (and I think it is not,) is yet off the line of -those reforms which are really pressing. - -Mr. Lyulph Stanley, Professor Stuart, and Lord Richard Grosvenor are -waiting ready to help him, and perhaps Mr. Chamberlain himself will -lead the attack. I admire Mr. Chamberlain as a politician because he -has the courage—and it is a wise courage—to state large the reforms we -need, instead of minimising them. But like Saul before his conversion, -he breathes out threatenings and slaughter against the Church, and -is likely, perhaps, to lead an assault upon her. He is a formidable -assailant, yet I suspect he might break his finger-nails on her walls. -If the Church has the majority for her, she will of course stand. But -in any case this institution, with all its faults, has that merit which -makes the great strength of institutions—it offers an ideal which -is noble and attaching. Equality is its profession, if not always -its practice. It inspires wide and deep affection, and possesses, -therefore, immense strength. Probably the Establishment will not -stand in Wales, probably it will not stand in Scotland. In Wales it -ought not, I think, to stand. In Scotland I should regret its fall; -but Presbyterian churches are born to separatism, as the sparks fly -upward. At any rate, it is through the vote of local legislatures that -disestablishment is likely to come, as a measure required in certain -provinces, and not as a general measure for the whole country. In other -words, the endeavor for disestablishment ought to be postponed to the -endeavor for far more important reforms, not to precede it. Yet I doubt -whether Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Lyulph Stanley will listen to me when I -plead thus with them; there is so little lucidity in England, and they -will say I am priest-ridden. - -One man there is, whom above all others I would fain have seen in -Parliament during the last ten years, and beheld established in -influence there at this juncture—Mr. Goldwin Smith. I do not say that -he was not too embittered against the Church; in my opinion he was. -But with singular lucidity and penetration he saw what great reforms -were needed in other directions, and the order of relative importance -in which reforms stood. Such were his character, style, and faculties, -that alone perhaps among men of his insight he was capable of getting -his ideas weighed and entertained by men in power; while amid all favor -and under all temptations he was certain to have still remained true to -his insight, “unshaken, unseduced, unterrified.” I think of him as a -real power for good in Parliament at this time, had he by now become, -as he might have become, one of the leaders there. His absence from the -scene, his retirement in Canada, is a loss to his friends, but a still -greater loss to his country. - -Hardly inferior in influence to Parliament itself is journalism. I do -not conceive of Mr. John Morley as made for filling that position in -Parliament which Mr. Goldwin Smith would, I think, have filled. If he -controls, as Protesilaos in the poem advises, hysterical passion (the -besetting danger of men of letters on the platform and in Parliament) -and remembers to approve “the depth and not the tumult of the soul,” he -will be powerful in Parliament; he will rise, he will come into office; -but he will not do for us in Parliament, I think, what Mr. Goldwin -Smith would have done. He is too much of a partisan. In journalism, on -the other hand, he was as unique a figure as Mr. Goldwin Smith would, -I imagine, have been in Parliament. As a journalist, Mr. John Morley -showed a mind which seized and understood the signs of the times; he -had all the ideas of a man of the best insight, and alone, perhaps, -among men of his insight, he had the skill for making these ideas pass -into journalism. But Mr. John Morley has now left journalism. There is -plenty of talent in Parliament, plenty of talent in journalism, but -no one in either to expound “the signs of this time” as these two men -might have expounded them. The signs of the time, political and social, -are left, I regret to say, to bring themselves as they best can to the -notice of the public. Yet how ineffective an organ is literature for -conveying them compared with Parliament and journalism! - -Conveyed somehow, however, they certainly should be, and in this -disquisition I have tried to deal with them. But the political and -social problem, as the thinkers call it, must not so occupy us as to -make us forget the human problem. The problems are connected together, -but they are not identical. Our political and social confusions I -admit; what Parliament is at this moment, I see and deplore. Yet -nowhere but in England even now, not in France, not in Germany, not in -America, could there be found public men of that quality—so capable -of fair dealing, of trusting one another, keeping their word to one -another—as to make possible such a settlement of the Franchise and -Seat Bills as that which we have lately seen. Plato says with most -profound truth: “The man who would think to good purpose must be able -to take many things into his view together.” How homogeneous American -society is, I have done my best to declare; how smoothly and naturally -the institutions of the United States work, how clearly, in some most -important respects, the Americans see, how straight they think. Yet Sir -Lepel Griffin says that there is no country calling itself civilised -where one would not rather live than in America, except Russia. -In politics I do not much trust Sir Lepel Griffin. I hope that he -administers in India some district where a profound insight into the -being and working of institutions is not requisite. But, I suppose, of -the tastes of himself and of that large class of Englishmen whom Mr. -Charles Sumner has taught us to call the class of gentlemen, he is no -untrustworthy reporter. And an Englishman of this class would rather -live in France, Spain, Holland, Belgium, Germany, Italy, Switzerland, -than in the United States, in spite of our community of race and speech -with them! This means that, in the opinion of men of that class, -the human problem at least is not well solved in the United States, -whatever the political and social problem may be. And to the human -problem in the United States we ought certainly to turn our attention, -especially when we find taken such an objection as this; and some day, -though not now, we will do so, and try to see what the objection comes -to. I have given hostages to the United States, I am bound to them by -the memory of great, untiring, and most attaching kindness. I should -not like to have to own them to be of all countries calling themselves -civilised, except Russia, the country where one would least like to -live.—_Nineteenth Century._ - - - - -REVIEW OF THE YEAR. - -BY FREDERIC HARRISON. - - -The opening of a new year again assembles us together to look back on -the work of the year that is gone, to look faithfully into our present -state, and to take forecast of all that yet awaits us in the visible -life on earth, under the inspiring sense of the Great Power which makes -us what we are, and who will be as great when we are not. - -In the light of this duty to Humanity as a whole, how feeble is our -work, how poor the result! And yet, looking back on the year that -is just departed, we need not be down-hearted. Surely and firmly we -advance. Not as the spiritualist movements advance, by leaps and -bounds, as the tares spring up, as the stubble blazes forth, but by -conviction, with system, with slow consolidation of belief resting on -proof and tested by experience. If at the beginning of last year we -could point to the formation of a new centre in North London, this year -we can point to its maintenance with steady vigor, and to the opening -of a more important new centre in the city of Manchester. Year by year -sees the addition to our cause of a group in the great towns of the -kingdom. Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle, already have -their weekly meetings and their organised societies. - -I make no great store of all this. The religious confidence in Humanity -will not come about, I think, like the belief in the Gospel, or in -the Church, or in any of the countless Protestant persuasions, by -the formation of a small sect of believers, gradually inducing men -to join some exclusive congregation. The trust in Humanity is an -ineradicable part of modern civilisation: nay, it is the very motive -power and saving quality of modern civilisation, and that even where -it is encumbered by a conscious belief in God and Christ, in Gospel -and salvation, or where it is disguised by an atheistical rejection -of all religious reverence whatever. Positivists are not a sect. -Positivism is not merely a new mode of worship. It is of small moment -to us how numerous are the congregations who meet to-day to acknowledge -Humanity in words. The best men and women of all creeds and all races -acknowledge Humanity in their lives. For the full realisation of our -hopes we must look to the improvement of civilisation; not to the -extension of a sect. Let us shun all sects and everything belonging to -them. - -I shall say but little, therefore, of the growth of Positivist -congregations. Where they are perfectly spontaneous and natural; where -they are doing a real work in education; where they give solid comfort -and support to the lives of those who form them, they are useful and -living things, giving hope and sign of something better. But I see -evil in them if they are artificial and premature; if they spring out -of the incurable tendency of our age toward sects; if they are mere -imitations of Christian congregations; and, above all, if their members -look upon them as adequate types of a regenerated society. The religion -of Humanity, by its nature, is incapable of being narrowed down to -the limits of a few hundreds of scattered believers and to casual -gatherings of men and women divided in life and activity. And that for -the same reason that civilisation or patriotism could not possibly be -the privilege of a few scattered individuals. Where two or three are -gathered together, there the Gospel may be duly presented, and God and -Christ adequately worshipped. It is not so with Humanity. The service -of Humanity needs Humanity. The only Church of Humanity is a healthy -and cultured human society. It is the very business of Humanity to free -us from all individualist religion, from all self-contained worship -of the isolated believer. And though the idea of Humanity is able to -strengthen the individual soul as profoundly as the idea of Christ, -yet the idea of Humanity, the service of Humanity, the honoring of -Humanity, are only fully realised in the living organism of a humane -society of men. - -For this reason I look on a Positivist community rather as a germ of -what is to come, one which may easily degenerate into a hindrance to -true life in Humanity. The utmost that we can do now as an isolated -knot of scattered believers is so immeasurably short of what may -be done by a united nation, familiar from generation to generation -with the sense of duty to Humanity, saturated from infancy with the -consciousness of Humanity, and with all the resources of an organised -public opinion, and a disciplined body of teachers, poets, and artists, -to secure its convictions and express its emotions, that I am always -dreading lest our puny attempts in the movement be stereotyped as -adequate. Our English, Protestant habits are continually prompting us -to look for salvation to sects, societies, self-sufficing congregations -of zealous, but possibly self-righteous reformers. The egotistic spirit -of the Gospel is constantly inclining us to look for a healthier -religious ideal to some new religious exercises, to be performed in -secret by the individual believer, in the silence of his chamber or in -some little congregation of fellow-believers. Positivism comes, not -to add another to these congregations, but to free us from the temper -of mind which creates them. It comes to show us that religion is not -to be found within any four walls, or in the secret yearnings of any -heart, but in the right systematic development of an entire human -society. Until there is a profound diffusion of the spirit of Humanity -throughout the mass of some entire human society, some definite section -of modern civilisation, there can be no religion of Humanity in any -adequate degree; there can be no full worship of Humanity; there can be -no true Positivist life till there be an organic Positivist community -to live such a life. Let us beware how we imagine, that where two or -three are gathered together there is a Positivist Church. There may be -a synagogue of Positivist pharisees, it may be; but the sense of our -vast human fellowship—which lies at the root of Positivist morality; -the reality of Positivist religion, which means a high and humane life -in the world; the glory of Positivist worship, which means the noblest -expression of human feeling in art—all these things are _not_ possible -in any exclusive and meagre synagogue whatever, and are very much -retarded by the premature formation of synagogues. - -I look, as I say always, to the leavening of opinion generally; to the -attitude of mind with which the world around us confronts Positivism -and understands, or feels interest in Positivism. And here, and not in -the formation of new congregations, I find the grounds for unbounded -hope. Within a very few years, and notably within the year just ended, -there has been a striking change of tone in the way in which the -thoughtful public looks at Positivism. It has entirely passed out of -the stage of silence and contempt. It occupies a place in the public -interest, not equal yet to its importance in the future; but far in -excess, I fear, of anything which its living exponents can justify -in the present. The thoughtful public and the religious spirits -acknowledge in it a genuine religious force. Candid Christians see that -it has much which calls out their sympathy. But apart from that, the -period of misunderstanding and of ridicule is passed for Positivism for -ever. Serious people are beginning now to say that there is nothing -in Positivism so extravagant, nothing so mischievous as they used to -think. Many of them are beginning to see that it bears witness to -valuable truths which have been hitherto neglected. They are coming to -feel that in certain central problems of the modern world, such as the -possibility of preserving the religious sentiment, in defending the -bases of spiritual and temporal authority, in explaining the science -of history, in the institution of property, in the future relations -of men and women, employers and employed, government and people, -teachers and learners, in all of these, Positivism holds up a ray of -steady light in the chaos of opinion. They are asking themselves, the -truly conservative and truly religious natures, if, after all, society -may not be destined to be regenerated in some such ideal lines as -Positivism shadows forth:— - - “Via prima salutis, - Quod minimè reris, Graia pandetur ab urbe.” - -Here, then, is the great gain of the past year. It has for some time -been felt that we have hold of a profound religious truth; that -Positivism, as Mr. Mill says, does realise the essential conditions of -religion. But we have now made it clear that we have hold of a profound -philosophical truth as well; and a living and prolific social truth. -The cool, instructed, practical intellect is now prepared to admit that -it is quite a reasonable hope to look for the cultivation of a purely -human duty towards our fellow beings and our race collectively as a -solid basis of moral and practical life—nay, further, that so far as -it goes, and without excluding other bases of life, this is a sound, -and indeed, a very common, spring to right action. It is an immense -step gained that the cool, instructed, practical intellect of our day -goes with us up to this point. It is a minor matter, that in conceding -so much, this same intelligent man-of-the-world is ready to say, “You -must throw over, however, all the mummery and priestcraft with which -Positivism began its career.” Positivism has no mummery or priestcraft -to throw over. The whole idea of such things arose out of labored -epigrams manufactured about the utopias of Comte when exaggerated into -a formalism by some of his more excitable followers. - -In the history of any great truth we generally find three stages of -public opinion regarding it. The first, of unthinking hostility; the -second, of minimising its novelty; the third, of adopting it as an -obvious truism. Men say first, “Nothing more grotesque and mischievous -was ever propounded!” Then they say, “Now that it has entirely changed -its front, there is nothing to be afraid of, and not much that is new!” -And in the third stage they say, “We have held this all our lives, and -it is a mere commonplace of modern thought.” Positivism has now passed -out of the first stage. Men have ceased to think of it as grotesque or -mischievous. They have now passed into the second stage, and say, “Now -that it is showing itself as mere common-sense, it is little more than -a re-statement of what reasonable men have long thought, and what good -men have long aimed at.” Quite so, only there has been no change of -front, no abandoning of anything, and no modification of any essential -principle. We have only made it clear that the original prejudices we -had to meet were founded in haste, misconception, and mere caricature. -We have shown that Positivism is just as truly scientific as it is -religious; that it has as much aversion to priestcraft, ritualism, -and ceremony, as any Protestant sectary: and as deep an aversion to -sects as the Pope of Rome or the President of the Royal Society. -Positivism itself is as loyal to every genuine result of modern science -as the Royal Society itself. The idea that any reasonable Positivist -undervalues the real triumphs of science, or could dream of minimising -any solid conclusion of science, or of limiting the progress of -science, or would pit any unproven assertion of any man, be he Comte, -or an entire Ecumenical Council of Comtists, so to speak, against -any single proven conclusion of human research, this, I say, is too -laughable to be seriously imputed to any Positivist. - -If Auguste Comte had ever used language which could fairly be so -understood, I will not stop to inquire. I do not believe he has. But -if I were shown fifty such passages, they would not weigh with me a -grain against the entire basis and genius of Positivism itself; which -is that human life shall henceforward be based on a footing of solid -demonstration alone. If enthusiastic Positivists, more Comtist than -Comte, ever gave countenance to such an extravagance, I can only say -that they no more represent Positivism than General Booth’s brass -band represents Christianity. If words of Auguste Comte have been -understood to mean that the religion of Humanity can be summed up in -the repetition of phrases, or can be summed up in anything less than -a moral and scientific education of man’s complex nature, I can only -treat it as a caricature unworthy of notice. This hall is the centre in -this country where the Positivist scheme is presented in its entirety, -under the immediate direction of Comte’s successor. And speaking in -his name and in the name of our English committee, I claim it as an -essential purpose of our existence as an organised body, to promote -a sound scientific education, so as to abolish the barrier which now -separates school and Church; to cultivate individual training in all -true knowledge, and the assertion of individual energy of character -and brain; to promote independence quite as much as association; -personal responsibility, quite as much as social discipline; and free -public opinion, in all things spiritual and material alike, quite as -much as organised guidance by trained leaders. Whatever makes light -of these, whatever is indifferent to scientific education, whatever -tends to blind and slavish surrender of the judgment and the will, -whatever clings to mysticism, formalism, and priestcraft, such belongs -not to Positivism, to Auguste Comte, or to humanity rightly regarded -and honored. The first condition of the religion of Humanity is human -nature and common sense. - -Whilst Positivism has been making good its ground within the area of -scientific philosophy, scientific metaphysics has been exhibiting the -signal weakness of its position on the side of religion. To those who -have once entered into the scientific world of belief in positive -knowledge there is no choice between a belief in nothing at all and -a belief in the future of human civilisation, between Agnosticism -and Humanity. Agnosticism is therefore for the present the rival and -antagonist of Positivism outside the orthodox fold. I say for the -present, because by the nature of the case Agnosticism is a mere raft -or jurymast for shipwrecked believers, a halting-place, and temporary -passage from one belief to another belief. The idea that the deepest -issues of life and of thought can be permanently referred to any -negation; that cultivated beings can feel proud of summing up their -religious belief in the formula, that they “know nothing” this is too -absurd to endure. Agnosticism is a milder form of the Voltairean hatred -of religion that was current in the last century; but it is quite as -passing a phase. For the moment, it is the fashion of the emancipated -Christian to save all trouble by professing himself an Agnostic. But he -is more or less ashamed of it. He knows it is a subterfuge. It is no -real answer. It is only an excuse for refusing to answer a troublesome -question. The Agnostic knows that he will have to give a better -answer some day; he finds earnest men clamoring for an answer. He is -getting uneasy that they will not take “Don’t know” for an answer. He -is himself too full still of theology and metaphysics to follow our -practice, which is to leave the theological conundrum alone, and to -proclaim _regard for the human race as an adequate solution of the -human problem_. And in the meantime he staves off questions by making -his own ignorance—his own ignorance!—the foundation of a creed. - -We have just seen the failure of one, of these attempts. The void -caused by the silent crumbling of all the spiritual creeds has to be -filled in some way. The indomitable passion of mankind towards an -object to revere and work for, has to be met. And the latest device has -been, as we have seen, to erect the “Unknowable” itself into the sole -reality, and to assure us that an indescribable heap of abstract terms -is the true foundation of life. So that, after all its protestations -against any superstitious belief, Agnosticism floats back into a -cloud of contradictions and negations as unthinkable as those of the -Athanasian creed, and which are merely our old theological attributes -again, dressed up in the language of Esoteric Buddhism. - - -II. - -I turn now, as is our custom, to review the work of the year under -its three-fold heads of Cult, Education, Politics. You will see that -I avoid the word Worship, because worship is so often misunderstood; -and because it wholly fails to convey the meaning of the Positivist -_cultus_, or stimulus of the noblest emotions of man. Worship is in -no way a translation of Comte’s word _culte_. In French we can talk -of the _culte des mères_, or the _culte des morts_, or the _culte -des enfants_, or the _culte de l’Art_. We cannot in English talk of -_worshipping_ our mothers, or _worshipping_ our dead friends, or -_worshipping_ children, or _worshipping_ art; or, if we use the words, -we do not mean the same thing. Comte has suffered deeply by being -crudely translated into English phrases, by people who did not see -that the same phrase in English means something different. Now his -_culte de l’Humanité_ does not mean what Englishmen understand by the -worship of Humanity: _i.e._, they are apt to fancy, kneeling down -and praying to Humanity, or singing a hymn to Humanity. By _culte de -l’Humanité_ is meant, deepening our sense of gratitude and regard for -the human race and its living or dead organs. And everything which does -this is _cult_, though it may not be what we call in English worship. -So _service_ is a word I avoid; because the service of Humanity -consists in the thousand ways in which we fulfil our social duties, -and not in uttering exclamations which may or may not lead to anything -in conduct, and which we have no reason to suppose are heard by any -one, or affect any one outside the room where they are uttered. The -commemoration of a great man such as William the Silent or Corneille -is _cult_, though we do not worship him; the solemn delight in a piece -of music in such a spirit is _cult_, though it is not _worship_, or -_service_, in the modern English sense of these words. The ceremony of -interring a dead friend, or naming a child is _cult_, though we do not -worship our dead friend, nor do we worship the baby when brought for -presentation. Cult, as we understand it, is a process that concerns -the person or persons who worship, not the being worshipped. Whatever -stimulates the sense of social duty and kindles the noblest emotions, -whether by a mere historical lecture, or a grand piece of music, or by -a solemn act, or by some expression of emotion—this is cult. - -In the same way, I avoid the word _religion_, to signify any special -department or any one side of our Positivist life. Religion is not a -part of life, but a harmonious and true living of our lives; not the -mere expression of feeling, but the right convergence of feeling and -thought into pure action. Some of our people seem to use the word -“religion,” in the theological sense, to mean the formal expression of -a sentiment of devotion. This is a mere distortion of Comte’s language, -and essentially unworthy of the broad spirit of Positivism. The full -meaning of _culte_, as Comte employed it, is every act by which man -expresses and every means by which he kindles the sense of reverence, -duty, love, or resignation. In that sense, and in that sense only, do -I now employ _cult_, which is obviously a somewhat inadequate English -phrase. - -The past year opened with the commemoration of this day, in which, -though the words of praise and devotion that we uttered were few, we -sought to brace our spirits and clear our brains by pausing for an hour -in the midst of the whirl of life, to look forth on the vast range of -our social duties and the littleness of our individual performance. On -the 5th of September, the twenty-seventh anniversary of the death of -Auguste Comte, we met, as usual, to commemorate his life and work. The -discourse then given will be shortly published. At the friendly repast -and in the social meeting of that day we had the welcome presence of -several members of our Positivist body in Paris and also from the -northern cities of England. The hundredth year since the death of -Diderot, the two hundredth since that of Corneille, the three hundredth -since that of the great founder of the Netherlands, William of Orange, -called the Silent, were duly commemorated by a discourse on their life -and work. Such vague and unreal ideas are suggested by the phrase, -the _worship of humanity_, that it is useful to point out that this -is what we in this hall mean by such a notion: the strengthening our -sense of respect for the worthy men in the past by whom civilisation -has been built up. This is what we mean by the worship of humanity. -A mere historical lecture, if its aim and its effect be to kindle in -us enthusiastic regard for the noble men who have gone before us, and -by whose lives and deaths we are what we are,—this is the worship of -humanity, and not the utterance of invocations to an abstract idea. - -On the 28th of last month we held a commemoration of the great -musician, Beethoven, in all respects like that which we had given -two years ago for Mozart. Our friend Professor Henry Holmes and his -admirable quartet again performed two of those immortal pieces, and our -friend, Mr. Vernon Lushington, again gave us one of those beautiful -discourses on the glorious art to which he and his have devoted so -much of their lives. These occasions, which are a real creation of -Positivism, I deeply enjoy. They are neither concert nor lecture, nor -service specially, but all three together, and much more. It is the one -mode in which at present the religion of the future can put forth its -yearnings for a sacred art worthy to compare with the highest types of -Christian art. We meet not to listen to a musical display—not to hear -the history of the musician’s life—not to commemorate his career by any -formal ceremony; but we mingle with our words of gratitude, and honor -and affection for the artist, the worthy rehearsing of his consummate -ideas in a spirit of devotion for him and the glorious company of whom -he is one of the most splendid chiefs. - -Last night, as the year closed, we met as before to dwell on the past, -on the departing year that was being laid to rest in the incalculable -catacombs of time, and on the infinite myriads of human beings by whom -those catacombs are peopled; and with music and with voice we sought to -attune our spirits to the true meanings of the hour. The year has been -to many of us one of cruel anxieties, of sad memories and irreparable -loss. In Mr. Cutler we have lost a most sincere and valued brother. -As we stood round his open grave, there was but one feeling in our -gathered mourners—a sense of loss that could ill be borne, honor to -his gentle and upright career, sympathy with those whom he had left. -The occasion will long be remembered, perhaps, as the first on which -our body has ever been called on to take part in a purely Positivist -burial service. Did any one present feel that the religion of Humanity -is without its power to dignify, to consecrate, and to console in the -presence of death? I speak not for others, but for myself. And, for -my part, when I remember the pathetic chant of our friends at the -grave, the reality of their reverend sorrow, the consolatory sense of -resignation and hope with which we laid our brother in his peaceful -bed, I feel the conviction that in this supreme office, the great test -of religious power, the faith in Humanity will surpass the faith in the -fictions—in beauty, in pathos, in courage, and in consolation, even as -it so manifestly surpasses them in reality. - -The hand of death has been heavy on us both abroad and at home. The -past year has carried off to their immortal life two of the original -disciples and friends of our master, Auguste Hadery and Fabien -Magnin. Both have been most amply honored in funeral sermons by M. -Laffitte. Fabien Magnin was one of those rare men who represent to the -present the type that we look for in the future. A workman (he was -an engine-pattern maker,) he chose to live and die a workman, proud -of his order, and confident in its destinies; all through his long -life without fortune, or luxury, or ambition; a highly-trained man of -science; a thoroughly trained politician, loyal unshakenly to his great -teacher and his successor; of all the men I have ever known the most -perfect type of the cultivated, incorruptible, simple, courageous man -of the people. With his personal influence over his fellow-workmen, -and from the ascendency of his intellect and character, he might -easily in France have forced his way into the foremost place. With his -scientific resources, and his faculty both for writing and speech, he -might easily have entered the literary or scientific class. With his -energy, prudence, and mechanical skill, he might easily have amassed -a fortune. The attractions of such careers never seemed to touch by a -ripple the serene surface of his austere purity. He chose to live and -die in the strictest simplicity—the type of an honest and educated -citizen, who served to make us feel all that the future has to promise -to the workman, when remaining a workman, devoted to his craft and to -his order, he shall be as highly educated as the best of us to-day; as -courteous and dignified as the most refined; as simple as the ideal -village pastor; as ardent a Republican as the Ferrys and Gambettas -whose names fill the journals. - -We have this past year also carried out another series of -commemorations, long familiar to our friends in France, but which are -a real creation of Positivist belief. I mean those Pilgrimages or -religious visits to the scenes of the lives of our great men. This is -a real revival of a noble mediæval and Oriental practice, but wholly -without superstitious taint, and entirely in the current of modern -scientific thought. We go in a body to some spot where one of our -immortal countrymen lived or died, and there, full of the beauty of -the scene on which he used to gaze, and of the _genius loci_ by which -he was inspired, we listen to a simple discourse on his life and work. -In this way we visited the homes or the graves of Bacon, of Harvey, of -Milton, of Penn, of Cromwell, and of our William of Orange. What may -not the art of the future produce for us in this most fruitful mode, -when in place of the idle picnics and holidays of vacant sightseers, -in place of the formal celebration of some prayer-book saint, we shall -gather in a spirit of real religion and honor round the birthplace, the -home, it may be the grave, of some poet, thinker, or ruler; and amidst -all the inspiration of Nature and of the sacred memories of the soil, -shall fill our hearts with the joy in beauty and profound veneration of -the mighty Dead? - - -III. - -In our Sunday meetings, which have been regularly continued excepting -during the four summer months, we have continued our plan of dealing -alike with the religious, the social, and the intellectual sides of -the Positivist view of life and duty. The Housing of the Poor, Art, -Biology, Socialism, our social Duties, the Memory of the Dead, the -Positivist grounds of Morality, and our Practical Duties in Life, -formed the subject of one series. Since our re-opening in the autumn, -we have had courses on the Bible, on the religious value of the -modern poets, and on the true basis of social equality. Amongst the -features of special interest in these series of discourses is that -one course was given by a former Unitarian minister who, after a life -of successful preaching in the least dogmatic of all the Christian -Churches, has been slowly reduced to the conviction that the reality -of Humanity is a more substantial basis for religion to rest on than -the hypothesis of God, and that the great scheme of human morality is -a nobler Gospel to preach than the artificial ideal of a subjective -Christ. I would in particular note the series of admirable lectures -on the Bible, by Dr. Bridges, which combined the results of the -latest learning on this intricate mass of ancient writings with the -sympathetic and yet impartial judgment with which Positivists adopt -into their sacred literature the most famous and most familiar of -all the religious books of mankind. And again I would note that -beautiful series of discourses by Mr. Vernon Lushington on the great -religious poets of the modern world:—Dante, Shakespeare, Milton, Byron, -Wordsworth and Shelley. When we have them side by side, we shall have -before us a new measure of the sound, sympathetic, and universal spirit -of Positivist belief. It is only those who are strangers to it and to -us who can wonder how we come to put the Bible and the poets in equal -places of honor as alike the great organs of true religious feeling. - -The systematic teaching of science, which is an essential part of -our conception of Positivism, has been maintained in this hall with -unabated energy. In the beginning of the year Mr. Vernon Lushington -commenced and carried through (with what an effort of personal -self-devotion no one of us can duly measure) his class on the history -and the elements of Astronomy. This winter, Mr. Lock has opened a -similar class on the History and Elements of Mathematics. Positivism is -essentially a scheme for reforming education, and it is only through -a reformed education, universal to all classes alike, and concerned -with the heart as much as the intellect, that the religious meaning of -Humanity can ever be unfolded. The singing class, the expense of which -was again assumed by Mr. Lushington, was steadily and successfully -maintained during the first part of the year. We are still looking -forward to the formation of a choir. The social meetings which we -instituted last year have become a regular feature of our movement, and -greatly contribute to our closer union and our better understanding of -the social and sympathetic meaning of the faith we profess. - -The publications of the year have been first and chiefly, _The -Testament and Letters of Auguste Comte_, a work long looked for, the -publication of which has been long delayed by various causes. In the -next place I would call attention to the new and popular edition of -_International Policy_, a work of combined essays which we put forward -in 1866, nearly twenty years ago. Our object in that work was to state -and apply to the leading international problems in turn the great -principles of social morality on which it is the mission of Positivism -to show that the politics of nations can only securely repose. In an -epoch which is still tending, we are daily assured, to the old passion -for national self-assertion, it is significant that the Positivist -school alone can resolutely maintain and fearlessly repeat its dictates -of morality and justice, whilst all the Churches, all the political -parties, and all the so-called organs of opinion, which are really the -creatures of parties and cliques, find various pretexts for abandoning -them altogether. How few are the political schools around us who could -venture to republish after twenty years, _their_ political programmes -of 1866, _their_ political doctrines and practical solutions of the -tangled international problems, and who could not find in 1885 a -principle which they had discarded, or a proposal which to-day they are -ashamed to have made twenty years ago. - -Besides these books, the only separate publications of our body are -the affecting address of Mr. Ellis _On the due Commemoration of the -Dead_. The Positivist Society has met throughout the year for the -discussion of the social and political questions of the day. The most -public manifestation of its activity has been the part that it took -in the third centenary of the great hero of national independence, -William, Prince of Orange, called the Silent. The noble and weighty -address in which Mr. Beesly expressed to the Dutch Committee at Delft -the honor in which we held that immortal memory, has deeply touched, we -are told, those to whom it was addressed. And it is significant that -from this hall, dedicated to peace, to the Republic, to the people, -and to Humanity, there was sent forth the one voice from the entire -British race in honor to the great prince, the soldier, the diplomatist -the secret, subtle, and haughty chief, who, three hundred years ago, -created the Dutch nation. We have learned here to care little for a -purely insular patriotism. The great creators of nations are _our_ -forefathers and _our_ countrymen. Protestant or Catholic are nothing -to us, so long as either prepared the way for a broader faith. In -our abhorrence of war we have learned to honor the chief who fought -desperately for the solid bases of peace. In our zeal for the people, -for public opinion, for simplicity of life, and for truthfulness and -openness in word as in conduct, we have not forgotten the _relative_ -duty of those who in darker, fiercer, ruder times than ours used the -weapons of their age in the spirit of duty, and to the saving of those -precious elements where-out the future of a better Humanity shall be -formed. - - -IV. - -Turning to the political field, I shall occupy but little of your time -with the special questions of the year. We are as a body entirely -dissevered from party politics. We seek to color political activity -with certain moral general principles, but we have no interest in party -politics as such. The idea that Positivists are, as a body, Radicals -or Revolutionaries is an idle invention; and I am the more entitled -to repudiate it, in that I have myself formally declined to enter on -a Parliamentary career, on the express ground that I prefer to judge -political questions without the trammels of any party obligation. -On the one hand we are Republicans on principle, in that we demand -a government in the interest of all and of no favored order, by the -highest available capacity, without reference to birth, or wealth, or -class. On the other hand, we are not Democrats, in that we acknowledge -no abstract right to govern in a numerical majority. Whatever is best -administered is best. We desire to see efficiency for the common -welfare, responsible power intrusted to the most capable hand, with -continuous responsibility to a real public opinion. - -I am far from pretending that general principles of this kind entitle -us to pass a judgment on the complex questions of current politics, -or that all Positivists who recognize these principles are bound -to judge current politics in precisely the same way. There is in -Positivism a deep vein of true Conservatism; as there is also an -unquenchable yearning for a social revolution of a just and peaceful -kind. But no one of these tendencies impel us, I think, to march under -the banner either of Mr. Gladstone or Lord Salisbury. As Republicans -on principle, we desire the end of all hereditary institutions. As -believers in public opinion, we desire to see opinion represented -in the most complete way, and without class distinctions. As men -who favor efficiency and concentration in government, we support -whatever may promise to relieve us of the scandalous deadlock to which -Parliamentary government has long been reduced. It may be permitted to -those who are wholly detached from party interests to express a lively -satisfaction that the long electoral struggle is happily got out of -the way, and that a great stride has been taken towards a government -at once energetic and popular, without regarding the hobbies about the -representation of women and the representation of inorganic minorities. - -It is on a far wider field that our great political interests are -absorbed. There is everywhere a revival of the spirit of national -aggrandisement and imperial ambition. Under the now avowed lead of -the great German dictator, the nations of Europe are running a race -to extend their borders by conquest and annexation amongst the weak -and uncivilised. There is to-day a scramble for Africa, as there -was formerly a scramble for Asia; and the scramble in Asia, or in -Polynesia, is only less urgent for the moment, in that the rivalry is -just now keenest in Africa. But in Asia, in Africa, in Polynesia, the -strong nations of Europe are struggling to found Empires by violence, -fraud, or aggression. Three distinct wars are being waged in the East; -and in Africa alone our soldiers and our Government are asserting the -rule of the sword in the North, on the East, in the centre, on the -South, and on the West at the same time. Five years ago, we were told -that for England at least there was to be some lull in this career of -blood and ambition. It was only, we see, a party cry, a device to upset -a government. There has been no lull, no pause in the scramble for -empire. The empire swells year by year; year by year fresh wars break -out; year by year the burden of empire increases whether Disraeli or -Gladstone, Liberal or Conservative, are the actual wielders of power. -The agents of the aggression, the critics, have changed sides; the -Jingoes of yesterday are the grumblers of to-day; and the peaceful -patriots of yesterday are the Jingoes of to-day. The empire and its -appendages are even vaster in 1885 than in 1880; its responsibilities -are greater; its risks and perplexities deeper; its enemies stronger -and more threatening. And in the midst of this crisis, those who -condemn this policy are fewer; their protests come few and faint. The -Christian sects can see nothing unrighteous in Mr. Gladstone; the -Liberal caucuses stifle any murmur of discontent, and force those who -spoke out against Zulu, Afghan, and Trans-Vaal wars to justify, by the -tyrant’s plea of necessity, the massacre of Egyptian fellahs and the -extermination of Arab patriots. They who mouthed most loudly about -Jingoism are now the foremost in their appeals to national vanity. And -the parasites of the parasites of our great Liberal statesman can make -such hubbub, in his utter absence of a policy, that they drive him by -sheer clamor from one adventure into another. For nearly four years now -we have continuously protested against the policy pursued in Egypt. -Year after year we have told Mr. Gladstone that it was blackening his -whole career and covering our country with shame. There is a monotony -about our protests. But, when there is a monotony in evil-doing, there -must alike be monotony in remonstrance. We complain that the blood and -treasure of this nation should be used in order to flay the peasantry -of the Nile, in the interests of usurers and speculators. We complain -that we practically annex a people whom we will not govern and cannot -benefit. We are boldly for what in the slang of the day is called -“scuttling” out of Egypt. We think the robber and the oppressor should -scuttle as quickly as possible, that he is certain to scuttle some -day. We complain of massacring an innocent people merely to give our -traders and money-dealers larger or safer markets. We complain of all -the campaigns and battles as wanton, useless, and unjust massacres. We -especially condemn the war in the Soudan as wanton and unjust even in -the avowal of the very ministers who are urging it. The defender of -Khartoum is a man of heroic qualities and beautiful nature; but the -cause of civilisation is not served by launching amongst savages a -sort of Pentateuch knight errant. And we seriously complain that the -policy of a great country in a great issue of right and wrong should -be determined by schoolboy shouting over the feats of our English -Garibaldi. - -It is true that our Ministers, especially Mr. Gladstone, Lord -Granville, and Lord Derby, are the public men who are now most -conspicuously resisting the forward policy, and that the outcry of the -hour is against them on that ground. But ambition should be made of -sterner stuff. Those who aspire to guide nations should meet the folly -of the day with more vigorous assertion of principle. And the men who -are waging a wanton, bloody, and costly war in the sands of Africa have -no principle left to assert. - -It may well be that Mr. Gladstone, and most of those who follow him in -office, are of all our public men those who have least liking for these -wars, annexations, and oppressive dealings with the weak. They may -have less liking for them it may be, but they are the men who do these -things. They are responsible. The blood lies on their doorstep. The -guilt hangs on their fame. The corruption of the national conscience -is their doing. The page of history will write their names and their -deeds in letters of gore and of flame. It is mockery, even in the -most servile parliamentary drudge, to repeat to us that the wrong -lies at the door of the Opposition, foreign intriguers, international -engagements, untoward circumstances. Keep these threadbare pretexts to -defend the next official blunder amidst the cheers of a party mob. The -English people will have none of such stale equivocation. The ministers -who massacred thousands at Tel-el-Kebir, at Alexandria, at Teb, at -Tamasi, who are sinking millions of our people’s hard-won savings in -the sands of Africa, in order to slaughter a brave race whom they -themselves declare to be heroes and patriots fighting for freedom; and -who after three years of this bloodshed, ruin, and waste, have nothing -to show for it—nothing, except the utter chaos of a fine country, the -extreme misery of an innocent people, and all Europe glowering at us -in menace and hate—the men who have done this are responsible. When -they fail to annex some trumpery bit of coast, the failure is naturally -set down to blundering, not to conscience. History, their country, -their own conscience will make them answer for it. The headlong plunge -of our State, already over-burdened with the needs and dangers of a -heterogeneous empire, the consuming rage for national extension, which -the passion for money, markets, careers, breeds in a people where -moral and religious principles are loosened and conflicting, this is -the great evil of our time. It is to stem this that statesmen should -address themselves. It is to fan this, or to do its bidding, that our -actual statesmen contend. Mr. Gladstone in his heart may loathe the -task to which he is set and the uses to which he lends his splendid -powers. But there are some situations where weakness before powerful -clamor works national ruin more readily even than ambition itself. How -petty to our descendants will our squabbles in the parliamentary game -appear, when history shall tell them that Gladstone waged far more -wars than Disraeli; that he slaughtered more hecatombs of innocent -people; that he oppressed more nations, embroiled us worse with foreign -nations; left the empire of a far more unwieldy size, more exposed and -on more rotten foundations; and that Mr. Gladstone did all this not -because it seemed to him wise or just, but for the same reason (in -truth) that his great rival acted, viz., that it gave him unquestioned -ascendency in his party and with those whose opinion he sought. - -I have not hesitated to speak out my mind of the policy condemned, -not in personal hostility or irritation, however much I respect the -great qualities of Mr. Gladstone himself, however little I desire -to see him displaced by his rivals. No one will venture to believe -that I speak in the interest of party, or have any quarrel with my -own countrymen. All that I have said in condemnation of the African -policy of England I would say in condemnation of the Chinese policy in -France. I would say it all the more because, for the reasons on which -I will not now enlarge, our brethren in France have said so little, -and that little with so broken a voice. It is a weakness to our common -cause that so little has been said in France. But I rejoice to see -that in the new number of our Review, our director, M. Laffitte, has -spoken emphatically against all disturbance of the _status quo_, and -the policy of founding colonial empires. It behooves us all the more -to speak out plainly here. There is the same situation in France as -in England. A ministry whom the majority trust, and whom the military -and trading class can bend to do their will; a thirst in the rich to -extend the empire; a thirst in the adventurers for careers to be won; a -thirst in the journalists for material wherewith to pamper the national -vanity. There, too, are in the East backward peoples to be trampled -on, a confused tangle of pretexts and opportunities, a Parliamentary -majority to be secured, and a crowd of interests to be bribed. In -the case of M. Ferry, we can see all the weakness, all the helpless -vacillations, all the danger of his game; its cynical injustice, its -laughable pretexts and excuses, its deliberate violation of the real -interests of the nation, the formidable risks that he is preparing for -his country, and the ruin which is as certain to follow it. In Mr. -Gladstone’s case there are national and party slaves for the conscience -of the boldest critic. - -The year, too, has witnessed a new form of the spread-eagle tendency in -the revival of one of our periodical scares about the strength of the -navy. About once in every ten or twenty years a knot of shipbuilders, -journalists, seamen, and gunners, contrive to stir up a panic, and to -force the nation into a great increase of its military expenditure. -I am not going to discuss the truth about the Navy, or whether it be -equal or not to the requirements of the Service. I look at this in -a new way: I take up very different ground. I say that the service, -to which we are now called on to make the navy equal, is a service -that we ought not to undertake. The requirements demanded are wholly -incompatible with the true interests of our nation. They are opposed -to the real conditions of civilisation. They will be in a very few -years, even if they are not now, beyond the power of this people to -meet. The claim to a maritime supremacy, in the sense that this country -is permanently to remain undisputed mistress of all seas, always able -and ready to overwhelm any possible combination of any foreign Powers, -this claim in itself is a ridiculous anachronism. Whether the British -fleet is now able to overpower the combined fleets of Europe, or even -of several Powers in Europe, I do not know. Even if it be now able, -such is the progress of events, the ambition of our neighbors, and -the actual conditions of modern war, that it is physically impossible -that such a supremacy can be permanently maintained. To maintain it, -even for another generation, would involve the subjection of England -to a military tyranny such as exists for the moment in Germany, to a -crushing taxation and conscription, of which we have had no experience. -We should have to spend, not twenty-five, but fifty millions a year on -our army and navy if we intend to be really masters in every sea, and -to make the entire British empire one continuous Malta and Gibraltar. -And even that, or a hundred millions a year, would not suffice in the -future for the inevitable growth of foreign powers and the constant -growth of our own empire. To guarantee the permanent supremacy of the -seas, we shall need some Bismarck to crush our free people into the -vice of his military autocracy and universal conscription. - -“Rule Britannia,” or England’s exclusive dominion of the seas, is a -temporary (in my opinion, an unfortunate) episode in our history. -To brag about it and fight for it is the part of a bad citizen; to -maintain it would be a crime against the human race. To have founded, -not an empire, but a scattered congeries of possessions in all parts of -the world by conquest, intrigue, or arbitrary seizure, is a blot upon -our history; to perpetuate it is a burdensome inheritance to bequeath -to our children. To ask that this inorganic heap of possessions shall -be perpetually extended, made absolutely secure against all comers, -and guarded by a fleet which is always ready to meet the world in -arms—this is a programme which it is the duty of every good citizen to -stamp out. Whilst this savage policy is in vogue, the very conditions -of national morality, of peace, of true industrial civilisation are -wanting. The first condition of healthy national progress is to have -broken for ever with this national buccaneering. The commerce, the -property of Englishmen on the seas must protect itself, like that of -other nations, by just, prudent, and civilised bearing, and not by an -exclusive dominion which other great nations do very well without. The -commerce and the honor of Americans are safe all over the world, though -their navy is not one-tenth of ours. And Germany can speak with us face -to face on every ocean, though she can hardly put a first-rate ship in -array of battle. To talk big about refusing to trust the greatness of -England to the sufferance of her neighbors is mere clap-trap. It is -the phrase of Mexican or Californian desperadoes when they fill their -pockets with revolvers and bowie-knives. All but two or three of the -greatest nations are obliged, at all times, to trust their existence to -the sufferance of their stronger neighbors. And they are just as safe, -and quite as proud, and more civilised than their great neighbors in -consequence. Human society, whether national or international, only -begins when social morality has taken the place of individual violence. -Society, for men or nations, cannot be based on the revolver and -bowie-knife principle. - -We repudiate, then, with our whole souls the code of buccaneer -patriotism. True statesmen are bound to check, not to promote, the -expansion of England; to provide for the peaceful disintegration of -the heterogeneous empire, the permanence of which is as incapable of -being justified in policy as of being materially defended in arms. -These aggressions and annexations and protectorates, these wanton -wars amongst savages are at once blunders and crimes, pouring out by -millions what good government and thrift at home save by thousands, -degrading the present generation and deeply wronging the next. We want -no fleet greater than that of our greatest neighbors, and the claim to -absolute dominion at sea must be put away like the claim to the kingdom -of France or exclusive right to the British Channel. We can afford -to smile at the charge that we are degenerate Britons or wanting in -patriotism. Patriotism to us is a deep and working desire for the good -name of England, for the justice and goodness of her policy, for the -real enlightenment and well-being of her sons, and for her front place -in humanity and civilisation. We smile at the vaporing of men to whom -patriotism means a good cry, and several extra editions. - -It may seem for the moment that doctrines such as ours are out of -credit, and that there is little hope of their ever obtaining the -mastery. We are told that to-day not a voice is raised to oppose the -doctrines of spoliation. It is true that, owing to the hubbub of party -politics, to the servility of the Christian Churches, and the low -morality of the press, these national acts of rapacity have passed as -yet with but small challenge. But at any rate here our voice has never -wavered, nor have considerations of men, parties, or majorities led us -to temporise with our principles. We speak out plainly—not more plainly -than Mr. Gladstone and his followers on platform and in press spoke -out once—and we shall go on to speak out plainly, whether we are many -or whether we are few, whether the opinion of the hour is with us or -not. But I am not despondent. Nor do I doubt the speedy triumph of our -stronger morality. I see with what weather cock rapidity the noisiest -of the Anti-Jingoes can change their tone. The tribe of Cleon, and the -Sausage-seller are the same in every age. I will not believe that the -policy of a great nation can be long dictated by firms of advertising -touts, who will puff the new soap, a comic singer, and an imperial war -in the same page; who are equally at home in the partition of Africa or -a penny dreadful. Nations are not seriously led by the arts which make -village bumpkins crowd to the show of the fat girl and the woolly pig. -In the rapid degradation of the press to the lower American standard -we may see an escape from its mischief. The age is one of democracy. -We have just taken a great stride towards universal suffrage and the -government of the people. In really republican societies, where power -rests on universal suffrage, as in France, and in America, the power -of the press is reduced to a very low ebb. The power of journalism is -essentially one of town life and small balanced parties. Its influence -evaporates where power is held by the millions, and government appeals -directly to vast masses of voters spread over immense areas. Cleon -and the Sausage-seller can do little when republican institutions are -firmly rooted over the length and breadth of a great country. - -The destinies of this nation have now been finally committed to the -people, and to the people we will appeal with confidence. The laborer -and the workman have no interest in these wanton wars. In this imperial -expansion, in this rivalry of traders and brag of arms; no taste for it -and no respect for it. They find that they are dragged off to die in -wars of which they know nothing; that their wages are taxed to support -adventures which they loathe. The people are by instinct opponents of -these crimes, and to them we will appeal. The people have a natural -sense of justice and a natural leaning to public morality. Ambition, -lucre, restlessness, and vainglory do not corrupt their minds to -approve a financial adventure. They need peace, productive industry, -humanity. Every step towards the true republic is a step towards -morality. To the new voters, to the masses of the people, we will -confidently appeal. - -There is, too, another side to this matter. If these burdens are to be -thrust on the national purse, and (should the buccaneers have their -way) if the permanent war expenditure must be doubled, and little -wars at ten and twenty millions each are inevitable as well, then in -all fairness the classes who make these wars and profit by them must -pay for them. We have taken a great stride towards democracy, and two -of the first taxes with which the new democracy will deal are the -income-tax and the land-tax. The entire revision of taxation is growing -inevitable. It is a just and sound principle that the main burden of -taxation shall be thrown on the rich, and we have yet to see how the -new democracy will work out that just principle. A graduated income-tax -is a certain result of the movement. The steady pressure against -customs duties and the steady decline in habits of drinking must -combine to force the taxation of the future more and more on income and -on land. A rapid rise in the scale of taxing incomes, until we reach -the point where great fortunes cease to be rapidly accumulated, would -check the wasteful expenditure on war more than any consideration of -justice. Even a China merchant would hardly promote an opium war when -he found himself taxed ten or twenty per cent. on his income. - -One of the first things which will occur to the new rural voters is the -ridiculous minimum to which the land-tax is reduced. Mr. Henry George -and the school of land reformers have lately been insisting that the -land-tax must be immensely increased. At present it is a farce, not -one-tenth of what is usual in the nations of Europe. I entirely agree -with them, and am perfectly prepared to see the land-tax raised till -it ultimately brings us some ten or even twenty millions, instead -of one million. If the result would be to force a great portion of -the soil to change hands, and to pass from the rent receivers to the -occupiers, all the more desirable. But one inevitable result of the new -Reform Act must be a great raising of the taxes on land, and when land -pays one-fifth of the total taxation, our wars will be fewer and our -armaments more modest. - -One of the cardinal facts of our immediate generation is the sudden -revival of Socialism and Communism. It was not crushed, as we thought, -in 1848; it was not extinguished in 1871. The new Republic in France is -uneasy with it. The military autocracy of Germany is honeycombed with -it. Society is almost dissolved by it in Russia. It is rife in America, -in Italy, in Denmark, in Austria. Let no man delude himself that -Socialism has no footing here. I tell them (and I venture to say that I -know) Socialism within the last few years has made some progress here. -It will assuredly make progress still. With the aspirations and social -aims of Socialism we have much in common, little as we are Communists -and firmly as we support the institution of private property. But if -Socialism is in the ascendant, if the new democracy is exceedingly -likely to pass through a wave of Socialist tendency, are these the men, -and is this the epoch to foster a policy of imperial aggression? With -the antipathy felt by Socialists for all forms of national selfishness, -with their hatred of war, and their noble aspirations after the -brotherhood of races and nations, we as Positivists are wholly at -one. Let us join hands, then, with Socialists, with Democrats, with -Humanitarians, and reformers of every school, who repudiate a policy of -national oppression; and together let us appeal to the new democracy -from the old plutocracy to arrest our nation in its career of blood, -and to lift this guilty burden from the conscience of our children for -ever. - -So let us begin the year resolved to do our duty as citizens, -fearlessly and honestly, striving to show our neighbors that social -morality is a real religion in itself, by which men can order their -lives and purify their hearts. Let us seek to be gentler as fathers, -husbands, comrades, or masters; more dutiful as sons and daughters, -learners or helpers; more diligent as workers, students, or teachers; -more loving and self-denying as men and as women everywhere. Let us -think less about calling on Humanity and more about being humane. Let -us talk less about religion, and try more fully to live religion. We -have sufficiently explained our principles in words. Let us manifest -them in act. I do not know that more is to be gained by the further -preaching of our creed—much less by external profession of our -own conviction. The world will be ours, the day that men see that -Positivism in fact enables men to live a more pure and social life, -that it fills us with a desire for all useful knowledge, stimulates -us to help one another and bear with one another, makes our homes -the brighter, our children the better, our lives the nobler by its -presence; and that on the foundation of order, and in the spirit of -love, and with progress before us as our aim, we can live for others, -live openly before all men.—_Fortnightly Review._ - - - - -THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. - -BY RODEN NOEL. - -It is perhaps difficult for men of middle age to estimate Tennyson -aright. For we who love poetry were brought up, as it were, at his -feet, and he cast the magic of his fascination over our youth. -We have gone away, we have travelled in other lands, absorbed in -other preoccupations, often revolving problems different from those -concerning which we took counsel with him; and we hear new voices, -claiming authority, who aver that our old master has been superseded, -that he has no message for a new generation, that his voice is no -longer a talisman of power. Then we return to the country of our -early love, and what shall our report be? Each one must answer for -himself; but my report will be entirely loyal to those early and -dear impressions. I am of those who believe that Tennyson has still -a message for the world. Men become impatient with hearing Aristides -so often called just, but is that the fault of Aristides? They are -impatient also with a reputation, which necessarily is what all great -reputations must so largely be—the empty echo of living voices from -blank walls. “Now again”—not the people, but certain critics—“call -it but a weed.” Yet how strange these fashions in poetry are! I well -remember Lord Broughton, Byron’s friend, expressing to me, when I was -a boy, his astonishment that the bust of Tennyson by Woolner should -have been thought worthy of a place near that of Lord Byron in Trinity -College, Cambridge. “Lord Byron was a great poet; but Mr. Tennyson, -though he had written pretty verses,” and so on. For one thing, the men -of that generation deemed Tennyson terribly obscure. “In Memoriam,” it -was held, nobody could possibly understand. The poet, being original, -had to make his own public. Men nurtured on Scott and Byron could not -understand him. Now we hear no more of his obscurity. Moreover, he -spoke as the mouthpiece of his own time. Doubts, aspirations, visions -unfamiliar to the aging, breathed melodiously through him. Again, how -contemptuously do Broad-church psychologists like George Macdonald, -and writers for the _Spectator_, as well as literary persons belonging -to what I may term the _finikin_ school, on the other hand, now talk of -our equally great poet Byron. How detestable must the North be, if the -South be so admirable! But while Tennyson spoke to me in youth, Byron -spoke to me in boyhood, and I still love both. - -Whatever may have to be discounted from the popularity of Tennyson on -account of fashion and a well-known name, or on account of his harmony -with the (more or less provincial) ideas of the large majority of -Englishmen, his popularity is a fact of real benefit to the public, -and highly creditable to them at the same time. The establishment of -his name in popular favor is but very partially accounted for by the -circumstance that, when he won his spurs, he was among younger singers -the only serious champion in the field, since, if I mistake not, he -was at one time a less “popular” poet than Mr. Robert Montgomery. _Vox -populi_ is not always _vox Dei_, but it may be so accidentally, and -then the people reap benefit from their happy blunder. The great poet -who won the laurel before Tennyson has never been “popular” at all, and -Tennyson is the only true English poet who has pleased the “public” -since Byron, Walter Scott, Tom Moore, and Mrs. Hemans. But he had to -conquer their suffrages, for his utterance, whatever he may have owed -to Keats, was original, and his substance the outcome of an opulent -and profound personality. These were serious obstacles to success, -for he neither went “deep” into “the general heart” like Burns, nor -appealed to superficial sentiments in easy language like Scott, Moore, -and Byron. In his earliest volume indeed there was a preponderance of -manner over matter; it was characterized by a certain dainty prettiness -of style, that scarcely gave promise of the high spiritual vision and -rich complexity of human insight to which he has since attained, though -it did manifest a delicate feeling for nature in association with human -moods, an extraordinarily subtle sensibility of all senses, and a -luscious pictorial power. Not Endymion had been more luxuriant. All was -steeped in golden languors. There were faults in plenty, and of course -the critics, faithful to the instincts of their kind, were jubilant -to nose them. To adapt Coleridge’s funny verses, not “the Church of -St. Geryon,” nor the legendary Rhine, but the “stinks and stenches” of -Kölntown do such offal-feeders love to enumerate, and distinguish. But -the poet in his verses on “Musty Christopher” gave one of these people -a Roland for his Oliver. Stuart Mill, as Mr. Mathews, in his lately -published and very instructive lecture on Tennyson, points out, was the -one critic in a million who remembered Pope’s precept, - - “Be thou the first true merit to befriend, - His praise is lost who waits till all commend.” - -Yet it is only natural that the mediocrities, who for a moment keep -the door of Fame, should scrutinize with somewhat jaundiced eye the -credentials of new aspirants, since every entry adds fresh bitterness -to their own exclusion. - -But really it is well for us, the poet’s elect lovers, to remember that -he once had faults, however few he may now retain; for the perverse -generation who dance not when the poet pipes to them, nor mourn when he -weeps, have turned upon Tennyson with the cry that he “is all fault who -has no fault at all”—they would have us regard him as a kind of Andrea -del Sarto, a “blameless” artistic “monster, “a poet of unimpeachable -technical skill, but keeping a certain dead level of moderate merit. It -is as well to be reminded that this at all events is false. The dawn -of his young art was beautiful; but the artist had all the generous -faults of youthful genius—excess, vision confused with gorgeous color -and predominant sense, too palpable artifice of diction, indistinctness -of articulation in the outline, intricately-woven cross-lights flooding -the canvas, defect of living interest; while Coleridge said that he -began to write poetry without an ear for metre. Neither Adeline, -Madeline, nor Eleanore are living portraits, though Eleanore is -gorgeously painted. “The Ode to Memory” has isolated images of rare -beauty, but it is kaleidoscopic in effect; the fancy is playing with -loose foam-wreaths, rather than the imagination “taking things by -the heart.” But our great poet has gone beyond these. He has himself -rejected twenty-six out of the fifty-eight poems published in his first -volume; while some of those even in the second have been altogether -rewritten. Such defects are eminently present in the lately republished -poem written in youth, “The Lover’s Tale,” though this too has been -altered. As a storehouse of fine imagery, metaphor, and deftly moulded -phrase, of blank verse also whose sonorous rhythm must surely be a -fabric of adult architecture, the piece can hardly be surpassed; but -the tale as tale lingers and lapses, overweighted with the too gorgeous -trappings under which it so laboriously moves. And such expression as -the following, though not un-Shakspearian, is hardly quarried from -the soundest material in Shakspeare—for, after all, Shakspeare was a -euphuist now and then— - - “Why fed we from one fountain? drew one sun? - Why were our mothers branches of one stem, if that same nearness - Were father to this distance, and that _one_ - Vaunt courier to this _double_, if affection - Living slew love, and sympathy hewed out - The bosom-sepulchre of sympathy?” - -Yet “Mariana” had the virtue, which the poet has displayed so -pre-eminently since, of concentration. Every subtle touch enhances the -effect he intends to produce, that of the desolation of the deserted -woman, whose hope is nearly extinguished; Nature hammering a fresh -nail into her coffin with every innocent aspect or movement. Beautiful -too are “Love and Death” and “The Poet’s Mind;” while in “The Poet” we -have the oft-quoted line: “Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of -scorn, the love of love.” - -Mr. G. Brimley was the first, I believe, to point out the distinctive -peculiarity of Lord Tennyson’s treatment of landscape. It is treated -by him dramatically; that is to say, the details of it are selected so -as to be interpretative of the particular mood or emotion he wishes to -represent. Thus in the two Marianas, they are painted with the minute -distinctness appropriate to the morbid and sickening observation of the -lonely woman, whose attention is distracted by no cares, pleasures, -or satisfied affections. That is a pregnant remark, a key to unlock -a good deal of Tennyson’s work with. Byron and Shelley, though they -are carried out of themselves in contemplating Nature, do not, I -think, often take her as interpreter of moods alien to their own. In -Wordsworth’s “Excursion,” it is true, Margaret’s lonely grief is thus -delineated though the neglect of her garden and the surroundings of her -cottage; yet this is not so characteristic a note of his nature-poetry. -In the “Miller’s Daughter” and the “Gardener’s Daughter” the lovers -would be little indeed without the associated scene so germane to the -incidents narrated, both as congenial setting of the picture for a -spectator, and as vitally fused with the emotion of the lovers; while -never was more lovely landscape-painting of the gentle order than in -the “Gardener’s Daughter.” Lessing, who says that poetry ought never -to be pictorial, would, I suppose, much object to Tennyson’s; but -to me, I confess, this mellow, lucid, luminous word-painting of his -is entirely delightful. It refutes the criticism that words cannot -convey a picture by perfectly conveying it. _Solvitur ambulando_; the -Gardener’s Daughter standing by her rose-bush, “a sight to make an old -man young,” remaining in our vision to confound all crabbed pedants -with pet theories. - -In his second volume, indeed, the poet’s art was well mastered, for -here we find the “Lotos-eaters,” “Œnone,” “The Palace of Art,” “A Dream -of Fair Women,” the tender “May-Queen,” and the “Lady of Shalott.” -Perhaps the first four of these are among the very finest works of -Tennyson. In the mouth of the love-lorn nymph Œnone he places the -complaint concerning Paris into which there enters so much delightful -picture of the scenery around Mount Ida, and of those fair immortals -who came to be judged by the beardless apple-arbiter. How deliciously -flows the verse!—though probably it flows still more entrancingly in -the “Lotos-eaters,” wandering there like clouds of fragrant incense, -or some slow heavy honey, or a rare amber unguent poured out. How -wonderfully harmonious with the dream-mood of the dreamers are phrase, -image, and measure! But we need not quote the lovely choric song -wherein occur the lines— - - “Music that gentlier on the spirit lies - Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes,” - -so entirely restful and happy in their simplicity. If Art would always -blossom so, she might be forgiven if she blossomed only for her own -sake; yet this controversy regarding _Art for Art_ need hardly have -arisen, since Art may certainly bloom for her own sake, if only she -consent to assimilate in her blooming, and so exhale for her votaries, -in due proportion, all elements essential to Nature, and Humanity: for -in the highest artist all faculties are transfigured into one supreme -organ; while among forms her form is the most consummate, among fruits -her fruit offers the most satisfying refreshment. What a delicately -true picture have we here— - - “And like a downward smoke, the slender stream - Along the cliff to fall, and pause and fall did seem,” - -where we feel also the poet’s remarkable faculty of making word and -rhythm an echo and auxiliary of the sense. Not only have we the three -cæsuras respectively after “fall,” and “pause” and “fall,” but the -length, and soft amplitude of the vowel sounds with liquid consonants -aid in the realization of the picture, reminding of Milton’s beautiful -“From morn to noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, a summer’s day.” -The same faculty is notable in the rippling lilt of the charming -little “Brook” song, and indeed everywhere. In the “Dream of Fair -Women” we have a series of cabinet portraits, presenting a situation -of human interest with a few animating touches, but still chiefly -through suggestive surroundings. There occurs the magnificent phrase -of Cleopatra: “We drank the Lybian sun to sleep, and lit lamps which -outburned Canopus.” The force of expression could be carried no further -than throughout this poem, and by “expression” of course I do not mean -pretty words, or power-words for there own sweet sake, for these, -expressing nothing, whatever else they may be, are not “expression;” -but I mean the forcible or felicitous presentment of thought, image, -feeling, or incident, through pregnant and beautiful language in -harmony with them; though the subtle and indirect suggestion of -language is unquestionably an element to be taken into account by -poetry. The “Palace of Art” is perhaps equal to the former poem for -lucid splendor of description, in this instance pointing a moral, -allegorizing a truth. Scornful pride, intellectual arrogance, selfish -absorption in æsthetic enjoyment, is imaged forth in this vision of -the queen’s world-reflecting palace, and its various treasures—the -end being a sense of unendurable isolation, engendering madness, but -at last repentance, and reconcilement with the scouted commonalty of -mankind. - -The dominant note of Tennyson’s poetry is assuredly the delineation -of human moods modulated by Nature, and through a system of -Nature-symbolism. Thus, in “Elaine,” when Lancelot has sent a courtier -to the queen, asking her to grant him audience, that he may present -the diamonds won for her in tourney, she receives the messenger with -unmoved dignity; but he, bending low and reverently before her, saw -“with a sidelong eye” - - “The shadow of some piece of pointed lace - In the queen’s shadow vibrate on the walls, - And parted, laughing in his courtly heart.” - -The “Morte d’Arthur” affords a striking instance of this peculiarly -Tennysonian method. That is another of the very finest pieces. Such -poetry may suggest labor, but not more than does the poetry of Virgil -or Milton. Every word is the right word, and each in the right place. -Sir H. Taylor indeed warns poets against “wanting to make every word -beautiful.” And yet here it must be owned that the result of such an -effort is successful, so delicate has become the artistic tact of -this poet in his maturity.[1] For, good expression being the happy -adaptation of language to meaning, it follows that sometimes good -expression will be perfectly simple, even ordinary in character, and -sometimes it will be ornate, elaborate, dignified. He who can thus vary -his language is the best verbal artist, and Tennyson can thus vary -it. In this poem, the “Morte d’Arthur,” too, we have “deep-chested -music.” Except in some of Wordsworth and Shelley, or in the magnificent -“Hyperion” of Keats, we have had no such stately, sonorous organ-music -in English verse since Milton as in this poem, or in “Tithonus,” -“Ulysses,” “Lucretius,” and “Guinevere.” From the majestic overture, - - “So all day long the noise of battle rolled - Among the mountains by the winter sea,” - -onward to the end, the same high elevation is maintained. - -But this very picturesqueness of treatment has been urged against -Tennyson as a fault in his narrative pieces generally, from its -alleged over-luxuriance, and tendency to absorb, rather than enhance, -the higher human interest of character and action. However this be -(and I think it is an objection that does apply, for instance, to -“The Princess”), here in this poem picturesqueness must be counted -as a merit, because congenial to the semi-mythical, ideal, and -parabolic nature of Arthurian legend, full of portent and supernatural -suggestion. Such Ossianic hero-forms are nearly as much akin to the -elements as to man. And the same answer holds largely in the case of -the other Arthurian Idylls. It has been noted how well-chosen is the -epithet “water” applied to a lake in the lines, “On one side lay the -ocean, and on one Lay a great water, and the moon was full.” Why is -this so happy? For as a rule the concrete rather than the abstract -is poetical, because the former brings with it an image, and the -former involves no vision. But now in the night all Sir Bedevere could -observe, or care to observe, was that there was “some great water.” We -do not—he did not—want to know exactly what it was. Other thoughts, -other cares, preoccupy him and us. Again, of dying Arthur we are told -that “all his greaves and caisses were dashed with drops of onset.” -“Onset” is a very generic term, poetic because removed from all vulgar -associations of common parlance, and vaguely suggestive not only of -war’s pomp and circumstance, but of high deeds also, and heroic hearts, -since onset belongs to mettle and daring; the word for vast and shadowy -connotation is akin to Milton’s grand abstraction, “Far off _His -coming_ shone” or Shelley’s, “Where the Earthquake Demon taught her -young _Ruin_.” - -It has been noted also how cunningly Tennyson can gild and furbish up -the most commonplace detail—as when he calls Arthur’s mustache “the -knightly growth that fringed his lips,” or condescends to glorify a -pigeon-pie, or paints the clown’s astonishment by this detail, “the -brawny spearman let his cheek Bulge with the unswallowed piece, and -turning stared;” or thus characterizes a pun, “and took the word, and -play’d upon it, and made it of two colors.” This kind of ingenuity, -indeed, belongs rather to talent than to genius; it is exercised -in cold blood; but talent may be a valuable auxiliary of genius, -perfecting skill in the technical departments of art. Yet such a gift -is not without danger to the possessor. It may tempt him to make his -work too much like a delicate mosaic of costly stone, too hard and -unblended, from excessive elaboration of detail. One may even prefer -to art thus highly wrought a more glowing and careless strain, that -lifts us off our feet, and carries us away as on a more rapid, if more -turbid torrent of inspiration, such as we find in Byron, Shelley, -or Victor Hugo. Here you are compelled to pause at every step, and -admire the design of the costly tesselated pavement under your feet. -Perhaps there is a jewelled glitter, a Pre-Raphaelite or Japanese -minuteness of finish here and there in Tennyson, that takes away -from the feeling of aërial perspective and remote distance, leaving -little to the imagination; not suggesting and whetting the appetite, -but rather satiating it; his loving observation of minute particulars -is so faithful, his knowledge of what others, even men of science, -have observed so accurate, his fancy so nimble in the detection of -similitudes. But every master has his own manner, and his reverent -disciples would be sorry if he could be without it. We love the little -idiosyncracies of our friends. - -I have said the objection in question does seem to lie against “The -Princess.” It contains some of the most beautiful poetic pearls the -poet has ever dropped; but the manner appears rather disproportionate -to the matter, at least to the subject as he has chosen to regard -it. For it is regarded by him only semi-seriously; so lightly and -sportively is the whole topic viewed at the outset, that the effect -is almost that of burlesque; yet there is a very serious conclusion, -and a very weighty moral is drawn from the story, the workmanship -being labored to a degree, and almost encumbered with ornamentation. -But the poet himself admits the ingrained incongruity of the poem. -The fine comparison of the Princess Ida in the battle to a beacon -glaring ruin over raging seas, for instance, seems too grand for the -occasion. How differently, and in what burning earnest has a great -poet-woman, Mrs. Browning, treated this grave modern question of the -civil and political position of women in “Aurora Leigh!” Tennyson’s is -essentially a man’s view, and the frequent talk about women’s beauty -must be very aggravating to the “Blues.” It is this poem especially -that gives people with a limited knowledge of Tennyson the idea of -a “pretty” poet; the prettiness, though very genuine, seems to play -too patronizingly with a momentous theme. The Princess herself, and -the other figures are indeed dramatically realized, but the splendor -of invention, and the dainty detail, rather dazzle the eye away from -their humanity. Here, however, are some of the loveliest songs that -this poet, one of our supreme lyrists, ever sung: “Tears, idle tears!” -“The splendor falls,” “Sweet and low,” “Home they brought,” “Ask me no -more,” and the exquisite melody, “For Love is of the valley.” Moreover, -the grand lines toward the close are full of wisdom— - - “For woman is not undeveloped man, - But diverse: could we make her as the man - Sweet love were slain,” &c. - -I feel myself a somewhat similar incongruity in the poet’s treatment of -his more homely, modern, half-humorous themes, such as the introduction -to the “Morte d’Arthur,” and “Will Waterproof;” not at all in the -humorous poems, like the “Northern Farmer,” which are all of a piece, -and perfect in their own vein. In this introduction we have “The host -and I sat round the wassail bowl, then half-way ebb’d;” but this -metaphorical style is not (fortunately) sustained, and so, as good luck -would have it, a metaphor not being ready to hand, we have the honester -and homelier line, “Till I tired out with cutting eights that day upon -the pond;” yet this homespun hardly agrees with the above stage-king’s -costume. And so again I often venture to wish that the Poet-Laureate -would not say “flowed” when he only means “said.” Still, this may be -hypercriticism. For I did not personally agree with the critic who -objected to Enoch Arden’s fish-basket being called “ocean-smelling -osier.” There is no doubt, however, that “Stokes, and Nokes, and Vokes” -have exaggerated the poet’s manner, till the “murex fished up” by Keats -and Tennyson has become one universal flare of purple. Beautiful as -some of Mr. Rossetti’s work is, his expression in the sonnets surely -became obscure from over-involution, and excessive _fioriture_ of -diction. But then Rossetti’s style is no doubt formed considerably upon -that of the Italian poets. One is glad, however, that, this time, at -all events, the right man has “got the porridge!” - -In connection with “Morte d’Arthur,” I may draw attention again to Lord -Tennyson’s singular skill in producing a rhythmical response to the -sense. - - “The great brand - Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon, - And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch.” - -Here the anapest instead of the iambic in the last place happily -imitates the sword Excalibur’s own gyration in the air. Then what -admirable wisdom does the legend, opening out into parable, disclose -toward the end! When Sir Bedevere laments the passing away of the -Round Table, and Arthur’s noble peerage, gone down in doubt, distrust, -treachery, and blood, after that last great battle in the West, when, -amid the death-white mist, “confusion fell even upon Arthur,” and -“friend slew friend, now knowing whom he slew,” how grandly comes -the answer of Arthur from the mystic barge, that bears him from the -visible world to “some far island valley of Avilion,” “The old order -changeth, yielding place to new, and God fulfils Himself in many ways, -Lest one good custom should corrupt the world!” The new commencement -of this poem, called in the idyls “The Passing of Arthur,” is well -worthy of the conclusion. How weirdly expressive is that last battle in -the mist of those hours of spiritual perplexity, which overcloud even -strongest natures and firmest faith, overshadowing whole communities, -when we know not friend from foe, the holiest hope seems doomed to -disappointment, all the great aim and work of life have failed; even -loyalty to the highest is no more; the fair polity built laboriously -by some god-like spirit dissolves, and “all his realm reels back into -the beast;” while men “falling down in death” look up to heaven only -to find cloud, and the great-voiced ocean, as it were Destiny without -love and without mind, with voice of days of old and days to be, shakes -the world, wastes the narrow kingdom, yea, beats upon the faces of -our dead! The world-sorrow pierces here through the strain of a poet -usually calm and contented. Yet “Arthur shall come again, aye, twice as -fair;” for the spirit of man is young immortally. - -Who, moreover, has moulded for us phrases of more transcendent dignity, -of more felicitous grace and import, phrases, epithets, and lines -that have already become memorable household words? More magnificent -expression I cannot conceive than that of such poems as “Lucretius,” -“Tithonus,” “Ulysses.” These all for versification, language, luminous -picture, harmony of structure have never been surpassed. What pregnant -brevity, weight, and majesty of expression in the lines where Lucretius -characterizes the death of his namesake Lucretia, ending “and from it -sprang the commonwealth, which breaks, as I am breaking now!” What -masterly power in poetically embodying a materialistic philosophy, -congenial to modern science, yet in absolute dramatic keeping with the -actual thought of the Roman poet! And at the same time, what tremendous -grasp of the terrible conflict of passion with reason, two natures -in one, significant for all epochs! In “Tithonus” and “Ulysses” we -find embodiments in high-born verse and illustrious phrase of ideal -moods, adventurous peril-affronting Enterprise contemptuously tolerant -of tame household virtues in “Ulysses,” and the bane of a burdensome -immortality, become incapable even of love, in “Tithonus.” Any -personification more exquisite than that of Aurora in the latter were -inconceivable. - -M. Taine, in his _Litterature Anglaise_, represents Tennyson as -an idyllic poet (a charming one), comfortably settled among his -rhododendrons on an English lawn, and viewing the world through the -somewhat insular medium of a prosperous, domestic and virtuous member -of the English comfortable classes, as also of a man of letters who -has fully succeeded. Again, either M. Taine, M. Scherer, or some other -writer in the _Revue des deux Mondes_, pictures him, like his own -Lady of Shalott, viewing life not as it really is, but reflected in -the magic mirror of his own recluse fantasy. Now, whatever measure -of truth there may formerly have been in such conceptions, they have -assuredly now proved quite one-sided and inadequate. We have only to -remember “Maud,” the stormier poems of the “Idylls,” “Lucretius,” -“Rizpah,” the “Vision of Sin.” The recent poem “Rizpah” perhaps marks -the high-water mark of the Laureate’s genius, and proves henceforward -beyond all dispute his wide range, his command over the deeper-toned -and stormier themes of human music, as well as over the gentler and -more serene. It proves also that the venerable master’s hand has not -lost its cunning, rather that he has been even growing until now, -having become more profoundly sympathetic with the world of action, -and the common growth of human sorrows. “Rizpah” is certainly one of -the strongest, most intensely felt, and graphically realized dramatic -poems in the language; its pathos is almost overwhelming. There is -nothing more tragic in Œdipus, Antigone, or Lear. And what a strong -Saxon homespun language has the veteran poet found for these terrible -lamentations of half-demented agony, “My Baby! the bones that had -sucked me, the bones that had laughed and had cried, Theirs! O no! They -are mine not theirs—they had moved in my side.” Then the heart-gripping -phrase breaking forth ever and anon in the imaginative metaphorical -utterance of wild emotion, to which the sons and daughters of the -people are often moved, eloquent beyond all eloquence, white-hot from -the heart! “Dust to dust low down! let us hide! but they set him so -high, that all the ships of the world could stare at him passing by.” -In this last book of ballads the style bears the same relation to the -earlier and daintier that the style of “Samson Agonistes” bears to that -of “Comus.” “The Revenge” is equally masculine, simple, and sinewy in -appropriate strength of expression, a most spirited rendering of a -heroic naval action—worthy of a place, as is also the grand ode on the -death of Wellington, beside the war odes of Campbell, the “Agincourt” -of Drayton, and the “Rule Britannia” of Thomson. The irregular metre -of the “Ballad of the Fleet” is most remarkable as a vehicle of the -sense, resonant with din of battle, full-voiced with rising and -bursting storm toward the close, like the equally spirited concluding -scenes of “Harold,” that depict the battle of Senlac. The dramatic -characterizations in “Harold” and “Queen Mary” are excellent—Mary, -Harold, the Conqueror, the Confessor, Pole, Edith, Stigand, and other -subordinate sketches, being striking and successful portraits; while -“Harold” is full also of incident and action—a really memorable modern -play; but the main motive of “Queen Mary” fails in tragic dignity and -interest, though there is about it a certain grim subdued pathos, as of -still life, and there are some notable scenes. Tennyson is admirably -dramatic in the portrayal of individual moods, of men or women in -certain given situations. His plays are fine, and of real historic -interest, but not nearly so remarkable as the dramatic poems I have -named, as the earlier “St. Simeon Stylites,” “Ulysses,” “Tithonus,” or -as the “Northern Farmer,” “Cobblers,” and “Village Wife,” among his -later works. These last are perfectly marvellous in their fidelity -and humorous photographic realism. That the poet of “Œnone,” “The -Lotus-eaters,” and the Arthur cycle should have done these also is -wonderful. The humor of them is delightful, and the rough homely -diction perfect. One wishes indeed that the “dramatic fragments” -collected by Lamb, like gold-dust out of the rather dreary sand-expanse -of Elizabethan playwrights, were so little fragmentary as these. -Tennyson’s short dramatic poems are quintessential; in a brief glimpse -he contrives to reveal the whole man or woman. You would know the old -“Northern Farmer,” with his reproach to “God Amoighty” for not “letting -him aloan,” and the odious farmer of the new style, with his “Proputty! -Proputty!” wherever you met them. But “Dora,” the “Grand-mother,” “Lady -Clare,” “Edward Gray,” “Lord of Burleigh,” had long since proved that -Tennyson had more than one style at command; that he was master not -only of a flamboyant, a Corinthian, but also of a sweet, simple, limpid -English, worthy of Goldsmith or Cowper at their best. - -Reverting, however, to the question of Tennyson’s ability to fathom -the darker recesses of our nature, what shall be said of the “Vision -of Sin?” For myself I can only avow that, whenever I read it, I feel -as if some horrible gray fungus of the grave were growing over my -heart, and over all the world around me. As for passion, I know few -more profoundly passionate poems than “Love and Duty.” It paints -with glowing concentrated power the conflict of duty with yearning -passionate love, stronger than death. The “Sisters,” and “Fatima,” -too, are fiercely passionate, as also is “Maud.” I should be surprised -to hear that a lover could read “Maud,” and not feel the spring and -mid-noon of passionate affection in it to the very core of him, so -profoundly felt and gloriously expressed is it by the poet. Much of its -power, again, is derived from that peculiarly Tennysonian ability to -make Nature herself reflect, redouble, and interpret the human feeling. -That is the power also of such supreme lyrics as “Break, break!” and -“In the Valley of Cauterets;” of such chaste and consummate rendering -of a noble woman’s self-sacrifice as “Godiva,” wherein “shameless -gargoyles” stare, but “the still air scarcely breathes for fear;” and -likewise of “Come into the garden, Maud,” an invocation that palpitates -with rapture of young love, in which the sweet choir of flowers bear -their part, and sing antiphony. The same feeling pervades the delicious -passage commencing, “Is that enchanted moon?” and “Go not, happy day.” -All this may be what Mr. Ruskin condemns as “pathetic” fallacy, but it -is inevitable and right. For “in our life doth nature live, ours is -her wedding garment, ours her shroud.” The same Divine Spirit pervades -man and nature; she, like ourselves, has her transient moods, as well -as her tranquil immovable deeps. In her, too, is a passing as well as -an eternal, while we apprehend either according to our own capacity, -together with the emotional bias that dominates us at the moment. The -vital and permanent in us holds the vital and permanent in her, while -the temporary in us mirrors the transitory in her. I cannot think -indeed that the more troubled and jarring moods of disharmony and fury -are touched with quite the same degree of mastery in “Maud” as are the -sunnier and happier. Tennyson hitherto had basked by preference in -the brighter regions of his art, and the turbid Byronic vein appeared -rather unexpectedly in him. The tame, sleek, daintily-feeding gourmêts -of criticism yelped indeed their displeasure at these “hysterics,” as -they termed the “Sturm und Drang” elements that appeared in “Maud,” -especially since the poet dared appropriately to body these forth in -somewhat harsh, abrupt language, and irregular metres. Such elements, -in truth, hardly seemed so congenial to him as to Byron or Hugo. Yet -they were welcome, as proving that our chief poet was not altogether -irresponsive to the terrible social problems around him, to the -corruptions, and ever-festering vices of the body politic, to the -doubt, denial, and grim symptoms of upheaval at his very doors. For -on the whole some of us had felt that the Poet-Laureate was almost -too well contented with the general framework of things, with the -prescriptive rights of long-unchallenged rule, and hoar comfortable -custom, especially in England, as though these were in very deed -divine, and no subterranean thunder were ever heard, even in this -favored isle, threatening Church and State, and the very fabric of -society. But the temper of his class and time spoke through him. Did -not all men rejoice greatly when Prince Albert opened the Exhibition -of 1851; when Cobden and the Manchester school won the battle of -free-trade; when steam-engines and the electric telegraph were -invented; when Wordsworth’s “glorious time” came, and the Revised Code -passed into law; when science first told her enchanting fairy tales? -Yet the Millennium tarries, and there is an exceeding “bitter cry.” - -But in “Maud,” as indeed before in that fine sonorous chaunt, -“Locksley Hall,” and later in “Aylmer’s Field,” the poet’s emphasis -of appreciation is certainly reserved for the heroes, men who have -inherited a strain of gloom, or ancestral disharmony moral and -physical, within whom the morbific social humors break forth inevitably -into plague-spots; the injustice and irony of circumstance lash them -into revolt, wrath, and madness. Mr. R. H. Hutton, a critic who often -writes with ability, but who seems to find a little difficulty in -stepping outside the circle of his perhaps rather rigid misconceptions -and predilections, makes the surely somewhat strange remark that -“‘Maud’ was written to reprobate hysterics.” But I fear—nay, I hope -and believe—that we cannot credit the poet with any such virtuous -or didactic intention in the present instance, though of course the -pregnant lines beginning “Of old sat Freedom on the heights,” the royal -verses, the recent play so forcibly objected to by Lord Queensberry, -together with various allusions to the “red fool-fury of the Seine,” -and “blind hysterics of the Celt,” do indicate a very Conservative and -law-abiding attitude. But other lines prove that after all what he -mostly deprecates is “the falsehood of extremes,” the blind and hasty -plunge into measures of mere destruction; for he praises the statesmen -who “take occasion by the hand,” and make “the bounds of freedom wider -yet,” and even gracefully anticipates “the golden year.” - -The same principle on which I have throughout insisted as the key -to most of Tennyson’s best poetry is the key also to the moving -tale “Enoch Arden,” where the tropical island around the solitary -shipwrecked mariner is gorgeously depicted, the picture being as -full-Venetian, and resplendent in color, as those of the “Day-Dream” -and “Arabian Nights.” But the conclusion of the tale is profoundly -moving and pathetic, and relates a noble act of self-renouncement. -Parts of “Aylmer’s Field,” too, are powerful. - -And now we come to the “Idylls,” around which no little critical -controversy has raged. It has been charged against them that they are -more picturesque, scenic, and daintily-wrought than human in their -interest. But though assuredly the poet’s love for the picturesque is -in this noble epic—for epic the Idylls in their completed state may be -accounted—amply indulged, I think it is seldom to the detriment of the -human interest, and the remark I made about one of them, the “Morte -d’Arthur,” really applies to all. The Arthur cycle is not historical, -as “Harold” or “Queen Mary” is, where the style is often simple -almost to baldness; the whole of it belongs to the reign of myth, -legend, fairy story, and parable. Ornament, image, and picture are as -much appropriate here as in Spenser’s “Fairy Queen,” of which indeed -Tennyson’s poem often reminds me. But “the light that never was on sea -or land, the consecration and the poet’s dream,” are a new revelation, -made peculiarly in modern poetry, of true spiritual insight. And this -not only throws fresh illuminating light into nature, but deepens -also and enlarges our comprehension of man. If nature be known for a -symbol and embodiment of the soul’s life, by means of their analogies -in nature the human heart and mind may be more profoundly understood; -while human emotions win a double clearness, or an added sorrow, -from their fellowship and association with outward scenes. Nature -can only be fathomed through her consanguinity with our own desires, -aspirations, and fears, while these again become defined and articulate -by means of her related appearances. A poet, then, who is sensitive to -such analogies confers a two-fold benefit upon us. - -I cannot at all assent to the criticism passed upon the Idylls by Mr. -John Morley, who has indeed, as it appears to me, somewhat imperilled -his critical reputation by the observation that they are “such little -pictures as might adorn a lady’s school.” When we think of “Guinevere,” -“Vivien,” the “Holy Grail,” the “Passing of Arthur,” this dictum seems -to lack point and penetration. Indeed, had it proceeded only from -some rhyming criticaster, alternating with the feeble puncture of his -sting the worrying iteration of his own doleful drone, it might have -been passed over as simply an impertinence.[2] But while the poem -is in part purely a fairy romance tinctured with humanity, Tennyson -has certainly intended to treat the subject in part also as a grave -spiritual parable. Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Elaine, Galahad, -Vivien, are types, gracious or hateful. My own feeling, therefore, -would rather be that there is too much human nature in the Idylls, than -that there is too little; or at any rate that, while Arthur remains a -mighty Shadow, whose coming and going are attended with supernatural -portents, a worthy symbol of the Spirit of divine humanity, Vivien, for -instance, is a too real and unlovely harlot, too gross and veritably -breathing, to be in proportionate harmony with the general design. -Lancelot and Guinevere, again, being far fuller of life and color than -Arthur, the situation between these three, as invented, or at least -as recast from the old legends in his own fashion by the poet, does -not seem artistically felicitous, if regarded as a representation of -an actual occurrence in human life. But so vivid and human are many -of the stories that we can hardly fail so to regard them. And if the -common facts of life are made the vehicle of a parable, they must -not be distorted. It is chiefly, I think, because Arthur and Merlin -are only seen, as it were, through the luminous haze appropriate to -romance and myth, that the main motive of the epic, the loves of -Lancelot and Guinevere, appears scarcely strong enough to bear the -weight of momentous consequence imposed on it, which is no less than -the retributive ruin of Arthur’s commonwealth. Now, if Art elects to -appeal to ethical instinct, as great, human, undegraded Art continually -must, she is even more bound, in pursuance of her own proper end, to -satisfy the demand for moral beauty, than to gratify the taste for -beauty intellectual or æsthetic. And of course, while you might flatter -a poetaster, you would only insult a poet by refusing to consider what -he says, and only professing a concern for how he says it. Therefore -if the poet choose to lay all the blame of the dissolution and failure -of Arthur’s polity upon the illicit loves of Lancelot and Guinevere, -it seems to me that he committed a serious error in his invention of -the early circumstances of their meeting; nothing of the kind being -discoverable either in Mallory, or the old chronicle of Merlin. Great -stress, no doubt, is laid by Sir Thomas Mallory on this illicit love -as the fruitful source of much calamity; but then Mallory relates that -Arthur had met and loved Guinevere long before he asked for her in -marriage; whereas, according to Tennyson, he sent Lancelot to meet the -betrothed maiden, and she, never having seen Arthur, loved Lancelot, -as Lancelot Guinevere, at first sight. That circumstance, gratuitously -invented, surely makes the degree of the lovers’ guilt a problem -somewhat needlessly difficult to determine, if it was intended to brand -their guilt as heinous enough to deserve the ruin of a realm, and the -failure of Arthur’s humane life-purpose. Guinevere, seeing Lancelot -before Arthur, and recognizing in him (as the sweet and pure Elaine, -remember, did after her), the type of all that is noble and knightly -in man, loves the messenger, and continues to love him after she has -met her destined husband, whom she judges (and the reader of the -Idylls can hardly fail to coincide with her judgment) somewhat cold, -colorless, and aloof, however impeccable and grave; a kind of moral -phantom, or imaginative symbol of the conscience, whom Guinevere, as -typifying the human soul, ought indeed to love best (“not Lancelot, -nor another”), but whom, as a particular living man, Arthur, one quite -fails to see why Guinevere, a living woman with her own idiosyncracies, -should be bound to love rather than Lancelot. For if Guinevere, as -woman, ought to love “the highest” man “when she sees him,” it does -not appear why that obligation should not equally bind all the women -of her Court also! If the whole burden of the catastrophe was to be -laid upon the conception of a punishment deserved by the great guilt -of particular persons, that guilt ought certainly to have been so -described as to appear heinous and inexcusable to all beyond question. -The story need not have been thus moralized; but the Poet-Laureate -chose to emphasize the breach of a definite moral obligation as -unpardonable, and pregnant with evil issues. That being so, I submit -that the moral sense is left hesitating and bewildered, rather than -satisfied and acquiescent, which interferes with a thorough enjoyment -of the work even as art. The sacrament of marriage is high and holy; -yet we feel disposed to demand whether here it may not be rather the -letter and mere convention than the spirit of constant affection and -true marriage that is magnified. And if so, though popularity with the -English public may be secured by this vindication of their domestic -ideal, higher interests are hardly so well subserved. Doubtless the -treachery to husband and friend on the part of the lovers was black -and detestable. Doubtless their indulged love was far from innocent. -But then why invent so complicated a problem, and yet write as if -it were perfectly simple and easy of solution? What I complain of -is, that this love has a certain air of grievous fatality and excuse -about it, while yet the poet treats it as mere unmitigated guilt, -fully justifying all the disaster entailed thereby, not only on the -sinners themselves, but on the State, and the cause of human welfare. -Nor can we feel quite sure, as the subject is here envisaged, that, -justice apart, it is quite according to probability for the knowledge -of this constant illicit affection to engender a universal infidelity -of the Round Table Knights to vows which not only their lips, as in -the case of Guinevere, but also their hearts have sworn; infidelity -to their own true affection, and disloyalty to their own genuine -aspiration after the fulfilment of chivalrous duty in championing the -oppressed—all because a rich-natured woman like Guinevere proves -faithful to her affection for a rich kindred humanity in Lancelot! -How this comes about is at any rate not sufficiently explained in the -poet’s narrative; and if so, he must be held to have failed both as -artist and as ethical teacher, which in these Idylls he has certainly -aspired to be. Then comes the further question, not altogether an -easy one to answer, whether it is really true that even widespread -sexual excess inevitably entails deterioration in other respects, a -lowered standard of integrity and honor? The chivalry of the Middle -Ages was _sans peur_, but seldom _sans reproche_. History, on being -interrogated, gives an answer ambiguous as a Greek oracle. Was England, -for instance, less great under the Regency than under Cromwell? But -at all events, the old legends make the process of disintegration in -Arthur’s kingdom much clearer than it is made by Tennyson. In Mallory, -for instance, Arthur is by no means the sinless being depicted by -Tennyson. Rightly or wrongly, he is resolved to punish Guinevere for -her infidelity by burning, and Lancelot is equally resolved to rescue -her, which accordingly he does from the very stake, carrying her off -with him to his castle of Joyous Gard. Then Arthur and Sir Gawain make -war upon him; and thus, the great knightly heads of the Round Table -at variance; the fellowship is inevitably dissolved, for Modred takes -advantage of their dissension to seize upon the throne. But in the old -legends, who is Modred? The son of Arthur and his sister. According to -them, assuredly the origin of the doom or curse upon the kingdom is -the unwitting incest, yet deliberate adultery of Arthur, or perhaps -the still earlier and deeply-dyed sin of his father, Uther. Yet, Mr. -Swinburne’s contention, that Lord Tennyson should have emphasized the -sin of Arthur as responsible for the doom that came upon himself and -his kingdom, although plausible, appears to me hardly to meet all -the exigencies of the case. Mr. Hutton says in reply that then the -supernatural elements of the story could have found no place in the -poem; no strange portents could have been described as accompanying -the birth and death of Arthur. A Greek tragedian, he adds, would -never have dreamt of surrounding Œdipus with such portents. But surely -the latter remark demonstrates the unsoundness of the former. Has -Mr. Hutton forgotten what is perhaps one of the sublimest scenes in -any literature, the supernatural passing of this very deeply-dyed -sinner Œdipus to his divine repose at Colonos, in the grove of -those very ladies of divine vengeance, by whose awful ministry he -had been at length assoiled of sin? the mysterious stairs; Antigone -and Ismene expectant above; he “shading his eyes before a sight -intolerable;” after drinking to the dregs the cup of sin and sorrow, -rapt from the world, even he, to be tutelary deity of that land? -Neither Elijah nor Moses was a sinless man; yet Moses, after enduring -righteous punishment, was not, for God took him, and angels buried -him; it was he who led Israel out of Egypt, communed with Jehovah -on Sinai; he appeared with Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration. -But I would suggest that the poet might have represented suffering -and disappointment, not as penalty apportioned to particular -transgressions, rather as integral elements in that mysterious destiny -which determines the lot of man in his present condition of defect, -moral, physical, and intellectual, involved in his “Hamartia,” or -failure to realize that fulness of being which yet ideally belongs to -him as divine. Both these ideas—the idea of Doom or destiny, and that -of Nemesis on account of voluntary transgression—are alike present -in due equipoise in the great conceptions of Greek drama, as Mr. J. -A. Symonds has conclusively proved in his brilliant, philosophic and -poetic work on the Greek poetry, against the more one-sided contention -of Schlegel. I feel throughout Shakspeare this same idea of mystic -inevitable destiny dominating the lives of men: you may call it, if -you please, the will of God. Yet if it dooms us to error, ignorance, -and crime, at all events this will cannot resemble the wills of men -as they appear to us now. Othello expiates his foolish credulity, and -jealous readiness to suspect her who had given him no cause to doubt -her love. But there was the old fool Brabantio, and the devil Iago; -there were his race, his temperament, his circumstances in general, -and the circumstances of the hour,—all these were toils woven about -him by Fate. Now, if the idea of Destiny be the more accentuated (and -a tragedian surely should make us feel both this, and the free-will of -man), then, as it seems to me, in the interests of Art, which loves -life and harmony, not pure pain, loss, discord, or negation, there -ought to be a purifying or idealizing process manifest in the ordeal -to which the victims are subjected, if not for the protagonists, at -all events for some of those concerned in the action. We must at least -be permitted to behold the spectacle of constancy and fortitude, or -devotion, as we do in Desdemona, Cordelia, Antigone, Iphigenia, Romeo -and Juliet. But the ethical element of free-will is almost exclusively -accentuated by Tennyson; and in such a case we desire to be fully -persuaded that the “poetical justice” dealt out by the poet is really -and radically justice, not a mere provincial or conventional semblance -thereof. - -Yet if you confine your attention to the individual Idylls themselves, -they are undoubtedly most beautiful models of sinewy strength, -touched to consummate grace. There can be nothing more exquisite than -the tender flower-like humanity of dear Elaine, nor more perfect -in pathetic dignity than the Idyll of Guinevere. Vivien is very -powerful; but, as I said, the courtesan appears to me too coarsely and -graphically realized for perfect keeping with the general tone of this -faëry epic. The “Holy Grail” is a wonderful creation in the realm of -the supernatural; all instinct with high spiritual significance, though -some of the invention in this, as in the other Idylls, belongs to Sir -Thomas Mallory. The adventures of the knights, notably of Galahad, -Percivale, and Lancelot, in their quest for the Grail, are splendidly -described. What, again, can be nobler than the parting of Arthur and -Guinevere at Almesbury, where the King forgives and blesses her, she -grovelling repentant before him, the gleaming “dragon of the great -Pendragonship” making a vaporous halo in the night, as Arthur leaves -her, “moving ghost-like to his doom?” Here the scenic element blends -incorporate with the human, but assuredly does not overpower it, as has -been pretended. Then how excellent dramatically are the subordinate -figures of the little nun at Almesbury, and the rustic old monk, with -whom Percivale converses in the Holy Grail; while, if we were to notice -such similes (Homeric in their elaboration, though modern in their -minute fidelity to nature) as that in Enid, which concerns the man -startling the fish in clear water by holding up “a shining hand against -the sun,” or the happy comparison of standing muscle on an arm to a -brook “running too vehemently” over a stone “to break upon it,” our -task would be interminable. The Arthur Idylls are full too of elevating -exemplars for the conduct of life, of such chivalrous traits as -courage, generosity, courtesy, forbearance, consecration, devotion of -life for loyalty and love, service of the weak and oppressed; abounding -also with excellent gnomic sayings inculcating these virtues. What -admirable and delightful ladies are Enid, Elaine, Guinevere! Of the -Laureate’s longer works, this poem and “In Memoriam” are his greatest, -though both of these are composed of many brief song-flights. - -It may not be unprofitable to inquire what idea Tennyson probably -intended to symbolize by the “Holy Grail,” and the quest for it. Is it -that of mere supernatural portent? Certainly not. The whole treatment -suggests far more. I used to think it signified the mystical blood of -Christ, the spirit of self-devotion, or, as Mallory defines it, “the -secret of Jesus.” But it scarcely seems possible that Tennyson means -precisely that, for then his ideal man Arthur would not discourage the -quest. Does it not rather stand for that secret of the higher life as -sought in any form of supernatural religion, involving acts of worship -or asceticism, and religious contemplation? Yet Arthur deprecates -not the religious life as such—rather that life in so far as it is -not the auxiliary of human service. It is while pursuing the quest -that Percivale (in the “Holy Grail”) finds all common life, even the -most sacred relations of it, as well as the most ordinary and vulgar, -turn to dust when he touches them; and to a religious fanatic that is -indeed the issue—this life is less than dust to him; he exists for the -future and “supernatural” only; his soul is already in another region -than this homely work-a-day world of ours; and because it is another, -he is only too ready to think it must be higher. What to him are our -politics, our bewilderments, our fair humanities, our art and science, -or schemes of social amelioration? Less than nothing. What he has to -do is to save first his own soul, and then some few souls of others, -if he can. But while, as Arthur himself complained, such an one waits -for the beatific vision, or follows “wandering fires” of superstition, -how often, for men with strength to right the wronged, will “the -chance of noble deeds come and go unchallenged!” Arthur even dares to -call the Holy Grail “a sign to maim this order which I made.” “Many -of you, yea most, return no more.” But, as the Queen laments, “this -madness has come on us for our sins.” Percivale turns monk, Galahad -passes away to the spiritual city, Sir Bors meets Lancelot riding madly -all abroad, and shouting, “Stay me not; I have been the sluggard, -and I ride apace, for now there is a lion in the path!” Lancelot -rides on the quest in order that, through the vision of the Grail, -the sin of which his conscience accuses him may be rooted out of his -heart. And so it was partly the sin—the infidelity to their vows—that -had crept in amongst the knights, which drove the best of them to -expiation, to religious fervors, whereby their sin might be purged, -thus completing the disintegration of that holy human brotherhood, -which had been welded together by Arthur for activities of righteous -and loving endeavor after human welfare. Magnificent is the picture -of the terrible, difficult quest of Lancelot, whose ineradicable sin -hinders him from full enjoyment of the spiritual vision after which he -longs. Nor will Arthur unduly discourage those who have thus in mortal -peril half attained. “Blessed are Bors, Lancelot, and Percivale, for -these have seen according to their sight.” Into his mouth the poet -also puts some beautiful lines on prayer. More indeed may be wrought -for the world by the silent spiritual life, by the truth-seeking -student, by the beauty-loving artist, than is commonly believed. -In worshipping the ideal they bless men. Arthur rebukes Gawain for -light infidel profanity, born only of blind contented immersion in -the slime of sense; while for the others, there was little indeed -of the true religious spirit in their quest. “They followed but the -leader’s bell, for one hath seen, and all the blind will see.” With -them it is mere fashion, and hollow lip-service, or superstitious -fear; a very devil-worship indeed, standing to them too often in the -place of justice, mercy, and plain human duty. Nay, what terrible -crimes have been committed against humanity in the name of this very -religion! Even Percivale only attained to spiritual vision through -the vision of Galahad, whose power of strong faith came upon him, for -he lacked humility, a heavenly virtue too often lacking in the _unco -guid_, as likewise in those raised above their fellows through any -uncommon gifts, whether of body or mind. In the old legends, the sin -of Lancelot himself is represented as consisting quite as much in -personal ambition, over-self-confidence, and pride on the score of his -prowess, as in his adultery with the Queen. Yet the “pure religion and -undefiled” of Galahad and St. Agnes had been long since celebrated -by our poet in two of his loveliest poems. But these sweet children -were not left long to battle for goodness and truth upon the earth; -heaven was waiting for them; though, while he remained, Galahad, who -saw the vision because he was pure in heart, “rode shattering evil -customs everywhere” in the strength of that purity and that vision. -Arthur, however, avers he could not himself have joined in the quest, -because his mission was to mould and guard his kingdom, although, that -done, “let visions come and welcome;” nay, to him the common earth and -air are all vision; and yet he knows himself no vision, nor God, nor -the divine man. To the spiritual, indeed, all is religious, sacred, -sacramental, for they look through the appearance to the reality, -half hidden and half revealed under it. This avowal reminds me of -Wordsworth’s grand passage in the “Ode on Immortality” concerning -“creatures moving about in worlds not realized.” But for men not so far -advanced revelations of the Holy Grail, sacramental observances, and -stated acts of worship, are indeed of highest import and utility. Yet -good, straightforward, modest Sir Bors, who is not over-anxious about -the vision, to him it is for a moment vouchsafed, though Lancelot and -Percivale attain to it with difficulty, and selfish, superstitious -worldlings, with their worse than profitless head-knowledge, bad -hearts, hollow worship of Convention and the Dead Letter, get no -inkling of it at all. This wholesome conviction I trace through many of -the Laureate’s writings. Stylites is not intended to be a flattering, -though it is certainly a veracious portrait of the sanctimonious, -self-depreciating, yet self-worshipping ascetic. The same feeling runs -through “Queen Mary;” and Harold, the honest warrior of unpretending -virtue, is well contrasted with the devout, yet un-English and only -half-kingly confessor, upon whose piety Stigand passes no very -complimentary remarks. So that the recent play which Lord Queensberry -objected to surprises me; for in “Despair” it is theological caricature -of the divine character which is made responsible for the catastrophe -quite as much as Agnosticism, a mere reaction from false belief. -Besides, has not Tennyson sung “There lives more faith in honest doubt, -believe me, than in half the creeds,” and “Power was with him in the -night, which makes the darkness and the light, and dwells not in the -light alone”? - -Turning now to the philosophical and elegiac poetry of Tennyson, -one would pronounce the poet to be in the best sense a religious -mystic of deep insight, though fully alive to the claims of activity, -culture, science, and art. It would not be easy to find more -striking philosophical poetry than the lines on “Will,” the “Higher -Pantheism,” “Wages,” “Flower in the Crannied Wall,” the “Two Voices,” -and especially “In Memoriam.” As to “Wages,” it is surely true that -Virtue, even if she seek no rest (and that is a hard saying), does -seek the “wages of going on and still to be.” An able writer in -“To-day” objects to this doctrine. And of course an Agnostic may be, -often is, a much more human person—larger, kinder, sounder—than a -believer. But the truth is, the very feeling that Love and Virtue are -noblest and best involves the implicit intuition of their permanence, -however the understanding may doubt or deny. Again, I find myself -thoroughly at one with the profound teaching of the “Higher Pantheism,” -As for “In Memoriam,” where is the elegiac poetry equal to it in our -language? Gravely the solemn verse confronts problems which, mournful -or ghastly, yet with some far-away light in their eyes, look us men -of this generation in the face, visiting us with dread misgiving or -pathetic hope. From the conference, from the agony, from the battle, -Faith emerges, aged, maimed, and scarred, yet triumphing and serene. -Like every greater poet, Tennyson wears the prophet’s mantle, as he -wears the singer’s bay. Mourners will ever thank him for such words as, -“‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all;” -and, “Let love clasp grief, lest both be drowned;” and, “Our wills are -ours, we know not how; our wills are ours, to make them Thine;” as for -the lines that distinguish Wisdom and Knowledge, commending Wisdom as -mistress, and Knowledge but as handmaid. Every mourner has his favorite -section or particular chapel of the temple-poem, where he prefers to -kneel for worship of the Invisible. Yes, for into the furnace men may -be cast bound and come forth free, having found for companion One whose -form was like the Son of God. Our poet’s conclusion may be foolish and -superstitious, as some would now persuade us; but if he errs, it is in -good company, for he errs with him who sang, “In la sua voluntade e -nostra pace” and with Him who prayed, “Father, not My will, but Thine.” - -The range, then, of this poet in all the achievements of his long life -is vast—lyrical, dramatic,[3] narrative, allegoric, philosophical. -Even strong and barbed satire is not wanting, as in “Sea-Dreams,” the -fierce verses to Bulwer, “The Spiteful Letter.” Of the most varied -measures he is master, as of the richest and most copious vocabulary. -Only in the sonnet form, perhaps, does his genius not move with so -royal a port, so assured a superiority over all rivals. I have seen -sonnets even by other living English writers that appeared to me more -striking; notably, fine sonnets by Mr. J. A. Symonds, Mr. Theodore -Watts, Mrs. Pfeiffer, Miss Blind. But surely Tennyson must have written -very little indifferent poetry when you think of the fuss made by his -detractors over the rather poor verses beginning “I stood on a tower in -the wet,” and the somewhat insignificant series entitled “The Window.” -For “The Victim” appears to me exceedingly good. Talk of daintiness -and prettiness! Yes; but it is the lambent, water-waved damascening -on a Saladin’s blade; it is the rich enchasement on a Cœur de Lion’s -armor. Amid the soul-subduing spaces, and tall forested piers of that -cathedral by Rhine, there are long jewelled flames for window, and -embalmed kings lie shrined in gold, with gems all over it like eyes. -While Tennyson must loyally be recognized as the Arthur or Lancelot -of modern English verse, even by those among us who believe that -their own work in poetry cannot fairly be damned as “minor,” while he -need fear the enthronement of no younger rival near him, the poetic -standard he has established is in all respects so high that poets who -love their art must needs glory in such a leader and such an example, -though pretenders may verily be shamed into silence, and Marsyas cease -henceforward to contend with Apollo.—_Contemporary Review._ - - - - -ON AN OLD SONG. - -BY W. E. H. LECKY. - - - Little snatch of ancient song - What has made thee live so long? - Flying on thy wings of rhyme - Lightly down the depths of time, - Telling nothing strange or rare, - Scarce a thought or image there, - Nothing but the old, old tale - Of a hapless lover’s wail; - Offspring of some idle hour, - Whence has come thy lasting power? - By what turn of rhythm or phrase, - By what subtle, careless grace - Can thy music charm our ears - After full three hundred years? - - Little song, since thou wert born - In the Reformation morn, - How much great has past away, - Shattered or by slow decay! - Stately piles in ruins crumbled, - Lordly houses lost or humbled. - Thrones and realms in darkness hurled, - Noble flags forever furled, - Wisest schemes by statesmen spun, - Time has seen them one by one - Like the leaves of autumn fall— - A little song outlives them all. - - There were mighty scholars then - With the slow, laborious pen - Piling up their works of learning, - Men of solid, deep discerning, - Widely famous as they taught - Systems of connected thought, - Destined for all future ages; - Now the cobweb binds their pages, - All unread their volumes lie - Mouldering so peaceably, - Coffined thoughts of coffined men. - Never more to stir again - In the passion and the strife, - In the fleeting forms of life; - All their force and meaning gone - As the stream of thought flows on. - - Art thou weary, little song, - Flying through the world so long? - Canst thou on thy fairy pinions - Cleave the future’s dark dominions? - And with music soft and clear - Charm the yet unfashioned ear, - Mingling with the things unborn - When perchance another morn - Great as that which gave thee birth - Dawns upon the changing earth? - It may be so, for all around - With a heavy crashing sound - Like the ice of polar seas - Melting in the summer breeze, - Signs of change are gathering fast, - Nations breaking with their past. - - The pulse of thought is beating quicker, - The lamp of faith begins to flicker, - The ancient reverence decays - With forms and types of other days; - And old beliefs grow faint and few - As knowledge moulds the world anew, - And scatters far and wide the seeds - Of other hopes and other creeds; - And all in vain we seek to trace - The fortunes of the coming race, - Some with fear and some with hope, - None can cast its horoscope. - Vap’rous lamp or rising star, - Many a light is seen afar, - And dim shapeless figures loom - All around us in the gloom— - Forces that may rise and reign - As the old ideals wane. - - Landmarks of the human mind, - One by one are left behind, - And a subtle change is wrought - In the mould and cast of thought, - Modes of reasoning pass away, - Types of beauty lose their sway, - Creeds and causes that have made - Many noble lives, must fade; - And the words that thrilled of old - Now seem hueless, dead, and cold; - Fancy’s rainbow tints are flying, - Thoughts, like men, are slowly dying; - All things perish, and the strongest - Often do not last the longest; - The stately ship is seen no more, - The fragile skiff attains the shore; - And while the great and wise decay, - And all their trophies pass away, - Some sudden thought, some careless rhyme - Still floats above the wrecks of time. - - _Macmillan’s Magazine._ - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] But the loveliest lyrics of Tennyson do not suggest labor. I do not -say that, like Beethoven’s music, or Heine’s songs, they may not be the -result of it. But they, like all supreme artistic work, “conceal,” not -obtrude Art; if they are not spontaneous, they produce the effect of -spontaneity, not artifice. They impress the reader also with the power, -for which no technical skill can be a substitute, of sincere feeling, -and profound realization of their subject-matter. - -[2] Mr. Alfred Austin, himself a true poet and critic, has long ago -repented of _his_ juvenile escapade in criticism, and made ample amends -to the Poet-Laureate in a very able article published not long since in -_Macmillan’s Magazine_. - -[3] I have just read the Laureate’s new plays. They are, like all his -best things, brief: “dramatic fragments,” one may even call them. -“The Cup” was admirably interpreted, and scenically rendered under -the auspices of Mr. Irving and Miss Ellen Terry; but it is itself a -precious addition to the stores of English tragedy—all movement and -action, intense, heroic, steadily rising to a most impressive climax, -that makes a memorable picture on the stage. Camma, though painted only -with a few telling strokes, is a splendid heroine of antique virtue, -fortitude, and self-devotion. “The Falcon” is a truly graceful and -charming acquisition to the repertory of lighter English drama. - - - - -THE AMERICAN AUDIENCE. - -BY HENRY IRVING. - - -What is the difference between an English and an American audience? -That is a question which has frequently been put to me, and which I -have always found it difficult to answer. The points of dissimilarity -are simply those arising from people of a common origin living under -conditions often widely different. It is, therefore, only possible for -me to indicate such traits in the bearing of the American playgoer as -have come under my own personal notice, and impressed me with a sense -of unfamiliarity. - -Every American town, great or small, has—I believe, without -exception—its theatre and its church, and when a new town is about to -be built, the sites for a place of amusement and a place of worship are -invariably those first selected. As an instance, take Pullman, which -lies some sixteen miles from Chicago, pleasantly situated on the banks -of the Calumet Lake. The original design of this little city, which is -almost ideal in its organization, and has the enviable reputation of -being absolutely perfect in its sanitation, was conceived on the lines -just mentioned. Denver City, which is a growth almost abnormal even in -an age and country of abnormal progress, has a theatre, which is said -to be one of the finest in America. Boston, with its old civilization, -boasts seventeen theatres, or buildings in which plays are given; New -York possesses no less than twenty-eight regular theatres, besides a -host of smaller ones; and Chicago, whose very foundations are younger -than the beards of some men of thirty, has, according to a printed -list, over twenty theatres, all of which seem to flourish. The number -of theatres in America and the influence they exercise constitute -important elements in the national life. This great multiplication of -dramatic possibilities renders it necessary to take a very wide and -general view, if one wishes to get a distinct impression as to how -audiences here differ from those at home. So at least it must seem to a -player, who can only find comparison possible when points of difference -suggest themselves. For a proper understanding of such difference in -audiences, we must ascertain wherein consist the differences of the -theatres which they frequent, both in architectural construction, -social arrangement, and that habit of management which is a natural -growth. - -By the enactments of the various States regulating the structure and -conduct of places of amusement, full provision for the comfort and -safety of the audience is insisted on. It is directed that the back -of the auditorium should open by adequate doors directly upon the main -passage or vestibule, and that through the centre of the floor should -run an aisle right down to the orchestra rail. Thus the floor of the -house is easy of access and exit, is generally of large expanse, and -capable of containing half, or more than half, of the entire audience. -It is usually divided into two parts—the orchestra or parquet, and the -orchestra or parquet circle—the latter being a zone running around the -former and covered by the projection of the first gallery. The floor -of an American theatre is, as a rule, on a more inclined plane than is -customary in English theatres, and there is a good view of the stage -from every part. Outside the parquet circle, and within the inner wall -of the building, is usually a wide passage where many persons can -stand. Thus in most houses there is a great elasticity in the holding -power, which at times adds not a little to the managerial success. -I cannot but think that in several respects we have much to learn -from our American cousins in the construction and arrangement of the -auditorium of the theatre; on the other hand, they might study with -advantage our equipment behind the proscenium. - -It is perhaps due to the sentiment and tradition of personal equality -in the nation, that the entire stream often turns to one portion of -the house, in a way somewhat odd to those accustomed as we are in -England to the separating force of social grades. To the great majority -of persons, only one part of the theatre is eminently eligible, and -other portions are mainly sought when the floor is occupied. The very -willingness with which the public acquiesce in certain discomforts -or annoyances attendant on visiting the theatre, would seem to -show that the drama is an integral portion of their daily life. It -cannot be denied by any one cognizant of the working of American -theatres that there are certain facts or customs which must discount -enjoyment. Before a visitor is in a position to settle comfortably -to the reception of a play, he must, as a rule, experience many -inconveniences. In the first place he has in some States to submit to -the exactions of the ticket speculator or “scalper,” who, through -defective State laws, is generally able to buy tickets in bulk, and -to retail them at an exorbitant rate. I have known of instances where -tickets of the full value of three dollars were paid for by the public -at the average rate of ten or twelve dollars. Then, through the high -price of labor, which in most American institutions causes employers -to so dispose of their forces as to minimize service, the attendance -in the front of the house is, I am told, often inadequate. Were it not -for the orderly disposition and habit of the public, trained by the -custom of equal rights to stand, and move _en queue_, it would not be -possible to admit and seat the audience in the interval between the -opening of the doors and the commencement of the performance. Thus the -public are somewhat “hustled,” and from one cause or another too often -reach their seats after having endured much annoyance with a patient -submission which speaks volumes for their law-abiding nature; but which -must sorely disturb that reposeful spirit which the actor may consider -essential to a due enjoyment of the play. - -Once in his seat the American playgoer does not, as a rule, leave it -until the performance is at an end. The percentage of persons who -move about during the _entr’acte_ is, when compared with that in -England, exceedingly small, and sinks into complete insignificance when -contrasted with the exodus to the _foyer_ customary in continental -theatres. In the equipment of the American theatre there is one -omission which will surprise us at home—that of the bar, or refreshment -room. In not a single theatre that I can call to mind in America have -I found provision made for drinking. It is not by any means that the -average playgoer is a teetotaler, but that, if he wishes or needs to -drink during the evening, he does it as he does during the hours of -his working life, and not as a necessary concomitant to the enjoyment -of his leisure hours. Two other things are noticeable: first, that the -audiences are sometimes very unpunctual, and to suit the audiences -the managers sometimes delay beginning. The audience depend on this -delay, and the consequence frequently is, that a first act is entirely -disturbed by their entry; secondly, that, after the play, it is a -custom, in a degree unknown in any European capital, to adjourn to -various restaurants for supper. - -As the audience _en bloc_ remain seated, so the length of the -performance must be taken into account by managers; and commonly -two hours and a half is considered the maximum length to which a -performance should run, though I must say that we have at times -sinned by keeping our audiences seated until eleven o’clock, and it -has been even later. Of course in this branch of the subject must be -also considered the difficulty of reaching their homes experienced by -audiences in cities whose liberal arrangements of space, and absence -of cheap cabs, renders necessary a due regard to time. In matter of -duration, however, the audience is not to be trifled with or imposed -on. I have heard of a case in a city of Colorado where the manager of -a travelling company, on the last night of an engagement, in order to -catch a through train, hurried the ordinary performance of his play -into an hour and a half. When next the company were coming to the city -they were met _en route_, some fifty miles out, by the sheriff, who -warned them to pass on by some other way, as their coming was awaited -by a large section of the able-bodied male population armed with shot -guns. The company did not, I am informed, on that occasion visit the -city. I may here mention that in America the dramatic season lasts -about eight months—from the beginning of the “fall” in September till -the hot weather commences in April. During this period the theatres are -kept busy, as there are performances on the evenings of every week day, -and in the South and West on Sunday evening also, whilst matinées are -given every Saturday, and in a large number of cases every Wednesday. -In certain places even the afternoon of Sunday sees a performance. -It is a fact, somewhat amusing at first, that in nearly all towns of -comparatively minor importance the theatre is known as the Opera House. - -I have dwelt on the external condition of the American audiences in -order to explain the condition antecedent to the actor’s appearance. -The differences between various audiences are so minute that some such -insight seems necessary to enable one to recognise and understand them. -An actor in the ordinary course of his work can only partially at best -realise such differences as there may be, much less attempt to state -them explicitly. His first experience before a strange audience is the -discovery whether or not he is _en rapport_ with them. This, however, -he can most surely feel, though he cannot always give a reason for the -feeling. As there is, in the occurrences of daily life, a conveyance -other than by words of meaning, of sentiment, or of understanding -between different individuals, so there is a carriage of mutual -understanding or reciprocity of sentiment between the stage and the -auditorium. The emotion which an actor may feel, or which his art may -empower him successfully to simulate, can be conveyed over the floats -in some way which neither actor nor audience may be able to explain; -and the reciprocation of such emotion can be as surely manifested by -the audience by more subtle and unconscious ways than overt applause or -otherwise. It must be remembered that the opportunities which I have -had of observing audiences have been almost entirely from my own stage. -Little facility of wider observation is afforded to a man who plays -seven performances each week and fills up most of the blank mornings -with rehearsal or travel. I only put forward what I feel or believe. -Such belief is based on the opportunities I have had of observation or -of following out the experience of others. - -The dominant characteristic of the American audience seems to be -impartiality. They do not sit in judgment, resenting as positive -offences lack of power to convey meanings or divergence of -interpretation of particular character or scene. I understand that -when they do not like a performance they simply go away, so that at -the close of the evening the silence of a deserted house gives to the -management a verdict more potent than audible condemnation. This does -not apply to questions of morals, which can be, and are, as quickly -judged here as elsewhere. On this subject I give entirely the evidence -of others, for it has been my good fortune to see our audiences seated -till the final falling of the curtain. Again, there is a kindly -feeling on the part of the audience towards the actor as an individual, -especially if he be not a complete stranger, which is, I presume, -a part of that recognition of individuality which is so striking a -characteristic in American life and customs. Many an actor draws -habitually a portion of his audience, not in consequence of artistic -merit, not from capacity to arouse or excite emotion, but simply -because there is something in his personality which they like. This -spirit forcibly reminds me of the story told of the manager of one of -the old “Circuits,” who gave as a reason for the continued engagement -of an impossibly bad actor, that “he was kind to his mother.” The -thorough enjoyment of the audience is another point to be noticed. Not -only are they quick to understand and appreciate, but there seems to be -a genuine pleasure in the expression of approval. American audiences -are not surpassed in quickness and completeness of comprehension by any -that I have yet seen, and no actor need fear to make his strongest or -his most subtle effort, for such is sure to receive instant and full -acknowledgment at their hands. - -There is little more than this to be said of the American audience. -But short though the record is, the impression upon the player himself -is profound and abiding. To describe what one sees and hears over the -footlights is infinitely easier than to convey an idea of the mental -disposition and feeling of the spectators. The house is ample and -comfortable, and the audience is well-disposed to be pleased. Ladies -and gentlemen alike are mostly in morning dress, distinguished in -appearance, and guided in every respect by a refined decorum. The -sight is generally picturesque. Even in winter flowers abound, and the -majority of ladies have bouquets either carried in the hand or fastened -on the shoulder or corsage. At matinée performances especially, where -the larger proportion of the audience is composed of ladies, the -effect is not less pleasing to the olfactory senses than to the eye. -Courteous, patient, enthusiastic, the American audience is worthy of -any effort which the actor can make on its behalf, and he who has had -experience of them would be an untrustworthy chronicler if he failed, -or even hesitated, to bear witness to their intelligence, their taste -and their generosity.—_Fortnightly Review._ - - - - -STIMULANTS AND NARCOTICS. - -BY PERCY GREG. - -Among all the signal inventions, discoveries, and improvements of the -age, social and material, scientific and mechanical, few, perhaps, -are fraught with graver possibilities for good and evil than the -great achievement of recent medicine—the development, if it should -not more properly be called the discovery, of anæsthetics. Steam has -revolutionized mechanics; the locomotive, the steam-hammer, and the -power-loom, the creation of the railway and the factory system, have -essentially modified social as well as material civilization; and it -is possible at least that electric lights and motors, telegraphs and -telephones, may produce yet greater consequences. This last century -has been signalized by greater mechanical achievements than the -whole historic period since the discovery of iron. But in obvious, -immediate influence on human happiness, it is quite conceivable that -the discovery of chloroform, ether, and other anæsthetics—the diffusion -of chloral, opium, and other narcotics, putting them within the reach -of every individual, at the command of men and women, almost of -children, independently of medical advice or sanction—may be, for a -time at least, more important than those inventions which have changed -the fundamental conditions of industry, or those which may yet change -them once more. It is difficult for the rising generation to realize -that state of medicine, and especially of surgery, which old men can -well remember; when every operation, from the extraction of a bad -tooth to the removal of a limb, must be performed upon patients in -full possession of their senses. In those days the horror with which -men and women, uninfluenced by scientific enthusiasm, now regard the -alleged tortures of vivisection was hardly possible. Thousands of -human beings had yearly to undergo—every man, woman, and child might -have to undergo—agonies quite as terrible as any that the most ardent -advocate of the rights of animals, the most vivid imagination excited -by fear for dearly loved dumb companions, ascribes to the vivisector’s -knife. It may well be doubted whether the highest brutes are capable -of suffering any pain comparable with that of hardy soldiers or -seamen—much less with that of sensitive, nervous men, and delicate -women—when the surgeon’s blade cut through living, often inflamed -tissues, generally rendered infinitely more sensitive by previous -disease or injury, while the brain was fully, intensely conscious; -every nerve quivering with even exaggerated sensibility. The brutes, at -any rate, are spared the long agony of anticipation, and at least half -the tortures of memory. They may fear for a few minutes; our fathers -and mothers lay in terror for hours and days, nay, persons of vivid -imagination must have suffered acutely through half a lifetime, in the -expectation that, soon or late, their only choice might lie between -excruciating temporary torture and a death of lingering hopeless -anguish. No gift of God, perhaps, has been so precious, no effort of -human intellect has done more to lessen human suffering and fear, to -take from life much of its darkest evil and horror, than anæsthesia -as developed during the last fifty years. True that in the case of -severe operations it is as yet beyond the power of medicine to give -complete relief. If spared the torture of the operation, the patient -has yet to endure the cruel smart that the knife leaves behind. But the -relief of previous terror, of the awful, unspeakable, and, to those who -never felt it, almost inconceivable agony endured while the flesh was -carved, and the bone sawn, have disappeared from the sick room and the -hospital. - -Narcotics should be carefully distinguished from anæsthetics. Their -use is different, not in degree only, but in character and purpose. -Their legitimate object is two-fold: primarily, in a limited number -of cases, to relieve or mitigate pain temporarily or permanently -incurable; but secondarily and principally to cure what to a large -and constantly increasing class in every civilized country is among -the severest trials attendant on sickness, over-work, or nervous -excitement—that loss of sleep which is a terrible affliction in itself, -and aggravates, much more than inexperience would suppose, every form -of suffering with which it is connected. Nature mercifully intended -that prolonged intolerable pain should of itself bring the relief of -sleep or swooning; and primitive races like the Red Indian, living in -the open air, with dull imagination and insensible nerves, still find -such relief. The victims of Mohawk and Huron tortures have been known, -during a brief intermission of agony, to sleep at the stake till fire -was used to awaken them. But among the many drawbacks of civilized -life must be counted the tendency of artificial conditions to defeat -some of Nature’s most merciful provisions. The nerves of civilized -men are too sensitive, the brains developed by hereditary culture and -constant exercise are too restless, to obtain from sleep that relief -in pain, especially prolonged pain, that nature apparently intended. -Many of us, even in sleep, are keenly sensitive to suffering, at least -to chronic as distinguished from acute pain, to dull protracted pangs -like those of rheumatism, ear-ache, or tooth-ache. A little sharper -pain, and sleep becomes impossible. The sufferer is not only deprived -of the respite that slumber should afford, but insomnia itself enhances -his sensibility, besides adding a new and terrible torment of its own. -Artificial prevention of sleep was notoriously among the most cruel -and the most certainly mortal of mediæval or barbaric tortures. The -sensations of one who has not slept for several nights, beginning with -a restless, unnatural, constantly increasing consciousness of the -brain, its existence and its action, passing by degrees into an acute, -unendurably distressing irritation of that organ—generally unconscious -or insensible, probably because its habitual sensibility would be -intolerable—are indescribable, unimaginable by those who have not felt -them; and seem to be proportionate to the activity of the intellect, -the susceptibility of nerve and vitality of temperament—the capacity -for pain and pleasure. In a word, the finer the physical and nervous -character, the more terrible the torment of sleeplessness. A little -more and the patient is confronted with one of the most frightful -forms of pain and terror, the consciousness of incipient insanity. But -long before reaching this stage, sleeplessness exaggerates pain and -weakens the power of endurance, quickens the sensibility of the nerves, -enfeebles the will, exacerbates the temper, produces a physical and -nervous irritability which to an observer unacquainted with the cause -seems irrational, unaccountable, extravagant, even frantic, but which -afflicts the patient incomparably more than those, however near and -however sensitive, on whom it is vented. Drugs, then, which enable the -physician in most cases to check insomnia at an early stage—to secure, -for example, in a case of chronic pain, six or seven hours of complete -repose out of the twenty-four, to arrest a mischief which leads by -the shortest and most painful route directly to insanity—are simply -invaluable. - -It may seem a paradox, it is a truism, to say that in their value -lies their peril. Because they have such power for good, because the -suffering they relieve is in its lighter forms so common, because -neuralgia and sleeplessness are ailments as familiar to the present -generation as gout, rheumatism, catarrh to our grandfathers, therefore -the medicines which immediately relieve sleeplessness and neuralgic -pain are among the most dangerous possessions, the most subtle -temptations, of civilized and especially of intellectual life. Every -one of these drugs has, besides its immediate and beneficial effect, -other and injurious tendencies. The relief which it gives is purchased -at a certain price; and in every instance the relief is lessened -or rendered uncertain, the mischievous influence is enhanced and -aggravated by repetition; till, when the use has become habitual, it -has become pure abuse, when the drug has become a necessity of life -it has lost the greater part if not the whole of its value, and serves -only to satisfy the need which itself alone has created. Contrary -to popular tradition, we believe that of popular narcotics opium is -on the whole, if the most seductive, the least injurious; chloral, -which at first passed for being almost harmless, is probably the most -noxious of all, having both chemical and vital effects which approach -if they do not amount to blood-poisoning. It is said (we do not -affirm with what truth) that the subsequent administration of half a -teaspoonful of a common alkali operates as an antidote to some of these -specific effects. The bromide of potash, another favorite, especially -with women, is less, perhaps, a narcotic proper than a sedative. It -is said not to produce sleep directly, like chloral or opium, by -stupefaction, but at least in small doses simply to allay the nervous -irritability which is often the sole cause of sleeplessness. But in -larger quantities and in its ultimate effects it is scarcely less to -be dreaded than chloral. It has been recommended as a potent, indeed -a specific and the only specific, remedy for sea-sickness. But the -state to which, as its advocate allows, the patient must be reduced, a -state of complete nervous subjection to the power of the drug, seems -worse than the disease, save in its most cruel and dangerous forms. -Such points, however, may be left to the chemist, the physician, or -the physiologist; our purpose is rather to indicate briefly the social -aspects of the subject, the social causes, conditions, and consequences -of that narcotism which is, if not yet a prevalent, certainly a -rapidly-spreading habit. - -The desire or craving for stimulants in the most general sense of the -word—for drugs acting upon the nerves whether as excitant or sedative -agents—is an almost if not absolutely universal human appetite; so -general, so early developed, that we might almost call it an instinct. -Alcohol, of course, is the most popular, under ordinary circumstances -the most seductive, and by far the most widely diffused of all -stimulant substances. From the Euphrates to the Straits of Dover, the -vine has been from the earliest ages second only to corn in popular -estimation; wine, next to bread, the most prized and most universal -article of human food. The connection between _Ceres_ and _Bacchus_ -is found in almost every language as in the social life of every -nation, from the warlike Assyrian monarchy, the stable hierocratic -despotism of Egypt, to the modern French Republic and German Empire. -Corn itself has furnished stimulant second in popularity to wine alone; -the spirit which delighted the fiercer, sterner races of Northern -Europe—Swede, Norwegian, and Dane, St. Olaf, and Harold Hardrada, -as their descendants of to-day; and the ale of our own Saxon and -Scandinavian ancestry, which neither spirit, cider, nor Spanish wine -has superseded among ourselves. The vine, again, seems to have been -native to America; but the civilized or semi-civilized races of the -southern and central part of the Western Continent had other more -popular and more peculiar stimulants, also for the most part alcoholic. -The palm, again, has furnished to African and Asiatic tribes a spirit -not less potent or less noxious, not less popular and probably not -less primitive, than whiskey or beer. But where alcohol has been -unknown, among races to whose habits and temperament it was alien, or -in climates where so powerful an excitant produced effects too palpably -alarming to be tolerated by rulers or law-givers royal or priestly, -other and milder stimulants or sedatives are found in equally universal -use. Till the white man introduced among them his own destructive -beverages, till the “fire-water” spread demoralization and disease, -tobacco was the favorite indulgence of the Red Indian of North America, -and very probably of that mighty race which preceded them and seems to -have disappeared before they came upon the scene—the Mound-builders, -whose gigantic works bear testimony to the existence of an agriculture -scarcely less advanced or less prolific, a despotism probably not less -absolute than that of Egypt. Coffee has for ages been almost equally -dear to the Arabs; tea has been to China all that wine is and was to -Europe, probably from a still earlier period, and has taken hold on -the Northern, as coffee and tobacco upon the Southern, branches of -the Tartar race. Opium, or drugs resembling opium in character, have -been found as well suited to the temper, as delightful to the taste, -of the quieter and more passive Oriental races as wine to the Aryan -and Semitic nations. The Malays, the Vikings of the East Indies, found -in _bhang_ a drug the most exciting and maddening in its effects of -any known to civilized or uncivilized man; a substitute for opium or -haschisch bearing much the same relation to those sedatives as brandy -or whiskey to the light wines of Southern Europe. - -The craving, then, is not artificial but natural; is not, as -teetotalers fancy, for alcohol alone or primarily, but for some form -of nervous excitement or sedative _specially_ suited to climate or -race. Tea, coffee, and tobacco, opium, haschisch and bhang, _mata_ and -_tembe_, are probably as old as wine, older than beer, and take just -as strong a hold upon the national taste. The desire testifies to a -felt and almost universal want; and the attempt to put down a habit -proved by universal and immemorial practice to answer to a need, real -and absolute—or if artificial easily created and permanent, if not -ineradicable, beyond any other artificial craving or habit—seems doomed -to failure; the desire not being for this or that stimulant, for wine -or alcohol, but for some agent that gives a special satisfaction to the -nerves, some stimulant, sedative or astringent. The discouragement of -one form of indulgence, especially if that discouragement be artificial -or forcible, not moral and voluntary, can hardly have any other result -than to drive the votaries of alcohol, for example, upon opium, or -those of opium upon some form of alcohol. Tea, coffee, and tobacco have -done infinitely more than teetotal and temperance preaching of every -kind to diminish the European consumption of wine, beer, and spirits. -Men and even women never have been and never will be content with water -or milk, or even with the unfermented juices of fruits; to say nothing -of the extreme difficulty of preserving unfermented juices in those -warmer climates to which they are best adapted. - -It seems, however, that the natural craving, especially among women, -or men not subject to the fiercer excitements of war, hunting, and -open air life in general, is not for the stronger but for the milder -stimulants. Ale was the favorite beverage of England, light wine of -Southern Europe, till the Saracen invasion, the crusades, and finally -the extension of commerce, familiarised the Western Aryans with the -non-intoxicant stimulants of the East, and the discovery of America -introduced tobacco. But the use of tea and coffee is not less, we might -say, is more distinctly artificial than that of beer or wine. The taste -for tobacco, as its confinement in so many countries and to so great an -extent to one sex proves, is the most artificial of all. - -It is plain, both from the climates and the character of the races -among whom the sedative drugs or slightly-stimulant beverages have -first and most widely taken root, that the preference for sedatives or -gentle excitants is not accidental, but to a large extent dependent -upon the temperament and habits of races or nations. Alcohol suits -the higher, more energetic, active, militant races; and the fiercer -and more militant the temper or habits, the stronger the intoxicant -employed. It is not improbable that the first and strongest incitement -to the use of alcohol, as of bhang, was the desire for that which a -very unfair and ungenerous national taunt describes as Dutch courage. -No race, probably, except their nearest kinsmen of England, was ever -less dependent on the artificial boldness produced by stimulants than -the stubborn soldiers and seamen of Holland. The beer-loving Teutons -have never been, like the wine-drinkers of France, Italy, and Spain, -a military, or even, like the Scandinavians, a thoroughly martial -race. They will fight: none, Scandinavians, Soudanese, and Turks -perhaps excepted, fight better or more stubbornly. It may well be that -the adventurous, enterprising spirit of Englishmen and Scotchmen, -displayed at sea rather than on land, and in semi-pacific quite as -much as in warlike enterprise, is derived in large measure from the -strong Scandinavian element in our national blood. The tea-drinking -Chinamen, the Oriental lovers of haschisch and opium, have mostly been -industrious rather than energetic, agricultural or pastoral rather -than predatory. The coffee-drinking Arabs were not, till the days of -Mahomet, a specially warlike race. Bandits or guerillas they were -perforce; like every people which inhabits a country whose mountains -or deserts afford a safe refuge to robbers but promise no reward to -peaceful industry. No race, no class living in the open air, save in -the warmer climates, no people given to energetic muscular labor or -devoted to war, would be prompt to abandon alcohol in any of its forms -for its milder Oriental equivalents. Tea and coffee were introduced -at a time when manufactures and in-door-life were gaining ground in -Western Europe and found favor first, as is still the case, with the -indoor-living sex. It is still among indoor workers that they are most -in vogue. But if, as seems likely, alcohol was first adopted by the -warriors of savage or semi-savage races as an inspiring or hardening -force, it early lost this character with the introduction of strict -military discipline on the one hand or of chivalry on the other. -Neither the trained soldier of the phalanx and the legion, nor the -knight with whom reckless but also intelligent courage was a point of -honor, could find any help in intoxication, partial or total; nay, he -soon found that while the first excitement of alcohol was fatal to -discipline, its subsequent effects were almost as injurious to the -persevering, steadfast kind of courage in which he put his pride. -Wine or brandy, then, came to be the indulgence of peace and triumph, -not of war; wassail followed on victory, sobriety was necessary till -the victory was won. But still it has always been on the sterner, -fiercer, more energetic races that alcohol, and especially the stronger -forms of alcohol, retained their hold. It is to the passive, quiet, -reflective temperaments—national or individual, peculiar to classes or -to crafts—that tea or coffee, opium or haschisch, substances that calm -rather than excite the nerves, have always proved strongly and often -dangerously attractive. - -Now it may be urged with plausibility, and perhaps with truth, that -civilization and intellectual culture, the exchange of out-door for -in-door life, the influences that have rendered intelligence and -dexterity of more practical value than corporeal strength, tend in some -sense and in some measure to Orientalize the most advanced European -races. We are not, perhaps, less daring or less enterprising than -our fathers; but there is a large and ever increasing class to which -strenuous physical exertion is neither habitual nor agreeable. We are -unquestionably becoming sedentary; we work much more with our brains, -much less with our muscles, than heretofore. With this change has come -a decided change of feeling and tastes. We shrink from the fierce -excitement, the violent moral stimulants that delighted ruder and -less sensitive races and generations. The gladiatorial shows of Rome, -the savage sports and public punishments of the Middle Ages, would be -simply revolting to the great majority of almost every European nation -of to-day; not primarily because as thoughtful Christians we deem them -wicked, but because, instinctively, as sensitive men and women in whom -imagination and sympathy are strong, we shudder at them as brutal. -Prize-fights, bear-baiting, bull-fights have become too rough, too -coarse, but above all too exciting; the hideous tragedies of old have -ceased to suit the taste at least of our cultivated classes. In one -word, our nerves are far too sensitive to crave for strong and violent -excitement, moral or physical; it is painful rather than pleasurable. -The sobriety of the educated classes is due much less to moral than -to social causes. It is not that strong wines and spirits are so much -more injurious to us than to our grandsires, nor that we have learned -in fifty years to think intoxication sinful; rather we have come to -despise it, and to dislike its means, because we have ceased to feel or -understand the craving for such violent stimulation, because not merely -the reaction but the excitement itself gives more pain than pleasure. - -In the case of our American kinsmen climate has very much to do -with the matter. A dry, keen, exhilarating air as well as an -intense nervous sensibility renders powerful alcoholic stimulants -unnecessary, over-exciting, unpleasant as well as injurious. Partly -from temperament, a temperament which in itself must be largely the -result of climate, partly from the direct influence of their drier, -keener atmosphere, American women feel no need of alcohol; American men -who do indulge in it, rather as a relief from brain excitement than as -an excitant itself, suffer far more than we do from the indulgence. -The number of drunkards or hard-drinkers in the older States is, we -believe, very much smaller than in England, even at the present day. -But the proportion of lunatics made by drink seems to be much larger. -In America alone teetotalism has been the serious object of social and -legislative coercion. The Maine Liquor Law failed; but it is enforced -in garrisons and colleges, while in many States social feeling and -sectarian discipline forbid wine and spirits to women and clergymen, -and habitual indulgence therein, however moderate, is hardly compatible -with a high reputation for religious principle or strict morality. -But this case, like that of the early Mahometans, is the case of a -people whose climate is unsuited to alcohol; whose very atmosphere is a -stimulant. - -In a word, the craving of to-day, moral and physical, especially among -the cultivated classes, among the brain-workers, among those of the -softer sex and of the _fruges consumere nati_, who are almost entirely -relieved from physical labor, is for mild prolonged stimulation, and -for stimulation which does not produce a strong reaction; or else -for sedatives which will allay the sleepless excitement produced by -over-work, or yet oftener, perhaps, by reckless pursuit of pleasure. - -It seems, then, not unnatural or improbable that, as tea and coffee -have so largely taken the place of beer or light wine as beverages, so -narcotics should take the place of stronger alcoholic stimulants. That -this has been the case in certain quarters is well known to physicians, -and to most of those who have that experience of life in virtue of -which it is said, “every man of forty must be a physician or a fool.” -Nay, it is difficult to read the newspapers and remain ignorant or -doubtful of the fact. We read weekly of men and women poisoned by an -over-dose of some favorite sedative, burnt to death, or otherwise -fatally injured while insensible from self-administered ether or -chloroform. For one fatal case that finds its way into the newspapers -there are, of course, twenty fatal in a different sense—fatal, not -to life, but to life’s use and happiness—that are never known beyond -the family circle, into which they have introduced unspeakable and -often almost unlimited sorrow and evil; unlimited, for no one can be -sure, few can reasonably hope, that the mischief will be confined to -the individual victim of a dangerous craving. That the children of -drunkards are often pre-disposed to insanity is notorious; that the -children of habitual opium-eaters or narcotists inherit an unmistakable -taint, whether in a diseased brain, in diseased cravings, or simply in -a will too weak to resist temptation of any kind, is less notorious but -equally certain. Of these secondary victims of chloral or opium there -are not as yet many; but many fathers and mothers—fathers, perhaps, -who for the sake of wives and children have overtaxed their brains -till nothing but either the rest which circumstances and family claims -forbid, or drugs, will give them the sleep necessary to the continuance -of their work; mothers, too commonly, who begin by neglecting their -children in the pursuit of pleasure, to end by poisoning their -unborn offspring in the struggle to escape the consequences of -that pursuit—are preparing untold misery and mischief for a future -generation. Happily, narcotism is not the temptation of the young or -energetic. It is later in life, when the effect of years of brain -excitement of whatever nature begins to tell, and generally after the -period in which the greater number of children are born, that men and -women give way to this peculiar temptation of the present age. - -The immediate danger to themselves is sufficiently alarming, if only -it were ever realized in time. The narcotist keeps chloroform or -chloral always at hand, forgetful or ignorant that one sure effect of -the first dose is to produce a semi-stupor more dangerous than actual -somnolence. In that semi-stupor the patient is aware, or fancies -that the dose has failed. The pain that has induced a lady to hold a -chloroformed handkerchief under her nostrils returns while her will -and her judgment are half paralysed. She takes the bottle from the -table beside her bed, intending to pour an additional supply on the -handkerchief. The unsteady hand perhaps spills a quantity on the sheet, -perhaps sinks with the unstoppered bottle under her nostrils; and in a -few moments she has inhaled enough utterly to stupefy if not to kill. -The vapor, moreover, is inflammable; perhaps it catches the candle -by her side; and she is burnt to death while powerless to move. The -sleepless brain-worker also feels that his usual dose of chloral has -failed to bring sleep; he is not aware how completely it has stupefied -the brain, to which it has not given rest. His judgment is gone, so is -his steadiness of hand; and, whether intentionally or not, at any rate -unconsciously, so far as reasoning and judgment are concerned, he pours -out a second and too often a fatal dose. Any one who knows how great is -the stupefying power of these drugs, how often they produce a sort of -moral coma without paralysing the lower functions of animal or even of -mental life, would, one might suppose, at least take care to be in bed -before the drug takes effect, and if possible to put it out of reach -till next morning. But experience shows how seldom even this obvious -and essential precaution is taken. - -The cases that end in a death terrible to the family, but probably -involving little or no suffering to the victim himself, are by no -means the worst. A life poisoned, paralysed, rendered worthless for -all the uses of intellectual, rational, we might almost say of human -existence, is worse for the sufferer himself and for all around him -than a quick and painless death; and for one such death there must -be twenty if not a hundred instances of this worst death in life. In -nine cases out of ten, probably, the narcotist has been entangled -almost insensibly, but incurably, without intention and almost without -consciousness of danger. With alcohol this could hardly be the case. No -woman, at any rate, could reach the point at which secret indulgence -in wine or spirits became a habit and a necessity without warnings, -evidences of excess palpable to herself if not to others, that should -have terrified and shamed her into self-control, while self-control was -yet possible. The hold that opium and other narcotics acquire is at -once swifter, more gradual, less revolting and incomparably stronger -than that of alcohol. The first indulgence is in some sense legitimate; -is almost enforced, either by acute pain or by chronic insomnia. The -latter is perhaps the more dangerous. The pain, if it last for weeks, -forces recourse to the doctor before the habit has become incurable. -Sleeplessness is a more persistent, and to most people a much less -alarming thing; and it is moreover one with which the doctors can -seldom deal save through the very agents of mischief. Neuralgia, -relieved for a time by chloroform or morphia, may be cured by quinine; -sleeplessness admits of hardly any cure but such complete change of -life as is rarely possible, at least to its working victims. And the -narcotist habit once formed, neither pain nor sleeplessness is all that -its renunciation would involve. The drunkard, it must be remembered, -gets drunk, as a rule, but occasionally. Save in the last stages of -dipsomania, he can do, if not without drink, yet without intoxicating -quantities of drink, for days together. The narcotist who attempts to -go for a whole day without his accustomed dose, suffers in twenty-four -hours far more cruelly than the drunkard deprived of alcohol in as many -days. The effect upon the stomach and other organs, upon the nerves as -well as on the brain, is one of indescribable, unspeakable discomfort -amounting to torture; a disorder of the digestive system more trying -than sea-sickness, a disorganization of the nerves which after some -hours of unspeakable misery culminates in convulsive twitchings, in -mental and physical distress, simply indescribable to those who have -not felt it. Where attempts have been made forcibly and suddenly to -withhold the accustomed sedative, they have not unfrequently ended -within a few days in madness or death. In other cases the victim has -sought and obtained relief by efforts and through hardships which, in -his or her best days, would have seemed impossible or unendurable. -One woman thus restrained escaped in a _déshabille_ from her bed-room -on a winter night of Arctic severity; ran for miles through the snow, -and was fortunate enough to find a chemist who knew something of the -fearful effect of such privation, and had the sense and courage to give -in adequate quantity the poison that had now become the first necessary -of life. In a word, narcotics, one and all, are, to those who have once -fallen under their power, tyrants whose hold can hardly ever be shaken -off, which punish rebellion with the rack, and with all those devices -of torture which mediæval and ecclesiastical cruelty found even more -terrible than the rack itself; while the most absolute submission is -rewarded with sufferings only less unendurable than the punishment of -revolt. De Quincey’s dreams under the influence of opium were to the -tortures of resistance what the highest circle of purgatory may be to -the lowest pit of the Inferno. But any reader who knows what nightmare -is would think such tortures of the imagination, so vividly realized by -a consciousness apparently intensified rather than impaired by slumber, -a sufficient penalty for almost any human sin. - -Chloral, bromide of potash, chloroform, henbane, and their various -combinations and substitutes are, however, by their very natures -medicines and no more. They are taken in the first instance as such; -at worst as medicinal equivalents for a quantity of alcohol which -women are afraid to take or unable to obtain, much more commonly as -medicines originally useful, mischievous only because the system has -been accustomed to depend on and cannot dispense with them. Their -effects at best are negatively, not actively, pleasurable. They relieve -pain or insomnia, or the craving which they themselves have created; -but their victims would, if they could, gladly be released from their -tyranny. Their character, moreover, is if not immediately yet very -rapidly perceptible. Very few can have used them for six months without -becoming more or less alarmed by the consequences. The minority, -for whom they are mere substitutes for alcohol, resort to them only -when the system has already been poisoned, the habits incurably -vitiated. With opium the case is different. In those which may be -called its native countries, it is not a medicine but a stimulant or -sedative, used for the most part in much greater moderation but in -the same manner as wine or spirits among ourselves; as an indulgence -pleasurable and innocent, if not actually desirable in itself. It suits -the climates and temperaments to which the heating, exciting influence -of alcohol is wholly unsuitable. It is, moreover, incompatible with -the free use of the latter, a thing which may be said in some sense of -most narcotics. Taken up by persons not yet addicted to intemperance, -chloral and similar drugs operate to discourage the use, or at least -the free use, of wine or spirits by intensifying their effect to a -serious and generally an unpleasant degree. But it does not appear -that they act, like opium, to indispose the system for alcohol. To the -opium-eater, as a rule, the exciting stimulus of alcohol, counteracting -the quiet, dreamy influence of his favorite drug, is decidedly -obnoxious; the action of chloral much more resembles that of the more -stupefying and powerful spirits. A drunkard desirous to abandon his -favorite vice, and reckless or incredulous of the possibility that the -remedy may be worse than the disease, would probably find in opium -the most powerful and effectual assistance and support to which he -could have recourse. It has moreover a strong tendency to diminish -the appetite for food, so much so that both in the East and in Europe -severe privation tends to encourage and diffuse its use. - -Its peculiar danger, however, lies in the nature of the pleasure, and -the remoteness of the pain and mischief which attend its use. Its -effect on different constitutions and at different periods of life is -exceedingly different. As De Quincey remarks, it is not essentially -and primarily narcotic. It does not necessarily, immediately, or -always produce sleep. Some fortunate temperaments reject it in all -forms whatever. With these it produces immediate or speedy nausea, and -consequent repugnance. But its most universal effect is the diffusion -of comfort, quiet, calm, conscious repose, a general sensation -of physical and mental ease throughout the system; not followed -necessarily or generally by acute reaction, or even by depression. De -Quincey’s earlier experience accords with that of most of those to whom -opium is in some sense suited, to whom alone it is likely to become a -dangerous temptation. Used once in a fortnight, or even once a week, -it gives several hours of placid enjoyment, and if taken with some -mild aperient and followed next morning by a cup of strong coffee, it -generally gives a quiet night’s rest, entailing no further penalty -than a certain not unpleasant lassitude on the morrow. A working-man, -for instance, might take it every Saturday night for twenty years -without other effect than a decided aversion to the public-house on -Sunday, if he could but resist the temptation to take it oftener. -Again, till it loses its power by constant use it is in many cases the -surest and pleasantest of all anæsthetics; it relieves all neuralgic -pains, tooth-ache and ear-ache for example, and puts, especially in -combination with brandy, a quick and sure if by no means a wholesome -check on the milder forms of diarrhœa. - -In this connection one danger peculiar to itself deserves especial -notice. Other narcotics are seldom given or sold save under their -own names; and if administered in combination, in quack medicine or -unexplained prescriptions, their effect betrays itself. Opium forms the -basis of innumerable remedies and very effective remedies, sold under -titles altogether reassuring and misleading. Nearly all soothing-syrups -and powders for example—“mother’s blessings” and infant’s curses—are -really opiates. These are known or suspected by most well-informed -people. What is less generally known is that nine in ten of the popular -remedies for catarrh, bronchitis, cough, cold and asthma are also -opiates. So powerful indeed is the effect of opium upon the lining -membrane of the lungs and air passages, so difficult is it to find -an effective substitute, that the efficacy, at least the certain and -rapid efficacy, of any specific remedy for cold whose exact nature is -not known affords strong ground for suspecting the presence of opium. -Many chemists are culpably, almost criminally, reckless; and not a -few culpably ignorant in this matter. An experienced man bought from -a fashionable West-end shop a box of cough lozenges, pleasant to the -taste and relieving a severe cough with wonderful rapidity. Familiar -with the influence of opium on the stomach and spirits, he was sure -before he had sucked half-a-dozen of the lozenges that he had taken a -dose powerful enough to affect his accustomed system, and strong enough -to poison a child, and do serious harm to a sensitive adult. Yet the -lozenges were sold without warning or indication of their character; -few people would have taken any special precaution to keep them out of -the way of children, and the box, falling into the hands of a heedless -or disobedient child, might have poisoned a whole nursery. - -Another personal experience may serve to dispel the popular delusion -that opium is necessarily or generally a stupefying agent. A mismanaged -minor operation exposed two sensitive nerves, producing an intolerable -hyperæsthesia and a nervous terror which rendered surgical relief for -the time impossible, and endurance utterly beyond human power. For a -fortnight or more the patient was never free from agony save when the -nerves of sensation were practically paralysed by opium. During that -fortnight he took up for the first time, and thoroughly mastered, as -a college examination shortly afterwards proved, Mill’s _Principles -of Political Economy_, a work not merely taxing to the uttermost the -natural faculties of nineteen, but demanding beyond any other steady -persistent coherence and lucidity of thought. The patient affirmed that -never had his mind been clearer, his power of concentration greater, -his receptive faculties more perfect or his memory more tenacious. -That the drug had in no wise impaired the intellectual, however it -might have quelled the muscular or nervous energies, seems obvious. -Yet at that time the patient was ignorant of the two antidotes above -mentioned; and neither coffee nor aperient medicine qualified or -mitigated the influence of the opiates; an influence strong enough to -quell for some twenty-two hours out of the twenty-four an acute and -terrible nervous torture. - -After the use of a fortnight or a month—especially when used -legitimately to relieve pain and not to procure pleasure—the entire -abandonment of opium may be easily accomplished in the course of two -or three days. The pain or the disease it is used to overcome carries -off, so to speak, or diverts in great measure the injurious influence -of the drug; as a person suffering from diarrhœa, snakebite, or other -cause of intense lowering of physical and nervous power, may take with -impunity a dose of brandy which in health would certainly intoxicate -him. But after six months’ or a year’s daily use or abuse, only the -strongest and sternest resolution can overcome or shake off the tyranny -of opium, and then only at a price of suffering and misery, of physical -and mental torture such as only those who have known it can conceive. - -It would be as foolish to depreciate the value as to underrate the -danger of this, the most powerful and in many respects the safest of -anæsthetics. Nothing else can do what opium can to relieve chronic, -persistent, incurable nervous pain, to give sleep when sleeplessness is -produced by suffering. The more potent anæsthetics, like chloroform, -are applicable only to brief intense tortures, whose period can be -foreseen or determined—to produce insensibility during an operation, -or to mitigate the pangs of child-birth. Opium can relieve incurable -chronic pain that would otherwise render life intolerable, and perhaps -drive the sufferer to suicide; and this, if moderation be observed, -and the necessary correctives employed, without impairing, as other -narcotics would, the intellectual faculties. It is, moreover, as -aforesaid, the quickest and surest cure for bronchial affections of -every kind, and might not impossibly, as De Quincey thought, if used in -time and with sufficient decision, prolong a life otherwise doomed, if -it could not actually cure phthisis or consumption after the formation -of tubercle has once begun. But its legitimate use is limited to -three cases. It can relieve temporary neuralgic pain when cure would -be slow, or while awaiting a curative operation. One peculiarity -of neuralgic pain is its tendency to perpetuate itself. The nerves -continue to thrill and throb because worn out by pain. Give them, -through whatever agency, a brief period of rest, and it may well happen -that, the temporary cause removed, the pain will not return. Secondly, -opium is the one anæsthetic agency available to mitigate incurable -and intolerable suffering. Not only can it render endurable a life -that must otherwise be one continuous torture, till torture hastens -death; but it may in many cases render that life serviceable as well as -endurable. De Quincey gives the instance of a surgeon, suffering under -incurable disease of an intolerably painful kind, who owed the power -of steady professional work for more than twenty years to the constant -use of opium in enormous quantities. Finally, when a working life -draws near its natural close, when old age is harassed by the nervous -consequences of protracted over-work or over-strain such as is often -almost inseparable from the anxieties of business—the severe taxation -of the mental powers by professional or literary labor—opium, given -habitually in small quantities and under careful medical direction, -often does what wine effects with less certainty and safety; gives -rest and repose, calms an irritability of nerve and temper more trying -to the patient himself than to those around him, and renders the last -decade of a useful and honorable life much more comfortable, and no wit -less useful or honorable, than it might otherwise have been. - -But except as a relief in incurable disease, or in that most incurable -of all diseases, old age, the continual or prolonged use of opium -is always dangerous and nearly always fatal. It impairs the will; -not infrequently it exercises a directly, visibly, unmistakably -deteriorating influence upon the moral nature. There is nothing strange -in this to those who know how an accidental injury to the skull may -impair or pervert the moral no less than the intellectual powers. -That moral is hardly a less common or less distinctive disease than -mental insanity, that the conscience as well as the intellect of the -drunkard is distorted and weakened, no physiologist doubts. Opium has -a similar power, but exerts it with characteristic slowness of action. -The demoralization of the narcotist is not, like that of the drunkard, -rapid, violent, and palpable; but gradual, insidious, perceptible only -to close observers or near and intimate friends. In nine cases out of -ten, moreover, opium ultimately and certainly poisons the whole vital -system. The patient loses physical and mental energy, courage, and -enterprise; shrinks from exertion of every kind, dreads the labor of a -walk, the trouble of writing a letter, dreads still more intensely any -effort that calls for moral courage, flinches from a scene, a quarrel, -a social or domestic conflict, becomes at last selfish, shameless, -weak, useless, miserable to the last degree. - -But this, like every other effect of opium, is in some measure -uncertain; and hence arises one of its subtlest dangers. De Quincey -would seem to have been less susceptible than most men to the worst -influences of his favorite drug, seeing what work, excellent in -quality as well as considerable in quantity he achieved after he had -become a confirmed opium-eater. It took, no doubt, a tenfold greater -amount of opium to reduce him to intellectual impotence than would -suffice to destroy the minds of nine brain-workers in ten. But his -own story clearly reveals how completely the enormous doses to which -he had recourse at last overpowered a mind exceptionally energetic, -and a temperament exceptionally capable of assimilating, perhaps, -rather than resisting the power of opium. Here and there we find a -constitution upon which it exerts few or none of its characteristic -effects. As a few cannot take it at all, so a few can take it with -apparent impunity. With them it will relieve pain and will not paralyse -the nerves, will quell excitement without affecting mental energy; -nay, while leaving physical activity little more impaired than age and -temperament alone might have impaired it. Here and there we may find a -confirmed opium-eater capable of taking and enjoying active exercise—a -fairly fearless rider, a lover of nature tempted by taste, or it may -be by restlessness, to walks beyond his muscular strength; with vivid -imagination well under his own control; in whom even the will seems but -little weakened, whose dread of pain and flinching from danger are not -more marked after twenty years spent under the influence of opium than -when they first drove him to its use. Such cases are, of course, wholly -exceptional; but their very existence is a danger to others, misleads -them into the idea that they may dally with the tempter, may profit by -its pleasure-giving and pain-quelling powers without falling under its -yoke, or may fall under that yoke and find it a light one. I doubt, -however, whether the most fortunate of its victims would encourage the -latter idea; whether there be any opium-eater who would not give a -limb never to have known what opium can do to spare suffering, to give -strength for protracted exertion, if he had never known what slavery to -its influence means. - -Dread of pain, dislike of excitement and worry, impatience of suffering -and discomfort, of irritation, and sleeplessness, are all strong and -increasingly-marked characteristics of our highly artificial life and -perhaps almost overstrained civilization. Nature knows no influence -that can relieve worry, mitigate pain, charm away restlessness, -discomfort, and even sleeplessness, as opium can. Alcohol is at once -too stupefying and too exciting for the tastes and temperaments that -belong to cultivated natures and highly-developed brains. Beer suits -the sluggish laborer, or the energetic navvy when his work is done, -and his system, like that of a Scandinavian Viking or Scythian warrior -in his hours of repose, craves first exhilaration and then stupid, -thoughtless contentment. Wine suits less active and more passionate -races, to whom excitement is an unmixed pleasure; brandy those who -crave for stronger excitement to stimulate less susceptible nerves. But -the physical stimulants of our fathers and grandfathers, as the moral -excitements of remoter times, are far too violent for our generation. -Champagne has succeeded port and sherry as the favorite wine of those -who can afford it, being the lightest of all; and time was, not so -long ago, when medical men were accused of recommending champagne with -somewhat careless facility to those whose nerves, worn out by unhealthy -pursuit of pleasure, by unnatural hours and unwholesome excitement, -might have been effectually though more gradually restored by a change -which to most of them at least was possible; by life in the country -rather than in London, by the fresh air of the early morning instead -of that of midnight in over-heated gas-lighted rooms and a poisoned -atmosphere. There is a danger lest, as even champagne has proved too -much of a stimulant and too little of a sedative, narcotics should -take its place. The doctors will hardly recommend opium, but their -patients, obliged for one reason or another to forego wine, might be -driven upon it. - -As aforesaid, the craving for stimulation or tranquillization of the -brain—in one word, for that whole class of nerve-agents to which tea, -opium, and brandy alike belong—is so universal, has so prevailed in all -ages, races and climates, that it must be considered, if not originally -natural, yet as by this time an ingrained, all but ineradicable, -human appetite. To baffle such an appetite by any coercive means, by -domestic, social or legislative penalties, has ever proved impossible. -Deprive it of its gratification in one form, and it is impelled or -forced to find a substitute; and finds it, as all strong human cravings -have ever found some kind of satisfaction. And here lies one of the -worst, most certain and yet least considered dangers of the legislation -eagerly demanded by a constantly increasing party. Maine liquor laws, -prohibition, local option, every measure that threatens to deprive of -their favorite stimulant those who are not willing or have not the -resolve to abandon it, would probably fail in their primary object. -If they succeeded in that, they would, in a majority of instances, -force the drinker, not to be content with water or even with tea, but -to find a subtler substitute of lesser bulk, more easily obtained and -concealed. Opium is the most obvious, and, among sedatives powerful -enough to be substituted for wine or spirits, the least mischievous -resource. And opium, once adopted as a substitute for alcohol, would -take hold with far greater tenacity, and its use would spread with -terrible rapidity, because its evil influence is so subtle, so slowly -perceptible; and because, if used in moderation and with fitting -precautions, its worst effects may not be felt for many years; -because women could use it without detection, and men without alarm -or discredit. This peril is one of which wiser men than Sir Wilfrid -Lawson will not make light, but which too many comparatively rational -advocates of total abstinence seem to have totally overlooked. Without -underrating the frightful evils of intoxication, its baneful influence -upon the individual, upon large classes, and upon the country as a -whole, no one who knows them both can doubt that narcotism is the more -dangerous and more destructive habit. The opiatist will not brawl in -the street, will not beat his wife or maltreat his children; but he is -rendered as a rule, even more rapidly and certainly than the drunkard, -a useless member of society, a worthless citizen, an indifferent -husband, helpless as the bread-winner, impotent as the master and -ruler of a household. And opium, to the same temperaments and to many -others, is quite as seductive as alcohol; far more poisonous, and -incomparably more difficult to shake off when once its tyranny has been -established. To forbid it, as some have proposed to forbid the sale or -manufacture of beer, wine, and spirits, is impossible; to exclude it -from the country is out of the question; its legitimate uses are too -important, and no restrictions whatever can put it out of the reach of -those who desire it. Silks, spirits, tobacco were smuggled as long as -it paid to smuggle them; opium, an article of incomparably less bulk -and incomparably greater value, would bring still larger profit to the -importer; while the customer would not merely be attracted by cheapness -or fashion, but impelled by the most imperious and irresistible of -acquired cravings. Any man could smuggle through any barriers enough to -satisfy his appetite for a year, enough to poison a whole battalion. -That opium can become the favorite indulgence with numerous classes, -and apparently with a whole people, the experience of more than one -Eastern nation clearly shows. As the Oriental tea and coffee have to so -large an extent superseded beer as the daily drink of men as well as -women and children, so opium is calculated under favoring circumstances -to replace wine and spirits as a stimulant. It might well do so even -while the competition was open. Every penalty placed on the use of wine -or brandy is a premium on that of opium. - -De Quincey is not the only opium-eater who has given his experience to -the world. It is evident that the practice is spreading in America, -and the records published by its victims are as terrible as the -worst descriptions of the drunkard’s misery or even as the horrors -of _delirium tremens_. It is noteworthy, however, how little any of -these seem to know of other experiences than their own—for instance, -of the numerous forms and methods in which the drug can be and is -administered. Opium—the solidified juice of the poppy—is the natural -product from which laudanum, the spirituous tincture of opium, and -all the various forms of morphia, which may be called the chemical -extract, the essential principle of opium, are obtained. Morphia, -again, is sold by chemists and exhibited by doctors in many forms, -the principal of which are the acetate, the sulphate and the muriate -of morphia—the substance itself combined with acetic, sulphuric, or -hydrochloric acid. Of these last the muriate is, we believe, the -safest, the acetate and in a lesser degree the sulphate having more of -the pleasurable, sedative, seductive influence of opium in proportion -to their pain-quelling power. They act, in some way, more powerfully -upon the spirits while exerting the same anæsthetic influence, and -the injurious effects of each dose are more marked and less easily -counteracted. Laudanum, containing proof spirit as well as morphine, -and through the proof spirit diffusing the narcotic influence more -rapidly and affecting the brain more quickly and decidedly, is perhaps -the worst vehicle through which the essential drug can be taken. Again, -morphine, in its liquid forms can be injected under the skin; as -solid opium it can be smoked or eaten, as morphia it can be swallowed -or injected. Of all modes of administration—speaking, of course, of -the self-administered abuse, not of the strict medical use of the -drug—subcutaneous injection is the worst. It acts the most speedily -and apparently the most pleasurably; it passes off the most rapidly, -and tempts, therefore the most frequent, re-application. Apart, -moreover, from the poisonous influence itself, this mode of application -has injurious effects of its own; produces callosities and sores -of a painful and revolting character. Smoking seems to be the most -stupefying manner in which solid opium can be consumed, the one which -acts most powerfully and injuriously upon the brain. But opium-smoking -is hardly likely to take a strong hold on English or European taste. -A piece of opium no larger than a pea, chopped up and mixed with a -large bowlful of tobacco, produces on the veteran tobacco-smoker a -nauseating effect powerfully recalling that of the first pipe of his -boyhood; while its flavor is incomparably more disagreeable to the -palate accustomed to the best havanas or the worst shag or bird’s-eye -than these were to the unvitiated taste. It is probable that the -Englishman who makes his first acquaintance with opium in this form -will be revolted rather than tempted, unless indeed the pipe be used -to relieve a pain so intolerable that the nauseousness of the remedy -is disregarded. Morphia in all its forms, liquid or solid, has a -thoroughly unpleasant bitterness, but neither the nauseous taste of -the pipe nor the intensely disgusting flavor of laudanum, a flavor so -revolting to the unaccustomed palate that only when largely diluted -by water can it possibly be swallowed. On the whole, the muriate, -dissolved in a quantity of water large enough to render each drop the -equivalent of a drop of laudanum, is probably the safest, and should be -swallowed rather than injected. But rather than swallow even this, a -wise man, unless more confident in his own constancy and self-command -than wise men are wont to be, had better endure any temporary pain -that nature may inflict or any remedial operation that surgery can -offer.—_Contemporary Review._ - - - - -FOLK-LORE FOR SWEETHEARTS. - -BY REV. M. G. WATKINS, M.A. - - -As marriage and death are the chief events in human life, an enormous -mass of popular beliefs has in all nations crystallised round them. -Perhaps the sterner and more gloomy character of Kelts, Saxons, and -Northmen generally found vent in the greater prominence they have -given to omens of death, second-sight, ghosts, and the like; whereas -the lighter and sunnier disposition of Southern Europe has delighted -more in love-spells, methods of divining a future partner, the whole -pomp and circumstance attending Venus and her doves. The writhing of -the wryneck so graphically portrayed in Theocritus, or the spells of -the lover in his Latin imitator, with their refrain— - - Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim,[4] - -may thus be profitably compared with the darker superstitions of St. -Mark’s Eve, the Baal fires, and compacts with the evil one, which so -constantly recur throughout the Northern mythologies. But there are -times and festivities when the serious Northern temperament relaxes; -and any one who has the least acquaintance with the wealth of folk-lore -which recent years have shown the natives of Great Britain that -they possess, well knows that the times of courtship and marriage -are two occasions when this lighter vein of our composite nature is -conspicuous. The collection of these old-world beliefs amongst our -peasantry did not begin a moment too soon. Day by day the remnants of -them are fast fading from the national memory. The disenchanting wand -of the modern schoolmaster, the rationalistic influences of the press, -the Procrustes-like system of standards in our parish schools—these -act like the breath of morn or the crowing of a cock upon ghosts, and -at once put charms, spells, and the like to flight. Before the nation -assumes the sober hues of pure reason and unpitying logic, in lieu of -the picturesque scraps of folk-lore and old-wifish beliefs in which -imagination was wont to clothe it, no office can be more grateful to -posterity than for enthusiastic inquirers to search out and put on -record these notes of fairy music which our villagers used to listen -to with such content. By way of giving a sample of their linked -sweetnesses long drawn out through so many generations of country -dwellers—of which the echoes still vibrate, especially in the north -and west of the country—it is our purpose to quote something of the -legendary lore connected with love and marriage. This must interest -everybody. Even the most determined old bachelor probably fell once, at -least, in love to enable him to discover the hollowness of the passion; -and as for the other sex, they may very conveniently, if illogically, -be classed here as they used to be at the Oxford Commemoration, the -married, the unmarried, and those who wish to be married. Some of these -spells and charms possess associations for each of these divisions, and -we are consequently sure of the suffrages of the fair sex. - -Folk-lore, like Venus herself, has indeed specially flung her cestus -over “the palmer in love’s eye.” She has more charms to soothe his -melancholy than were ever prescribed by Burton. She is not above -dabbling in spells and the unholy mysteries of the black art to -inform him who shall be his partner for life. When sleep at length -seals his eyes, she waits at his bedside next morning to tell him the -meaning of his dreams. And most certainly the weaker sex has not been -forgotten by folk-lore, which, in proportion to their easier powers of -belief, provides them with infinite store of solace and prediction. -Milkmaids, country lasses, and secluded dwellers in whitewashed farm or -thick-walled ancestral grange are her particular charge. The Juliets -and Amandas of higher rank already possess enough nurses, confidantes, -and bosom friends, to say nothing of the poets and novelists. Perhaps -it would be well for them if they never resorted to more dangerous -mentors than do their rustic sisters when they listen to old wives’ -wisdom at the chimney corner. Yet an exception must be made in favor -of some lovers of rank, when we recall the ludicrously simple wooing -of Mr. Carteret and Lady Jemima Montagu, and how mightily they were -indebted to the good offices of the more skilled Samuel Pepys, who -literally taught them when they ought to take each other’s hand, “make -these and these compliments,” and the like; “he being the most awkerd -man I ever met with in my life as to that business,” as the garrulous -diarist adds. For ourselves, we do not profess to be love casuists, and -the profusion of receipts which the subject possesses is so remarkable -that we shall be unable to preserve much order in our prescriptions. -Like those little books which possess wisdom for all who look within -them, we can only promise our readers a peep into a budget fresh from -fairy-land, and each may select what spell he or she chooses. Autolycus -himself did not open a pack stuffed with greater attractions for his -customers, especially for the fair sex. - -Nothing is easier than to dream of a sweetheart. Only put a piece of -wedding-cake under your pillow, and your wish will be gratified. If you -are in doubt between two or three lovers, which you should choose, let -a friend write their names on the paper in which the cake is wrapped, -sleep on it yourself as before for three consecutive nights, and if you -should then happen to dream of one of the names therein written, you -are certain to marry him.[5] In Hull, folk-lore somewhat varies the -receipt. Take the blade-bone of a rabbit, stick nine pins in it, and -then put it under your pillow, when you will be sure to see the object -of your affections. At Burnley, during a marriage-feast, a wedding-ring -is put into the posset, and after serving it out the unmarried person -whose cup contains the ring will be the first of the company to be -married. Sometimes, too, a cake is made into which a wedding-ring and -a sixpence are put. When the company are about to retire, the cake is -broken and distributed among the unmarried ladies. She who finds the -ring in her portion of cake will shortly be married, but she who gets -the sixpence will infallibly die an old maid. - -Perhaps your affections are still disengaged, but you wish to bestow -them on one who will return like for like. In this case there are -plenty of wishing-chairs, wishing-gates, and so forth, scattered -through the country. A wish breathed near them, and kept secret, will -sooner or later have its fulfilment. But there is no need to travel -to the Lake country or to Finchale Priory, near Durham (where is a -wishing-chair); if you see a piece of old iron or a horseshoe on your -path, take it up, spit on it, and throw it over your left shoulder, -framing a wish at the same time. Keep this wish a secret, and it will -come to pass in due time. If you meet a piebald horse, nothing can be -more lucky; utter your wish, and whatever it may be you will have it -before the week be out. In Cleveland, the following method of divining -whether a girl will be married or not is resorted to. Take a tumbler -of water from a stream which runs southward; borrow the wedding-ring -of some gudewife and suspend it by a hair of your head over the glass -of water, holding the hair between the finger and thumb. If the ring -hit against the side of the glass, the holder will die an old maid; -if it turn quickly round, she will be married once; if slowly, twice. -Should the ring strike the side of the glass more than three times -after the holder has pronounced the name of her lover, there will be -a lengthy courtship and nothing more; “she will be courted to dead,” -as they say in Lincolnshire; if less frequently, the affair will be -broken off, and if there is no striking at all it will never come -on.[6] Or if you look at the first new moon of the year through a silk -handkerchief which has never been washed, as many moons as you see -through it (the threads multiplying the vision), so many years must -pass before your marriage. Would you ascertain the color of your future -husband’s hair? Follow the practice of the German girls. Between the -hours of eleven and twelve at night on St. Andrew’s Eve a maiden must -stand at the house door, take hold of the latch, and say three times, -“Gentle love, if thou lovest me, show thyself,” She must then open the -door quickly, and make a rapid grasp through it into the darkness, when -she will find in her hand a lock of her future husband’s hair. The -“Universal Fortune-teller” prescribes a still more fearsome receipt for -obtaining an actual sight of him. The girl must take a willow branch -in her left hand, and, without being observed, slip out of the house -and run three times round it, whispering the while, “He that is to be -my goodman, come and grip the end of it.” During the third circuit -the likeness of the future husband will appear and grasp the other -end of the wand. Would any one conciliate a lover’s affections? There -is a charm of much simplicity, and yet of such potency that it will -even reconcile man and wife. Inside a frog is a certain crooked bone, -which when cleaned and dried over the fire on St. John’s Eve, and then -ground fine and given in food to the lover, will at once win his love -for the administerer.[7] A timely hint may here be given to any one -going courting: be sure when leaving home to spit in your right shoe -would you speed in your wooing. If you accidentally put on your left -stocking, too, inside out, nothing but good luck can ensue. - -Among natural objects, the folk lore of the north invariably assigns a -speedy marriage to the sight of three magpies together. If a cricket -sings on the hearth, it portends that riches will fall to the hearer’s -lot. Catch a ladybird, and suffer it to fly out of your hands while -repeating the following couplet— - - Fly away east, or fly away west, - But show me where lies the one I like best, - -and its flight will furnish some clue to the direction in which your -sweetheart lies. Should a red rose bloom early in the garden, it is a -sure token of an early marriage. In Scotch folk-lore the rose possesses -much virtue. If a girl has several lovers, and wishes to know which -of them will be her husband, she takes a rose-leaf for each of them, -and naming each leaf after the name of one of her lovers, watches them -float down a stream till one after another they sink, when the last -to disappear will be her future husband.[8] A four-leaved clover will -preserve her from any deceit on his part, should she be fortunate -enough to find that plant; while there is no end to the virtues of an -even ash-leaf. We recount some of its merits from an old collection of -northern superstitions,[9] trusting they are better than the verses -which detail them. - - The even ash-leaf in my left hand, - The first man I meet shall be my husband. - The even ash-leaf in my glove, - The first I meet shall be my love. - The even ash-leaf in my breast, - The first man I meet’s whom I love best. - Even ash, even ash, I pluck thee, - This night my true love for to see. - Find even ash or four-leaved clover, - An’ you’ll see your true love before the day’s over. - -The color in which a girl dresses is important, not only during -courtship, but after marriage. - - Those dressed in blue - Have lovers true; - In green and white - Forsaken quite. - -Green, being sacred to the fairies, is a most unlucky hue. The “little -folk” will undoubtedly resent the insult should any one dress in their -color. Mr. Henderson[10] has known mothers in the south of England -absolutely forbid it to their daughters, and avoid it in the furniture -of their houses. Peter Bell’s sixth wife could not have been more -inauspiciously dressed when she— - - Put on her gown of green, - To leave her mother at sixteen, - And follow Peter Bell. - -And nothing green must make its appearance at a Scotch wedding. -Kale and other green vegetables are rigidly excluded from the -wedding-dinner. Jealousy has ever green eyes, and green grows the grass -on Love’s grave. - -Some omens may be obtained by the single at a wedding-feast. The bride -in the North Country cuts a cheese (as in more fashionable regions she -is the first to help the wedding-cake), and he who can secure the first -piece that she cuts will insure happiness in his married life. If the -“best man” does not secure the knife he will indeed be unfortunate. The -maidens try to possess themselves of a “shaping” of the wedding-dress -for use in certain divinations concerning their future husbands.[11] - -In all ages and all parts of our island maidens have resorted to omens -drawn from flowers respecting their sweethearts. Holly, ribwort, -plantain, black centaury, yarrow, and a multitude more possess a great -reputation in love matters. The lover must generally sleep on some -one of these and repeat a charm, when pleasant dreams and faithful -indications of a suitor will follow. “The last summer, on the day of -St. John the Baptist, 1694,” says Aubrey, “I accidentally was walking -in the pasture behind Montague House; it was twelve o’clock. I saw -there about two or three and twenty young women, most of them well -habited, on their knees very busy, as if they had been weeding. I could -not presently learn what the matter was; at last a young man told me -that they were looking for a coal under the root of a plantain, to put -under their head that night, and they should dream who would be their -husbands. It was to be sought for that day and hour.”[12] - -But the day of all others sacred to these mystic rites was ever the -eve of St. Agnes (January 20), when maidens fasted and then watched -for a sign. A passage in the office for St. Agnes’s Day in the Sarum -Missal may have given rise to this custom: “Hæc est virgo sapiens quam -Dominus _vigilantem_ invenit;” and the Gospel is the Parable of the -Virgins.[13] Ben Jonson alludes to the custom:— - - On sweet St. Agnes’ night - Please you with the promised sight, - Some of husbands, some of lovers, - Which an empty dream discovers. - -And a character in “Cupid’s Whirligig” (1616) says, “I could find in -my heart to pray nine times to the moone, and fast three St. Agnes’s -Eves, so that I might bee sure to have him to my husband.” Aubrey gives -two receipts to the ladies for that eve, which may still be useful. -Take a row of pins and pull out every one, one after another, saying a -Paternoster, and sticking a pin in your sleeve, and you will dream of -him you shall marry. Again, “you must lie in another country, and knit -the left garter about the right-legged stocking (let the other garter -and stocking alone), and as you rehearse these following verses, at -every comma knit a knot:— - - This knot I knit, - To know the thing, I know not yet, - That I may see, - The man that shall my husband be, - How he goes, and what he wears, - And what he does, all days and years. - -Accordingly in your dream you will see him; if a musician, with a lute -or other instrument; if a scholar, with a book or papers;” and he adds -a little encouragement to use this device in the following anecdote. -“A gentlewoman that I knew, confessed in my hearing that she used this -method, and dreamt of her husband whom she had never seen. About two -or three years after, as she was on Sunday at church (at our Lady’s -Church in Sarum), up pops a young Oxonian in the pulpit; she cries out -presently to her sister, ‘This is the very face of the man that I saw -in my dream. Sir William Soame’s lady did the like.’” It is hardly -needful to remind readers of Keats’s “Eve of St. Agnes,” and the story -of Madeline,— - - Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day, - On love, and wing’d St. Agnes’ saintly care, - As she had heard old dames full many times declare. - -Our ancestors made merry in a similar fashion on St. Valentine’s Day. -So Herrick, speaking of a bride, says,— - - She must no more a-maying, - Or by rosebuds divine - Who’ll be her Valentine. - -Brand, who helps us to this quotation, gives an amusing extract from -the _Connoisseur_ to the same effect. “Last Friday was Valentine’s Day, -and the night before I got five bay leaves, and pinned four of them -to the four corners of my pillow, and the fifth to the middle; and -then, if I dreamt of my sweetheart, Betty said we should be married -before the year was out. But to make it more sure, I boiled an egg -hard, and took out the yolk and filled it with salt, and when I went -to bed, eat it, shell and all, without speaking or drinking after it. -We also wrote our lovers’ names upon bits of paper, and rolled them up -in clay, and put them into water, and the first that rose up was to be -our Valentine. Would you think it? Mr. Blossom was my man. I lay abed -and shut my eyes all the morning till he came to our house; for I would -not have seen another man before him for all the world.” The moon, “the -lady moon,” has frequently been called into council about husbands from -the time when she first lost her own heart to Endymion, the beautiful -shepherd of Mount Latmos. Go out when the first new moon of the year -first appears, and standing over the spars of a gate or stile, look on -the moon and repeat as follows:— - - All hail to thee, moon! all hail to thee! - Prythee, good moon, reveal to me - This night who my husband shall be. - -You will certainly dream that night of your future husband. It is very -important, too, that if you have a cat in the house, it should be a -black one. A North Country rhyme says— - - Whenever the cat or the house is black, - The lasses o’ lovers will have no lack. - -And an old woman in the north, adds Mr. Henderson,[14] said lately -in accordance with this belief to a lady, “It’s na wonder Jock ——’s -lasses marry off so fast, ye ken what a braw black cat they’ve got.” -It is still more lucky if such a cat comes of its own accord, and -takes up its residence in any house. The same gentleman gives an -excellent receipt to bring lovers to the house, which was communicated -to him by Canon Raine, and was gathered from the conversation of two -maid-servants. One of them, it seems, peeped out of curiosity into the -box of her fellow servant, and was astonished to find there the end -of a tallow candle stuck through and through with pins. “What’s that, -Molly,” said Bessie, “that I seed i’ thy box?” “Oh,” said Molly, “it’s -to bring my sweetheart. Thou seest, sometimes he’s slow a coming, and -if I stick a candle case full o’ pins it always fetches him.” A member -of the family certified that John was thus duly fetched from his abode, -a distance of six miles, and pretty often too. - -Some of the most famous divinations about marriage are practised with -hazel-nuts on Allhallowe’en. In Indo-European tradition the hazel was -sacred to love; and when Loki in the form of a falcon rescued Idhunn, -the goddess of youthful life, from the power of the frost-giants, he -carried her off in his beak in the shape of a hazel-nut.[15] So in -Denmark, as in ancient Rome, nuts are scattered at a marriage. In -northern divinations on Allhallowe’en nuts are placed on the bars of -a grate by pairs, which have first been named after a pair of lovers, -and according to the result, their combustion, explosion, and the like, -the wise divine the fortune of the lovers. Graydon has beautifully -versified this superstition:— - - These glowing nuts are emblems true - Of what in human life we view; - The ill-matched couple fret and fume, - And thus in strife themselves consume; - Or from each other wildly start, - And with a noise for ever part. - But see the happy, happy pair, - Of genuine love and truth sincere; - With mutual fondness, while they burn, - Still to each other kindly turn; - And as the vital sparks decay, - Together gently sink away; - Till, life’s fierce ordeal being past, - Their mingled ashes rest at last.[16] - -Nevertheless modes of love-divination for this special evening, which -is as propitious to lovers as Valentine’s Day, may be found in Brand, -and other collectors of these old customs. - -Peas are also sacred to Freya, almost vying with the mistletoe in -alleged virtue for lovers. In one district of Bohemia the girls go -into a field of peas, and make there a garland of five or seven kinds -of flowers (the goddess of love delights in uneven numbers), all of -different hues. This garland they must sleep upon, lying with their -right ear upon it, and then they hear a voice from underground, which -tells what manner of men they will have for husbands. Sweet-peas -would doubtless prove very effectual in this kind of divination, and -there need be no difficulty in finding them of different hues. If -Hertfordshire girls are lucky enough to find a pod containing nine -peas, they lay it under a gate, and believe they will have for husband -the first man that passes through. On the Borders unlucky lads and -lasses in courtship are rubbed down with pea straw by friends of the -opposite sex. These beliefs connected with peas are very widespread. -Touchstone, it will be remembered, gave two peas to Jane Smile, saying, -“with weeping tears, ‘Wear these for my sake.’”[17] - -In Scotland on Shrove Tuesday a national dish called “crowdie,” -composed of oatmeal and water with milk, is largely consumed, and -lovers can always tell their chances of being married by putting into -the porringer a ring. The finder of this in his or her portion will -without fail be married sooner than any one else in the company. -Onions, curiously enough, figure in many superstitions connected with -marriage—why, we have no idea. It might be ungallantly suggested that -it is from their supposed virtue to produce tears, or from wearing many -faces, as it were, under one hood. While speaking of these unsavory -vegetables, we are reminded of a passage in Luther’s “Table Talk”: -“Upon the eve of Christmas Day the women run about and strike a swinish -hour” (whatever this may mean): “if a great hog grunts, it decides -that the future husband will be an old man; if a small one, a young -man,”[18] The orpine is another magical plant in love incantations. It -must be used on Midsummer Eve, and is useful to inform a maiden whether -her lover is true or false. It must be stuck up in her room, and the -desired information is obtained by watching whether it bends to the -right or the left. Hemp-seed, sown on that evening, also possesses -marvellous efficacy. One of the young ladies mentioned above, who sewed -bay leaves on her pillow, and had the felicity of seeing Mr. Blossom -in consequence, writes, “The same night, exactly at twelve o’clock, -I planted hemp-seed in our back yard, and said to myself, ‘Hemp seed -I sow, hemp-seed I hoe, and he that is my true love come after me -and mow!’ Will you believe it? I looked back and saw him behind me, -as plain as eyes could see him.” And she adds, as another wrinkle to -her sex, “Our maid Betty tells me that if I go backwards, without -speaking a word, into the garden upon Midsummer Eve, and gather a -rose and keep it in a clean sheet of paper without looking at it till -Christmas Day, it will be as fresh as in June; and if I then stick it -in my bosom, he that is to be my husband will come and take it out.” -Whatever be the virtue of Betty’s recipe, it would at all events teach -a lover patience. Mr. Henderson supplies two timely cautions from -Border folk-lore. A girl can “scarcely do a worse thing than boil a -dish-clout in her crock.” She will be sure, in consequence, to lose all -her lovers, or, in Scotch phrase, “boil all her lads awa’;” “and in -Durham it is believed that if you put milk in your tea before sugar, -you lose your sweetheart,”[19] We may add that unless a girl fasts -on St. Catherine’s Day (Nov. 25) she will never have a good husband. -Nothing can be luckier for either bachelor or girl than to be placed -inadvertently at some social gathering between a man and his wife. The -person so seated will be married before the year is out. - -Song, play, and sonnet[20] have diffused far and wide the custom -of blowing off the petals of a flower, saying the while, “He loves -me—loves me not.” When this important business has been settled in -the affirmative a hint may be useful for the lover going courting. If -he meets a hare, he must at once turn back. Nothing can well be more -unlucky. Witches are found of that shape, and he will certainly be -crossed in love. Experts say that after the next meal has been eaten -the evil influence is expended, and the lover can again hie forth in -safety. In making presents to each other the happy pair must remember -on no account to give each other a knife or a pair of scissors. Such a -present effectually cuts love asunder. Take care, too, not to fall in -love with one the initial of whose surname is the same as yours. It is -quite certain that the union of such cannot be happy. This love-secret -has been reduced into rhyme for the benefit of treacherous memories:— - - To change the name and not the letter, - Is a change for the worse, and not for the better. - -This love-lore belongs to the Northern mythology, else the Romans would -never have used that universal formula, “ubi tu Caius ego Caia.” - -These directions and cautions must surely have brought our pair of -happy lovers to the wedding-day. Even yet they are not safe from malign -influences, but folk-lore does not forget their welfare. If the -bride has been courted by other sweethearts than the one she has now -definitely chosen, there is a fear lest the discarded suitors should -entertain unkindly feelings towards her. To obviate all unpleasant -consequences from this, the bride must wear a sixpence in her left shoe -until she is “kirked,” say the Scotch. And on her return home, if a -horse stands looking at her through a gateway, or even lingers along -the road leading to her new home, it is a very bad omen for her future -happiness. - -When once the marriage-knot is tied, it is so indissoluble that -folk-lore for the most part leaves the young couple alone. It -is imperative, however, that the wife should never take off her -wedding-ring. To do so is to open a door to innumerable calamities, -and a window at the same time through which love may fly. Should the -husband not find that peace and quietness which he has a right to -expect in matrimony, but discover unfortunately that he has married a -scold or a shrew, he must make the best of the case:— - - Quæ saga, quis te solvere Thessalis - Magus venenis, quis poterit deus? - -Yet folk-lore has still one simple which will alleviate his sorrow. -Any night he will, he may taste fasting a root of radish, say our old -Saxon forefathers, and next day he will be proof against a woman’s -chatter.[21] By growing a large bed of radishes, and supping off them -regularly, it is thus possible that he might exhaust after a time the -verbosity of his spouse, but we are bound to add that we have never -heard of such an easy cure being effected. The cucking-stool was found -more to the purpose in past days. - -But Aphrodite lays her finger on our mouth. Having disclosed so many -secrets of her worship, it is time now to be silent. - -After all this love-lore, supposing any one were to take a tender -interest in our welfare, we should hint to her that she had no need -of borrowed charms or mystic foreshadowing of the future, in Horatian -words, which we shall leave untranslated as a compliment to Girton:— - - Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi - Finem di dederint, Leuconoe; nec Babylonios - Tentaris numeros. - -Simplicity and openness of disposition are worth more than all -affectations of dress or manner. Well did the Scotch lad in the song -rebuke his sweetheart, who asked him for a “keekin’-glass” (_Anglice_, -“looking-glass”):— - - “Sweet sir, for your courtesie, - When ye come by the Bass, then, - For the love ye bear to me, - Buy me a keekin’-glass, then.” - -But he answered— - - “Keek into the draw-well, - Janet, Janet; - There ye’ll see your bonny sel’, - My jo, Janet.” - -In truth, the best divination for lovers is a ready smile, and the most -potent charms a maiden can possess are reticence and patience. And so -to end (with quaint old Burton[22]), “Let them take this of Aristænetus -(that so marry) for their comfort: ‘After many troubles and cares, -the marriages of lovers are more sweet and pleasant.’ As we commonly -conclude a comedy with a wedding and shaking of hands, let’s shut up -our discourse and end all with an epithalamium. Let the Muses sing, the -Graces dance, not at their weddings only, but all their dayes long; so -couple their hearts that no irksomeness or anger ever befall them: let -him never call her other name than my joye, my light; or she call him -otherwise than sweetheart.”—_Belgravia._ - - - - -A ROMANCE OF A GREEK STATUE. - -BY J. THEODORE BENT. - -I cannot tell you the story just as Nikola told it to me, with all -that flow of language common in a Greek, my memory is not good enough -for that; but the facts, and some of his quaint expressions, I can -recount, for these I never shall forget. My travel took me to a distant -island of the Greek Archipelago, called Sikinos, last winter, an island -only to be reached by a sailing-boat, and here, in quarters of the -humblest nature, I was storm-stayed for five long days. Nikola had been -my muleteer on an expedition I made to a remote corner of the island -where still are to be traced the ruins of an ancient Hellenic town, and -about a mile from it a temple of Pythian Apollo. He was a fine stalwart -fellow of thirty or thereabouts; he had a bright intelligent face, -and he wore the usual island costume, namely, knickerbocker trousers -of blue homespun calico, with a fulness, which hangs down between the -legs, and when full of things, for it is the universal pocket, wabbles -about like the stomach of a goose; on his head he wore a faded old fez, -his feet were protected from the stones by sandals of untanned skin, -and he carried a long stick in his hand with which to drive his mule. - -Sikinos is perhaps the most unattainable corner of Europe, being -nothing but a barren harborless rock in the middle of the Ægean -sea, possessing as a fleet one caique, which occasionally goes to a -neighboring island where the steamer stops, to see if there are any -communications from the outer world, and four rotten fishing boats, -which seldom venture more than a hundred yards from the shore. The -fifteen hundred inhabitants of this rock lead a monotonous life in -two villages, one of which is two hundred years old, fortified and -dirty, and called the “Kastro,” or the “camp”; the other is modern, -and about five minutes’ walk from the camp, and is called “the other -place”; so nomenclature in Sikinos is simple enough. The inhabitants -are descended from certain refugees who, two hundred years ago, fled -from Crete during a revolution, and built the fortified village up on -the hillside out of the reach of pirates, and remained isolated from -the world ever since. Before they came, Sikinos had been uninhabited -since the days of the ancient Greeks. The only two men in the place who -have travelled—that is to say, who have been as far as Athens—are the -Demarch, who is the chief legislator of the island, and looked up to as -quite a man of the world, and Nikola, the muleteer. - -I must say, the last thing I expected to hear in Sikinos was a romance, -but on one of the stormy days of detention there, with the object of -whiling away an hour, I paid a visit to Nikola in his clean white house -in “the other place.” He met me on the threshold with a hearty “We have -well met,” bade me sit down on his divan, and sent his wife—a bright, -buxom young woman—for the customary coffee, sweets, and raki; he rolled -me a cigarette, which he carefully licked, to my horror, but which I -dared not refuse to smoke, cursed the weather, and stirred the embers -in the brazier preparatory to attacking me with a volley of questions. -I always disarm inquisitiveness on such occasions by being inquisitive -myself. “How long have you been married?” “How many children have you -got?” “How old is your wife?” and by the time I had asked half a dozen -such questions, Nikola, after the fashion of the Greeks, had forgotten -his own thirst for knowledge in his desire to satisfy mine. - -In Nikola’s case unparalleled success attended this manœuvre, and from -the furtive smiles which passed between husband and wife I realised -that some mystery was attached to their unions which I forthwith made -it my business, to solve. - -“I always call her ‘my statue,’” said the muleteer, laughing, “‘my -marble statue,’” and he slapped her on the back to show that, at any -rate, she was made of pretty hard material. - -“Can Pygmalion have married Galatea after all?” I remarked for the -moment, forgetting the ignorance of my friends on such topics, but a -Greek never admits that he does not understand, and Nikola replied, -“No; her name is Kallirhoe, and she was the priest’s daughter.” - -Having now broached the subject, Nikola was all anxiety to continue it; -he seated himself on one chair, his wife took another, ready to prompt -him if necessary, and remind him of forgotten facts. I sat on the -divan; between us was the brazier; the only cause for interruption came -from an exceedingly naughty child, which existed as a living testimony -that this modern Galatea had recovered from her transformation into -stone. - -“I was a gay young fellow in those days,” began Nikola. - -“Five years ago last carnival time,” put in the wife, but she subsided -on a frown from her better half; for Greek husbands never meekly -submit, like English ones, to the lesser portion of command, and the -Greek wife is the pattern of a weaker vessel, seldom sitting down to -meals, cooking, spinning, slaving,—a mere chattel, in fact. - -“I was the youngest of six—two sisters and four brothers, and we four -worked day after day to keep our old father’s land in order, for we -were very poor, and had nothing to live upon except the produce of our -land.” - -Land in Sikinos is divided into tiny holdings: one man may possess half -a dozen plots of land in different parts of the island, the produce -of which—the grain, the grapes, the olives, the honey, etc.—he brings -on mules to his store (ἀποθήκη) near the village. Each landowner has -a store and a little garden around it on the hillside, just outside -the village, of which the stores look like a mean extension, but on -visiting them we found their use. - -“We worked every day in the year except feast-days, starting early with -our ploughs, our hoes, and our pruning hooks, according to the season, -and returning late, driving our bullocks and our mules before us.” An -islander’s tools are simple enough—his plough is so light that he can -carry it over his shoulders as he drives the bullocks to their work. It -merely scratches the back of the land, making no deep furrows; and when -the work is far from the village the husbandman starts from home very -early, and seldom returns till dusk. - -“On feast-days we danced on the village square. I used to look forward -to those days, for then I met Kallirhoe, the priest’s daughter, who -danced the _syrtos_ best of all the girls, tripping as softly as a -Nereid,” said Nikola, looking approvingly at his wife. I had seen a -_syrtos_ at Sikinos, and I could testify to the fact that they dance -it well, revolving in light wavy lines backwards, forwards, now quick, -now slow, until you do not wonder that the natives imagine those -mystic beings they call Nereids to be for ever dancing thus in the -caves and grottoes. The _syrtos_ is a semicircular dance of alternate -young men and maidens, holding each other by handkerchiefs, not from -modesty, as one might at first suppose, but so as to give more liberty -of action to their limbs, and in dancing this dance it would appear -Nikola and Kallirhoe first felt the tender passion of love kindled -in their breasts. But between the two a great gulf was fixed, for -marriages amongst a peasantry so shrewd as the Greeks are not so easily -settled as they are with us. Parents have absolute authority over their -daughters, and never allow them to marry without a prospect, and before -providing for any son a father’s duty is to give his daughters a house -and a competency, and he expects any suitor for their hand to present -an equivalent in land and farm stock. The result of this is to create -an overpowering stock of maiden ladies, and to drive young men from -home in search of fortunes and wives elsewhere. - -This was the breach which was fixed between Nikola and -Kallirhoe—apparently a hopeless case, for Nikola had sisters, and -brothers, and poverty-stricken parents; he never could so much as hope -to call a spade his own; during all his life he would have to drudge -and slave for others. They could not run away; that idea never occurred -to them, for the only escape from Sikinos was by the solitary caique. -“I had heard rumors,” continued Nikola, “of how men from other islands -had gone to far-off countries and returned rich, but how could I, who -had never been off this rock in all my life? - -“I should have had to travel by one of those steamers which I had seen -with their tail of smoke on the horizon, and about which I had pondered -many a time, just like you, sir, may look and ponder at the stars; and -to travel I should require money, which I well knew my father would not -give me, for he wanted me for his slave. My only hope, and that was -a small one, was that the priest, Papa Manoulas, Kallirhoe’s father, -would not be too hard on us when he saw how we loved each other. He -had been the priest to dip me in the font at my baptism; he always -smoked a pipe with father once a week; he had known me all my life as -a steady lad, who only got drunk on feast-days. ‘Perhaps he will give -his consent,’ whispered my mother, putting foolish hopes into my brain. -Poor old woman! she was grieved to see her favorite looking worn and -ill, listless at his work, and for ever incurring the blame of father -and brothers; only when I talked to her about Kallirhoe did my face -brighten a little, so she said one day, ‘Papa Manoulas is kind; likely -enough he may wish to see Kallirhoe happy.’ So one evil day I consented -to my mother’s plan, that she should go and propose for me.” - -Some explanation is here necessary. At Sikinos, as in other remote -corners of Greece, they still keep up a custom called προξενία. The -man does not propose in person, but sends an old female relative to -seek the girl’s hand from her parents; this old woman must have on -one stocking white and the other red or brown. “Your stockings of two -colors make me think that we shall have an offer,” sings an island -poem. Nikola’s mother went thus garbed, but returned with a sorrowful -face. “I was made to eat gruel,” said he, using the common expression -in these parts for a refusal, “and nobody ate more than I did. Next -day Papa Manoulas called at our house. My heart stood still as he came -in, and then bubbled over like a seething wine vat when he asked to -speak to me alone. ‘You are a good fellow, Kola,’ he began. ‘Kallirhoe -loves you, and I wish to see you happy;’ and I had fallen on his neck -and kissed him on both cheeks before he could say, ‘Wait a bit, young -man; before you marry her you must get together just a little money; I -will be content with 1,000 drachmas (£40). When you have that to offer -in return for Kallirhoe’s dower you shall be married,’ ‘A thousand -drachmas!’ muttered I. ‘May the God of the ravens help me!’” (an -expression denoting impossibility), “and I burst into tears.” - -The men of modern Greece when violently agitated cry as readily as -cunning Ulysses, and are not ashamed of the fact. - -“I remember well that evening,” continued Nikola. “I left the house -as it was getting dusk, and climbed down the steep path to the sea. I -wandered for hours amongst the wild mastic and the brushwood. My feet -refused to carry me home that night, so I lay down on the floor in the -little white church, dedicated to my patron saint, down by the harbor, -where we go for our annual festival when the priest blesses the waters -and our boats. Many’s the time, as a lad, I’ve jumped into the water to -fetch out the cross, which the priest throws into the sea with a stone -tied to it on this occasion, and many’s the time I’ve been the lucky -one to bring it up and get a few coppers for my wetting. That night I -thought of tying a stone round my own neck and jumping into the sea, so -that all traces of me might disappear. - -“I could not make up my mind to face any one all next day, so I -wandered amongst the rocks, scarcely remembering to feed myself on the -few olives I had in my pocket. I could do nothing but sing ‘The Little -Caique,’ which made me sob and feel better.” - -The song of “The Little Caique” is a great favorite amongst the -seafaring men of the Greek islands. It is a melancholy love ditty, of -which the following words are a fairly close translation:— - - In a tiny little caique - Forth in my folly one night - To the sea of love I wandered, - Where the land was nowhere in sight. - - O my star! O my brilliant star! - Have pity on my youth, - Desert me not, oh! leave me not - Alone in the sea of love! - - O my star! O my brilliant star! - I have met you on my path. - Dost thou bid me not tarry near thee? - Are thy feelings not of love? - - Lo! suddenly about me fell - The darkness of that night, - And the sea rolled in mountains around me, - And the land was nowhere in sight. - -“Towards evening I returned home. My mother’s anxious face told me that -she, too, had suffered during my absence; and out of a pot of lentil -soup, which was simmering on the embers, she gave me a bowlful, and -it refreshed me. To my dying day I shall never forget my father’s and -brothers’ wrath. I had wilfully absented myself for a whole day from my -work. I was called ‘a peacock,’ ‘a burnt man’ (equivalent to a fool), -‘no man at all,’ ‘;horns,’ and any bad name that occurred to them. For -days and weeks after this I was the most miserable, down-trodden Greek -alive, and all on account of a woman.” And here Nikola came to a stop, -and ordered his wife to fetch him another glass of raki to moisten his -throat. No Greek can talk or sing long without a glass of raki. - -“About two months after these events,” began Nikola with renewed vigor, -“my father ordered me to clear away a heap of stones which occupied -a corner of a little terrace-vineyard we owned on a slope near the -church of Episcopì.[23] We always thought the stones had been put -there to support the earth from falling from the terrace above, but -it lately had occurred to my father that it was only a heap of loose -stones which had been cleared off the field and thrown there when the -vineyard was made, and the removal of which would add several square -feet to the small holding. Next morning I started about an hour before -the Panagía (Madonna) had opened the gates of the East,[24] with a mule -and panniers to remove the stones. I worked hard enough when I got -there, for the morning was cold, and I was beginning to find that the -harder I worked the less time I had for thought. Stone after stone was -removed, pannier-load after pannier-load was emptied down the cliff, -and fell rattling amongst the brushwood and rousing the partridges and -crows as they fell. After a couple of hours’ work the mound was rapidly -disappearing, when I came across something white projecting upwards. I -looked at it closely; it was a marble foot. More stones were removed, -and disclosed a marble leg, two legs, a body, an arm; a head and -another arm, which had been broken off by the weight of the stones, lay -close by. Though I was somewhat astonished at this discovery, yet I did -not suppose it to be of any value. I had heard of things of this kind -being found before. My father had an ugly bit of marble which came out -of a neighboring tomb. However, I did not throw it over the cliff with -the other stones, but I put it on one side and went on again with my -work. - -“All day long my thoughts kept reverting to this statue. It was so -very life-like—so different from the stiff, ugly marble figures I -had seen; and it was so much larger, too, standing nearly four feet -high. Perhaps, thought I, the Panagía has put it here—perhaps it is a -sacred miracle-working thing, such as the priests find in spots like -this. And then suddenly I remembered how, when I was a boy, a great -German _effendi_ had visited Sikinos, and was reported to have dug up -and carried away with him priceless treasures. Is this statue worth -anything? was the question which haunted me all day, and which I would -have given ten years of my young life to solve. - -“When my day’s work was over, I put the statue on to my mule, and -carefully covered it over, so that no one might see what I had found; -for though I was hopelessly ignorant of what the value of my discovery -might be, yet instinct prompted me to keep it to myself. It was dark -when I reached the village, and I went straight to the store, sorely -perplexed as to what to do with my treasure. There was no time to bury -it, for I had met one of my brothers, who would tell them at home that -I had returned; so in all haste I hid the cold white thing under the -grain in the corner, trusting that no one would find it, and went home. -I passed a wretched night, dreaming and restless by turns. Once I woke -up in horror, and found it difficult to dispel the effects of a dream -in which I had sold Kallirhoe to a prince, and married the statue by -mistake. And next day my heart stood still when my father went down -to the store with me, shoved his hand into the grain, and muttered -that we must send it up to the mill to be ground. That very night I -went out with a spade and buried my treasure deep in the ground under -the straggling branches of our fig-tree, where I knew it would not be -likely to be disturbed.” - -Nikola paused here for a while, stirred the embers with the little -brass tweezers, the only diminutive irons required for so lilliputian a -fire, sang snatches of nasal Greek music, so distasteful to a western -ear, and joined his wife in muttering “winter!” “snow!” “storm!” -and other less elegant invectives against the weather, which these -islanders use when winter comes upon them for two or three days, and -makes them shiver in their wretched unprotected houses; and they make -no effort to protect themselves from it, for they know that in a few -days the sun will shine again and dry them, their mud roofs will cease -to leak, and nature will smile once more. - -If they do get mysterious illnesses they will attribute them to -supernatural causes, saying a Nereid or a sprite has struck them, -and never suspect the damp. Nature’s own pupils they are. Their only -medical suggestion is that all illnesses are worms in the body, which -have been distributed by God’s agents, the mysterious and invisible -inhabitants of the air, to those whose sin requires chastising, or -whose days are numbered. Such is the simple _bacillus_ theory prevalent -in the Greek islands. Who knows but what they are right? - -“Never was a poor fellow in such perplexity as I was,” continued -Nikola, “the possessor of a marble woman whose value I could not learn, -and about whom I did not care one straw, whilst I yearned after a woman -whose value I knew to be a thousand drachmas, and whom I could not buy. -My hope, too, was rendered more acute by the vague idea that perhaps my -treasure might prove to be as valuable as Kallirhoe, and I smiled to -think of the folly of the man who would be likely to prefer the cold -marble statue to my plump, warm Kallirhoe. But they tell me that you -cold Northerners have hearts of marble, so I prayed to the Panagía and -all the saints to send some one who would take the statue away, and -give me enough money to buy Kallirhoe. - -“I was much more lively now; my father and brothers had no cause to -scold me any longer, for I had hope; every evening now I went to the -_café_ to talk, and all the energy of my existence was devoted to -one object, namely, to get the Demarch to tell me all he knew about -the chances of selling treasures in that big world where the steamer -went, without letting him know that I had found anything. After many -fruitless efforts, one day the Demarch told me how, in the old Turkish -days, before he was born, a peasant of Melos had found a statue of -a woman called Aphrodite, just as I had found mine, in a heap of -stones; that the peasant had got next to nothing for it, but that Mr. -Brest, the French consul, had made a fortune out of it, and that now -the statue was the wonder of the Western world. By degrees I learnt -how relentless foreigners like you, Effendi, do swoop down from time -to time on these islands and carry home what is worth thousands of -drachmas, after giving next to nothing for them. A week or two later, I -learnt from the Demarch’s lips how strict the Greek Government is, that -no marble should leave the country, and that they never give anything -like the value for the things themselves, but that sometimes by dealing -with a foreign _effendi_ in Athens good prices have been got and the -Government eluded. - -“Poor me! in those days my hopes grew very very small indeed. How -could I, an ignorant peasant, hope to get any money from anybody? -So I thought less and less about my statue, and more and more about -Kallirhoe, until my face looked haggard again, and my mother sighed. - -“My statue had been in her grave nearly a year,” laughed Nikola, -“and after the way of the world she was nearly forgotten, when one -day a caique put in to Sikinos, and two foreign _effendi_—Franks, I -believe—came up to the town; they were the first that had visited our -rock since the German who had opened the graves on the hillside, and -had carried off a lot of gold and precious things. So we all stared at -them very hard, and gathered in crowds around the Demarch’s door to get -a glimpse at them as they sat at table. I was one of the crowd, and as -I looked at them I thought of my buried statue, and my hope flickered -again. - -“Very soon the report went about amongst us that they were miners -from Laurion, come to inspect our island and see if we had anything -valuable in the way of minerals; and my father, whose vision it had -been for years to find a mine and make himself rich thereby, was -greatly excited, and offered to lend the strangers his mules. The -old man was too infirm to go himself, greatly to his regret, but he -sent me as muleteer, with directions to conduct the miners to certain -points of the island, and to watch narrowly everything they picked -up. Many times during the day I was tempted to tell them all about my -statue and my hopes, but I remembered what the Demarch had said about -greedy foreigners robbing poor islanders. So I contented myself with -asking all sorts of questions about Athens; who was the richest foreign -_effendi_ there, and did he buy statues? what sort of thing was the -custom, and should I, who came from another part of Greece, be subject -to it if I went? I sighed to go to Athens. - -“All day I watched them closely, noted what sort of stones they picked -up, noted their satisfaction or dissatisfaction, and as I watched them -an idea struck me—an idea which made my heart leap and tremble with -excitement. - -“That evening I told my father some of those lies which hurt nobody, -and are therefore harmless, as the priests say. I told him I had -acquired a great knowledge of stones that day, that I knew where -priceless minerals were to be found; I drew on my imagination about -possible hidden stores of gold and silver in our rocky Sikinos. I -saw that I had touched the right chord, for though he always told us -hard-working lads that an olive with a kernel gives a boot to a man, -yet I felt sure that his inmost ideas soared higher, and that he was, -like the rest of the Sikiniotes, deeply imbued with the idea that -mineral treasures, if only they could be found, would give a man more -than boots. - -“From that day my mode of life was changed. Instead of digging in the -fields and tending the vines, I wandered aimlessly about the island -collecting specimens of stones. I chose them at random—those which -had some bright color in them were the best—and every evening I added -some fresh specimens to my collection, which were placed for safety -in barrels in the store. ‘Don’t say a word to the neighbors,’ was my -father’s injunction; and I really believe they all thought my reason -was leaving me, or how else could they account for my daily wanderings? - -“In about a month’s time I had collected enough specimens for my -purpose, and then, with considerable trepidation, one evening I -disclosed my plan to my father. ‘Something must be done with those -specimens,’ I began; and as I said this I saw with pleasure his old -eyes sparkle as he tried to look unconcerned. - -“‘Well, Kola, what is to be done with them?’ - -“‘Simply this, father. I must take them to Athens or Laurion, and get -money down for showing the _effendi_ where the mines are. We can’t work -them ourselves.’ - -“‘To Athens! to Laurion!’ exclaimed my father, breathless at the bare -notion of so stupendous a journey. - -“‘Of course I must,’ I added, laughing, though secretly terrified lest -he should flatly refuse to let me go; and before I went to bed that -night my father promised to give me ten drachmas for my expenses. ‘Only -take a few of your specimens, Kola; keep the best back;’ for my father -is a shrewd man, though he has never left Sikinos. But on this point I -was determined, and would take all or none, so my father grumbled and -called me a ‘peacock,’ but for this I did not care. - -“Next day I ordered a box for my specimens. ‘Why not take them in the -old barrels?’ growled my father. But I said they might get broken, and -the specimens inside be seen. So at last a wooden box, just four feet -long and two feet high, was got ready—not without difficulty either, -for wood in Sikinos is rarer than quails at Christmas, and my father -grumbled not a little at the sum he had to pay for it—more than half -the produce of his vintage, poor man! And when I thought how my mother -might not be able to make any cheesecakes at Easter—the pride of her -heart, poor thing!—I almost regretted the game I was playing.” - -The Easter cheesecakes of the island (τυρόπηττα) are what they profess -to be; cheese, curd, saffron, and flour being the chief ingredients. -They are reckoned an essential luxury at that time of the year, and -some houses make as many as sixty. It is a sign of great poverty and -deprivation when none are made. - -“The caique was to leave next morning if the wind was favorable for -Ios, where the steamer would touch on the following day, and take me on -my wild, uncertain journey. I don’t think I can be called a coward for -feeling nervous on this occasion. I admit that it was only by thinking -steadfastly about Kallirhoe that I could screw up my courage. When it -was quite dark I took the wooden key of the store, and, as carelessly -as I could, said I was going to pack my specimens. My brothers -volunteered to come and help me, for they were all mighty civil now it -became known that I was bound for Athens to make heaps of money, but -I refused their help with a surly ‘good night,’ and set off into the -darkness alone with my spade. I was horribly nervous as I went along; -I thought I saw a Nereid or a Lamia in every olive-tree. At the least -rustle I thought they were swooping down upon me, and would carry me -off into the air, and I should be made to marry one of those terrible -creatures and live in a mountain cavern, which would be worse than -losing Kallirhoe altogether; but St. Nikolas and the Panagía helped me, -and I dug my statue up without any molestation. - -“She was a great weight to carry all by myself, but at last I got her -into the store, and deposited her in her new coffin, wedged her in, and -cast a last, almost affectionate look at this marble representation -of life, which had been so constantly in my thoughts for months and -months, and finally I proceeded to bury her with specimens, covering -her so well that not a vestige of marble could be seen for three -inches below the surface. What a weight the box was! I could not lift -it myself, but the deed was done, so I nailed the lid on tightly, and -deposited what was over of my specimens in the hole where the statue -had been reposing, and then I lay down on the floor to rest, not -daring to go out again or leave my treasure. I thought it never would -be morning; every hour of the night I looked out to see if there was -any fear of a change of wind, but it blew quietly and steadily from -the north; it was quite clear that we should be able to make Ios next -morning without any difficulty. - -“As soon as it was light I went home. My mother was up, and packing my -wallet with bread and olives. She had put a new cover on my mattress, -which I was to take with me. The poor old dear could hardly speak, so -agitated was she at my departure; my brothers and father looked on -with solemn respect; and I—why, I sat staring out of the window to see -Kallirhoe returning from the well with her _amphora_ on her head. As -soon as I saw her coming, I rushed out to bid her good-bye. We shook -hands. I had not done this for twelve months now, and the effect was -to raise my courage to the highest pitch, and banish all my nocturnal -fears. - -“Mother spilt a jug of water on the threshold, as an earnest of success -and a happy return. My father and my brothers came down to the store to -help me put the box on to the mule’s back, and greatly they murmured at -the weight thereof. ‘There’s gold there,’ muttered my father beneath -his breath. ‘Kola will be a prince some day,’ growled my eldest brother -jealously, and I promised to make him Eparch of Santorin, or Demarch of -Sikinos if he liked that better. - -“The bustle of the journey hardly gave me a moment for thought. I was -very ill crossing over in the caique to Ios, during which time my -cowardice came over me again, and I wondered if Kallirhoe was worth -all the trouble I was taking; but I was lost in astonishment at the -steamer—so astonished that I had no time to be sick, so I was able -to eat some olives that evening, and as I lay on my mattress on the -steamer’s deck as we hurried on towards the Piræus, I pondered over -what I should do on reaching land. - -“You know what the Piræus is like, Effendi?” continued Nikola, after a -final pause and a final glass of raki, “what a city it is, what bustle -and rushing to and fro!” - -I had not the heart to tell him that in England many a fishing village -is larger, and the scene of greater excitement. - -“They all laughed at me for my heavy box, my island accent, my island -dress, and if it had not been for a kind _pallikari_ I had met on the -steamer, I think I should have gone mad. The officers of the custom -house were walking about on the quay, peering suspiciously into the -luggage of the newly arrived, and naturally my heavy box excited their -suspicions. I was prepared for some difficulty of this kind, and the -agony of my interview quite dispelled my confusion. - -“‘What have you there?’ - -“‘Δείγματα (specimens),’ I replied. - -“‘Specimens of what?’ - -“‘Specimens of minerals for the _effendi_ at Laurium.’ - -“‘Open the box!’ And, in an agony of fright, I saw them tear off the -lid of my treasure and dive their hands into its contents. - -“‘Stones!’ said one official. - -“‘Worthless stones!’ sneered another, ‘let the fool go; and with scant -ceremony they threw the stones back into the box, and shoved me and my -box away with a curse. - -“I was now free to go wheresoever I wished, and with the aid of my -friend I found a room into which I put my box, and as I turned the -key, and sallied forth on my uncertain errand, I prayed to the Panagía -Odegetria to guide my footsteps aright. - -“The next few days were a period of intense anxiety for me. In subdued -whispers I communicated to the consuls of each nation the existence of -my treasure. One had the impudence to offer me only 200 drachmas for -it, another 300, another 400, and another 500; then each came again, -advancing 100 drachmas on their former bids, and so my spirits rose, -until at last a grand _effendi_ came down from Athens, and without -hesitation offered me 1,000 drachmas. ‘Give me fifty more for the -trouble of bringing it and you shall have it,’ said I, breathless with -excitement, and in five minutes the long-coveted money was in my hands. - -“My old father was very wroth when I returned to Sikinos, and when he -learnt that I had done nothing with my specimens; the brightness had -gone out of his eyes, he was more opprobrious than ever, but I cared -nothing for what he said. My mother had her cheesecakes on Easter -Sunday, and on that very day Kallirhoe and I were crowned.” - -Thus ended Nikola’s romance. If ever I go to St. Petersburg, I shall -look carefully for Nikola’s statue in the Hermitage collection, which, -I understand, was its destination.—_Gentleman’s Magazine._ - - - - -THE LIFE OF GEORGE ELIOT.[25] - -BY JOHN MORLEY. - - -The illustrious woman who is the subject of these volumes makes a -remark to her publisher which is at least as relevant now as it was -then. Can nothing be done, she asks, by dispassionate criticism towards -the reform of our national habits in the matter of literary biography? -“Is it anything short of odious that as soon as a man is dead his desk -should be raked, and every insignificant memorandum which he never -meant for the public be printed for the gossiping amusement of people -too idle to read his books?” Autobiography, she says, at least saves a -man or a woman that the world is curious about, from the publication of -a string of mistakes called Memoirs. Even to autobiography, however, -she confesses her deep repugnance unless it can be written so as -to involve neither selfglorification nor impeachment of others—a -condition, by the way, with which hardly any, save Mill’s, can be said -to comply. “I like,” she proceeds, “that _He being dead yet speaketh_ -should have quite another meaning than that” (iii. 226, 297, 307). She -shows the same fastidious apprehension still more clearly in another -way. “I have destroyed almost all my friends’ letters to me,” she says, -“because they were only intended for my eyes, and could only fall into -the hands of persons who knew little of the writers, if I allowed them -to remain till after my death. In proportion as I love every form of -piety—which is venerating love—I hate hard curiosity; and, unhappily, -my experience has impressed me with the sense that hard curiosity is -the more common temper of mind” (ii. 286). There is probably little -difference among us in respect of such experience as that. - -Much biography, perhaps we might say most, is hardly above the level -of that “personal talk,” to which Wordsworth sagely preferred long -barren silence, the flapping of the flame of his cottage fire, and -the undersong of the kettle on the hob. It would not, then, have -much surprised us if George Eliot had insisted that her works should -remain the only commemoration of her life. There be some who think -that those who have enriched the world with great thoughts and fine -creations, might best be content to rest unmarked “where heaves the -turf in many a mouldering heap,” leaving as little work to the literary -executor, except of the purely crematory sort, as did Aristotle, Plato, -Shakespeare, and some others whose names the world will not willingly -let die. But this is a stoic’s doctrine; the objector may easily retort -that if it had been sternly acted on, we should have known very little -about Dr. Johnson, and nothing about Socrates. - -This is but an ungracious prelude to some remarks upon a book, which -must be pronounced a striking success. There will be very little -dispute as to the fact that the editor of these memorials of George -Eliot has done his work with excellent taste, judgment, and sense. -He found no autobiography nor fragment of one, but he has skilfully -shaped a kind of autobiography by a plan which, so far as we know, he -is justified in calling new, and which leaves her life to write itself -in extracts from her letters and journals. With the least possible -obtrusion from the biographer, the original pieces are formed into a -connected whole “that combines a narrative of day to day life with the -play of light and shade which only letters written in serious moods can -give.” The idea is a good one, and Mr. Cross deserves great credit for -it. We may hope that its success will encourage imitators. Certainly -there are drawbacks. We miss the animation of mixed narrative. There -is, too, a touch of monotony in listening for so long to the voice of -a single speaker addressing others who are silent behind a screen. But -Mr. Cross could not we think, have devised a better way of dealing with -his material: it is simple, modest, and effective. - -George Eliot, after all, led the life of a studious recluse, with none -of the bustle, variety, motion, and large communication with the outer -world, that justified Lockhart and Moore in making a long story of the -lives of Scott and Byron. Even here, among men of letters, who were -also men of action and of great sociability, are not all biographies -too long? Let any sensible reader turn to the shelf where his Lives -repose; we shall be surprised if he does not find that nearly every one -of them, taking the present century alone, and including such splendid -and attractive subjects as Goethe, Hume, Romilly, Mackintosh, Horner, -Chalmers, Arnold, Southey, Cowper, would not have been all the better -for judicious curtailment. Lockhart, who wrote the longest, wrote -also the shortest, the Life of Burns; and the shortest is the best, -in spite of defects which would only have been worse if the book had -been bigger. It is to be feared that, conscientious and honorable as -his self-denial has been, even Mr. Cross has not wholly resisted the -natural and besetting error of the biographer. Most people will think -that the hundred pages of the Italian tour (vol. ii.), and some other -not very remarkable impressions of travel, might as well or better have -been left out. - -As a mere letter-writer, George Eliot will not rank among the famous -masters of what is usually considered especially a woman’s art. She -was too busy in serious work to have leisure for that most delightful -way of wasting time. Besides that, she had by nature none of that -fluency, rapidity, abandonment, pleasant volubility, which make -letters amusing, captivating, or piquant. What Mr. Cross says of -her as the mistress of a _salon_, is true of her for the most part -as a correspondent:—“Playing around many disconnected subjects, in -talk, neither interested nor amused her much. She took things too -seriously, and seldom found the effort of entertaining compensated -by the gain” (iii. 335). There is the outpouring of ardent feeling -for her friends, sobering down, as life goes on, into a crooning -kindliness, affectionate and honest, but often tinged with considerable -self-consciousness. It was said of some one that his epigrams did -honor to his heart; in the reverse direction we occasionally feel that -George Eliot’s effusive playfulness does honor to her head. It lacks -simplicity and _verve_. Even in an invitation to dinner, the words -imply a grave sense of responsibility on both sides, and sense of -responsibility is fatal to the charm of familiar correspondence. - -As was inevitable in one whose mind was so habitually turned to the -deeper elements of life, she lets fall the pearls of wise speech even -in short notes. Here are one or two:— - -“My own experience and development deepen every day my conviction that -our moral progress may be measured by the degree in which we sympathise -with individual suffering and individual joy.” - -“If there is one attitude more odious to me than any other of the many -attitudes of ‘knowingness,’ it is that air of lofty superiority to the -vulgar. She will soon find out that I am a very commonplace woman.” - -“It so often happens that others are measuring us by our past self -while we are looking back on that self with a mixture of disgust and -sorrow.” - -The following is one of the best examples, one of the few examples, of -her best manner:— - - “I have been made rather unhappy by my husband’s impulsive proposal - about Christmas. We are dull old persons, and your two sweet young - ones ought to find each Christmas a new bright bead to string on their - memory, whereas to spend the time with us would be to string on a - dark shrivelled berry. They ought to have a group of young creatures - to be joyful with. Our own children always spend their Christmas with - Gertrude’s family; and we have usually taken our sober merry-making - with friends out of town. Illness among these will break our custom - this year; and thus _mein Mann_, feeling that our Christmas was - free, considered how very much he liked being with you, omitting the - other side of the question—namely, our total lack of means to make a - suitably joyous meeting, a real festival, for Phil and Margaret. I was - conscious of this lack in the very moment of the proposal, and the - consciousness has been pressing on me more and more painfully ever - since. Even my husband’s affectionate hopefulness cannot withstand my - melancholy demonstration. So pray consider the kill-joy proposition - as entirely retracted, and give us something of yourselves only on - simple black-letter days, when the Herald Angels have not been raising - expectations early in the morning.” - -This is very pleasant, but such pieces are rare, and the infirmity -of human nature has sometimes made us sigh over these pages at the -recollection of the cordial cheeriness of Scott’s letters, the high -spirits of Macaulay, the graceful levity of Voltaire, the rattling -dare-devilry of Byron. Epistolary stilts among men of letters went -out of fashion with Pope, who, as was said, thought that unless every -period finished with a conceit, the letter was not worth the postage. -Poor spirits cannot be the explanation of the stiffness in George -Eliot’s case, for no letters in the English language are so full of -playfulness and charm as those of Cowper, and he was habitually sunk -in gulfs deeper and blacker than George Eliot’s own. It was sometimes -observed of her, that in her conversation, _elle s’écoutait quand elle -parlait_—she seemed to be listening to her own voice while she spoke. -It must be allowed that we are not always free from an impression of -self-listening, even in the most caressing of the letters before us. - -This is not much better, however, than trifling. I dare say that if -a lively Frenchman could have watched the inspired Pythia on the -sublime tripod, he would have cried, _Elle s’écoute quand elle parle_. -When everything of that kind has been said, we have the profound -satisfaction, which is not quite a matter of course in the history of -literature, of finding, after all that the woman and the writer were -one. The life does not belie the books, nor private conduct stultify -public profession. We close the third volume of the biography, as we -have so often closed the third volume of her novels, feeling to the -very core that in spite of a style that the French call _alambiqué_, in -spite of tiresome double and treble distillations of phraseology, in -spite of fatiguing moralities, gravities, and ponderosities, we have -still been in communion with a high and commanding intellect, and a -great nature. We are vexed by pedantries that recall the _précieuses_ -of the Hôtel Rambouillet, but we know that she had the soul of the -most heroic women in history. We crave more of the Olympian serenity -that makes action natural and repose refreshing, but we cannot miss -the edification of a life marked by indefatigable labor after generous -purposes, by an unsparing struggle for duty, and by steadfast and -devout fellowship with lofty thoughts. - -Those who know Mr. Myers’s essay on George Eliot will not have -forgotten its most imposing passage:— - - “I remember how at Cambridge, I walked with her once in the Fellows’ - Garden of Trinity, on an evening of rainy May; and she, stirred - somewhat beyond her wont, and taking as her text the three words - which have been used so often as the inspiring trumpet-calls of - men.—the words _God_, _Immortality_, _Duty_,—pronounced, with terrible - earnestness, how inconceivable was the _first_, how unbelievable the - _second_, and yet how peremptory and absolute the _third_. Never, - perhaps, had sterner accents affirmed the sovereignty of impersonal - and unrecompensing law. I listened, and night fell; her grave, - majestic countenance turned toward me like a Sibyl’s in the gloom; it - was as though she withdrew from my grasp, one by one, the two scrolls - of promise, and left me the third scroll only, awful with inevitable - fates.” - -To many, the relation, which was the most important event in George -Eliot’s life, will seem one of those irretrievable errors which reduce -all talk of duty to a mockery. It is inevitable that this should be so, -and those who disregard a social law have little right to complain. -Men and women whom in every other respect it would be monstrous to -call bad, have taken this particular law into their own hands before -now, and committed themselves to conduct of which “magnanimity owes -no account to prudence.” But if they had sense and knew what they -were about, they have braced themselves to endure the disapproval of -a majority fortunately more prudential than themselves. The world is -busy, and its instruments are clumsy. It cannot know all the facts; -it has neither time nor material for unravelling all the complexities -of motive, or for distinguishing mere libertinage from grave and -deliberate moral misjudgment; it is protecting itself as much as it -is condemning the offenders. On all this, then, we need have neither -sophistry nor cant. But those who seek something deeper than a verdict -for the honest working purpose of leaving cards and inviting to dinner, -may feel, as has been observed by a contemporary writer, that men and -women are more fairly judged, if judge them we must, by the way in -which they bear the burden of an error, than by the decision that laid -the burden on their lives. Some idea of this kind was in her own mind -when she wrote to her most intimate friend in 1857, “If I live five -years longer, the positive result of my existence on the side of truth -and goodness will outweigh the small negative good that would have -consisted in my not doing anything to shock others” (i. 461). This -urgent desire to balance the moral account may have had something to do -with that laborious sense of responsibility which weighed so heavily on -her soul, and had so equivocal an effect upon her art. Whatever else is -to be said of this particular union, nobody can deny that the picture -on which it left a mark was an exhibition of extraordinary self-denial, -energy, and persistency in the cultivation and the use of great gifts -and powers for what their possessor believed to be the highest objects -for society and mankind. - -A more perfect companionship, one on a higher intellectual level, or of -more sustained mental activity, is nowhere recorded. Lewes’s mercurial -temperament contributed as much as the powerful mind of his consort to -prevent their seclusion from degenerating into an owlish stagnation. To -the very last (1878) he retained his extraordinary buoyancy. “Nothing -but death could quench that bright flame. Even on his worst days he -had always a good story to tell; and I remember on one occasion in the -drawing-room at Witley, between two bouts of pain, he sang through -with great _brio_, though without much voice, the greater portion of -the tenor part in the _Barber of Seville_, George Eliot playing his -accompaniment, and both of them thoroughly enjoying the fun” (iii. -334). All this gaiety, his inexhaustible vivacity, the facility of -his transitions from brilliant levity to a keen seriousness, the -readiness of his mental response, and the wide range of intellectual -accomplishments that were much more than superficial, made him a source -of incessant and varied stimulation. Even those, and there were some, -who thought that his gaiety bordered on flippancy, that his genial -self-content often came near to shockingly bad taste, and that his -reminiscences of poor Mr. Fitzball and the green-room and all the rest -of the Bohemia in which he had once dwelt, too racy for his company, -still found it hard to resist the alert intelligence with which he rose -to every good topic, and the extraordinary heartiness and spontaneity -with which the wholesome spring of human laughter was touched in him. - -Lewes had plenty of egotism, not to give it a more unamiable name, but -it never mastered his intellectual sincerity. George Eliot describes -him as one of the few human beings she has known who will, in the -heat of an argument, see, and straightway confess, that he is in the -wrong, instead of trying to shift his ground or use any other device of -vanity. “The intense happiness of our union,” she wrote to a friend, -“is derived in a high degree from the perfect freedom with which we -each follow and declare our own impressions. In this respect I know -_no_ man so great as he—that difference of opinion rouses no egotistic -irritation in him, and that he is ready to admit that another argument -is the stronger, the moment his intellect recognises it” (ii. 279). -This will sound very easy to the dispassionate reader, because it is -so obviously just and proper, but if the dispassionate reader ever -tries, he may find the virtue not so easy as it looks. Finally, and -above all, we can never forget in Lewes’s case how much true elevation -and stability of character was implied in the unceasing reverence, -gratitude, and devotion with which for five-and-twenty years he treated -her to whom he owed all his happiness, and who most truly, in his own -words (ii. 76), had made his life a new birth. - -The reader will be mistaken if he should infer from such passages as -abound in her letters that George Eliot had any particular weakness -for domestic or any other kind of idolatry. George Sand, in _Lucrezia -Floriani_ where she drew so unkind a picture of Chopin, has described -her own life and character as marked by “a great facility for -illusions, a blind benevolence of judgment, a tenderness of heart that -was inexhaustible; consequently great precipitancy, many mistakes, much -weakness, fits of heroic devotion to unworthy objects, enormous force -applied to an end that was wretched in truth and fact, but sublime in -her thought.” George Eliot had none of this facility. Nor was general -benignity in her at all of the poor kind that is incompatible with a -great deal of particular censure. Universal benevolence never lulled -an active critical faculty, nor did she conceive true humility as at -all consisting in hiding from an impostor that you have found him out. -Like Cardinal Newman, for whose beautiful passage at the end of the -_Apologia_ she expresses such richly deserved admiration (ii. 387), -she unites to the gift of unction and brotherly love, a capacity for -giving an extremely shrewd nip to a brother whom she does not love. -Her passion for Thomas-a-Kempis did not prevent her, and there was no -reason why it should, from dealing very faithfully with a friend, for -instance (ii. 271); from describing Mr. Buckle as a conceited, ignorant -man; or castigating Brougham and other people in slashing reviews; or -otherwise from showing that great expansiveness of the affections went -with a remarkably strong, hard, masculine, positive, judging head. - -The benefits that George Eliot gained from her exclusive companionship -with a man of lively talents were not without some compensating -drawbacks. The keen stimulation and incessant strain, unrelieved by -variety of daily intercourse, and never diversified by participation -in the external activities of the world, tended to bring about a -loaded, over-conscious, over-anxious state of mind, which was not only -not wholesome in itself, but was inconsistent with the full freshness -and strength of artistic work. The presence of the real world in -his life has, in all but one or two cases, been one element of the -novelist’s highest success in the world of imaginative creation. George -Eliot had no greater favorite than Scott, and when a series of little -books upon English men of letters was planned, she said that she -thought that writer among us the happiest to whom it should fall to -deal with Scott. But Scott lived full in the life of his fellow-men. -Even of Wordsworth, her other favorite, though he was not a creative -artist, we may say that he daily saturated himself in those natural -elements and effects, which were the material, the suggestion, and the -sustaining inspiration of his consoling and fortifying poetry. George -Eliot did not live in the midst of her material, but aloof from it and -outside of it. Heaven forbid that this should seem to be said by way of -censure. Both her health and other considerations made all approach to -busy sociability in any of its shapes both unwelcome and impossible. -But in considering the relation of her manner of life to her work, -her creations, her meditations, one cannot but see that when compared -with some writers of her own sex and age, she is constantly bookish, -artificial, and mannered. She is this because she fed her art too -exclusively, first on the memories of her youth, and next from books, -pictures, statues, instead of from the living model, as seen in its -actual motion. It is direct calls and personal claims from without that -make fiction alive. Jane Austen bore her part in the little world of -the parlor that she described. The writer of _Sylvia’s Lovers_, whose -work George Eliot appreciated with unaffected generosity (i. 305), was -the mother of children, and was surrounded by the wholesome actualities -of the family. The authors of _Jane Eyre_ and _Wuthering Heights_ -passed their days in one long succession of wild, stormy, squalid, -anxious, and miserable scenes—almost as romantic, as poetic, and as -tragic, to use George Eliot’s words, as their own stories. George Sand -eagerly shared, even to the pitch of passionate tumult and disorder, -in the emotions, the aspirations, the ardor, the great conflicts and -controversies of her time. In every one of these, their daily closeness -to the real life of the world has given a vitality to their work which -we hardly expect that even the next generation will find in more -than one or two of the romances of George Eliot. It may even come to -pass that their position will be to hers as that of Fielding is to -Richardson in our own day. - -In a letter to Mr. Harrison, which is printed here (ii. 441), George -Eliot describes her own method, as “the severe effort of trying to make -certain ideas thoroughly incarnate, as if they had revealed themselves -to me first in the flesh and not in the spirit,” The passage recalls -a discussion one day at the Priory in 1877. She was speaking of the -different methods of the poetic or creative art, and said that she -began with moods, thoughts, passions, and then invented the story for -their sake, and fitted it to them; Shakespeare, on the other hand, -picked up a story that struck him, and then proceeded to work in -the moods, thoughts, passions, as they came to him in the course of -meditation on the story. We hardly need the result to convince us that -Shakespeare chose the better part. - -The influence of her reserved fashion of daily life was heightened -by the literary exclusiveness which of set purpose she imposed upon -herself. “The less an author hears about himself,” she says, in one -place, “the better.” “It is my rule, very strictly observed, not -to read the criticisms on my writings. For years I have found this -abstinence necessary to preserve me from that discouragement as an -artist, which ill-judged praise, no less than ill-judged blame, tends -to produce in us.” George Eliot pushed this repugnance to criticism -beyond the personal reaction of it upon the artist, and more than -disparaged its utility, even in the most competent and highly trained -hands. She finds that the diseased spot in the literary culture of our -time is touched with the finest point by the saying of La Bruyère, -that “the pleasure of criticism robs us of the pleasure of being -keenly moved by very fine things” (iii. 327). “It seems to me,” she -writes (ii. 412), “much better to read a man’s own writings, than to -read what others say about him, especially when the man is first-rate -and the others third-rate. As Goethe said long ago about Spinoza, ‘I -always preferred to learn from the man himself what _he_ thought, -rather than to hear from some one else what he ought to have thought.’” -As if the scholar will not always be glad to do both, to study his -author and not to refuse the help of the rightly prepared commentator; -as if even Goethe himself would not have been all the better acquainted -with Spinoza, if he could have read Mr. Pollock’s book upon him. But -on this question Mr. Arnold has fought a brilliant battle, and to him -George Eliot’s heresies may well be left. - -On the personal point whether an author should ever hear of himself, -George Eliot oddly enough contradicts herself in a casual remark upon -Bulwer. “I have a great respect,” she says, “for the energetic industry -which has made the most of his powers. He has been writing diligently -for more than thirty years, constantly improving his position, and -profiting by the lessons of public opinion and of other writers” (ii. -322). But if it is true that the less an author hears about himself -the better, how are these salutary “lessons of public opinion” to -penetrate to him? “Rubens,” she says, writing from Munich, in 1858 (ii. -28), “gives me more pleasure than any other painter whether right or -wrong. More than any one else he makes me feel that painting is a great -art, and that he was a great artist. His are such real breathing men -and women, moved by passions, not mincing, and grimacing, and posing -in mere imitation of passion.” But Rubens did not concentrate his -intellect on his own ponderings, nor shut out the wholesome chastenings -of praise and blame, lest they should discourage his inspiration. -Beethoven, another of the chief objects of George Eliot’s veneration, -bore all the rough stress of an active and troublesome calling, -though of the musician, if of any, we may say, that his is the art of -self-absorption. - -Hence, delightful and inspiring as it is to read this story of diligent -and discriminating cultivation, of accurate truth and real erudition -and beauty, not vaguely but methodically interpreted, one has some of -the sensations of the moral and intellectual hothouse. Mental hygiene -is apt to lead to mental valetudinarianism. “The ignorant journalist” -may be left to the torment which George Eliot wished that she could -inflict on one of those literary slovens whose manuscripts bring even -the most philosophic editor to the point of exasperation: “I should -like to stick red-hot skewers through the writer, whose style is as -sprawling as his handwriting.” By all means. But much that even the -most sympathetic reader finds repellent in George Eliot’s later work -might perhaps never have been, if Mr. Lewes had not practised with -more than Russian rigor a censorship of the press and the post office -which kept every disagreeable whisper scrupulously from her ear. To -slop every draft with sandbags, screens, and curtains, and to limit -one’s exercise to a drive in a well-warmed brougham with the windows -drawn up, may save a few annoying colds in the head, but the end of the -process will be the manufacture of an invalid. - -Whatever view we may take of the precise connection between what she -read, or abstained from reading, and what she wrote, no studious man -or woman can look without admiration and envy on the breadth, variety, -seriousness, and energy, with which she set herself her tasks and -executed them. She says in one of her letters, “there is something -more piteous almost than soapless poverty in the application of -feminine incapacity to literature” (ii. 16). Nobody has ever taken -the responsibilities of literature more ardently in earnest. She was -accustomed to read aloud to Mr. Lewes three hours a day, and her -private reading, except when she was engaged in the actual stress of -composition, must have filled as many more. His extraordinary alacrity -and her brooding intensity of mind, prevented these hours from being -that leisurely process in slippers and easy chair which passes with -many for the practice of literary cultivation. Much of her reading was -for the direct purposes of her own work. The young lady who begins to -write historic novels out of her own head will find something much to -her advantage if she will refer to the list of books read by George -Eliot during the latter half of 1861, when she was meditating _Romola_ -(ii. 325). Apart from immediate needs and uses, no student of our time -has known better the solace, the delight, the guidance that abide in -great writings. Nobody who did not share the scholars enthusiasm could -have described the blind scholar in his library in the adorable fifth -chapter of _Romola_; and we feel that she must have copied out with -keen gusto of her own those words of Petrarch which she puts into old -Bardo’s mouth—“_Libri medullitus delectant, colloquuntur, consulunt, et -viva quadam nobis atque arguta familiaritate junguntur_.” - -As for books that are not books, as Milton bade us do with “neat -repasts with wine,” she wisely spared to interpose them oft. Her -standards of knowledge were those of the erudite and the savant, -and even in the region of beauty she was never content with any but -definite impressions. In one place in these volumes, by the way, -she makes a remark curiously inconsistent with the usual scientific -attitude of her mind. She has been reading Darwin’s _Origin of -Species_, on which she makes the truly astonishing criticism that it is -“sadly wanting in illustrative facts,” and that “it is not impressive -from want of luminous and orderly presentation” (ii. 43-48). Then -she says that “the development theory, and all other explanation of -processes by which things came to be produce a feeble impression -compared with the mystery that lies under processes.” This position -it does not now concern us to discuss, but at least it is in singular -discrepancy with her strong habitual preference for accurate and -quantitative knowledge, over vague and misty moods in the region of the -unknowable and the unreachable. - -George Eliot’s means of access to books were very full. She knew -French, German, Italian, and Spanish accurately. Greek and Latin, Mr. -Cross tells us, she could read with thorough delight to herself; though -after the appalling specimen of Mill’s juvenile Latinity that Mr. Bain -has disinterred, the fastidious collegian may be sceptical of the -scholarship of prodigies. Hebrew was her favorite study to the end of -her days. People commonly supposed that she had been inoculated with -an artificial taste for science by her companion. We now learn that -she took a decided interest in natural science long before she made -Mr. Lewes’s acquaintance, and many of the roundabout pedantries that -displeased people in her latest writings, and were set down to his -account, appeared in her composition before she had ever exchanged a -word with him. - -All who knew her well enough were aware that she had what Mr. Cross -describes as “limitless persistency in application.” This is an -old account of genius, but nobody illustrates more effectively the -infinite capacity of taking pains. In reading, in looking at pictures, -in playing difficult music, in talking, she was equally importunate -in the search, and equally insistent on mastery. Her faculty of -sustained concentration was part of her immense intellectual power. -“Continuous thought did not fatigue her. She could keep her mind on -the stretch hour after hour; the body might give way, but the brain -remained unwearied” (iii. 422). It is only a trifling illustration of -the infection of her indefatigable quality of taking pains, that Lewes -should have formed the important habit of re-writing every page of his -work, even of short articles for Reviews, before letting it go to the -press. The journal shows what sore pain and travail composition was to -her. She wrote the last volume of _Adam Bede_ in six weeks; she “could -not help writing it fast, because it was written under the stress of -emotion.” But what a prodigious contrast between her pace, and Walter -Scott’s twelve volumes a year! Like many other people of powerful -brains, she united strong and clear general retentiveness, with a weak -and untrustworthy verbal memory. “She never could trust herself to -write a quotation without verifying it.” “What courage and patience,” -she says of some one else, “are wanted for every life that aims to -produce anything,” and her own existence was one long and painful -sermon on that text. - -Over few lives have the clouds of mental dejection hung in such heavy -unmoving banks. Nearly every chapter is strewn with melancholy words. -“I cannot help thinking more of your illness than of the pleasure in -prospect—according to my foolish nature, which is always prone to live -in past pain.” The same sentiment is the mournful refrain that runs -through all. Her first resounding triumph, the success of _Adam Bede_, -instead of buoyancy and exultation, only adds a fresh sense of the -weight upon her future life. “The self-questioning whether my nature -will be able to meet the heavy demands upon it, both of personal duty -and intellectual production—presses upon me almost continually in a -way that prevents me even from tasting the quiet joy I might have in -the _work done_. I feel no regret that the fame, as such, brings no -pleasure; but it _is_ a grief to me that I do not constantly feel -strong in thankfulness that my past life has vindicated its uses.” - -_Romola_ seems to have been composed in constant gloom. “I remember -my wife telling me, at Witley,” says Mr. Cross, “how cruelly she -had suffered at Dorking from working under a leaden weight at this -time. The writing of _Romola_ ploughed into her more than any of her -other books. She told me she could put her finger on it as marking a -well-defined transition in her life. In her own words, ‘I began it a -young woman—I finished it an old woman.’” She calls upon herself to -make “greater efforts against indolence and the despondency that comes -from too egoistic a dread of failure.” “This is the last entry I mean -to make in my old book in which I wrote for the first time at Geneva -in 1849. What moments of despair I passed through after that—despair -that life would ever be made precious to me by the consciousness -that I lived to some good purpose! It was that sort of despair that -sucked away the sap of half the hours which might have been filled by -energetic youthful activity; and the same demon tries to get hold of -me again whenever an old work is dismissed, and a new one is being -meditated” (ii. 307). One day the entry is: “Horrible scepticism about -all things paralysing my mind. Shall I ever be good for anything -again? Ever do anything again?” On another, she describes herself to -a trusted friend as “a mind morbidly desponding, and a consciousness -tending more and more to consist in memories of error and imperfection -rather than in a strengthening sense of achievement.” We have to turn -to such books as Bunyan’s _Grace Abounding_ to find any parallel to -such wretchedness. - -Times were not wanting when the sun strove to shine through the gloom, -when the resistance to melancholy was not wholly a failure, and when, -as she says, she felt that Dante was right in condemning to the Stygian -marsh those who had been sad under the blessed sunlight. “Sad were we -in the sweet air that is gladdened by the sun, bearing sluggish smoke -in our hearts; now lie we sadly here in the black ooze.” But still for -the most part sad she remained in the sweet air, and the look of pain -that haunted her eyes and brow even in her most genial and animated -moments, only told too truly the story of her inner life. - -That from this central gloom a shadow should spread to her work was -unavoidable. It would be rash to compare George Eliot with Tacitus, -with Dante, with Pascal. A novelist—for as a poet, after trying hard -to think otherwise, most of us find her magnificent but unreadable—as -a novelist bound by the conditions of her art to deal in a thousand -trivialities of human character and situation, she has none of their -severity of form. But she alone of moderns has their note of sharp-cut -melancholy, of sombre rumination, of brief disdain. Living in a time -when humanity has been raised, whether formally or informally, into a -religion, she draws a painted curtain of pity before the tragic scene. -Still the attentive ear catches from time to time the accents of an -unrelenting voice, that proves her kindred with those three mighty -spirits and stern monitors of men. In George Eliot, a reader with a -conscience may be reminded of the saying that when a man opens Tacitus -he puts himself in the confessional. She was no vague dreamer over -the folly and the weakness of men, and the cruelty and blindness of -destiny. Hers is not the dejection of the poet who “could lie down -like a tired child, And weep away this life of care,” as Shelley at -Naples; nor is it the despairing misery that moved Cowper in the -awful verses of the _Castaway_. It was not such self-pity as wrung -from Burns the cry to life, “Thou art a galling load, Along, a rough, -a weary road, To wretches such as I;” nor such general sense of the -woes of the race as made Keats think of the world as a place where -men sit and hear each other groan, “Where but to think is to be full -of sorrow, And leaden-eyed despairs.” She was as far removed from the -plangent reverie of Rousseau as from the savage truculence of Swift. -Intellectual training had given her the spirit of order and proportion, -of definiteness and measure, and this marks her alike from the great -sentimentalists and the sweeping satirists. “Pity and fairness,” as -she beautifully says (iii. 317), “are two little words which, carried -out, would embrace the utmost delicacies of the moral life.” But hers -is not seldom the severe fairness of the judge, and the pity that may -go with putting on the black cap after a conviction for high treason. -In the midst of many an easy flowing page, the reader is surprised by -some bitter aside, some judgment of intense and concentrated irony with -the flash of a blade in it, some biting sentence where lurks the stern -disdain and the anger of Tacitus, and Dante, and Pascal. Souls like -these are not born for happiness. - - * * * * * - -This is not the occasion for an elaborate discussion of George Eliot’s -place in the mental history of her time, but her biography shows -that she travelled along the road that was trodden by not a few in -her day. She started from that fervid evangelicalism which has made -the base of many a powerful character in this century, from Cardinal -Newman downwards. Then with curious rapidity she threw it all off, -and embraced with equal zeal the rather harsh and crude negations -which were then associated with the _Westminster Review_. The second -stage did not last much longer than the first. “Religious and moral -sympathy with the historical life of man,” she said (ii. 363), “is the -larger half of culture;” and this sympathy, which was the fruit of -her culture, had by the time she was thirty become the new seed of a -positive faith and a semi-conservative creed. Here is a passage from a -letter of 1862 (she had translated Strauss, we may remind ourselves, -in 1845, and Feuerbach in 1854):— - - “Pray don’t ask me ever again not to rob a man of his religious - belief, as if you thought my mind tended to such robbery. I have - too profound a conviction of the efficacy that lies in all sincere - faith, and the spiritual blight that comes with no-faith, to have any - negative propagandism in me. In fact, I have very little sympathy with - Freethinkers as a class, and have lost all interest in mere antagonism - to religious doctrines. I care only to know, if possible, the lasting - meaning that lies in all religious doctrine from the beginning till - now” (ii. 243). - -Eleven years later the same tendency had deepened and gone further:— - - “All the great religions of the world, historically considered, are - rightly the objects of deep reverence and sympathy—they are the - record of spiritual struggles, which are the types of our own. This - is to me pre-eminently true of Hebrewism and Christianity, on which - my own youth was nourished. And in this sense I have no antagonism - towards any religious belief, but a strong outflow of sympathy. Every - community met to worship the highest God (which is understood to be - expressed by God) carries me along in its main current; and if there - were not reasons against by following such an inclination, I should - go to church or chapel, constantly, for the sake of the delightful - emotions of fellowship which come over me in religious assemblies—the - very nature of such assemblies being the recognition of a binding - belief or spiritual law, which is to lift us into willing obedience, - and save us from the slavery of unregulated passion or impulse. And - with regard to other people, it seems to me that those who have no - definite conviction which constitutes a protesting faith, may often - more beneficially cherish the good within them and be better members - of society by a conformity based on the recognized good in the public - belief, than by a nonconformity which has nothing but negatives to - utter. _Not_, of course, if the conformity would be accompanied by - a consciousness of hypocrisy. That is a question for the individual - conscience to settle. But there is enough to be said on the different - points of view from which conformity may be regarded, to hinder a - ready judgment against those who continue to conform after ceasing - to believe in the ordinary sense. But with the utmost largeness of - allowance for the difficulty of deciding in special cases, it must - remain true that the highest lot is to have definite beliefs about - which you feel that ‘necessity is laid upon you’ to declare them, as - something better which you are bound to try and give to those who have - the worse” (iii. 215-217). - -These volumes contain many passages in the same sense—as, of course, -her books contain them too. She was a constant reader of the Bible, -and the _Imitatio_ was never far from her hand. “She particularly -enjoyed reading aloud some of the finest chapters of Isaiah, Jeremiah, -and St. Paul’s Epistles. The Bible and our elder English poets best -suited the organ-like tones of her voice, which required for their full -effect a certain solemnity and majesty of rhythm.” She once expressed -to a younger friend, who shared her opinions, her sense of the loss -which they had in being unable to practise the old ordinances of family -prayer. “I hope,” she says, “we are well out of that phase in which the -most philosophic view of the past was held to be a smiling survey of -human folly, and when the wisest man was supposed to be one who could -sympathise with no age but the age to come” (ii. 308). - -For this wise reaction she was no doubt partially indebted, as so -many others have been, to the teaching of Comte. Unquestionably the -fundamental ideas had come into her mind at a much earlier period, -when, for example, she was reading Mr. R. W. Mackay’s _Progress of -the Intellect_ (1850, i. 253). But it was Comte who enabled her to -systematise these ideas, and to give them that “definiteness,” which, -as these pages show in a hundred places, was the quality that she -sought before all others alike in men and their thoughts. She always -remained at a respectful distance from complete adherence to Comte’s -scheme, but she was never tired of protesting that he was a really -great thinker, that his famous survey of the Middle Ages in the fifth -volume of the _Positive Philosophy_ was full of luminous ideas, and -that she had thankfully learned much from it. Wordsworth, again, was -dear to her in no small degree on the strength of such passages as that -from the _Prelude_, which is the motto of one of the last chapters of -her last novel:— - - “The human nature with which I felt - That I belonged and reverenced with love, - Was not a persistent presence, but a spirit - Diffused through time and space, with aid derived - Of evidence from monuments, erect, - Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest - In earth, _the widely scattered wreck sublime - Of vanished nations_.” - -Or this again, also from the _Prelude_, (see iii. 389):— - - “There is - One great society alone on earth: - The noble Living and the noble Dead.” - -Underneath this growth and diversity of opinion we see George Eliot’s -oneness of character, just, for that matter, as we see it in Mill’s -long and grave march from the uncompromising denials instilled into him -by his father, then through Wordsworthian mysticism and Coleridgean -conservatism, down to the pale belief and dim starlight faith of his -posthumous volume. George Eliot was more austere, more unflinching, -and of ruder intellectual constancy than Mill. She never withdrew -from the position that she had taken up, of denying and rejecting; -she stood to that to the end: what she did was to advance to the far -higher perception that denial and rejection are not the aspects best -worth attending to or dwelling upon. She had little patience with those -who fear that the doctrine of protoplasm must dry up the springs of -human effort. Any one who trembles at that catastrophe may profit by -a powerful remonstrance of hers in the pages before us (iii. 245-250, -also 228). - - “The consideration of molecular physics is not the direct ground of - human love and moral action, any more than it is the direct means of - composing a noble picture or of enjoying great music. One might as - well hope to dissect one’s own body and be merry in doing it, as take - molecular physics (in which you must banish from your field of view - what is specifically human) to be your dominant guide, your determiner - of motives, in what is solely human. That every study has its bearing - on every other is true; but pain and relief, love and sorrow, have - their peculiar history which make an experience and knowledge over and - above the swing of atoms. - - “With regard to the pains and limitations of one’s personal lot, I - suppose there is not a single man, or woman, who has not more or less - need of that stoical resignation which is often a hidden heroism, or - who, in considering his or her past history, is not aware that it - has been cruelly affected by the ignorant or selfish action of some - fellow-being in a more or less close relation of life. And to my mind, - there can be no stronger motive, than this perception, to an energetic - effort that the lives nearest to us shall not suffer in a like manner - from _us_. - - “As to duration and the way in which it affects your view of the human - history, what is really the difference to your imagination between - infinitude and billions when you have to consider the value of human - experience? Will you say that since your life has a term of threescore - years and ten, it was really a matter of indifference whether you were - a cripple with a wretched skin disease, or an active creature with a - mind at large for the enjoyment of knowledge, and with a nature which - has attracted others to you?” - -For herself, she remained in the position described in one of her -letters in 1860 (ii. 283):—“I have faith in the working out of higher -possibilities than the Catholic or any other Church has presented; -and those who have strength to wait and endure are bound to accept -no formula which their whole souls—their intellect, as well as their -emotions—do not embrace with entire reverence. The highest calling and -election is _to do without opium_, and live through all our pain with -conscious, clear-eyed endurance.” She would never accept the common -optimism. As she says here:—“Life, though a good to men on the whole, -is a doubtful good to many, and to some not a good at all. To my -thought it is a source of constant mental distortion to make the denial -of this a part of religion—to go on pretending things are better than -they are.” - -Of the afflicting dealings with the world of spirits, which in those -days were comparatively limited to the untutored minds of America, but -which since have come to exert so singular a fascination for some of -the most brilliant of George Eliot’s younger friends (see iii. 204), -she thought as any sensible Philistine among us persists in thinking to -this day:— - - “If it were another spirit aping Charlotte Brontë—if here and there - at rare spots and among people of a certain temperament, or even at - many spots and among people of all temperaments, tricksy spirits - are liable to rise as a sort of earth-bubbles and set furniture in - movement, and tell things which we either know already or should be as - well without knowing—I must frankly confess that I have but a feeble - interest in these doings, feeling my life very short for the supreme - and awful revelations of a more orderly and intelligible kind which - I shall die with an imperfect knowledge of. If there were miserable - spirits whom we could help—then I think we should pause and have - patience with their trivial-mindedness; but otherwise I don’t feel - bound to study them more than I am bound to study the special follies - of a peculiar phase of human society. Others, who feel differently, - and are attracted towards this study, are making an experiment for us - as to whether anything better than bewilderment can come of it. At - present it seems to me that to rest any fundamental part of religion - on such a basis is a melancholy misguidance of men’s minds from the - true sources of high and pure emotion” (iii. 161). - -The period of George Eliot’s productions was from 1856, the date of her -first stories, down to 1876, when she wrote, not under her brightest -star, her last novel of _Daniel Deronda_. During this time the great -literary influences of the epoch immediately preceding had not indeed -fallen silent, but the most fruitful seed had been sown. Carlyle’s -_Sartor_ (1833-4), and his _Miscellaneous Essays_ (collected, 1839), -were in all hands; but he had fallen into the terrible slough of his -Prussian history (1858-65), and the last word of his evangel had gone -forth to all whom it concerned. _In Memoriam_, whose noble music and -deep-browed thought awoke such new and wide response in men’s hearts, -was published in 1850. The second volume of _Modern Painters_, of which -I have heard George Eliot say, as of _In Memoriam_ too, that she owed -much and very much to it, belongs to an earlier date still (1846), and -when it appeared, though George Eliot was born in the same year as its -author, she was still translating Strauss at Coventry. Mr. Browning, -for whose genius she had such admiration, and who was always so good -a friend, did indeed produce during this period some work which the -adepts find as full of power and beauty as any that ever came from his -pen. But Mr. Browning’s genius has moved rather apart from the general -currents of his time, creating character and working out motives from -within, undisturbed by transient shadows from the passing questions and -answers of the day. - -The romantic movement was then upon its fall. The great Oxford -movement, which besides its purely ecclesiastical effects, had linked -English religion once more to human history, and which was itself one -of the unexpected out-comes of the romantic movement, had spent its -original force, and no longer interested the stronger minds among the -rising generation. The hour had sounded for the scientific movement. -In 1859, was published the _Origin of Species_, undoubtedly the most -far-reaching agency of the time, supported as it was by a volume of -new knowledge which came pouring in from many sides. The same period -saw the important speculations of Mr. Spencer, whose influence on -George Eliot had from their first acquaintance been of a very decisive -kind. Two years after the _Origin of Species_ came Maine’s _Ancient -Law_, and that was followed by the accumulations of Mr. Tylor and -others, exhibiting order and fixed correlation among great sets of -facts which had hitherto lain in that cheerful chaos of general -knowledge which has been called general ignorance. The excitement -was immense. Evolution, development, heredity, adaptation, variety, -survival, natural selection, were so many patent pass-keys that were to -open every chamber. - -George Eliot’s novels, as they were the imaginative application of -this great influx of new ideas, so they fitted in with the moods -which those ideas had called up. “My function,” she said (iii. 330), -“is that of the æsthetic, not the doctrinal teacher—the rousing of -the nobler emotions which make mankind desire the social right, not -the prescribing of special measures, concerning which the artistic -mind, however strongly moved by social sympathy, is often not the -best judge.” Her influence in this direction over serious and -impressionable minds was great indeed. The spirit of her art exactly -harmonised with the new thoughts that were shaking the world of her -contemporaries. Other artists had drawn their pictures with a strong -ethical background, but she gave a finer color and a more spacious air -to her ethics, by showing the individual passions and emotions of her -characters, their adventures and their fortunes, as evolving themselves -from long series of antecedent causes, and bound up with many widely -operating forces and distant events. Here, too, we find ourselves -in the full stream of evolution, hereditary, survival, and fixed -inexorable law. - -This scientific quality of her work may be considered to have stood in -the way of her own aim. That the nobler emotions roused by her writings -tend to “make mankind desire the social right,” is not to be doubted; -that we are not sure that she imparts peculiar energy to the desire. -What she kindles is not a very strenuous, aggressive, and operative -desire. The sense of the iron limitations that are set to improvement -in present and future by inexorable forces of the past, is stronger in -her than any intrepid resolution to press on to whatever improvement -may chance to be within reach if we only make the attempt. In energy, -in inspiration, in the kindling of living faith in social effort, -George Sand, not to speak of Mazzini, takes a far higher place. - -It was certainly not the business of an artist to form judgments in -the sphere of practical politics, but George Eliot was far too humane -a nature not to be deeply moved by momentous events as they passed. -Yet her observations, at any rate after 1848, seldom show that energy -of sympathy of which we have been speaking, and these observations -illustrate our point. We can hardly think that anything was ever said -about the great civil war in America, so curiously far-fetched as the -following reflection:—“My best consolation is that an example on so -tremendous a scale of the need for the education of mankind through -the affections and sentiments, as a basis for true development, will -have a strong influence on all thinkers, and be a check to the arid -narrow antagonism which in some quarters is held to be the only form of -liberal thought” (ii. 335). - -In 1848, as we have said, she felt the hopes of the hour in all their -fulness. To a friend she writes (i. 179):—”You and Carlyle (have you -seen his article in last week’s _Examiner_?) are the only two people -who feel just as I would have them—who can glory in what is actually -great and beautiful without putting forth any cold reservations -and incredulities to save their credit for wisdom. I am all the -more delighted with your enthusiasm because I didn’t expect it. I -feared that you lacked revolutionary ardor. But no—you are just as -_sans-culottish_ and rash as I would have you. You are not one of those -sages whose reason keeps so tight a rein on their emotions that they -are too constantly occupied in calculating consequences to rejoice -in any great manifestation of the forces that underlie our everyday -existence. - -“I thought we had fallen on such evil days that we were to see no -really great movement—that ours was what St. Simon calls a purely -critical epoch, not at all an organic one; but I begin to be glad of -my date. I would consent, however, to have a year clipt off my life -for the sake of witnessing such a scene as that of the men of the -barricades bowing to the image of Christ, ‘who first taught fraternity -to men.’ One trembles to look into every fresh newspaper lest there -should be something to mar the picture; but hitherto even the scoffing -newspaper critics have been compelled into a tone of genuine respect -for the French people and the Provisional Government. Lamartine can -act a poem if he cannot write one of the very first order. I hope that -beautiful face given to him in the pictorial newspaper is really his: -it is worthy of an aureole. I have little patience with people who can -find time to pity Louis Philippe and his moustachioed sons. Certainly -our decayed monarchs should be pensioned off: we should have a hospital -for them, or a sort of zoological garden, where these worn-out humbugs -may be preserved. It is but justice that we should keep them, since we -have spoiled them for any honest trade. Let them sit on soft cushions, -and have their dinner regularly, but, for heaven’s sake, preserve me -from sentimentalizing over a pampered old man when the earth has its -millions of unfed souls and bodies. Surely he is not so Ahab-like as to -wish that the revolution had been deferred till his son’s days: and I -think the shades of the Stuarts would have some reason to complain if -the Bourbons, who are so little better than they, had been allowed to -reign much longer.” - -The hopes of ’48 were not very accurately fulfilled, and in George -Eliot they never came to life again. Yet in social things we may be -sure that undying hope is the secret of vision. - -There is a passage in Coleridge’s _Friend_ which seems to represent the -outcome of George Eliot’s teaching on most, and not the worst, of her -readers:—“The tangle of delusions,” says Coleridge, “which stifled and -distorted the growing tree of our well-being has been torn away; the -parasite weeds that fed on its very roots have been plucked up with a -salutary violence. To us there remain only quiet duties, the constant -care, the gradual improvement, the cautious and unhazardous labors of -the industrious though contented gardener—to prune, to strengthen, to -engraft, and one by one to remove from its leaves and fresh shoots the -slug and the caterpillar.” Coleridge goes further than George Eliot, -when he adds the exhortation—“Far be it from us to undervalue with -light and senseless detraction the conscientious hardihood of our -predecessors, or even to condemn in them that vehemence to which the -blessings it won for us leave us now neither temptation nor pretext.” - -George Eliot disliked vehemence more and more as her work advanced. -The word “crudity,” so frequently on her lips, stood for all that -was objectionable and distasteful. The conservatism of an artistic -moral nature was shocked by the seeming peril to which priceless -moral elements of human character were exposed by the energumens of -progress. Their impatient hopes for the present appeared to her rather -unscientific; their disregard of the past, very irreverent and impious. -Mill had the same feeling when he disgusted his father by standing -up for Wordsworth, on the ground that Wordsworth was helping to keep -alive in human nature elements which utilitarians and innovators would -need when their present and particular work was done. Mill, being free -from the exaltations that make the artist, kept a truer balance. His -famous pair of essays on Bentham and Coleridge were published (for -the first time, so far as our generation was concerned) in the same -year as _Adam Bede_, and I can vividly remember how the “Coleridge” -first awoke in many of us, who were then youths at Oxford, that sense -of truth having many mansions, and that desire and power of sympathy -with the past, with the positive bases of the social fabric, and with -the value of Permanence in States, which form the reputable side of -all conservatisms. This sentiment and conviction never took richer -or more mature form than in the best work of George Eliot, and her -stories lighted up with a fervid glow the truths that minds of another -type had just brought to the surface. It was this that made her a -great moral force at that epoch, especially for all who were capable -by intellectual training of standing at her point of view. We even, as -I have said, tried hard to love her poetry, but the effort has ended -less in love than in a very distant homage to the majestic in intention -and the sonorous in execution. In fiction, too, as the years go by, -we begin to crave more fancy, illusion, enchantment, than the quality -of her genius allowed. But the loftiness of her character is abiding, -and it passes nobly through the ordeal of an honest biography. “For -the lessons,” says the fine critic already quoted, “most imperatively -needed by the mass of men, the lessons of deliberate kindness, of -careful truth, of unwavering endeavor,—for these plain themes one could -not ask a more convincing teacher than she whom we are commemorating -now. Everything in her aspect and presence was in keeping with the -bent of her soul. The deeply-lined face, the too marked and massive -features, were united with an air of delicate refinement, which in one -way was the more impressive because it seemed to proceed so entirely -from within. Nay, the inward beauty would sometimes quite transform -the external harshness; there would be moments when the thin hands -that entwined themselves in their eagerness, the earnest figure that -bowed forward to speak and hear, the deep gaze moving from one face -to another with a grave appeal,—all these seemed the transparent -symbols that showed the presence of a wise, benignant soul.” As a wise, -benignant soul George Eliot will still remain for all right-judging men -and women.—_Macmillan’s Magazine._ - - - - -LORD TENNYSON. - -BY PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. - - -I. - - Because Song’s brightest stars have crowned his head, - And to his soul their loveliest dreams unfurled, - Because since Shakespeare joined the deathless dead, - No loftier Poet has entranced the world. - - -II. - - Because Olympian food, ethereal wine, - Are his who fills Apollo’s golden lute. - Why should he not from his high heaven incline, - To take from lowlier hands their proffered food? - - -III. - - Free is the earnest offering! he as free - To condescend toward the gift they bring; - No Dead-Sea apple is a lord’s degree, - To foul the lips of him, our Poet-King. - —_London Home Chimes._ - - - - -IN THE NORWEGIAN MOUNTAINS. - -BY OSCAR FREDRIK, KING OF SWEDEN AND NORWAY. - -_Translated, with His Majesty’s permission, by Carl Siewers._ - -If you will accompany us on our journey towards the snow-covered peaks -of the Sogne Mountains yonder, you are welcome! But quick, not a moment -is to be lost; day is dawning, and we have a long journey before us. -It is still five stiff Norwegian miles to the coast in Bergen’s Stift, -although we did two yesterday from the last dwelling in the valley -of Lom. We ought to be under shelter before dusk; the night might be -“rough” up yonder among the white-capped old peaks, so therefore to -horse, and forward! - -We are compelled to say good-bye to the last _Sæter_ there on the -silent shores of the deep gloomy mountain lake, a duty which we perform -with no light heart. How strange the _Sæter_ life and dwellings appear -to the stranger! How poor this long and dark structure seems at first -sight, and yet how hearty and unexpectedly lavish is the hospitality -which the simple children of the mountain extend to the weary traveller! - -Milk, warm from the cow, fresh-churned butter, reindeer meat, and a -couple of delicious trout which we have just seen taken from the lake -below, form a regal feast indeed; and, spiced with the keen appetite -which the air up here creates, the meal can only be equalled by the -luxury of reposing on a soft couch of fresh, fragrant hay. - -On the threshold as we depart, stand the pretty _Budejer_ (dairy -maids), in the neat costume of the people in the Guldbrandsdal valley, -nodding a tender farewell to us, and wishing us a hearty “_Lykke paa -Reisen_.” Yes, there they stand, following us with their gaze as we -proceed along the steep mountain path, till we disappear from view in -the rocky glen. I said “path.” Well, that is the name assigned to it, -but never did I imagine the existence of such a riding “ladder,” and -it may well be necessary to have the peculiar race of mountain horses -found here, for a rider to get safely to his journey’s end. - -Now the road lies through rapid mountain streams, where the roaring -waterfall may in an instant sweep man and beast into a yawning -abyss below, and now across a precipice, where the lake divides the -mountains, and death lurks a yard to your left. Again across the -steepest slopes, where Nature appears to have amused herself by tossing -masses of jagged, tottering rocks in heaps, and where no ordinary -horse’s hoof would find a safe hold. But if you only watch these brave -and sagacious little animals, how carefully they consider the slightest -movement and measure the smallest step, they will inspire you with the -greatest confidence, and you will continue your journey on their back -without the slightest fear, along the wildest path, on the edge of -the most awe-inspiring abyss. And should one of these excellent cobs -stumble, which happened once or twice during our ride, it is only on -comparatively safe ground, where probably the horse does not consider -much attention is required. - -We now climb still higher; gradually the sound of cow bells and the -soft melodies from the _Lur_, (the Norse alpenhorn,) are wafted into -space, and in return, a sharp chilly gust of wind, called _Fjeldsno_, -sweeps along the valley slopes, carrying with it the last souvenir of -society and civilization. We have long ago left the populated districts -behind, the mountain Nature stands before us, and surrounds us in -all its imposing grandeur. The roar of the mighty Bæver river is the -only sound which breaks the impressive silence, and even this becomes -fainter and fainter as we mount higher and higher, and the mass of -water decreases and the fall becomes steeper and steeper, till at last -the big river is reduced to a little noisy, foaming brook, skipping -from rock to rock, and plunging from one ledge to another, twisting its -silvery thread into the most fantastic shapes. - -The morning had dawned rather dull, which in these altitudes means that -we had been enveloped in a thick damp mist; but the gusts from the -snow-fields soon chase the heavy clouds away, and seem to sweep them -into a heap round the crests of the lofty mountains. At last a streak -of blue appears overhead, and through the rent clouds a faint sunbeam -shoots across the high plateau, one stronger and more intense follows, -a second and third. It’s clearing! - -Oh, what a magnificent spectacle! Never will it fade from my -recollection; indelibly it stands stamped on my mind. Before us lies -a grand glacier, the Smörstabsbræen, from whose icy lap our old -acquaintance the Bæver river starts on his laborious journey to the -Western Ocean. The bright rays of the noonday sun are playing on the -burnished surface of the glacier, which now flashes like a _rivière_ -of the choicest diamonds, now glitters clear and transparent as -crystal, and now gleams in green and blue like a mass of emeralds and -sapphires, the rapid transformation of tint being ten times multiplied -by the play of the shadow of the clouds fleeting across the azure -heavens. And above the glacier there towers a gigantic mountain with -the weird name of “_Fanarauken_” (The Devil’s Smoke), which may be -considered as the solitary vedette of the body of peaks which under -the name of Horungtinderne forms the loftiest part of the Jotun or -Sogne Mountains. Some of the slopes of the peaks seem covered with -white snow, while others stand out in bold relief, jet black in color: -somewhat awe-inspiring, with the cold, pale-green background which -the sky assumes in the regions of eternal snow. The crests of the -Horungtinderne, some six to eight thousand feet above the sea, are -steep and jagged, and around them the snow-clouds have settled, and -when the wind attempts to tear them away they twirl upwards, resembling -smoking volcanoes, which further enhances the strangeness of the scene. - -To our right there are some immense snow-fields, still we are told that -there is very little snow in the mountains this year! - -Long ago we left the last dwarf birch (_Betula nana_), six feet in -height, behind us, and are now approaching the border of eternal snow. -We reach it, spring from our horses, and are soon engaged in throwing -snowballs at each other. - -It is the 15th of August, but the air is icy cold; it is more like one -of those clear, cool spring mornings, so familiar to the Northerner, -when rude Boreas is abroad, but far more invigorating and entirely -free from that unpleasant, raw touch which fosters colds and worse -illnesses. Here disease is unknown, one feels as if drinking the elixir -of life in every breath, and, whilst the eye can roam freely over the -immense plateau, the lungs are free to inhale the pure mountain air -untainted. - -One is at once gay and solemn. Thought and vision soar over the immense -fields and expand with the extended view, and this consciousness is -doubly emphasised by the sense of depression we have just experienced -under the overhanging mountains in the narrow Sæter’s valley. One -feels as if away from the world one is wont to move in, as if parted -from life on earth and brought suddenly face to face with the Almighty -Creator of Nature. One is compelled to acknowledge one’s own lowliness -and impotence. A snow-cloud, and one is buried for ever; a fog, and the -only slender thread which guides the wanderer to the distant abode of -man is lost. - -Never before had I experienced such a sensation, not even during a -terrific storm in the Atlantic Ocean, or on beholding the desert of -Sahara from the pyramid of Cheops. In the latter case, I am in the -vicinity of a populated district and an extensive town, and need only -turn round to see Cairo’s minarets and citadel in the distance; and -again at sea, the ship is a support to the eye, and I am surrounded -by many people, who all participate in the very work which engages -myself; I seem to a certain extent to carry my home with me. Whilst -here, on the other hand, I am, as it were, torn away from everything -dear to me—a speck of dust on the enormous snowdrift—and I feel my own -impotence more keenly as the Nature facing me becomes grander and more -gigantic, and whose forces may from inaction in an instant be called -into play, bringing destruction on the fatigued wanderer. But we did -not encounter them, and it is indeed an exception that any danger is -incurred. With provisions for a couple of days, sure and resolute -guides, enduring horses, and particularly bold courage and good temper, -all will go well. As regards good temper, this is a gift of welcome and -gratitude: presents from the mountains to the rare traveller who finds -his way up here. - -Our little caravan, a most appropriate designation, has certainly -something very picturesque about it, whether looking at the travellers -in their rough cloaks, slouched hats and top boots, or our little -long-haired cobs with their strong sinewy limbs and close-cropped -manes, or the ponies carrying our traps in a _Klöf_ saddle. - -These sagacious and enduring _Klöf_ horses are certainly worth -attention. - -I cannot understand how they support the heavy and bulky packages they -carry, covering nearly the entire body, and still less how they are -able to spring, thus encumbered, so nimbly from one ledge to another -and so adroitly to descend the steep, slippery mountain slopes, or so -fearlessly wade through the small but deep pools—_Tjærn_—which we so -often encounter on our road. The most surprising thing is that our -_Klöf_ horses always prefer to be in the van, yes, even forcing their -way to the front, where the path is narrowest, and the abyss at its -side most appalling, and when they gain the desired position they seem -to lead the entire party. What guides them in their turn? Simply the -instinct with which Nature has endowed them. - -Life in the mountains, and the daily intimate acquaintance with the -giant forces of Nature, seem to create something corresponding in the -character of the simple dwellers among the high valleys of Norway. -As a type I may mention an old reindeer-hunter, whom we met in the -mountains. Seventy winters had snown on his venerable locks, serving -only however to ornament his proudly-borne head. Leaning on his rough -but unerring rifle, motionless as a statue, he appears before us on a -hill at some distance. Silent and solemn is his greeting as we pass, -and we see him still yonder, motionless as the rocks, which soon hide -him from our view. Thus he has to spend many a weary hour, even days, -in order to earn his scanty living. To me it seemed a hard lot, but -he is content—he knows no better, the world has not tempted _him_ to -discontent. - -Not far from the highest point on our road lies a small stone hut, -tumbledown, solitary, uninviting, but nevertheless a blessed refuge -to the traveller who has been caught in rough weather, and I should -say that the finest hotel in Europe is scarcely entered with such -feelings of grateful contentment as this wretched _Fjeldstue_ is taken -possession of by the fatigued, frozen, or strayed traveller. - -We were, however, lucky enough not to be in want of the refuge, as the -weather became more and more lovely and the air more transparent as we -ascended. - -About half-way across the mountains we discovered, after some search, -the horses which had been ordered to meet us here from the other side -in Bergen’s Stift; and to order fresh animals to meet one half-way -when crossing is certainly a wise plan, which I should recommend to -every one, though I must honestly add that our horses did not appear -the least exhausted in spite of their four hours’ trot yesterday and -six to-day, continually ascending. In the open air we prepared and did -ample justice to a simple fare, and no meal ever tasted better. And -meanwhile we let our horses roam about and gather what moss they could -in the mountain clefts. - -After a rest of about two hours we again mount and resume our journey -with renewed strength. It is still five hours’ journey to our -destination on the coast. - -We did not think that, after what we had already seen, a fresh grand -view, even surpassing the former, would be revealed to our gaze; but we -were mistaken. - -Anything more grand, more impressive than the view from the last -eminence, the Ocsar’s Houg, before we begin to descend, it is -impossible to imagine! Before us loom the three Skagastölstinder, -almost the loftiest peaks in the Scandinavian peninsula. More than -seven thousand feet they raise their crests above the level of the -sea, and they stand yonder as clearly defined as if within rifle-shot, -whilst they are at least half a day’s journey distant. To their base -no human being has ever penetrated, their top has never been trodden by -man. - -And they certainly appear terribly steep; snow cannot gather on their -slopes, but only festoons the rocks here and there, or hides in the -crevices, where the all-dispersing wind has lost its force. The -mountain has a cold steel-gray color, and around the pointed cones -snow-clouds move erratically, sometimes gathering in a most fantastic -manner in a mass and again suddenly disappearing, as though chased by -some invisible power. - -And around us the dark jagged peaks of the Horungtinder, alternating -with dazzling snow-fields, which increase in extent to the north, thus -bespeaking their close proximity to the famous glacier of Justedalen. - -Does this complete my picture? No; our glance has only swept the -sun-bathed heights above, but now it is lowered, sinking with terror -into yawning abysses, and lost in a gloomy depth, without outlines, -without limit! A waterfall rushes wildly forward, downwards—whither? We -see it not; we do not know; we can only imagine that it plunges into -some appalling chasm below. In very favorable weather it is said to be -possible to see the Ocean—the bottom of the abyss—quite plainly from -this eminence; we could, however, only distinguish its faint outlines, -as the sun shone right in our eyes. We saw, half “by faith” however, -the innermost creek of the Lysterfjord. But remember this creek was -rather below than before us! - -“Surely it is not intended to descend into this abyss on horseback?” I -ask with some apprehension. “Yes, it is,” responds my venerable guide -with that inimitable, confidence-creating calmness which distinguishes -the Norwegian. I involuntarily think compassionately of my neck. -Perhaps the mountaineer observed my momentary surprise, as this race is -gifted with remarkable keenness; perhaps not. However, I felt a slight -flush on my face, and that decided me, _coûte que coûte_, never to -dismount, however tempted. And of course I did not. - -We had, in fact, no choice. We were bound to proceed by this road and -no other, unless we desired to return all the way to Guldbrandsdalen, -miss all our nicely-arranged trips around the Sogne and Nœrö fjords, -and disappoint the steamer waiting for us with our carriage and traps. -And above all, what an ignominious retreat! No; such a thought did not -for a moment enter our head. Therefore come what may, forward! - -On a balmy evening, as the rays of the setting sun tint the landscape, -we find ourselves on the seashore, safe and sound. - -But to attempt a description of the adventurous break-neck, giddy -descent, I must decline. I can scarcely review it in my mind at this -moment, when I attempt to gather the scattered fragments of this -remarkable ride, the most extraordinary I ever performed. But one word -I will add: one must not be afraid or subject to giddiness, else the -Sogne Mountains had better be left out of the programme. Only have -confidence in the mountain horse, and all will go well. - -Well, had I even arrived as far as this in my journey, I would unfold -to you a very different canvas, with warmer colors and a softer touch. -I would, in the fertile valley of Fortun, at 62° latitude N., conjure -up to your astonished gaze entire groves of wild cherry-trees laden -with ripe fruit; I would show you corn, weighty and yellow three months -after being sown, in close rich rows, or undulating oats ready for the -sickle, covering extensive fields. I would lead you to the shore of the -majestic fjord, and let you behold the towering mountains reflected -sharp and clear in its depth, as though another landscape lay beneath -the waves; and I would guide your glance upwards, towards the little -farms nestling up there on the slope, a couple of thousand feet above -your head, and which are only accessible from the valley by a rocky -ladder. Yes, this and more too I would show you, but remember we stand -at this moment on the crest of the mountain, and a yawning gap still -divides us from the Canaan which is our journey’s end. - -I have therefore no choice but to lay down my pen, and I do so with -a call on you, my reader, to undertake this journey and experience -for yourself its indescribable impressions; and if you do, I feel -confident you will not find my description exaggerated. - -Ride only once down the precipice between Optun and Lysterfjord, and -you will find, I think, that the descent cannot be accurately described -in words; but believe me, the memory thereof will never fade from your -mind, neither will you repent the toil. - -A summer’s day in the Sogne Mountains of old Norway will, as well for -you as for me, create rich and charming recollections—recollections -retained through one’s whole life.—_Temple Bar._ - -FOOTNOTES: - -[4] See Virgil, _Ecl._ viii. - -[5] Napier’s _Scotch Folk-lore_, p. 95. - -[6] _The Folk-lore of the Northern Counties and the Border_, by W. -Henderson, pp. 106, 114. Ed. 1879. - -[7] Napier, p. 89. - -[8] _Ibid._ p. 130. - -[9] Henderson, _Border Folk-lore_, p. 35. - -[10] Henderson, _Border Folk-lore_, p. 35. - -[11] _Ibid._ p. 35. - -[12] _Miscellanies_, p. 131. Ed. 1857. - -[13] Brand’s _Pop. Antiqs._ i. p. 21. - -[14] _Border Folk-lore_, pp. 114, 172, 207. - -[15] Kelly’s _Indo-European Folk-lore_, p. 132. - -[16] Brand, vol. i. p. 210. - -[17] Kelly, p. 301. - -[18] Brand, i. 292. - -[19] Henderson, p. 116. - -[20] Lowell has written a good sonnet on this belief. See his Poems. - -[21] Cockayne’s _Saxon Leechdoms_, &c. (Rolls series), vol. ii. p. 343. - -[22] _Anatomy of Melancholy_, Part III. section 2. - -[23] This church was originally the temple of Pythian Apollo, and -stands much as it originally did. - -[24] The peasants believe still that the Madonna opens gates, out of -which her son issues on his daily course round the world—an obvious -confusion between Christianity and the old Sun-worship. - -[25] _George Eliot’s Life._ By J. W. Cross. Three volumes. Blackwood -and Sons. 1885. - - - - -THE QUANDONG’S SECRET. - -“Steward,” exclaimed the chief-officer of the American barque -_Decatur_, lying just then in Table Bay, into which she had put on her -long voyage to Australia, for the purpose of obtaining water and fresh -provisions—“the skipper’s sent word off that there’s two passengers -coming on board for Melbourne; so look spry and get those after-berths -ready, or I guess the ‘old man’ ’ll straighten you up when he does come -along.” - -Soon afterwards, the “old man” and his passengers put in an appearance -in the barque’s cutter; the anchor, short since sunrise, was hove up to -the catheads, topsails sheeted home, and, dipping the “stars and bars” -to the surrounding shipping, the _Decatur_ again, after her brief rest, -set forth on her ocean travel. - -John Leslie and Francis Drury had been perfect strangers to each other -all their lives long till within the last few hours; and now, with -the frank confidence begotten of youth and health, each knew more of -the other, his failures and successes, than perhaps, under ordinary -circumstances, he would have learned in a twelvemonth. Both were -comparatively young men; Drury, Australian born, a native of Victoria, -and one of those roving spirits one meets with sometimes, who seem -to have, and care to have, no permanent place on earth’s surface, -the _wandergeist_ having entered into their very souls, and taken -full possession thereof. The kind of man whom we are not surprised at -hearing of, to-day, upon the banks of the Fly River; in a few months -more in the interior of Tibet; again on the track of Stanley, or with -Gordon in Khartoum. - -So it had been with Francis Drury, ever seeking after fortune in the -wild places of the world; in quest, so often in vain, of a phantasmal -Eldorado—lured on, ever on, by visions of what the unknown contained. -Ghauts wild and rocky had re-echoed the report of his rifle; his -footsteps had fallen lightly on the pavements of the ruined cities of -Montezuma, sombre and stately as the primeval forest which hid them; -and his skiff had cleft the bright Southern rivers that Waterton -loved so well to explore, but gone farther than ever the naturalist, -adventurous and daring as he too was, had ever been. At length, as -he laughingly told his friend, fortune had, on the diamond fields of -Klipdrift, smiled upon him, with a measured smile, ‘twas true, but -still a smile; and now, after an absence of some years, he had taken -the opportune chance of a passage in the _Decatur_, and was off home to -see his mother and sister, from whom he had not heard for nearly two -years. - -Leslie was rather a contrast to the other, being as quiet and -thoughtful as Drury was full of life and spirits, and had been trying -his hand at sheep-farming in Cape Colony, but with rather scanty -results; in fact, having sunk most of his original capital, he was now -taking with him to Australia very little but his African experience. - -A strong friendship between these two was the result of but a few days’ -intimacy, during which time, however, as they were the only passengers, -they naturally saw a great deal of each other; so it came to pass that -Leslie heard all about his friend’s sister, golden-haired Margaret -Drury; and often, as in the middle watches he paced the deck alone, he -conjured up visions to himself, smiling the while, of what this girl, -of whom her brother spoke so lovingly and proudly, and in whom he had -such steadfast faith as a woman amongst women, could be like. - -The _Decatur_ was now, with a strong westerly wind behind her, fast -approaching the latitude of that miserable mid-oceanic rock known as -the Island of St. Paul, when suddenly a serious mishap occurred. The -ship was “running heavy” under her fore and main topsails and a fore -topmast staysail, the breeze having increased to a stiff gale, which -had brought up a very heavy sea; when somehow—for these things, even -at a Board of Trade inquiry, seldom do get clearly explained—one of -the two men at the wheel, or both of them perhaps, let the vessel -“broach-to,” paying the penalty of their carelessness by taking their -departure from her for ever, in company with binnacle, skylights, -hencoops, &c., and a huge wave which swept the _Decatur_ fore and aft, -from her taffrail to the heel of her bowsprit, washing at the same time -poor Francis Drury, who happened to be standing under the break of -the poop, up and down amongst loose spars, underneath the iron-bound -windlass, dashing him pitilessly against wood and iron, here, there, -and everywhere, like a broken reed; till when at last, dragged by -Leslie out of the rolling, seething water on the maindeck, the roving, -eager spirit seemed at last to have found rest; and his friend, as -he smoothed the long fair hair from off the blood-stained forehead, -mourned for him as for a younger brother. - -The unfortunate man was speedily ascertained to be nothing but a mass -of fractures and terrible bruises, such as no human frame under any -circumstances could have survived; and well the sufferer knew it; -for in a brief interval of consciousness, in a moment’s respite from -awful agony, he managed to draw something from around his neck, which -handing to his friend in the semi-darkness of the little cabin, whilst -above them the gale roared, and shrieked, officers and men shouted -and swore, and the timbers of the old _Decatur_ groaned and creaked -like sentient things—he whispered, so low that the other had to bend -down close to the poor disfigured face to hear it, “For Mother and -Maggie; I was going to tell you about—it, and—Good-bye!” and then with -one convulsive shudder, and with the dark-blue eyes still gazing -imploringly up into those of his friend, his spirit took its flight. - - * * * * * - -The gale has abated, the courses are clewed up, topsails thrown aback, -and the starry flag flies half-mast high, as they “commit his body to -the deep, to be turned into corruption; looking for the resurrection -of the body, when the sea shall give up her dead.” A sudden, shooting -plunge into the sparkling water, and Francis Drury’s place on earth -will know him no more. Gone is the gallant spirit, stilled the eager -heart for ever, and Leslie’s tears fall thick and heavy—no one there -deeming them shame to his manhood—as the bellying canvas urges the ship -swiftly onward on her course. - - * * * * * - -Only a Quandong stone, of rather unusual size, covered with little -silver knobs or studs, and to one end of which was attached a stout -silver chain. Leslie, as he turned it over and over in his hand, -thinking sadly enough of its late owner, wondering much what he had -been about to communicate when Death so relentlessly stepped in. The -value of the thing as an ornament was but a trifle, and, try as he -might, Leslie could find no indication that there was aught but met -the eye: a simple Australian wild-peach stone converted into a trifle, -rather ugly than otherwise, as is the case with so many so-called -_curios_. Still, as his friend’s last thought and charge, it was sacred -in his sight; and putting it carefully away, he determined on landing -at Melbourne, now so near, to make it his first care to find out -Drury’s mother and his sister. - - * * * * * - -“Drury, Drury! Let me see! Yes of course. Mother and daughter brother -too sometimes; rather a wild young fellow; always ‘on the go’ some -where or other, you know. Yes; they used to live here; but they’ve been -gone this long time; and where to, no more than I can tell you; or I -think anybody else about here either.” - -So spake the present tenant of “Acacia Cottage, St. Kilda.” in response -to Leslie’s inquiries at the address, to obtain which he had overhauled -the effecs of the dead man, finding it at the commencement of a -two-year-old letter from his mother, directed to “Algoa Bay;” finding, -besides, some receipts of diamonds sold at Cape Town, and a letter -of credit on a Melbourne bank for five hundred pounds; probably, so -Leslie thought to himself, that “measured smile” of which the poor -fellow had laughingly spoken to him in the earlier days of their brief -companionship. - -The above was the sum-total of the information he could ever—after -many persistent efforts, including a fruitless trip to Hobart—obtain -of the family or their whereabouts; so, depositing the five hundred -pounds at one of the principal banking institutions, and inserting an -advertisement in the _Age_ and _Argus_, Leslie having but little spare -cash, and his own fortune lying still in deepest shadow, reluctantly, -for a time at least, as he promised himself, abandoned the quest. - - * * * * * - -Kaloola was one of the prettiest pastoral homesteads in the -north-western districts of Victoria; and its owner, as one evening he -sat in the broad veranda, and saw on every side, far as the eye could -reach, land and stock all calling him master, felt that the years that -had passed since the old _Decatur_ dropped her anchor in Port Phillip -had not passed away altogether in vain; and although ominous wrinkles -began to appear about the corners of John Leslie’s eyes, and gray hairs -about his temples, the man’s heart was fresh and unseared as when, on -a certain day twelve long years ago, he had shed bitter tears over the -ocean grave of his friend. Vainly throughout these latter years had he -endeavored to find some traces of the Drurys. The deposit in the Bank -of Australasia had remained untouched, and had by now swollen to a very -respectable sum indeed. Advertisements in nearly every metropolitan -and provincial newspaper were equally without result; even “private -inquiry” agents, employed at no small cost, confessed themselves at -fault. Many a hard fight with fortune had John Leslie encountered -before he achieved success; but through it all, good times and bad, -he had never forgotten the dying bequest left to him on that dark and -stormy morning in the Southern Ocean; and now, as rising and going -to his desk he took out the Quandong stone, and turning it over and -over, as though trying once again to finish those last dying words left -unfinished so many years ago, his thoughts fled back along memory’s -unforgotten vale, and a strong presentiment seemed to impel him not to -leave the trinket behind, for the successful squatter was on the eve -of a trip to “the Old Country,” and this was his last day at Kaloola; -so, detaching the stone from its chain, he screwed it securely to his -watch-guard, and in a few hours more had bidden adieu to Kaloola for -some time to come. - - * * * * * - -It was evening on the Marine Parade at Brighton, and a crowd of -fashionably dressed people were walking up and down, or sitting -listening to the music of the band. Amongst these latter was our -old friend John Leslie, who had been in England some three or four -months, and who now seemed absorbed in the sweet strains of Ulrich’s -_Goodnight, my Love_, with which the musicians were closing their -evening’s selection; but in reality his thoughts were far away across -the ocean, in the land of his adoption; and few dreamed that the -sun-browned, long-bearded, middle-aged gentleman, clothed more in -accordance with ideas of comfort than of fashion, and who sat there so -quietly every evening, could, had it so pleased him, have bought up -half the gay loungers who passed and repassed him with many a quizzical -glance at the loose attire, in such striking contrast to the British -fashion of the day. - -Truth to tell, Leslie was beginning to long for the far-spreading -plains of his Australian home once more; his was a quiet, thoughtful -nature, unfitted for the gay scenes in which he had lately found -himself a passive actor, and he was—save for one sister, married years -ago, and now with her husband in Bermuda—alone in the world; and he -thinks rather sadly, perhaps, as he walks slowly back through the crowd -of fashionables to the _Imperial_, where he is staying: “And alone most -likely to the end.” - -He had not been in his room many minutes before there came a knock -at the door; and, scarcely waiting for answer, in darted a very -red-faced, very stout, and apparently very flurried old gentleman, -who, setting his gold eyeglasses firmly on his nose, at once began: -“Er—ah, Mr. Leslie, I believe? Got your number from the porter, you -see—great rascal, by the way, that porter; always looks as if he wanted -something, you know—then the visitors’ book, and so. Yes; it’s all -right so far. There’s the thing now!”—glancing at the old Quandong -stone which still hung at Leslie’s watch-chain. “I”—he went on—”that -is, my name is Raby, Colonel Raby, and—— Dear me, yes; must apologise, -ought to have done that at first, for intrusion, and all that kind -of thing; but really, you see”—— And here the old gentleman paused, -fairly for want of breath, his purple cheeks expanding and contracting, -whilst, instead of words, he emitted a series of little puffs; and -John, whilst asking him to take a seat, entertained rather strong -doubts of his visitor’s sanity. - -“Now,” said he at length, when he perceived signs that the colonel was -about to recommence, “kindly let me know in what way I can be of use to -you.” - -“Bother take the women!” ejaculated the visitor, as he recovered his -breath again. “But you see, Mr. Leslie, it was all through my niece. -She caught sight of that thing—funny-looking thing, too—on your chain -whilst we were on the Parade this evening, and nearly fainted away—she -did, sir, I do assure you, in Mrs. Raby’s arms, too, sir; and if I had -not got a cup of water from the drinking fountain, and poured it over -her head, there would most likely have been a bit of a scene, sir, and -then—— We are staying in this house, you know. - -We saw you come in just behind us; and so—of course it’s all nonsense, -but the fact is”—— - -“Excuse me,” interrupted Leslie, who was growing impatient; “but may I -ask the name of the lady—your niece, I mean?” - -“My niece, sir,” replied the colonel, rather ruffled at being cut -short, “is known as Miss Margaret Drury; and if you will only have the -kindness to convince her as to the utter absurdity of an idea which she -somehow entertains that that affair, charm, trinket, or whatever you -may call it, once belonged to a brother of hers, I shall be extremely -obliged to you, for really”—relapsing again—“when the women once get -hold of a fad of the kind, a man’s peace is clean gone, sir, I do -assure you.” - -“I am not quite sure,” remarked Leslie, smiling, “that in this case at -least it will not turn out to be a ‘fad.’ How I became possessed of -this stone, which I have every reason to believe once belonged to her -brother, and which, through long years, I have held in trust for her -and her mother, is quite capable of explanation, sad though the story -may be. So, sir, I shall be very pleased to wait on Miss Drury as soon -as may be convenient to her.” - - * * * * * - -A tall, dark-robed figure, beyond the first bloom of maidenhood, but -still passing fair to look upon, rose on Leslie’s entrance; and he -recognised at a glance the long golden hair, and calm eyes of deepest -blue, of poor Drury’s oft-repeated description. - -Many a sob escaped his auditor as he feelingly related his sad story. - -“Poor Francie,” she said at last—“poor, dear Francie! And this is -the old Quandong locket I gave him as a parting gift, when he left -for those terrible diamond fields! A lock of my hair was in it. But -how strange it seems that through all these years you have never -discovered the secret of opening it. See!” and with a push on one of -the stud-heads and a twist on another, a short, stout silver pin drew -out, and one half of the nut slipped off, disclosing to the astonished -gaze of the pair, nestling in a thick lock of golden threads finer than -the finest silk, a beautiful diamond, uncut, but still, even to the -unpractised eyes of Leslie, of great value. - -This, then, was the secret of the Quandong stone, kept so faithfully -for so long a time. This was what that dying friend and brother had -tried, but tried in vain, with his last breath to disclose. - - * * * * * - -It was little wonder that Leslie’s inquiries and advertisements had -been ineffectual, for about the time Drury had received his last letter -from home, the bank in which was the widow’s modest capital failed, -and mother and daughter were suddenly plunged into poverty dire and -complete. In this strait they wrote to Colonel Raby, Mrs. Drury’s -brother, who, to do him justice, behaved nobly, bringing them from -Australia to England, and accepting them as part and parcel of his -home without the slightest delay. Mrs. Drury had now been dead some -years; and though letter after letter had been addressed to Francis -Drury at the Cape, they had invariably returned with the discouraging -indorsement, “Not to be found,” The Rabys, it seemed, save for a brief -interval yearly, lived a very retired kind of life on the Yorkshire -wolds; still, Margaret Drury had caused many and persistent inquiries -to be made as to the fate of her brother, but, till that eventful -evening on the Marine Parade, without being able to obtain the -slightest clue. - -As perhaps the reader has already divined, John Leslie was, after all, -not fated to go through life’s pilgrimage alone. In fair Margaret Drury -he found a loving companion and devoted wife; and as, through the years -of good and evil hap, - - The red light fell about their knees, - On heads that rose by slow degrees, - Like buds upon the lily spire, - -so did John Leslie more nearly realise what a rare prize he had won. - -At beautiful Kaloola, Mr. and Mrs. Leslie still live happily, and the -old Quandong stone, with its occupant still undisturbed, is treasured -amongst their most precious relics.—_Chambers’s Journal._ - - - - -DE BANANA. - - -The title which heads this paper is intended to be Latin, and is -modelled on the precedent of the De Amicitia, De Senectute, De Corona, -and other time-honored plagues of our innocent boyhood. It is meant -to give dignity and authority to the subject with which it deals, -as well as to rouse curiosity in the ingenuous breast of the candid -reader, who may perhaps mistake it, at first sight, for negro-English, -or for the name of a distinguished Norman family. In anticipation -of the possible objection that the word “Banana” is not strictly -classical, I would humbly urge the precept and example of my old friend -Horace—enemy I once thought him—who expresses his approbation of those -happy innovations whereby Latium was gradually enriched with a copious -vocabulary. I maintain that if Banana, bananæ, &c., is not already a -Latin noun of the first declension, why then it ought to be, and it -shall be in future. Linnæus indeed thought otherwise. He too assigned -the plant and fruit to the first declension, but handed it over to -none other than our earliest acquaintance in the Latin language, -Musa. He called the banana _Musa sapientum_. What connection he could -possibly perceive between that woolly fruit and the daughters of the -ægis-bearing Zeus, or why he should consider it a proof of wisdom to -eat a particularly indigestible and nightmare-begetting food-stuff, -passes my humble comprehension. The muses, so far as I have personally -noticed their habits, always greatly prefer the grape to the banana, -and wise men shun the one at least as sedulously as they avoid the -other. - -Let it not for a moment be supposed, however, that I wish to treat -the useful and ornamental banana with intentional disrespect. On the -contrary, I cherish for it—at a distance—feelings of the highest -esteem and admiration. We are so parochial in our views, taking us -as a species, that I dare say very few English people really know -how immensely useful a plant is the common banana. To most of us -it envisages itself merely as a curious tropical fruit, largely -imported at Covent Garden, and a capital thing to stick on one of the -tall dessert-dishes when you give a dinner-party, because it looks -delightfully foreign, and just serves to balance the pine-apple at -the opposite end of the hospitable mahogany. Perhaps such innocent -readers will be surprised to learn that bananas and plantains supply -the principal food-stuff of a far larger fraction of the human race -than that which is supported by wheaten bread. They form the veritable -staff of life to the inhabitants of both eastern and western tropics. -What the potato is to the degenerate descendant of Celtic kings; what -the oat is to the kilted Highlandman; what rice is to the Bengalee, -and Indian corn to the American negro, that is the muse of sages (I -translate literally from the immortal Swede) to African savages and -Brazilian slaves. Humboldt calculated that an acre of bananas would -supply a greater quantity of solid food to hungry humanity than could -possibly be extracted from the same extent of cultivated ground by any -other known plant. So you see the question is no small one: to sing the -praise of this Linnæan muse is a task well worthy of the Pierian muses. - -Do you know the outer look and aspect of the banana plant? If not, -then you have never voyaged to those delusive tropics. Tropical -vegetation, as ordinarily understood by poets and painters, consists -entirely of the coco-nut palm and the banana bush. Do you wish to -paint a beautiful picture of a rich ambrosial tropical island _à -la_ Tennyson—a summer-isle of Eden lying in dark purple spheres of -sea?—then you introduce a group of coco-nuts, whispering in odorous -heights of even, in the very foreground of your pretty sketch, just to -let your public understand at a glance that these are the delicious -poetical tropics. Do you desire to create an ideal paradise, _à la_ -Bernardin de St. Pierre, where idyllic Virginies die of pure modesty -rather than appear before the eyes of their beloved but unwedded Pauls -in a lace-bedraped _peignoir_?—then you strike the keynote by sticking -in the middle distance a hut or cottage, overshadowed by the broad -and graceful foliage of the picturesque banana. (“Hut” is a poor and -chilly word for these glowing descriptions, far inferior to the pretty -and high-sounding original _chaumière_.) That is how we do the tropics -when we want to work upon the emotions of the reader. But it is all -a delicate theatrical illusion; a trick of art meant to deceive and -impose upon the unwary who have never been there, and would like to -think it all genuine. In reality, nine times out of ten, you might cast -your eyes casually around you in any tropical valley, and if there -didn’t happen to be a native cottage with a coco-nut grove and a banana -patch anywhere in the neighborhood, you would see nothing in the way of -vegetation which you mightn’t see at home any day in Europe. But what -painter would ever venture to paint the tropics without the palm trees? -He might just as well try to paint the desert without the camels, or to -represent St. Sebastian without a sheaf of arrows sticking unperceived -in the calm centre of his unruffled bosom, to mark and emphasise his -Sebastianic personality. - -Still, I will frankly admit that the banana itself, with its -practically almost identical relation, the plantain, is a real bit of -tropical foliage. I confess to a settled prejudice against the tropics -generally, but I allow the sunsets, the coco-nuts, and the bananas. -The true stem creeps underground, and sends up each year an upright -branch, thickly covered with majestic broad green leaves, somewhat -like those of the canna cultivated in our gardens as “Indian shot,” -but far larger, nobler, and handsomer. They sometimes measure from -six to ten feet in length, and their thick midrib and strongly marked -diverging veins give them a very lordly and graceful appearance. But -they are apt in practice to suffer much from the fury of the tropical -storms. The wind rips the leaves up between the veins as far as the -midrib in tangled tatters; so that after a good hurricane they look -more like coco-nut palm leaves than like single broad masses of -foliage as they ought properly to do. This, of course, is the effect -of a gentle and balmy hurricane—a mere capful of wind that tears and -tatters them. After a really bad storm (one of the sort when you -tie ropes round your wooden house to prevent its falling bodily to -pieces, I mean) the bananas are all actually blown down, and the crop -for that season utterly destroyed. The apparent stem, being merely -composed of the overlapping and sheathing leaf-stalks, has naturally -very little stability; and the soft succulent trunk accordingly gives -way forthwith at the slightest onslaught. This liability to be blown -down in high winds forms the weak point of the plantain, viewed as -a food-stuff crop. In the South Sea Islands, where there is little -shelter, the poor Fijian, in cannibal days, often lost his one means of -subsistence from this cause, and was compelled to satisfy the pangs of -hunger on the plump persons of his immediate relatives. But since the -introduction of Christianity, and of a dwarf stout wind-proof variety -of banana, his condition in this respect, I am glad to say, has been -greatly ameliorated. - -By descent, the banana bush is a developed tropical lily, not at all -remotely allied to the common iris, only that its flowers and fruit are -clustered together on a hanging spike, instead of growing solitary and -separate as in the true irises. The blossoms, which, though pretty, -are comparatively inconspicuous for the size of the plant, show the -extraordinary persistence of the lily type; for almost all the vast -number of species, more or less directly descended from the primitive -lily, continue to the very end of the chapter to have six petals, six -stamens, and three rows of seeds in their fruits or capsules. But -practical man, with his eye always steadily fixed on the one important -quality of edibility—the sum and substance to most people of all -botanical research—has confined his attention almost entirely to the -fruit of the banana. In all essentials (other than the systematically -unimportant one just alluded to) the banana fruit in its original state -exactly resembles the capsule of the iris—that pretty pod that divides -in three when ripe, and shows the delicate orange-coated seeds lying in -triple rows within—only, in the banana, the fruit does not open; in the -sweet language of technical botany, it is an indehiscent capsule; and -the seeds, instead of standing separate and distinct, as in the iris, -are embedded in a soft and pulpy substance which forms the edible and -practical part of the entire arrangement. - -This is the proper appearance of the original and natural banana, -before it has been taken in hand and cultivated by tropical man. -When cut across the middle, it ought to show three rows of seeds, -interspersed with pulp, and faintly preserving some dim memory of -the dividing wall which once separated them. In practice, however, -the banana differs widely from this theoretical ideal, as practice -often _will_ differ from theory; for it has been so long cultivated -and selected by man—being probably one of the very oldest, if not -actually quite the oldest, of domesticated plants—that it has all but -lost the original habit of producing seeds. This is a common effect -of cultivation on fruits, and it is of course deliberately aimed at -by horticulturists, as the seeds are generally a nuisance, regarded -from the point of view of the eater, and their absence improves the -fruit, as long as one can manage to get along somehow without them. -In the pretty little Tangierine oranges (so ingeniously corrupted by -fruiterers into mandarins), the seeds have almost been cultivated out; -in the best pine-apples, and in the small grapes known in the dried -state as currants, they have quite disappeared; while in some varieties -of pears they survive only in the form of shrivelled, barren, and -useless pippins. But the banana, more than any other plant we know of, -has managed for many centuries to do without seeds altogether. The -cultivated sort, especially in America, is quite seedless, and the -plants are propagated entirely by suckers. - -Still, you can never wholly circumvent nature. Expel her with a -pitchfork, _tamen usque recurrit_. Now nature has settled that the -right way to propagate plants is by means of seedlings. Strictly -speaking, indeed, it is the only way; the other modes of growth from -bulbs or cuttings are not really propagation, but mere reduplication -by splitting, as when you chop a worm in two, and a couple of worms -wriggle off contentedly forthwith in either direction. Just so when -you divide a plant by cuttings, suckers, slips, or runners: the two -apparent plants thus produced are in the last resort only separate -parts of the same individual—one and indivisible, like the French -Republic. Seedlings are absolutely distinct individuals; they are the -product of the pollen of one plant and the ovules of another, and they -start afresh in life with some chance of being fairly free from the -hereditary taints or personal failings of either parent. But cuttings -or suckers are only the same old plant over and over again in fresh -circumstances, transplanted as it were, but not truly renovated or -rejuvenescent. That is the real reason why our potatoes are now all -going to—well, the same place as the army has been going ever since the -earliest memories of the oldest officer in the whole service. We have -gone on growing potatoes over and over again from the tubers alone, and -hardly ever from seed, till the whole constitution of the potato kind -has become permanently enfeebled by old age and dotage. The eyes (as -farmers call them) are only buds or underground branches; and to plant -potatoes as we usually do is nothing more than to multiply the apparent -scions by fission. Odd as it may sound to say so, all the potato vines -in a whole field are often, from the strict biological point of view, -parts of a single much-divided individual. It is just as though one -were to go on cutting up a single worm, time after time, as soon as -he grew again, till at last the one original creature had multiplied -into a whole colony of apparently distinct individuals. Yet, if the -first worm happened to have the gout or the rheumatism (metaphorically -speaking), all the other worms into which his compound personality had -been divided would doubtless suffer from the same complaints throughout -the whole of their joint lifetimes. - -The banana, however, has very long resisted the inevitable tendency to -degeneration in plants thus artificially and unhealthily propagated. -Potatoes have only been in cultivation for a few hundred years; and yet -the potato constitution has become so far enfeebled by the practice of -growing from the tuber that the plants now fall an easy prey to potato -fungus, Colorado beetles, and a thousand other persistent enemies. -It is just the same with the vine—propagated too long by layers or -cuttings, its health has failed entirely, and it can no longer resist -the ravages of the phylloxera or the slow attacks of the vine-disease -fungus. But the banana, though of very ancient and positively -immemorial antiquity as a cultivated plant, seems somehow gifted with -an extraordinary power of holding its own in spite of long-continued -unnatural propagation. For thousands of years it has been grown in Asia -in the seedless condition, and yet it springs as heartily as ever -still from the underground suckers. Nevertheless, there must in the -end be some natural limit to this wonderful power of reproduction, or -rather of longevity; for, in the strictest sense, the banana bushes -that now grow in the negro gardens of Trinidad and Demerara are part -and parcel of the very same plants which grew and bore fruit a thousand -years ago in the native compounds of the Malay Archipelago. - -In fact, I think there can be but little doubt that the banana is -the very oldest product of human tillage. Man, we must remember, is -essentially by origin a tropical animal, and wild tropical fruits must -necessarily have formed his earliest food-stuffs. It was among them -of course that his first experiments in primitive agriculture would -be tried; the little insignificant seeds and berries of cold northern -regions would only very slowly be added to his limited stock in -husbandry, as circumstances pushed some few outlying colonies northward -and ever northward toward the chillier unoccupied regions. Now, of -all tropical fruits, the banana is certainly the one that best repays -cultivation. It has been calculated that the same area which will -produce thirty-three pounds of wheat or ninety-nine pounds of potatoes -will produce 4,400 pounds of plantains or bananas. The cultivation -of the various varieties in India, China, and the Malay Archipelago -dates, says De Candolle, “from an epoch impossible to realise.” Its -diffusion, as that great but very oracular authority remarks, may go -back to a period “contemporary with or even anterior to that of the -human races.” What this remarkably illogical sentence may mean I am at -a loss to comprehend; perhaps M. de Candolle supposes that the banana -was originally cultivated by pre-human gorillas; perhaps he merely -intends to say that before men began to separate they sent special -messengers on in front of them to diffuse the banana in the different -countries they were about to visit. Even legend retains some trace of -the extreme antiquity of the species as a cultivated fruit, for Adam -and Eve are said to have reclined under the shadow of its branches, -whence Linnæus gave to the sort known as the plantain the Latin name -of _Musa paradisiaca_. If a plant was cultivated in Eden by the grand -old gardener and his wife, as Lord Tennyson democratically styled them -(before his elevation to the peerage), we may fairly conclude that it -possesses a very respectable antiquity indeed. - -The wild banana is a native of the Malay region, according to De -Candolle, who has produced by far the most learned and unreadable -work on the origin of domestic plants ever yet written. (Please don’t -give me undue credit for having heroically read it through out of -pure love of science: I was one of its unfortunate reviewers.) The -wild form produces seed, and grows in Cochin China, the Philippines, -Ceylon, and Khasia. Like most other large tropical fruits, it no doubt -owes its original development to the selective action of monkeys, -hornbills, parrots, and other big fruit-eaters; and it shares with -all fruits of similar origin one curious tropical peculiarity. Most -northern berries, like the strawberry, the raspberry, the currant, and -the blackberry, developed by the selective action of small northern -birds, can be popped at once into the mouth and eaten whole; they -have no tough outer rind or defensive covering of any sort. But big -tropical fruits, which lay themselves out for the service of large -birds or monkeys, have always hard outer coats, because they could -only be injured by smaller animals, who would eat the pulp without -helping in the dispersion of the useful seeds, the one object really -held in view by the mother plant. Often, as in the case of the orange, -the rind even contains a bitter, nauseous, or pungent juice, while -at times, as in the pine-apple, the prickly pear, the sweet-sop, and -the cherimoyer, the entire fruit is covered with sharp projections, -stinging hairs, or knobby protuberances, on purpose to warn off the -unauthorised depredator. It was this line of defence that gave the -banana in the first instance its thick yellow skin; and looking at the -matter from the epicure’s point of view, one may say roughly that all -tropical fruits have to be skinned before they can be eaten. They are -all adapted for being cut up with a knife and fork, or dug out with -a spoon, on a civilised dessert-plate. As for that most delicious of -Indian fruits, the mango, it has been well said that the only proper -way to eat it is over a tub of water, with a couple of towels hanging -gracefully across the side. - -The varieties of the banana are infinite in number, and, as in most -other plants of ancient cultivation, they shade off into one another by -infinitesimal gradations. Two principal sorts, however, are commonly -recognised—the true banana of commerce, and the common plantain. The -banana proper is eaten raw, as a fruit, and is allowed accordingly to -ripen thoroughly before being picked for market; the plantain, which is -the true food-stuff of all the equatorial region in both hemispheres, -is gathered green and roasted as a vegetable, or, to use the more -expressive West Indian negro phrase, as a bread-kind. Millions of human -beings in Asia, Africa, America, and the islands of the Pacific Ocean -live almost entirely on the mild and succulent but tasteless plantain. -Some people like the fruit; to me personally it is more suggestive of -a very flavorless over-ripe pear than of anything else in heaven or -earth or the waters that are under the earth—the latter being the most -probable place to look for it, as its taste and substance are decidedly -watery. Baked dry in the green state “it resembles roasted chestnuts,” -or rather baked parsnip; pulped and boiled with water it makes “a very -agreeable sweet soup,” almost as nice as peasoup with brown sugar in -it; and cut into slices, sweetened, and fried, it forms “an excellent -substitute for fruit pudding,” having a flavor much like that of -potatoes _à la maître d’hôtel_ served up in treacle. - -Altogether a fruit to be sedulously avoided, the plantain, though -millions of our spiritually destitute African brethren haven’t yet for -a moment discovered that it isn’t every bit as good as wheaten bread -and fresh butter. Missionary enterprise will no doubt before long -enlighten them on this subject, and create a good market in time for -American flour and Manchester piece-goods. - -Though by origin a Malayan plant, there can be little doubt that the -banana had already reached the mainland of America and the West India -Islands long before the voyage of Columbus. When Pizarro disembarked -upon the coast of Peru on his desolating expedition, the mild-eyed, -melancholy, doomed Peruvians flocked down to the shore and offered him -bananas in a lordly dish. Beds composed of banana leaves have been -discovered in the tombs of the Incas, of date anterior, of course, -to the Spanish conquest. How did they get there? Well, it is clearly -an absurd mistake to suppose that Columbus discovered America; as -Artemus Ward pertinently remarked, the noble Red Indian had obviously -discovered it long before him. There had been intercourse of old, -too, between Asia and the Western Continent; the elephant-headed god -of Mexico, the debased traces of Buddhism in the Aztec religion, -the singular coincidences between India and Peru, all seem to show -that a stream of communication, however faint, once existed between -the Asiatic and American worlds. Garcilaso himself, the half-Indian -historian of Peru, says that the banana was well known in his native -country before the conquest, and that the Indians say “its origin is -Ethiopia.” In some strange way or other, then, long before Columbus -set foot upon the low sandbank of Cat’s Island, the banana had been -transported from Africa or India to the Western hemisphere. - -If it were a plant propagated by seed, one would suppose that it -was carried across by wind or waves, wafted on the feet of birds, -or accidentally introduced in the crannies of drift timber. So the -coco-nut made the tour of the world ages before either of the famous -Cooks—the Captain or the excursion agent—had rendered the same feat -easy and practicable; and so, too, a number of American plants have -fixed their home in the tarns of the Hebrides or among the lonely -bogs of Western Galway. But the banana must have been carried by man, -because it is unknown in the wild state in the Western Continent; -and, as it is practically seedless, it can only have been transported -entire, in the form of a root or sucker. An exactly similar proof of -ancient intercourse between the two worlds is afforded us by the sweet -potato, a plant of undoubted American origin, which was nevertheless -naturalised in China as early as the first centuries of the Christian -era. Now that we all know how the Scandinavians of the eleventh century -went to Massachusetts, which they called Vine-land, and how the -Mexican empire had some knowledge of Acadian astronomy, people are -beginning to discover that Columbus himself was after all an egregious -humbug. - -In the old world the cultivation of the banana and the plantain goes -back, no doubt, to a most immemorial antiquity. Our Aryan ancestor -himself, Professor Max Müller’s especial _protégé_, had already -invented several names for it, which duly survive in very classical -Sanskrit. The Greeks of Alexander’s expedition saw it in India, where -“sages reposed beneath its shade and ate of its fruit, whence the -botanical name, _Musa sapientum_.” As the sages in question were lazy -Brahmans, always celebrated for their immense capacity for doing -nothing, the report, as quoted by Pliny, is no doubt an accurate one. -But the accepted derivation of the word _Musa_ from an Arabic original -seems to me highly uncertain; for Linnæus, who first bestowed it on -the genus, called several other allied genera by such cognate names as -Urania and Heliconia. If, therefore, the father of botany knew that his -own word was originally Arabic, we cannot acquit him of the high crime -and misdemeanor of deliberate punning. Should the Royal Society get -wind of this, something serious would doubtless happen; for it is well -known that the possession of a sense of humor is absolutely fatal to -the pretensions of a man of science. - -Besides its main use as an article of food, the banana serves -incidentally to supply a valuable fibre, obtained from the stem, -and employed for weaving into textile fabrics and making paper. -Several kinds of the plantain tribe are cultivated for this purpose -exclusively, the best known among them being the so-called manilla -hemp, a plant largely grown in the Philippine Islands. Many of the -finest Indian shawls are woven from banana stems, and much of the -rope that we use in our houses comes from the same singular origin. I -know nothing more strikingly illustrative of the extreme complexity -of our modern civilisation than the way in which we thus every day -employ articles of exotic manufacture in our ordinary life without -ever for a moment suspecting or inquiring into their true nature. -What lady knows when she puts on her delicate wrapper, from Liberty’s -or from Swan and Edgar’s, that the material from which it is woven -is a Malayan plantain stalk? Who ever thinks that the glycerine for -our chapped hands comes from Travancore coco-nuts, and that the pure -butter supplied us from the farm in the country is colored yellow with -Jamaican annatto? We break a tooth, as Mr. Herbert Spencer has pointed -out, because the grape-curers of Zante are not careful enough about -excluding small stones from their stock of currants; and we suffer -from indigestion because the Cape wine-grower has doctored his light -Burgundies with Brazilian logwood and white rum, to make them taste -like Portuguese port. Take merely this very question of dessert, and -how intensely complicated it really is. The West Indian bananas keep -company with sweet St. Michaels from the Azores, and with Spanish -cobnuts from Barcelona. Dried fruits from Metz, figs from Smyrna, and -dates from Tunis lie side by side on our table with Brazil nuts and -guava jelly and damson cheese and almonds and raisins. We forget where -everything comes from nowadays, in our general consciousness that they -all come from the Queen Victoria Street Stores, and any real knowledge -of common objects is rendered every day more and more impossible by -the bewildering complexity and variety, every day increasing, of the -common objects themselves, their substitutes, adulterates, and spurious -imitations. Why, you probably never heard of manilla hemp before, -until this very minute, and yet you have been familiarly using it all -your lifetime, while 400,000 hundredweights of that useful article are -annually imported into this country alone. It is an interesting study -to take any day a list of market quotations, and ask oneself about -every material quoted, what it is and what they do with it. - -For example, can you honestly pretend that you really understand the -use and importance of that valuable object of everyday demand, fustic? -I remember an ill-used telegraph clerk in a tropical colony once -complaining to me that English cable operators were so disgracefully -ignorant about this important staple as invariably to substitute for -its name the word “justice” in all telegrams which originally referred -to it. Have you any clear and definite notions as to the prime origin -and final destination of a thing called jute, in whose sole manufacture -the whole great and flourishing town of Dundee lives and moves and -has its being? What is turmeric? Whence do we obtain vanilla? How -many commercial products are yielded by the orchids? How many totally -distinct plants in different countries afford the totally distinct -starches lumped together in grocers’ lists under the absurd name of -arrowroot? When you ask for sago do you really see that you get it? -and how many entirely different objects described as sago are known -to commerce? Define the use of partridge canes and cohune oil. What -objects are generally manufactured from tucum? Would it surprise you -to learn that English door-handles are commonly made out of coquilla -nuts? that your wife’s buttons are turned from the indurated fruit of -the Tagua palm? and that the knobs of umbrellas grew originally in the -remote depths of Guatemalan forests? Are you aware that a plant called -manioc supplies the starchy food of about one-half the population of -tropical America? These are the sort of inquiries with which a new -edition of “Mangnall’s Questions” would have to be filled; and as to -answering them—why, even the pupil-teachers in a London Board School -(who represent, I suppose, the highest attainable level of human -knowledge) would often find themselves completely nonplussed. The fact -is, tropical trade has opened out so rapidly and so wonderfully that -nobody knows much about the chief articles of tropical growth; we go -on using them in an uninquiring spirit of childlike faith, much as the -Jamaica negroes go on using articles of European manufacture about -whose origin they are so ridiculously ignorant that one young woman -once asked me whether it was really true that cotton handkerchiefs were -dug up out of the ground over in England. Some dim confusion between -coal or iron and Manchester piece-goods seemed to have taken firm -possession of her infantile imagination. - -That is why I have thought that a treatise De Banana might -not, perhaps, be wholly without its usefulness to the English -magazine-reading world. After all, a food-stuff which supports hundreds -of millions among our beloved tropical fellow-creatures ought to be -very dear to the heart of a nation which governs (and annually kills) -more black people, taken in the mass, than all the other European -powers put together. We have introduced the blessings of British -rule—the good and well-paid missionary, the Remington rifle, the -red-cotton pocket-handkerchief, and the use of “the liquor called -rum”—into so many remote corners of the tropical world that it is high -time we should begin in return to learn somewhat about fetishes and -fustic, Jamaica and jaggery, bananas and Buddhism. We know too little -still about our colonies and dependencies. “Cape Breton an island!” -cried King George’s Minister, the Duke of Newcastle, in the well-known -story, “Cape Breton an island! Why, so it is! God bless my soul! I must -go and tell the King that Cape Breton’s an island.” That was a hundred -years ago; but only the other day the Board of Trade placarded all -our towns and villages with a flaming notice to the effect that the -Colorado beetle had made its appearance at “a town in Canada called -Ontario,” and might soon be expected to arrive at Liverpool by Cunard -steamer. The right honorables and other high mightinesses who put -forth the notice in question were evidently unaware that Ontario is a -province as big as England, including in its borders Toronto, Ottawa, -Kingston, London, Hamilton, and other large and flourishing towns. -Apparently, in spite of competitive examinations, the schoolmaster is -still abroad in the Government offices.—_Cornhill Magazine._ - - - - -TURNING AIR INTO WATER. - - -It has not yet been done; but the following telegrams, received on -the 9th and 16th of April, 1883, from Cracow, by the Paris Academy of -Sciences, show that chemists have come very near doing it. “Oxygen -completely liquefied; the liquid colorless like carbonic acid.” -“Nitrogen liquefied by explosion; liquid colorless.” Thus the two -elements that make up atmospheric air have actually been liquefied, -the successful operator being a Pole, Wroblewski, who had worked in -the laboratory of the French chemist, Cailletet, learnt his processes, -copied his apparatus, and then, while Cailletet, who owns a great -iron-foundry down in Burgundy, was looking after his furnaces, went -off to Poland, and quietly finished what his master had for years -been trying after. Hence heart-burnings, of which more anon, when we -have followed the chase up to the point where Cailletet took it up. I -use this hunting metaphor, for the liquefaction of gases has been for -modern chemists a continual chase, as exciting as the search for the -philosopher’s stone was to the old alchemists. - -Less than two hundred and fifty years ago, no one knew anything about -gas of any kind. Pascal was among the first who guessed that air was -“matter” like other things, and therefore pressed on the earth’s -surface with a weight proportioned to its height. Torricelli had made -a similar guess two years before, in 1645. But Pascal proved that -these guesses were true by carrying a barometer to the top of the Puy -de Dôme near Clermont. Three years after, Otto von Guerecke invented -the air-pump, and showed at Magdeburg his grand experiment—eight -horses pulling each way, unable to detach the two hemispheres of a big -globe out of which the air had been pumped. Then Mariotte in France, -and Boyle in England, formulated the “Law,” which the French call -Mariotte’s, the English Boyle’s, that gases are compressible, and that -their bulk diminishes in proportion to the pressure. But electricity -with its wonders threw pneumatics into the background; and, till -Faraday, nothing was done in the way of verifying Boyle’s Law except -by Van Marum, a Haarlem chemist, who, happening to try whether the -Law applied to gaseous ammonia, was astonished to find that under a -pressure of six atmospheres that gas was suddenly changed into a -colorless liquid. On Van Marum’s experiment Lavoisier based his famous -generalisation that all bodies will take any of the three forms, -solid, fluid, gaseous, according to the temperature to which they are -subjected—i.e., that the densest rock is only a solidified vapor, and -the lightest gas only a vaporised solid. Nothing came of it, however, -till that wonderful bookbinder’s apprentice, Faraday, happened to read -Mrs. Marcet’s Conversations while he was stitching it for binding, -and thereby had his mind opened; and, managing to hear some of Sir -H. Davy’s lectures, wrote such a good digest of them, accompanied by -such a touching letter—”Do free me from a trade that I hate, and let -me be your bottle-washer”—that the good-hearted Cornishman took the -poor blacksmith’s son, then twenty-one years old, after eight years of -book-stitching, and made him his assistant, “keeping him in his place,” -nevertheless, which, for an assistant in those days, meant feeding with -the servants, except by special invitation. - -This was in 1823, and next year Faraday had liquefied chlorine, -and soon did the same for a dozen more gases, among them protoxide -of nitrogen, to liquefy which, at a temperature of fifty degrees -Fahrenheit, was needed a pressure of sixty atmospheres—sixty times -the pressure of the air—i.e., nine hundred pounds on every square -inch. Why, the strongest boilers, with all their thickness of iron, -their rivets, their careful hammering of every plate to guard against -weak places, are only calculated to stand about ten atmospheres; no -wonder then that Faraday, with nothing but thick glass tubes, had -thirteen explosions, and that a fellow-experimenter was killed while -repeating one of his experiments. However, he gave out his “Law,” that -any gas may be liquefied if you put pressure enough on it. That “if” -would have left matters much where they were had not Bussy, in 1824, -argued: “Liquid is the middle state between gaseous and solid. Cold -turns liquids into solids; therefore, probably cold will turn gases -into liquids.” He proved this for sulphurous acid, by simply plunging -a bottle of it in salt and ice; and it is by combining the two, cold -and pressure, that all subsequent results have been attained. How -to produce cold, then, became the problem; and one way is by making -steam. You cannot get steam without borrowing heat from something. -Water boils at two hundred and twelve degrees Fahrenheit, and then -you may go on heating and heating till one thousand degrees more heat -have been absorbed before steam is formed. The thermometer, meanwhile, -never rises above two hundred and twelve degrees, all this extra heat -becoming what is called latent, and is probably employed in keeping -asunder the particles which when closer together form water. The -greater the expansive force, the more heat becomes latent or used up -in this way. This explains the paradox that, while the steam from a -kettle-spout scalds you, you may put your hand with impunity into the -jet discharged from a high-pressure engine. The high-pressure steam, -expanding rapidly when it gets out of confinement, uses up all its -heat (makes it all “latent”) in keeping its particles distinct. It is -the same with all other vapors: in expanding they absorb heat, and, -therefore, produce cold; and, therefore, as many substances turn into -steam at far lower temperatures than water does, this principle of -“latent heat,” invented by Black, and, after long rejection, accepted -by chemists, has been very helpful in the liquefying of gases by -producing cold. - -The simplest ice-machine is a hermetically-sealed bottle connected -with an air-pump. Exhaust the air, and the water begins to boil and -to grow cold. As the air is drawn off, the water begins to freeze; -and if—by an ingenious device—the steam that it generates is absorbed -into a reservoir of sulphuric acid, or any other substance which has a -great affinity for watery vapor, a good quantity of ice is obtained. -This is the practical use of liquefying gases; naturally, they all -boil at temperatures much below that of the air, in which they exist -in the vaporised state that follows after boiling. Take, therefore, -your liquefied gas; let it boil and give off its steam. This steam, -absorbing by its expansion all the surrounding heat, may be used to -make ice, to cool beer-cellars, to keep meat fresh all the way from -New Zealand, or—as has been largely done at Suez—to cool the air in -tropical countries. Put pressure enough on your gas to turn it into -a liquid state, at the same time carrying away by a stream of water -the heat that it gives off in liquefying. Let this liquid gas into a -“refrigerator,” where it boils and steams, and draws out the heat; and -then by a sucking-pump drive it again into the compressor, and let -the same process go on ad infinitum, no fresh material being needed, -nothing, in fact, but the working of the pump. Sulphurous acid is a -favorite gas, ammonia is another; and—besides the above practical -uses—they have been employed in a number of startling experiments. - -Perhaps the strangest of these is getting a bar of ice out of a red-hot -platinum crucible. The object of using platinum is simply to resist -the intense heat of the furnace in which the crucible is placed. Pour -in sulphurous acid and then fill up with water. The cold raised by -vaporising the acid is so intense that the water will freeze into a -solid mass. Indeed, the temperature sometimes goes down to more than -eighty degrees below freezing. A still more striking experiment is that -resulting from the liquefying of nitrous oxide—protoxide of nitrogen, -or laughing-gas. This gas needs, as was said, great pressure to liquefy -it at an ordinary temperature. At freezing point only a pressure of -thirty atmospheres is needed to liquefy it. It then boils if exposed -to the air, radiating cold—or, rather, absorbing heat—till it falls to -a temperature low enough to freeze mercury. But it still, wonderful to -say, retains the property which, alone of all the gases, it shares with -oxygen—of increasing combustion. A match that is almost extinguished -burns up again quite brightly when thrust into a bag of ordinary -laughing-gas; while a bit of charcoal, with scarcely a spark left in -it, glows to the intensest white heat when brought in contact with this -same gas in its liquid form, so that you have the charcoal at, say, -two thousand degrees Fahrenheit, and the gas at some one hundred and -fifty degrees below zero. Carbonic acid gas is just the opposite of -nitrous oxide, in that it quenches fire and destroys life; but, when -liquefied, it develops a like intense cold. Liquefy it and collect it -under pressure, in strong cast-iron vessels, and then suddenly open a -tap and allow the vapor to escape. In expanding, it grows so cold—or, -strictly speaking, absorbs, makes latent, so much heat—that it produces -a temperature low enough to turn it into fog and then into frozen fog, -or snow. This snow can be gathered in iron vessels, and mixed with -either it forms the strongest freezing mixture known, turning mercury -into something like lead, so that you can beat the frozen metal with -wooden mallets and can mould it into medals and such-like. - -Amid these and such-like curious experiments, we must not forget the -“Law” that the state of a substance depends on its temperature—solid -when it is frozen hard enough, liquid under sufficient pressure, -gaseous when free from pressure and at a sufficiently high temperature. -But though first Faraday, and then the various inventors of -refrigerating-machines—Carré, Tellier, Natterer, Thilorier—succeeded -in liquefying so many gases, hydrogen and the two elements of the -atmosphere resisted all efforts. By plunging oxygen in the sea, -to the depth of a league, it was subjected to a pressure of four -hundred atmospheres, but there was no sign of liquefaction. Again, -Berthelot fastened a tube, strong and very narrow, and full of air, -to a bulb filled with mercury. The mercury was heated until its -expansion subjected the air to a pressure of seven hundred and eighty -atmospheres—all that the glass could stand—but the air remained -unchanged. Cailletet managed to get one thousand pressures by pumping -mercury down a long, flexible steel tube upon a very strong vessel, -full of air; but nothing came of it, except the bursting of the vessel, -nor was there any more satisfactory result in the case of hydrogen. - -One result, at any rate, was established—that there is no law of -compression like that named after Boyle or Mariotte, but that every gas -behaves in a way of its own, without reference to any of the others, -each having its own “critical point” of temperature, at which, under -a certain pressure, it is neither liquid nor gaseous, but on the -border-land between the two, and will remain in this condition so long -as the temperature remains the same. Hence, air being just in this -state of gaseo-liquid, the first step towards liquefying it must be -to lower its temperature, and so get rid of its vapor by increasing -its density. The plan adopted, both by Cailletet in Paris, and by -Raoul Pictet (heir of a great scientific name) in Geneva, was to lower -the temperature by letting off high-pressure steam. This had been so -successful in the case of carbonic acid gas as to turn the vapor into -snow; and in 1877 Cailletet pumped oxygen into a glass tube, until the -pressure was equal to three hundred atmospheres. He then cooled it to -four degrees Fahrenheit below zero, and, opening a valve, let out a jet -of gaseous vapor, which, while expanding, caused intense cold, lowering -the temperature some three hundred degrees, and turning the jet of -vapor into fog. Here, then, was a partial liquefaction, and the same -was effected in the case of nitrogen. Pictet did much the same thing. -Having set up at Geneva a great ice-works (his refrigerating agency -being sulphurous acid in a boiling state), he had all the necessary -apparatus, and was able to subject oxygen to a pressure of three -hundred and twenty atmospheres, and by means of carbonic acid boiling -in vacuo, to cool the vessel containing it down to more than two -hundred degrees Fahrenheit below zero. He could not watch the condition -in which the gas was; but it was probably liquefied, for, when a valve -was suddenly opened, it began to bubble furiously, and rushed out in -the form of steam. Pictet thought he had also succeeded in liquefying -hydrogen, the foggy vapor of the jet being of a steely grey color; for -hydrogen has long been suspected to be a metal, of which water is an -oxide, and hydrochloric acid a chloride. Nay, some solid fragments came -out with the jet of vapor, and fell like small shot on the floor, and -at first the sanguine experimenter thought he had actually solidified -the lightest of all known substances. This, however, was a mistake; it -was some portion of his apparatus which had got melted. Neither had the -liquefaction of oxygen or nitrogen been actually witnessed, though the -result had been seen in the jet of foggy vapor. - -Cailletet was on the point of trying his experiment over again in -vacuo, so as to get a lower temperature, when the telegrams from -Wroblewski showed that the Pole had got the start of him. Along with a -colleague, Obszewski, Cailletet’s disloyal pupil set ethylene boiling -in vacuo, and so brought the temperature down to two hundred and -seventy degrees Fahrenheit below zero. This was the lowest point yet -reached, and it was enough to turn oxygen into a liquid a little less -dense than water, having its “critical point” at about one hundred -and sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit below zero. A few days after, -nitrogen was liquefied by the same pair of experimenters, under greater -atmospheric pressure at a somewhat higher temperature. - -The next thing is to naturally ask: What is the use of all this? That -remains to be proved. The most unlikely chemical truths have often -brought about immense practical results. All that we can as yet say is, -that there is now no exception to the law that matter of all kinds is -capable of taking the three forms, solid, aqueous, gaseous. - -The French savans are not content with saying this. They are very -indignant at Wroblewski stealing Cailletet’s crown just as it was -going to be placed on the Frenchman’s head. It was sharp practice, for -all that a scientific discoverer has to look to is the fame which he -wins among men. The Academy took no notice of the interloping Poles, -but awarded to Cailletet the Lacaze Prize, their secretary, M. Dumas, -then lying sick at Cannes, expressing their opinion in the last letter -he ever wrote. “It is Cailletet’s apparatus,” says M. Dumas, “which -enabled the others to do what he was on the point of accomplishing. -He, therefore, deserves the credit of invention; the others are merely -clever and successful manipulators. What has been done is a great fact -in the history of science, and it will link the name of Cailletet -with those of Lavoisier and Faraday,” So far M. Dumas, who might, -one fancies, have said something for Pictet, only a fortnight behind -Cailletet in the experiment which practically liquefied oxygen. His -case is quite different from Wroblewski’s, for he and Cailletet had -been working quite independently, just as Leverrier and Adams had been -when both discovered the new planet Neptune. Such coincidences so often -happen when the minds of men are turned to the same subject. Well, -the scientific world is satisfied now that the elements of air can -be liquefied; but I want to see the air itself liquefied, as what it -is—a mechanical, not a chemical compound. For from such liquefaction, -one foresees a great many useful results. You might carry your air -about with you to the bottom of mines or up in balloons; you might -even, perhaps, store up enough by-and-by to last for a voyage to the -moon.—_All the Year Round._ - - - - -THE HEALTH AND LONGEVITY OF THE JEWS. - -BY P. KIRKPATRICK PICARD, M.D., M.R.C.S. - -In these days, when sanitation claims a large share of attention, -and when questions relating to the public health are canvassed and -discussed on all sides, it may be of service to ask what lessons are to -be learned from the diet, habits, and customs of the Jews. It is not -generally known that their health and longevity are superior to those -of other races, a fact which has been noted by careful observers from -early times in this and other countries. An experiment, extending over -thousands of years, has been made as to the sanitary value of certain -laws in the Mosaic code. The test has been applied in the most rigid -way, and if it had failed at any period in their eventful history, -their name alone, like that of the Assyrian and Babylonian, would -have remained to testify to their existence as a nation. The three -deadly enemies of mankind—war, famine, and pestilence—have at times -been let loose upon them. They have stood firm as a rock against the -crushing power of oppression, when exercised at the call of political -or religious antipathy. They have been pursued with relentless -persecution, from city to city, and from one country to another, in the -name of our holy religion. Restricted as to their trade, singled out -to bear the burden of special taxation, confined in the most miserable -and unhealthy quarters of the towns where they were permitted to dwell, -living in the constant fear of robbery without redress, of violence -without succor, of poverty without relief, of assaults against their -persons, honor, and religion without hope of protection; in spite of -woe after woe coming upon them, like the waves of a pitiless sea, they -have not been broken to pieces and swallowed up, leaving not a wreck -behind. No other race has had the fiery trials that they have gone -through, yet, like the three Hebrew youths in the furnace, the smell of -fire is not found on them. To-day their bodily vigor is unequalled, and -their moral and mental qualities are unsurpassed. - -How has it happened that, after being compassed about for centuries -with so many troubles, they have at the present time all the requisites -that go to form a great nation, and are, in numbers, energy, and -resources, on a level with their forefathers in the grandest period of -their history? It is not enough to say that all this has come to pass -according to the will of God, and that their continued existence is -owing to His intervention on their behalf. No doubt it is a miracle in -the sense that it is contrary to all human experience, for no other -nation has lived through such perilous times of hardship and privation. -But as it was in the wilderness so it has been in all their wanderings -down the stream of time; the miracle was supplemented by the use of -means, without which God’s purpose regarding them would have failed. -The blessing of long life and health, promised to them by the mouth -of Moses, has not been withheld. Several texts might be quoted, but -one will suffice. In Deuteronomy iv. 40, we read, “Thou shall keep -therefore his statutes, and his commandments, that it may go well with -thee, and with thy children after thee, and that thou mayest prolong -thy days upon the earth, which the Lord thy God giveth thee, for ever.” -With a promise so rich with blessing, conditional on their obedience, -they have through all the ages been monuments of God’s faithfulness, -and are to this day in the enjoyment of its advantages. - -The following statistics, for which I am indebted to the kindness of -Dr. A. Cohen, who has collected them from different sources, will serve -to prove their superiority in respect of health and longevity. In the -town of Fürth, according to Mayer, the average duration of life amongst -the Christians was 26 years, and amongst the Jews 37 years. During -the first five years of childhood the Christian death-rate was 14 per -cent. and the Jewish was 10 per cent. The same proportion of deaths, it -is said, exists in London. Neufville has found that in Frankfort the -Jews live eleven years longer than the Christians, and that of those -who reach the age of 70 years 13 are Christians and 27 are Jews. In -Prussia, from 1822 to 1840, it has been ascertained that the Jewish -population increased by 3½ per cent. more than the Christian, there -being 1 birth in 28 of the Jews to 1 in 25 of the Christians, and 1 -death in 40 of the Jews to 1 in 34 of the Christians. - -These data are sufficient to verify the statement that the Jews are -endowed with better health and greater longevity than Christians. It -will therefore be inferred that some peculiarity exists which gives -them more power of resisting disease, and renders them less susceptible -to its influence. In virtue of this property their constitution -readily accommodates itself to the demands of a climate which may be -too severe for other non-indigenous races. Take as an example the -statistics of the town of Algiers in 1856. Crebassa gives the following -particulars—Of Europeans there were 1,234 births and 1,553 deaths; -of Mussulmans 331 births and 514 deaths; of Jews 211 births and 187 -deaths. These numbers afford a remarkable illustration of the “survival -of the fittest.” - -Their unusual freedom from disease of particular kinds has been -often noticed, and amounts nearly to immunity from certain prevalent -maladies, such as those of the scrofulous and tuberculous type, -which are answerable for about a fifth of the total mortality. Their -comparative safety in the midst of destructive epidemics has often -been the subject of comment, and was formerly used as evidence against -them, on the malicious charge of disseminating disease. At the present -day, and in consonance with the spirit of the age, the matter has -come within the scope of the scientific inquirer, with the view of -ascertaining the cause of this exceptional condition. - -A peculiarity of this sort must lie in the nature of things in the -distinctive character of their food, habits, and customs. Their more -or less strict adherence to the requirements of the Mosaic law, and -to the interpretation of it given in the Talmud, are familiar to all -who come in contact with them. To this code we must therefore look for -an explanation of the facts under review; and here it may be stated -that no prominence is given to one set of laws over another. They all -begin with the formula, “And the Lord spake unto Moses, saying,” thus -making no difference in point of importance between the laws of worship -and those of health. These latter, therefore, carried with them the -sanctions of religion, and were as much a matter of obligation as any -other religious duty. It will thus be easily seen how the interweaving -of the several laws relating to health and worship had the effect -of giving equal permanence to both, so that as long as the one was -observed the other would be in force. Though many of the details might -appear arbitrary, a fuller knowledge of sanitary science has revealed -a meaning not recorded in the sacred text. Moses, who was versed in -all the learning of the Egyptians, was evidently acquainted with the -laws of health, which he embodied in his code under divine direction. -Those who are firm believers in the inspiration of the Scriptures will -have no difficulty in believing that principles, given by God for the -preservation of the health of the Israelite in olden times, and to -which he is still obedient with great apparent benefit, are likely to -be beneficial in their effect on the general community. Truths of this -kind are like the laws of nature, universally applicable. They never -grow old by lapse of time or effete by force of circumstances. - -This part of the Mosaic code is mainly concerned with details relating -to food, cleanliness, the prevention of disease, and the disinfection -of diseased persons and things. The Jews observe in eating flesh-food -the great primary law, which was given to Noah after the Flood (Gen. -ix. 4): “But the flesh with the life thereof, which is the blood -thereof, shall ye not eat,” It was enforced in the Mosaic dispensation -(Lev. xvii. 10), under the penalty of being cut off for disobedience, -and in the Christian era was confirmed at the Council of Jerusalem -(Acts xv. 20), when the Apostle James, as president, gave sentence that -the Gentiles who are turned to God should abstain from blood. To this -day the animal (whether beast or bird) is killed with a sharp knife in -such a way that the large blood vessels in the neck discharge the blood -most freely, and so drain the flesh to the utmost extent possible, and -as an additional precaution the veins, which in certain places are -difficult to empty, are removed before the part can be used as food; so -that it would appear every needful measure is adopted to prevent the -ingestion of the forbidden fluid. On this account game that is shot is -not eaten by the orthodox Jew, as the blood is retained by that mode of -death. - -Before the slain animal is pronounced kosher, or fit for food, a -careful search is made by experts for any evidence of disease. These -men have to satisfy the Shechita Board, which takes cognisance of these -matters, that they have a competent knowledge of morbid structures -before being authorised to affix the official seal, without which no -meat is considered wholesome. That this practice is far from being -unnecessary may be gathered from the fact that in a recent half-yearly -report presented to the board the following particulars occur:—Oxen -slain, 12,473, kosher, 7,649; calves slain, 2,146, kosher, 1,569; -sheep slain, 23,022, kosher, 14,580. These numbers show that out of 37 -beasts slain 14 were rejected as unsound, and not allowed to be eaten -by the Jew. The less-favored Christian, not being under such dietary -restrictions, would have no hesitation in buying and consuming this -condemned meat. It is even alleged that a larger proportion of diseased -animals than is here stated is exposed for sale in the Metropolitan -Meat Market, and used as food by purchasers of all classes. Whether -this be so or not, the fact remains that the Jewish portion of the -community have the sole benefit of arrangements specially designed -for the maintenance of health. This state of things demands urgent -attention, and has surely a claim prior to many other subjects which -occupy the time of our legislators. - -The Mosaic law, in forbidding the use of blood as food, gives as the -reason that the blood is the life. It follows, therefore, if the animal -be unhealthy its blood may be regarded as unhealthy. But as the blood -may be diseased without external or even internal evidence such as is -open to common observation, the total prohibition of it obviates the -risk that might otherwise be incurred. - -Modern science has discovered in the circulation of diseased animals -microscopic organisms of different forms, each characteristic of some -particular disease. They are parasitic in their nature, growing and -multiplying in the living being, though they are capable of preserving -their vitality outside the body. Some, like the bacillus, which is -supposed to cause tuberculosis, may even be dried without losing their -vital properties, and on entering the system be able to produce the -disease proper to them. Others will develop in dead organic substances, -but increase more abundantly in living structures. They are very -plentiful in the atmosphere of certain localities, and settling on -exposed wounded surfaces, or finding their way into the lungs and -effecting a lodgment in the blood and tissues, they generate, each -after its kind, specific infective diseases. When the blood becomes -impregnated by any special organism, a drop may suffice to propagate -the disease by inoculation in another animal. The mode of entrance -of these morbid germs may be by inhalation, by inoculation, and by -the ingestion of poisonous particles with the food. Any person living -in unhygienic circumstances, and whose system is from any cause in a -condition suited for the reception of these organisms, cannot safely -eat meat which may contain them in the blood. In the splenic fever of -cattle, for instance, which is communicable to man, these germs are -exceedingly numerous, and the same may be said of the other specific -febrile diseases. Eventually there is a deposit of morbid material in -the tissues, where the process of development goes on till a great -change in the once healthy structures is effected. - -With the light derived from recent investigation we are able to -understand the wisdom and foresight of the Mosaic injunction as well -as appreciate its supreme importance. The Jew, like the Christian, -is exposed to the inroads of disease when he breathes an infected -atmosphere and eats tainted food, provided he is susceptible at the -time to the morbific influence, but he is protected by a dietary rule -at the point where the Christian is in danger. The Jew who conforms -to the law of Moses in this particular must have a better chance of -escaping the ravages of epidemics than those who are not bound by these -restrictions. This hygienic maxim goes far to explain the comparative -freedom of the Jewish race from the large class of blood diseases. - -The examination of the carcass is also necessary with the view of -determining the sound or unsound condition of the meat. At one time -it was doubted that the complaints from which animals suffer could -be communicated by eating their flesh, but the evidence of eminent -authorities has definitely settled the question. Such bovine diseases -as the several varieties of anthrax, the foot and mouth disease, and -especially tuberculosis, are now believed to be transmissible through -ingested meat. It has been proved that the pig fed with tuberculous -flesh becomes itself tuberculous, and the inference is fair that -man might acquire the disease if subjected to the same ordeal. This -last disease is very common amongst animals, and is now recognised -as identical with that which is so fatal to the human race. It is -considered highly probable that the widespread mortality caused by this -malady is due in a great degree to the consumption of the milk and meat -of tuberculous animals. That the milk supply should be contaminated is -a very serious affair for the young, who are chiefly fed on it. The -regular inspection of all dairies by skilled officials is imperatively -necessary to ward off a terrible and growing evil; just as a similar -inspection of slaughter-houses is demanded in the interests of the -meat-eating portion of the community. - -Temperance is a noteworthy feature in the habits of the Jews. Their -moderation in the use of alcoholic drinks is deserving of the highest -commendation. Very rarely are they rendered unfit for business by -over-indulgence in this debasing vice. In no class of Jewish society is -excessive drinking practised. The poorest, in their persons, families, -and homes, present a marked contrast to their Christian neighbors in -the same social position. The stamp on the drunkard’s face is very -seldom seen on the countenance of a Jew. He is not to be found at the -bar of a public-house, or hanging idly about its doors with drunken -associates. His house is more attractive by reason of the thrift that -forms the groundwork of his character. Domestic broils, so common an -incident in the life of the hard-drinking poor, are most unusual. When -work is entrusted to him insobriety does not interfere with the due -and proper performance of it, hence his industry meets with its reward -in the improvement of his circumstances. This habit of temperance amid -abounding drunkenness, more or less excessive, is probably one of the -causes of the protection afforded to him during the prevalence of -some epidemic diseases, such as typhus, cholera, and other infectious -fevers. His comparative freedom from the ravages of these terrible -complaints has been chronicled by observers, both mediæval and modern, -and is now a subject of common remark. The latest instance of this -immunity is furnished by the records of the deaths from cholera in the -south of France, where it is affirmed that out of a considerable Jewish -population in the infected districts only seven fell victims to the -disease, a fact which ought to receive more than a passing notice in -the interests of humanity. - -Another point that may be mentioned is the provision made by the Jewish -Board of Guardians for the indigent poor. It has been said that no -known Jew is allowed to die in a workhouse. When poverty, or sickness -involving the loss of his livelihood, occurs, charity steps in and -bestows the help which places him above want, and tides him over his -bodily or pecuniary distress. The mother is also seasonably provided -with medical and other comforts when her pressing need is greatest. In -this way they are saved from the diseases incidental to lack of food, -and after an attack of illness are sooner restored to health than the -majority of the poor, who linger on in a state of convalescence little -better than the ailment itself, and often sink into permanent bad -health from the scanty supply of the necessary nourishment which their -exhausted frames require. - -In enumerating the causes which have made the Jewish people so strong -and vigorous, particular mention must be made of their observance of -the Sabbath. This day was appointed for the double purpose of securing -a set portion of time for the worship of God, and of affording rest -to the body wearied with its six days’ labors. The secularising of -this holy day in the history of the French nation has demonstrated -the need of a day of rest and the wisdom of its institution by a -merciful Creator, even before there was a man to till the ground. -Obedience to this primeval law, renewed amid the thunders of Sinai, -and repeated on many subsequent occasions by Moses and the prophets, -is still held by the Jews to be as strictly binding on them as any -other religious obligation. Of the physical blessings derivable from -keeping the Sabbath day they have had the benefit for many long -centuries when other nations were sunk in heathenism and ignorant of -the divine ordinance made to lighten their labors and recruit their -strength. In Christian countries where the Sunday is kept sacred, or -observed as a holiday, another day of rest in addition to their own -Sabbath is obtained, thus fortifying them against the crushing toil and -nervous strain of modern life. The loss accruing from this enforced -abstinence from business worries is more than counter-balanced by the -gain in nerve power with which periodical cessation from any harassing -employment is compensated. This is doubtless one of the factors which -have helped to invigorate both mind and body, and to develop in them -those high qualities for which they are justly distinguished. - -To sum up—the longevity of the Jew is an acknowledged fact. In his -surroundings he is on a par with his Christian neighbor. If the -locality in which he dwells is unhealthy, he also suffers, but to a -less degree. If the climate is ungenial, its influence tells on him -too, but with less injurious effect. His vigorous health enables him to -resist the onset of disease to which others succumb. These advantages -are for the most part owing to his food, his temperate habits, and the -care taken of him in sickness and poverty. No doubt he is specially -fortunate in inheriting a constitution which has been built up by -attention, for many centuries, to hygienic details. His meat is drained -of blood, so that by that means morbid germs are not likely to be -conveyed into his system. It is also most carefully inspected so as -to prevent the consumption of what is unsound, hence his comparative -immunity from scrofulous and tuberculous forms of disease. - -How can the benefits which the Jews enjoy be shared by other races? In -regard to food, whatever prejudice may stand in the way of draining the -blood from the animal, it ought surely to be done when there is the -least suspicion of unhealthy symptoms; but there can be no doubt about -the urgent necessity for a strict supervision of our meat markets, so -as to prevent the sale of diseased food. Legislation ought to make -such regulations as will render impossible the continuance of an evil -which, by oversight or otherwise, is dangerous to the general health. -Temperance is a virtue within the reach of everybody, and is now widely -practised by all classes, and the gain in improved health will soon be -apparent in the lessening of ailments due to drunkenness. Charity is as -much the duty of the Christian as of the Jew, and it is a dishonor to -the Master whom the former professes to serve if he shuts up his bowels -of compassion when the poor, who have always claims upon him, call in -vain for the needed help. They ought never to be allowed to languish in -sickness and poverty till the friendly hand of death brings a grateful -relief to all their troubles. - -The Bible is regarded by some scientists as an old-fashioned book; -but its teaching in relation to hygiene, even they will confess, has -not become antiquated. It must be credited with having anticipated -and recorded for our instruction and profit doctrines which are now -accepted as beyond dispute in this department of knowledge. In the -Mosaic law are preserved sanitary rules, the habitual observance of -which by the Jew, from generation to generation, has made him superior -to all other races in respect of health and longevity.—_Leisure Hour._ - - - - -THE HITTITES.[26] - -BY ISAAC TAYLOR. - -The reconstruction, from newly exhumed monuments, of the history of the -East, has been the great work of the present century. The startling -revelations arising from the decipherment of the Egyptian records were -followed by results, still more surprising, afforded by the buried -cities of Assyria and Babylonia, and by glimpses into the prehistoric -life of Greece obtained from the excavations of Dr. Schliemann on -the sites of Troy and Mycenæ. If any one will take the trouble to -look into such a book as Rollin’s “Ancient History,” and compare it -with Duncker’s “History of Antiquity,” or with the useful series of -little volumes published by the Christian Knowledge Society under the -title of “Ancient History from the Monuments,” it will be possible -to estimate the completeness of the reconstruction of our knowledge. -Thus the legendary story of Sesostris, as recorded by Herodotus, has -given place to the authentic history of the reigns of the conquering -monarchs of the New Empire, Thothmes III., Seti I., and Rameses II., -while the Greek romance of Sardanapalus is replaced by the contemporary -annals of Assurbanipal; and, more wonderful than all, we discover that -Semiramis herself was no mortal Queen of Babylon, but the celestial -Queen of the Heavenly Host, the planet Venus, the morning star as she -journeys from her eastern realm, the evening star as she passes onward -to the west in search of her lost spouse the sun, and to be identified -with the Babylonian goddess Istar, the Ashtaroth of the Bible, whose -rationalized myth was handed down by Ctesias as sober history. - -To these marvellous reconstructions another of hardly less interest -and importance must now be added. The most notable archæological -achievement of the last ten years has been the recovery and -installation of the Hittite Empire as one of the earliest and most -powerful of the great Oriental monarchies. Dr. Wright, in the opportune -volume whose title stands at the head of this notice, has established -a claim to have rescued from probable destruction some of the most -important Hittite inscriptions; to have been the first to suggest the -Hittite origin of the inscribed stones from Hamath whose discovery in -1872 excited so much speculation; and has now added to our obligations -by placing before the world in a convenient form nearly the whole of -the available materials bearing on the question of Hittite history and -civilization. - -Our readers will probably remember a signed article on the Hittites, -from the pen of Dr. Wright, which appeared in this Review in 1882. This -article has been expanded by its author into a goodly volume, and has -been enriched with considerable additions of new and valuable material -which bring it well up to the present standard of knowledge. Among -these additions are facsimiles of the principal Hittite inscriptions, -most of which have already appeared in the transactions of the Society -of Biblical Archæology, and are now revised by Mr. Rylands; while Sir -C. Wilson and Captain Conder have contributed a useful map indicating -the sites where Hittite monuments have been found; and Professor -Sayce adds a valuable appendix containing the results of his latest -researches as to the decipherment of the Hittite script. - -Till within the last twenty years all men had been used to think -of the Hittites as an obscure Canaanitish tribe, of much the same -importance as the Hivites or the Perizzites, with whom it was the -custom to class them. It is true that if read between the lines, as we -are now able to read it, the Biblical narrative indicated that while -other Canaanitish tribes were of small power and importance, and were -soon exterminated or absorbed into the Hebrew nationality, the Hittites -stood on altogether another footing. The Hittites are the first and -the last of these tribes to appear on the scene. As early as the time -of Abraham we find them lords of the soil at Hebron; and in the time -of Solomon, and even of Elisha, they are a mighty people, inhabiting a -region to the north of Palestine, and distinguished by the possession -of numerous war chariots, then the chief sign of military power. Though -we are now able to perceive that this is the true signification of the -references to them in the old Testament, yet it was from the newly -recovered monuments of Egypt and Assyria that the facts were actually -gleaned, and it was shown that for more than a thousand years the -Hittite power was comparable to that of Assyria and Egypt. - -It is only by slow degrees that this result has been established. The -first light came from Abusimbel, in Nubia, midway between the first and -second cataracts of the Nile, where Rameses II., the most magnificent -of the Egyptian kings, at a time when the Hebrews were still toiling in -Egyptian bondage, caused a vast precipice of rock to be carved into a -stupendous temple-cave, to whose walls he committed the annals of his -reign and the records of his distant campaigns. On one of the walls of -this temple is pictured a splendid battle scene, occupying a space of -57 feet by 24, and containing upwards of 1100 figures. This represents, -as we learn from the hieroglyphic explanation, the great battle of -Kadesh, fought with the “vile people of the Kheta”—a battle which also -forms the theme of the poem of Pentaur, the oldest epic in the world, -still extant in a papyrus now preserved in the British Museum. In -spite of the grandiloquent boasts of these records, we gather that the -battle was indecisive; that Rameses had to retire from the siege of -Kadesh, narrowly escaping with his life; the campaign being ended by -the conclusion of a treaty on equal terms with the King of the Kheta—a -treaty which was followed a year later, by the espousal by Rameses of a -daughter of the hostile king. - -About twenty years ago it was suggested by De Rougé that this powerful -nation of the Kheta might probably be identified with the Khittim, -or Hittites, of the Old Testament; and this conclusion, though never -accepted by some eminent Egyptologists, such as Chabas and Ebers, -gradually won its way into favor, and has been recently confirmed by -Captain Conder’s identification of the site of Kadesh, where the battle -depicted on the wall at Abusimbel was fought. From other inscriptions -we learn that for five hundred years the Kheta resisted with varying -success the attacks of the terrible conquerors of the eighteenth and -nineteenth dynasties, their power remaining to the last substantially -unshaken. The story is now taken up by the Assyrian records, which -prove that from the time of Sargon of Accad—who must be assigned to the -nineteenth century B.C., if not to a much earlier period—down -to the reigns of Tiglath Pileser I. (B.C., 1130), and for four hundred -years afterwards, till the reigns of Assur-nazir-pal and Shalmanezer -II., the Khatti of Hamath and Carchemish were the most formidable -opponents of the rising power of Assyria, their resistance being only -brought to a close by the defeat of their King Pisiris, and the capture -of Carchemish, their capital, in 717 B.C., by Sargon II., the king who -also destroyed the monarchy of Israel by the capture of Samaria. - -It seemed strange that no monuments should have been discovered -belonging to a people powerful enough to withstand for twelve -centuries the assaults of Egypt and Assyria. At last, in 1872, -certain inscriptions from Hamath on the Orontes, in a hieroglyphic -picture-writing of a hitherto unknown character, were published in -Burton and Drake’s “Unexplored Syria.” Dr. Wright, in 1874, published -an article in “The British and Foreign Evangelical Review,” suggesting -that these monuments were in reality records of the Hittite race. This -conjecture, though much ridiculed at the time, has gradually fought -its way to universal acceptance, mainly owing to the skilful advocacy -of Professor Sayce, who, in ignorance of Dr. Wright’s suggestion, -arrived independently at the same conclusion, and shortly afterwards -identified a monument at Karabel, near Ephesus, described by Herodotus -as a figure of Sesostris, as the effigy of a Hittite king. Subsequent -discoveries of Hittite monuments in other parts of Asia Minor, taken in -conjunction with the Biblical notices, and the Egyptian and Assyrian -records, prove that at some remote period a great Hittite empire must -have extended from Hebron to the Black Sea, and from the Euphrates to -the Ægean; while it is now generally admitted that, to some extent, the -art, the science, and the religion of prehistoric Greece must have been -derived ultimately from Babylon, having been transmitted, first to the -Hittite city of Carchemish, and thence to Lydia, through the Hittite -realm in Asia Minor. It is now believed by many scholars of repute -that the Ephesian Artemis must be identified with the great Hittite -goddess Atargatis, and ultimately with the Babylonian Istar; that the -Niobe of Homer, whose effigy may still be seen on Mount Sipylus, near -Smyrna, was an image of Atargatis, whose armed priestesses gave rise to -the Greek legend of the Amazons, a nation of female warriors; that the -Euboic silver standard was based upon the mina of Carchemish; and that -in all probability the characters found on Trojan whorls by Schliemann, -as well as certain anomalous letters in the Lycian alphabet, and even -the mysterious Cypriote syllabary itself were simply cursive forms -descended from the Hittite hieroglyphs used in the inscriptions on the -pseudo-Niobe and the pseudo-Sesostris in Lydia, and pictured on the -stones obtained by Dr. Wright from Hamath, and by Mr. George Smith from -Carchemish. - -The arguments by which scholars have been led to these conclusions, -together with the existing materials on which future researches must be -based, have been collected by Dr. Wright in a handy volume, which we -have great pleasure in heartily commending to all students of Biblical -archæology as a substantial contribution to our knowledge. - -When the Turks permit the mounds at Kadesh and Carchemish, which -conceal the ruined palaces and temples of the Hittite capitals, -to be systematically explored, and when the Hittite writing shall -be completely deciphered, we may anticipate a revelation of the -earliest history of the world not inferior, possibly, in interest -and importance, to those astonishing discoveries which have made -known to this generation the buried secrets of Babylon, Nineveh, and -Troy.—_British Quarterly Review._ - - - - -AUTOMATIC WRITING, OR THE RATIONALE OF PLANCHETTE. - -BY FREDERICK W. H. MYERS. - - -Among all the changes which are taking place in our conceptions of -various parts of the universe, there is none more profound, or at -first sight more disquieting, than the change which, at the touch of -Science, is stealing over our conception of _ourselves_. For each of -us seems to be no longer a sovereign state but a federal union; the -kingdom of our mind is insensibly dissolving into a republic. Instead -of the _ens rationale_ of the schoolmen, protected from irreverent -treatment by its metaphysical abstraction; instead of Descartes’ -impalpable soul, seated bravely in its pineal gland, and ruling from -that tiny fortress body and brain alike, we have physiologist and -psychologist uniting in pulling us to pieces,—in analyzing into their -sensory elements our loftiest ideas,—in tracing the diseases of memory, -volition, intelligence, which gradually distort us past recognition,—in -showing how one may become in a moment a different person altogether, -by passing through a fit of somnambulism, or receiving a smart blow -on the head. Our past self, with its stores of registered experience, -continually revived in memory, seems to be held to resemble a too -self-conscious phonograph, which should enjoy an agreeable sense of -mental effort as its handle turned, and should preface its inevitable -repetitions by some triumphant allusion to its own acumen. Our present -self, this inward medley of sensations and desires, is likened to that -mass of creeping things which is termed an “animal colony,”—a myriad -rudimentary consciousnesses, which acquire a sort of corporate unity -because one end of the amalgam has to go first and find the way. - -Or one may say that the old view started from the sane mind as the -normal, permanent, definite entity from which insanity was the -unaccountable aberration; while in the new view it is rather sanity -which needs to be accounted for; since the moral and physical being of -each of us is built up from incoördination and incoherence, and the -microcosm of man is but a micro-chaos held in some semblance of order -by a lax and swaying hand, the wild team which a Phaeton is driving, -and which must needs soon plunge into the sea. Theories like this are -naturally distasteful to those who care for the dignity of man. And -such readers may perhaps turn aside in impatience when I say that much -of this paper will be occupied by some reasons for my belief that -this analysis of human consciousness must be carried further still; -that we must face the idea of concurrent streams of being, flowing -alongside but unmingled within us, and with either of which our active -consciousness may, under appropriate circumstances, be identified. Many -people have heard, for instance, of Dr. Azam’s patient, Félida X., -who passes at irregular intervals from one apparent personality into -another, memory and character changing suddenly as she enters her first -or her second state of being. Such cases as hers I believe to be but -extreme examples of an alternation which is capable of being evoked in -all of us, and which in some slight measure is going on in us every -day. Our cerebral focus (to use a metaphor) often shifts slightly, and -is capable of shifting far. Or let me compare my active consciousness -to a steam-tug, and the ideas and memories which I summon into the -field of attention to the barges which the tug tows after it. Then the -concurrent streams of my being are like Arve and Rhone, contiguous -but hardly mingling their blue and yellow waves. I tug my barges down -the Rhone, my consciousness is a _blue_ consciousness, but the tail -barge swings into the Arve and back again, and brings traces of the -potential _yellow_ consciousness back into the blue. In Félida’s case -tug and barges and all swerve suddenly from one stream into the other; -the blue consciousness becomes the yellow in a moment and altogether. -Transitions may be varied in a hundred ways, and it may happen that the -life-streams mix together, and that there is a memory of all. - -Moreover, there seems no reason to assume that our active consciousness -is necessarily altogether superior to the consciousnesses which are -at present secondary, or potential only. We may rather hold that -_super-conscious_ may be quite as legitimate a term as _sub-conscious_, -and instead of regarding our consciousness (as is commonly done) as a -_threshold_ in our being, above which ideas and sensations must rise if -we wish to cognize them, we may prefer to regard it as a _segment_ of -our being, into which ideas and sensations may enter either from below -or from above; say a thermometric tube, marking ordinary temperatures, -but so arranged that water may not only rise into it, by expansion, -from the bottom, but also fall into it, by condensation, from the top. - -Strange and extravagant as this doctrine may seem, I shall hope to -show some ground for it in the present paper. I shall hope, at least, -to show not only that our unconscious may interact with our conscious -mental action in a more definite and tangible manner than is usually -supposed, but also that this unconscious mental action may actually -manifest the existence of a capital and cardinal faculty of which the -conscious mind of the same persons at the same time is wholly devoid. - -For the sake of brevity I shall select one alone out of many forms of -unconscious action which may, if rightly scrutinized, afford a glimpse -into the recesses of our being.[27] - -I shall take _automatic writing_; and I shall try, by a few examples -from among the many which lie before me, to show the operation, -_first_, of unconscious cerebral action of the already recognized -kind, but much more complex and definite than is commonly supposed -to be discernible in waking persons; and, _secondly_, of telepathic -action,—of the transference, that is to say, of thoughts or ideas from -the conscious or unconscious mind of one person to the conscious or -unconscious mind of another person, from whence they emerge in the -shape of automatically written words or sentences. - -I shall be able to cover a corner only of a vast and unexplored field. -I venture to think that the phenomena of automatic writing will before -long claim the best attention of the physiological psychologist. They -have been long neglected, and I can only conjecture that this neglect -is due to the eagerness with which certain spiritualists have claimed -such writings as the work of Shakespeare, Byron, and other improbable -persons. The message given has too often fallen below the known -grammatical level of those eminent authors, and the laugh thus raised -has drowned the far more instructive question as to _whence_ in reality -the automatic rubbish came. Yet surely to decline to investigate -“planchette” because “the trail of Katie King is over it all,” is very -much as though one refused to analyse the meteorite at Ephesus because -the town-clerk cried loudly that it was “an image which fell down from -Jupiter.” - -Automatic writing in its simplest form is merely a variety of the -tricks of unconscious action to which, in excited moments, we are -all of us prone. The surplus nervous energy escapes along some -habitual channel—movements of the hand, for instance, are continued -or initiated; and among such hand-movements—drumming of tunes, -piano-playing, drawing, and the like—_writing_ naturally holds a -prominent place. There is incipient graphic automatism when the -nervous student scribbles Greek words on the margin of the paper on -which he is striving to produce a copy of iambics. If the paper be -suddenly withdrawn he will have no notion what he has written. And -more, the words written will sometimes be _imaginary_ words, which -have needed some faint unconscious choice in order to preserve a look -of real words in their arrangement of letters. A complete graphic -automatism is seen in various morbid states. A man attacked by a -slight epileptiform seizure while in the act of writing will sometimes -continue to write a few sentences unconsciously, which, although -probably nonsensical, will often be correct in spelling and grammar. -Again, in the case of certain cerebral troubles, the patient will -write the _wrong_ word—say, “table” for “chair;”—or at least some -meaningless sequence of letters, in which, however, each letter is -properly formed. In each of these cases, therefore, there is graphic -automatism. And they incidentally show that to write words in a sudden -state of unconsciousness, or to write words against one’s will, is not -necessarily a proof that any intelligence is at work besides one’s own. - -Still further; in spontaneous somnambulism, the patient will often -write long letters or essays. Sometimes these are incoherent, like -a dream; sometimes they are on the level of his waking productions; -sometimes they even seem to rise above it. They may contain at any rate -ingenious manipulations of data known to his waking brain, as where a -baffling mathematical problem is solved during sleep. - -From the natural or spontaneous cases of graphic automatism let us pass -on to the induced or experimental cases. I will give first a singular -transitional instance, where there is no voluntary muscular action, but -yet a previous exercise of expectant attention is necessary to secure -the result. - -My friend Mr. A., who is much interested in mental problems, has -practised introspection with assiduity and care. He finds that if he -fixes his attention on some given word, and then allows his hand to -rest laxly in the writing attitude, his hand presently writes the -word without any conscious volition of his own; the sensation being -as though the hand were moved by some power other than himself. This -happens whether his eyes are open or shut, so that the gaze is not -necessary to fix the attention. If he wills _not_ to write, he can -remove his hand and avert the action. But if he chooses a movement -simpler than writing, for instance, if he holds out his open hand and -strongly imagines that it will close, a kind of spasm ensues, and the -hand closes, even though he exert all his voluntary force to keep it -open. - -It is manifest how analogous these actions are to much which in bygone -times has been classed as _possession_. Mr. A. has the very sensation -of being possessed,—moved from within by some agency which overrules -his volition, and yet we can hardly doubt that it is merely his -_unconscious_ influencing his _conscious_ life. The act of attention, -so to say, has stamped the idea of the projected movement so strongly -on his brain that the movement works itself out automatically, in spite -of subsequent efforts to prevent it. The best parallel will be the -case of a promise made during the hypnotic trance, which the subject -is irresistibly impelled to fulfil on waking.[28] From this curious -transitional case we pass on to cases where no idea of the words -written has passed through the writer’s consciousness. It is not easy -to make quite sure that this is the case, and the _modus operandi_ -needs some consideration. - -First we have to find an automatic writer. Perhaps one person in a -hundred possesses this tendency; that is, if he sits for half an hour -on a dozen evenings, amid quiet surroundings and in an expectant -frame of mind, with his hand on pencil or planchette, he will begin -to write words which he has not consciously thought of. But if he -sees the words as he writes them he will unavoidably guess at what is -coming, and spoil the spontaneous flow. Some persons can avoid this -by reading a book while they write, and so keeping eyes and thoughts -away from the message.[29] Another plan is to use a _planchette_; which -is no occult instrument, but simply a thin piece of board supported -on two castors, and on a third leg consisting of a pencil which just -touches the paper. A planchette has two advantages over the ordinary -pencil; namely, that a slighter impulse will start it, and that it is -easier to write (or rather scrawl) without seeing or feeling what you -are writing. These precautions, of course, are for the operator’s own -satisfaction; they are no proof to other people that he is not writing -the words intentionally. That can only be proved to others if he writes -facts demonstrably unknown to his conscious self; as in the telepathic -cases to which we shall come further on. But as yet I am only giving -fresh examples of a kind of mental action which physiology already -recognizes: examples, moreover, which any reader who will take the -requisite trouble can probably reproduce, either in his own person or -in the person of some trusted friend. - -I lately requested a lady whom I knew to be a careful observer, but -who was quite unfamiliar with this subject, to try whether she could -write with a pencil or planchette, and report to me the result. Her -experience may stand as typical. - - “I have tried the planchette,” she writes, “and I get writing, - certainly not done by my hand consciously; but it is nonsense, - such as _Mebew_. I tried holding a pencil, and all I got was _mm_ - or _rererere_, then for hours together I got this: _Celen, Celen_. - Whether the first letter was C or L I could never make out. Then I got - _I Celen_. I was disgusted, and took a book and read while I held the - pencil. Then I got _Helen_. Now note this fact: I never make H like - that (like I and C juxtaposed); I make it thus: (like a printed H). I - then saw that the thing I read as _I Celen_ was _Helen_, my name. For - days I had only _Celen_, and never for one moment expected it meant - what it did.” - -Now this case suggests several curious analogies. First, there is an -analogy with those cases of double consciousness where the patient in -the “second state” has to learn to write anew. He learns more rapidly -than he learnt as a child, because the necessary adjustments do already -exist in his brain, although he cannot use them in the normal manner. -So here, too, the hidden other self was learning to write, but learnt -more rapidly than a child learns, inasmuch as the process was now -but the transference of an organized memory from one stream of the -inner being to another. But, secondly, we must observe (and now I am -referring to many other cases besides the case cited) that the hidden -self does not learn to write just as a child learns, but rather by -passing through the stages first of _atactic_, then of _amnemonic_ -agraphy. That is to say, first, the pencil scrawls vaguely, like the -patient who cannot form a single letter; then it writes the wrong -letters or the wrong words, like the patient who writes blunderingly, -or chooses the letters JICMNOS for James Simmonds, JASPENOS for James -Pascoe, &c.; ultimately it writes correctly, though very likely (as -here, and in a case of Dr. Macnish’s) the handwriting of the _secondary -self_[30] (if I may suggest a needed term) is different from the -handwriting of the _primary_. - -Once more: the constant repetition of the same word (which I have -seen to continue with automatic writers even for months) is more -characteristic of aphasia than of agraphy. And we may just remark -in passing that vocal automatism presents the same analysis with -morbid aphasia which graphic automatism presents with morbid agraphy. -When the enthusiasts in Irving’s church first yelled vaguely, then -shouted some meaningless words many hundred times, and then gave -a “trance-address,” their _secondary self_ (I may suggest) was -attaining articulate speech through just the stages through which an -aphasic patient will sometimes pass.[31] The parallel is at least a -curious one; and if the theory which traces the automatic speech of -aphasic patients to the _right_ (or less-used) cerebral hemisphere -be confirmed, a singular light might be thrown on the _locus_ of the -second self. - -But I must pass on to one more case of automatic writing, a case which -I select as marking the furthest limit to which, so far as I am at -present aware, pure unconscious cerebration in the waking state can go. -Mr. A., whom I have already mentioned, is not usually able to get any -automatic writing except (as described above) of a word on which his -attention has been previously fixed. But at one period of his life, -when his brain was much excited by over-study, he found that if he held -a pencil and wrote _questions_ the pencil would, in a feeble scrawling -hand, quite unlike his own, write _answers_ which he could in nowise -foresee. Moreover, as will be seen, he was not only unable to foresee -these answers, he was sometimes unable even to comprehend them. Many -of them were anagrams—transpositions of letters which he had to puzzle -over before he could get at their meaning. This makes, of course, the -main importance of the case; this proof of the concurrent action of a -secondary self so entirely dissociated from the primary consciousness -that the questioner is almost baffled by his own automatic replies. -The matter of the replies is on the usual level of automatic messages, -which are apt to resemble the conversations of a capricious dream. The -interest of this form of self-interrogation certainly does not lie in -the wisdom of the oracle received. - - “The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, - But wonder how the devil they got there.” - -I abridge Mr. A.’s account, and give the _answers_ in italics. - - “‘What is it,’ said Mr. A., ‘that now moves my pen?’ _Religion._ - ‘What is religion?’ _Worship._ Here arose a difficulty. Although - I did not expect either of these answers, yet, when the first few - letters had been written, I expected the remainder of the word. This - might vitiate the result. But now, as if the intelligent wished to - prove by the manner of answering, that the answer could be due to - _it_ alone, and in no part to mere expediency, my next question - received a singular reply. ‘Worship of what?’ _Wbwbwbwb._ ‘What is the - meaning of wb?’ _Win, buy._ ‘What?’ _Knowledge._ On the second day - the first question was—‘What is man?’ _Flise._ My pen was at first - very violently agitated, which had not been the case on the first - day. It was quite a minute before it wrote as above. On the analogy - of _wb_ I proceeded: ‘What does F stand for?’ _Fesi._ ‘L?’ ‘;_Le._’ - ‘I?’ ‘;_Ivy._’ ‘S?’ _Sir._ ‘E?’ _Eye._ ‘Is _Fesi le ivy, sir, eye_, an - anagram?’ _Yes._ ‘How many words in the answer?’ _Four._” - -Mr. A. was unable to shift these letters into an intelligible sentence, -and began again on the third day with the same question: - - “‘What is man?’ _Tefi, Hasl, Esble, Lies._ ‘Is this an anagram?’ - _Yes._ ‘How many words in the answer?’ _Five._ ‘Must I interpret it - myself?’ _Try._ Presently I got out, _Life is the less able_. Next I - tried the previous anagram, and at last obtained _Every life is yes_.” - -Other anagrams also were given, as _wfvs yoitet_ (Testify! vow!); _ieb; -iov ogf wle_ (I go, vow belief!); and in reply to the question, “How -shall I believe?” _neb 16 vbliy ev 86 e earf ee_ (Believe by fear even! -1866). How unlikely it is that all this was due to mere accident may -be seen by any one who will take letters (the vowels and consonants -roughly proportioned to the frequency of their actual use), and try to -make up a series of handfuls _completely_ into words possessing any -grammatical coherence or intelligible meaning. Now in Mr. A.’s case all -the _professed_ anagrams were _real_ anagrams (with one error of _i_ -for _e_); some of the sentences were real answers to the questions; and -not even the absurdest sentences were wholly meaningless. In the two -first given, for instance, Mr. A. was inclined to trace a reference -to books lately read; the second sentence alluding to such doctrines -as that “Death solves mysteries which life cannot unlock;” the first -to Spinoza’s tenet that all existence is affirmation of the Deity. We -seem therefore to see the secondary self struggling to express abstract -thought with much the same kind of incoherence with which we have -elsewhere seen it struggle to express some concrete symbol. To revert -to our former parallel, we may say that “Every life is yes” bears -something the same relation to a thought of Spinoza’s which the letters -JICMNOS bear to the name James Simmonds. - -Let us consider, then, how far we have got. Mr. A. (on the view here -taken) is communing with his second self, with another focus of -cerebral activity within his own brain. And I imagine this other focus -of personality to be capable of exhibiting about as much intelligence -as one exhibits in an ordinary dream. Mr. A. awake is addressing Mr. -A. asleep; and the first replies, _Religion_, _Worship_, &c., are -very much the kind of answer that one gets if one addresses a man who -is partially comatose, or muttering in broken slumber. Such a man -will make brief replies which show at least that the _words_ of the -question are caught, though perhaps not its meaning. In the next place, -the answer _wb_ must, I think, as Mr. A. suggests, be taken as an -attempt to prove independent action, a confused inchoate response to -the writer’s fear that his waking self might be suggesting the words -written. The same trick of language—abbreviation by initial letters, -occurs on the second day again; and this kind of _continuity of -character_, which automatic messages often exhibit, has been sometimes -taken to indicate the persisting presence of an extraneous mind. But -perhaps its true parallel may be found in the well-known cases of -intermittent memory, where a person repeatedly subjected to certain -abnormal states, as somnambulism or the hypnotic trance, carries on -from one access into another a chain of recollections of which his -ordinary self knows nothing. - -In Mr. A.’s case, however, some persons might think that the proof of -an independent intelligence went much further than this; for his hand -wrote anagrams which his waking brain took an hour or more to unriddle. -And certainly there could hardly be a clearer proof that the answers -did not pass through the writer’s primary consciousness; that they -proceeded, if from himself at all, from a secondary self such as I -have been describing. But further than this we surely need not go. The -answers contain no unknown facts, no new materials, and there seems -no reason _à priori_ why the dream-self should not puzzle the waking -self; why its fantastic combinations of old elements of memory should -not need some pains to unravel. I may perhaps be permitted to quote -in illustration a recent dream of my own, to which I doubt not that -some of my readers can supply parallel instances. I dreamt that I saw -written in gold on a chapel wall some Greek hexameters, which, I was -told, were the work of an eminent living scholar. I gazed at them with -much respect, but dim comprehension, and succeeded in carrying back -into waking memory the bulk of one line:—ὁ μὲν κατὰ γᾶν θαλερὸν κύσε -δακνόμενον πῦρ. On waking, it needed some little thought to show me -that κατὰ γᾶν was a solecism for ὑπὸ γᾶν, revived from early boyhood, -and that the line meant: “He indeed beneath the earth embraced the -ever-burning, biting fire.” Further reflection reminded me that I -had lately been asked to apply to the Professor in question for an -inscription to be placed over the tomb of a common acquaintance. The -matter had dropped, and I had not thought of it again. But here, I -cannot doubt, was my inner self’s prevision of that unwritten epitaph; -although the drift of it certainly showed less tact and fine feeling -than my scholarly friend would have exhibited on such an occasion. - -Now just in this same way, as it seems to me, Mr. A.’s inner self -retraced the familiar path of one of his childish amusements, and -mystified the waking man with the puzzles of the boy. It may be that -the unconscious self moves more readily than the conscious along these -old-established and stable mnemonic tracks, that we constantly retrace -our early memories without knowing it, and that when some recollection -seems to have _left_ us it has only passed into a storehouse from which -we can no longer summon it at will. - -But we have not yet done with Mr. A.’s experiences. Yielding to the -suggestion that these anagrams were the work of some intelligence -without him, he placed himself in the mental attitude of colloquy with -some unknown being. Note the result: - - “Who art thou? _Clelia._ Thou art a woman? _Yes._ Hast thou ever lived - upon the earth? _No._ Wilt thou? _Yes._ When? _Six years._ Wherefore - dost thou speak with me? _E if Clelia el._” - -There is a disappointing ambiguity about this last very simple anagram, -which may mean “I Clelia feel,” or, “I Clelia flee.” - -But mark what has happened. Mr. A. has created and is talking to a -personage in his own dream. In other words, his secondary self has -produced in his primary self the illusion that there is a separate -intelligence at work; and this illusion of the primary self reacts on -the secondary, as the words which we whisper back to the muttering -dreamer influence the course of a dream which we cannot follow. The -fact, therefore, of Clelia’s apparent personality and unexpected -rejoinders do not so much as suggest any need to look outside Mr. -A’s mind for her origin. The figures in our own ordinary dreams say -things which startle and even shock us; nay, these shadows sometimes -even defy our attempts at analyzing them away. On the rare occasions, -so brief and precious, when one dreams and knows it is a dream, -I always endeavor to get at my dream-personages and test their -independence of character by a few suitable inquiries. Unfortunately -they invariably vanish under my perhaps too hasty interrogation. But a -shrewd Northumbrian lately told me the following dream, unique in his -experience, and over which he had often pondered. - - “I was walking in my dream,” he said, “in a Newcastle street, when - suddenly I knew so clearly that it was a dream, that I thought I would - find out what the folk in my dream thought of themselves. I saw three - foundrymen sitting at a yard door. I went up and said to all three: - ‘Are you conscious of a real objective existence?’ Two of the men - stared and laughed at me. But the man in the middle stretched out his - two hands to his two mates and said, ‘Feel that,’ They said, ‘We do - feel you,’ Then he held out his hand to me, and I told him that I felt - it solid and warm; then he said: ‘Well, sir, my mates feel that I am a - real man of flesh and blood, and you feel it, and I feel it. What more - would you have?’ Now I had not formed any notion of what this man was - going to say. And I could not answer him, and I awoke.” - -Now I take this self-assertive dream-foundry-man to be the exact -analogue of Clelia. Let us now see whether anything of Clelia survived -the excited hour which begat her. - - “On the fourth day,” says Mr. A., “I began my questioning in the - same exalted mood, but to my surprise did not get the same answer. - ‘Wherefore,’ I asked, ‘dost thou speak with me?’ (The answer was a - wavy line, denoting repetition, and meaning.—‘Wherefore dost _thou_ - speak with _me_?’) ‘Do I answer myself?’ _Yes._ ‘Is Clelia here?’ - _No._ ‘Who is it, then, now here?’ _Nobody._ ‘Does Clelia exist?’ - _No._ ‘With whom did I speak yesterday?’ _No one._ ‘Do souls exist in - another world?’ _Mb._ ‘What does _mb_ mean? ’_May be._” - -And this was all the revelation which our inquirer got. Some further -anagrams were given, but Clelia came no more. Such indeed, on the view -here set forth, was the natural conclusion. The dream passed through -its stages, and faded at last away. - -I have heard of a piece of French statuary entitled “Jeune homme -caressant sa Chimère.” Clelia, could the sculptor have caught her, -might have been his fittest model; what else could he have found at -once so intimate and so fugitive, discerned so elusively without us, -and yet with such a root within? - -I might mention many other strange varieties of graphic automatism; -as _reversed script_, so written as to be read in a mirror;[32] -alternating styles of handwriting, symbolic arabesque, and the like. -But I must hasten on to the object towards which I am mainly tending, -which is to show, not so much the influence exercised by a man’s -own mind on itself as the influence exercised by one man’s mind on -another’s. We have been watching, so to say, the psychic wave as it -washed up deep-sea products on the open shore. But the interest will -be keener still if we find that wave washing up the products of some -far-off clime; if we discover that there has been a profound current -with no surface trace—a current propagated by an unimagined impulse, -and obeying laws as yet unknown. - -The psychical phenomenon here alluded to is that for which I have -suggested the name Telepathy; the transference of ideas or sensations -from one conscious or unconscious mind to another, without the agency -of any of the recognized organs of sense. - -Our first task in the investigation of this influence has naturally -been to assure ourselves of the transmission of thought between two -persons, both of them in normal condition; the _agent_, conscious of -the thought which he wishes to transmit, the _percipient_, conscious of -the thought as he receives it. - -The “Proceedings” of the Society for Psychical Research must for a long -time be largely occupied with experiments of this definite kind. But, -of course, if such an influence truly exists, its manifestations are -not likely to be confined to the transference of a name or a cypher, a -card or a diagram, from one man’s field of mental vision to another’s, -by deliberate effort and as a preconcerted experiment. If Telepathy -be anything at all, it involves one of the profoundest laws of mind, -and, like other important laws, may be expected to operate in many -unlooked for ways, and to be at the root of many scattered phenomena, -inexplicable before. Especially must we watch for traces of it wherever -unconscious mental action is concerned. For the telepathic impact, we -may fairly conjecture, may often be a stimulus so gentle as to need -some concentration or exaltation in the percipient’s mind, or at least -some inhibition of competing stimuli, in order to enable him to realize -it in consciousness at all. And in fact (as we have shown or are -prepared to show), almost every abnormal mental condition (consistent -with sanity) as yet investigated yields some indication of telepathic -action. - -Telepathy, I venture to maintain, is an occasional phenomenon in -somnambulism and in the hypnotic state; it is one of the obscure causes -which generate hallucinations; it enters into dream and into delirium; -and it often rises to its maximum of vividness in the swoon that ends -in death. - -In accordance with analogy, therefore, we may expect to find that -automatic writing—this new glimpse into our deep-sea world—will afford -us some fresh proof of currents which set obscurely towards us from -the depths of minds other than our own. And we find, I believe, that -this is so. Had space permitted it, I should have liked to detail some -transitional cases, to have shown by what gradual steps we discover -that it is not always one man’s intelligence _alone_ which is concerned -in the message given, that an infusion of facts known to some spectator -only may mingle in the general tenor which the writer’s mind supplies. -Especially I should have wished to describe some attempts at this kind -of thought-transference attended with only slight or partial success. -For the mind justly hesitates to give credence to a palmary group of -experiments unless it has been prepared for them by following some -series of gradual suggestions and approximate endeavor. - -But the case which I am about to relate, although a _culminant_, is -not an _isolated_ one in the life-history of the persons concerned. -The Rev. P. H. Newnham, Rector of Maker, Devonport, experienced an -even more striking instance of thought-transference with Mrs. Newnham, -some forty years ago, before their marriage; and during subsequent -years there has been frequent and unmistakable transmission of thought -from husband to wife of an _involuntary_ kind, although it was only in -the year 1871 that they succeeded in getting the ideas transferred by -intentional effort. - -Mr. Newnham’s communication consists of a copy of entries in a -note-book made during eight months in 1871, at the actual moments -of experiment. Mrs. Newnham independently corroborates the account. -The entries had previously been shown to a few personal friends, but -had never been used, and were not meant to be used, for any literary -purpose. Mr. Newnham has kindly placed them at my disposal, from a -belief that they may serve to elucidate important truth. - - “Being desirous,” says the first entry in Mr. Newnham’s note-book, “of - investigating accurately the phenomena of ‘planchette,’ myself and my - wife have agreed to carry out a series of systematic experiments, in - order to ascertain the conditions under which the instrument is able - to work. To this end the following rules are strictly observed: - - “1. The question to be asked is written down before the planchette is - set in motion. This question, as a rule, is not known to the operator. - [The few cases were the question _was_ known to Mrs. Newnham are - specially marked in the note-book, and are none of them cited here.] - - “2. Whenever an evasive, or other, answer is returned, necessitating - one or more new questions to be put before a clear answer can be - obtained, the operator is not to be made aware of any of these - questions, or even of the general subject to which they allude, until - the final answer has been obtained. - - “My wife,” adds Mr. Newnham, “always sat at a small low table, in a - low chair, leaning backwards. I sat about eight feet distant, at a - rather high table, and with my back towards her while writing down - the questions. It was absolutely impossible that any gesture or play - of feature on my part could have been visible or intelligible to her. - As a rule she kept her eyes shut; but never became in the slightest - degree hypnotic, or even naturally drowsy. - - “Under these conditions we carried on experiments for about eight - months, and I have 309 questions and answers recorded in my note-book, - spread over this time. But the experiments were found very exhaustive - of nerve power, and as my wife’s health was delicate, and the fact of - thought-transmission had been abundantly proved, we thought it best to - abandon the pursuit. - - “The planchette began to move instantly with my wife. The answer was - often half written before I had completed the question. - - “On finding that it would write easily, I asked three simple - questions, which were known to the operator, then three others - unknown to her, relating to my own private concerns. All six having - been instantly answered in a manner to show complete intelligence, I - proceeded to ask: - - “(7) Write down the lowest temperature here this week. Answer: 8. Now, - this reply at once arrested my interest. The actual lowest temperature - had been 7·6°, so that 8 was the nearest whole degree; but my wife - said at once that, if she had been asked the question, she would have - written 7, and not 8; as she had forgotten the decimal, but remembered - my having said that the temperature had been down to 7 _something_, - - “I simply quote this as a good instance, at the very outset, of - perfect transmission of thought, coupled with a perfectly independent - reply; the answer being correct in itself, but different from the - impression on the conscious intelligence of both parties. - - “Naturally, our first desire was to see if we could obtain any - information concerning the nature of the intelligence which was - operating through the planchette, and of the method by which it - produced the written results. We repeated questions on this subject - again and again, and I will copy down the principal questions and - answers in this connection. - - “(13) Is it the operator’s brain or some external force that moves the - planchette? Answer ‘brain’ or ‘force.’ _Will._ - - “(14) Is it the will of a living person, or of an immaterial spirit - distinct from that person? Answer ‘person’ or ‘spirit.’ _Wife._ - - “(15) Give first the wife’s Christian name; then my favorite name for - her. (_This was accurately done._) - - “(27) What is your own name? _Only you._ - - “(28) We are not quite sure of the meaning of the answer. Explain. - _Wife._ - - “The subject was resumed on a later day. - - “(118) But does no one tell wife what to write? if so, who? _Spirit._ - - “(119) Whose spirit? _Wife’s brain._ - - “(120) But how does wife’s brain know masonic secrets? _Wife’s spirit - unconsciously guides._ - - “(190) Why are you not always influenced by what I think? _Wife knows - sometimes what you think._ (191) How does wife know it? _When her - brain is excited, and has not been much tried before._ (192) But by - what means are my thoughts conveyed to her brain? _Electrobiology._ - (193) What is electrobiology? _No one knows._ (194) But do not you - know? _No, wife does not know._ - - “My object,” says Mr. Newnham, “in quoting this large number of - questions and replies [many of them omitted here] has been not merely - to show the instantaneous and unfailing transmission of thought from - questioner to operator, but more especially to call attention to a - remarkable character of the answers given. These answers, consistent - and invariable in their tenor from first to last, did not correspond - with the opinion or expectation of either myself or my wife. Something - which takes the appearance of a source of intelligence distinct from - the conscious intelligence of either of us was clearly perceptible - from the very first. Assuming, at the outset, that if her source of - percipience could grasp my question, it would be equally willing - to reply in accordance with my request, in questions (13) (14) I - suggested the form of answer; but of this not the slightest notice was - taken. Neither myself nor my wife had ever taken part in any form of - (so-called) ‘spiritual’ manifestations before this time; nor had we - any decided opinion as to the agency by which phenomena of this kind - were brought about. But for such answers as those numbered (14), (27), - (144), (192), (194), we were both of us totally unprepared; and I may - add that, so far as we were prepossessed by any opinion whatever, - these replies were distinctly opposed to such opinions. In a word, - it is simply impossible that these replies should have been either - suggested, or composed, by the _conscious_ intelligence of either of - us.” - -Mr. Newnham obtained some curious results by questioning “planchette”, -on Masonic archæology—a subject which he had long studied, but of -which Mrs. Newnham knew nothing. It is to be observed, moreover, that -throughout the experiments Mrs. Newnham “was quite unable to follow -the motions of the planchette. Often she only touched it with a single -finger; but even with all her fingers resting on the board she never -had the slightest idea of what words were being traced out,” In this -case, therefore, we have Mrs. Newnham ignorant at once of all three -points:—of what was the question asked; of what the true answer would -have been; and of what answer was actually being written. Under these -circumstances the answer showed a mixture— - -(1) Of true Masonic facts, as known to Mr. Newnham; - -(2) Of Masonic theories, known to him, but held by him to be erroneous; - -(3) Of ignorance, sometimes, avowed, sometimes endeavoring to conceal -itself by subterfuge. - -I give an example:— - - “(166) Of what language is the first syllable of the Great Triple R. - A. word? _Don’t know._ (167) Yes, you do. What are the three languages - of which the word is composed? _Greek_, _Egypt_, _Syriac_. _First - syllable (correctly given), rest unknown._ (168) Write the syllable - which is Syriac. (_First Syllable correctly written._) (174) Write - down the word itself. (_First three and last two letters were written - correctly, but four incorrect letters, partly borrowed from another - word of the same degree, came in the middle._) (176) Why do you write - a word of which I know nothing? _Wife tried hard to catch the word, - but could not quite catch it._” - -So far the answers, though imperfect, honestly admit their -imperfection. There is nothing which a _second self_ of Mrs. -Newnham’s, with a certain amount of access to Mr. Newnham’s mind, -might not furnish. But I must give one instance of another class of -replies—replies which seem to wish to conceal ignorance and to elude -exact inquiry. - - “(182) Write out the prayer used at the advancement of a Mark Master - Mason. _Almighty Ruler of the Universe and Architect of all worlds, we - beseech Thee to accept this our brother whom we have this day received - into the most honorable company of Mark Master Masons. Grant him to be - a worthy member of our brotherhood; and may he be in his own person a - perfect mirror of all Masonic virtues. Grant that all our doings may - be to Thy honor and glory, and to the welfare of all mankind._ - - “This prayer was written off instantaneously and very rapidly. For - the benefit of those who are not members of the craft, I may say - that no prayer in the slightest degree resembling it is made use of - in the Ritual of any Masonic degree; and yet it contains more than - one strictly accurate technicality connected with the degree of - Mark Mason. My wife has never seen any Masonic prayers, whether in - ‘Carlile’ or any other real or spurious Ritual of the Masonic Order.” - -There was so much of this kind of untruthful evasion, and it was so -unlike anything in Mrs. Newnham’s character, that observers less -sober-minded would assuredly have fancied that some Puck or sprite -was intervening with a “third intelligence” compounded of aimless -cunning and childish jest. But Mr. Newnham inclines to a view fully in -accordance with that which this paper has throughout suggested. - - “Is this _third intelligence_,” he says, “analogous to the ‘dual - state,’ the existence of which, in a few extreme and most interesting - cases, is now well established? Is there a latent potentiality of a - ‘dual state’ existing in every brain? and are the few very striking - phenomena which have as yet been noticed and published only the - exceptional developments of a state which is inherent in most or in - all brains?” - -And alluding to a theory, which has at different times been much -discussed, of the more or less independent action of the two cerebral -hemispheres, he asks:— - - “May not the untrained half of the organ of mind, even in the most - pure and truthful characters, be capable of manifesting tendencies - like the hysterical girl’s, and of producing at all events the - _appearance_ of moral deficiencies which are totally foreign to the - well-trained and disciplined portion of the brain which is ordinarily - made use of?” - -In this place, however, it will be enough to say that the real cause -for surprise would have been if our secondary self had _not_ exhibited -a character in some way different from that which we recognize as -our own. Whatever other factors may enter into a man’s character, -two of the most important are undoubtedly his store of memories and -his _cænesthesia_, or the sum of the obscure sensations of his whole -physical structure. When either of these is suddenly altered, character -changes too—a change for an example of which we need scarcely look -further than our recollection of the moral obliquities and incoherences -of an ordinary dream. Our personality may be dyed throughout with the -same color, but the apparent tint will vary with the contexture of each -absorptive element within. And not graphic automatism only, but other -forms of muscular and vocal automatism must be examined and compared -before we can form even an empirical conception of that hidden agency, -which is ourselves, though we know it not. In the meantime I shall, I -think, be held to have shown that, in the vast majority of cases where -spiritualists are prone to refer automatic writing to some unseen -intelligence, there is really no valid ground for such an ascription. -I am, indeed, aware that some cases of a different kind are alleged to -exist—cases where automatic writing has communicated facts demonstrably -not known to the writer or to any one present. How far these cases can -satisfy the very rigorous scrutiny to which they ought obviously to be -subjected is a question which I may perhaps find some other opportunity -of discussing. - -But for the present our inquiry must pause here. Two distinct arguments -have been attempted in this paper: the first of them in accordance with -recognized physiological science, though with some novelty of its own; -the second lying altogether beyond what the consensus of authorities at -present admits. For, _first_, an attempt has been made to show that the -unconscious mental action which is admittedly going on within us may -manifest itself through graphic automatism with a degree of complexity -hitherto little suspected, so that a man may actually hold a written -colloquy with his own waking and responsive dream; and, _secondly_, -reason has been given for believing that automatic writing may -sometimes reply to questions which the writer does not see, and mention -facts which the writer does not know, the knowledge of those questions -or those facts being apparently derived by telepathic communication -from the conscious or unconscious mind of another person. - -Startling as this conclusion is, it will not be novel to those who have -followed the cognate experiments on other forms of thought-transference -detailed in the “Proceedings” of the Society for Psychical -Research.[33] And be it noted that our formula, “Mind can influence -mind independently of the recognized organs of sense,” has been again -and again foreshadowed by illustrious thinkers in the past. It is, for -instance, but a more generalized expression of Cuvier’s _dictum_, “that -a communication can under certain circumstances be established between -the nervous systems of two persons.” Such communication, indeed, like -other mental phenomena, may be presumed to have a _neural_ as well as a -_psychical_ aspect; and if we prefer to use the word _mind_ rather than -_brain_, it is because the mental side is that which primarily presents -itself for investigation, and in such a matter it is well to avoid even -the semblance of _theory_ until we have established _fact_. - -Before concluding, let us return for a moment to the popular -apprehensions to which my opening paragraphs referred. Has not some -reason been shown for thinking that these fears were premature? that -they sprang from too ready an assumption that all the discoveries of -psycho-physics would reveal us as smaller and more explicable things, -and that the analysis of man’s personality would end in analysing -man away? It is not, on the other hand, at least possible that this -analysis may reveal also faculties of unlooked-for range, and powers -which our conscious self was not aware of possessing? A generation -ago there were many who resented the supposition that man had sprung -from the ape. But on reflection most of us have discerned that this -repugnance came rather from pride than wisdom; and that with the -race, as with the individual, there is more true hope for him who -has risen by education from the beggar-boy than for him who has -fallen by transgression from the prince. And now once more it seems -possible that a more searching analysis of our mental constitution may -reveal to us not a straitened and materialized, but a developing and -expanding view of the “powers that lie folded up in man.” Our best -hope, perhaps, should be drawn from our potentialities rather than -our perfections; and the doubt whether we are our full selves already -may suggest that our true subjective unity may wait to be realized -elsewhere.—_Contemporary Review._ - - - - -SCIENTIFIC _VERSUS_ BUCOLIC VIVISECTION. - -BY JAMES COTTER MORISON. - - -To judge from appearances, we are threatened with a new agitation -against vivisection. The recent controversy carried on in the columns -of the _Times_ revealed an amount of heat on the subject which can -hardly fail to find some new mode of motion on the platform, or even in -Parliament. It is evident that passions of no common fervor have been -kindled, at least, in one party to the controversy, and efforts will -probably be made to work the public mind up to a similar temperature. -The few observations which follow are intended to have, if possible, -a contrary effect. The question of vivisection should not be beyond -the possibility of a rational discussion. When antagonism, so fierce -and uncompromising, exists as in the present case, the presumption is -that the disputants argue from incompatible principles. Neither side -convinces or even seriously discomposes the other, because they are not -agreed as to the ultimate criteria of the debate. - -It is evident that the first and most important point to be decided, -is: “What is the just and moral attitude of man towards the lower -animals?” or to put the question in another form: “What are the rights -of animals as against man?” Till these questions are answered with -some approach to definiteness, we clearly shall float about in vague -generalities. Formerly, animals had no rights; they have very few now -in some parts of the East. Man exercised his power and cruelty upon -them with little or no blame from the mass of his fellows. The improved -sentiment in this respect is one of the best proofs of progress that -we have to show. Cruelty to animals is not only punished by law, but -reprobated, we may believe—in spite of occasional brutalities—by -general public opinion. The point on which precision is required is, -how far this reformed sentiment is to extend? Does it allow us to use -animals (even to the extent of eating them) for our own purposes, on -the condition of treating them well on the whole, of not inflicting -upon them unnecessary pain; or should it logically lead to complete -abstention from meddling with them at all, from interfering with their -liberty, from making them work for us, and supplying by their bodies -a chief article of our food? Only the extreme sect of vegetarians -maintains this latter view, and with vegetarians we are not for the -moment concerned; and I am not aware that even vegetarians oppose -the labor of animals for the uses of man. Now, what I would wish to -point out is, that if we do allow the use of animals by man, it is a -practical impossibility to prevent the occasional, or even the frequent -infliction of great pain and suffering upon them, at times amounting -to cruelty; that if the infliction of cruelty is a valid argument -against the practice of vivisection, it is a valid argument against -a number of other practices, which nevertheless go unchallenged. The -general public has a right to ask the opponents of vivisection why they -are so peremptory in denouncing one, and relatively a small form of -cruelty, while they are silent and passive in reference to other and -much more common forms. We want to know the reason of what appears a -very great and palpable inconsistency. We could understand people who -said, “You have no more right to enslave, kill, and eat animals than -men; _à fortiori_, you may not vivisect them.” But it is not easy to -see how those who do not object, apparently, to the numberless cruel -usages to which the domesticated animals are inevitably subjected by -our enslavement of them, yet pass these all by and fix their eyes -exclusively on one minute form of cruelty, singling _that_ out for -exclusive obloquy and reprobation. Miss Cobbe (_Times_, Jan. 6) says, -“The whole practice (of vivisection) starts from a wrong view of the -use of the lower animals, and of their relations to us.” That may be -very true, but I question if Miss Cobbe had sufficiently considered -the number of “practices” which her principles should lead her to -pronounce as equally starting from a wrong view of the use of the -lower animals, and of their relation to us. - -It is clear that the anti-vivisectionists are resolute in refusing -the challenge repeatedly made to them, either to denounce the -cruelties of sport or to hold their peace about the cruelties of -vivisection. One sees the shrewdness but hardly the consistency or -the courage of their policy in this respect. Sport is a time-honored -institution, the amusement of the “fine old English gentleman,” most -respectable, conservative, and connected with the landed interest; -hostility to it shows that you are a low radical fellow, quite remote -from the feeling of good society. Sport is therefore let alone. The -lingering agony and death of the wounded birds, the anguish of the -coursed hare, the misery of the hunted fox, even when not aggravated -by the veritable _auto da fé_ of smoking or burning him out if he -has taken to earth, the abominable cruelty of rabbit traps; these -forms of cruelty and “torture,” inasmuch as their sole object is the -amusement of our idle classes, do not move the indignant compassion -of the anti-vivisectionist. The sportsman may steal a horse when the -biologist may not look over a hedge. The constant cruelty to horses by -ill-fitting harness, over-loading, and over-driving must distress every -human mind. A tight collar which presses on the windpipe and makes -breathing a repeated pain must in its daily and hourly accumulation -produce an amount of suffering which few vivisectionists could equal -if they tried. Look at the forelegs of cab horses, especially of the -four-wheelers on night service, and mark their knees “over,” as it is -called, which means seriously diseased joint, probably never moved -without pain. The efforts of horses to keep their feet in “greasy” -weather on the wood pavement are horrible to witness. To such a nervous -animal as the horse the fear of falling is a very painful emotion; yet -hundreds of omnibuses tear along at express speed every morning and -evening, with loads which only the pluck of the animals enables them -to draw, and not a step of the journey between the City and the West -End is probably made without the presence of this painful emotion. -Every day, in some part of the route, a horse falls. Then occurs one -of the most repulsive incidents of the London streets, the gaping crowd -of idlers, through which is heard the unfailing prescription to “sit -on his head,” promptly carried out by some officious rough, who has -no scruples as to the “relations of the lower animals to us.” Again, -in war the sufferings and consumption of animals is simply frightful. -Field-officers—some of whom, it appears, are opposed to vivisection—are -generally rather proud, or they used to be, of having horses “shot -under them.” But this cannot occur without considerable torture to -the horses. The number of camels which slipped and “split up” in the -Afghan war has been variously stated between ten and fifteen thousand. -In either case animal suffering must have been on a colossal scale. -Now the point one would like to see cleared up is, why this almost -boundless field of animal suffering is ignored and the relatively -minute amount of it produced in the dissecting-rooms of biologists so -loudly denounced. - -But what I wish particularly to call attention to is the practice -of vivisection as exercised by our graziers and breeders all over -the country on tens of thousands of animals yearly, by an operation -always involving great pain and occasional death. In a review intended -for general circulation the operation I refer to cannot be described -in detail, but every one will understand the allusion made. It is -performed on horses, cattle, sheep, pigs, and fowls. With regard to the -horses the object is to make them docile and manageable. The eminent -Veterinary-Surgeon Youatt, in his book on the Horse (chap. xv.), speaks -of it as often performed “with haste, carelessness, and brutality:” but -even he is of opinion “that the old method of preventing hæmorrhage by -temporary pressure of the vessels while they are seared with a hot iron -_must not perhaps be abandoned_.” He objects strongly to a “practice of -some farmers,” who, by means of a ligature obtain their end, but “not -until the animal has suffered sadly,” and adds that inflammation and -death frequently ensue. - -With regard to cattle, sheep, and pigs, the object of the operation -is to hasten growth, to increase size, and to improve the flavor of -the meat. The mutton, beef, and pork on which we feed are, with rare -exceptions, the flesh of animals who have been submitted to the painful -operation in question. In the case of the female pig the corresponding -operation is particularly severe; while as to fowls, the pain -inflicted was so excruciating in the opinion of an illustrious young -physiologist, whom science still mourns, that he on principle abstained -from eating the flesh of the capon. - -Now there is no doubt that here we have vivisection in its most -extensive and harsh form. More animals are subjected to it in one year -than have been vivisected by biologists in half-a-century. It need not -be said that anæsthetics are not used, and if they were or could be -they would not assuage the suffering which follows the operation. It -will surely be only prudent for the opponents of scientific vivisection -to inform us why they are passive and silent with regard to bucolic -vivisection. They declare that knowledge obtained by the torture of -animals is impure, unholy, and vitiated at its source, and they reject -it with many expressions of scorn. What do they say to their daily -food which is obtained by the same means? They live by the results of -vivisection on the largest scale—the food they eat—and they spend a -good portion of their lives thus sustained in denouncing vivisection on -the smallest scale because it only produces knowledge. It is true that -they are not particular to conceal their suspicion that the knowledge -claimed to be derived from vivisection is an imposture and a sham. -Do they not, by the inconsistencies here briefly alluded to, their -hostility to alleged knowledge, and their devotion to very substantial -beef and mutton, the one and the other the products of vivisection, -expose themselves to a suspicion better founded than that which they -allow themselves to express? They question the value of vivisection, -may not the single-mindedness of their hostility to it be questioned -with better ground? Biology is now the frontier science exposed for -obvious reasons to the _odium theologicum_ in a marked degree. The -havoc it has made among cherished religious opinions amply accounts -for the dislike which it excites. But it is difficult to attack. On -the other hand, an outcry that its methods are cruel, immoral, and -revolting may serve as a useful diversion, and even give it a welcome -check. The Puritans, it was remarked, objected to bear-baiting, not -because it hurt the bear, but because it pleased the men. May we not -say that vivisection is opposed, not because it is painful to animals, -but because it tends to the advancement of science? - -The question recurs, What is our proper relation to the lower -animals? May we use them? If so, abuse and cruelty will inevitably -occur. May we not use them? Then our civilisation and daily life -must be revolutionised to a degree not suggested or easy to -conceive.—_Fortnightly Review._ - -FOOTNOTES: - -[26] _The Empire of the Hittites._ By WILLIAM WRIGHT, B.A., D.D. James -Nisbet and Co. - -[27] A distinguished French _savant_, writing in the _Revue -Philosophique_ for December 1884 has described some ingenious -experiments for detecting the indications of telepathic influence—of -the transference of thought from mind to mind which may be afforded by -the movements communicated to a table by the unconscious pressure of -the sitters. Dr. Richet’s investigations, though apparently suggested, -in part at least, by those of the Society for Psychical Research, have -followed a quite original line, with results of much interest. - -[28] In a paper on “The Stages of Hypnotism” in _Mind_ for October -1884, Mr. E. Gurney, describes an experiment where this persistent -influence of an impressed idea could in a certain sense, be detected -in the muscular system. “A boy’s arm being flexed” (and the boy having -been told that he _cannot_ extend it), “he is offered a sovereign to -extend it. He struggles till he is red in the face; but all the while -his triceps is remaining quite flaccid, or if some rigidity appears -in it, the effect is at once counteracted by an equal rigidity in the -biceps. The idea of the impossibility of extension—_i.e._, the idea of -continued flexion—is thus acting itself out, even when wholly rejected -from the mind.” - -[29] M. Taine, in the preface to the later editions of his “De -l’Intelligence,” narrates a case of this kind, and adds, “Certainement -on constate ici un dédoublement du moi; la présence simultanée de deux -séries d’idées parallèles et indépendantes, de deux centres d’action, -ou si l’on veut, de deux personnes morales juxtaposées dans le même -cerveau.” - -[30] It is obvious that in an argument which has to thread its way amid -so much of controversy and complexity, no terminology whatever can be -safe from objection. In using the word _self_ I do not mean to imply -any theory as to the metaphysical nature of the self or ego. - -[31] It is worth noticing in this connection that in one case of -Brown-Séquard’s an aphasic patient _talked in his sleep_. - -[32] “Mirror-writing” is not very rare with left-handed children and -imbeciles, and has been observed, in association with aphasia, as a -result of hemiplegia of the right side. If (as Dr. Ireland supposes, -“Brain,” vol. iv. p. 367) this “Spiegel-schrift” is the expression of -an _inverse verbal image_ formed in the _right hemisphere_; we shall -have another indication that the _right hemisphere_ is concerned in -some forms of _automatic_ writing also. - -[33] Records of carefully conducted experiments in automatic writing -are earnestly requested, and may be addressed to the Secretary, Society -for Psychical Research, 14 Dean’s Yard, Westminster. - - - - -NOTES ON POPULAR ENGLISH. - -BY THE LATE ISAAC TODHUNTER. - -I have from time to time recorded such examples of language as struck -me for inaccuracy or any other peculiarity; but lately the pressure -of other engagements has prevented me from continuing my collection, -and has compelled me to renounce the design once entertained of using -them for the foundation of a systematic essay. The present article -contains a small selection from my store, and may be of interest to all -who value accuracy and clearness. It is only necessary to say that the -examples are not fabricated: all are taken from writers of good repute, -and notes of the original places have been preserved, though it has not -been thought necessary to encumber these pages with references. The -italics have been supplied in those cases where they are used. - -One of the most obvious peculiarities at present to be noticed is -the use of the word _if_ when there is nothing really conditional in -the sentence. Thus we read: “If the Prussian plan of operations was -faulty the movements of the Crown Prince’s army were in a high degree -excellent.” The writer does not really mean what his words seem to -imply, that the excellence was contingent on the fault: he simply means -to make two independent statements. As another example we have: “Yet -he never founded a family; if his two daughters carried his name and -blood into the families of the _Herreras_ and the Zuñigos, his two sons -died before him.” Here again the two events which are connected by the -conditional _if_ are really quite independent. Other examples follow: -“If it be true that Paris is an American’s paradise, symptoms are not -wanting that there are Parisians who cast a longing look towards the -institutions of the United States.” “If M. Stanilas Julien has taken -up his position in the Celestial Empire, M. Léon de Rosny seems to -have selected the neighboring country of Japan for his own special -province.” “But those who are much engaged in public affairs cannot -always be honest, and if this is not an excuse, it is at least a fact.” -“But if a Cambridge man was to be appointed, Mr.—— is a ripe scholar -and a good parish priest, and I rejoice that a place very dear to me -should have fallen into such good hands.” - -Other examples, differing in some respects from those already given, -concur in exhibiting a strange use of the word _if_. Thus we read: “If -the late rumors of dissension in the Cabinet had been well founded, -the retirement of half his colleagues would not have weakened Mr. -Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons.” The conditional proposition -intended is probably this: if half his colleagues were to retire, Mr. -Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons would not be weakened. “If -a big book is a big evil, the _Bijou Gazetteer of the World_ ought -to stand at the summit of excellence. It is the tiniest geographical -directory we have ever seen.” This is quite illogical: if a big book -is a big evil, it does not follow that a little book is a great good. -“If in the main I have adhered to the English version, it has been -from the conviction that our translators were in the right.” It is -rather difficult to see what is the precise opinion here expressed -as to our translators; whether an absolute or contingent approval is -intended. “If you think it worth your while to inspect the school from -the outside, that is for yourself to decide upon.” The decision is not -contingent on the thinking it worth while: they are identical. For the -last example we take this: “...but if it does not retard his return -to office it can hardly accelerate it.” The meaning is, “This speech -cannot accelerate and may retard Mr. Disraeli’s return to office.” The -triple occurrence of _it_ is very awkward. - -An error not uncommon in the present day is the blending of two -different constructions in one sentence. The grammars of our childhood -used to condemn such a sentence as this: “He was more beloved but not -so much admired as Cynthio.” The former part of the sentence requires -to be followed by _than_, and not by _as_. The following are recent -examples:—“The little farmer [in France] has no greater enjoyments, if -so many, as the English laborer.” “I find public-school boys generally -more fluent, and as superficial as boys educated elsewhere.” “Mallet, -for instance, records his delight and wonder at the Alps and the -descent into Italy in terms quite as warm, if much less profuse, as -those of the most impressible modern tourist.” An awkward construction, -almost as bad as a fault, is seen in the following sentence:—“Messrs.—— -having secured the co-operation of some of the most eminent professors -of, and writers on, the various branches of science....” - -A very favorite practice is that of changing a word where there is -no corresponding change of meaning. Take the following example from -a voluminous historian:—“Huge pinnacles of bare rock shoot up into -the azure firmament, and forests overspread their sides, in which the -scarlet rhododendrons sixty feet in _height_ are surmounted by trees -two hundred feet in _elevation_.” In a passage of this kind it may be -of little consequence whether a word is retained or changed; but for -any purpose where precision is valuable it is nearly as bad to use -two words in one sense as one word in two senses. Let us take some -other examples. We read in the usual channels of information that -“Mr. Gladstone has issued invitations for a full-dress Parliamentary -_dinner_, and Lord Granville has issued invitations for a full-dress -Parliamentary _banquet_.” Again we read: “The Government proposes -to divide the occupiers of land into four categories;” and almost -immediately after we have “the second class comprehends...”: so that -we see the grand word _category_ merely stands for _class_. Again: -“This morning the _Czar_ drove alone through the Thiergarten, and on -his return received Field-Marshals Wrangel and Moltke, as well as many -other general officers, and then gave audience to numerous visitors. -Towards noon the _Emperor Alexander_, accompanied by the Russian Grand -Dukes, paid a visit....” “Mr. Ayrton, according to _Nature_, has -accepted Dr. Hooker’s explanation of the letter to Mr. Gladstone’s -secretary, at which the First Commissioner of Works took umbrage, -so that the dispute is at an end.” I may remark that Mr. Ayrton is -identical with the First Commissioner of Works. A writer recently in a -sketch of travels spoke of a “Turkish gentleman with his _innumerable_ -wives,” and soon after said that she “never saw him address any of -his _multifarious_ wives.” One of the illustrated periodicals gave a -picture of an event in recent French history, entitled, “The National -Guards Firing on the People.” Here the change from _national_ to -_people_ slightly conceals the strange contradiction of guardians -firing on those whom they ought to guard. - -Let us now take one example in which a word is repeated, but in a -rather different sense: “The Grand Duke of Baden sat _next_ to the -Emperor William, the Imperial Crown Prince of Germany _next_ to the -Grand Duke. _Next_ came the other princely personages.” The word _next_ -is used in the last instance in not quite the same sense as in the -former two instances; for all the princely personages could not sit in -contact with the Crown Prince. - -A class of examples may be found in which there is an obvious -incongruity between two of the words which occur. Thus, “We are more -than doubtful;” that is, we are _more than full_ of doubts: this is -obviously impossible. Then we read of “a man of more than doubtful -sanity.” Again we read of “a more than questionable statement”: this -is I suppose a very harsh elliptical construction for such a sentence -as “a statement to which we might apply an epithet more condemnatory -than _questionable_.” So also we read “a more unobjectionable -character.” Again: “Let the Second Chamber be composed of elected -members, and their utility will be _more than halved_.” To take the -_half_ of anything is to perform a definite operation, which is not -susceptible of more or less. Again: “The singular and almost _excessive -impartiality_ and power of appreciation.” It is impossible to conceive -of excessive impartiality. Other recent examples of these impossible -combinations are, “more faultless,” “less indisputable.” “The high -antiquity of the narrative cannot reasonably be doubted, and almost -as little its _ultimate_ Apostolic _origin_.” The ultimate origin, -that is the _last beginning_, of anything seems a contradiction. The -common phrase _bad health_ seems of the same character; it is almost -equivalent to _unsound soundness_ or to _unprosperous prosperity_. In -a passage already quoted, we read that the Czar “gave _audience_ to -numerous _visitors_,” and in a similar manner a very distinguished -lecturer speaks of making experiments “_visible_ to a large -_audience_.” It would seem from the last instance that our language -wants a word to denote a mass of people collected not so much to hear -an address as to see what are called experiments. Perhaps if our -savage forefathers had enjoyed the advantages of courses of scientific -lectures, the vocabulary would be supplied with the missing word. - -_Talented_ is a vile barbarism which Coleridge indignantly denounced: -there is no verb _to talent_ from which such a participle could be -deduced. Perhaps this imaginary word is not common at the present; -though I am sorry to see from my notes that it still finds favor -with classical scholars. It was used some time since by a well-known -professor, just as he was about to emigrate to America; so it may have -been merely evidence that he was rendering himself familiar with the -language of his adopted country. - -_Ignore_ is a very popular and a very bad word. As there is no good -authority for it, the meaning is naturally uncertain. It seems to -fluctuate between _wilfully concealing_ something and _unintentionally -omitting_ something, and this vagueness renders it a convenient tool -for an unscrupulous orator or writer. - -The word _lengthened_ is often used instead of _long_. Thus we read -that such and such an orator made a _lengthened_ speech, when the -intended meaning is that he made a _long_ speech. The word _lengthened_ -has its appropriate meaning. Thus, after a ship has been built by -the Admiralty, it is sometimes cut into two and a piece inserted: -this operation, very reprehensible doubtless on financial grounds, -is correctly described as _lengthening_ the ship. It will be obvious -on consideration that _lengthened_ is not synonymous with _long_. -_Protracted_ and _prolonged_ are also often used instead of _long_; -though perhaps with less decided impropriety than _lengthened_. - -A very common phrase with controversial writers is, “we _shrewdly_ -suspect.” This is equivalent to, “we acutely suspect.” The cleverness -of the suspicion should, however, be attributed to the writers by other -people, and not by themselves. - -The simple word _but_ is often used when it is difficult to see any -shade of opposition or contrast such as we naturally expect. Thus we -read: “There were several candidates, _but_ the choice fell upon—— of -Trinity College.” Another account of the same transaction was expressed -thus: “It was understood that there were several candidates; the -election fell, _however_, upon—— of Trinity College.” - -The word _mistaken_ is curious as being constantly used in a sense -directly contrary to that which, according to its formation, it ought -to have. Thus: “He is often mistaken, but never trivial and insipid.” -“He is often mistaken” ought to mean that other people often mistake -him; just as “he is often misunderstood” means that people often -misunderstand him. But the writer of the above sentence intends to say -that “He often makes mistakes.” It would be well if we could get rid of -this anomalous use of the word _mistaken_. I suppose that _wrong_ or -_erroneous_ would always suffice. But I must admit that good writers -do employ _mistaken_ in the sense which seems contrary to analogy; -for example, Dugald Stewart does so, and also a distinguished leading -philosopher whose style shows decided traces of Dugald Stewart’s -influence. - -I shall be thought hypercritical perhaps if I object to the use of -_sanction_ as a verb; but it seems to be a comparatively modern -innovation. I must, however, admit that it is used by the two -distinguished writers to whom I alluded with respect to the word -_mistaken_. Recently some religious services in London were asserted -by the promoters to be _under the sanction_ of three bishops; almost -immediately afterwards letters appeared from the three bishops in which -they qualified the amount of their approbation: rather curiously all -three used _sanction_ as a verb. The theology of the bishops might -be the sounder, but as to accuracy of language I think the inferior -clergy had the advantage. By an obvious association I may say that if -any words of mine could reach episcopal ears, I should like to ask why -a first charge is called a _primary_ charge, for it does not appear -that this mode of expression is continued. We have, I think, second, -third, and so on, instead of _secondary_, _tertiary_, and so on, to -distinguish the subsequent charges. - -Very eminent authors will probably always claim liberty and indulge in -peculiarities; and it would be ungrateful to be censorious on those -who have permanently enriched our literature. We must, then, allow an -eminent historian to use the word _cult_ for worship or superstition; -so that he tells us of an _indecent cult_ when he means an _unseemly -false religion_. So, too, we must allow another eminent historian to -introduce a foreign idiom, and speak of a _man of pronounced opinions_. - -One or two of our popular writers on scientific subjects are fond -of frequently introducing the word _bizarre_; surely some English -equivalent might be substituted with advantage. The author of an -anonymous academical paper a few years since was discovered by a slight -peculiarity—namely, the use of the word _ones_, if there be such a -word: this occurred in certain productions to which the author had -affixed his name, and so the same phenomenon in the unacknowledged -paper betrayed the origin which had been concealed. - -A curious want of critical tact was displayed some years since by -a reviewer of great influence. Macaulay, in his Life of Atterbury, -speaking of Atterbury’s daughter, says that her great wish was to see -her _papa_ before she died. The reviewer condemned the use of what -he called the _mawkish word papa_. Macaulay, of course, was right; -he used the daughter’s own word, and any person who consults the -original account will see that accuracy would have been sacrificed -by substituting _father_. Surely the reviewer ought to have had -sufficient respect for Macaulay’s reading and memory to hesitate before -pronouncing an off-hand censure. - -Cobbett justly blamed the practice of putting “&c.” to save the trouble -of completing a sentence properly. In mathematical writings this symbol -may be tolerated because it generally involves no ambiguity, but is -used merely as an abbreviation the meaning of which is obvious from -the context. But in other works there is frequently no clue to guide -us in affixing a meaning to the symbol, and we can only interpret its -presence as a sign that something has been omitted. The following is an -example: “It describes a portion of Hellenic philosophy: it dwells upon -eminent individuals, inquiring, theorising, reasoning, confuting, &c., -as contrasted with those collective political and social manifestations -which form the matter of history....” - -The examples of confusion of metaphor ascribed to the late Lord -Castlereagh are so absurd that it might have been thought impossible -to rival them. Nevertheless the following, though in somewhat quieter -style, seems to me to approach very nearly to the best of those that -were spoken by Castlereagh or forged for him by Mackintosh. A recent -Cabinet Minister described the error of an Indian official in these -words: “He remained too long under the influence of the views which -he had imbibed from the Board.” To imbibe a view seems strange, but -to imbibe anything from a Board must be very difficult. I may observe -that the phrase of Castlereagh’s which is now best known, seems to -suffer from misquotation: we usually have, “an ignorant impatience of -taxation”; but the original form appears to have been, “an ignorant -impatience of the relaxation of taxation.” - -The following sentence is from a voluminous historian: “The _decline_ -of the material comforts of the working classes, from the effects of -the Revolution, had been incessant, and had now reached an alarming -_height_.” It is possible to ascend to an alarming height, but it is -surely difficult to decline to an alarming height. - -“Nothing could be more one-sided than the point of view adopted by the -speakers.” It is very strange to speak of a point as having a side; and -then how can _one-sided_ admit of comparison? A thing either has one -side or it has not: there cannot be degrees in one-sidedness. However, -even mathematicians do not always manage the word _point_ correctly. -In a modern valuable work we read of “a more extended point of view,” -though we know that a point does not admit of extension. This curious -phrase is also to be found in two eminent French writers, Bailly and -D’Alembert. I suppose that what is meant is, a point which commands a -more extended view. “Froschammer wishes to approach the subject from -a philosophical standpoint.” It is impossible to _stand_ and yet to -_approach_. Either he should _survey_ the subject from a _stand_-point, -or _approach_ it from a _starting_-point. - -“The most scientific of our Continental theologians have returned -back again to the relations and ramifications of the old paths.” Here -_paths_ and _ramifications_ do not correspond; nor is it obvious what -the _relations_ of _paths_ are. Then _returned back again_ seems to -involve superfluity; either _returned_ or _turned back again_ would -have been better. - -A large school had lately fallen into difficulties owing to internal -dissensions; in the report of a council on the subject it was stated -that measures had been taken to _introduce more harmony and good -feelings_. The word _introduce_ suggests the idea that harmony and -good feeling could be laid on like water or gas by proper mechanical -adjustment, or could be supplied like first-class furniture by a London -upholsterer. - -An orator speaking of the uselessness of a dean said that “he wastes -his sweetness on the desert air, and stands like an engine upon a -siding.” This is a strange combination of metaphors. - -The following example is curious as showing how an awkward metaphor has -been carried out: “In the _face_ of such assertions what is the puzzled -_spectator_ to do.” The contrary proceeding is much more common, namely -to drop a metaphor prematurely or to change it. For instance: “Physics -and metaphysics, physiology and psychology, thus become united, and -the study of man passes from the uncertain light of mere opinion to -the region of science.” Here _region_ corresponds very badly with -_uncertain light_. - -Metaphors and similes require to be employed with great care, at least -by those who value taste and accuracy. I hope I may be allowed to give -one example of a more serious kind than those hitherto supplied. The -words _like lost sheep_ which occur at the commencement of our Liturgy -always seem to me singularly objectionable, and for two reasons. In -the first place, illustrations being intended to unfold our meaning -are appropriate in explanation and instruction, but not in religious -confession. And in the second place the illustration as used by -ourselves is not accurate; for the condition of a _lost sheep_ does not -necessarily suggest that conscious lapse from rectitude which is the -essence of human transgression. - -A passage has been quoted with approbation by more than one critic from -the late Professor Conington’s translation of Horace, in which the -following line occurs:— - - “After life’s endless babble they sleep well.” - -Now the word _endless_ here is extremely awkward; for if the babble -never ends, how can anything come after it? - -To digress for a moment, I may observe that this line gives a good -illustration of the process by which what is called Latin verse is -often constructed. Every person sees that the line is formed out of -Shakespeare’s “after life’s fitful fever he sleeps well.” The ingenuity -of the transference may be admired, but it seems to me that it is easy -to give more than a due amount of admiration; and, as the instance -shows, the adaptation may issue in something bordering on the absurd. -As an example in Latin versification, take the following. Every one who -has not quite forgotten his schoolboy days remembers the line in Virgil -ending with _non imitabile fulmen_. A good scholar, prematurely lost to -his college and university, having for an exercise to translate into -Latin the passage in Milton relating to the moon’s _peerless light_ -finished a line with _non imitabile lumen_. One can hardly wonder at -the tendency to overvalue such felicitous appropriation. - -The language of the shop and the market must not be expected to be very -exact: we may be content to be amused by some of its peculiarities. -I cannot say that I have seen the statement which is said to have -appeared in the following form: “Dead pigs are looking up.” We find -very frequently advertised, “_Digestive_ biscuits”—perhaps _digestible_ -biscuits are meant. In a catalogue of books an _Encyclopædia of -Mental Science_ is advertised; and after the names of the authors we -read, “invaluable, 5_s._ 6_d._”: this is a curious explanation of -_invaluable_. - -The title of a book recently advertised is, _Thoughts for those who -are Thoughtful_. It might seem superfluous, not to say impossible, to -supply thoughts to those who are already full of thought. - -The word _limited_ is at present very popular in the domain of -commerce. Thus we read, “Although the space given to us was limited.” -This we can readily suppose; for in a finite building there cannot be -unlimited space. Booksellers can perhaps say, without impropriety, -that a “limited number will be printed,” as this may only imply that -the type will be broken up; but they sometimes tell us that “a limited -number _was_ printed,” and this is an obvious truism. - -Some pills used to be advertised for the use of the “possessor of pains -in the back,” the advertisement being accompanied with a large picture -representing the unhappy capitalist tormented by his property. - -Pronouns, which are troublesome to all writers of English, are -especially embarrassing to the authors of prospectuses and -advertisements. A wine company return thanks to their friends, -“and, at the same time, _they_ would assure _them_ that it is -_their_ constant study not only to find improvements for _their_ -convenience....” Observe how the pronouns oscillate in their -application between the company and their friends. - -In selecting titles of books there is room for improvement. Thus, a -_Quarterly Journal_ is not uncommon; the words strictly are suggestive -of a _Quarterly Daily_ publication. I remember, some years since, -observing a notice that a certain obscure society proposed to celebrate -its _triennial anniversary_. - -In one of the theological newspapers a clergyman seeking a curacy -states as an exposition of his theological position, “Views -Prayer-book.” I should hope that this would not be a specimen of -the ordinary literary style of the applicant. The advertisements in -the same periodical exhibit occasionally a very unpleasant blending -of religious and secular elements. Take two examples—“Needle-woman -wanted. She must be a communicant, have a long character, and be a good -dressmaker and milliner.” “Pretty furnished cottage to let, with good -garden, etc. Rent moderate. Church work valued. Weekly celebrations. -Near rail. Good fishing.” - -A few words may be given to same popular misquotations. “The last -infirmity of noble minds” is perpetually occurring. Milton wrote -_mind_ not _minds_. It may be said that he means _minds_; but the only -evidence seems to be that it is difficult to affix any other sense to -_mind_ than making it equivalent to _minds_: this scarcely convinces -me, though I admit the difficulty. - -“He that runs may read” is often supposed to be a quotation from the -Bible: the words really are “he may run that readeth,” and it is not -certain that the sense conveyed by the popular misquotation is correct. - -A proverb which correctly runs thus: “The road to hell is paved with -good intentions,” is often quoted in the far less expressive form, -“Hell is paved with good intentions.” - -“Knowledge is power” is frequently attributed to Bacon, in spite of -Lord Lytton’s challenge that the words cannot be found in Bacon’s -writings. - -“The style is the man” is frequently attributed to Buffon, although it -has been pointed out that Buffon said something very different; namely, -that “the style is of the man,” that is, “the style proceeds from the -man.” It is some satisfaction to find that Frenchmen themselves do not -leave us the monopoly of this error; it will be found in Arago; see -his _Works_, vol. iii. p. 560. A common proverb frequently quoted is, -“The exception proves the rule;” and it seems universally assumed that -_proves_ here means _establishes_ or _demonstrates_. It is perhaps -more likely that _proves_ here means _tests_ or _tries_, as in the -injunction, “Prove all things.” [The proverb in full runs: _Exceptio -probat regulam in casibus non exceptis_.] - -The words _nihil tetigit quod non ornavit_ are perpetually offered as -a supposed quotation from Dr. Johnson’s epitaph on Goldsmith. Johnson -wrote— - - “Qui nullum fere scribendi genus - Non tetigit, - Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.” - -It has been said that there is a doubt as to the propriety of the word -_tetigit_, and that _contigit_ would have been better. - -It seems impossible to prevent writers from using _cui bono?_ in the -unclassical sense. The correct meaning is known to be of this nature: -suppose that a crime has been committed; then inquire who has gained -by the crime—_cui bono?_ for obviously there is a probability that -the person benefited was the criminal. The usual sense implied by the -quotation is this: What is the good? the question being applied to -whatever is for the moment the object of depreciation. Those who use -the words incorrectly may, however, shelter themselves under the great -name of Leibnitz, for he takes them in the popular sense: see his -works, vol. v., p. 206. - -A very favorite quotation consists of the words “_laudator temporis -acti_;” but it should be remembered that it seems very doubtful if -these words by themselves would form correct Latin; the _se puero_ -which Horace puts after them are required. - -There is a story, resting on no good authority, that Plato testified to -the importance of geometry by writing over his door, “Let no one enter -who is not a geometer.” The first word is often given incorrectly, -when the Greek words are quoted, the wrong form of the negative being -taken. I was surprised to see this blunder about two years since in a -weekly review of very high pretensions. - -It is very difficult in many cases to understand precisely what is -attributed to another writer when his opinions are cited in some -indirect way. For example, a newspaper critic finishes a paragraph in -these words: “unless, indeed, as the _Pall Mall Gazette_ has said that -it is immoral to attempt any cure at all.” The doubt here is as to what -is the statement of the _Pall Mall Gazette_. It seems to be this: _it -is immoral to attempt any cure at all_. But from other considerations -foreign to the precise language of the critic, it seemed probable that -the statement of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ was, _unless, indeed, it is -immoral to attempt any cure at all_. - -There is a certain vague formula which, though not intended for a -quotation, occurs so frequently as to demand notice. Take for example— -“... the sciences of logic and ethics, according to the partition of -Lord Bacon, are far _more extensive than we are accustomed to consider -them_.” No precise meaning is conveyed, because we do not know what is -the amount of extension we are accustomed to ascribe to the sciences -named. Again: “Our knowledge of Bacon’s method is much less complete -than it is _commonly supposed_ to be.” Here again we do not know what -is the standard of common supposition. There is another awkwardness -here in the words _less complete_: it is obvious that _complete_ does -not admit of degrees. - -Let us close these slight notes with very few specimens of happy -expressions. - -The _Times_, commenting on the slovenly composition of the Queen’s -Speeches to Parliament, proposed the cause of the fact as a fit -subject for the investigation of our _professional thinkers_. The -phrase suggests a delicate reproof to those who assume for themselves -the title of _thinker_, implying that any person may engage in this -occupation just as he might, if he pleased, become a dentist, or a -stock-broker, or a civil engineer. The word _thinker_ is very common as -a name of respect in the works of a modern distinguished philosopher. -I am afraid, however, that it is employed by him principally as -synonymous with a _Comtist_. - -The _Times_, in advocating the claims of a literary man for a pension, -said, “he has _constructed_ several useful school-books.” The word -_construct_ suggests with great neatness the nature of the process by -which school-books are sometimes evolved, implying the presence of the -bricklayer and mason rather than of the architect. - -[Dr. Todhunter might have added _feature_ to the list of words -abusively used by newspaper writers. In one number of a magazine two -examples occur: “A _feature_ which had been well _taken up_ by local -and other manufacturers was the exhibition of honey in various applied -forms.” “A new _feature_ in the social arrangements of the Central -Radical Club _took place_ the other evening.”]—_Macmillan’s Magazine._ - - - - -LITERARY NOTICES. - - THE DICTIONARY OF ENGLISH HISTORY. Edited by Sidney S. Low, B. A., - late Scholar of Balliol College, Oxford, Lecturer on Modern History, - King’s College, London; and F. S. Pulling, M. A., late Professor - of Modern History, Yorkshire College, Leeds. New York: _Cassell & - Company, Limited_. - -The first thought that suggests itself upon taking up Messrs. Cassell -& Company’s “Dictionary of English History” is “why was this important -work not done long ago?” The want of such a book of reference is not -a new one but has been long felt by students and amateurs of history. -Indeed there is hardly a man or woman who has not at some time or other -felt the need of furbishing up his or her historical knowledge at short -notice. One may hunt the pages of a history by the hour and not find -the date or incident he wants to know about. The editors of this stout -volume, Sidney J. Low, B.A. and F. S. Pulling, M.A., have made the -successful attempt to give a convenient handbook on the whole subject -of English history and to make it useful rather than exhaustive. The -present work is not an encyclopædia, and the editors are aware that -many things are omitted from it which might have been included, had -its limits been wider, and its aim more ambitious. To produce a book -which should give, as concisely as possible, just the information, -biographical, bibliographical, chronological, and constitutional, -that the reader of English history is likely to want is what has -been here attempted. The needs of modern readers have been kept in -view. Practical convenience has guided them in the somewhat arbitrary -selection that they have been compelled to make, and their plan had -been chosen with great care and after many experiments. It should be -said that though the book is called a Dictionary of English History -that the historical events of Scotland, Ireland and Wales are included. -The contributors for special articles, have been selected from among -the best-known historical writers in England, and no pains have been -spared to make this book complete in the field it has aimed to cover. - -That high authority, the London _Athenæum_, has the following words of -praise for this work:— - -“This book will really be a great boon to every one who makes a study -of English history. Many such students must have desired before now to -be able to refer to an alphabetical list of subjects, even with the -briefest possible explanations. But in this admirable dictionary the -want is more than supplied. For not only is the list of subjects in -itself wonderfully complete, but the account given of each subject, -though condensed, is wonderfully complete also. The book is printed in -double columns royal octavo, and consists of 1119 pages, including a -very useful index to subjects on which separate articles are not given. -As some indication of the scale of treatment we may mention that the -article on Lord Beaconsfield occupies nearly a whole page, that on -Bothwell (Mary’s Bothwell) exactly a column, the old kingdom of Deira -something more than a column, Henry VIII. three pages, Ireland seven -and a half pages, and the Norman Conquest three pages exactly. Under -the head of ‘King,’ which occupies in all rather more than seven pages, -are included, in small print, tables of the regnal years of all the -English sovereigns from the Conquest. There is also a very important -article, ‘Authorities on English History,’ by Mr. Bass Bullinger, which -covers six and a quarter pages, and which will be an extremely useful -guide to any one beginning an historical investigation. - -“Many of the longer articles contain all that could be wished to give -the reader a concise view of an important epoch or reign. Of this Mrs. -Gardiner’s article on Charles I. is a good example. Ireland is in like -manner succinctly treated by Mr. Woulfe Flanagan in seven and a half -pages, and India by Mr. C. E. Black in six, while the Indian Mutiny -of 1857-8 has an article to itself of a page and a half by Mr. Low. -Institutions also, like Convocation, customs like borough English, -orders of men such as friars, and officers like that of constable, have -each a separate heading; and the name of the contributors—including, -besides those already mentioned, such men as Mr. Creighton, Profs. -Earle, Thorold Rogers, and Rowley, and some others whose qualifications -are beyond question—afford the student a guarantee that he is under -sure guidance as to facts.” - - - PERSONAL TRAITS OF BRITISH AUTHORS. WORDSWORTH, COLERIDGE, LAMB, - HAZLITT, LEIGH HUNT, PROCTER. Edited by Edward T. Mason. New York: - _Charles Scribner’s Sons_. - - IBID. BYRON, SHELLEY, MOORE, ROGERS, KEATS, SOUTHEY, LANDOR. - - IBID. SCOTT, HOGG, CAMPBELL, CHALMERS, WILSON, DE QUINCEY, JEFFREY. - -Mr. Mason, the compiler of these volumes, has a keen sense of that -taste which exists in all people (and certainly it is a kind of -curiosity not without its redeeming side) which prompts a hearty -appetite for personal gossip about appearance, habits, social traits, -methods of work and thought concerning distinguished men. Yet there is -another side to the question, however interesting such information may -be. This is specially in gossip about authors. The literary worker puts -the best part of himself in his writings. Here all the noble impulses -of his nature find an outlet, and in many cases he thinks it sufficient -to give this field for his higher traits, and puts his lower ones alone -into action. No man is a hero to his valet. A too near acquaintance, -and that is just what the editor of these volumes seeks to give us, is -always disillusioning. The conception which the author gives of himself -in his books is often sadly sullied and belittled, when we come to -know the solid body within the photosphere of glory, which his genius -radiates. Yet it is as well that we should know the real man as well as -what is commonly known as the ideal man. It enables us to guard against -those specious enthusiasms, which may be dangerously aroused by the -brilliant sophistries of poetry or rhetoric. Knowing the actual lives -and habits of great men is like an Ithuriel spear, often, when we study -teachings by its test. But putting aside the desirability of knowing -intimately the lives of great authors on the score of literature or -morals, it cannot be denied that such information is of a fascinating -sort. Mr. Mason has gathered these personal descriptions and criticisms -from all sorts of sources. Literary contemporaries, accounts of -friends and enemies, the confessions of authors themselves, family -records, biographies, magazine articles, books of reminiscence—in a -word every kind of material has been freely used. Authors are shown -in a kaleidoscopic light from a great variety of stand-points, and we -have the slurs and sneers of enemies as well as the loving admiration -of friends. Descriptions are pointed with racy and pungent anecdotes, -and it is but just to say that we have not found a dull line in these -volumes. Mr. Mason has performed his work with excellent editorial -taste. There is a brief and well-written notice appended to the chapter -on each author, and a literary chronology, the latter of which will be -found very useful for handy reference. These racy volumes ought to find -a wide public, and we think, aside from their charm for the general -reader, the literary man will find here a well-filled treasury of -convenient anecdote and illustration, which, in many cases, will save -him the toil of weary search. In these days of many books, such works -have a special use which should not be ignored. - - - ITALY FROM THE FALL OF NAPOLEON I. IN 1815, TO THE DEATH OF VICTOR - EMMANUEL IN 1878. By John Webb Probyn. New York: _Cassell & Company, - Limited_. - -“Italy from the Fall of Napoleon I., in 1815, to the Death of Victor -Emanuel, in 1878,” by John Webb Probyn, is just ready from the press of -Cassell & Company. In noticing this important work we can do no better -than to quote from the author’s preface. “The purpose of this volume,” -writes Mr. Probyn, “is to give a concise account of the chief causes -and events which have transformed Italy from a divided into a united -country. A detailed history of this important epoch would fill volumes, -and will not be written for some time to come. Yet it is desirable that -all who are interested in the important events of our time should be -able to obtain some connected account of so striking a transformation -as that which was effected in Italy between the years 1815 and 1878. -It has been with the object of giving such an account that this volume -has been written.” Mr. Probyn lived in Italy among the Italians while -this struggle was going on, and he writes from a close knowledge of his -subject. - - - HARRIET MARTINEAU (FAMOUS WOMEN SERIES). By Mrs. F. Fenwick Miller. - Boston: _Roberts Brothers_. - -The distinguished woman who forms the subject of this biography is -less known and read in America than she should be, and it is to be -hoped that this concise, lucid and well-written account of her life -and work will awaken interest in one whose literary labors will merit -perusal and study. Miss Martineau was one of the precursors of that -movement for the larger life and mental liberty of her sex, which -to-day has assumed formidable proportions, and indulged, we need -hardly say, many strange vagaries. Miss Martineau began to write at -an early age and soon began to impress herself on the public mind, -though it was for a long time suspected that she was a man. The whole -tone of her mind and intellectual sympathies was eminently masculine, -though on the emotional and moral side of her nature she was intensely -feminine. An early love disappointment, as has been the case with not -a few literary women, shut her out from that circle of wifehood and -motherhood in which she would have been far more happy than she was -ordained to be by fate. Yet the world would have been a loser, so true -is it that it is often by virtue of those conditions which sacrifice -happiness that the most precious fruits of life are bestowed on the -world. It would be interesting to follow the literary career of Miss -Martineau, if space permitted, as her life was not only rich in its own -results but interwoven with the most aggressive, keen and significant -literary life of her age. To the world at large Miss Martineau, who -had a philosophical mind of the highest order, is best known as the -translator of Comte, of whose system she was an enthusiastic advocate. -Her translation of Comte’s ponderous “Positive Philosophy,” published -in French in six volumes, which she condensed into three volumes of -lucid and forcible English, is not merely a masterpiece of translation, -but a monument of acumen. So well was her work done, that Comte himself -adapted it for his students’ use, discarding his own edition. So it -came to pass that Comte’s own work fell out of use, and that his -complete teachings became accessible only to his countrymen through a -retranslation of Miss Martineau’s original translation and adaptation. -Remarkable as were her philosophical powers, her work in the domain -of imagination, though always hinging on a serious purpose, was of a -superior sort. A keen and successful student of political economy, -she wrote a series of remarkable tales, based on various perplexing -problems in this line of thought and research. In addition to these, -her pathetic and humorous tales are full of charm, and distinguished -by a style equally charming and forcible. She might have been a great -novelist had not her fondness for philosophical studies become the -passion of her life. She was an indefatigable contributor to newspapers -and magazines on a great variety of subjects, though she generally -wrote anonymously. It was for this reason that her literary labors, -which were arduous in the extreme, were comparatively ill-paid, and -that life, even in her old age, was no easy struggle for her. The -work, among her voluminous writings, on which her fame will probably -rest as on a corner-stone, is “A History of the Thirty Years Peace.” -This is a history of her own time, pungent, full of powerful color, -though often sombre, impartial yet searching, characterized by the -sternest love of truth, and couched in a literary style of great -force and clearness. She showed the rare power of discussing events -which were almost contemporary, as calmly as if she were surveying -a remote period of antiquity. The _Athenæum_ said of this book on -its publication: “The principles which she enunciates are based on -eternal truths, and evolved with a logical precision that admits -rhetorical ornament without becoming obscure or confused.” Another -remarkable work was “Eastern Life,” the fruit of research in the -East. In this she made a bold and masterly attack on the dogmatic -beliefs of Christianity. The end and object of her reasoning in this -work is: That men have ever constructed the Image of a Ruler of the -Universe out of their own minds; that all successive ideas about the -Supreme Being have originated from within and been modified by the -surrounding circumstances; and that all theologies, therefore, are -baseless productions of the human imagination and have no essential -connection with those great religious ideas and emotions by which men -are constrained to live nobly, to do justly, and to love what they see -to be the true and right. The publication of this book raised a storm -of opprobrium, for England was then far more illiberal than now. Yet -it is a singular fact that, in spite of her free-thinking, Harriet -Martineau had as her intimate friends and warm admirers some of the -most pious and sincere clergymen of the age. She died in 1876 at the -age of seventy-four, after a life of exemplary goodness and brilliant -intellectual activity, honored and loved by all who knew her, even by -those who dissented most widely from her beliefs. She was among those -who ploughed up the mental soil of her time most successfully, and -few, either men or women, have written with more force, sincerity and -suggestiveness on the great serious questions of life. - - - WEIRD TALES BY E. T. W. HOFFMAN. New Translation from the German, with - a Biographical Memoir, by J. T. Beally, B.A. In two volumes. New York: - _Charles Scribner’s Sons_. - -Hoffman, the German romancer, to most English readers who know of him, -is a _nomen et preteria nihil_, yet in his own land he is a classic. -His stories are mostly short tales or novelettes, for he appears to -have lacked the sustained vigor and concentration for the longer -novel, like our own Poe, to whom he has been sometimes likened in the -character of his genius. Yet how marvellously unlike Poe’s are the -stories in the volumes before us! The intense imaginativeness, logical -coherence and lofty style which mark Poe are absent in Hoffman. Yet, on -the other hand, the latter, who like his American analogue revels in -topics weird and fantastic, if not horrible, relieves the sombre color -of his pictures with flashes of homely tenderness and charming humor, -of which Poe is totally vacant. - -Hoffman, who was well born, though not of noble family, received an -excellent education. He studied at Königsburg University, where he -matriculated as a student of jurisprudence, and seems to have made -enough proficiency in this branch of knowledge to have justified the -various civil appointments which he from time to time received during -his strange and stormy life, only to forfeit them by acts of mad folly -or neglect. He was by turns actor, musician, painter, litterateur, -civil magistrate and tramp. Gifted with brilliant and versatile -talents, there was probably never a man more totally unbalanced and -at the mercy of every wind of passion and caprice that blew. Had he -possessed a self-directing purpose, a steady ideal to which he devoted -himself, it is not improbable that his genius might have raised him -to a leading place in German literature. Yet perhaps his talents and -tastes were too versatile for any very great achievement, even under -more favorable conditions. As matters stand he is known to the world by -his short tales, in which he uses freely the machinery of fantasy and -horror, though he never revolts the taste, even in his wildest moods. -Yet some of his best stories are entirely free from this element of the -strained and unnatural, and show that it was through no lack of native -strength and robustness of mind, that he selected at other times the -most abnormal and perverse developments of action and character as the -warp of his literary textures. Hoffman’s stories are interesting from -their ingenuity, a certain naïve simplicity combined with an audacious -handling of impossible or improbable circumstances, and a charming -under-current of pathos and humor, which bubbles up through the crust -at the most unexpected turns. We should hardly regard these stories as -a model for the modern writer, yet there is a quality about them which -far more artistic stories might lack. It is singular to narrate that -some of his most agreeable and objective stories, where he completely -escapes from morbid imaginings, are those he wrote when dying by inches -in great agony, for he, too, like Heine—a much greater and subtler -genius—lay on a mattress grave, though for months and not for years. -The stories collected in the volumes under notice contain those which -are recognized by critics as his best, and will repay perusal as -being excellent representations of a school of fiction which is now -at its ebb-tide, though how soon it will come again to the fore it is -impossible to prophecy, as mode and vogue in literary taste go through -the same eternal cycle, as do almost all other mundane things. - - - - -FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES. - - -PAUL IVANOVICH OGORODNIKOF, who died last month at the age of -fifty-eight, was destined for the army, but, being accused of -participation in political disturbances, was confined in the fortress -of Modlin. After his release he obtained employment in the Railway -Administration, whereby he was enabled to amass a sum sufficient -to cover the cost of a journey through Russia, Germany, France, -England, and North America, of which he published an account. He was -subsequently appointed correspondent of the Imperial Geographical -Society in North-East Persia, and on his return home he devoted his -exclusive attention to literature. His most interesting works, -perhaps, are “Travels in Persia and her Caspian Provinces,” 1868, -“Sketches in Persia,” 1868, and “The Land of the Sun,” 1881. But he -was the author of various other works and numerous contributions -to periodical literature, and in 1882 his “Diary of a Captive” was -published in the _Istorichesky Vyestnik_. - - * * * * * - -THE opening of the new college at Poona, India, which took place -recently under the most favorable auspices, is noteworthy as marking -the first important attempt of educated natives in the Bombay -presidency to take the management of higher education into their -own hands. The college has been appropriately named after Sir James -Fergusson, who has always taken a great interest in the measures for -its establishment, and during whose tenure of office as Governor of -Bombay (now drawing to a close) such marked progress has been made in -education in that presidency. - - * * * * * - -THE first part of the second series of the Palæographical Society’s -facsimiles, now ready for distribution to subscribers, contains -two plates of Greek _ostraka_ from Egypt, on which are written -tax-gatherers’ receipts for imposts levied under the Roman dominion, -A.D. 39-163; and specimens of the Curetonian palimpsest Homer of the -sixth century; the Bodleian Greek Psalter of about A.D. 950; the Greek -Gospels, Codex T, of the tenth century; and other Greek MSS. There -are also plates from the ancient Latin Psalter of the fifth century -and other early MSS. of Lord Ashburnham’s library; Pope Gregory’s -“Moralia,” in Merovingian writing of the seventh century; the Berne -Virgil, with Tironian glosses of the ninth century; the earliest Pipe -Roll, A.D. 1130; English charters of the twelfth century; and drawings -and illuminations in the Bodleian Cædmon, the Hyde Register, the -Ashburnham Life of Christ, and the Medici Horæ lately purchased by the -Italian Government. - - * * * * * - -PRINCE B. GIUSTINIANI has placed in the hands of the Pope, in the name -of his friend Lord Ashburnham, a precious manuscript from the library -of Ashburnham House. It contains letters by Innocent III. written -during the years 1207 and 1209, and taken from the archives of the -Holy See when at Avignon at the beginning of the fifteenth century. -The letters are fully described in the _Bibliothèque de l’École des -Chartes_. - - * * * * * - -ONE of the late General Gordon’s minor contributions to literature is a -brief memoir of Zebehr Pasha, which he drew up for the information of -the Soudanese. General Gordon caused the memoir to be translated into -Arabic, and we believe that copies of it are still in existence. It was -written during the General’s first administration of the Soudan. - - * * * * * - -THE memoirs of the late Rector of Lincoln will appear shortly, Mrs. -Mark Pattison having finished correcting the proofs. Much difficulty -has been experienced in verifying quotations, frequently made without -reference or clue to authorship. In one or two instances only the -attempt has been reluctantly abandoned in order not indefinitely to -delay publication. Mrs. Mark Pattison leaves England in February for -Madras, where she will spend next summer as the guest of the Governor -and Mrs. Grant Duff at Ootacamund. Her work on industry and the arts in -France under Colbert is now far advanced towards completion. - - * * * * * - -A “NATIONAL” edition of Victor Hugo’s works is about to be brought -out in Paris by M. Lemonnyer as publisher, and M. Georges Richard as -printer. The plan of this new edition has been submitted by these -gentlemen to M. Victor Hugo, who has given them the exclusive right to -bring out, in quarto shape, the whole of his works. The publication -will consist of about forty volumes, which are each to contain five -parts, of from eighty to a hundred pages. One part will appear every -fortnight, or about five volumes a year, and the first part of the -first volume, which will contain the _Odes and Ballads_, is to appear -on February 26, which is the eighty-third anniversary of the poet’s -birth. The price will be 6 frs. per part, or 30 frs. per volume, so -that the total cost of the forty volumes will be close upon £50. -There will be also a few copies upon Japan and China paper of special -manufacture, while the series will be illustrated with four portraits -of the poet, 250 large etchings, and 2,500 line engravings. The 250 -large etchings will be by such artists as Paul Baudry, Bonnat, Cabanel, -Carrier-Belleuse, Falguière, Léon, Glaize, Henner, J.-P. Laurens, Puvis -de Chavannes, Robert Fleury, etc., while the line engravings will be by -L. Flameng, Champollion, Maxime Lalanne, and others. - - * * * * * - -THE festival at Capua in commemoration of the bi-centenary of the -birth of the distinguished antiquary and philologist, Alessio Simmaco -Mazzocchi, which should have been held last autumn, but was postponed -on account of the cholera, was celebrated on January 25. The meeting in -the Museo Campano was attended by a large number of visitors from the -neighboring towns and from Naples, and speeches were delivered by the -Prefect (Commendatore Winspeare), Prof. F. Barnabei, and several others. - - * * * * * - -DR. MARTINEAU’S new book, “Types of Ethical Theory,” will be issued in -a week or two by the Clarendon Press. The author seeks the ultimate -basis of morals in the internal constitution of the human mind. He -first vindicates the psychological method, then develops it, and -finally guards it against partial applications, injurious to the -autonomy of the conscience. He is thus led to pass under review at -the outset some representative of each chief theory in which ethics -emerge from metaphysical or physical assumptions, and at the close the -several doctrines which psychologically deduce the moral sentiments -from self-love, the sense of congruity, the perception of beauty, or -other unmoral source. The part of the book intermediate between these -two bodies of critical exposition is constructive. - - * * * * * - -THE Spelling Reform Association of England have adopted, as a means -of encouraging the progress of their cause, a new plan specially -calculated to secure the adhesion of printers and publishers. They -offer to supply experienced proof-readers free of cost, who are -prepared to assist in producing books and pamphlets “in any degree of -amended or fonetic spelling.” - - * * * * * - -SOME interesting materials towards a memoir of the late Bishop Colenso -have been derived from an unexpected source. A gentleman in Cornwall -heard that a bookseller in Staffordshire had for sale a collection -of the bishop’s letters. This coming to the knowledge of Mr. F. E. -Colenso, the latter purchased them at once, and found that they -consisted of letters ranging from 1830 to the middle of the bishop’s -university career. The collection also includes two letters from the -bishop’s college tutor which show the high estimation in which the -young man was held by those who were brought into contact with him at -Oxford. - - * * * * * - -IT is understood that the late Henry G. Bohn’s collection of Art books, -though comparatively few in number—said to be less than 800—forms a -perfectly unique library of reference, and in many languages. We hear -that it includes splendidly bound folio editions of engravings from -the great masters in almost every known European gallery. Mr. Bohn’s -general private library—a substantial but by no means extensive one -considering his colossal dealings with books—is not likely to be sold. -It may not be generally known that he lent nearly 1,400 volumes to the -Crystal Palace Exhibition some years ago, and lost them all in the fire -there. - - * * * * * - -MESSRS. TILLOTSON AND SON, of the _Bolton Journal_, who are the -originators of the practice of publishing novels by eminent writers -simultaneously in a number of newspapers in England, the United States, -and in the colonies, announce that they intend shortly to publish, -instead of a serial novel of the usual three-volume size, what they -call an “Octave of Short Stories.” The first of these tales, “A Rainy -June,” by “Ouida,” will appear on February 28th. The other seven -writers of the “Octave” are Mr. William Black, Miss Braddon, Miss Rhoda -Broughton, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr. Thomas Hardy, Mr. Joseph Hatton, and -Mrs. Oliphant. - - * * * * * - -DR. C. CASATI, who has just published a work in two volumes entitled -_Nuovo rivelazioni sui fatti in Milano nel 1847-48_, is preparing for -the press an edition of the unpublished letters of Pietro Borsieri, the -prisoner of the Spielberg, together with letters addressed to him by -several of his friends, among whom were Arrivabene, Berchet, Arconati, -and Della Cisterna. The correspondence contains many particulars -relating to the sufferings of these patriots in the Austrian prisons, -and to the privations suffered by Borsieri and his companions in -America. Dr. Casati will contribute a biographical sketch of Borsieri -and notes in illustration of the letters. - - * * * * * - -AT the meeting of the Florence Academia dei Lincei (department -of historical sciences) on January 18, it was announced that no -competitors having presented themselves for the prize offered by -the Minister of Public Instruction for an essay on the Latin poetry -published in Italy during the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the -competition will remain open until April 30, 1888. - - * * * * * - -EDWARD ODYNIEC, the Polish poet and journalist, and friend of -Mickiewicz, died in Warsaw on January 15. He was born in 1804, and -was educated at the University of Wilna, where he was a member of the -celebrated society of the Philareti. His period of poetic activity -falls chiefly in the time of the romantic movement in Poland. His -odes and occasional poems were printed in 1825-28, and many of them -have been translated into German and Bohemian. His translations from -Byron, Moore, and Walter Scott are greatly admired in Poland. He -also published several dramas on historical subjects. Odyniec was -editor, first of the _Kuryer Wilanski_, and afterwards of the _Kuryer -Warszawski_, and was highly esteemed as a political writer. He was -personally very popular in Warsaw, and his funeral was attended by many -thousands of people. - - * * * * * - -DR. A. EMANUEL BIEDERMANN, Professor of Theology in the University of -Zürich, died in that city on January 26. He was born at Winterthur -in 1819, studied theology at Basel and Berlin 1837-41, and in 1843 -was elected Pfarrer of Münchenstein in the Canton of Basel-land. -In 1850 he was made Professor Extraordinarius of Theology in the -University of Zürich, and in 1864 Professor Ordinarius of “Dogmatik.” -His _Christliche Dogmatic_ (Zürich, 1864) is the best known of his -theological writings. In connection with Dr. Fries he founded in 1845 -the Liberal ecclesiastical monthly, _Die Kirche der Gegenwart_, out of -which the still extant _Zeitstimmen_ was developed. - - - - -MISCELLANY. - - -AN AERIAL RIDE.—The recent ascents, first at Berlin, then at Baden, -of Herr Lattemann, who is the inventor and constructor of an entirely -novel miniature balloon, “Rotateur,” are remarkable, if foolhardy, -performances. The intrepid aëronaut rises in the air merely suspended -to a balloon by four ropes to a height of 4,000 feet. The Rotateur -has the form of a cylinder, with semi-spherical ends and a horizontal -axis. It holds about 9,300 cubic feet of ordinary gas, just enough to -lift the weight of a man, without car, anchor, or other apparatus, -about 4,000 feet. The balloon may be revolved round its horizontal -axis by two cords attached at the periphery of the cylinder. The -aëronaut is able by these cords to turn the valve, placed below, -through which the gas is taken in and allowed to escape, when desired, -round either the sides or to the top. This circular hole, as soon as -the balloon is filled, is stretched out by a thick cane to such an -extent longitudinally as to close it almost entirely, only leaving a -narrow slit, through which, it is asserted, no gas can escape. If the -aëronaut desires to let off the gas, he turns the cylinder balloon -round its axis by manipulating the cords, the opening is moved to -the side or top, and the cane removed by sharply pulling the cord -attached to it, so that the opening becomes circular again, and allows -the gas to escape. This is the new valve arrangement —the egg of -Columbus—patented by Herr Lattemann. For up to the present time the -valve was the Achilles heel of the balloon, because it was placed at -the top, sometimes failing to act, at others not closing air-tight. -Herr Lattemann in his ascents wears a strong leather belt, through the -rings of which two ropes are drawn, and by which he fastens himself to -the right and left of the balloon net. He thus hangs suspended as in a -swing. Two other ropes, attached to the balloon, and passing through -other rings in his belt, end in stirrups, into which the aërial rider -places his feet. At his earlier ascents Herr Lattemann used a saddle, -which he has now discarded, preferring to stand free in the stirrups. -As soon as the aëronaut has balanced himself in his ropes, the signal -“Off!” is given, and the balloon sails away. Herr Lattemann has -hitherto been entirely successful in his ascents, which last about half -an hour. - - * * * * * - -THE CONDITION OF SCHLESWIG.—A graphic description is given in an -article written by a correspondent of the _Times_ in Copenhagen of the -treatment to which the Danish inhabitants of Schleswig are subjected -by the Germans. All the efforts of the authorities governing the duchy -tend to the goal of crushing, and, if possible, exterminating the -Danish language and Danish sentiment. The Danes in Schleswig cling with -characteristic toughness to their language and to the old traditions of -their race; they hate the Germans; they groan under the foreign yoke -of suppression. Resisting all temptations and all menaces from Berlin, -they still turn their regards and their love toward the Danish King and -the Danish people, and they swear to hold out, even for generations, -until the glorious day comes, as it is sure to come in the fulness -of time, when the German chains shall be broken. It would be a very -trifling sacrifice for Prussia, that has made such enormous gains and -risen to the highest Power in Europe, to give those 200,000 or 250,000 -Danish Schleswigers back to Denmark, the land of their predilection. -The northern part of Schleswig is of no political or strategical -importance to Prussia, and the proof of this is that the fortifications -in Alsen and at Düppel are being levelled to the ground. Several -instances of these petty persecutions are given by the correspondent. -The names of towns and villages have been Germanized; railway guards -are not permitted to speak Danish; in the public schools primers and -songs and plays are to be in German, and the children are punished -if they speak among themselves their maternal language; history is -arranged so as to glorify Germany and disparage Denmark; the Danish -colors of red and white are absolutely prohibited; in short, from the -cradle to the grave, the Danish Schleswiger is submitted to a process -of eradicating his original nature and dressing him up in a garb which -he hates and detests. This petty war is carried on day after day under -the sullen resistance and open protests of the Schleswigers, and proves -a constant source of hatred and animosity between two nations destined -by nature to be friends and allies. Of late the Prussian functionaries -in Schleswig have entered upon a system of positive persecution that -passes all bounds. Last summer several excursions of ladies and girls -from the Danish districts in Schleswig were arranged to different -places, one to the west coast of Jutland, another to Copenhagen; they -came in flocks of two or three hundred, were hospitably entertained, -enjoyed the sights and the liberty to avow their Danish sentiments, -and then they returned to their bondage. Such of them as did not -carefully hide the red and white favors or diminutive flags had to pay -amends for their carelessness. But the great bulk of them could not be -reached by the law, for, in spite of all, it has not yet been made a -crime in Schleswig to travel beyond the frontier. With characteristic -ingeniousness, the Prussian functionaries then hit upon a new plan, and -visited the sins of the women and girls upon their husbands, fathers, -or brothers. If these turned out to have, after the cession, optated -for Denmark, and to be consequently Danish citizens only sojourning in -Schleswig, they were peremptorily shown the door and ordered to leave -the duchy within 48 hours or some few days. An edict authorizes any -police-master to expel any foreign subject that may prove “troublesome” -(_lästig_), and this term is a very elastic one. If the male relatives -were Prussian subjects no law could be alleged against them, but -among these such as filled public charges, particularly teachers and -schoolmasters, have been summarily dismissed. In this way, farmers, -small traders, artisans, dentists, school teachers, and so forth, -whose wives or sisters or daughters did take part in the excursion -trips, have been mercilessly driven away and deprived of their means of -living. New cases of such expulsions are recorded every day. A system -of the most petty persecution is at the same time enforced against -those who cannot be turned out. - -CHINESE NOTIONS OF IMMORTALITY.—A writer in a recent issue of -the _North China Herald_ discusses the early Chinese notions of -immortality. In the most ancient times ancestral worship was maintained -on the ground that the souls of the dead exist after this life. The -present is a part only of human existence, and men continue to be -after death what they have become before it. Hence the honors accorded -to men of rank in their lifetime were continued to them after their -death. In the earliest utterances of Chinese national thought on this -subject we find that duality which has remained the prominent feature -in Chinese thinking ever since. The present life is light; the future -is darkness. What the shadow is to the substance, the soul is to -the body; what vapor is to water, breath is to man. By the process -of cooling steam may again become water, and the transformations of -animals teach us that beings inferior to man may live after death. -Ancient Chinese then believed that as there is male and female -principle in all nature, a day and a night as inseparable from each -thing in the universe as from the universe itself, so it is with man. -In the course of ages and in the vicissitudes of religious ideas, men -came to believe more definitely in the possibility of communications -with supernatural beings. In the twelfth century before the Christian -era it was a distinct belief that the thoughts of the sages were to -them a revelation from above. The “Book of Odes” frequently uses the -expression “God spoke to them,” and one sage is represented after death -“moving up and down in the presence of God in heaven.” A few centuries -subsequently we find for the first time great men transferred in the -popular imagination to the sky, it being believed that their souls -took up their abode in certain constellations. This was due to the -fact that the ideas of immortality had taken a new shape, and that -the philosophy of the times regarded the stars of heaven as the pure -essences of the grosser things belonging to this world. The pure is -heavenly and the gross earthly, and therefore that which is purest on -earth ascends to the regions of the stars. At the same time hermits -and other ascetics began to be credited with the power of acquiring -extraordinary longevity, and the stork became the animal which the -Immortals preferred to ride above all others. The idea of plants -which confer immunity from death soon sprang up. The fungus known as -_Polyporus lucidus_ was taken to be the most efficacious of all plants -in guarding man from death, and 3,000 ounces of silver have been asked -for a single specimen. Its red color was among the circumstances which -gave it its reputation, for at this time the five colors of Babylonian -astrology had been accepted as indications of good and evil fortune. -This connection of a red color with the notion of immortality through -the medium of good and bad luck, led to the adoption of cinnabar as the -philosopher’s stone, and thus to the construction of the whole system -of alchemy. - -The plant of immortal life is spoken of in ancient Chinese literature -at least a century before the mineral. In correspondence with the tree -of life in Eden there was probably a Babylonian tradition which found -its way to China shortly before Chinese writers mention the plant of -immortality. The Chinese, not being navigators, must have got their -ideas of the ocean which surrounds the world from those who were, -and when they received a cosmography they would receive it with its -legends.—_Nature._ - - * * * * * - -AN APPROACHING STAR.—One of the most beautiful of all stars in the -heavens is Arcturus, in the constellation Boötes. In January last -the Astronomer Royal communicated to the Royal Astronomical Society -a tabulated statement of the results of the observations made at -Greenwich during 1883 in applying the method of Dr. Huggins for -measuring the approach and recession of the so-called fixed stars -in direct line. Nearly 200 of these observations are thus recorded, -twenty-one of which were devoted to Arcturus, and were made from March -30 to August 24. The result shows that this brilliant scintillating -star is moving rapidly towards us with a velocity of more than fifty -miles per second (the mean of the twenty-one observations is 50.78). -This amounts to about 2,000 miles per minute, 180,000 per hour, -4,320,000 miles per day. Will this approach continue, or will the star -presently appear stationary and then recede? If the motion is orbital -the latter will occur. There is, however, nothing in the rates observed -to indicate any such orbital motion, and as the observations extended -over five months this has some weight. Still it may be travelling in -a mighty orbit of many years’ duration, the bending of which may in -time be indicated by a retardation of the rate of approach, then by no -perceptible movement either towards or away from us, and this followed -by a recession equal to its previous approach. If, on the other hand, -the 4,500,000 of miles per day continue, the star must become visibly -brighter to posterity, in spite of the enormous magnitude of cosmical -distances. Our 81-ton guns drive forth their projectiles with a maximum -velocity of 1,400 feet per second. Arcturus is approaching us with -a speed that is 200 times greater than this. It thus moves over a -distance equal to that between the earth and the sun in twenty-one -days. Our present distance from Arcturus is estimated at 1,622,000 -times this. Therefore, if the star continues to approach us at the same -rate as measured last year, it will have completed the whole of its -journey towards us in 93,000 years.—_Gentleman’s Magazine._ - -GERMANS AND RUSSIANS IN PERSIA.—A correspondent of the _Novoje Vremja_ -recently had an opportunity of ascertaining some interesting facts -from a naval officer who is in the service of the Shah, and whom he -met on board a Persian steamer in the Caspian Sea. The Persian cavalry -is organized and commanded by Russian officers, while the artillery is -commanded and instructed by Germans. The Persian soldiers, however, -dislike their German superiors, who treat them very badly and are -arrogant to a degree with the native officers. On the contrary, the -Russians are generally popular—so it is said. There is the worst -possible feeling between the Russians and the Germans, who seize -every opportunity of annoying each other. A short time ago their -military manœuvres were held, attended by the Shah and the whole Corps -Diplomatique. The infantry made a splendid show, and the cavalry, too, -was much admired, but the firing of the artillery was execrable, and, -as ill-luck would have it, the German Consul was wounded in the foot. -The Shah was furious, whereupon the German officers called out that the -ammunition had been tampered with by the Russians. At once the Shah -ordered an inquiry to be made, the only consequence of which was to -give mortal offence to the Germans. But it is, perhaps, not necessary -to go quite so far as Teheran to find traces of the profound antagonism -existing between Russians and Germans. Czar and Kaiser may embrace to -their hearts’ content, but, strange to say, wherever their subjects -meet abroad they quarrel. At the market town of Kowno, in the Russian -Government district of Saratoff, a sanguinary encounter took place a -few days ago between German settlers and Russian peasants, who had -come from the neighborhood for the annual fair. As many as ten were -killed and thirty wounded. The outbreak of a large fire interrupted the -fighting, otherwise the list would have been far more considerable. - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_. - -The following corrections have been made: - -Queensberry for Queensbury in THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. Ios for Iosos in -A ROMANCE OF A GREEK STATUE. mattress for mattrass (a form of glass -distillation aparatus) in the review of WEIRD TALES BY E. T. W. 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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, April 1885. - -Author: Various - -Release Date: October 5, 2016 [EBook #53212] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ECLECTIC MAGAZINE--FOREIGN LITERATURE *** - - - - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p>Transcriber’s note: table of contents added by the transcriber.</p> -</div> - -<p class="toc"> -<a href="#A_WORD_MORE_ABOUT_AMERICA">A WORD MORE ABOUT AMERICA.</a><br /> -<a href="#REVIEW_OF_THE_YEAR">REVIEW OF THE YEAR.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_POETRY_OF_TENNYSON">THE POETRY OF TENNYSON.</a><br /> -<a href="#ON_AN_OLD_SONG">ON AN OLD SONG.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_AMERICAN_AUDIENCE">THE AMERICAN AUDIENCE.</a><br /> -<a href="#STIMULANTS_AND_NARCOTICS">STIMULANTS AND NARCOTICS.</a><br /> -<a href="#FOLK-LORE_FOR_SWEETHEARTS">FOLK-LORE FOR SWEETHEARTS.</a><br /> -<a href="#A_ROMANCE_OF_A_GREEK_STATUE">A ROMANCE OF A GREEK STATUE.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_LIFE_OF_GEORGE_ELIOT">THE LIFE OF GEORGE ELIOT.</a><br /> -<a href="#LORD_TENNYSON">LORD TENNYSON.</a><br /> -<a href="#IN_THE_NORWEGIAN_MOUNTAINS">IN THE NORWEGIAN MOUNTAINS.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_QUANDONGS_SECRET">THE QUANDONG’S SECRET.</a><br /> -<a href="#DE_BANANA">DE BANANA.</a><br /> -<a href="#TURNING_AIR_INTO_WATER">TURNING AIR INTO WATER.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_HEALTH_AND_LONGEVITY_OF_THE_JEWS">THE HEALTH AND LONGEVITY OF THE JEWS.</a><br /> -<a href="#THE_HITTITES26">THE HITTITES.</a><br /> -<a href="#AUTOMATIC_WRITING_OR_THE_RATIONALE_OF_PLANCHETTE">AUTOMATIC WRITING, OR THE RATIONALE OF PLANCHETTE.</a><br /> -<a href="#SCIENTIFIC_VERSUS_BUCOLIC_VIVISECTION">SCIENTIFIC <i>VERSUS</i> BUCOLIC VIVISECTION.</a><br /> -<a href="#NOTES_ON_POPULAR_ENGLISH">NOTES ON POPULAR ENGLISH.</a><br /> -<a href="#LITERARY_NOTICES">LITERARY NOTICES.</a><br /> -<a href="#FOREIGN_LITERARY_NOTES">FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.</a><br /> -<a href="#MISCELLANY">MISCELLANY.</a><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/masthead.jpg" alt="Masthead" /> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h1> -Eclectic Magazine<br /> - -<span class="xs">OF</span><br /> - -<small>FOREIGN LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART</small>.</h1> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/001.jpg" alt="――――――" /> -</div> -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<col width="25%" /><col width="50%" /><col width="25%" /> -<tr> - <td align="center"><small>New Series.<br />Vol. XLI., No. 4.</small></td> - <td align="center">APRIL, 1885.</td> - <td align="center"><small>Old Series complete<br />in 63 vols.</small></td> -</tr> -</table></div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/001.jpg" alt="――――――" /> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="A_WORD_MORE_ABOUT_AMERICA" id="A_WORD_MORE_ABOUT_AMERICA">A WORD MORE ABOUT AMERICA.</a><br /> - -<small>BY MATTHEW ARNOLD.</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span></p> - -<p>When I was at Chicago last year, I -was asked whether Lord Coleridge would -not write a book about America. I -ventured to answer confidently for him -that he would do nothing of the kind. -Not at Chicago only, but almost wherever -I went, I was asked whether I myself -did not intend to write a book -about America. For oneself one can -answer yet more confidently than for -one’s friends, and I always replied that -most assuredly I had no such intention. -To write a book about America, on the -strength of having made merely such a -tour there as mine was, and with no -fuller equipment of preparatory studies -and of local observations than I possess, -would seem to me an impertinence.</p> - -<p>It is now a long while since I read M. -de Tocqueville’s famous work on -Democracy in America. I have the -highest respect for M. de Tocqueville;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span> -but my remembrance of his book is that -it deals too much in abstractions for my -taste, and that it is written, moreover, -in a style which many French writers -adopt, but which I find trying—a style -cut into short paragraphs and wearing -an air of rigorous scientific deduction -without the reality. Very likely, however, -I do M. de Tocqueville injustice. -My debility in high speculation is well -known, and I mean to attempt his book -on Democracy again when I have seen -America once more, and when years may -have brought to me, perhaps, more of -the philosophic mind. Meanwhile, however, -it will be evident how serious a -matter I think it to write a worthy book -about the United States, when I am not -entirely satisfied with even M. de -Tocqueville’s.</p> - -<p>But before I went to America, and -when I had no expectation of ever going<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -there, I published, under the title of -“A Word about America,” not indeed -a book, but a few modest remarks on -what I thought civilisation in the United -States might probably be like. I had -before me a Boston newspaper-article -which said that if I ever visited America -I should find there such and such things; -and taking this article for my text I -observed, that from all I had read and -all I could judge, I should for my part -expect to find there rather such and such -other things, which I mentioned. I said -that of aristocracy, as we know it here, -I should expect to find, of course, in -the United States the total absence; -that our lower class I should expect to -find absent in a great degree, while my -old familiar friend, the middle class, I -should expect to find in full possession -of the land. And then betaking myself -to those playful phrases which a little -relieve, perhaps, the tedium of grave -disquisitions of this sort, I said that I -imagined one would just have in America -our Philistines, with our aristocracy quite -left out and our populace very nearly.</p> - -<p>An acute and singularly candid -American, whose name I will on no account -betray to his countrymen, read -these observations of mine, and he made -a remark upon them to me which struck -me a good deal. Yes, he said, you are -right, and your supposition is just. In -general, what you would find over there -would be the Philistines, as you call -them, without your aristocracy and without -your populace. Only this, too, I -say at the same time: you would find -over there something besides, something -more, something which you do not -bring out, which you cannot know and -bring out, perhaps, without actually -visiting the United States, but which -you would recognise if you saw it.</p> - -<p>My friend was a true prophet. When -I saw the United States I recognised -that the general account which I had -hazarded of them was, indeed, not -erroneous, but that it required to have -something added to supplement it. I -should not like either my friends in -America or my countrymen here at home -to think that my “Word about America” -gave my full and final thoughts respecting -the people of the United States. -The new and modifying impressions -brought by experience I shall communi<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span>cate, -as I did my original expectations, -with all good faith, and as simply and -plainly as possible. Perhaps when I -have yet again visited America, have -seen the great West, and have had a -second reading of M. de Tocqueville’s -classical work on Democracy, my mind -may be enlarged and my present impressions -still further modified by new ideas. -If so, I promise to make my confession -duly; not indeed to make it, even then, -in a book about America, but to make -it in a brief “Last Word” on that -great subject—a word, like its predecessors, -of open-hearted and free conversation -with the readers of this Review.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I suppose I am not by nature disposed -to think so much as most people do of -“institutions.” The Americans think -and talk very much of their “institutions;” -I am by nature inclined to call -all this sort of thing <em>machinery</em>, and to -regard rather men and their characters. -But the more I saw of America, the more -I found myself led to treat “institutions” -with increased respect. Until I -went to the United States I had never -seen a people with institutions which -seemed expressly and thoroughly suited -to it. I had not properly appreciated -the benefits proceeding from this cause.</p> - -<p>Sir Henry Maine, in an admirable -essay which, though not signed, betrays -him for its author by its rare and characteristic -qualities of mind and style—Sir -Henry Maine in the <cite>Quarterly Review</cite> -adopts and often reiterates a phrase -of M. Scherer, to the effect that -“Democracy is only a form of government.” -He holds up to ridicule a sentence -of Mr. Bancroft’s History, in -which the American democracy is told -that its ascent to power “proceeded as -uniformly and majestically as the laws -of being and was as certain as the decrees -of eternity.” Let us be willing to -give Sir Henry Maine his way, and to -allow no magnificent claim of this kind -on behalf of the American democracy. -Let us treat as not more solid the -assertion in the Declaration of Independence, -that “all men are created equal, -are endowed by their Creator with certain -inalienable rights, among them life, -liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” -Let us concede that these natural<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -rights are a figment; that chance and -circumstance, as much as deliberate -foresight and design, have brought the -United States into their present condition, -that moreover the British rule -which they threw off was not the rule of -oppressors and tyrants which declaimers -suppose, and that the merit of the -Americans was not that of oppressed -men rising against tyrants, but rather of -sensible young people getting rid of -stupid and overweening guardians who -misunderstood and mismanaged them.</p> - -<p>All this let us concede, if we will; -but in conceding it let us not lose sight -of the really important point, which is -this: that their institutions do in fact -suit the people of the United States so -well, and that from this suitableness -they do derive so much actual benefit. -As one watches the play of their -institutions, the image suggests itself to -one’s mind of a man in a suit of clothes -which fits him to perfection, leaving all -his movements unimpeded and easy. It -is loose where it ought to be loose, and -it sits close where its sitting close is an -advantage. The central government of -the United States keeps in its own hands -those functions which, if the nation is to -have real unity, ought to be kept there; -those functions it takes to itself and no -others. The State governments and the -municipal governments provide people -with the fullest liberty of managing their -own affairs, and afford, besides, a constant -and invaluable school of practical -experience. This wonderful suit of -clothes, again (to recur to our image), -is found also to adapt itself naturally to -the wearer’s growth, and to admit of all -enlargements as they successively arise. -I speak of the state of things since the -suppression of slavery, of the state of -things which meets a spectator’s eye at -the present time in America. There -are points in which the institutions of -the United States may call forth criticism. -One observer may think that it -would be well if the President’s term of -office were longer, if his ministers sate -in Congress or must possess the confidence -of Congress. Another observer -may say that the marriage laws for the -whole nation ought to be fixed by Congress, -and not to vary at the will of the -legislatures of the several States. I -myself was much struck with the incon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span>venience -of not allowing a man to sit in -Congress except for his own district; -a man like Wendell Phillips was thus -excluded, because Boston would not return -him. It is as if Mr. Bright could -have no other constituency open to him -if Rochdale would not send him to Parliament. -But all these are really questions -of <em>machinery</em> (to use my own term), and -ought not so to engage our attention as -to prevent our seeing that the capital -fact as to the institutions of the United -States is this: their suitableness to the -American people and their natural and -easy working. If we are not to be -allowed to say, with Mr. Beecher, that -this people has “a genius for the organisation -of States,” then at all events we -must admit that in its own organisation -it has enjoyed the most signal good -fortune.</p> - -<p>Yes; what is called, in the jargon of -the publicists, the political problem and -the social problem, the people of the -United States does appear to me to have -solved, or Fortune has solved it for -them, with undeniable success. Against -invasion and conquest from without they -are impregnably strong. As to domestic -concerns, the first thing to remember is, -that the people over there is at bottom -the same people as ourselves, a people -with a strong sense for conduct. But -there is said to be great corruption -among their politicians and in the public -service, in municipal administration, -and in the administration of justice. Sir -Lepel Griffin would lead us to think that -the administration of justice, in particular, -is so thoroughly corrupt, that -a man with a lawsuit has only to provide -his lawyer with the necessary funds for -bribing the officials, and he can make -sure of winning his suit. The Americans -themselves use such strong language -in describing the corruption -prevalent amongst them that they cannot -be surprised if strangers believe -them. For myself, I had heard and read -so much to the discredit of American -political life, how all the best men kept -aloof from it, and those who gave themselves -to it were unworthy, that I ended -by supposing that the thing must actually -be so, and the good Americans must be -looked for elsewhere than in politics. -Then I had the pleasure of dining with -Mr. Bancroft in Washington; and how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span>ever -he may, in Sir Henry Maine’s opinion, -overlaud the pre-established harmony -of American democracy, he had at -any rate invited to meet me half a dozen -politicians whom in England we should -pronounce to be members of Parliament -of the highest class, in bearing, manners, -tone of feeling, intelligence, information. -I discovered that in truth the practice, -so common in America, of calling a -politician “a thief,” does not mean so -very much more than is meant in England -when we have heard Lord Beaconsfield -called “a liar” and Mr. Gladstone -“a madman.” It means, that the -speaker disagrees with the politician in -question and dislikes him. Not that I -assent, on the other hand, to the thick-and-thin -American patriots, who will tell -you that there is no more corruption in -the politics and administration of the -United States than in those of England. -I believe there <em>is</em> more, and that the tone -of both is lower there; and this from a -cause on which I shall have to touch -hereafter. But the corruption is exaggerated; -it is not the wide and deep -disease it is often represented; it is such -that the good elements in the nation -may, and I believe will, perfectly work -it off; and even now the truth of what -I have been saying as to the suitableness -and successful working of American -institutions is not really in the least -affected by it.</p> - -<p>Furthermore, American society is not -in danger from revolution. Here, again, -I do not mean that the United States -are exempt from the operation of every -one of the causes—such a cause as the -division between rich and poor, for instance—which -may lead to revolution. -But I mean that comparatively with the -old countries of Europe they are free -from the danger of revolution; and I -believe that the good elements in them -will make a way for them to escape out -of what they really have of this danger -also, to escape in the future as well as -now—the future for which some observers -announce this danger as so certain -and so formidable. Lord Macaulay -predicted that the United States must -come in time to just the same state of -things which we witness in England; -that the cities would fill up and the lands -become occupied, and then, he said, the -division between rich and poor would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> -establish itself on the same scale as with -us, and be just as embarrassing. He -forgot that the United States are without -what certainly fixes and accentuates the -division between rich and poor—the -distinction of classes. Not only have -they not the distinction between noble -and bourgeois, between aristocracy and -middle class; they have not even the -distinction between bourgeois and peasant -or artisan, between middle and lower -class. They have nothing to create -it and compel their recognition of it. -Their domestic service is done for them -by Irish, Germans, Swedes, Negroes. -Outside domestic service, within the -range of conditions which an American -may in fact be called upon to traverse, -he passes easily from one sort of occupation -to another, from poverty to -riches, and from riches to poverty. No -one of his possible occupations appears -degrading to him or makes him lose -caste; and poverty itself appears to him -as inconvenient and disagreeable rather -than as humiliating. When the immigrant -from Europe strikes root in his -new home, he becomes as the American.</p> - -<p>It may be said that the Americans, -when they attained their independence, -had not the elements for a division into -classes, and that they deserve no praise -for not having invented one. But I am -not now contending that they deserve -praise for their institutions, I am saying -how well their institutions work. Considering, -indeed, how rife are distinctions -of rank and class in the world, how -prone men in general are to adopt them, -how much the Americans themselves, -beyond doubt, are capable of feeling -their attraction, it shows, I think, at -least strong good sense in the Americans -to have forborne from all attempt to invent -them at the outset, and to have escaped -or resisted any fancy for inventing -them since. But evidently the United -States constituted themselves, not amid -the circumstances of a feudal age, but -in a modern age; not under the conditions -of an epoch favorable to subordination, -but under those of an epoch -of expansion. Their institutions did -but comply with the form and pressure -of the circumstances and conditions then -present. A feudal age, an epoch of war, -defence, and concentration, needs centres -of power and property, and it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -reinforces property by joining distinctions -of rank and class with it. Property -becomes more honorable, more solid. -And in feudal ages this is well, for its -changing hands easily would be a source -of weakness. But in ages of expansion, -where men are bent that every one shall -have his chance, the more readily property -changes hands the better. The -envy with which its holder is regarded -diminishes, society is safer. I think -whatever may be said of the worship of -the almighty dollar in America, it is -indubitable that rich men are regarded -there with less envy and hatred than rich -men are in Europe. Why is this? -Because their condition is less fixed, -because government and legislation do -not take them more seriously than other -people, make grandees of them, aid them -to found families and endure. With us, -the chief holders of property are grandees -already, and every rich man aspires to -become a grandee if possible. And -therefore an English country-gentleman -regards himself as part of the system of -nature; government and legislation have -invited him so to do. If the price of -wheat falls so low that his means of expenditure -are greatly reduced, he tells -you that if this lasts he cannot possibly -go on as a country-gentleman; and every -well-bred person amongst us looks sympathising -and shocked. An American -would say: “Why should he?” The -Conservative newspapers are fond of -giving us, as an argument for the game-laws, -the plea that without them a -country-gentleman could not be induced -to live on his estate. An American -would say: “What does it matter?” -Perhaps to an English ear this will sound -brutal; but the point is that the American -does not take his rich man so -seriously as we do ours, does not make -him into a grandee; the thing, if proposed -to him, would strike him as an -absurdity. I suspect that Mr. Winans -himself, the American millionaire who -adds deer-forest to deer-forest, and will -not suffer a cottier to keep a pet lamb, -regards his own performance as a colossal -stroke of American humor, illustrating -the absurdities of the British system -of property and privilege. Ask Mr. -Winans if he would promote the introduction -of the British game-laws into the -United States, and he would tell you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -with a merry laugh that the idea is -ridiculous, and that these British follies -are for home consumption.</p> - -<p>The example of France must not mislead -us. There the institutions, an -objector may say, are republican, and -yet the division and hatred between rich -and poor is intense. True; but in -France, though the institutions may be -republican, the ideas and morals are -not republican. In America not only -are the institutions republican, but the -ideas and morals are prevailingly republican -also. They are those of a plain, -decent middle class. The ideal of those -who are the public instructors of the -people is the ideal of such a class. In -France the ideal of the mass of popular -journalists and popular writers of fiction, -who are now practically the public -instructors there, is, if you could see -their hearts, a Pompadour or du Barry -<i lang="fr">régime</i>, with themselves for the part of -Faublas. With this ideal prevailing, -this vision of the objects for which -wealth is desirable, the possessors of -wealth become hateful to the multitude -which toils and endures, and society is -undermined. This is one of the many -inconvenience which the French have to -suffer from that worship of the great -goddess Lubricity to which they are at -present vowed. Wealth excites the most -savage enmity there, because it is conceived -as a means for gratifying appetites -of the most selfish and vile kind. But in -America Faublas is no more the ideal -than Coriolanus. Wealth is no more -conceived as the minister to the pleasures -of a class of rakes, than as the -minister to the magnificence of a class -of nobles. It is conceived as a thing -which almost any American may attain, -and which almost every American will -use respectably. Its possession, therefore, -does not inspire hatred, and so I -return to the thesis with which I started—America -is not in danger of revolution. -The division between rich and poor is -alleged to us as a cause of revolution -which presently, if not now, must operate -there, as elsewhere; and yet we see -that this cause has not there, in truth, -the characters to which we are elsewhere -accustomed.</p> - -<p>A people homogeneous, a people which -had to constitute itself in a modern age, -an epoch of expansion, and which has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -given to itself institutions entirely fitted -for such an age and epoch, and which -suit it perfectly—a people not in danger -of war from without, not in danger of -revolution from within—such is the -people of the United States. The -political and social problem, then, we -must surely allow that they solve successfully. -There remains, I know, the -human problem also; the solution of -that too has to be considered; but I shall -come to that hereafter. My point at -present is, that politically and socially -the United States are a community -living in a natural condition, and conscious -of living in a natural condition. -And being in this healthy case, and -having this healthy consciousness, the -community there uses its understanding -with the soundness of health; it in general -sees its political and social concerns -straight, and sees them clear. So that -when Sir Henry Maine and M. Scherer -tell us that democracy is “merely a form -of government,” we may observe to them -that it is in the United States a form of -government in which the community feels -itself in a natural condition and at ease; -in which, consequently, it sees things -straight and sees them clear.</p> - -<p>More than half one’s interest in watching -the English people of the United -States comes, of course, from the bearing -of what one finds there upon things -at home, amongst us English people -ourselves in these islands. I have -frankly recorded what struck me and -came as most new to me in the condition -of the English race in the United States. -I had said beforehand, indeed, that I -supposed the American Philistine was a -livelier sort of Philistine than ours, -because he had not that pressure of the -Barbarians to stunt and distort him -which befalls his English brother here. -But I did not foresee how far his superior -liveliness and naturalness of condition, -in the absence of that pressure, would -carry the American Philistine. I still -use my old name <i>Philistine</i>, because it -does in fact seem to me as yet to suit -the bulk of the community over there, -as it suits the strong central body of the -community here. But in my mouth the -name is hardly a reproach, so clearly do -I see the Philistine’s necessity, so willingly -I own his merits, so much I find of -him in myself. The American Philistine,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -however, is certainly far more different -from his English brother than I had beforehand -supposed. And on that difference -we English of the old country may -with great profit turn our regards for -awhile, and I am now going to speak of it.</p> - -<p>Surely if there is one thing more than -another which all the world is saying of -our community at present, and of which -the truth cannot well be disputed, it is -this: that we act like people who do -not think straight and see clear. I know -that the Liberal newspapers used to be -fond of saying that what characterised -our middle class was its “clear, manly -intelligence, penetrating through sophisms, -ignoring commonplaces, and -giving to conventional illusions their -true value.” Many years ago I took -alarm at seeing the <cite>Daily News</cite>, and the -<cite>Morning Star</cite>, like Zedekiah the son of -Chenaanah, thus making horns of iron -for the middle class and bidding it “Go -up and prosper!” and my first efforts -as a writer on public matters were -prompted by a desire to utter, like -Micaiah the son of Imlah, my protest -against these misleading assurances of -the false prophets. And though often -and often smitten on the cheek, just as -Micaiah was, still I persevered; and at -the Royal Institution I said how we -seemed to flounder and to beat the air, -and at Liverpool I singled out as our -chief want the want of lucidity. But -now everybody is really saying of us the -same thing: that we fumble because we -cannot make up our mind, and that we -cannot make up our mind because we do -not know what to be after. If our -foreign policy is not that of “the British -Philistine, with his likes and dislikes, -his effusion and confusion, his hot and -cold fits, his want of dignity and of the -steadfastness which comes from dignity, -his want of ideas and of the steadfastness -which comes from ideas,” then all -the world at the present time is, it must -be owned, very much mistaken.</p> - -<p>Let us not, therefore, speak of foreign -affairs; it is needless, because the thing -I wish to show is so manifest there to -everybody. But we will consider matters -at home. Let us take the present -state of the House of Commons. Can -anything be more confused, more unnatural? -That assembly has got into a -condition utterly embarrassed, and seems<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -impotent to bring itself right. The -members of the House themselves may -find entertainment in the personal incidents -which such a state of confusion -is sure to bring forth abundantly, and -excitement in the opportunities thus -often afforded for the display of Mr. -Gladstone’s wonderful powers. But to -any judicious Englishman outside the -House the spectacle is simply an afflicting -and humiliating one; the sense aroused -by it is not a sense of delight at Mr. -Gladstone’s tireless powers, it is rather -a sense of disgust at their having to be -so exercised. Every day the House of -Commons does not sit judicious people -feel relief, every day that it sits they are -oppressed with apprehension. Instead -of being an edifying influence, as such -an assembly ought to be, the House of -Commons is at present an influence -which does harm; it sets an example -which rebukes and corrects none of the -nation’s faults, but rather encourages -them. The best thing to be done at -present, perhaps, is to avert one’s eyes -from the House of Commons as much -as possible; if one keeps on constantly -watching it welter in its baneful confusion, -one is likely to fall into the fulminating -style of the wrathful Hebrew -prophets, and to call it “an astonishment, -a hissing, and a curse.”</p> - -<p>Well, then, our greatest institution, -the House of Commons, we cannot say -is at present working, like the American -institutions, easily and successfully. -Suppose we now pass to Ireland. I will -not ask if our institutions work easily -and successfully in Ireland; to ask such -a question would be too bitter, too cruel -a mockery. Those hateful cases which -have been tried in the Dublin Courts -this last year suggest the dark and ill-omened -word which applies to the whole -state of Ireland—<em>anti-natural</em>. <em>Anti-natural</em>, -<em>anti-nature</em>—that is the word -which rises irresistibly in my mind as I -survey Ireland. Everything is unnatural -there—the proceedings of the English -who rule, the proceedings of the Irish -who resist. But it is with the working -of our English institutions there that I -am now concerned. It is unnatural that -Ireland should be governed by Lord -Spencer and Mr. Campbell Bannerman—as -unnatural as for Scotland to be -governed by Lord Cranbrook and Mr.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> -Healy. It is unnatural that Ireland -should be governed under a Crimes Act. -But there is necessity, replies the Government. -Well, then, if there is such evil -necessity, it is unnatural that the Irish -newspapers should be free to write as -they write and the Irish members to -speak as they speak—free to inflame and -further exasperate a seditious people’s -mind, and to promote the continuance -of the evil necessity. A necessity for -the Crimes Act is a necessity for absolute -government. By our patchwork proceedings -we set up, indeed, a make-believe -of Ireland’s being constitutionally -governed. But it is not constitutionally -governed; nobody supposes it to be -constitutionally governed, except, perhaps, -that born swallower of all clap-trap, -the British Philistine. The Irish themselves, -the all-important personages in -this case, are not taken in; our make-believe -does not produce in them the -very least gratitude, the very least softening. -At the same time it adds an hundred -fold to the difficulties of an absolute -government.</p> - -<p>The working of our institutions being -thus awry, is the working of our thoughts -upon them more smooth and natural? -I imagine to myself an American, his -own institutions and his habits of -thought being such as we have seen, -listening to us as we talk politics and -discuss the strained state of things over -here. “Certainly these men have considerable -difficulties,” he would say; -“but they never look at them straight, -they do not think straight.” Who does -not admire the fine qualities of Lord -Spencer?—and I, for my part, am quite -ready to admit that he may require for a -given period not only the present Crimes -Act, but even yet more stringent powers -of repression. <em>For a given period</em>, yes!—but -afterwards? Has Lord Spencer -any clear vision of the great, the profound -changes still to be wrought before -a stable and prosperous society can arise -in Ireland? Has he even any ideal for -the future there, beyond that of a time -when he can go to visit Lord Kenmare, -or any other great landlord who is his -friend, and find all the tenants punctually -paying their rents, prosperous and -deferential, and society in Ireland settling -quietly down again upon the old -basis? And he might as well hope to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span> -see Strongbow come to life again! -Which of us does not esteem and like -Mr. Trevelyan, and rejoice in the high -promise of his career? And how all his -friends applauded when he turned upon -the exasperating and insulting Irish -members, and told them that he was -“an English gentleman”! Yet, if one -thinks of it, Mr. Trevelyan was thus -telling the Irish members simply that he -was just that which Ireland does not -want, and which can do her no good. -England, to be sure, has given Ireland -plenty of her worst, but she has also -given her not scantily of her best. Ireland -has had no insufficient supply of -the English gentleman, with his honesty, -personal courage, high bearing, good intentions, -and limited vision; what she -wants is statesmen with just the qualities -which the typical English gentleman has -not—flexibility, openness of mind, a -free and large view of things.</p> - -<p>Everywhere we shall find in our thinking -a sort of warp inclining it aside of -the real mark, and thus depriving it of -value. The common run of peers who -write to the <cite>Times</cite> about reform of the -House of Lords one would not much -expect, perhaps, to “understand the -signs of this time.” But even the Duke -of Argyll, delivering his mind about the -land-question in Scotland, is like one -seeing, thinking, and speaking in some -other planet than ours. A man of even -Mr. John Morley’s gifts is provoked -with the House of Lords, and straightway -he declares himself against the existence -of a Second Chamber at all; although—if -there be such a thing as demonstration -in politics—the working of -the American Senate demonstrates a -well-composed Second Chamber to be -the very need and safeguard of a modern -democracy. What a singular twist, -again, in a man of Mr. Frederic Harrison’s -intellectual power, not, perhaps, -to have in the exuberance of youthful -energy weighted himself for the race of -life by taking up a grotesque old French -pedant upon his shoulders, but to have -insisted, in middle age, in taking up the -Protestant Dissenters too; and now, -when he is becoming elderly, it seems as -if nothing would serve him but he must -add the Peace Society to his load! -How perverse, yet again, in Mr. Herbert -Spencer, at the very moment when past<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> -neglects and present needs are driving -men to co-operation, to making the -community act for the public good in its -collective and corporate character of <em>the -State</em>, how perverse to seize this occasion -for promulgating the extremest -doctrine of individualism; and not only -to drag this dead horse along the public -road himself, but to induce Mr. Auberon -Herbert to devote his days to flogging -it!</p> - -<p>We think thus unaccountably because -we are living in an unnatural and -strained state. We are like people -whose vision is deranged by their looking -through a turbid and distorting atmosphere, -or whose movements are -warped by the cramping of some unnatural -constraint. Let us just ask ourselves, -looking at the thing as people -simply desirous of finding the truth, -how men who saw and thought straight -would proceed, how an American, for -instance—whose seeing and thinking -has, I have said, if not in all matters, -yet commonly in political and social -concerns, this quality of straightness—how -an American would proceed in the -three confusions which I have given as -instances of the many confusions now -embarrassing us: the confusion of our -foreign affairs, the confusion of the -House of Commons, the confusion of -Ireland. And then, when we have discovered -the kind of proceeding natural -in these cases, let us ask ourselves, with -the same sincerity, what is the cause of -that warp of mind hindering most of us -from seeing straight in them, and also -where is our remedy.</p> - -<p>The Angra Pequeña business has -lately called forth from all sides many -and harsh animadversions upon Lord -Granville, who is charged with the direction -of our foreign affairs. I shall not -swell the chorus of complainers. Nothing -has happened but what was to be expected. -Long ago I remarked that it is -not Lord Granville himself who determines -our foreign policy and shapes the -declarations of Government concerning -it, but a power behind Lord Granville. -He and his colleagues would call it the -power of public opinion. It is really -the opinion of that great ruling class -amongst us on which Liberal Governments -have hitherto had to depend for -support—the Philistines or middle class.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -It is not, I repeat, with Lord Granville in -his natural state and force that a foreign -Government has to deal; it is with Lord -Granville waiting in devout expectation -to see how the cat will jump—and that -cat the British Philistine! When Prince -Bismarck deals with Lord Granville, he -finds that he is not dealing mind to mind -with an intelligent equal, but that he is -dealing with a tumult of likes and dislikes, -hopes and fears, stock-jobbing intrigues, -missionary interests, quidnuncs, -newspapers—dealing, in short, with -<em>ignorance</em> behind his intelligent equal. -Yet ignorant as our Philistine middle -class may be, its volitions on foreign -affairs would have more intelligibility -and consistency if uttered through a -spokesman of their own class. Coming -through a nobleman like Lord Granville, -who has neither the thoughts, habits, -nor ideals of the middle class, and yet -wishes to act as proctor for it, they have -every disadvantage. He cannot even -do justice to the Philistine mind, such -as it is, for which he is spokesman; he -apprehends it uncertainly and expounds -it ineffectively. And so with the house -and lineage of Murdstone thundering at -him (and these, again, through Lord -Derby as their interpreter) from the -Cape, and the inexorable Prince Bismarck -thundering at him from Berlin, -the thing naturally ends by Lord Granville -at last wringing his adroit hands -and ejaculating disconsolately: “It is a -misunderstanding altogether!” Even -yet more to be pitied, perhaps, was the -hard case of Lord Kimberley after the -Majuba Hill disaster. Who can ever -forget him, poor man, studying the faces -of the representatives of the dissenting -interest and exclaiming: “A sudden -thought strikes me! May we not be -incurring the sin of blood-guiltiness?” -To this has come the tradition of Lord -Somers, the Whig oligarchy of 1688, -and all Lord Macaulay’s Pantheon.</p> - -<p>I said that a source of strength to -America, in political and social concerns, -was the homogeneous character of -American society. An American statesman -speaks with more effect the mind -of his fellow-citizens from his being in -sympathy with it, understanding and -sharing it. Certainly one must admit -that if, in our country of classes, the -Philistine middle class is really the in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span>spirer -of our foreign policy, that policy -would at least be expounded more forcibly -if it had a Philistine for its spokesman. -Yet I think the true moral to be -drawn is rather, perhaps, this: that our -foreign policy would be improved if our -whole society were homogeneous.</p> - -<p>As to the confusion in the House of -Commons, what, apart from defective -rules of procedure, are its causes? First -and foremost, no doubt, the temper and -action of the Irish members. But putting -this cause of confusion out of view -for a moment, every one can see that -the House of Commons is far too large, -and that it undertakes a quantity of -business which belongs more properly -to local assemblies. The confusion from -these causes is one which is constantly -increasing, because, as the country becomes -fuller and more awakened, business -multiplies, and more and more members -of the House are inclined to take -part in it. Is not the cure for this -found in a course like that followed in -America, in having a much less numerous -House of Commons, and in making -over a large part of its business to local -assemblies, elected, as the House of -Commons itself will henceforth be elected, -by household suffrage? I have often -said that we seem to me to need at present, -in England, three things in especial: -more equality, education for the middle -classes, and a thorough municipal system. -A system of local assemblies is -but the natural complement of a thorough -municipal system. Wholes neither -too large nor too small, not necessarily -of equal population by any means, but -with characters rendering them in themselves -fairly homogeneous and coherent, -are the fit units for choosing these local -assemblies. Such units occur immediately -to one’s mind in the provinces of -Ireland, the Highlands and Lowlands of -Scotland, Wales north and south, groups -of English counties such as present themselves -in the circuits of the judges or -under the names of East Anglia or the -Midlands. No one will suppose me -guilty of the pedantry of here laying out -definitive districts; I do but indicate -such units as may enable the reader to -conceive the kind of basis required for -the local assemblies of which I am speaking. -The business of these districts -would be more advantageously done in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -assemblies of the kind; they would -form a useful school for the increasing -number of aspirants to public life, and -the House of Commons would be relieved.</p> - -<p>The strain in Ireland would be relieved -too, and by natural and safe means. -Irishmen are to be found, who, in desperation -at the present state of their -country, cry out for making Ireland -independent and separate, with a -national Parliament in Dublin, with her -own foreign office and diplomacy, her -own army and navy, her own tariff, -coinage and currency. This is manifestly -impracticable. But here again let -us look at what is done by people who -in politics think straight and see clear; -let us observe what is done in the United -States. The Government at Washington -reserves matters of imperial concern, -matters such as those just enumerated, -which cannot be relinquished -without relinquishing the unity of the -empire. Neither does it allow one great -South to be constituted, or one great -West, with a Southern Parliament, or a -Western. Provinces that are too large -are broken up, as Virginia has been -broken up. But the several States are -nevertheless real and important wholes, -each with its own legislature; and to -each the control, within its own borders, -of all except imperial concerns is freely -committed. The United States Government -intervenes only to keep order -in the last resort. Let us suppose a -similar plan applied in Ireland. There -are four provinces there, forming four -natural wholes—or perhaps (if it should -seem expedient to put Munster and -Connaught together) three. The Parliament -of the empire would still be in -London, and Ireland would send members -to it. But at the same time each -Irish province would have its own legislature, -and the control of its own real -affairs. The British landlord would no -longer determine the dealings with land -in an Irish province, nor the British -Protestant the dealings with church and -education. Apart from imperial concerns, -or from disorder such as to render -military intervention necessary, the -government in London would leave Ireland -to manage itself. Lord Spencer -and Mr. Campbell Bannerman would -come back to England. Dublin Castle<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -would be the State House of Leinster. -Land-questions, game-laws, police, -church, education, would be regulated -by the people and legislature of Leinster -for Leinster, of Ulster for Ulster, of -Munster and Connaught for Munster -and Connaught. The same with the like -matters in England and Scotland. The -local legislatures would regulate them.</p> - -<p>But there is more. Everybody who -watches the working of our institutions -perceives what strain and friction is -caused in it at present, by our having a -Second Chamber composed almost -entirely of great landowners, and representing -the feelings and interests of -the class of landowners almost exclusively. -No one, certainly, under the -condition of a modern age and our -actual life, would ever think of devising -such a Chamber. But we will allow ourselves -to do more than merely state this -truism, we will allow ourselves to ask -what sort of Second Chamber people -who thought straight and saw clear -would, under the conditions of a -modern age and of our actual life, -naturally make. And we find, from the -experience of the United States, that -such provincial legislatures as we have -just now seen to be the natural remedy -for the confusion in the House of Commons, -the natural remedy for the confusion -in Ireland, have the further great -merit besides of giving us the best basis -possible for a modern Second Chamber. -The United States Senate is perhaps, -of all the institutions of that country, -the most happily devised, the most successful -in its working. The legislature -of each State of the Union elects two -senators to the Second Chamber of the -national Congress at Washington. The -senators are the Lords—if we like to -keep, as it is surely best to keep, for designating -the members of the Second -Chamber, the title to which we have been -for so many ages habituated. Each of -the provincial legislatures of Great -Britain and Ireland would elect members -to the House of Lords. The colonial -legislatures also would elect members to -it; and thus we should be complying in -the most simple and yet the most signal -way possible with the present desire of -both this country and the colonies for a -closer union together, for some representation -of the colonies in the Imperial<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -Parliament. Probably it would be found -expedient to transfer to the Second -Chamber the representatives of the Universities. -But no scheme for a Second -Chamber will at the present day be -found solid unless it stands on a genuine -basis of election and representation. -All schemes for forming a Second -Chamber through nomination, whether -by the Crown or by any other voice, of -picked noblemen, great officials, leading -merchants and bankers, eminent men of -letters and science, are fantastic. Probably -they would not give us by any means -a good Second Chamber. But certainly -they would not satisfy the country or -possess its confidence, and therefore they -would be found futile and unworkable.</p> - -<p>So we discover what would naturally -appear the desirable way out of some of -our worst confusions to anybody who -saw clear and thought straight. But there -is little likelihood, probably, of any such -way being soon perceived and followed -by our community here. And why is -this? Because, as a community, we -have so little lucidity, we so little see -clear and think straight. And why, -again, is this? Because our community -is so little homogeneous. The lower -class has yet to show what it will do in -politics. Rising politicians are already -beginning to flatter it with servile -assiduity, but their praise is as yet -premature, the lower class is too little -known. The upper class and the middle -class we know. They have each their -own supposed interests, and these are -very different from the true interests of -the community. Our very classes make -us dim-seeing. In a modern time, we -are living with a system of classes so -intense, a society of such unnatural complication, -that the whole action of our -minds is hampered and falsened by it. -I return to my old thesis: inequality is -our bane. The great impediments in -our way of progress are aristocracy and -Protestant dissent. People think this -is an epigram; alas, it is much rather a -truism!</p> - -<p>An aristocratical society like ours is -often said to be the society from which -artists and men of letters have most to -gain. But an institution is to be judged, -not by what one can oneself gain from -it, but by the ideal which it sets up. -And aristocracy—if I may once more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span> -repeat words which, however often repeated, -have still a value from their -truth—aristocracy now sets up in our -country a false ideal, which materialises -our upper class, vulgarises our middle -class, brutalises our lower class. It misleads -the young, makes the worldly more -worldly, the limited more limited, the -stationary more stationary. Even to the -imaginative, whom Lord John Manners -thinks its sure friend, it is more a hindrance -than a help. Johnson says well: -“Whatever makes the past, the distant, -or the future, predominate over the -present, advances us in the dignity of -thinking beings.” But what is a Duke -of Norfolk or an Earl Warwick, dressed -in broadcloth and tweed, and going about -his business or pleasure in hansom cabs -and railways like the rest of us? Imagination -herself would entreat him to take -himself out of the way, and to leave us -to the Norfolks and Warwicks of history.</p> - -<p>I say this without a particle of hatred, -and with esteem, admiration, and affection -for many individuals in the aristocratical -class. But the action of time -and circumstance is fatal. If one asks -oneself what is really to be desired, what -is expedient, one would go far beyond -the substitution of an elected -Second Chamber for the present House -of Lords. All confiscation is to be reprobated, -all deprivation (except in bad -cases of abuse) of what is actually possessed. -But one would wish, if one set -about wishing, for the extinction of title -after the death of the holder, and for the -dispersion of property by a stringent law -of bequest. Our society should be homogeneous, -and only in this way can it become -so.</p> - -<p>But aristocracy is in little danger. “I -suppose, sir,” a dissenting minister said -to me the other day, “you found, when -you were in America, that they envied -us there our great aristocracy.” It was -his sincere belief that they did, and such -probably is the sincere belief of our -middle class in general; or at any rate, -that if the Americans do not envy us this -possession, they ought to. And my -friend, one of the great Liberal party -which has now, I suppose, pretty nearly -run down its deceased wife’s sister, poor -thing, has his hand and heart full, so -far as politics are concerned, of the question -of church disestablishment. He is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -eager to set to work at a change which, -even if it were desirable (and I think it -is not,) is yet off the line of those reforms -which are really pressing.</p> - -<p>Mr. Lyulph Stanley, Professor Stuart, -and Lord Richard Grosvenor are waiting -ready to help him, and perhaps Mr. -Chamberlain himself will lead the attack. -I admire Mr. Chamberlain as a politician -because he has the courage—and it is a -wise courage—to state large the reforms -we need, instead of minimising them. -But like Saul before his conversion, he -breathes out threatenings and slaughter -against the Church, and is likely, perhaps, -to lead an assault upon her. He -is a formidable assailant, yet I suspect -he might break his finger-nails on her -walls. If the Church has the majority -for her, she will of course stand. But -in any case this institution, with all its -faults, has that merit which makes the -great strength of institutions—it offers -an ideal which is noble and attaching. -Equality is its profession, if not always -its practice. It inspires wide and deep -affection, and possesses, therefore, immense -strength. Probably the Establishment -will not stand in Wales, probably -it will not stand in Scotland. In -Wales it ought not, I think, to stand. -In Scotland I should regret its fall; but -Presbyterian churches are born to separatism, -as the sparks fly upward. At -any rate, it is through the vote of local -legislatures that disestablishment is likely -to come, as a measure required in certain -provinces, and not as a general -measure for the whole country. In -other words, the endeavor for disestablishment -ought to be postponed to the -endeavor for far more important reforms, -not to precede it. Yet I doubt whether -Mr. Chamberlain and Mr. Lyulph Stanley -will listen to me when I plead thus -with them; there is so little lucidity in -England, and they will say I am priest-ridden.</p> - -<p>One man there is, whom above all -others I would fain have seen in Parliament -during the last ten years, and beheld -established in influence there at -this juncture—Mr. Goldwin Smith. I -do not say that he was not too embittered -against the Church; in my opinion -he was. But with singular lucidity -and penetration he saw what great reforms -were needed in other directions,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> -and the order of relative importance in -which reforms stood. Such were his -character, style, and faculties, that -alone perhaps among men of his insight -he was capable of getting his ideas -weighed and entertained by men in -power; while amid all favor and under -all temptations he was certain to have still -remained true to his insight, “unshaken, -unseduced, unterrified.” I think of him -as a real power for good in Parliament -at this time, had he by now become, as -he might have become, one of the leaders -there. His absence from the scene, -his retirement in Canada, is a loss to his -friends, but a still greater loss to his -country.</p> - -<p>Hardly inferior in influence to Parliament -itself is journalism. I do not conceive -of Mr. John Morley as made for -filling that position in Parliament which -Mr. Goldwin Smith would, I think, have -filled. If he controls, as Protesilaos in -the poem advises, hysterical passion (the -besetting danger of men of letters on the -platform and in Parliament) and remembers -to approve “the depth and not the -tumult of the soul,” he will be powerful -in Parliament; he will rise, he will -come into office; but he will not do for -us in Parliament, I think, what Mr. -Goldwin Smith would have done. He -is too much of a partisan. In journalism, -on the other hand, he was as unique -a figure as Mr. Goldwin Smith would, I -imagine, have been in Parliament. As a -journalist, Mr. John Morley showed a -mind which seized and understood the -signs of the times; he had all the ideas -of a man of the best insight, and alone, -perhaps, among men of his insight, he -had the skill for making these ideas -pass into journalism. But Mr. John -Morley has now left journalism. There -is plenty of talent in Parliament, plenty -of talent in journalism, but no one in -either to expound “the signs of this -time” as these two men might have expounded -them. The signs of the time, -political and social, are left, I regret to -say, to bring themselves as they best -can to the notice of the public. Yet -how ineffective an organ is literature for -conveying them compared with Parliament -and journalism!</p> - -<p>Conveyed somehow, however, they -certainly should be, and in this disquisition -I have tried to deal with them.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -But the political and social problem, as -the thinkers call it, must not so occupy -us as to make us forget the human problem. -The problems are connected together, -but they are not identical. Our -political and social confusions I admit; -what Parliament is at this moment, I see -and deplore. Yet nowhere but in England -even now, not in France, not in -Germany, not in America, could there -be found public men of that quality—so -capable of fair dealing, of trusting one -another, keeping their word to one another—as -to make possible such a settlement -of the Franchise and Seat Bills as -that which we have lately seen. Plato -says with most profound truth: “The -man who would think to good purpose -must be able to take many things into -his view together.” How homogeneous -American society is, I have done my -best to declare; how smoothly and naturally -the institutions of the United -States work, how clearly, in some most -important respects, the Americans see, -how straight they think. Yet Sir Lepel -Griffin says that there is no country calling -itself civilised where one would not -rather live than in America, except Russia. -In politics I do not much trust Sir -Lepel Griffin. I hope that he administers -in India some district where a pro<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span>found -insight into the being and working -of institutions is not requisite. But, -I suppose, of the tastes of himself and -of that large class of Englishmen whom -Mr. Charles Sumner has taught us to -call the class of gentlemen, he is no untrustworthy -reporter. And an Englishman -of this class would rather live in -France, Spain, Holland, Belgium, Germany, -Italy, Switzerland, than in the -United States, in spite of our community -of race and speech with them! -This means that, in the opinion of men -of that class, the human problem at -least is not well solved in the United -States, whatever the political and social -problem may be. And to the human -problem in the United States we ought -certainly to turn our attention, especially -when we find taken such an objection as -this; and some day, though not now, -we will do so, and try to see what the -objection comes to. I have given hostages -to the United States, I am bound -to them by the memory of great, untiring, -and most attaching kindness. I -should not like to have to own them to -be of all countries calling themselves -civilised, except Russia, the country -where one would least like to live.—<cite>Nineteenth -Century.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="REVIEW_OF_THE_YEAR" id="REVIEW_OF_THE_YEAR">REVIEW OF THE YEAR.</a><br /> - -<small>BY FREDERIC HARRISON</small>.</h2> - - -<p>The opening of a new year again assembles -us together to look back on the -work of the year that is gone, to look -faithfully into our present state, and to -take forecast of all that yet awaits us in -the visible life on earth, under the inspiring -sense of the Great Power which -makes us what we are, and who will be -as great when we are not.</p> - -<p>In the light of this duty to Humanity -as a whole, how feeble is our work, how -poor the result! And yet, looking back -on the year that is just departed, we -need not be down-hearted. Surely and -firmly we advance. Not as the spiritualist -movements advance, by leaps and -bounds, as the tares spring up, as the -stubble blazes forth, but by conviction, -with system, with slow consolidation of -belief resting on proof and tested by experience. -If at the beginning of last -year we could point to the formation of -a new centre in North London, this year -we can point to its maintenance with -steady vigor, and to the opening of a -more important new centre in the city -of Manchester. Year by year sees the -addition to our cause of a group in the -great towns of the kingdom. Liverpool, -Manchester, Birmingham, Newcastle, -already have their weekly meetings -and their organised societies.</p> - -<p>I make no great store of all this. The -religious confidence in Humanity will -not come about, I think, like the belief -in the Gospel, or in the Church, or in -any of the countless Protestant persuasions, -by the formation of a small sect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -of believers, gradually inducing men to -join some exclusive congregation. The -trust in Humanity is an ineradicable -part of modern civilisation: nay, it is -the very motive power and saving quality -of modern civilisation, and that even -where it is encumbered by a conscious -belief in God and Christ, in Gospel and -salvation, or where it is disguised by an -atheistical rejection of all religious reverence -whatever. Positivists are not a -sect. Positivism is not merely a new -mode of worship. It is of small moment -to us how numerous are the congregations -who meet to-day to acknowledge -Humanity in words. The best -men and women of all creeds and all -races acknowledge Humanity in their -lives. For the full realisation of our -hopes we must look to the improvement -of civilisation; not to the extension of -a sect. Let us shun all sects and everything -belonging to them.</p> - -<p>I shall say but little, therefore, of the -growth of Positivist congregations. -Where they are perfectly spontaneous -and natural; where they are doing a -real work in education; where they give -solid comfort and support to the lives -of those who form them, they are useful -and living things, giving hope and sign -of something better. But I see evil in -them if they are artificial and premature; -if they spring out of the incurable tendency -of our age toward sects; if they -are mere imitations of Christian congregations; -and, above all, if their members -look upon them as adequate types -of a regenerated society. The religion -of Humanity, by its nature, is incapable -of being narrowed down to the limits of -a few hundreds of scattered believers -and to casual gatherings of men and -women divided in life and activity. -And that for the same reason that civilisation -or patriotism could not possibly -be the privilege of a few scattered individuals. -Where two or three are gathered -together, there the Gospel may be -duly presented, and God and Christ adequately -worshipped. It is not so with -Humanity. The service of Humanity -needs Humanity. The only Church of -Humanity is a healthy and cultured human -society. It is the very business of -Humanity to free us from all individualist -religion, from all self-contained worship -of the isolated believer. And<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -though the idea of Humanity is able to -strengthen the individual soul as profoundly -as the idea of Christ, yet the -idea of Humanity, the service of Humanity, -the honoring of Humanity, are -only fully realised in the living organism -of a humane society of men.</p> - -<p>For this reason I look on a Positivist -community rather as a germ of what is -to come, one which may easily degenerate -into a hindrance to true life in Humanity. -The utmost that we can do -now as an isolated knot of scattered believers -is so immeasurably short of what -may be done by a united nation, familiar -from generation to generation with the -sense of duty to Humanity, saturated -from infancy with the consciousness of -Humanity, and with all the resources of -an organised public opinion, and a disciplined -body of teachers, poets, and -artists, to secure its convictions and express -its emotions, that I am always -dreading lest our puny attempts in the -movement be stereotyped as adequate. -Our English, Protestant habits are continually -prompting us to look for salvation -to sects, societies, self-sufficing congregations -of zealous, but possibly self-righteous -reformers. The egotistic spirit -of the Gospel is constantly inclining us -to look for a healthier religious ideal -to some new religious exercises, to be -performed in secret by the individual -believer, in the silence of his chamber -or in some little congregation of -fellow-believers. Positivism comes, not -to add another to these congregations, -but to free us from the temper of mind -which creates them. It comes to show -us that religion is not to be found -within any four walls, or in the secret -yearnings of any heart, but in the right -systematic development of an entire -human society. Until there is a profound -diffusion of the spirit of Humanity -throughout the mass of some entire -human society, some definite section of -modern civilisation, there can be no religion -of Humanity in any adequate -degree; there can be no full worship of -Humanity; there can be no true Positivist -life till there be an organic Positivist -community to live such a life. Let -us beware how we imagine, that where -two or three are gathered together there -is a Positivist Church. There may be a -synagogue of Positivist pharisees, it may<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -be; but the sense of our vast human -fellowship—which lies at the root of -Positivist morality; the reality of Positivist -religion, which means a high and -humane life in the world; the glory of -Positivist worship, which means the -noblest expression of human feeling in -art—all these things are <em>not</em> possible in -any exclusive and meagre synagogue -whatever, and are very much retarded -by the premature formation of synagogues.</p> - -<p>I look, as I say always, to the leavening -of opinion generally; to the attitude -of mind with which the world around us -confronts Positivism and understands, -or feels interest in Positivism. And -here, and not in the formation of new -congregations, I find the grounds for -unbounded hope. Within a very few -years, and notably within the year just -ended, there has been a striking change -of tone in the way in which the thoughtful -public looks at Positivism. It has -entirely passed out of the stage of silence -and contempt. It occupies a place in -the public interest, not equal yet to its -importance in the future; but far in excess, -I fear, of anything which its living -exponents can justify in the present. -The thoughtful public and the religious -spirits acknowledge in it a genuine religious -force. Candid Christians see -that it has much which calls out their -sympathy. But apart from that, the -period of misunderstanding and of ridicule -is passed for Positivism for ever. -Serious people are beginning now to say -that there is nothing in Positivism so -extravagant, nothing so mischievous as -they used to think. Many of them are -beginning to see that it bears witness to -valuable truths which have been hitherto -neglected. They are coming to feel -that in certain central problems of the -modern world, such as the possibility of -preserving the religious sentiment, in -defending the bases of spiritual and -temporal authority, in explaining the -science of history, in the institution of -property, in the future relations of men -and women, employers and employed, -government and people, teachers and -learners, in all of these, Positivism holds -up a ray of steady light in the chaos of -opinion. They are asking themselves, -the truly conservative and truly religious -natures, if, after all, society may not be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span> -destined to be regenerated in some such -ideal lines as Positivism shadows forth:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent20">“Via prima salutis,</div> - <div class="verse">Quod minimè reris, Graia pandetur ab urbe.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Here, then, is the great gain of the -past year. It has for some time been -felt that we have hold of a profound religious -truth; that Positivism, as Mr. -Mill says, does realise the essential -conditions of religion. But we have -now made it clear that we have hold of -a profound philosophical truth as well; -and a living and prolific social truth. -The cool, instructed, practical intellect -is now prepared to admit that it is quite -a reasonable hope to look for the cultivation -of a purely human duty towards -our fellow beings and our race collectively -as a solid basis of moral and practical -life—nay, further, that so far as it -goes, and without excluding other bases -of life, this is a sound, and indeed, a -very common, spring to right action. It -is an immense step gained that the cool, -instructed, practical intellect of our day -goes with us up to this point. It is a -minor matter, that in conceding so much, -this same intelligent man-of-the-world is -ready to say, “You must throw over, -however, all the mummery and priestcraft -with which Positivism began its -career.” Positivism has no mummery -or priestcraft to throw over. The whole -idea of such things arose out of labored -epigrams manufactured about the utopias -of Comte when exaggerated into a formalism -by some of his more excitable followers.</p> - -<p>In the history of any great truth we -generally find three stages of public -opinion regarding it. The first, of unthinking -hostility; the second, of minimising -its novelty; the third, of adopting -it as an obvious truism. Men say first, -“Nothing more grotesque and mischievous -was ever propounded!” Then -they say, “Now that it has entirely -changed its front, there is nothing to be -afraid of, and not much that is new!” -And in the third stage they say, “We -have held this all our lives, and it is a -mere commonplace of modern thought.” -Positivism has now passed out of the -first stage. Men have ceased to think -of it as grotesque or mischievous. They -have now passed into the second stage, -and say,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> “Now that it is showing itself -as mere common-sense, it is little more -than a re-statement of what reasonable -men have long thought, and what -good men have long aimed at.” Quite -so, only there has been no change of -front, no abandoning of anything, and -no modification of any essential principle. -We have only made it clear that the original -prejudices we had to meet were -founded in haste, misconception, and -mere caricature. We have shown that -Positivism is just as truly scientific as it -is religious; that it has as much aversion -to priestcraft, ritualism, and ceremony, -as any Protestant sectary: and as deep -an aversion to sects as the Pope of Rome -or the President of the Royal Society. -Positivism itself is as loyal to every -genuine result of modern science as the -Royal Society itself. The idea that any -reasonable Positivist undervalues the -real triumphs of science, or could dream -of minimising any solid conclusion of -science, or of limiting the progress of -science, or would pit any unproven assertion -of any man, be he Comte, or an -entire Ecumenical Council of Comtists, -so to speak, against any single proven -conclusion of human research, this, I -say, is too laughable to be seriously imputed -to any Positivist.</p> - -<p>If Auguste Comte had ever used language -which could fairly be so understood, -I will not stop to inquire. I do not -believe he has. But if I were shown fifty -such passages, they would not weigh with -me a grain against the entire basis and -genius of Positivism itself; which is that -human life shall henceforward be based -on a footing of solid demonstration alone. -If enthusiastic Positivists, more Comtist -than Comte, ever gave countenance to -such an extravagance, I can only say -that they no more represent Positivism -than General Booth’s brass band represents -Christianity. If words of -Auguste Comte have been understood to -mean that the religion of Humanity can -be summed up in the repetition of -phrases, or can be summed up in anything -less than a moral and scientific -education of man’s complex nature, I -can only treat it as a caricature unworthy -of notice. This hall is the centre in this -country where the Positivist scheme is -presented in its entirety, under the immediate -direction of Comte’s successor. -And speaking in his name and in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -name of our English committee, I claim -it as an essential purpose of our existence -as an organised body, to promote a -sound scientific education, so as to abolish -the barrier which now separates -school and Church; to cultivate individual -training in all true knowledge, -and the assertion of individual energy of -character and brain; to promote independence -quite as much as association; -personal responsibility, quite as much -as social discipline; and free public -opinion, in all things spiritual and -material alike, quite as much as organised -guidance by trained leaders. Whatever -makes light of these, whatever is indifferent -to scientific education, whatever -tends to blind and slavish surrender of -the judgment and the will, whatever -clings to mysticism, formalism, and -priestcraft, such belongs not to Positivism, -to Auguste Comte, or to humanity -rightly regarded and honored. The first -condition of the religion of Humanity is -human nature and common sense.</p> - -<p>Whilst Positivism has been making -good its ground within the area of scientific -philosophy, scientific metaphysics -has been exhibiting the signal weakness -of its position on the side of religion. -To those who have once entered into -the scientific world of belief in positive -knowledge there is no choice between a -belief in nothing at all and a belief in -the future of human civilisation, between -Agnosticism and Humanity. Agnosticism -is therefore for the present the rival -and antagonist of Positivism outside the -orthodox fold. I say for the present, -because by the nature of the case Agnosticism -is a mere raft or jurymast for -shipwrecked believers, a halting-place, -and temporary passage from one belief -to another belief. The idea that the -deepest issues of life and of thought can -be permanently referred to any negation; -that cultivated beings can feel proud of -summing up their religious belief in the -formula, that they “know nothing” -this is too absurd to endure. Agnosticism -is a milder form of the Voltairean -hatred of religion that was current in -the last century; but it is quite as passing -a phase. For the moment, it is the -fashion of the emancipated Christian to -save all trouble by professing himself an -Agnostic. But he is more or less -ashamed of it. He knows it is a subter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span>fuge. -It is no real answer. It is only an -excuse for refusing to answer a troublesome -question. The Agnostic knows -that he will have to give a better answer -some day; he finds earnest men clamoring -for an answer. He is getting uneasy -that they will not take “Don’t know” -for an answer. He is himself too full -still of theology and metaphysics to follow -our practice, which is to leave the -theological conundrum alone, and to -proclaim <em>regard for the human race as an -adequate solution of the human problem</em>. -And in the meantime he staves off questions -by making his own ignorance—his -own ignorance!—the foundation of a -creed.</p> - -<p>We have just seen the failure of one, -of these attempts. The void caused by -the silent crumbling of all the spiritual -creeds has to be filled in some way. -The indomitable passion of mankind towards -an object to revere and work for, -has to be met. And the latest device -has been, as we have seen, to erect the -“Unknowable” itself into the sole -reality, and to assure us that an indescribable -heap of abstract terms is the -true foundation of life. So that, after -all its protestations against any superstitious -belief, Agnosticism floats back -into a cloud of contradictions and negations -as unthinkable as those of the -Athanasian creed, and which are merely -our old theological attributes again, -dressed up in the language of Esoteric -Buddhism.</p> - - -<p class="center">II.</p> - -<p>I turn now, as is our custom, to review -the work of the year under its three-fold -heads of Cult, Education, Politics. -You will see that I avoid the word Worship, -because worship is so often misunderstood; -and because it wholly fails -to convey the meaning of the Positivist -<em>cultus</em>, or stimulus of the noblest emotions -of man. Worship is in no way a -translation of Comte’s word <i lang="fr">culte</i>. In -French we can talk of the <i lang="fr">culte des mères</i>, -or the <i lang="fr">culte des morts</i>, or the <i lang="fr">culte des enfants</i>, -or the <i lang="fr">culte de l’Art</i>. We cannot -in English talk of <em>worshipping</em> our -mothers, or <em>worshipping</em> our dead -friends, or <em>worshipping</em> children, or <em>worshipping</em> -art; or, if we use the words, we -do not mean the same thing. Comte -has suffered deeply by being crudely<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -translated into English phrases, by -people who did not see that the same -phrase in English means something -different. Now his <i lang="fr">culte de l’Humanité</i> -does not mean what Englishmen understand -by the worship of Humanity: <i>i.e.</i>, -they are apt to fancy, kneeling down -and praying to Humanity, or singing a -hymn to Humanity. By <i lang="fr">culte de l’Humanité</i> -is meant, deepening our sense -of gratitude and regard for the human -race and its living or dead organs. And -everything which does this is <em>cult</em>, though -it may not be what we call in English -worship. So <em>service</em> is a word I avoid; -because the service of Humanity consists -in the thousand ways in which we fulfil -our social duties, and not in uttering -exclamations which may or may not lead -to anything in conduct, and which we -have no reason to suppose are heard by -any one, or affect any one outside the -room where they are uttered. The -commemoration of a great man such as -William the Silent or Corneille is <em>cult</em>, -though we do not worship him; the -solemn delight in a piece of music in -such a spirit is <em>cult</em>, though it is not <em>worship</em>, -or <em>service</em>, in the modern English -sense of these words. The ceremony -of interring a dead friend, or naming a -child is <em>cult</em>, though we do not worship -our dead friend, nor do we worship -the baby when brought for presentation. -Cult, as we understand it, is a process -that concerns the person or persons who -worship, not the being worshipped. -Whatever stimulates the sense of social -duty and kindles the noblest emotions, -whether by a mere historical lecture, or -a grand piece of music, or by a solemn -act, or by some expression of emotion—this -is cult.</p> - -<p>In the same way, I avoid the word -<em>religion</em>, to signify any special department -or any one side of our Positivist -life. Religion is not a part of life, but -a harmonious and true living of our -lives; not the mere expression of feeling, -but the right convergence of feeling and -thought into pure action. Some of our -people seem to use the word “religion,” -in the theological sense, to mean the -formal expression of a sentiment of devotion. -This is a mere distortion of -Comte’s language, and essentially unworthy -of the broad spirit of Positivism. -The full meaning of <i lang="fr">culte</i>, as Comte em<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span>ployed -it, is every act by which man expresses -and every means by which he -kindles the sense of reverence, duty, -love, or resignation. In that sense, and -in that sense only, do I now employ <em>cult</em>, -which is obviously a somewhat inadequate -English phrase.</p> - -<p>The past year opened with the commemoration -of this day, in which, though -the words of praise and devotion that -we uttered were few, we sought to brace -our spirits and clear our brains by -pausing for an hour in the midst of the -whirl of life, to look forth on the vast -range of our social duties and the littleness -of our individual performance. On -the 5th of September, the twenty-seventh -anniversary of the death of Auguste -Comte, we met, as usual, to commemorate -his life and work. The discourse -then given will be shortly published. At -the friendly repast and in the social -meeting of that day we had the welcome -presence of several members of our -Positivist body in Paris and also from -the northern cities of England. The -hundredth year since the death of -Diderot, the two hundredth since that -of Corneille, the three hundredth since -that of the great founder of the Netherlands, -William of Orange, called the -Silent, were duly commemorated by a -discourse on their life and work. Such -vague and unreal ideas are suggested by -the phrase, the <em>worship of humanity</em>, -that it is useful to point out that this is -what we in this hall mean by such a -notion: the strengthening our sense of -respect for the worthy men in the past -by whom civilisation has been built up. -This is what we mean by the worship of -humanity. A mere historical lecture, if -its aim and its effect be to kindle in us -enthusiastic regard for the noble men -who have gone before us, and by whose -lives and deaths we are what we are,—this -is the worship of humanity, and not -the utterance of invocations to an -abstract idea.</p> - -<p>On the 28th of last month we held a -commemoration of the great musician, -Beethoven, in all respects like that which -we had given two years ago for Mozart. -Our friend Professor Henry Holmes and -his admirable quartet again performed -two of those immortal pieces, and our -friend, Mr. Vernon Lushington, again -gave us one of those beautiful discourses<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span> -on the glorious art to which he and his -have devoted so much of their lives. -These occasions, which are a real -creation of Positivism, I deeply enjoy. -They are neither concert nor lecture, nor -service specially, but all three together, -and much more. It is the one mode in -which at present the religion of the -future can put forth its yearnings for a -sacred art worthy to compare with the -highest types of Christian art. We -meet not to listen to a musical display—not -to hear the history of the musician’s -life—not to commemorate his career -by any formal ceremony; but we mingle -with our words of gratitude, and honor -and affection for the artist, the worthy -rehearsing of his consummate ideas in a -spirit of devotion for him and the -glorious company of whom he is one of -the most splendid chiefs.</p> - -<p>Last night, as the year closed, we met -as before to dwell on the past, on the -departing year that was being laid to -rest in the incalculable catacombs of -time, and on the infinite myriads of -human beings by whom those catacombs -are peopled; and with music and with -voice we sought to attune our spirits to -the true meanings of the hour. The -year has been to many of us one of cruel -anxieties, of sad memories and irreparable -loss. In Mr. Cutler we have lost a -most sincere and valued brother. As -we stood round his open grave, there -was but one feeling in our gathered -mourners—a sense of loss that could ill -be borne, honor to his gentle and upright -career, sympathy with those whom he -had left. The occasion will long be -remembered, perhaps, as the first on -which our body has ever been called on -to take part in a purely Positivist burial -service. Did any one present feel that -the religion of Humanity is without its -power to dignify, to consecrate, and to -console in the presence of death? I -speak not for others, but for myself. -And, for my part, when I remember the -pathetic chant of our friends at the -grave, the reality of their reverend sorrow, -the consolatory sense of resignation -and hope with which we laid our brother -in his peaceful bed, I feel the conviction -that in this supreme office, the great -test of religious power, the faith in -Humanity will surpass the faith in the -fictions—in beauty, in pathos, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> -courage, and in consolation, even as it -so manifestly surpasses them in reality.</p> - -<p>The hand of death has been heavy on -us both abroad and at home. The past -year has carried off to their immortal life -two of the original disciples and friends -of our master, Auguste Hadery and -Fabien Magnin. Both have been most -amply honored in funeral sermons by -M. Laffitte. Fabien Magnin was one of -those rare men who represent to the -present the type that we look for in the -future. A workman (he was an engine-pattern -maker,) he chose to live and -die a workman, proud of his order, and -confident in its destinies; all through -his long life without fortune, or luxury, -or ambition; a highly-trained man of -science; a thoroughly trained politician, -loyal unshakenly to his great teacher and -his successor; of all the men I have ever -known the most perfect type of the cultivated, -incorruptible, simple, courageous -man of the people. With his personal -influence over his fellow-workmen, and -from the ascendency of his intellect and -character, he might easily in France -have forced his way into the foremost -place. With his scientific resources, and -his faculty both for writing and speech, -he might easily have entered the literary -or scientific class. With his energy, -prudence, and mechanical skill, he -might easily have amassed a fortune. -The attractions of such careers never -seemed to touch by a ripple the serene -surface of his austere purity. He chose -to live and die in the strictest simplicity—the -type of an honest and educated -citizen, who served to make us feel all -that the future has to promise to the -workman, when remaining a workman, -devoted to his craft and to his order, he -shall be as highly educated as the best -of us to-day; as courteous and dignified -as the most refined; as simple as the -ideal village pastor; as ardent a Republican -as the Ferrys and Gambettas -whose names fill the journals.</p> - -<p>We have this past year also carried -out another series of commemorations, -long familiar to our friends in France, -but which are a real creation of Positivist -belief. I mean those Pilgrimages or religious -visits to the scenes of the lives of -our great men. This is a real revival -of a noble mediæval and Oriental practice, -but wholly without superstitious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> -taint, and entirely in the current of -modern scientific thought. We go in -a body to some spot where one of our -immortal countrymen lived or died, and -there, full of the beauty of the scene on -which he used to gaze, and of the <i lang="la">genius -loci</i> by which he was inspired, we listen -to a simple discourse on his life and -work. In this way we visited the homes -or the graves of Bacon, of Harvey, of -Milton, of Penn, of Cromwell, and of -our William of Orange. What may not -the art of the future produce for us in -this most fruitful mode, when in place -of the idle picnics and holidays of vacant -sightseers, in place of the formal celebration -of some prayer-book saint, we -shall gather in a spirit of real religion -and honor round the birthplace, the -home, it may be the grave, of some poet, -thinker, or ruler; and amidst all the inspiration -of Nature and of the sacred -memories of the soil, shall fill our hearts -with the joy in beauty and profound -veneration of the mighty Dead?</p> - - -<p class="center">III.</p> - -<p>In our Sunday meetings, which have -been regularly continued excepting during -the four summer months, we have -continued our plan of dealing alike with -the religious, the social, and the intellectual -sides of the Positivist view -of life and duty. The Housing of the -Poor, Art, Biology, Socialism, our social -Duties, the Memory of the Dead, -the Positivist grounds of Morality, and -our Practical Duties in Life, formed the -subject of one series. Since our re-opening -in the autumn, we have had courses -on the Bible, on the religious value of -the modern poets, and on the true basis -of social equality. Amongst the features -of special interest in these series of discourses -is that one course was given by -a former Unitarian minister who, after -a life of successful preaching in the least -dogmatic of all the Christian Churches, -has been slowly reduced to the conviction -that the reality of Humanity -is a more substantial basis for religion -to rest on than the hypothesis of God, -and that the great scheme of human -morality is a nobler Gospel to preach -than the artificial ideal of a subjective -Christ. I would in particular note the -series of admirable lectures on the -Bible, by Dr. Bridges, which combined<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -the results of the latest learning on -this intricate mass of ancient writings -with the sympathetic and yet impartial -judgment with which Positivists adopt -into their sacred literature the most -famous and most familiar of all the religious -books of mankind. And again -I would note that beautiful series of -discourses by Mr. Vernon Lushington -on the great religious poets of the -modern world:—Dante, Shakespeare, -Milton, Byron, Wordsworth and Shelley. -When we have them side by side, we -shall have before us a new measure of -the sound, sympathetic, and universal -spirit of Positivist belief. It is only -those who are strangers to it and to us -who can wonder how we come to put -the Bible and the poets in equal places -of honor as alike the great organs of -true religious feeling.</p> - -<p>The systematic teaching of science, -which is an essential part of our conception -of Positivism, has been maintained -in this hall with unabated energy. In -the beginning of the year Mr. Vernon -Lushington commenced and carried -through (with what an effort of personal -self-devotion no one of us can duly -measure) his class on the history and the -elements of Astronomy. This winter, -Mr. Lock has opened a similar class on -the History and Elements of Mathematics. -Positivism is essentially a -scheme for reforming education, and it -is only through a reformed education, -universal to all classes alike, and concerned -with the heart as much as the intellect, -that the religious meaning of -Humanity can ever be unfolded. The -singing class, the expense of which was -again assumed by Mr. Lushington, was -steadily and successfully maintained -during the first part of the year. We -are still looking forward to the formation -of a choir. The social meetings -which we instituted last year have become -a regular feature of our movement, -and greatly contribute to our closer -union and our better understanding of -the social and sympathetic meaning of -the faith we profess.</p> - -<p>The publications of the year have -been first and chiefly, <cite>The Testament and -Letters of Auguste Comte</cite>, a work long -looked for, the publication of which has -been long delayed by various causes. -In the next place I would call attention<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -to the new and popular edition of <cite>International -Policy</cite>, a work of combined -essays which we put forward in 1866, -nearly twenty years ago. Our object in -that work was to state and apply to the -leading international problems in turn -the great principles of social morality on -which it is the mission of Positivism to -show that the politics of nations can -only securely repose. In an epoch -which is still tending, we are daily assured, -to the old passion for national -self-assertion, it is significant that the -Positivist school alone can resolutely -maintain and fearlessly repeat its dictates -of morality and justice, whilst all the -Churches, all the political parties, and -all the so-called organs of opinion, which -are really the creatures of parties and -cliques, find various pretexts for abandoning -them altogether. How few are -the political schools around us who -could venture to republish after twenty -years, <em>their</em> political programmes of -1866, <em>their</em> political doctrines and practical -solutions of the tangled international -problems, and who could not find in -1885 a principle which they had discarded, -or a proposal which to-day they -are ashamed to have made twenty years -ago.</p> - -<p>Besides these books, the only separate -publications of our body are the affecting -address of Mr. Ellis <cite>On the due Commemoration -of the Dead</cite>. The Positivist -Society has met throughout the year for -the discussion of the social and political -questions of the day. The most public -manifestation of its activity has been -the part that it took in the third centenary -of the great hero of national independence, -William, Prince of Orange, -called the Silent. The noble and -weighty address in which Mr. Beesly -expressed to the Dutch Committee at -Delft the honor in which we held that -immortal memory, has deeply touched, -we are told, those to whom it was addressed. -And it is significant that from -this hall, dedicated to peace, to the Republic, -to the people, and to Humanity, -there was sent forth the one voice from -the entire British race in honor to the -great prince, the soldier, the diplomatist -the secret, subtle, and haughty chief, -who, three hundred years ago, created -the Dutch nation. We have learned -here to care little for a purely insular<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -patriotism. The great creators of -nations are <em>our</em> forefathers and <em>our</em> -countrymen. Protestant or Catholic are -nothing to us, so long as either prepared -the way for a broader faith. In our -abhorrence of war we have learned to -honor the chief who fought desperately -for the solid bases of peace. In our -zeal for the people, for public opinion, -for simplicity of life, and for truthfulness -and openness in word as in conduct, -we have not forgotten the <em>relative</em> duty -of those who in darker, fiercer, ruder -times than ours used the weapons of -their age in the spirit of duty, and to the -saving of those precious elements where-out -the future of a better Humanity shall -be formed.</p> - - -<p class="center">IV.</p> - -<p>Turning to the political field, I shall -occupy but little of your time with the -special questions of the year. We are -as a body entirely dissevered from party -politics. We seek to color political activity -with certain moral general principles, -but we have no interest in party -politics as such. The idea that Positivists -are, as a body, Radicals or Revolutionaries -is an idle invention; and I -am the more entitled to repudiate it, in -that I have myself formally declined to -enter on a Parliamentary career, on the -express ground that I prefer to judge -political questions without the trammels -of any party obligation. On the one -hand we are Republicans on principle, -in that we demand a government in the -interest of all and of no favored order, -by the highest available capacity, without -reference to birth, or wealth, or -class. On the other hand, we are not -Democrats, in that we acknowledge no -abstract right to govern in a numerical -majority. Whatever is best administered -is best. We desire to see efficiency -for the common welfare, responsible -power intrusted to the most capable -hand, with continuous responsibility to -a real public opinion.</p> - -<p>I am far from pretending that general -principles of this kind entitle us to pass -a judgment on the complex questions of -current politics, or that all Positivists -who recognize these principles are bound -to judge current politics in precisely the -same way. There is in Positivism a deep -vein of true Conservatism; as there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> -is also an unquenchable yearning for -a social revolution of a just and peaceful -kind. But no one of these tendencies -impel us, I think, to march under -the banner either of Mr. Gladstone or -Lord Salisbury. As Republicans on -principle, we desire the end of all hereditary -institutions. As believers in -public opinion, we desire to see opinion -represented in the most complete way, -and without class distinctions. As men -who favor efficiency and concentration -in government, we support whatever may -promise to relieve us of the scandalous -deadlock to which Parliamentary -government has long been reduced. It -may be permitted to those who are -wholly detached from party interests to -express a lively satisfaction that the long -electoral struggle is happily got out of -the way, and that a great stride has been -taken towards a government at once -energetic and popular, without regarding -the hobbies about the representation of -women and the representation of inorganic -minorities.</p> - -<p>It is on a far wider field that our great -political interests are absorbed. There -is everywhere a revival of the spirit of -national aggrandisement and imperial -ambition. Under the now avowed lead -of the great German dictator, the nations -of Europe are running a race to extend -their borders by conquest and annexation -amongst the weak and uncivilised. -There is to-day a scramble for Africa, -as there was formerly a scramble for -Asia; and the scramble in Asia, or in -Polynesia, is only less urgent for the -moment, in that the rivalry is just now -keenest in Africa. But in Asia, in -Africa, in Polynesia, the strong nations -of Europe are struggling to found Empires -by violence, fraud, or aggression. -Three distinct wars are being waged in -the East; and in Africa alone our -soldiers and our Government are asserting -the rule of the sword in the North, -on the East, in the centre, on the South, -and on the West at the same time. Five -years ago, we were told that for England -at least there was to be some lull in this -career of blood and ambition. It was -only, we see, a party cry, a device to -upset a government. There has been -no lull, no pause in the scramble for -empire. The empire swells year by -year; year by year fresh wars break<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -out; year by year the burden of empire -increases whether Disraeli or Gladstone, -Liberal or Conservative, are the actual -wielders of power. The agents of the -aggression, the critics, have changed -sides; the Jingoes of yesterday are the -grumblers of to-day; and the peaceful -patriots of yesterday are the Jingoes of -to-day. The empire and its appendages -are even vaster in 1885 than in 1880; -its responsibilities are greater; its risks -and perplexities deeper; its enemies -stronger and more threatening. And in -the midst of this crisis, those who condemn -this policy are fewer; their protests -come few and faint. The Christian -sects can see nothing unrighteous in Mr. -Gladstone; the Liberal caucuses stifle -any murmur of discontent, and force -those who spoke out against Zulu, -Afghan, and Trans-Vaal wars to justify, -by the tyrant’s plea of necessity, the -massacre of Egyptian fellahs and the extermination -of Arab patriots. They who -mouthed most loudly about Jingoism are -now the foremost in their appeals to -national vanity. And the parasites of -the parasites of our great Liberal statesman -can make such hubbub, in his utter -absence of a policy, that they drive him -by sheer clamor from one adventure into -another. For nearly four years now we -have continuously protested against the -policy pursued in Egypt. Year after year -we have told Mr. Gladstone that it was -blackening his whole career and covering -our country with shame. There is a -monotony about our protests. But, -when there is a monotony in evil-doing, -there must alike be monotony in remonstrance. -We complain that the -blood and treasure of this nation should -be used in order to flay the peasantry -of the Nile, in the interests of usurers -and speculators. We complain that we -practically annex a people whom we will -not govern and cannot benefit. We are -boldly for what in the slang of the day -is called “scuttling” out of Egypt. We -think the robber and the oppressor should -scuttle as quickly as possible, that he -is certain to scuttle some day. We -complain of massacring an innocent people -merely to give our traders and -money-dealers larger or safer markets. -We complain of all the campaigns and -battles as wanton, useless, and unjust -massacres. We especially condemn the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -war in the Soudan as wanton and unjust -even in the avowal of the very -ministers who are urging it. The defender -of Khartoum is a man of heroic -qualities and beautiful nature; but the -cause of civilisation is not served by -launching amongst savages a sort of -Pentateuch knight errant. And we seriously -complain that the policy of a great -country in a great issue of right and -wrong should be determined by schoolboy -shouting over the feats of our English -Garibaldi.</p> - -<p>It is true that our Ministers, especially -Mr. Gladstone, Lord Granville, -and Lord Derby, are the public men who -are now most conspicuously resisting the -forward policy, and that the outcry of -the hour is against them on that ground. -But ambition should be made of sterner -stuff. Those who aspire to guide -nations should meet the folly of the day -with more vigorous assertion of principle. -And the men who are waging a -wanton, bloody, and costly war in the -sands of Africa have no principle left to -assert.</p> - -<p>It may well be that Mr. Gladstone, -and most of those who follow him in office, -are of all our public men those who -have least liking for these wars, annexations, -and oppressive dealings with the -weak. They may have less liking for -them it may be, but they are the men -who do these things. They are responsible. -The blood lies on their doorstep. -The guilt hangs on their fame. The -corruption of the national conscience is -their doing. The page of history will -write their names and their deeds in -letters of gore and of flame. It is mockery, -even in the most servile parliamentary -drudge, to repeat to us that the -wrong lies at the door of the Opposition, -foreign intriguers, international -engagements, untoward circumstances. -Keep these threadbare pretexts to defend -the next official blunder amidst the -cheers of a party mob. The English -people will have none of such stale -equivocation. The ministers who massacred -thousands at Tel-el-Kebir, at -Alexandria, at Teb, at Tamasi, who are -sinking millions of our people’s hard-won -savings in the sands of Africa, in -order to slaughter a brave race whom -they themselves declare to be heroes and -patriots fighting for freedom; and who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -after three years of this bloodshed, ruin, -and waste, have nothing to show for it—nothing, -except the utter chaos of a fine -country, the extreme misery of an innocent -people, and all Europe glowering -at us in menace and hate—the men who -have done this are responsible. When -they fail to annex some trumpery bit of -coast, the failure is naturally set down -to blundering, not to conscience. History, -their country, their own conscience -will make them answer for it. The -headlong plunge of our State, already -over-burdened with the needs and dangers -of a heterogeneous empire, the -consuming rage for national extension, -which the passion for money, markets, -careers, breeds in a people where moral -and religious principles are loosened and -conflicting, this is the great evil of our -time. It is to stem this that statesmen -should address themselves. It is to fan -this, or to do its bidding, that our actual -statesmen contend. Mr. Gladstone in -his heart may loathe the task to which -he is set and the uses to which he lends -his splendid powers. But there are -some situations where weakness before -powerful clamor works national ruin -more readily even than ambition itself. -How petty to our descendants will our -squabbles in the parliamentary game appear, -when history shall tell them that -Gladstone waged far more wars than -Disraeli; that he slaughtered more hecatombs -of innocent people; that he oppressed -more nations, embroiled us worse -with foreign nations; left the empire of -a far more unwieldy size, more exposed -and on more rotten foundations; and -that Mr. Gladstone did all this not because -it seemed to him wise or just, but -for the same reason (in truth) that his -great rival acted, viz., that it gave him -unquestioned ascendency in his party and -with those whose opinion he sought.</p> - -<p>I have not hesitated to speak out my -mind of the policy condemned, not in -personal hostility or irritation, however -much I respect the great qualities of -Mr. Gladstone himself, however little -I desire to see him displaced by his -rivals. No one will venture to believe -that I speak in the interest of party, or -have any quarrel with my own countrymen. -All that I have said in condemnation -of the African policy of England I -would say in condemnation of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span> -Chinese policy in France. I would say -it all the more because, for the reasons -on which I will not now enlarge, our -brethren in France have said so little, and -that little with so broken a voice. It is -a weakness to our common cause that -so little has been said in France. But I -rejoice to see that in the new number -of our Review, our director, M. Laffitte, -has spoken emphatically against all disturbance -of the <i lang="la">status quo</i>, and the -policy of founding colonial empires. It -behooves us all the more to speak out -plainly here. There is the same situation -in France as in England. A ministry -whom the majority trust, and whom the -military and trading class can bend to -do their will; a thirst in the rich to extend -the empire; a thirst in the adventurers -for careers to be won; a thirst in -the journalists for material wherewith -to pamper the national vanity. There, -too, are in the East backward peoples to -be trampled on, a confused tangle of -pretexts and opportunities, a Parliamentary -majority to be secured, and a crowd -of interests to be bribed. In the case of -M. Ferry, we can see all the weakness, -all the helpless vacillations, all the danger -of his game; its cynical injustice, -its laughable pretexts and excuses, its -deliberate violation of the real interests -of the nation, the formidable risks that -he is preparing for his country, and the -ruin which is as certain to follow it. In -Mr. Gladstone’s case there are national -and party slaves for the conscience of -the boldest critic.</p> - -<p>The year, too, has witnessed a new -form of the spread-eagle tendency in the -revival of one of our periodical scares -about the strength of the navy. About -once in every ten or twenty years a knot -of shipbuilders, journalists, seamen, and -gunners, contrive to stir up a panic, and -to force the nation into a great increase -of its military expenditure. I am not -going to discuss the truth about the -Navy, or whether it be equal or not to -the requirements of the Service. I look -at this in a new way: I take up very -different ground. I say that the service, -to which we are now called on to make -the navy equal, is a service that we ought -not to undertake. The requirements -demanded are wholly incompatible with -the true interests of our nation. They -are opposed to the real conditions of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -civilisation. They will be in a very few -years, even if they are not now, beyond -the power of this people to meet. The -claim to a maritime supremacy, in the -sense that this country is permanently -to remain undisputed mistress of all -seas, always able and ready to overwhelm -any possible combination of any -foreign Powers, this claim in itself is a -ridiculous anachronism. Whether the -British fleet is now able to overpower -the combined fleets of Europe, or even -of several Powers in Europe, I do not -know. Even if it be now able, such is -the progress of events, the ambition of -our neighbors, and the actual conditions -of modern war, that it is physically impossible -that such a supremacy can be -permanently maintained. To maintain -it, even for another generation, would -involve the subjection of England to a -military tyranny such as exists for the -moment in Germany, to a crushing taxation -and conscription, of which we have -had no experience. We should have to -spend, not twenty-five, but fifty millions -a year on our army and navy if we intend -to be really masters in every sea, -and to make the entire British empire -one continuous Malta and Gibraltar. -And even that, or a hundred millions -a year, would not suffice in the future for -the inevitable growth of foreign powers -and the constant growth of our own empire. -To guarantee the permanent supremacy -of the seas, we shall need some -Bismarck to crush our free people into -the vice of his military autocracy and -universal conscription.</p> - -<p>“Rule Britannia,” or England’s exclusive -dominion of the seas, is a temporary -(in my opinion, an unfortunate) -episode in our history. To brag about -it and fight for it is the part of a bad -citizen; to maintain it would be a crime -against the human race. To have -founded, not an empire, but a scattered -congeries of possessions in all parts of -the world by conquest, intrigue, or -arbitrary seizure, is a blot upon our history; -to perpetuate it is a burdensome -inheritance to bequeath to our children. -To ask that this inorganic heap of possessions -shall be perpetually extended, -made absolutely secure against all -comers, and guarded by a fleet which is -always ready to meet the world in arms—this -is a programme which it is the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -duty of every good citizen to stamp out. -Whilst this savage policy is in vogue, the -very conditions of national morality, of -peace, of true industrial civilisation are -wanting. The first condition of healthy -national progress is to have broken for -ever with this national buccaneering. -The commerce, the property of Englishmen -on the seas must protect itself, like -that of other nations, by just, prudent, -and civilised bearing, and not by an exclusive -dominion which other great -nations do very well without. The -commerce and the honor of Americans -are safe all over the world, though their -navy is not one-tenth of ours. And -Germany can speak with us face to face -on every ocean, though she can hardly -put a first-rate ship in array of battle. -To talk big about refusing to trust the -greatness of England to the sufferance -of her neighbors is mere clap-trap. It -is the phrase of Mexican or Californian -desperadoes when they fill their pockets -with revolvers and bowie-knives. All -but two or three of the greatest nations -are obliged, at all times, to trust their -existence to the sufferance of their -stronger neighbors. And they are just -as safe, and quite as proud, and more -civilised than their great neighbors in -consequence. Human society, whether -national or international, only begins -when social morality has taken the place -of individual violence. Society, for men -or nations, cannot be based on the revolver -and bowie-knife principle.</p> - -<p>We repudiate, then, with our whole -souls the code of buccaneer patriotism. -True statesmen are bound to check, not -to promote, the expansion of England; -to provide for the peaceful disintegration -of the heterogeneous empire, the -permanence of which is as incapable of -being justified in policy as of being -materially defended in arms. These -aggressions and annexations and protectorates, -these wanton wars amongst -savages are at once blunders and crimes, -pouring out by millions what good -government and thrift at home save by -thousands, degrading the present generation -and deeply wronging the next. -We want no fleet greater than that of -our greatest neighbors, and the claim to -absolute dominion at sea must be put -away like the claim to the kingdom of -France or exclusive right to the British<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> -Channel. We can afford to smile at the -charge that we are degenerate Britons -or wanting in patriotism. Patriotism to -us is a deep and working desire for the -good name of England, for the justice -and goodness of her policy, for the real -enlightenment and well-being of her sons, -and for her front place in humanity and -civilisation. We smile at the vaporing -of men to whom patriotism means a -good cry, and several extra editions.</p> - -<p>It may seem for the moment that doctrines -such as ours are out of credit, and -that there is little hope of their ever obtaining -the mastery. We are told that to-day -not a voice is raised to oppose the -doctrines of spoliation. It is true that, -owing to the hubbub of party politics, to -the servility of the Christian Churches, -and the low morality of the press, these -national acts of rapacity have passed as -yet with but small challenge. But at -any rate here our voice has never -wavered, nor have considerations of -men, parties, or majorities led us to -temporise with our principles. We speak -out plainly—not more plainly than Mr. -Gladstone and his followers on platform -and in press spoke out once—and -we shall go on to speak out plainly, -whether we are many or whether we are -few, whether the opinion of the hour is -with us or not. But I am not despondent. -Nor do I doubt the speedy triumph -of our stronger morality. I see -with what weather cock rapidity the -noisiest of the Anti-Jingoes can change -their tone. The tribe of Cleon, and the -Sausage-seller are the same in every age. -I will not believe that the policy of a -great nation can be long dictated by -firms of advertising touts, who will puff -the new soap, a comic singer, and an -imperial war in the same page; who are -equally at home in the partition of -Africa or a penny dreadful. Nations -are not seriously led by the arts which -make village bumpkins crowd to the -show of the fat girl and the woolly pig. -In the rapid degradation of the press to -the lower American standard we may see -an escape from its mischief. The age is -one of democracy. We have just taken -a great stride towards universal suffrage -and the government of the people. In -really republican societies, where power -rests on universal suffrage, as in France, -and in America, the power of the press<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -is reduced to a very low ebb. The -power of journalism is essentially one of -town life and small balanced parties. -Its influence evaporates where power -is held by the millions, and government -appeals directly to vast masses -of voters spread over immense areas. -Cleon and the Sausage-seller can do little -when republican institutions are firmly -rooted over the length and breadth of -a great country.</p> - -<p>The destinies of this nation have now -been finally committed to the people, and -to the people we will appeal with confidence. -The laborer and the workman -have no interest in these wanton wars. -In this imperial expansion, in this -rivalry of traders and brag of arms; no -taste for it and no respect for it. They -find that they are dragged off to die in -wars of which they know nothing; that -their wages are taxed to support adventures -which they loathe. The people are -by instinct opponents of these crimes, -and to them we will appeal. The people -have a natural sense of justice and a -natural leaning to public morality. -Ambition, lucre, restlessness, and vainglory -do not corrupt their minds to approve -a financial adventure. They need -peace, productive industry, humanity. -Every step towards the true republic is -a step towards morality. To the new -voters, to the masses of the people, we -will confidently appeal.</p> - -<p>There is, too, another side to this -matter. If these burdens are to be -thrust on the national purse, and (should -the buccaneers have their way) if the -permanent war expenditure must be -doubled, and little wars at ten and -twenty millions each are inevitable as -well, then in all fairness the classes who -make these wars and profit by them must -pay for them. We have taken a great -stride towards democracy, and two of -the first taxes with which the new -democracy will deal are the income-tax -and the land-tax. The entire revision -of taxation is growing inevitable. It is -a just and sound principle that the main -burden of taxation shall be thrown on -the rich, and we have yet to see how the -new democracy will work out that just -principle. A graduated income-tax is a -certain result of the movement. The -steady pressure against customs duties -and the steady decline in habits of drink<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span>ing -must combine to force the taxation of -the future more and more on income and -on land. A rapid rise in the scale of -taxing incomes, until we reach the point -where great fortunes cease to be rapidly -accumulated, would check the wasteful -expenditure on war more than any consideration -of justice. Even a China -merchant would hardly promote an -opium war when he found himself taxed -ten or twenty per cent. on his income.</p> - -<p>One of the first things which will occur -to the new rural voters is the ridiculous -minimum to which the land-tax is reduced. -Mr. Henry George and the -school of land reformers have lately been -insisting that the land-tax must be immensely -increased. At present it is a -farce, not one-tenth of what is usual in -the nations of Europe. I entirely agree -with them, and am perfectly prepared to -see the land-tax raised till it ultimately -brings us some ten or even twenty -millions, instead of one million. If the -result would be to force a great portion -of the soil to change hands, and to pass -from the rent receivers to the occupiers, -all the more desirable. But one inevitable -result of the new Reform Act must -be a great raising of the taxes on land, -and when land pays one-fifth of the total -taxation, our wars will be fewer and our -armaments more modest.</p> - -<p>One of the cardinal facts of our immediate -generation is the sudden revival -of Socialism and Communism. It was not -crushed, as we thought, in 1848; it was -not extinguished in 1871. The new -Republic in France is uneasy with it. -The military autocracy of Germany is -honeycombed with it. Society is almost -dissolved by it in Russia. It is rife in -America, in Italy, in Denmark, in Austria. -Let no man delude himself that -Socialism has no footing here. I tell -them (and I venture to say that I know) -Socialism within the last few years has -made some progress here. It will assuredly -make progress still. With the -aspirations and social aims of Socialism -we have much in common, little as we -are Communists and firmly as we support -the institution of private property. -But if Socialism is in the ascendant, if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -the new democracy is exceedingly likely -to pass through a wave of Socialist tendency, -are these the men, and is this the -epoch to foster a policy of imperial aggression? -With the antipathy felt by -Socialists for all forms of national selfishness, -with their hatred of war, and -their noble aspirations after the brotherhood -of races and nations, we as Positivists -are wholly at one. Let us join -hands, then, with Socialists, with Democrats, -with Humanitarians, and reformers -of every school, who repudiate a -policy of national oppression; and together -let us appeal to the new democracy -from the old plutocracy to arrest -our nation in its career of blood, and to -lift this guilty burden from the conscience -of our children for ever.</p> - -<p>So let us begin the year resolved to -do our duty as citizens, fearlessly and -honestly, striving to show our neighbors -that social morality is a real religion in -itself, by which men can order their -lives and purify their hearts. Let us -seek to be gentler as fathers, husbands, -comrades, or masters; more dutiful as -sons and daughters, learners or helpers; -more diligent as workers, students, or -teachers; more loving and self-denying -as men and as women everywhere. Let -us think less about calling on Humanity -and more about being humane. Let us -talk less about religion, and try more -fully to live religion. We have sufficiently -explained our principles in words. -Let us manifest them in act. I do not -know that more is to be gained by the -further preaching of our creed—much -less by external profession of our own -conviction. The world will be ours, the -day that men see that Positivism in fact -enables men to live a more pure and -social life, that it fills us with a desire -for all useful knowledge, stimulates us -to help one another and bear with one -another, makes our homes the brighter, -our children the better, our lives the -nobler by its presence; and that on the -foundation of order, and in the spirit of -love, and with progress before us as our -aim, we can live for others, live openly -before all men.—<cite>Fortnightly Review.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="THE_POETRY_OF_TENNYSON" id="THE_POETRY_OF_TENNYSON">THE POETRY OF TENNYSON.</a><br /> - -<small>BY RODEN NOEL</small>.</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span></p> - -<p>It is perhaps difficult for men of middle -age to estimate Tennyson aright. -For we who love poetry were brought -up, as it were, at his feet, and he cast the -magic of his fascination over our youth. -We have gone away, we have travelled in -other lands, absorbed in other preoccupations, -often revolving problems different -from those concerning which we took -counsel with him; and we hear new -voices, claiming authority, who aver that -our old master has been superseded, that -he has no message for a new generation, -that his voice is no longer a talisman of -power. Then we return to the country -of our early love, and what shall our report -be? Each one must answer for himself; -but my report will be entirely loyal -to those early and dear impressions. I -am of those who believe that Tennyson -has still a message for the world. Men -become impatient with hearing Aristides -so often called just, but is that the fault -of Aristides? They are impatient also -with a reputation, which necessarily is -what all great reputations must so largely -be—the empty echo of living voices -from blank walls. “Now again”—not -the people, but certain critics—“call it -but a weed.” Yet how strange these -fashions in poetry are! I well remember -Lord Broughton, Byron’s friend, expressing -to me, when I was a boy, his -astonishment that the bust of Tennyson -by Woolner should have been thought -worthy of a place near that of Lord Byron -in Trinity College, Cambridge. -“Lord Byron was a great poet; but Mr. -Tennyson, though he had written pretty -verses,” and so on. For one thing, the -men of that generation deemed Tennyson -terribly obscure. “In Memoriam,” -it was held, nobody could possibly understand. -The poet, being original, had -to make his own public. Men nurtured -on Scott and Byron could not understand -him. Now we hear no more of -his obscurity. Moreover, he spoke as -the mouthpiece of his own time. Doubts, -aspirations, visions unfamiliar to the -aging, breathed melodiously through -him. Again, how contemptuously do -Broad-church psychologists like George<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span> -Macdonald, and writers for the <cite>Spectator</cite>, -as well as literary persons belonging -to what I may term the <em>finikin</em> school, -on the other hand, now talk of our -equally great poet Byron. How detestable -must the North be, if the South be -so admirable! But while Tennyson -spoke to me in youth, Byron spoke to -me in boyhood, and I still love both.</p> - -<p>Whatever may have to be discounted -from the popularity of Tennyson on account -of fashion and a well-known name, -or on account of his harmony with the -(more or less provincial) ideas of the large -majority of Englishmen, his popularity -is a fact of real benefit to the public, and -highly creditable to them at the same -time. The establishment of his name -in popular favor is but very partially -accounted for by the circumstance that, -when he won his spurs, he was among -younger singers the only serious champion -in the field, since, if I mistake not, -he was at one time a less “popular” -poet than Mr. Robert Montgomery. <i lang="la">Vox -populi</i> is not always <i lang="la">vox Dei</i>, but it may -be so accidentally, and then the people -reap benefit from their happy blunder. -The great poet who won the laurel before -Tennyson has never been “popular” -at all, and Tennyson is the only -true English poet who has pleased the -“public” since Byron, Walter Scott, -Tom Moore, and Mrs. Hemans. But -he had to conquer their suffrages, for -his utterance, whatever he may have -owed to Keats, was original, and his -substance the outcome of an opulent -and profound personality. These were -serious obstacles to success, for he neither -went “deep” into “the general -heart” like Burns, nor appealed to superficial -sentiments in easy language -like Scott, Moore, and Byron. In his -earliest volume indeed there was a preponderance -of manner over matter; it -was characterized by a certain dainty -prettiness of style, that scarcely gave -promise of the high spiritual vision and -rich complexity of human insight to -which he has since attained, though it -did manifest a delicate feeling for nature -in association with human moods, an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -extraordinarily subtle sensibility of all -senses, and a luscious pictorial power. -Not Endymion had been more luxuriant. -All was steeped in golden languors. -There were faults in plenty, and of -course the critics, faithful to the instincts -of their kind, were jubilant to -nose them. To adapt Coleridge’s funny -verses, not “the Church of St. Geryon,” -nor the legendary Rhine, but the “stinks -and stenches” of Kölntown do such -offal-feeders love to enumerate, and distinguish. -But the poet in his verses on -“Musty Christopher” gave one of these -people a Roland for his Oliver. Stuart -Mill, as Mr. Mathews, in his lately published -and very instructive lecture on -Tennyson, points out, was the one critic -in a million who remembered Pope’s -precept,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Be thou the first true merit to befriend,</div> - <div class="verse">His praise is lost who waits till all commend.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Yet it is only natural that the mediocrities, -who for a moment keep the door -of Fame, should scrutinize with somewhat -jaundiced eye the credentials of -new aspirants, since every entry adds -fresh bitterness to their own exclusion.</p> - -<p>But really it is well for us, the poet’s -elect lovers, to remember that he once -had faults, however few he may now -retain; for the perverse generation who -dance not when the poet pipes to them, -nor mourn when he weeps, have turned -upon Tennyson with the cry that he “is -all fault who has no fault at all”—they -would have us regard him as a kind of -Andrea del Sarto, a “blameless” artistic -“monster, “a poet of unimpeachable -technical skill, but keeping a certain -dead level of moderate merit. It is as -well to be reminded that this at all -events is false. The dawn of his young -art was beautiful; but the artist had all -the generous faults of youthful genius—excess, -vision confused with gorgeous -color and predominant sense, too palpable -artifice of diction, indistinctness -of articulation in the outline, intricately-woven -cross-lights flooding the canvas, -defect of living interest; while Coleridge -said that he began to write poetry -without an ear for metre. Neither Adeline, -Madeline, nor Eleanore are living -portraits, though Eleanore is gorgeously -painted. “The Ode to Memory” has -isolated images of rare beauty, but it is -kaleidoscopic in effect; the fancy is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> -playing with loose foam-wreaths, rather -than the imagination “taking things by -the heart.” But our great poet has gone -beyond these. He has himself rejected -twenty-six out of the fifty-eight poems -published in his first volume; while -some of those even in the second have -been altogether rewritten. Such defects -are eminently present in the lately republished -poem written in youth, “The -Lover’s Tale,” though this too has -been altered. As a storehouse of fine -imagery, metaphor, and deftly moulded -phrase, of blank verse also whose sonorous -rhythm must surely be a fabric of -adult architecture, the piece can hardly -be surpassed; but the tale as tale lingers -and lapses, overweighted with the too gorgeous -trappings under which it so laboriously -moves. And such expression as -the following, though not un-Shakspearian, -is hardly quarried from the soundest -material in Shakspeare—for, after all, -Shakspeare was a euphuist now and -then—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Why fed we from one fountain? drew one sun?</div> - <div class="verse">Why were our mothers branches of one stem, if that same nearness</div> - <div class="verse">Were father to this distance, and that <em>one</em></div> - <div class="verse">Vaunt courier to this <em>double</em>, if affection</div> - <div class="verse">Living slew love, and sympathy hewed out</div> - <div class="verse">The bosom-sepulchre of sympathy?”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Yet “Mariana” had the virtue, which -the poet has displayed so pre-eminently -since, of concentration. Every subtle -touch enhances the effect he intends to -produce, that of the desolation of the -deserted woman, whose hope is nearly -extinguished; Nature hammering a fresh -nail into her coffin with every innocent -aspect or movement. Beautiful too are -“Love and Death” and “The Poet’s -Mind;” while in “The Poet” we have -the oft-quoted line: “Dowered with the -hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, the -love of love.”</p> - -<p>Mr. G. Brimley was the first, I believe, -to point out the distinctive peculiarity -of Lord Tennyson’s treatment of -landscape. It is treated by him dramatically; -that is to say, the details of it -are selected so as to be interpretative of -the particular mood or emotion he -wishes to represent. Thus in the two -Marianas, they are painted with the -minute distinctness appropriate to the -morbid and sickening observation of the -lonely woman, whose attention is dis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span>tracted -by no cares, pleasures, or satisfied -affections. That is a pregnant -remark, a key to unlock a good deal of -Tennyson’s work with. Byron and -Shelley, though they are carried out of -themselves in contemplating Nature, do -not, I think, often take her as interpreter -of moods alien to their own. In -Wordsworth’s “Excursion,” it is true, -Margaret’s lonely grief is thus delineated -though the neglect of her garden and -the surroundings of her cottage; yet -this is not so characteristic a note of -his nature-poetry. In the “Miller’s -Daughter” and the “Gardener’s Daughter” -the lovers would be little indeed -without the associated scene so germane -to the incidents narrated, both as -congenial setting of the picture for a -spectator, and as vitally fused with the -emotion of the lovers; while never was -more lovely landscape-painting of the -gentle order than in the “Gardener’s -Daughter.” Lessing, who says that -poetry ought never to be pictorial, -would, I suppose, much object to Tennyson’s; -but to me, I confess, this -mellow, lucid, luminous word-painting -of his is entirely delightful. It refutes -the criticism that words cannot convey -a picture by perfectly conveying it. -<i lang="la">Solvitur ambulando</i>; the Gardener’s -Daughter standing by her rose-bush, -“a sight to make an old man young,” -remaining in our vision to confound all -crabbed pedants with pet theories.</p> - -<p>In his second volume, indeed, the -poet’s art was well mastered, for here -we find the “Lotos-eaters,” “Œnone,” -“The Palace of Art,” “A Dream of -Fair Women,” the tender “May-Queen,” -and the “Lady of Shalott.” -Perhaps the first four of these are among -the very finest works of Tennyson. In -the mouth of the love-lorn nymph -Œnone he places the complaint concerning -Paris into which there enters so -much delightful picture of the scenery -around Mount Ida, and of those fair -immortals who came to be judged by the -beardless apple-arbiter. How deliciously -flows the verse!—though probably it -flows still more entrancingly in the “Lotos-eaters,” -wandering there like clouds -of fragrant incense, or some slow heavy -honey, or a rare amber unguent poured -out. How wonderfully harmonious -with the dream-mood of the dreamers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -are phrase, image, and measure! But -we need not quote the lovely choric song -wherein occur the lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Music that gentlier on the spirit lies</div> - <div class="verse">Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes,”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>so entirely restful and happy in their -simplicity. If Art would always blossom -so, she might be forgiven if she -blossomed only for her own sake; yet -this controversy regarding <em>Art for Art</em> -need hardly have arisen, since Art may -certainly bloom for her own sake, if only -she consent to assimilate in her blooming, -and so exhale for her votaries, in -due proportion, all elements essential to -Nature, and Humanity: for in the highest -artist all faculties are transfigured into -one supreme organ; while among -forms her form is the most consummate, -among fruits her fruit offers the most -satisfying refreshment. What a delicately -true picture have we here—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“And like a downward smoke, the slender stream</div> - <div class="verse">Along the cliff to fall, and pause and fall did seem,”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>where we feel also the poet’s remarkable -faculty of making word and rhythm an -echo and auxiliary of the sense. Not -only have we the three cæsuras respectively -after “fall,” and “pause” and -“fall,” but the length, and soft amplitude -of the vowel sounds with liquid consonants -aid in the realization of the picture, -reminding of Milton’s beautiful -“From morn to noon he fell, from noon -to dewy eve, a summer’s day.” The -same faculty is notable in the rippling lilt -of the charming little “Brook” song, and -indeed everywhere. In the “Dream of -Fair Women” we have a series of cabinet -portraits, presenting a situation of -human interest with a few animating -touches, but still chiefly through suggestive -surroundings. There occurs the -magnificent phrase of Cleopatra: “We -drank the Lybian sun to sleep, and lit -lamps which outburned Canopus.” The -force of expression could be carried no -further than throughout this poem, and -by “expression” of course I do not -mean pretty words, or power-words for -there own sweet sake, for these, expressing -nothing, whatever else they may be, -are not “expression;” but I mean the -forcible or felicitous presentment of -thought, image, feeling, or incident,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -through pregnant and beautiful language -in harmony with them; though the -subtle and indirect suggestion of language -is unquestionably an element to -be taken into account by poetry. The -“Palace of Art” is perhaps equal to the -former poem for lucid splendor of description, -in this instance pointing a -moral, allegorizing a truth. Scornful -pride, intellectual arrogance, selfish -absorption in æsthetic enjoyment, is -imaged forth in this vision of the queen’s -world-reflecting palace, and its various -treasures—the end being a sense of unendurable -isolation, engendering madness, -but at last repentance, and reconcilement -with the scouted commonalty -of mankind.</p> - -<p>The dominant note of Tennyson’s -poetry is assuredly the delineation of -human moods modulated by Nature, -and through a system of Nature-symbolism. -Thus, in “Elaine,” when Lancelot -has sent a courtier to the queen, asking -her to grant him audience, that he may -present the diamonds won for her in -tourney, she receives the messenger with -unmoved dignity; but he, bending low -and reverently before her, saw “with a -sidelong eye”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“The shadow of some piece of pointed lace</div> - <div class="verse">In the queen’s shadow vibrate on the walls,</div> - <div class="verse">And parted, laughing in his courtly heart.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The “Morte d’Arthur” affords a striking -instance of this peculiarly Tennysonian -method. That is another of -the very finest pieces. Such poetry may -suggest labor, but not more than does -the poetry of Virgil or Milton. Every -word is the right word, and each in the -right place. Sir H. Taylor indeed -warns poets against “wanting to make -every word beautiful.” And yet here it -must be owned that the result of such an -effort is successful, so delicate has become -the artistic tact of this poet in his -maturity.<a id="FNanchor_1_1" href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> For, good expression being<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -the happy adaptation of language to -meaning, it follows that sometimes good -expression will be perfectly simple, even -ordinary in character, and sometimes it -will be ornate, elaborate, dignified. He -who can thus vary his language is the -best verbal artist, and Tennyson can -thus vary it. In this poem, the “Morte -d’Arthur,” too, we have “deep-chested -music.” Except in some of Wordsworth -and Shelley, or in the magnificent -“Hyperion” of Keats, we have -had no such stately, sonorous organ-music -in English verse since Milton as -in this poem, or in “Tithonus,” “Ulysses,” -“Lucretius,” and “Guinevere.” -From the majestic overture,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“So all day long the noise of battle rolled</div> - <div class="verse">Among the mountains by the winter sea,”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>onward to the end, the same high elevation -is maintained.</p> - -<p>But this very picturesqueness of treatment -has been urged against Tennyson -as a fault in his narrative pieces generally, -from its alleged over-luxuriance, -and tendency to absorb, rather than -enhance, the higher human interest of -character and action. However this be -(and I think it is an objection that does -apply, for instance, to “The Princess”), -here in this poem picturesqueness must -be counted as a merit, because congenial -to the semi-mythical, ideal, and parabolic -nature of Arthurian legend, full of -portent and supernatural suggestion. -Such Ossianic hero-forms are nearly as -much akin to the elements as to man. -And the same answer holds largely in -the case of the other Arthurian Idylls. -It has been noted how well-chosen is -the epithet “water” applied to a lake in -the lines, “On one side lay the ocean, -and on one Lay a great water, and the -moon was full.” Why is this so happy? -For as a rule the concrete rather than -the abstract is poetical, because the -former brings with it an image, and the -former involves no vision. But now in -the night all Sir Bedevere could observe, -or care to observe, was that there was -“some great water.” We do not—he -did not—want to know exactly what it -was. Other thoughts, other cares, preoccupy -him and us. Again, of dying -Arthur we are told that “all his greaves -and caisses were dashed with drops of -onset.” “Onset” is a very generic<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -term, poetic because removed from all -vulgar associations of common parlance, -and vaguely suggestive not only of war’s -pomp and circumstance, but of high -deeds also, and heroic hearts, since onset -belongs to mettle and daring; the -word for vast and shadowy connotation -is akin to Milton’s grand abstraction, -“Far off <em>His coming</em> shone” or Shelley’s, -“Where the Earthquake Demon -taught her young <em>Ruin</em>.”</p> - -<p>It has been noted also how cunningly -Tennyson can gild and furbish up the -most commonplace detail—as when he -calls Arthur’s mustache “the knightly -growth that fringed his lips,” or condescends -to glorify a pigeon-pie, or -paints the clown’s astonishment by this -detail, “the brawny spearman let his -cheek Bulge with the unswallowed piece, -and turning stared;” or thus characterizes -a pun, “and took the word, and -play’d upon it, and made it of two colors.” -This kind of ingenuity, indeed, -belongs rather to talent than to genius; -it is exercised in cold blood; but talent -may be a valuable auxiliary of genius, -perfecting skill in the technical departments -of art. Yet such a gift is not -without danger to the possessor. It may -tempt him to make his work too much -like a delicate mosaic of costly stone, -too hard and unblended, from excessive -elaboration of detail. One may even -prefer to art thus highly wrought a more -glowing and careless strain, that lifts us -off our feet, and carries us away as on a -more rapid, if more turbid torrent of -inspiration, such as we find in Byron, -Shelley, or Victor Hugo. Here you -are compelled to pause at every step, -and admire the design of the costly tesselated -pavement under your feet. Perhaps -there is a jewelled glitter, a Pre-Raphaelite -or Japanese minuteness of -finish here and there in Tennyson, that -takes away from the feeling of aërial -perspective and remote distance, leaving -little to the imagination; not suggesting -and whetting the appetite, but rather -satiating it; his loving observation of -minute particulars is so faithful, his -knowledge of what others, even men of -science, have observed so accurate, his -fancy so nimble in the detection of similitudes. -But every master has his own -manner, and his reverent disciples would -be sorry if he could be without it. We<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -love the little idiosyncracies of our -friends.</p> - -<p>I have said the objection in question -does seem to lie against “The Princess.” -It contains some of the most beautiful -poetic pearls the poet has ever dropped; -but the manner appears rather disproportionate -to the matter, at least to the -subject as he has chosen to regard it. -For it is regarded by him only semi-seriously; -so lightly and sportively is the -whole topic viewed at the outset, that -the effect is almost that of burlesque; -yet there is a very serious conclusion, -and a very weighty moral is drawn from -the story, the workmanship being labored -to a degree, and almost encumbered with -ornamentation. But the poet himself -admits the ingrained incongruity of the -poem. The fine comparison of the -Princess Ida in the battle to a beacon -glaring ruin over raging seas, for instance, -seems too grand for the occasion. -How differently, and in what -burning earnest has a great poet-woman, -Mrs. Browning, treated this grave modern -question of the civil and political -position of women in “Aurora Leigh!” -Tennyson’s is essentially a man’s view, -and the frequent talk about women’s -beauty must be very aggravating to the -“Blues.” It is this poem especially -that gives people with a limited knowledge -of Tennyson the idea of a “pretty” -poet; the prettiness, though very genuine, -seems to play too patronizingly with -a momentous theme. The Princess herself, -and the other figures are indeed -dramatically realized, but the splendor -of invention, and the dainty detail, -rather dazzle the eye away from their -humanity. Here, however, are some of -the loveliest songs that this poet, one -of our supreme lyrists, ever sung: -“Tears, idle tears!” “The splendor -falls,” “Sweet and low,” “Home they -brought,” “Ask me no more,” and the -exquisite melody, “For Love is of the -valley.” Moreover, the grand lines -toward the close are full of wisdom—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“For woman is not undeveloped man,</div> - <div class="verse">But diverse: could we make her as the man</div> - <div class="verse">Sweet love were slain,” &c.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I feel myself a somewhat similar incongruity -in the poet’s treatment of his -more homely, modern, half-humorous -themes, such as the introduction to the -“Morte d’Arthur,” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> “Will Waterproof;” -not at all in the humorous -poems, like the “Northern Farmer,” -which are all of a piece, and perfect in -their own vein. In this introduction we -have “The host and I sat round the -wassail bowl, then half-way ebb’d;” -but this metaphorical style is not (fortunately) -sustained, and so, as good luck -would have it, a metaphor not being -ready to hand, we have the honester and -homelier line, “Till I tired out with -cutting eights that day upon the pond;” -yet this homespun hardly agrees with -the above stage-king’s costume. And -so again I often venture to wish that the -Poet-Laureate would not say “flowed” -when he only means “said.” Still, -this may be hypercriticism. For I did -not personally agree with the critic who -objected to Enoch Arden’s fish-basket -being called “ocean-smelling osier.” -There is no doubt, however, that -“Stokes, and Nokes, and Vokes” have -exaggerated the poet’s manner, till the -“murex fished up” by Keats and Tennyson -has become one universal flare of -purple. Beautiful as some of Mr. Rossetti’s -work is, his expression in the -sonnets surely became obscure from -over-involution, and excessive <i lang="fr">fioriture</i> -of diction. But then Rossetti’s style is -no doubt formed considerably upon that -of the Italian poets. One is glad, however, -that, this time, at all events, the -right man has “got the porridge!”</p> - -<p>In connection with “Morte d’Arthur,” -I may draw attention again to -Lord Tennyson’s singular skill in producing -a rhythmical response to the -sense.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent22">“The great brand</div> - <div class="verse">Made lightnings in the splendor of the moon,</div> - <div class="verse">And flashing round and round, and whirled in an arch.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Here the anapest instead of the iambic -in the last place happily imitates the -sword Excalibur’s own gyration in the -air. Then what admirable wisdom does -the legend, opening out into parable, -disclose toward the end! When Sir -Bedevere laments the passing away of -the Round Table, and Arthur’s noble -peerage, gone down in doubt, distrust, -treachery, and blood, after that last -great battle in the West, when, amid the -death-white mist, “confusion fell even -upon Arthur,” and “friend slew friend, -now knowing whom he slew,” how<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -grandly comes the answer of Arthur -from the mystic barge, that bears him -from the visible world to “some far -island valley of Avilion,” “The old -order changeth, yielding place to new, -and God fulfils Himself in many ways, -Lest one good custom should corrupt -the world!” The new commencement -of this poem, called in the idyls “The -Passing of Arthur,” is well worthy of -the conclusion. How weirdly expressive -is that last battle in the mist of -those hours of spiritual perplexity, which -overcloud even strongest natures and -firmest faith, overshadowing whole communities, -when we know not friend from -foe, the holiest hope seems doomed to -disappointment, all the great aim and -work of life have failed; even loyalty -to the highest is no more; the fair polity -built laboriously by some god-like -spirit dissolves, and “all his realm reels -back into the beast;” while men “falling -down in death” look up to heaven -only to find cloud, and the great-voiced -ocean, as it were Destiny without love -and without mind, with voice of days of -old and days to be, shakes the world, -wastes the narrow kingdom, yea, beats -upon the faces of our dead! The -world-sorrow pierces here through the -strain of a poet usually calm and contented. -Yet “Arthur shall come again, -aye, twice as fair;” for the spirit of -man is young immortally.</p> - -<p>Who, moreover, has moulded for us -phrases of more transcendent dignity, -of more felicitous grace and import, -phrases, epithets, and lines that have -already become memorable household -words? More magnificent expression I -cannot conceive than that of such poems -as “Lucretius,” “Tithonus,” “Ulysses.” -These all for versification, language, -luminous picture, harmony of -structure have never been surpassed. -What pregnant brevity, weight, and majesty -of expression in the lines where Lucretius -characterizes the death of his -namesake Lucretia, ending “and from -it sprang the commonwealth, which -breaks, as I am breaking now!” What -masterly power in poetically embodying -a materialistic philosophy, congenial to -modern science, yet in absolute dramatic -keeping with the actual thought of the -Roman poet! And at the same time, -what tremendous grasp of the terrible<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> -conflict of passion with reason, two -natures in one, significant for all epochs! -In “Tithonus” and “Ulysses” we -find embodiments in high-born verse -and illustrious phrase of ideal moods, -adventurous peril-affronting Enterprise -contemptuously tolerant of tame household -virtues in “Ulysses,” and the bane -of a burdensome immortality, become -incapable even of love, in “Tithonus.” -Any personification more exquisite than -that of Aurora in the latter were inconceivable.</p> - -<p>M. Taine, in his <cite>Litterature Anglaise</cite>, -represents Tennyson as an idyllic poet -(a charming one), comfortably settled -among his rhododendrons on an English -lawn, and viewing the world through the -somewhat insular medium of a prosperous, -domestic and virtuous member of -the English comfortable classes, as also -of a man of letters who has fully succeeded. -Again, either M. Taine, M. -Scherer, or some other writer in the <cite>Revue -des deux Mondes</cite>, pictures him, like -his own Lady of Shalott, viewing life not -as it really is, but reflected in the magic -mirror of his own recluse fantasy. Now, -whatever measure of truth there may -formerly have been in such conceptions, -they have assuredly now proved quite -one-sided and inadequate. We have only -to remember “Maud,” the stormier poems -of the “Idylls,” “Lucretius,” “Rizpah,” -the “Vision of Sin.” The recent -poem “Rizpah” perhaps marks the -high-water mark of the Laureate’s genius, -and proves henceforward beyond -all dispute his wide range, his command -over the deeper-toned and stormier -themes of human music, as well as over -the gentler and more serene. It proves -also that the venerable master’s hand -has not lost its cunning, rather that he -has been even growing until now, having -become more profoundly sympathetic -with the world of action, and the common -growth of human sorrows. “Rizpah” -is certainly one of the strongest, -most intensely felt, and graphically realized -dramatic poems in the language; -its pathos is almost overwhelming. -There is nothing more tragic in Œdipus, -Antigone, or Lear. And what a -strong Saxon homespun language has -the veteran poet found for these terrible -lamentations of half-demented agony,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -“My Baby! the bones that had sucked -me, the bones that had laughed and had -cried, Theirs! O no! They are mine -not theirs—they had moved in my side.” -Then the heart-gripping phrase breaking -forth ever and anon in the imaginative -metaphorical utterance of wild emotion, -to which the sons and daughters of the -people are often moved, eloquent beyond -all eloquence, white-hot from the -heart! “Dust to dust low down! let us -hide! but they set him so high, that all -the ships of the world could stare at -him passing by.” In this last book of -ballads the style bears the same relation -to the earlier and daintier that the style -of “Samson Agonistes” bears to that of -“Comus.” “The Revenge” is equally -masculine, simple, and sinewy in appropriate -strength of expression, a most -spirited rendering of a heroic naval action—worthy -of a place, as is also -the grand ode on the death of Wellington, -beside the war odes of Campbell, -the “Agincourt” of Drayton, and the -“Rule Britannia” of Thomson. The -irregular metre of the “Ballad of the -Fleet” is most remarkable as a vehicle -of the sense, resonant with din of battle, -full-voiced with rising and bursting -storm toward the close, like the equally -spirited concluding scenes of “Harold,” -that depict the battle of Senlac. The -dramatic characterizations in “Harold” -and “Queen Mary” are excellent—Mary, -Harold, the Conqueror, the Confessor, -Pole, Edith, Stigand, and other -subordinate sketches, being striking and -successful portraits; while “Harold” -is full also of incident and action—a -really memorable modern play; but the -main motive of “Queen Mary” fails in -tragic dignity and interest, though there -is about it a certain grim subdued pathos, -as of still life, and there are some -notable scenes. Tennyson is admirably -dramatic in the portrayal of individual -moods, of men or women in certain given -situations. His plays are fine, and of -real historic interest, but not nearly so -remarkable as the dramatic poems I have -named, as the earlier “St. Simeon Stylites,” -“Ulysses,” “Tithonus,” or as -the “Northern Farmer,” “Cobblers,” -and “Village Wife,” among his later -works. These last are perfectly marvellous -in their fidelity and humorous photographic -realism. That the poet of -“Œnone,” “The Lotus-eaters,” and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -the Arthur cycle should have done these -also is wonderful. The humor of them -is delightful, and the rough homely diction -perfect. One wishes indeed that -the “dramatic fragments” collected by -Lamb, like gold-dust out of the rather -dreary sand-expanse of Elizabethan -playwrights, were so little fragmentary -as these. Tennyson’s short dramatic -poems are quintessential; in a brief -glimpse he contrives to reveal the whole -man or woman. You would know the -old “Northern Farmer,” with his reproach -to “God Amoighty” for not -“letting him aloan,” and the odious -farmer of the new style, with his “Proputty! -Proputty!” wherever you met -them. But “Dora,” the “Grand-mother,” -“Lady Clare,” “Edward -Gray,” “Lord of Burleigh,” had long -since proved that Tennyson had more -than one style at command; that he -was master not only of a flamboyant, a -Corinthian, but also of a sweet, simple, -limpid English, worthy of Goldsmith or -Cowper at their best.</p> - -<p>Reverting, however, to the question -of Tennyson’s ability to fathom the -darker recesses of our nature, what shall -be said of the “Vision of Sin?” For -myself I can only avow that, whenever I -read it, I feel as if some horrible gray -fungus of the grave were growing over -my heart, and over all the world around -me. As for passion, I know few more -profoundly passionate poems than -“Love and Duty.” It paints with glowing -concentrated power the conflict of -duty with yearning passionate love, -stronger than death. The “Sisters,” -and “Fatima,” too, are fiercely passionate, -as also is “Maud.” I should be -surprised to hear that a lover could read -“Maud,” and not feel the spring and -mid-noon of passionate affection in it to -the very core of him, so profoundly felt -and gloriously expressed is it by the -poet. Much of its power, again, is derived -from that peculiarly Tennysonian -ability to make Nature herself reflect, -redouble, and interpret the human feeling. -That is the power also of such -supreme lyrics as “Break, break!” -and “In the Valley of Cauterets;” of -such chaste and consummate rendering -of a noble woman’s self-sacrifice as -“Godiva,” wherein “shameless gargoyles” -stare, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> “the still air scarcely -breathes for fear;” and likewise of -“Come into the garden, Maud,” an invocation -that palpitates with rapture of -young love, in which the sweet choir of -flowers bear their part, and sing antiphony. -The same feeling pervades -the delicious passage commencing, “Is -that enchanted moon?” and “Go not, -happy day.” All this may be what -Mr. Ruskin condemns as “pathetic” -fallacy, but it is inevitable and right. -For “in our life doth nature live, ours -is her wedding garment, ours her -shroud.” The same Divine Spirit pervades -man and nature; she, like ourselves, -has her transient moods, as well -as her tranquil immovable deeps. In -her, too, is a passing as well as an eternal, -while we apprehend either according -to our own capacity, together with -the emotional bias that dominates us -at the moment. The vital and permanent -in us holds the vital and permanent -in her, while the temporary in us mirrors -the transitory in her. I cannot -think indeed that the more troubled -and jarring moods of disharmony and -fury are touched with quite the same -degree of mastery in “Maud” as are -the sunnier and happier. Tennyson -hitherto had basked by preference in -the brighter regions of his art, and the -turbid Byronic vein appeared rather unexpectedly -in him. The tame, sleek, -daintily-feeding gourmêts of criticism -yelped indeed their displeasure at these -“hysterics,” as they termed the “Sturm -und Drang” elements that appeared in -“Maud,” especially since the poet -dared appropriately to body these forth -in somewhat harsh, abrupt language, and -irregular metres. Such elements, in -truth, hardly seemed so congenial to -him as to Byron or Hugo. Yet they -were welcome, as proving that our chief -poet was not altogether irresponsive to -the terrible social problems around him, -to the corruptions, and ever-festering -vices of the body politic, to the doubt, -denial, and grim symptoms of upheaval -at his very doors. For on the whole -some of us had felt that the Poet-Laureate -was almost too well contented with -the general framework of things, with -the prescriptive rights of long-unchallenged -rule, and hoar comfortable custom, -especially in England, as though -these were in very deed divine, and no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> -subterranean thunder were ever heard, -even in this favored isle, threatening -Church and State, and the very fabric of -society. But the temper of his class and -time spoke through him. Did not all -men rejoice greatly when Prince Albert -opened the Exhibition of 1851; when -Cobden and the Manchester school won -the battle of free-trade; when steam-engines -and the electric telegraph were -invented; when Wordsworth’s “glorious -time” came, and the Revised Code -passed into law; when science first told -her enchanting fairy tales? Yet the Millennium -tarries, and there is an exceeding -“bitter cry.”</p> - -<p>But in “Maud,” as indeed before in -that fine sonorous chaunt, “Locksley -Hall,” and later in “Aylmer’s Field,” -the poet’s emphasis of appreciation is certainly -reserved for the heroes, men who -have inherited a strain of gloom, or ancestral -disharmony moral and physical, -within whom the morbific social humors -break forth inevitably into plague-spots; -the injustice and irony of circumstance -lash them into revolt, wrath, and madness. -Mr. R. H. Hutton, a critic who often -writes with ability, but who seems to -find a little difficulty in stepping outside -the circle of his perhaps rather -rigid misconceptions and predilections, -makes the surely somewhat strange remark -that “‘Maud’ was written to reprobate -hysterics.” But I fear—nay, I -hope and believe—that we cannot credit -the poet with any such virtuous or didactic -intention in the present instance, -though of course the pregnant lines beginning -“Of old sat Freedom on the -heights,” the royal verses, the recent -play so forcibly objected to by Lord -Queensberry, together with various allusions -to the “red fool-fury of the -Seine,” and “blind hysterics of the -Celt,” do indicate a very Conservative -and law-abiding attitude. But other -lines prove that after all what he mostly -deprecates is “the falsehood of extremes,” -the blind and hasty plunge into -measures of mere destruction; for he -praises the statesmen who “take occasion -by the hand,” and make “the -bounds of freedom wider yet,” and -even gracefully anticipates “the golden -year.”</p> - -<p>The same principle on which I have -throughout insisted as the key to most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -of Tennyson’s best poetry is the key -also to the moving tale “Enoch Arden,” -where the tropical island around the -solitary shipwrecked mariner is gorgeously -depicted, the picture being as full-Venetian, -and resplendent in color, as -those of the “Day-Dream” and “Arabian -Nights.” But the conclusion of -the tale is profoundly moving and pathetic, -and relates a noble act of self-renouncement. -Parts of “Aylmer’s -Field,” too, are powerful.</p> - -<p>And now we come to the “Idylls,” -around which no little critical controversy -has raged. It has been charged -against them that they are more picturesque, -scenic, and daintily-wrought than -human in their interest. But though -assuredly the poet’s love for the picturesque -is in this noble epic—for epic the -Idylls in their completed state may be -accounted—amply indulged, I think it -is seldom to the detriment of the human -interest, and the remark I made about -one of them, the “Morte d’Arthur,” -really applies to all. The Arthur cycle -is not historical, as “Harold” or -“Queen Mary” is, where the style is -often simple almost to baldness; the -whole of it belongs to the reign of myth, -legend, fairy story, and parable. Ornament, -image, and picture are as much -appropriate here as in Spenser’s “Fairy -Queen,” of which indeed Tennyson’s -poem often reminds me. But “the -light that never was on sea or land, the -consecration and the poet’s dream,” are -a new revelation, made peculiarly in -modern poetry, of true spiritual insight. -And this not only throws fresh illuminating -light into nature, but deepens also -and enlarges our comprehension of man. -If nature be known for a symbol and -embodiment of the soul’s life, by means -of their analogies in nature the human -heart and mind may be more profoundly -understood; while human emotions win -a double clearness, or an added sorrow, -from their fellowship and association -with outward scenes. Nature can only -be fathomed through her consanguinity -with our own desires, aspirations, and -fears, while these again become defined -and articulate by means of her related -appearances. A poet, then, who is sensitive -to such analogies confers a two-fold -benefit upon us.</p> - -<p>I cannot at all assent to the criticism<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span> -passed upon the Idylls by Mr. John -Morley, who has indeed, as it appears -to me, somewhat imperilled his critical -reputation by the observation that they -are “such little pictures as might adorn -a lady’s school.” When we think of -“Guinevere,” “Vivien,” the “Holy -Grail,” the “Passing of Arthur,” this -dictum seems to lack point and penetration. -Indeed, had it proceeded only from -some rhyming criticaster, alternating -with the feeble puncture of his sting the -worrying iteration of his own doleful -drone, it might have been passed over -as simply an impertinence.<a id="FNanchor_2_2" href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">2</a> But while -the poem is in part purely a fairy romance -tinctured with humanity, Tennyson -has certainly intended to treat the -subject in part also as a grave spiritual -parable. Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, -Elaine, Galahad, Vivien, are types, gracious -or hateful. My own feeling, therefore, -would rather be that there is too -much human nature in the Idylls, than -that there is too little; or at any rate -that, while Arthur remains a mighty -Shadow, whose coming and going are -attended with supernatural portents, a -worthy symbol of the Spirit of divine -humanity, Vivien, for instance, is a too -real and unlovely harlot, too gross and -veritably breathing, to be in proportionate -harmony with the general design. -Lancelot and Guinevere, again, being -far fuller of life and color than Arthur, -the situation between these three, as invented, -or at least as recast from the old -legends in his own fashion by the poet, -does not seem artistically felicitous, if -regarded as a representation of an actual -occurrence in human life. But so vivid -and human are many of the stories that -we can hardly fail so to regard them. -And if the common facts of life are made -the vehicle of a parable, they must not -be distorted. It is chiefly, I think, because -Arthur and Merlin are only seen, -as it were, through the luminous haze -appropriate to romance and myth, that -the main motive of the epic, the loves of -Lancelot and Guinevere, appears scarcely -strong enough to bear the weight of -momentous consequence imposed on it,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -which is no less than the retributive ruin -of Arthur’s commonwealth. Now, if -Art elects to appeal to ethical instinct, -as great, human, undegraded Art continually -must, she is even more bound, -in pursuance of her own proper end, to -satisfy the demand for moral beauty, -than to gratify the taste for beauty intellectual -or æsthetic. And of course, -while you might flatter a poetaster, you -would only insult a poet by refusing to -consider what he says, and only professing -a concern for how he says it. Therefore -if the poet choose to lay all the -blame of the dissolution and failure of -Arthur’s polity upon the illicit loves of -Lancelot and Guinevere, it seems to me -that he committed a serious error in his -invention of the early circumstances of -their meeting; nothing of the kind being -discoverable either in Mallory, or -the old chronicle of Merlin. Great -stress, no doubt, is laid by Sir Thomas -Mallory on this illicit love as the fruitful -source of much calamity; but then -Mallory relates that Arthur had met and -loved Guinevere long before he asked -for her in marriage; whereas, according -to Tennyson, he sent Lancelot to meet -the betrothed maiden, and she, never -having seen Arthur, loved Lancelot, as -Lancelot Guinevere, at first sight. That -circumstance, gratuitously invented, -surely makes the degree of the lovers’ -guilt a problem somewhat needlessly -difficult to determine, if it was intended -to brand their guilt as heinous enough -to deserve the ruin of a realm, and the -failure of Arthur’s humane life-purpose. -Guinevere, seeing Lancelot before Arthur, -and recognizing in him (as the -sweet and pure Elaine, remember, did -after her), the type of all that is noble -and knightly in man, loves the messenger, -and continues to love him after she -has met her destined husband, whom -she judges (and the reader of the Idylls -can hardly fail to coincide with her judgment) -somewhat cold, colorless, and -aloof, however impeccable and grave; a -kind of moral phantom, or imaginative -symbol of the conscience, whom Guinevere, -as typifying the human soul, ought -indeed to love best (“not Lancelot, nor -another”), but whom, as a particular -living man, Arthur, one quite fails to see -why Guinevere, a living woman with her -own idiosyncracies, should be bound to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> -love rather than Lancelot. For if Guinevere, -as woman, ought to love “the -highest” man “when she sees him,” it -does not appear why that obligation -should not equally bind all the women -of her Court also! If the whole burden -of the catastrophe was to be laid upon -the conception of a punishment deserved -by the great guilt of particular persons, -that guilt ought certainly to have been -so described as to appear heinous and -inexcusable to all beyond question. -The story need not have been thus moralized; -but the Poet-Laureate chose to -emphasize the breach of a definite moral -obligation as unpardonable, and pregnant -with evil issues. That being so, I -submit that the moral sense is left hesitating -and bewildered, rather than satisfied -and acquiescent, which interferes -with a thorough enjoyment of the work -even as art. The sacrament of marriage -is high and holy; yet we feel disposed -to demand whether here it may not be -rather the letter and mere convention -than the spirit of constant affection and -true marriage that is magnified. And if -so, though popularity with the English -public may be secured by this vindication -of their domestic ideal, higher interests -are hardly so well subserved. -Doubtless the treachery to husband and -friend on the part of the lovers was -black and detestable. Doubtless their -indulged love was far from innocent. -But then why invent so complicated a -problem, and yet write as if it were perfectly -simple and easy of solution? -What I complain of is, that this love -has a certain air of grievous fatality and -excuse about it, while yet the poet -treats it as mere unmitigated guilt, fully -justifying all the disaster entailed thereby, -not only on the sinners themselves, -but on the State, and the cause of human -welfare. Nor can we feel quite -sure, as the subject is here envisaged, -that, justice apart, it is quite according -to probability for the knowledge of this -constant illicit affection to engender a -universal infidelity of the Round Table -Knights to vows which not only their -lips, as in the case of Guinevere, but -also their hearts have sworn; infidelity -to their own true affection, and disloyalty -to their own genuine aspiration after -the fulfilment of chivalrous duty in -championing the oppressed—all because<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -a rich-natured woman like Guinevere -proves faithful to her affection for a -rich kindred humanity in Lancelot! -How this comes about is at any rate not -sufficiently explained in the poet’s narrative; -and if so, he must be held to -have failed both as artist and as ethical -teacher, which in these Idylls he has -certainly aspired to be. Then comes -the further question, not altogether an -easy one to answer, whether it is really -true that even widespread sexual excess -inevitably entails deterioration in other -respects, a lowered standard of integrity -and honor? The chivalry of the -Middle Ages was <i lang="fr">sans peur</i>, but seldom -<i lang="fr">sans reproche</i>. History, on being interrogated, -gives an answer ambiguous as a -Greek oracle. Was England, for instance, -less great under the Regency -than under Cromwell? But at all -events, the old legends make the process -of disintegration in Arthur’s kingdom -much clearer than it is made by Tennyson. -In Mallory, for instance, Arthur -is by no means the sinless being depicted -by Tennyson. Rightly or wrongly, -he is resolved to punish Guinevere for -her infidelity by burning, and Lancelot -is equally resolved to rescue her, which -accordingly he does from the very stake, -carrying her off with him to his castle of -Joyous Gard. Then Arthur and Sir -Gawain make war upon him; and thus, -the great knightly heads of the Round -Table at variance; the fellowship is -inevitably dissolved, for Modred takes -advantage of their dissension to seize -upon the throne. But in the old legends, -who is Modred? The son of Arthur -and his sister. According to them, assuredly -the origin of the doom or curse -upon the kingdom is the unwitting incest, -yet deliberate adultery of Arthur, or -perhaps the still earlier and deeply-dyed -sin of his father, Uther. Yet, Mr. Swinburne’s -contention, that Lord Tennyson -should have emphasized the sin of -Arthur as responsible for the doom that -came upon himself and his kingdom, although -plausible, appears to me hardly -to meet all the exigencies of the case. -Mr. Hutton says in reply that then the -supernatural elements of the story could -have found no place in the poem; no -strange portents could have been described -as accompanying the birth and -death of Arthur. A Greek tragedian,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -he adds, would never have dreamt of -surrounding Œdipus with such portents. -But surely the latter remark demonstrates -the unsoundness of the former. -Has Mr. Hutton forgotten what is perhaps -one of the sublimest scenes in any -literature, the supernatural passing of -this very deeply-dyed sinner Œdipus to -his divine repose at Colonos, in the -grove of those very ladies of divine -vengeance, by whose awful ministry he -had been at length assoiled of sin? the -mysterious stairs; Antigone and Ismene -expectant above; he “shading his eyes -before a sight intolerable;” after drinking -to the dregs the cup of sin and sorrow, -rapt from the world, even he, to -be tutelary deity of that land? Neither -Elijah nor Moses was a sinless man; -yet Moses, after enduring righteous punishment, -was not, for God took him, -and angels buried him; it was he who -led Israel out of Egypt, communed with -Jehovah on Sinai; he appeared with -Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration. -But I would suggest that the poet might -have represented suffering and disappointment, -not as penalty apportioned -to particular transgressions, rather as -integral elements in that mysterious destiny -which determines the lot of man in -his present condition of defect, moral, -physical, and intellectual, involved in -his “Hamartia,” or failure to realize -that fulness of being which yet ideally -belongs to him as divine. Both these -ideas—the idea of Doom or destiny, and -that of Nemesis on account of voluntary -transgression—are alike present in due -equipoise in the great conceptions of -Greek drama, as Mr. J. A. Symonds -has conclusively proved in his brilliant, -philosophic and poetic work on the -Greek poetry, against the more one-sided -contention of Schlegel. I feel -throughout Shakspeare this same idea -of mystic inevitable destiny dominating -the lives of men: you may call it, if you -please, the will of God. Yet if it dooms -us to error, ignorance, and crime, at all -events this will cannot resemble the wills -of men as they appear to us now. -Othello expiates his foolish credulity, -and jealous readiness to suspect her who -had given him no cause to doubt her -love. But there was the old fool Brabantio, -and the devil Iago; there were -his race, his temperament, his circum<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span>stances -in general, and the circumstances -of the hour,—all these were toils woven -about him by Fate. Now, if the idea of -Destiny be the more accentuated (and a -tragedian surely should make us feel -both this, and the free-will of man), -then, as it seems to me, in the interests -of Art, which loves life and harmony, -not pure pain, loss, discord, or negation, -there ought to be a purifying or -idealizing process manifest in the ordeal -to which the victims are subjected, if -not for the protagonists, at all events for -some of those concerned in the action. -We must at least be permitted to behold -the spectacle of constancy and fortitude, -or devotion, as we do in Desdemona, -Cordelia, Antigone, Iphigenia, Romeo -and Juliet. But the ethical element of -free-will is almost exclusively accentuated -by Tennyson; and in such a case -we desire to be fully persuaded that the -“poetical justice” dealt out by the poet -is really and radically justice, not a mere -provincial or conventional semblance -thereof.</p> - -<p>Yet if you confine your attention to -the individual Idylls themselves, they -are undoubtedly most beautiful models -of sinewy strength, touched to consummate -grace. There can be nothing more -exquisite than the tender flower-like humanity -of dear Elaine, nor more perfect -in pathetic dignity than the Idyll of -Guinevere. Vivien is very powerful; -but, as I said, the courtesan appears to -me too coarsely and graphically realized -for perfect keeping with the general tone -of this faëry epic. The “Holy Grail” -is a wonderful creation in the realm of -the supernatural; all instinct with high -spiritual significance, though some of the -invention in this, as in the other Idylls, -belongs to Sir Thomas Mallory. The -adventures of the knights, notably of -Galahad, Percivale, and Lancelot, in their -quest for the Grail, are splendidly described. -What, again, can be nobler than -the parting of Arthur and Guinevere at -Almesbury, where the King forgives and -blesses her, she grovelling repentant before -him, the gleaming “dragon of the -great Pendragonship” making a vaporous -halo in the night, as Arthur leaves -her, “moving ghost-like to his doom?” -Here the scenic element blends incorporate -with the human, but assuredly -does not overpower it, as has been pre<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span>tended. -Then how excellent dramatically -are the subordinate figures of the -little nun at Almesbury, and the rustic -old monk, with whom Percivale converses -in the Holy Grail; while, if we -were to notice such similes (Homeric in -their elaboration, though modern in -their minute fidelity to nature) as that in -Enid, which concerns the man startling -the fish in clear water by holding up “a -shining hand against the sun,” or the -happy comparison of standing muscle on -an arm to a brook “running too vehemently” -over a stone “to break upon -it,” our task would be interminable. -The Arthur Idylls are full too of elevating -exemplars for the conduct of life, of -such chivalrous traits as courage, generosity, -courtesy, forbearance, consecration, -devotion of life for loyalty and -love, service of the weak and oppressed; -abounding also with excellent gnomic -sayings inculcating these virtues. What -admirable and delightful ladies are Enid, -Elaine, Guinevere! Of the Laureate’s -longer works, this poem and “In Memoriam” -are his greatest, though both -of these are composed of many brief -song-flights.</p> - -<p>It may not be unprofitable to inquire -what idea Tennyson probably intended -to symbolize by the “Holy Grail,” and -the quest for it. Is it that of mere supernatural -portent? Certainly not. -The whole treatment suggests far more. -I used to think it signified the mystical -blood of Christ, the spirit of self-devotion, -or, as Mallory defines it, “the secret -of Jesus.” But it scarcely seems -possible that Tennyson means precisely -that, for then his ideal man Arthur -would not discourage the quest. Does -it not rather stand for that secret of the -higher life as sought in any form of supernatural -religion, involving acts of -worship or asceticism, and religious contemplation? -Yet Arthur deprecates not -the religious life as such—rather that -life in so far as it is not the auxiliary of -human service. It is while pursuing the -quest that Percivale (in the “Holy -Grail”) finds all common life, even the -most sacred relations of it, as well as the -most ordinary and vulgar, turn to dust -when he touches them; and to a religious -fanatic that is indeed the issue—this -life is less than dust to him; he exists -for the future and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> “supernatural” -only; his soul is already in another region -than this homely work-a-day world -of ours; and because it is another, he -is only too ready to think it must be -higher. What to him are our politics, -our bewilderments, our fair humanities, -our art and science, or schemes of social -amelioration? Less than nothing. What -he has to do is to save first his own soul, -and then some few souls of others, if he -can. But while, as Arthur himself complained, -such an one waits for the beatific -vision, or follows “wandering fires” -of superstition, how often, for men with -strength to right the wronged, will “the -chance of noble deeds come and go unchallenged!” -Arthur even dares to call -the Holy Grail “a sign to maim this order -which I made.” “Many of you, -yea most, return no more.” But, as the -Queen laments, “this madness has come -on us for our sins.” Percivale turns -monk, Galahad passes away to the spiritual -city, Sir Bors meets Lancelot riding -madly all abroad, and shouting, “Stay -me not; I have been the sluggard, and -I ride apace, for now there is a lion in -the path!” Lancelot rides on the quest -in order that, through the vision of the -Grail, the sin of which his conscience -accuses him may be rooted out of his -heart. And so it was partly the sin—the -infidelity to their vows—that had -crept in amongst the knights, which -drove the best of them to expiation, to -religious fervors, whereby their sin -might be purged, thus completing the -disintegration of that holy human -brotherhood, which had been welded together -by Arthur for activities of righteous -and loving endeavor after human -welfare. Magnificent is the picture of -the terrible, difficult quest of Lancelot, -whose ineradicable sin hinders him from -full enjoyment of the spiritual vision -after which he longs. Nor will Arthur -unduly discourage those who have thus -in mortal peril half attained. “Blessed -are Bors, Lancelot, and Percivale, for -these have seen according to their sight.” -Into his mouth the poet also puts some -beautiful lines on prayer. More indeed -may be wrought for the world by the -silent spiritual life, by the truth-seeking -student, by the beauty-loving artist, than -is commonly believed. In worshipping -the ideal they bless men. Arthur rebukes -Gawain for light infidel profanity,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -born only of blind contented immersion -in the slime of sense; while for the others, -there was little indeed of the true -religious spirit in their quest. “They -followed but the leader’s bell, for one -hath seen, and all the blind will see.” -With them it is mere fashion, and hollow -lip-service, or superstitious fear; a -very devil-worship indeed, standing to -them too often in the place of justice, -mercy, and plain human duty. Nay, -what terrible crimes have been committed -against humanity in the name of this -very religion! Even Percivale only attained -to spiritual vision through the -vision of Galahad, whose power of -strong faith came upon him, for he -lacked humility, a heavenly virtue too -often lacking in the <i lang="la">unco guid</i>, as likewise -in those raised above their fellows -through any uncommon gifts, whether -of body or mind. In the old legends, -the sin of Lancelot himself is represented -as consisting quite as much in personal -ambition, over-self-confidence, -and pride on the score of his prowess, -as in his adultery with the Queen. Yet -the “pure religion and undefiled” of -Galahad and St. Agnes had been long -since celebrated by our poet in two of -his loveliest poems. But these sweet -children were not left long to battle for -goodness and truth upon the earth; -heaven was waiting for them; though, -while he remained, Galahad, who saw -the vision because he was pure in heart, -“rode shattering evil customs everywhere” -in the strength of that purity -and that vision. Arthur, however, avers -he could not himself have joined in the -quest, because his mission was to mould -and guard his kingdom, although, that -done, “let visions come and welcome;” -nay, to him the common earth and air -are all vision; and yet he knows himself -no vision, nor God, nor the divine man. -To the spiritual, indeed, all is religious, -sacred, sacramental, for they look -through the appearance to the reality, -half hidden and half revealed under it. -This avowal reminds me of Wordsworth’s -grand passage in the “Ode on -Immortality” concerning “creatures -moving about in worlds not realized.” -But for men not so far advanced revelations -of the Holy Grail, sacramental observances, -and stated acts of worship, -are indeed of highest import and utility.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -Yet good, straightforward, modest Sir -Bors, who is not over-anxious about the -vision, to him it is for a moment vouchsafed, -though Lancelot and Percivale -attain to it with difficulty, and selfish, -superstitious worldlings, with their worse -than profitless head-knowledge, bad -hearts, hollow worship of Convention -and the Dead Letter, get no inkling of it -at all. This wholesome conviction I -trace through many of the Laureate’s -writings. Stylites is not intended to be -a flattering, though it is certainly a -veracious portrait of the sanctimonious, -self-depreciating, yet self-worshipping -ascetic. The same feeling runs through -“Queen Mary;” and Harold, the honest -warrior of unpretending virtue, is -well contrasted with the devout, yet un-English -and only half-kingly confessor, -upon whose piety Stigand passes no very -complimentary remarks. So that the -recent play which Lord Queensberry objected -to surprises me; for in “Despair” -it is theological caricature of the divine -character which is made responsible for -the catastrophe quite as much as Agnosticism, -a mere reaction from false belief. -Besides, has not Tennyson sung “There -lives more faith in honest doubt, believe -me, than in half the creeds,” and -“Power was with him in the night, -which makes the darkness and the light, -and dwells not in the light alone”?</p> - -<p>Turning now to the philosophical and -elegiac poetry of Tennyson, one would -pronounce the poet to be in the best -sense a religious mystic of deep insight, -though fully alive to the claims of activity, -culture, science, and art. It would -not be easy to find more striking philosophical -poetry than the lines on “Will,” -the “Higher Pantheism,” “Wages,” -“Flower in the Crannied Wall,” the -“Two Voices,” and especially “In -Memoriam.” As to “Wages,” it is -surely true that Virtue, even if she seek -no rest (and that is a hard saying), does -seek the “wages of going on and still to -be.” An able writer in “To-day” objects -to this doctrine. And of course -an Agnostic may be, often is, a much -more human person—larger, kinder, -sounder—than a believer. But the truth -is, the very feeling that Love and Virtue -are noblest and best involves the implicit -intuition of their permanence, however -the understanding may doubt or deny.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -Again, I find myself thoroughly at one -with the profound teaching of the -“Higher Pantheism,” As for “In -Memoriam,” where is the elegiac poetry -equal to it in our language? Gravely -the solemn verse confronts problems -which, mournful or ghastly, yet with -some far-away light in their eyes, look -us men of this generation in the face, -visiting us with dread misgiving or -pathetic hope. From the conference, -from the agony, from the battle, Faith -emerges, aged, maimed, and scarred, -yet triumphing and serene. Like every -greater poet, Tennyson wears the prophet’s -mantle, as he wears the singer’s bay. -Mourners will ever thank him for such -words as, “‘Tis better to have loved -and lost, than never to have loved at -all;” and, “Let love clasp grief, lest -both be drowned;” and, “Our wills -are ours, we know not how; our wills -are ours, to make them Thine;” as for -the lines that distinguish Wisdom and -Knowledge, commending Wisdom as -mistress, and Knowledge but as handmaid. -Every mourner has his favorite -section or particular chapel of the temple-poem, -where he prefers to kneel for worship -of the Invisible. Yes, for into the -furnace men may be cast bound and -come forth free, having found for companion -One whose form was like the Son -of God. Our poet’s conclusion may be -foolish and superstitious, as some would -now persuade us; but if he errs, it is in -good company, for he errs with him who -sang, “In la sua voluntade e nostra -pace” and with Him who prayed, “Father, -not My will, but Thine.”</p> - -<p>The range, then, of this poet in all the -achievements of his long life is vast—lyrical, -dramatic,<a id="FNanchor_3_3" href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> narrative, allegoric,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -philosophical. Even strong and barbed -satire is not wanting, as in “Sea-Dreams,” -the fierce verses to Bulwer, -“The Spiteful Letter.” Of the most -varied measures he is master, as of the -richest and most copious vocabulary. -Only in the sonnet form, perhaps, does -his genius not move with so royal a port, -so assured a superiority over all rivals. -I have seen sonnets even by other living -English writers that appeared to me -more striking; notably, fine sonnets by -Mr. J. A. Symonds, Mr. Theodore -Watts, Mrs. Pfeiffer, Miss Blind. But -surely Tennyson must have written very -little indifferent poetry when you think -of the fuss made by his detractors over -the rather poor verses beginning “I -stood on a tower in the wet,” and the -somewhat insignificant series entitled -“The Window.” For “The Victim” -appears to me exceedingly good. Talk -of daintiness and prettiness! Yes; but -it is the lambent, water-waved damascening -on a Saladin’s blade; it is the rich -enchasement on a Cœur de Lion’s armor. -Amid the soul-subduing spaces, and tall -forested piers of that cathedral by Rhine, -there are long jewelled flames for window, -and embalmed kings lie shrined in -gold, with gems all over it like eyes. -While Tennyson must loyally be recognized -as the Arthur or Lancelot of modern -English verse, even by those among -us who believe that their own work in -poetry cannot fairly be damned as -“minor,” while he need fear the enthronement -of no younger rival near -him, the poetic standard he has established -is in all respects so high that -poets who love their art must needs -glory in such a leader and such an example, -though pretenders may verily be -shamed into silence, and Marsyas cease -henceforward to contend with Apollo.—<cite>Contemporary -Review.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="ON_AN_OLD_SONG" id="ON_AN_OLD_SONG">ON AN OLD SONG.</a><br /> - -<small>BY W. E. H. LECKY</small>.</h2> - - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Little snatch of ancient song</div> - <div class="verse">What has made thee live so long?</div> - <div class="verse">Flying on thy wings of rhyme</div> - <div class="verse">Lightly down the depths of time,</div> - <div class="verse">Telling nothing strange or rare,</div> - <div class="verse">Scarce a thought or image there,</div> - <div class="verse">Nothing but the old, old tale</div> - <div class="verse">Of a hapless lover’s wail;</div> - <div class="verse">Offspring of some idle hour,</div> - <div class="verse">Whence has come thy lasting power?</div> - <div class="verse">By what turn of rhythm or phrase,</div> - <div class="verse">By what subtle, careless grace</div> - <div class="verse">Can thy music charm our ears</div> - <div class="verse">After full three hundred years?</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Little song, since thou wert born</div> - <div class="verse">In the Reformation morn,</div> - <div class="verse">How much great has past away,</div> - <div class="verse">Shattered or by slow decay!</div> - <div class="verse">Stately piles in ruins crumbled,</div> - <div class="verse">Lordly houses lost or humbled.</div> - <div class="verse">Thrones and realms in darkness hurled,</div> - <div class="verse">Noble flags forever furled,</div> - <div class="verse">Wisest schemes by statesmen spun,</div> - <div class="verse">Time has seen them one by one</div> - <div class="verse">Like the leaves of autumn fall—</div> - <div class="verse">A little song outlives them all.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">There were mighty scholars then</div> - <div class="verse">With the slow, laborious pen</div> - <div class="verse">Piling up their works of learning,</div> - <div class="verse">Men of solid, deep discerning,</div> - <div class="verse">Widely famous as they taught</div> - <div class="verse">Systems of connected thought,</div> - <div class="verse">Destined for all future ages;</div> - <div class="verse">Now the cobweb binds their pages,</div> - <div class="verse">All unread their volumes lie</div> - <div class="verse">Mouldering so peaceably,</div> - <div class="verse">Coffined thoughts of coffined men.</div> - <div class="verse">Never more to stir again</div> - <div class="verse">In the passion and the strife,</div> - <div class="verse">In the fleeting forms of life;</div> - <div class="verse">All their force and meaning gone</div> - <div class="verse">As the stream of thought flows on.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Art thou weary, little song,</div> - <div class="verse">Flying through the world so long?</div> - <div class="verse">Canst thou on thy fairy pinions</div> - <div class="verse">Cleave the future’s dark dominions?</div> - <div class="verse">And with music soft and clear</div> - <div class="verse">Charm the yet unfashioned ear,</div> - <div class="verse">Mingling with the things unborn</div> - <div class="verse">When perchance another morn</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> - <div class="verse">Great as that which gave thee birth</div> - <div class="verse">Dawns upon the changing earth?</div> - <div class="verse">It may be so, for all around</div> - <div class="verse">With a heavy crashing sound</div> - <div class="verse">Like the ice of polar seas</div> - <div class="verse">Melting in the summer breeze,</div> - <div class="verse">Signs of change are gathering fast,</div> - <div class="verse">Nations breaking with their past.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">The pulse of thought is beating quicker,</div> - <div class="verse">The lamp of faith begins to flicker,</div> - <div class="verse">The ancient reverence decays</div> - <div class="verse">With forms and types of other days;</div> - <div class="verse">And old beliefs grow faint and few</div> - <div class="verse">As knowledge moulds the world anew,</div> - <div class="verse">And scatters far and wide the seeds</div> - <div class="verse">Of other hopes and other creeds;</div> - <div class="verse">And all in vain we seek to trace</div> - <div class="verse">The fortunes of the coming race,</div> - <div class="verse">Some with fear and some with hope,</div> - <div class="verse">None can cast its horoscope.</div> - <div class="verse">Vap’rous lamp or rising star,</div> - <div class="verse">Many a light is seen afar,</div> - <div class="verse">And dim shapeless figures loom</div> - <div class="verse">All around us in the gloom—</div> - <div class="verse">Forces that may rise and reign</div> - <div class="verse">As the old ideals wane.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Landmarks of the human mind,</div> - <div class="verse">One by one are left behind,</div> - <div class="verse">And a subtle change is wrought</div> - <div class="verse">In the mould and cast of thought,</div> - <div class="verse">Modes of reasoning pass away,</div> - <div class="verse">Types of beauty lose their sway,</div> - <div class="verse">Creeds and causes that have made</div> - <div class="verse">Many noble lives, must fade;</div> - <div class="verse">And the words that thrilled of old</div> - <div class="verse">Now seem hueless, dead, and cold;</div> - <div class="verse">Fancy’s rainbow tints are flying,</div> - <div class="verse">Thoughts, like men, are slowly dying;</div> - <div class="verse">All things perish, and the strongest</div> - <div class="verse">Often do not last the longest;</div> - <div class="verse">The stately ship is seen no more,</div> - <div class="verse">The fragile skiff attains the shore;</div> - <div class="verse">And while the great and wise decay,</div> - <div class="verse">And all their trophies pass away,</div> - <div class="verse">Some sudden thought, some careless rhyme</div> - <div class="verse">Still floats above the wrecks of time.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent18"><cite>Macmillan’s Magazine.</cite></div> -</div></div></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="THE_AMERICAN_AUDIENCE" id="THE_AMERICAN_AUDIENCE">THE AMERICAN AUDIENCE.</a><br /> - -<small>BY HENRY IRVING</small>.</h2> - - -<p>What is the difference between an -English and an American audience? -That is a question which has frequently -been put to me, and which I have always -found it difficult to answer. The points -of dissimilarity are simply those arising<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -from people of a common origin living -under conditions often widely different. -It is, therefore, only possible for me to -indicate such traits in the bearing of the -American playgoer as have come under -my own personal notice, and impressed -me with a sense of unfamiliarity.</p> - -<p>Every American town, great or small, -has—I believe, without exception—its -theatre and its church, and when a new -town is about to be built, the sites for a -place of amusement and a place of worship -are invariably those first selected. -As an instance, take Pullman, which lies -some sixteen miles from Chicago, pleasantly -situated on the banks of the Calumet -Lake. The original design of this -little city, which is almost ideal in its -organization, and has the enviable reputation -of being absolutely perfect in its -sanitation, was conceived on the lines -just mentioned. Denver City, which is -a growth almost abnormal even in an -age and country of abnormal progress, -has a theatre, which is said to be one of -the finest in America. Boston, with its -old civilization, boasts seventeen theatres, -or buildings in which plays are -given; New York possesses no less than -twenty-eight regular theatres, besides a -host of smaller ones; and Chicago, -whose very foundations are younger than -the beards of some men of thirty, has, -according to a printed list, over twenty -theatres, all of which seem to flourish. -The number of theatres in America and -the influence they exercise constitute -important elements in the national life. -This great multiplication of dramatic -possibilities renders it necessary to take -a very wide and general view, if one -wishes to get a distinct impression as to -how audiences here differ from those at -home. So at least it must seem to a -player, who can only find comparison -possible when points of difference suggest -themselves. For a proper understanding -of such difference in audiences, -we must ascertain wherein consist the -differences of the theatres which they -frequent, both in architectural construction, -social arrangement, and that habit -of management which is a natural -growth.</p> - -<p>By the enactments of the various -States regulating the structure and conduct -of places of amusement, full provision -for the comfort and safety of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -the audience is insisted on. It is directed -that the back of the auditorium -should open by adequate doors directly -upon the main passage or vestibule, and -that through the centre of the floor -should run an aisle right down to the -orchestra rail. Thus the floor of the -house is easy of access and exit, is generally -of large expanse, and capable of -containing half, or more than half, of -the entire audience. It is usually divided -into two parts—the orchestra or parquet, -and the orchestra or parquet circle—the -latter being a zone running around -the former and covered by the projection -of the first gallery. The floor of an -American theatre is, as a rule, on a -more inclined plane than is customary -in English theatres, and there is a good -view of the stage from every part. Outside -the parquet circle, and within the -inner wall of the building, is usually a -wide passage where many persons can -stand. Thus in most houses there is a -great elasticity in the holding power, -which at times adds not a little to the -managerial success. I cannot but think -that in several respects we have much to -learn from our American cousins in the -construction and arrangement of the -auditorium of the theatre; on the other -hand, they might study with advantage -our equipment behind the proscenium.</p> - -<p>It is perhaps due to the sentiment and -tradition of personal equality in the nation, -that the entire stream often turns -to one portion of the house, in a way -somewhat odd to those accustomed as -we are in England to the separating -force of social grades. To the great -majority of persons, only one part of the -theatre is eminently eligible, and other -portions are mainly sought when the -floor is occupied. The very willingness -with which the public acquiesce in certain -discomforts or annoyances attendant -on visiting the theatre, would seem to -show that the drama is an integral portion -of their daily life. It cannot be -denied by any one cognizant of the working -of American theatres that there are -certain facts or customs which must discount -enjoyment. Before a visitor is in -a position to settle comfortably to the -reception of a play, he must, as a rule, -experience many inconveniences. In -the first place he has in some States to -submit to the exactions of the ticket<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -speculator or “scalper,” who, through -defective State laws, is generally able to -buy tickets in bulk, and to retail them -at an exorbitant rate. I have known of -instances where tickets of the full value -of three dollars were paid for by the -public at the average rate of ten or -twelve dollars. Then, through the high -price of labor, which in most American -institutions causes employers to so dispose -of their forces as to minimize service, -the attendance in the front of the -house is, I am told, often inadequate. -Were it not for the orderly disposition -and habit of the public, trained by the -custom of equal rights to stand, and -move <i lang="fr">en queue</i>, it would not be possible -to admit and seat the audience in the -interval between the opening of the -doors and the commencement of the performance. -Thus the public are somewhat -“hustled,” and from one cause or -another too often reach their seats after -having endured much annoyance with a -patient submission which speaks volumes -for their law-abiding nature; but -which must sorely disturb that reposeful -spirit which the actor may consider essential -to a due enjoyment of the play.</p> - -<p>Once in his seat the American playgoer -does not, as a rule, leave it until -the performance is at an end. The -percentage of persons who move about -during the <i lang="fr">entr’acte</i> is, when compared -with that in England, exceedingly small, -and sinks into complete insignificance -when contrasted with the exodus to the -<i lang="fr">foyer</i> customary in continental theatres. -In the equipment of the American theatre -there is one omission which will surprise -us at home—that of the bar, or refreshment -room. In not a single theatre -that I can call to mind in America have -I found provision made for drinking. -It is not by any means that the average -playgoer is a teetotaler, but that, if he -wishes or needs to drink during the -evening, he does it as he does during -the hours of his working life, and not as -a necessary concomitant to the enjoyment -of his leisure hours. Two other -things are noticeable: first, that the audiences -are sometimes very unpunctual, -and to suit the audiences the managers -sometimes delay beginning. The audience -depend on this delay, and the consequence -frequently is, that a first act is -entirely disturbed by their entry; sec<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span>ondly, -that, after the play, it is a custom, -in a degree unknown in any European -capital, to adjourn to various restaurants -for supper.</p> - -<p>As the audience <i lang="fr">en bloc</i> remain seated, -so the length of the performance must -be taken into account by managers; and -commonly two hours and a half is considered -the maximum length to which a -performance should run, though I must -say that we have at times sinned by -keeping our audiences seated until eleven -o’clock, and it has been even later. Of -course in this branch of the subject -must be also considered the difficulty of -reaching their homes experienced by -audiences in cities whose liberal arrangements -of space, and absence of cheap -cabs, renders necessary a due regard to -time. In matter of duration, however, -the audience is not to be trifled with or -imposed on. I have heard of a case in -a city of Colorado where the manager of -a travelling company, on the last night -of an engagement, in order to catch a -through train, hurried the ordinary performance -of his play into an hour and a -half. When next the company were -coming to the city they were met <i lang="fr">en -route</i>, some fifty miles out, by the sheriff, -who warned them to pass on by some -other way, as their coming was awaited -by a large section of the able-bodied -male population armed with shot guns. -The company did not, I am informed, -on that occasion visit the city. I may -here mention that in America the dramatic -season lasts about eight months—from -the beginning of the “fall” in -September till the hot weather commences -in April. During this period -the theatres are kept busy, as there are -performances on the evenings of every -week day, and in the South and West -on Sunday evening also, whilst matinées -are given every Saturday, and in a large -number of cases every Wednesday. In -certain places even the afternoon of -Sunday sees a performance. It is a fact, -somewhat amusing at first, that in nearly -all towns of comparatively minor importance -the theatre is known as the Opera -House.</p> - -<p>I have dwelt on the external condition -of the American audiences in order to -explain the condition antecedent to the -actor’s appearance. The differences between -various audiences are so minute<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -that some such insight seems necessary -to enable one to recognise and understand -them. An actor in the ordinary -course of his work can only partially at -best realise such differences as there -may be, much less attempt to state them -explicitly. His first experience before a -strange audience is the discovery whether -or not he is <i lang="fr">en rapport</i> with them. This, -however, he can most surely feel, though -he cannot always give a reason for the -feeling. As there is, in the occurrences -of daily life, a conveyance other than -by words of meaning, of sentiment, or -of understanding between different individuals, -so there is a carriage of mutual -understanding or reciprocity of sentiment -between the stage and the auditorium. -The emotion which an actor may -feel, or which his art may empower him -successfully to simulate, can be conveyed -over the floats in some way which -neither actor nor audience may be able -to explain; and the reciprocation of -such emotion can be as surely manifested -by the audience by more subtle and -unconscious ways than overt applause -or otherwise. It must be remembered -that the opportunities which I have had -of observing audiences have been almost -entirely from my own stage. Little -facility of wider observation is afforded -to a man who plays seven performances -each week and fills up most of the blank -mornings with rehearsal or travel. I -only put forward what I feel or believe. -Such belief is based on the opportunities -I have had of observation or of following -out the experience of others.</p> - -<p>The dominant characteristic of the -American audience seems to be impartiality. -They do not sit in judgment, -resenting as positive offences lack -of power to convey meanings or divergence -of interpretation of particular -character or scene. I understand that -when they do not like a performance -they simply go away, so that at the close -of the evening the silence of a deserted -house gives to the management a verdict -more potent than audible condemnation. -This does not apply to questions of -morals, which can be, and are, as -quickly judged here as elsewhere. On -this subject I give entirely the evidence -of others, for it has been my good fortune -to see our audiences seated till the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> -final falling of the curtain. Again, -there is a kindly feeling on the part of -the audience towards the actor as an individual, -especially if he be not a complete -stranger, which is, I presume, a -part of that recognition of individuality -which is so striking a characteristic in -American life and customs. Many an -actor draws habitually a portion of his -audience, not in consequence of artistic -merit, not from capacity to arouse or -excite emotion, but simply because there -is something in his personality which -they like. This spirit forcibly reminds -me of the story told of the manager of -one of the old “Circuits,” who gave as -a reason for the continued engagement -of an impossibly bad actor, that “he -was kind to his mother.” The thorough -enjoyment of the audience is another -point to be noticed. Not only are they -quick to understand and appreciate, but -there seems to be a genuine pleasure -in the expression of approval. American -audiences are not surpassed in quickness -and completeness of comprehension -by any that I have yet seen, and no -actor need fear to make his strongest or -his most subtle effort, for such is sure -to receive instant and full acknowledgment -at their hands.</p> - -<p>There is little more than this to be -said of the American audience. But -short though the record is, the impression -upon the player himself is profound -and abiding. To describe what one -sees and hears over the footlights is infinitely -easier than to convey an idea of -the mental disposition and feeling of -the spectators. The house is ample and -comfortable, and the audience is well-disposed -to be pleased. Ladies and -gentlemen alike are mostly in morning -dress, distinguished in appearance, and -guided in every respect by a refined decorum. -The sight is generally picturesque. -Even in winter flowers abound, -and the majority of ladies have bouquets -either carried in the hand or -fastened on the shoulder or corsage. -At matinée performances especially, -where the larger proportion of the audience -is composed of ladies, the effect is -not less pleasing to the olfactory senses -than to the eye. Courteous, patient, -enthusiastic, the American audience is -worthy of any effort which the actor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -can make on its behalf, and he who has -had experience of them would be an -untrustworthy chronicler if he failed, or -even hesitated, to bear witness to their -intelligence, their taste and their generosity.—<cite>Fortnightly -Review.</cite></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="STIMULANTS_AND_NARCOTICS" id="STIMULANTS_AND_NARCOTICS">STIMULANTS AND NARCOTICS.</a><br /> - -<small>BY PERCY GREG</small>.</h2> - - -<p>Among all the signal inventions, discoveries, -and improvements of the age, -social and material, scientific and mechanical, -few, perhaps, are fraught with -graver possibilities for good and evil -than the great achievement of recent -medicine—the development, if it should -not more properly be called the discovery, -of anæsthetics. Steam has revolutionized -mechanics; the locomotive, the -steam-hammer, and the power-loom, the -creation of the railway and the factory -system, have essentially modified social -as well as material civilization; and it -is possible at least that electric lights -and motors, telegraphs and telephones, -may produce yet greater consequences. -This last century has been signalized -by greater mechanical achievements -than the whole historic period since -the discovery of iron. But in obvious, -immediate influence on human happiness, -it is quite conceivable that the -discovery of chloroform, ether, and -other anæsthetics—the diffusion of -chloral, opium, and other narcotics, -putting them within the reach of every -individual, at the command of men and -women, almost of children, independently -of medical advice or sanction—may -be, for a time at least, more important -than those inventions which have -changed the fundamental conditions of -industry, or those which may yet change -them once more. It is difficult for the -rising generation to realize that state of -medicine, and especially of surgery, -which old men can well remember; -when every operation, from the extraction -of a bad tooth to the removal of -a limb, must be performed upon patients -in full possession of their senses. -In those days the horror with which -men and women, uninfluenced by scientific -enthusiasm, now regard the alleged -tortures of vivisection was hardly possible. -Thousands of human beings had -yearly to undergo—every man, woman,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span> -and child might have to undergo—agonies -quite as terrible as any that the -most ardent advocate of the rights of -animals, the most vivid imagination excited -by fear for dearly loved dumb companions, -ascribes to the vivisector’s -knife. It may well be doubted whether -the highest brutes are capable of suffering -any pain comparable with that of -hardy soldiers or seamen—much less -with that of sensitive, nervous men, and -delicate women—when the surgeon’s -blade cut through living, often inflamed -tissues, generally rendered infinitely -more sensitive by previous disease or -injury, while the brain was fully, intensely -conscious; every nerve quivering -with even exaggerated sensibility. -The brutes, at any rate, are spared the -long agony of anticipation, and at least -half the tortures of memory. They -may fear for a few minutes; our fathers -and mothers lay in terror for hours and -days, nay, persons of vivid imagination -must have suffered acutely through half -a lifetime, in the expectation that, soon -or late, their only choice might lie between -excruciating temporary torture -and a death of lingering hopeless anguish. -No gift of God, perhaps, has -been so precious, no effort of human intellect -has done more to lessen human -suffering and fear, to take from life -much of its darkest evil and horror, -than anæsthesia as developed during -the last fifty years. True that in the -case of severe operations it is as yet beyond -the power of medicine to give complete -relief. If spared the torture of -the operation, the patient has yet to endure -the cruel smart that the knife -leaves behind. But the relief of previous -terror, of the awful, unspeakable, -and, to those who never felt it, almost -inconceivable agony endured while the -flesh was carved, and the bone sawn, -have disappeared from the sick room -and the hospital.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span></p> - -<p>Narcotics should be carefully distinguished -from anæsthetics. Their use is -different, not in degree only, but in -character and purpose. Their legitimate -object is two-fold: primarily, in a -limited number of cases, to relieve or -mitigate pain temporarily or permanently -incurable; but secondarily and principally -to cure what to a large and constantly -increasing class in every civilized -country is among the severest trials attendant -on sickness, over-work, or nervous -excitement—that loss of sleep which -is a terrible affliction in itself, and aggravates, -much more than inexperience -would suppose, every form of suffering -with which it is connected. Nature -mercifully intended that prolonged intolerable -pain should of itself bring the -relief of sleep or swooning; and primitive -races like the Red Indian, living in -the open air, with dull imagination and -insensible nerves, still find such relief. -The victims of Mohawk and Huron tortures -have been known, during a brief -intermission of agony, to sleep at the -stake till fire was used to awaken them. -But among the many drawbacks of civilized -life must be counted the tendency -of artificial conditions to defeat some of -Nature’s most merciful provisions. The -nerves of civilized men are too sensitive, -the brains developed by hereditary culture -and constant exercise are too restless, -to obtain from sleep that relief in -pain, especially prolonged pain, that -nature apparently intended. Many of -us, even in sleep, are keenly sensitive to -suffering, at least to chronic as distinguished -from acute pain, to dull protracted -pangs like those of rheumatism, -ear-ache, or tooth-ache. A little sharper -pain, and sleep becomes impossible. -The sufferer is not only deprived of the -respite that slumber should afford, but -insomnia itself enhances his sensibility, -besides adding a new and terrible torment -of its own. Artificial prevention -of sleep was notoriously among the most -cruel and the most certainly mortal of -mediæval or barbaric tortures. The -sensations of one who has not slept for -several nights, beginning with a restless, -unnatural, constantly increasing -consciousness of the brain, its existence -and its action, passing by degrees into -an acute, unendurably distressing irritation -of that organ—generally uncon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span>scious -or insensible, probably because -its habitual sensibility would be intolerable—are -indescribable, unimaginable -by those who have not felt them; and -seem to be proportionate to the activity -of the intellect, the susceptibility of -nerve and vitality of temperament—the -capacity for pain and pleasure. In a -word, the finer the physical and nervous -character, the more terrible the torment -of sleeplessness. A little more and the -patient is confronted with one of the -most frightful forms of pain and terror, -the consciousness of incipient insanity. -But long before reaching this stage, -sleeplessness exaggerates pain and weakens -the power of endurance, quickens -the sensibility of the nerves, enfeebles -the will, exacerbates the temper, produces -a physical and nervous irritability -which to an observer unacquainted with -the cause seems irrational, unaccountable, -extravagant, even frantic, but -which afflicts the patient incomparably -more than those, however near and however -sensitive, on whom it is vented. -Drugs, then, which enable the physician -in most cases to check insomnia at an -early stage—to secure, for example, in -a case of chronic pain, six or seven -hours of complete repose out of the -twenty-four, to arrest a mischief which -leads by the shortest and most painful -route directly to insanity—are simply -invaluable.</p> - -<p>It may seem a paradox, it is a truism, -to say that in their value lies their peril. -Because they have such power for good, -because the suffering they relieve is in -its lighter forms so common, because -neuralgia and sleeplessness are ailments -as familiar to the present generation as -gout, rheumatism, catarrh to our grandfathers, -therefore the medicines which -immediately relieve sleeplessness and -neuralgic pain are among the most dangerous -possessions, the most subtle temptations, -of civilized and especially of intellectual -life. Every one of these drugs -has, besides its immediate and beneficial -effect, other and injurious tendencies. -The relief which it gives is purchased at -a certain price; and in every instance -the relief is lessened or rendered uncertain, -the mischievous influence is enhanced -and aggravated by repetition; -till, when the use has become habitual, -it has become pure abuse, when the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> -drug has become a necessity of life it -has lost the greater part if not the whole -of its value, and serves only to satisfy -the need which itself alone has created. -Contrary to popular tradition, we believe -that of popular narcotics opium is on -the whole, if the most seductive, the -least injurious; chloral, which at first -passed for being almost harmless, is -probably the most noxious of all, having -both chemical and vital effects which -approach if they do not amount to -blood-poisoning. It is said (we do not -affirm with what truth) that the subsequent -administration of half a teaspoonful -of a common alkali operates -as an antidote to some of these specific -effects. The bromide of potash, another -favorite, especially with women, -is less, perhaps, a narcotic proper than -a sedative. It is said not to produce -sleep directly, like chloral or opium, -by stupefaction, but at least in small -doses simply to allay the nervous irritability -which is often the sole cause -of sleeplessness. But in larger quantities -and in its ultimate effects it is -scarcely less to be dreaded than chloral. -It has been recommended as a potent, -indeed a specific and the only specific, -remedy for sea-sickness. But the state -to which, as its advocate allows, the -patient must be reduced, a state of complete -nervous subjection to the power -of the drug, seems worse than the -disease, save in its most cruel and dangerous -forms. Such points, however, -may be left to the chemist, the physician, -or the physiologist; our purpose -is rather to indicate briefly the social -aspects of the subject, the social causes, -conditions, and consequences of that -narcotism which is, if not yet a prevalent, -certainly a rapidly-spreading habit.</p> - -<p>The desire or craving for stimulants -in the most general sense of the word—for -drugs acting upon the nerves whether -as excitant or sedative agents—is an -almost if not absolutely universal human -appetite; so general, so early -developed, that we might almost call -it an instinct. Alcohol, of course, is -the most popular, under ordinary circumstances -the most seductive, and by -far the most widely diffused of all stimulant -substances. From the Euphrates -to the Straits of Dover, the vine has -been from the earliest ages second only<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -to corn in popular estimation; wine, -next to bread, the most prized and most -universal article of human food. The -connection between <em>Ceres</em> and <em>Bacchus</em> -is found in almost every language as -in the social life of every nation, from -the warlike Assyrian monarchy, the -stable hierocratic despotism of Egypt, -to the modern French Republic and -German Empire. Corn itself has furnished -stimulant second in popularity -to wine alone; the spirit which delighted -the fiercer, sterner races of -Northern Europe—Swede, Norwegian, -and Dane, St. Olaf, and Harold Hardrada, -as their descendants of to-day; -and the ale of our own Saxon -and Scandinavian ancestry, which -neither spirit, cider, nor Spanish wine -has superseded among ourselves. The -vine, again, seems to have been native -to America; but the civilized or semi-civilized -races of the southern and central -part of the Western Continent had -other more popular and more peculiar -stimulants, also for the most part alcoholic. -The palm, again, has furnished to -African and Asiatic tribes a spirit not less -potent or less noxious, not less popular -and probably not less primitive, than -whiskey or beer. But where alcohol has -been unknown, among races to whose -habits and temperament it was alien, or -in climates where so powerful an excitant -produced effects too palpably alarming -to be tolerated by rulers or law-givers -royal or priestly, other and milder stimulants -or sedatives are found in equally -universal use. Till the white man introduced -among them his own destructive -beverages, till the “fire-water” -spread demoralization and disease, -tobacco was the favorite indulgence of -the Red Indian of North America, and -very probably of that mighty race which -preceded them and seems to have disappeared -before they came upon the scene—the -Mound-builders, whose gigantic -works bear testimony to the existence of -an agriculture scarcely less advanced or -less prolific, a despotism probably not -less absolute than that of Egypt. Coffee -has for ages been almost equally dear -to the Arabs; tea has been to China all -that wine is and was to Europe, probably -from a still earlier period, and -has taken hold on the Northern, as -coffee and tobacco upon the Southern,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -branches of the Tartar race. Opium, -or drugs resembling opium in character, -have been found as well suited to the -temper, as delightful to the taste, of the -quieter and more passive Oriental races -as wine to the Aryan and Semitic nations. -The Malays, the Vikings of the East -Indies, found in <em>bhang</em> a drug the most -exciting and maddening in its effects of -any known to civilized or uncivilized -man; a substitute for opium or haschisch -bearing much the same relation to those -sedatives as brandy or whiskey to the -light wines of Southern Europe.</p> - -<p>The craving, then, is not artificial -but natural; is not, as teetotalers fancy, -for alcohol alone or primarily, but for -some form of nervous excitement or -sedative <em>specially</em> suited to climate or -race. Tea, coffee, and tobacco, opium, -haschisch and bhang, <em>mata</em> and <em>tembe</em>, -are probably as old as wine, older -than beer, and take just as strong a -hold upon the national taste. The -desire testifies to a felt and almost -universal want; and the attempt to put -down a habit proved by universal and -immemorial practice to answer to a -need, real and absolute—or if artificial -easily created and permanent, if not -ineradicable, beyond any other artificial -craving or habit—seems doomed to -failure; the desire not being for this -or that stimulant, for wine or alcohol, -but for some agent that gives a special -satisfaction to the nerves, some stimulant, -sedative or astringent. The discouragement -of one form of indulgence, -especially if that discouragement be -artificial or forcible, not moral and -voluntary, can hardly have any other -result than to drive the votaries of -alcohol, for example, upon opium, or -those of opium upon some form of -alcohol. Tea, coffee, and tobacco have -done infinitely more than teetotal and -temperance preaching of every kind -to diminish the European consumption -of wine, beer, and spirits. Men and -even women never have been and never -will be content with water or milk, or -even with the unfermented juices of -fruits; to say nothing of the extreme -difficulty of preserving unfermented -juices in those warmer climates to which -they are best adapted.</p> - -<p>It seems, however, that the natural -craving, especially among women, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -men not subject to the fiercer excitements -of war, hunting, and open air -life in general, is not for the stronger -but for the milder stimulants. Ale -was the favorite beverage of England, -light wine of Southern Europe, till the -Saracen invasion, the crusades, and -finally the extension of commerce, -familiarised the Western Aryans with -the non-intoxicant stimulants of the -East, and the discovery of America -introduced tobacco. But the use of tea -and coffee is not less, we might say, is -more distinctly artificial than that of -beer or wine. The taste for tobacco, -as its confinement in so many countries -and to so great an extent to one sex -proves, is the most artificial of all.</p> - -<p>It is plain, both from the climates -and the character of the races among -whom the sedative drugs or slightly-stimulant -beverages have first and most -widely taken root, that the preference -for sedatives or gentle excitants is not -accidental, but to a large extent dependent -upon the temperament and habits -of races or nations. Alcohol suits the -higher, more energetic, active, militant -races; and the fiercer and more militant -the temper or habits, the stronger -the intoxicant employed. It is not improbable -that the first and strongest -incitement to the use of alcohol, as of -bhang, was the desire for that which a -very unfair and ungenerous national -taunt describes as Dutch courage. No -race, probably, except their nearest -kinsmen of England, was ever less dependent -on the artificial boldness produced -by stimulants than the stubborn -soldiers and seamen of Holland. The -beer-loving Teutons have never been, -like the wine-drinkers of France, Italy, -and Spain, a military, or even, like the -Scandinavians, a thoroughly martial -race. They will fight: none, Scandinavians, -Soudanese, and Turks perhaps -excepted, fight better or more -stubbornly. It may well be that the -adventurous, enterprising spirit of -Englishmen and Scotchmen, displayed -at sea rather than on land, and in -semi-pacific quite as much as in warlike -enterprise, is derived in large measure -from the strong Scandinavian element -in our national blood. The tea-drinking -Chinamen, the Oriental lovers of -haschisch and opium, have mostly been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -industrious rather than energetic, agricultural -or pastoral rather than predatory. -The coffee-drinking Arabs were -not, till the days of Mahomet, a -specially warlike race. Bandits or -guerillas they were perforce; like every -people which inhabits a country whose -mountains or deserts afford a safe refuge -to robbers but promise no reward to -peaceful industry. No race, no class -living in the open air, save in the -warmer climates, no people given to -energetic muscular labor or devoted to -war, would be prompt to abandon alcohol -in any of its forms for its milder -Oriental equivalents. Tea and coffee -were introduced at a time when manufactures -and in-door-life were gaining -ground in Western Europe and found -favor first, as is still the case, with the -indoor-living sex. It is still among -indoor workers that they are most in -vogue. But if, as seems likely, alcohol -was first adopted by the warriors of -savage or semi-savage races as an inspiring -or hardening force, it early lost -this character with the introduction of -strict military discipline on the one -hand or of chivalry on the other. Neither -the trained soldier of the phalanx -and the legion, nor the knight with -whom reckless but also intelligent courage -was a point of honor, could find -any help in intoxication, partial or total; -nay, he soon found that while the first -excitement of alcohol was fatal to discipline, -its subsequent effects were almost -as injurious to the persevering, steadfast -kind of courage in which he put his -pride. Wine or brandy, then, came to -be the indulgence of peace and triumph, -not of war; wassail followed on victory, -sobriety was necessary till the victory -was won. But still it has always been -on the sterner, fiercer, more energetic -races that alcohol, and especially the -stronger forms of alcohol, retained their -hold. It is to the passive, quiet, reflective -temperaments—national or individual, -peculiar to classes or to crafts—that -tea or coffee, opium or haschisch, -substances that calm rather than excite -the nerves, have always proved strongly -and often dangerously attractive.</p> - -<p>Now it may be urged with plausibility, -and perhaps with truth, that civilization -and intellectual culture, the exchange of -out-door for in-door life, the influences<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -that have rendered intelligence and dexterity -of more practical value than corporeal -strength, tend in some sense and -in some measure to Orientalize the most -advanced European races. We are not, -perhaps, less daring or less enterprising -than our fathers; but there is a large -and ever increasing class to which strenuous -physical exertion is neither habitual -nor agreeable. We are unquestionably -becoming sedentary; we work much -more with our brains, much less with -our muscles, than heretofore. With this -change has come a decided change of -feeling and tastes. We shrink from the -fierce excitement, the violent moral -stimulants that delighted ruder and less -sensitive races and generations. The -gladiatorial shows of Rome, the savage -sports and public punishments of the -Middle Ages, would be simply revolting -to the great majority of almost every -European nation of to-day; not primarily -because as thoughtful Christians we -deem them wicked, but because, instinctively, -as sensitive men and women -in whom imagination and sympathy are -strong, we shudder at them as brutal. -Prize-fights, bear-baiting, bull-fights -have become too rough, too coarse, but -above all too exciting; the hideous tragedies -of old have ceased to suit the taste -at least of our cultivated classes. In -one word, our nerves are far too sensitive -to crave for strong and violent excitement, -moral or physical; it is painful -rather than pleasurable. The sobriety -of the educated classes is due much -less to moral than to social causes. It -is not that strong wines and spirits are -so much more injurious to us than to -our grandsires, nor that we have learned -in fifty years to think intoxication sinful; -rather we have come to despise it, -and to dislike its means, because we -have ceased to feel or understand the -craving for such violent stimulation, because -not merely the reaction but the -excitement itself gives more pain than -pleasure.</p> - -<p>In the case of our American kinsmen -climate has very much to do with the matter. -A dry, keen, exhilarating air as well -as an intense nervous sensibility renders -powerful alcoholic stimulants unnecessary, -over-exciting, unpleasant as well -as injurious. Partly from temperament, -a temperament which in itself must be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -largely the result of climate, partly from -the direct influence of their drier, keener -atmosphere, American women feel no -need of alcohol; American men who do -indulge in it, rather as a relief from -brain excitement than as an excitant itself, -suffer far more than we do from the -indulgence. The number of drunkards -or hard-drinkers in the older States is, -we believe, very much smaller than in -England, even at the present day. But -the proportion of lunatics made by drink -seems to be much larger. In America -alone teetotalism has been the serious -object of social and legislative coercion. -The Maine Liquor Law failed; but it is -enforced in garrisons and colleges, -while in many States social feeling and -sectarian discipline forbid wine and -spirits to women and clergymen, and -habitual indulgence therein, however -moderate, is hardly compatible with a -high reputation for religious principle -or strict morality. But this case, like -that of the early Mahometans, is the -case of a people whose climate is unsuited -to alcohol; whose very atmosphere -is a stimulant.</p> - -<p>In a word, the craving of to-day, moral -and physical, especially among the cultivated -classes, among the brain-workers, -among those of the softer sex and of the -<i lang="la">fruges consumere nati</i>, who are almost -entirely relieved from physical labor, is -for mild prolonged stimulation, and for -stimulation which does not produce a -strong reaction; or else for sedatives -which will allay the sleepless excitement -produced by over-work, or yet oftener, -perhaps, by reckless pursuit of pleasure.</p> - -<p>It seems, then, not unnatural or improbable -that, as tea and coffee have so -largely taken the place of beer or light -wine as beverages, so narcotics should -take the place of stronger alcoholic -stimulants. That this has been the case -in certain quarters is well known to -physicians, and to most of those who -have that experience of life in virtue of -which it is said, “every man of forty -must be a physician or a fool.” Nay, -it is difficult to read the newspapers and -remain ignorant or doubtful of the fact. -We read weekly of men and women -poisoned by an over-dose of some favorite -sedative, burnt to death, or otherwise -fatally injured while insensible from -self-administered ether or chloroform.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -For one fatal case that finds its way into -the newspapers there are, of course, -twenty fatal in a different sense—fatal, -not to life, but to life’s use and happiness—that -are never known beyond the -family circle, into which they have introduced -unspeakable and often almost -unlimited sorrow and evil; unlimited, -for no one can be sure, few can reasonably -hope, that the mischief will be confined -to the individual victim of a dangerous -craving. That the children of -drunkards are often pre-disposed to insanity -is notorious; that the children of -habitual opium-eaters or narcotists inherit -an unmistakable taint, whether in -a diseased brain, in diseased cravings, -or simply in a will too weak to resist -temptation of any kind, is less notorious -but equally certain. Of these secondary -victims of chloral or opium there -are not as yet many; but many fathers -and mothers—fathers, perhaps, who for -the sake of wives and children have -overtaxed their brains till nothing but -either the rest which circumstances and -family claims forbid, or drugs, will give -them the sleep necessary to the continuance -of their work; mothers, too commonly, -who begin by neglecting their -children in the pursuit of pleasure, to -end by poisoning their unborn offspring -in the struggle to escape the consequences -of that pursuit—are preparing -untold misery and mischief for a future -generation. Happily, narcotism is not -the temptation of the young or energetic. -It is later in life, when the effect of -years of brain excitement of whatever -nature begins to tell, and generally after -the period in which the greater number -of children are born, that men and -women give way to this peculiar temptation -of the present age.</p> - -<p>The immediate danger to themselves -is sufficiently alarming, if only it were -ever realized in time. The narcotist -keeps chloroform or chloral always at -hand, forgetful or ignorant that one sure -effect of the first dose is to produce a -semi-stupor more dangerous than actual -somnolence. In that semi-stupor the -patient is aware, or fancies that the dose -has failed. The pain that has induced -a lady to hold a chloroformed handkerchief -under her nostrils returns while her -will and her judgment are half paralysed. -She takes the bottle from the table be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span>side -her bed, intending to pour an additional -supply on the handkerchief. The -unsteady hand perhaps spills a quantity -on the sheet, perhaps sinks with the unstoppered -bottle under her nostrils; and -in a few moments she has inhaled -enough utterly to stupefy if not to kill. -The vapor, moreover, is inflammable; -perhaps it catches the candle by her -side; and she is burnt to death while -powerless to move. The sleepless brain-worker -also feels that his usual dose of -chloral has failed to bring sleep; he is -not aware how completely it has stupefied -the brain, to which it has not given -rest. His judgment is gone, so is his -steadiness of hand; and, whether intentionally -or not, at any rate unconsciously, -so far as reasoning and judgment are -concerned, he pours out a second and -too often a fatal dose. Any one who -knows how great is the stupefying power -of these drugs, how often they produce -a sort of moral coma without paralysing -the lower functions of animal or even of -mental life, would, one might suppose, -at least take care to be in bed before -the drug takes effect, and if possible to -put it out of reach till next morning. -But experience shows how seldom even -this obvious and essential precaution is -taken.</p> - -<p>The cases that end in a death terrible -to the family, but probably involving -little or no suffering to the victim himself, -are by no means the worst. A life -poisoned, paralysed, rendered worthless -for all the uses of intellectual, rational, -we might almost say of human existence, -is worse for the sufferer himself and for -all around him than a quick and painless -death; and for one such death -there must be twenty if not a hundred -instances of this worst death in life. In -nine cases out of ten, probably, the narcotist -has been entangled almost insensibly, -but incurably, without intention -and almost without consciousness of -danger. With alcohol this could hardly -be the case. No woman, at any rate, -could reach the point at which secret -indulgence in wine or spirits became a -habit and a necessity without warnings, -evidences of excess palpable to herself -if not to others, that should have terrified -and shamed her into self-control, -while self-control was yet possible. The -hold that opium and other narcotics ac<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span>quire -is at once swifter, more gradual, -less revolting and incomparably stronger -than that of alcohol. The first indulgence -is in some sense legitimate; is -almost enforced, either by acute pain or -by chronic insomnia. The latter is perhaps -the more dangerous. The pain, if -it last for weeks, forces recourse to the -doctor before the habit has become incurable. -Sleeplessness is a more persistent, -and to most people a much less -alarming thing; and it is moreover one -with which the doctors can seldom deal -save through the very agents of mischief. -Neuralgia, relieved for a time by -chloroform or morphia, may be cured -by quinine; sleeplessness admits of -hardly any cure but such complete -change of life as is rarely possible, at -least to its working victims. And the -narcotist habit once formed, neither pain -nor sleeplessness is all that its renunciation -would involve. The drunkard, it -must be remembered, gets drunk, as a -rule, but occasionally. Save in the last -stages of dipsomania, he can do, if not -without drink, yet without intoxicating -quantities of drink, for days together. -The narcotist who attempts to go for a -whole day without his accustomed dose, -suffers in twenty-four hours far more -cruelly than the drunkard deprived of -alcohol in as many days. The effect -upon the stomach and other organs, -upon the nerves as well as on the brain, -is one of indescribable, unspeakable discomfort -amounting to torture; a disorder -of the digestive system more trying -than sea-sickness, a disorganization -of the nerves which after some hours of -unspeakable misery culminates in convulsive -twitchings, in mental and physical -distress, simply indescribable to -those who have not felt it. Where attempts -have been made forcibly and -suddenly to withhold the accustomed -sedative, they have not unfrequently -ended within a few days in madness or -death. In other cases the victim has -sought and obtained relief by efforts -and through hardships which, in his or -her best days, would have seemed impossible -or unendurable. One woman -thus restrained escaped in a <i lang="fr">déshabille</i> -from her bed-room on a winter night of -Arctic severity; ran for miles through -the snow, and was fortunate enough to -find a chemist who knew something of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -the fearful effect of such privation, and -had the sense and courage to give in -adequate quantity the poison that had -now become the first necessary of life. -In a word, narcotics, one and all, are, -to those who have once fallen under -their power, tyrants whose hold can -hardly ever be shaken off, which punish -rebellion with the rack, and with all -those devices of torture which mediæval -and ecclesiastical cruelty found even -more terrible than the rack itself; while -the most absolute submission is rewarded -with sufferings only less unendurable -than the punishment of revolt. De -Quincey’s dreams under the influence of -opium were to the tortures of resistance -what the highest circle of purgatory may -be to the lowest pit of the Inferno. But -any reader who knows what nightmare -is would think such tortures of the imagination, -so vividly realized by a consciousness -apparently intensified rather -than impaired by slumber, a sufficient -penalty for almost any human sin.</p> - -<p>Chloral, bromide of potash, chloroform, -henbane, and their various combinations -and substitutes are, however, -by their very natures medicines and no -more. They are taken in the first instance -as such; at worst as medicinal -equivalents for a quantity of alcohol -which women are afraid to take or unable -to obtain, much more commonly as -medicines originally useful, mischievous -only because the system has been accustomed -to depend on and cannot dispense -with them. Their effects at best are -negatively, not actively, pleasurable. -They relieve pain or insomnia, or the -craving which they themselves have created; -but their victims would, if they -could, gladly be released from their -tyranny. Their character, moreover, is -if not immediately yet very rapidly perceptible. -Very few can have used them -for six months without becoming more -or less alarmed by the consequences. -The minority, for whom they are mere -substitutes for alcohol, resort to them -only when the system has already been -poisoned, the habits incurably vitiated. -With opium the case is different. In -those which may be called its native -countries, it is not a medicine but a -stimulant or sedative, used for the most -part in much greater moderation but in -the same manner as wine or spirits<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -among ourselves; as an indulgence -pleasurable and innocent, if not actually -desirable in itself. It suits the climates -and temperaments to which the heating, -exciting influence of alcohol is -wholly unsuitable. It is, moreover, incompatible -with the free use of the latter, -a thing which may be said in some -sense of most narcotics. Taken up by -persons not yet addicted to intemperance, -chloral and similar drugs operate -to discourage the use, or at least the -free use, of wine or spirits by intensifying -their effect to a serious and generally -an unpleasant degree. But it does not -appear that they act, like opium, to indispose -the system for alcohol. To the -opium-eater, as a rule, the exciting stimulus -of alcohol, counteracting the quiet, -dreamy influence of his favorite drug, is -decidedly obnoxious; the action of -chloral much more resembles that of the -more stupefying and powerful spirits. -A drunkard desirous to abandon his -favorite vice, and reckless or incredulous -of the possibility that the remedy may -be worse than the disease, would probably -find in opium the most powerful -and effectual assistance and support to -which he could have recourse. It has -moreover a strong tendency to diminish -the appetite for food, so much so that -both in the East and in Europe severe -privation tends to encourage and diffuse -its use.</p> - -<p>Its peculiar danger, however, lies in -the nature of the pleasure, and the remoteness -of the pain and mischief which -attend its use. Its effect on different -constitutions and at different periods of -life is exceedingly different. As De -Quincey remarks, it is not essentially -and primarily narcotic. It does not -necessarily, immediately, or always produce -sleep. Some fortunate temperaments -reject it in all forms whatever. -With these it produces immediate or -speedy nausea, and consequent repugnance. -But its most universal effect is -the diffusion of comfort, quiet, calm, -conscious repose, a general sensation of -physical and mental ease throughout the -system; not followed necessarily or generally -by acute reaction, or even by depression. -De Quincey’s earlier experience -accords with that of most of those -to whom opium is in some sense suited, -to whom alone it is likely to become a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -dangerous temptation. Used once in a -fortnight, or even once a week, it gives -several hours of placid enjoyment, and -if taken with some mild aperient and -followed next morning by a cup of -strong coffee, it generally gives a quiet -night’s rest, entailing no further penalty -than a certain not unpleasant lassitude -on the morrow. A working-man, for -instance, might take it every Saturday -night for twenty years without other -effect than a decided aversion to the -public-house on Sunday, if he could but -resist the temptation to take it oftener. -Again, till it loses its power by constant -use it is in many cases the surest and -pleasantest of all anæsthetics; it relieves -all neuralgic pains, tooth-ache and ear-ache -for example, and puts, especially -in combination with brandy, a quick -and sure if by no means a wholesome -check on the milder forms of diarrhœa.</p> - -<p>In this connection one danger peculiar -to itself deserves especial notice. Other -narcotics are seldom given or sold save -under their own names; and if administered -in combination, in quack medicine -or unexplained prescriptions, their effect -betrays itself. Opium forms the basis -of innumerable remedies and very effective -remedies, sold under titles altogether -reassuring and misleading. Nearly -all soothing-syrups and powders for -example—“mother’s blessings” and infant’s -curses—are really opiates. These -are known or suspected by most well-informed -people. What is less generally -known is that nine in ten of the popular -remedies for catarrh, bronchitis, cough, -cold and asthma are also opiates. So -powerful indeed is the effect of opium -upon the lining membrane of the lungs -and air passages, so difficult is it to find -an effective substitute, that the efficacy, -at least the certain and rapid efficacy, -of any specific remedy for cold whose -exact nature is not known affords strong -ground for suspecting the presence of -opium. Many chemists are culpably, -almost criminally, reckless; and not a -few culpably ignorant in this matter. -An experienced man bought from a -fashionable West-end shop a box of -cough lozenges, pleasant to the taste -and relieving a severe cough with wonderful -rapidity. Familiar with the influence -of opium on the stomach and -spirits, he was sure before he had suck<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span>ed -half-a-dozen of the lozenges that he -had taken a dose powerful enough to affect -his accustomed system, and strong -enough to poison a child, and do serious -harm to a sensitive adult. Yet the lozenges -were sold without warning or -indication of their character; few people -would have taken any special precaution -to keep them out of the way of -children, and the box, falling into the -hands of a heedless or disobedient child, -might have poisoned a whole nursery.</p> - -<p>Another personal experience may -serve to dispel the popular delusion that -opium is necessarily or generally a -stupefying agent. A mismanaged minor -operation exposed two sensitive nerves, -producing an intolerable hyperæsthesia -and a nervous terror which rendered -surgical relief for the time impossible, -and endurance utterly beyond human -power. For a fortnight or more the -patient was never free from agony save -when the nerves of sensation were -practically paralysed by opium. During -that fortnight he took up for the -first time, and thoroughly mastered, as -a college examination shortly afterwards -proved, Mill’s <cite>Principles of Political -Economy</cite>, a work not merely taxing to -the uttermost the natural faculties of -nineteen, but demanding beyond any -other steady persistent coherence and -lucidity of thought. The patient -affirmed that never had his mind been -clearer, his power of concentration -greater, his receptive faculties more -perfect or his memory more tenacious. -That the drug had in no wise impaired -the intellectual, however it might have -quelled the muscular or nervous energies, -seems obvious. Yet at that time -the patient was ignorant of the two -antidotes above mentioned; and neither -coffee nor aperient medicine qualified -or mitigated the influence of the opiates; -an influence strong enough to quell -for some twenty-two hours out of the -twenty-four an acute and terrible nervous -torture.</p> - -<p>After the use of a fortnight or a -month—especially when used legitimately -to relieve pain and not to procure -pleasure—the entire abandonment of -opium may be easily accomplished in -the course of two or three days. The -pain or the disease it is used to overcome -carries off, so to speak, or diverts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span> -in great measure the injurious influence -of the drug; as a person suffering from -diarrhœa, snakebite, or other cause of -intense lowering of physical and nervous -power, may take with impunity a dose -of brandy which in health would certainly -intoxicate him. But after six -months’ or a year’s daily use or abuse, -only the strongest and sternest resolution -can overcome or shake off the -tyranny of opium, and then only at a -price of suffering and misery, of physical -and mental torture such as only -those who have known it can conceive.</p> - -<p>It would be as foolish to depreciate -the value as to underrate the danger of -this, the most powerful and in many -respects the safest of anæsthetics. -Nothing else can do what opium can -to relieve chronic, persistent, incurable -nervous pain, to give sleep when sleeplessness -is produced by suffering. The -more potent anæsthetics, like chloroform, -are applicable only to brief intense -tortures, whose period can be foreseen -or determined—to produce insensibility -during an operation, or to mitigate the -pangs of child-birth. Opium can relieve -incurable chronic pain that would otherwise -render life intolerable, and perhaps -drive the sufferer to suicide; and this, -if moderation be observed, and the -necessary correctives employed, without -impairing, as other narcotics would, the -intellectual faculties. It is, moreover, -as aforesaid, the quickest and surest -cure for bronchial affections of every -kind, and might not impossibly, as De -Quincey thought, if used in time and -with sufficient decision, prolong a life -otherwise doomed, if it could not -actually cure phthisis or consumption -after the formation of tubercle has once -begun. But its legitimate use is limited -to three cases. It can relieve temporary -neuralgic pain when cure would be slow, -or while awaiting a curative operation. -One peculiarity of neuralgic pain is its -tendency to perpetuate itself. The -nerves continue to thrill and throb because -worn out by pain. Give them, -through whatever agency, a brief period -of rest, and it may well happen that, the -temporary cause removed, the pain will -not return. Secondly, opium is the one -anæsthetic agency available to mitigate -incurable and intolerable suffering. Not -only can it render endurable a life that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -must otherwise be one continuous torture, -till torture hastens death; but it -may in many cases render that life serviceable -as well as endurable. De -Quincey gives the instance of a surgeon, -suffering under incurable disease of an -intolerably painful kind, who owed the -power of steady professional work for -more than twenty years to the constant -use of opium in enormous quantities. -Finally, when a working life draws near -its natural close, when old age is harassed -by the nervous consequences of protracted -over-work or over-strain such -as is often almost inseparable from the -anxieties of business—the severe taxation -of the mental powers by professional -or literary labor—opium, given -habitually in small quantities and under -careful medical direction, often does -what wine effects with less certainty -and safety; gives rest and repose, calms -an irritability of nerve and temper more -trying to the patient himself than to -those around him, and renders the last -decade of a useful and honorable life -much more comfortable, and no wit less -useful or honorable, than it might otherwise -have been.</p> - -<p>But except as a relief in incurable -disease, or in that most incurable of all -diseases, old age, the continual or prolonged -use of opium is always dangerous -and nearly always fatal. It -impairs the will; not infrequently -it exercises a directly, visibly, unmistakably -deteriorating influence upon the -moral nature. There is nothing strange -in this to those who know how an accidental -injury to the skull may impair -or pervert the moral no less than the -intellectual powers. That moral is -hardly a less common or less distinctive -disease than mental insanity, that the -conscience as well as the intellect of -the drunkard is distorted and weakened, -no physiologist doubts. Opium has a -similar power, but exerts it with characteristic -slowness of action. The demoralization -of the narcotist is not, like -that of the drunkard, rapid, violent, and -palpable; but gradual, insidious, perceptible -only to close observers or near -and intimate friends. In nine cases out -of ten, moreover, opium ultimately and -certainly poisons the whole vital system. -The patient loses physical and mental -energy, courage, and enterprise; shrinks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span> -from exertion of every kind, dreads the -labor of a walk, the trouble of writing -a letter, dreads still more intensely any -effort that calls for moral courage, flinches -from a scene, a quarrel, a social or -domestic conflict, becomes at last selfish, -shameless, weak, useless, miserable to -the last degree.</p> - -<p>But this, like every other effect of -opium, is in some measure uncertain; -and hence arises one of its subtlest dangers. -De Quincey would seem to have -been less susceptible than most men -to the worst influences of his favorite -drug, seeing what work, excellent in -quality as well as considerable in quantity -he achieved after he had become a -confirmed opium-eater. It took, no -doubt, a tenfold greater amount of -opium to reduce him to intellectual impotence -than would suffice to destroy -the minds of nine brain-workers in ten. -But his own story clearly reveals how -completely the enormous doses to which -he had recourse at last overpowered -a mind exceptionally energetic, and a -temperament exceptionally capable of -assimilating, perhaps, rather than resisting -the power of opium. Here and -there we find a constitution upon which -it exerts few or none of its characteristic -effects. As a few cannot take it at all, -so a few can take it with apparent impunity. -With them it will relieve pain -and will not paralyse the nerves, will -quell excitement without affecting mental -energy; nay, while leaving physical -activity little more impaired than age -and temperament alone might have impaired -it. Here and there we may find -a confirmed opium-eater capable of -taking and enjoying active exercise—a -fairly fearless rider, a lover of nature -tempted by taste, or it may be by restlessness, -to walks beyond his muscular -strength; with vivid imagination well -under his own control; in whom even -the will seems but little weakened, whose -dread of pain and flinching from danger -are not more marked after twenty years -spent under the influence of opium than -when they first drove him to its use. -Such cases are, of course, wholly exceptional; -but their very existence is a -danger to others, misleads them into -the idea that they may dally with the -tempter, may profit by its pleasure-giving -and pain-quelling powers without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -falling under its yoke, or may fall -under that yoke and find it a light one. -I doubt, however, whether the most fortunate -of its victims would encourage -the latter idea; whether there be any -opium-eater who would not give a limb -never to have known what opium can -do to spare suffering, to give strength -for protracted exertion, if he had never -known what slavery to its influence -means.</p> - -<p>Dread of pain, dislike of excitement -and worry, impatience of suffering and -discomfort, of irritation, and sleeplessness, -are all strong and increasingly-marked -characteristics of our highly artificial -life and perhaps almost overstrained -civilization. Nature knows no -influence that can relieve worry, mitigate -pain, charm away restlessness, discomfort, -and even sleeplessness, as opium -can. Alcohol is at once too stupefying -and too exciting for the tastes and -temperaments that belong to cultivated -natures and highly-developed brains. -Beer suits the sluggish laborer, or the -energetic navvy when his work is done, -and his system, like that of a Scandinavian -Viking or Scythian warrior in his -hours of repose, craves first exhilaration -and then stupid, thoughtless contentment. -Wine suits less active and more -passionate races, to whom excitement is -an unmixed pleasure; brandy those who -crave for stronger excitement to stimulate -less susceptible nerves. But the -physical stimulants of our fathers and -grandfathers, as the moral excitements -of remoter times, are far too violent for -our generation. Champagne has succeeded -port and sherry as the favorite -wine of those who can afford it, being -the lightest of all; and time was, not so -long ago, when medical men were accused -of recommending champagne with -somewhat careless facility to those whose -nerves, worn out by unhealthy pursuit -of pleasure, by unnatural hours and unwholesome -excitement, might have been -effectually though more gradually restored -by a change which to most of -them at least was possible; by life in -the country rather than in London, by -the fresh air of the early morning instead -of that of midnight in over-heated -gas-lighted rooms and a poisoned atmosphere. -There is a danger lest, as even -champagne has proved too much of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -stimulant and too little of a sedative, -narcotics should take its place. The -doctors will hardly recommend opium, -but their patients, obliged for one reason -or another to forego wine, might be -driven upon it.</p> - -<p>As aforesaid, the craving for stimulation -or tranquillization of the brain—in -one word, for that whole class of nerve-agents -to which tea, opium, and brandy -alike belong—is so universal, has so -prevailed in all ages, races and climates, -that it must be considered, if not originally -natural, yet as by this time an ingrained, -all but ineradicable, human appetite. -To baffle such an appetite by -any coercive means, by domestic, social -or legislative penalties, has ever proved -impossible. Deprive it of its gratification -in one form, and it is impelled or -forced to find a substitute; and finds it, -as all strong human cravings have ever -found some kind of satisfaction. And -here lies one of the worst, most certain -and yet least considered dangers of the -legislation eagerly demanded by a constantly -increasing party. Maine liquor -laws, prohibition, local option, every -measure that threatens to deprive of -their favorite stimulant those who are -not willing or have not the resolve to -abandon it, would probably fail in their -primary object. If they succeeded in -that, they would, in a majority of instances, -force the drinker, not to be -content with water or even with tea, but -to find a subtler substitute of lesser -bulk, more easily obtained and concealed. -Opium is the most obvious, -and, among sedatives powerful enough -to be substituted for wine or spirits, the -least mischievous resource. And opium, -once adopted as a substitute for alcohol, -would take hold with far greater tenacity, -and its use would spread with terrible -rapidity, because its evil influence is -so subtle, so slowly perceptible; and -because, if used in moderation and with -fitting precautions, its worst effects may -not be felt for many years; because -women could use it without detection, -and men without alarm or discredit. -This peril is one of which wiser men -than Sir Wilfrid Lawson will not make -light, but which too many comparatively -rational advocates of total abstinence -seem to have totally overlooked. Without -underrating the frightful evils of in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span>toxication, -its baneful influence upon -the individual, upon large classes, and -upon the country as a whole, no one -who knows them both can doubt that -narcotism is the more dangerous and -more destructive habit. The opiatist -will not brawl in the street, will not -beat his wife or maltreat his children; -but he is rendered as a rule, even more -rapidly and certainly than the drunkard, -a useless member of society, a worthless -citizen, an indifferent husband, helpless -as the bread-winner, impotent as the -master and ruler of a household. And -opium, to the same temperaments and -to many others, is quite as seductive as -alcohol; far more poisonous, and incomparably -more difficult to shake off -when once its tyranny has been established. -To forbid it, as some have proposed -to forbid the sale or manufacture -of beer, wine, and spirits, is impossible; -to exclude it from the country is out of -the question; its legitimate uses are too -important, and no restrictions whatever -can put it out of the reach of those who -desire it. Silks, spirits, tobacco were -smuggled as long as it paid to smuggle -them; opium, an article of incomparably -less bulk and incomparably greater -value, would bring still larger profit to -the importer; while the customer would -not merely be attracted by cheapness or -fashion, but impelled by the most imperious -and irresistible of acquired cravings. -Any man could smuggle through -any barriers enough to satisfy his appetite -for a year, enough to poison a whole -battalion. That opium can become -the favorite indulgence with numerous -classes, and apparently with a whole -people, the experience of more than one -Eastern nation clearly shows. As the -Oriental tea and coffee have to so large -an extent superseded beer as the daily -drink of men as well as women and children, -so opium is calculated under -favoring circumstances to replace wine -and spirits as a stimulant. It might -well do so even while the competition -was open. Every penalty placed on the -use of wine or brandy is a premium on -that of opium.</p> - -<p>De Quincey is not the only opium-eater -who has given his experience to -the world. It is evident that the practice -is spreading in America, and the -records published by its victims are as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -terrible as the worst descriptions of the -drunkard’s misery or even as the horrors -of <i lang="la">delirium tremens</i>. It is noteworthy, -however, how little any of these seem to -know of other experiences than their -own—for instance, of the numerous -forms and methods in which the drug -can be and is administered. Opium—the -solidified juice of the poppy—is the -natural product from which laudanum, -the spirituous tincture of opium, and all -the various forms of morphia, which -may be called the chemical extract, the -essential principle of opium, are obtained. -Morphia, again, is sold by -chemists and exhibited by doctors in -many forms, the principal of which are -the acetate, the sulphate and the muriate -of morphia—the substance itself combined -with acetic, sulphuric, or hydrochloric -acid. Of these last the muriate -is, we believe, the safest, the acetate and -in a lesser degree the sulphate having -more of the pleasurable, sedative, seductive -influence of opium in proportion to -their pain-quelling power. They act, -in some way, more powerfully upon the -spirits while exerting the same anæsthetic -influence, and the injurious effects of -each dose are more marked and less -easily counteracted. Laudanum, containing -proof spirit as well as morphine, -and through the proof spirit diffusing -the narcotic influence more rapidly and -affecting the brain more quickly and -decidedly, is perhaps the worst vehicle -through which the essential drug can be -taken. Again, morphine, in its liquid -forms can be injected under the skin; as -solid opium it can be smoked or eaten, -as morphia it can be swallowed or injected. -Of all modes of administration—speaking, -of course, of the self-administered -abuse, not of the strict medical -use of the drug—subcutaneous injection -is the worst. It acts the most speedily -and apparently the most pleasurably; it -passes off the most rapidly, and tempts,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -therefore the most frequent, re-application. -Apart, moreover, from the poisonous -influence itself, this mode of application -has injurious effects of its own; -produces callosities and sores of a painful -and revolting character. Smoking -seems to be the most stupefying manner -in which solid opium can be consumed, -the one which acts most powerfully and -injuriously upon the brain. But opium-smoking -is hardly likely to take a strong -hold on English or European taste. A -piece of opium no larger than a pea, -chopped up and mixed with a large -bowlful of tobacco, produces on the -veteran tobacco-smoker a nauseating -effect powerfully recalling that of the -first pipe of his boyhood; while its flavor -is incomparably more disagreeable -to the palate accustomed to the best -havanas or the worst shag or bird’s-eye -than these were to the unvitiated taste. -It is probable that the Englishman who -makes his first acquaintance with opium -in this form will be revolted rather than -tempted, unless indeed the pipe be used -to relieve a pain so intolerable that the -nauseousness of the remedy is disregarded. -Morphia in all its forms, liquid or -solid, has a thoroughly unpleasant bitterness, -but neither the nauseous taste -of the pipe nor the intensely disgusting -flavor of laudanum, a flavor so revolting -to the unaccustomed palate that only -when largely diluted by water can it -possibly be swallowed. On the whole, -the muriate, dissolved in a quantity of -water large enough to render each drop -the equivalent of a drop of laudanum, is -probably the safest, and should be swallowed -rather than injected. But rather -than swallow even this, a wise man, unless -more confident in his own constancy -and self-command than wise men are -wont to be, had better endure any temporary -pain that nature may inflict or -any remedial operation that surgery can -offer.—<cite>Contemporary Review.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="FOLK-LORE_FOR_SWEETHEARTS" id="FOLK-LORE_FOR_SWEETHEARTS">FOLK-LORE FOR SWEETHEARTS.</a><br /> - -<small>BY REV. M. G. WATKINS, M.A.</small></h2> - - -<p>As marriage and death are the chief -events in human life, an enormous mass -of popular beliefs has in all nations -crystallised round them. Perhaps the -sterner and more gloomy character of -Kelts, Saxons, and Northmen generally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -found vent in the greater prominence -they have given to omens of death, second-sight, -ghosts, and the like; whereas -the lighter and sunnier disposition of -Southern Europe has delighted more in -love-spells, methods of divining a future -partner, the whole pomp and circumstance -attending Venus and her doves. -The writhing of the wryneck so graphically -portrayed in Theocritus, or the -spells of the lover in his Latin imitator, -with their refrain—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnim,<a id="FNanchor_4_4" href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">4</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>may thus be profitably compared with -the darker superstitions of St. Mark’s -Eve, the Baal fires, and compacts with -the evil one, which so constantly recur -throughout the Northern mythologies. -But there are times and festivities when -the serious Northern temperament relaxes; -and any one who has the least -acquaintance with the wealth of folk-lore -which recent years have shown the -natives of Great Britain that they possess, -well knows that the times of courtship -and marriage are two occasions -when this lighter vein of our composite -nature is conspicuous. The collection -of these old-world beliefs amongst our -peasantry did not begin a moment too -soon. Day by day the remnants of them -are fast fading from the national memory. -The disenchanting wand of the -modern schoolmaster, the rationalistic -influences of the press, the Procrustes-like -system of standards in our parish -schools—these act like the breath of -morn or the crowing of a cock upon -ghosts, and at once put charms, spells, -and the like to flight. Before the nation -assumes the sober hues of pure reason -and unpitying logic, in lieu of the picturesque -scraps of folk-lore and old-wifish -beliefs in which imagination was -wont to clothe it, no office can be more -grateful to posterity than for enthusiastic -inquirers to search out and put on -record these notes of fairy music which -our villagers used to listen to with such -content. By way of giving a sample of -their linked sweetnesses long drawn out -through so many generations of country -dwellers—of which the echoes still -vibrate, especially in the north and west<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span> -of the country—it is our purpose to -quote something of the legendary lore -connected with love and marriage. This -must interest everybody. Even the most -determined old bachelor probably fell -once, at least, in love to enable him to -discover the hollowness of the passion; -and as for the other sex, they may very -conveniently, if illogically, be classed -here as they used to be at the Oxford -Commemoration, the married, the unmarried, -and those who wish to be married. -Some of these spells and charms -possess associations for each of these -divisions, and we are consequently sure -of the suffrages of the fair sex.</p> - -<p>Folk-lore, like Venus herself, has indeed -specially flung her cestus over “the -palmer in love’s eye.” She has more -charms to soothe his melancholy than -were ever prescribed by Burton. She -is not above dabbling in spells and the -unholy mysteries of the black art to inform -him who shall be his partner for -life. When sleep at length seals his -eyes, she waits at his bedside next morning -to tell him the meaning of his dreams. -And most certainly the weaker sex has -not been forgotten by folk-lore, which, -in proportion to their easier powers of -belief, provides them with infinite store -of solace and prediction. Milkmaids, -country lasses, and secluded dwellers in -whitewashed farm or thick-walled ancestral -grange are her particular charge. -The Juliets and Amandas of higher rank -already possess enough nurses, confidantes, -and bosom friends, to say nothing -of the poets and novelists. Perhaps -it would be well for them if they never -resorted to more dangerous mentors -than do their rustic sisters when they -listen to old wives’ wisdom at the chimney -corner. Yet an exception must be -made in favor of some lovers of rank, -when we recall the ludicrously simple -wooing of Mr. Carteret and Lady -Jemima Montagu, and how mightily -they were indebted to the good offices -of the more skilled Samuel Pepys, who -literally taught them when they ought -to take each other’s hand, “make these -and these compliments,” and the like; -“he being the most awkerd man I ever -met with in my life as to that business,” -as the garrulous diarist adds. For ourselves, -we do not profess to be love -casuists, and the profusion of receipts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span> -which the subject possesses is so remarkable -that we shall be unable to preserve -much order in our prescriptions. Like -those little books which possess wisdom -for all who look within them, we can -only promise our readers a peep into a -budget fresh from fairy-land, and each -may select what spell he or she chooses. -Autolycus himself did not open a pack -stuffed with greater attractions for his -customers, especially for the fair sex.</p> - -<p>Nothing is easier than to dream of a -sweetheart. Only put a piece of wedding-cake -under your pillow, and your -wish will be gratified. If you are in -doubt between two or three lovers, which -you should choose, let a friend write -their names on the paper in which the -cake is wrapped, sleep on it yourself as -before for three consecutive nights, and -if you should then happen to dream of -one of the names therein written, you -are certain to marry him.<a id="FNanchor_5_5" href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">5</a> In Hull, -folk-lore somewhat varies the receipt. -Take the blade-bone of a rabbit, stick -nine pins in it, and then put it under -your pillow, when you will be sure to -see the object of your affections. At -Burnley, during a marriage-feast, a wedding-ring -is put into the posset, and -after serving it out the unmarried person -whose cup contains the ring will be the -first of the company to be married. -Sometimes, too, a cake is made into -which a wedding-ring and a sixpence -are put. When the company are about -to retire, the cake is broken and distributed -among the unmarried ladies. She -who finds the ring in her portion of cake -will shortly be married, but she who gets -the sixpence will infallibly die an old -maid.</p> - -<p>Perhaps your affections are still disengaged, -but you wish to bestow them on -one who will return like for like. In -this case there are plenty of wishing-chairs, -wishing-gates, and so forth, scattered -through the country. A wish -breathed near them, and kept secret, -will sooner or later have its fulfilment. -But there is no need to travel to the -Lake country or to Finchale Priory, near -Durham (where is a wishing-chair); if -you see a piece of old iron or a horseshoe -on your path, take it up, spit on -it, and throw it over your left shoulder,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> -framing a wish at the same time. Keep -this wish a secret, and it will come to -pass in due time. If you meet a piebald -horse, nothing can be more lucky; utter -your wish, and whatever it may be you -will have it before the week be out. In -Cleveland, the following method of divining -whether a girl will be married or -not is resorted to. Take a tumbler of -water from a stream which runs southward; -borrow the wedding-ring of some -gudewife and suspend it by a hair of -your head over the glass of water, holding -the hair between the finger and -thumb. If the ring hit against the side -of the glass, the holder will die an old -maid; if it turn quickly round, she will -be married once; if slowly, twice. -Should the ring strike the side of the -glass more than three times after the -holder has pronounced the name of her -lover, there will be a lengthy courtship -and nothing more; “she will be courted -to dead,” as they say in Lincolnshire; -if less frequently, the affair will -be broken off, and if there is no striking -at all it will never come on.<a id="FNanchor_6_6" href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> Or if you -look at the first new moon of the year -through a silk handkerchief which has -never been washed, as many moons as -you see through it (the threads multiplying -the vision), so many years must pass -before your marriage. Would you ascertain -the color of your future husband’s -hair? Follow the practice of the -German girls. Between the hours of -eleven and twelve at night on St. Andrew’s -Eve a maiden must stand at the -house door, take hold of the latch, and -say three times, “Gentle love, if thou -lovest me, show thyself,” She must -then open the door quickly, and make a -rapid grasp through it into the darkness, -when she will find in her hand a lock of -her future husband’s hair. The “Universal -Fortune-teller” prescribes a still -more fearsome receipt for obtaining an -actual sight of him. The girl must take -a willow branch in her left hand, and, -without being observed, slip out of the -house and run three times round it, -whispering the while, “He that is to be -my goodman, come and grip the end of -it.” During the third circuit the like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span>ness -of the future husband will appear -and grasp the other end of the wand. -Would any one conciliate a lover’s affections? -There is a charm of much simplicity, -and yet of such potency that it -will even reconcile man and wife. Inside -a frog is a certain crooked bone, -which when cleaned and dried over the -fire on St. John’s Eve, and then ground -fine and given in food to the lover, will -at once win his love for the administerer.<a id="FNanchor_7_7" href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> -A timely hint may here be -given to any one going courting: be -sure when leaving home to spit in your -right shoe would you speed in your wooing. -If you accidentally put on your -left stocking, too, inside out, nothing -but good luck can ensue.</p> - -<p>Among natural objects, the folk lore -of the north invariably assigns a speedy -marriage to the sight of three magpies -together. If a cricket sings on the -hearth, it portends that riches will fall -to the hearer’s lot. Catch a ladybird, -and suffer it to fly out of your hands -while repeating the following couplet—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Fly away east, or fly away west,</div> - <div class="verse">But show me where lies the one I like best,</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and its flight will furnish some clue to -the direction in which your sweetheart -lies. Should a red rose bloom early in -the garden, it is a sure token of an early -marriage. In Scotch folk-lore the rose -possesses much virtue. If a girl has -several lovers, and wishes to know which -of them will be her husband, she takes -a rose-leaf for each of them, and naming -each leaf after the name of one of -her lovers, watches them float down a -stream till one after another they sink, -when the last to disappear will be her -future husband.<a id="FNanchor_8_8" href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> A four-leaved clover -will preserve her from any deceit on his -part, should she be fortunate enough to -find that plant; while there is no end to -the virtues of an even ash-leaf. We recount -some of its merits from an old -collection of northern superstitions,<a id="FNanchor_9_9" href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">9</a> -trusting they are better than the verses -which detail them.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">The even ash-leaf in my left hand,</div> - <div class="verse">The first man I meet shall be my husband.</div> - <div class="verse">The even ash-leaf in my glove,</div> - <div class="verse">The first I meet shall be my love.</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span> - <div class="verse">The even ash-leaf in my breast,</div> - <div class="verse">The first man I meet’s whom I love best.</div> - <div class="verse">Even ash, even ash, I pluck thee,</div> - <div class="verse">This night my true love for to see.</div> - <div class="verse">Find even ash or four-leaved clover,</div> - <div class="verse">An’ you’ll see your true love before the day’s over.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The color in which a girl dresses is -important, not only during courtship, -but after marriage.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Those dressed in blue</div> - <div class="verse">Have lovers true;</div> - <div class="verse">In green and white</div> - <div class="verse">Forsaken quite.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Green, being sacred to the fairies, is a -most unlucky hue. The “little folk” -will undoubtedly resent the insult should -any one dress in their color. Mr. Henderson<a id="FNanchor_10_10" href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">10</a> -has known mothers in the south -of England absolutely forbid it to their -daughters, and avoid it in the furniture -of their houses. Peter Bell’s sixth wife -could not have been more inauspiciously -dressed when she—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent4">Put on her gown of green,</div> - <div class="verse">To leave her mother at sixteen,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And follow Peter Bell.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And nothing green must make its appearance -at a Scotch wedding. Kale -and other green vegetables are rigidly -excluded from the wedding-dinner. -Jealousy has ever green eyes, and green -grows the grass on Love’s grave.</p> - -<p>Some omens may be obtained by the -single at a wedding-feast. The bride in -the North Country cuts a cheese (as in -more fashionable regions she is the first -to help the wedding-cake), and he who -can secure the first piece that she cuts -will insure happiness in his married life. -If the “best man” does not secure the -knife he will indeed be unfortunate. -The maidens try to possess themselves -of a “shaping” of the wedding-dress -for use in certain divinations concerning -their future husbands.<a id="FNanchor_11_11" href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">11</a></p> - -<p>In all ages and all parts of our island -maidens have resorted to omens drawn -from flowers respecting their sweethearts. -Holly, ribwort, plantain, black -centaury, yarrow, and a multitude more -possess a great reputation in love matters. -The lover must generally sleep on -some one of these and repeat a charm,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span> -when pleasant dreams and faithful indications -of a suitor will follow. “The -last summer, on the day of St. John the -Baptist, 1694,” says Aubrey, “I accidentally -was walking in the pasture behind -Montague House; it was twelve -o’clock. I saw there about two or three -and twenty young women, most of them -well habited, on their knees very busy, -as if they had been weeding. I could -not presently learn what the matter was; -at last a young man told me that they -were looking for a coal under the root -of a plantain, to put under their head -that night, and they should dream who -would be their husbands. It was to be -sought for that day and hour.”<a id="FNanchor_12_12" href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">12</a></p> - -<p>But the day of all others sacred to -these mystic rites was ever the eve of -St. Agnes (January 20), when maidens -fasted and then watched for a sign. A -passage in the office for St. Agnes’s Day -in the Sarum Missal may have given rise -to this custom: “Hæc est virgo sapiens -quam Dominus <em>vigilantem</em> invenit;” -and the Gospel is the Parable of the -Virgins.<a id="FNanchor_13_13" href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">13</a> Ben Jonson alludes to the -custom:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent4">On sweet St. Agnes’ night</div> - <div class="verse">Please you with the promised sight,</div> - <div class="verse">Some of husbands, some of lovers,</div> - <div class="verse">Which an empty dream discovers.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And a character in “Cupid’s Whirligig” -(1616) says, “I could find in my heart -to pray nine times to the moone, and -fast three St. Agnes’s Eves, so that I -might bee sure to have him to my husband.” -Aubrey gives two receipts to -the ladies for that eve, which may still -be useful. Take a row of pins and pull -out every one, one after another, saying -a Paternoster, and sticking a pin in your -sleeve, and you will dream of him you -shall marry. Again,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> “you must lie in -another country, and knit the left garter -about the right-legged stocking (let the -other garter and stocking alone), and as -you rehearse these following verses, at -every comma knit a knot:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent4">This knot I knit,</div> - <div class="verse">To know the thing, I know not yet,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">That I may see,</div> - <div class="verse">The man that shall my husband be,</div> - <div class="verse">How he goes, and what he wears,</div> - <div class="verse">And what he does, all days and years.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Accordingly in your dream you will see -him; if a musician, with a lute or other -instrument; if a scholar, with a book or -papers;” and he adds a little encouragement -to use this device in the following -anecdote. “A gentlewoman that I -knew, confessed in my hearing that she -used this method, and dreamt of her -husband whom she had never seen. -About two or three years after, as she -was on Sunday at church (at our Lady’s -Church in Sarum), up pops a young -Oxonian in the pulpit; she cries out -presently to her sister, ‘This is the very -face of the man that I saw in my dream. -Sir William Soame’s lady did the like.’” -It is hardly needful to remind readers -of Keats’s “Eve of St. Agnes,” and the -story of Madeline,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,</div> - <div class="verse">On love, and wing’d St. Agnes’ saintly care,</div> - <div class="verse">As she had heard old dames full many times declare.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Our ancestors made merry in a similar -fashion on St. Valentine’s Day. So -Herrick, speaking of a bride, says,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">She must no more a-maying,</div> - <div class="verse">Or by rosebuds divine</div> - <div class="verse">Who’ll be her Valentine.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Brand, who helps us to this quotation, -gives an amusing extract from the -<cite>Connoisseur</cite> to the same effect. “Last -Friday was Valentine’s Day, and the -night before I got five bay leaves, and -pinned four of them to the four corners -of my pillow, and the fifth to the middle; -and then, if I dreamt of my sweetheart, -Betty said we should be married -before the year was out. But to make -it more sure, I boiled an egg hard, and -took out the yolk and filled it with salt, -and when I went to bed, eat it, shell -and all, without speaking or drinking -after it. We also wrote our lovers’ -names upon bits of paper, and rolled -them up in clay, and put them into water, -and the first that rose up was to be -our Valentine. Would you think it? -Mr. Blossom was my man. I lay abed -and shut my eyes all the morning till he -came to our house; for I would not -have seen another man before him for -all the world.” The moon, “the lady -moon,” has frequently been called into -council about husbands from the time -when she first lost her own heart to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -Endymion, the beautiful shepherd of -Mount Latmos. Go out when the first -new moon of the year first appears, and -standing over the spars of a gate or -stile, look on the moon and repeat as -follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">All hail to thee, moon! all hail to thee!</div> - <div class="verse">Prythee, good moon, reveal to me</div> - <div class="verse">This night who my husband shall be.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>You will certainly dream that night of -your future husband. It is very important, -too, that if you have a cat in the -house, it should be a black one. A -North Country rhyme says—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Whenever the cat or the house is black,</div> - <div class="verse">The lasses o’ lovers will have no lack.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And an old woman in the north, adds -Mr. Henderson,<a id="FNanchor_14_14" href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">14</a> said lately in accordance -with this belief to a lady, “It’s na -wonder Jock ——’s lasses marry off so -fast, ye ken what a braw black cat -they’ve got.” It is still more lucky if -such a cat comes of its own accord, and -takes up its residence in any house. -The same gentleman gives an excellent -receipt to bring lovers to the house, -which was communicated to him by -Canon Raine, and was gathered from -the conversation of two maid-servants. -One of them, it seems, peeped out of -curiosity into the box of her fellow servant, -and was astonished to find there -the end of a tallow candle stuck through -and through with pins. “What’s that, -Molly,” said Bessie, “that I seed i’ thy -box?” “Oh,” said Molly, “it’s to -bring my sweetheart. Thou seest, -sometimes he’s slow a coming, and if I -stick a candle case full o’ pins it always -fetches him.” A member of the family -certified that John was thus duly fetched -from his abode, a distance of six miles, -and pretty often too.</p> - -<p>Some of the most famous divinations -about marriage are practised with hazel-nuts -on Allhallowe’en. In Indo-European -tradition the hazel was sacred to -love; and when Loki in the form of a -falcon rescued Idhunn, the goddess of -youthful life, from the power of the -frost-giants, he carried her off in his -beak in the shape of a hazel-nut.<a id="FNanchor_15_15" href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">15</a> So -in Denmark, as in ancient Rome, nuts<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -are scattered at a marriage. In northern -divinations on Allhallowe’en nuts -are placed on the bars of a grate by -pairs, which have first been named after -a pair of lovers, and according to the -result, their combustion, explosion, and -the like, the wise divine the fortune of -the lovers. Graydon has beautifully -versified this superstition:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">These glowing nuts are emblems true</div> - <div class="verse">Of what in human life we view;</div> - <div class="verse">The ill-matched couple fret and fume,</div> - <div class="verse">And thus in strife themselves consume;</div> - <div class="verse">Or from each other wildly start,</div> - <div class="verse">And with a noise for ever part.</div> - <div class="verse">But see the happy, happy pair,</div> - <div class="verse">Of genuine love and truth sincere;</div> - <div class="verse">With mutual fondness, while they burn,</div> - <div class="verse">Still to each other kindly turn;</div> - <div class="verse">And as the vital sparks decay,</div> - <div class="verse">Together gently sink away;</div> - <div class="verse">Till, life’s fierce ordeal being past,</div> - <div class="verse">Their mingled ashes rest at last.<a id="FNanchor_16_16" href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">16</a></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Nevertheless modes of love-divination -for this special evening, which is as propitious -to lovers as Valentine’s Day, -may be found in Brand, and other collectors -of these old customs.</p> - -<p>Peas are also sacred to Freya, almost -vying with the mistletoe in alleged virtue -for lovers. In one district of Bohemia -the girls go into a field of peas, and -make there a garland of five or seven -kinds of flowers (the goddess of love delights -in uneven numbers), all of different -hues. This garland they must sleep -upon, lying with their right ear upon it, -and then they hear a voice from underground, -which tells what manner of men -they will have for husbands. Sweet-peas -would doubtless prove very effectual -in this kind of divination, and there -need be no difficulty in finding them of -different hues. If Hertfordshire girls -are lucky enough to find a pod containing -nine peas, they lay it under a gate, -and believe they will have for husband -the first man that passes through. On -the Borders unlucky lads and lasses in -courtship are rubbed down with pea -straw by friends of the opposite sex. -These beliefs connected with peas are -very widespread. Touchstone, it will -be remembered, gave two peas to Jane -Smile, saying, “with weeping tears, -‘Wear these for my sake.’”<a id="FNanchor_17_17" href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">17</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span></p> - -<p>In Scotland on Shrove Tuesday a national -dish called “crowdie,” composed -of oatmeal and water with milk, is largely -consumed, and lovers can always tell -their chances of being married by putting -into the porringer a ring. The -finder of this in his or her portion will -without fail be married sooner than any -one else in the company. Onions, curiously -enough, figure in many superstitions -connected with marriage—why, we -have no idea. It might be ungallantly -suggested that it is from their supposed -virtue to produce tears, or from wearing -many faces, as it were, under one hood. -While speaking of these unsavory vegetables, -we are reminded of a passage in -Luther’s “Table Talk”: “Upon the -eve of Christmas Day the women run -about and strike a swinish hour” (whatever -this may mean): “if a great hog -grunts, it decides that the future husband -will be an old man; if a small -one, a young man,”<a id="FNanchor_18_18" href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">18</a> The orpine is -another magical plant in love incantations. -It must be used on Midsummer -Eve, and is useful to inform a maiden -whether her lover is true or false. It -must be stuck up in her room, and the -desired information is obtained by watching -whether it bends to the right or the -left. Hemp-seed, sown on that evening, -also possesses marvellous efficacy. -One of the young ladies mentioned -above, who sewed bay leaves on her pillow, -and had the felicity of seeing Mr. -Blossom in consequence, writes, “The -same night, exactly at twelve o’clock, I -planted hemp-seed in our back yard, -and said to myself, ‘Hemp seed I sow, -hemp-seed I hoe, and he that is my true -love come after me and mow!’ Will -you believe it? I looked back and saw -him behind me, as plain as eyes could -see him.” And she adds, as another -wrinkle to her sex, “Our maid Betty -tells me that if I go backwards, without -speaking a word, into the garden upon -Midsummer Eve, and gather a rose and -keep it in a clean sheet of paper without -looking at it till Christmas Day, it will -be as fresh as in June; and if I then -stick it in my bosom, he that is to be -my husband will come and take it out.” -Whatever be the virtue of Betty’s recipe, -it would at all events teach a lover pa<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span>tience. -Mr. Henderson supplies two -timely cautions from Border folk-lore. -A girl can “scarcely do a worse thing -than boil a dish-clout in her crock.” -She will be sure, in consequence, to lose -all her lovers, or, in Scotch phrase, -“boil all her lads awa’;” “and in -Durham it is believed that if you put -milk in your tea before sugar, you lose -your sweetheart,”<a id="FNanchor_19_19" href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">19</a> We may add that -unless a girl fasts on St. Catherine’s -Day (Nov. 25) she will never have a -good husband. Nothing can be luckier -for either bachelor or girl than to be -placed inadvertently at some social gathering -between a man and his wife. The -person so seated will be married before -the year is out.</p> - -<p>Song, play, and sonnet<a id="FNanchor_20_20" href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">20</a> have diffused -far and wide the custom of blowing off -the petals of a flower, saying the while, -“He loves me—loves me not.” When -this important business has been settled -in the affirmative a hint may be useful -for the lover going courting. If he -meets a hare, he must at once turn back. -Nothing can well be more unlucky. -Witches are found of that shape, and he -will certainly be crossed in love. Experts -say that after the next meal has -been eaten the evil influence is expended, -and the lover can again hie forth in -safety. In making presents to each -other the happy pair must remember on -no account to give each other a knife or -a pair of scissors. Such a present effectually -cuts love asunder. Take care, -too, not to fall in love with one the initial -of whose surname is the same as -yours. It is quite certain that the union -of such cannot be happy. This love-secret -has been reduced into rhyme for -the benefit of treacherous memories:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">To change the name and not the letter,</div> - <div class="verse">Is a change for the worse, and not for the better.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This love-lore belongs to the Northern -mythology, else the Romans would -never have used that universal formula, -“ubi tu Caius ego Caia.”</p> - -<p>These directions and cautions must -surely have brought our pair of happy -lovers to the wedding-day. Even yet -they are not safe from malign influences,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -but folk-lore does not forget their welfare. -If the bride has been courted by -other sweethearts than the one she has -now definitely chosen, there is a fear -lest the discarded suitors should entertain -unkindly feelings towards her. To -obviate all unpleasant consequences from -this, the bride must wear a sixpence in -her left shoe until she is “kirked,” say -the Scotch. And on her return home, -if a horse stands looking at her through -a gateway, or even lingers along the -road leading to her new home, it is a -very bad omen for her future happiness.</p> - -<p>When once the marriage-knot is tied, -it is so indissoluble that folk-lore for the -most part leaves the young couple alone. -It is imperative, however, that the wife -should never take off her wedding-ring. -To do so is to open a door to innumerable -calamities, and a window at the -same time through which love may fly. -Should the husband not find that peace -and quietness which he has a right to -expect in matrimony, but discover unfortunately -that he has married a scold -or a shrew, he must make the best of -the case:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Quæ saga, quis te solvere Thessalis</div> - <div class="verse">Magus venenis, quis poterit deus?</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Yet folk-lore has still one simple which -will alleviate his sorrow. Any night he -will, he may taste fasting a root of radish, -say our old Saxon forefathers, and -next day he will be proof against a -woman’s chatter.<a id="FNanchor_21_21" href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">21</a> By growing a large -bed of radishes, and supping off them -regularly, it is thus possible that he -might exhaust after a time the verbosity -of his spouse, but we are bound to add -that we have never heard of such an -easy cure being effected. The cucking-stool -was found more to the purpose in -past days.</p> - -<p>But Aphrodite lays her finger on our -mouth. Having disclosed so many secrets -of her worship, it is time now to -be silent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span></p> - -<p>After all this love-lore, supposing any -one were to take a tender interest in our -welfare, we should hint to her that she -had no need of borrowed charms or -mystic foreshadowing of the future, in -Horatian words, which we shall leave -untranslated as a compliment to Girton:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi</div> - <div class="verse">Finem di dederint, Leuconoe; nec Babylonios</div> - <div class="verse">Tentaris numeros.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Simplicity and openness of disposition -are worth more than all affectations of -dress or manner. Well did the Scotch -lad in the song rebuke his sweetheart, -who asked him for a “keekin’-glass” -(<i>Anglice</i>, “looking-glass”):—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Sweet sir, for your courtesie,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">When ye come by the Bass, then,</div> - <div class="verse">For the love ye bear to me,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Buy me a keekin’-glass, then.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But he answered—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Keek into the draw-well,</div> - <div class="verse indent8">Janet, Janet;</div> - <div class="verse">There ye’ll see your bonny sel’,</div> - <div class="verse indent8">My jo, Janet.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>In truth, the best divination for lovers -is a ready smile, and the most potent -charms a maiden can possess are reticence -and patience. And so to end -(with quaint old Burton<a id="FNanchor_22_22" href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">22</a>), “Let them -take this of Aristænetus (that so marry) -for their comfort: ‘After many troubles -and cares, the marriages of lovers are -more sweet and pleasant.’ As we commonly -conclude a comedy with a wedding -and shaking of hands, let’s shut up -our discourse and end all with an epithalamium. -Let the Muses sing, the -Graces dance, not at their weddings -only, but all their dayes long; so couple -their hearts that no irksomeness or anger -ever befall them: let him never call her -other name than my joye, my light; or -she call him otherwise than sweetheart.”—<cite>Belgravia.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="A_ROMANCE_OF_A_GREEK_STATUE" id="A_ROMANCE_OF_A_GREEK_STATUE">A ROMANCE OF A GREEK STATUE.</a><br /> - -<small>BY J. THEODORE BENT.</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span></p> - -<p>I cannot tell you the story just as -Nikola told it to me, with all that flow -of language common in a Greek, my -memory is not good enough for that; -but the facts, and some of his quaint -expressions, I can recount, for these I -never shall forget. My travel took me -to a distant island of the Greek Archipelago, -called Sikinos, last winter, an -island only to be reached by a sailing-boat, -and here, in quarters of the humblest -nature, I was storm-stayed for five -long days. Nikola had been my muleteer -on an expedition I made to a remote -corner of the island where still are to be -traced the ruins of an ancient Hellenic -town, and about a mile from it a temple -of Pythian Apollo. He was a fine stalwart -fellow of thirty or thereabouts; he -had a bright intelligent face, and he -wore the usual island costume, namely, -knickerbocker trousers of blue homespun -calico, with a fulness, which hangs -down between the legs, and when full -of things, for it is the universal pocket, -wabbles about like the stomach of a -goose; on his head he wore a faded old -fez, his feet were protected from the -stones by sandals of untanned skin, and -he carried a long stick in his hand with -which to drive his mule.</p> - -<p>Sikinos is perhaps the most unattainable -corner of Europe, being nothing -but a barren harborless rock in the middle -of the Ægean sea, possessing as a -fleet one caique, which occasionally goes -to a neighboring island where the steamer -stops, to see if there are any communications -from the outer world, and four -rotten fishing boats, which seldom venture -more than a hundred yards from the -shore. The fifteen hundred inhabitants -of this rock lead a monotonous life in -two villages, one of which is two hundred -years old, fortified and dirty, and -called the “Kastro,” or the “camp”; -the other is modern, and about five minutes’ -walk from the camp, and is called -“the other place”; so nomenclature in -Sikinos is simple enough. The inhabitants -are descended from certain refugees -who, two hundred years ago, fled from -Crete during a revolution, and built the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -fortified village up on the hillside out of -the reach of pirates, and remained isolated -from the world ever since. Before -they came, Sikinos had been uninhabited -since the days of the ancient Greeks. -The only two men in the place who have -travelled—that is to say, who have been -as far as Athens—are the Demarch, -who is the chief legislator of the island, -and looked up to as quite a man of the -world, and Nikola, the muleteer.</p> - -<p>I must say, the last thing I expected -to hear in Sikinos was a romance, but -on one of the stormy days of detention -there, with the object of whiling away -an hour, I paid a visit to Nikola in his -clean white house in “the other place.” -He met me on the threshold with a -hearty “We have well met,” bade me -sit down on his divan, and sent his wife—a -bright, buxom young woman—for -the customary coffee, sweets, and raki; -he rolled me a cigarette, which he carefully -licked, to my horror, but which I -dared not refuse to smoke, cursed the -weather, and stirred the embers in the -brazier preparatory to attacking me with -a volley of questions. I always disarm -inquisitiveness on such occasions by being -inquisitive myself. “How long -have you been married?” “How many -children have you got?” “How old is -your wife?” and by the time I had asked -half a dozen such questions, Nikola, -after the fashion of the Greeks, had forgotten -his own thirst for knowledge in -his desire to satisfy mine.</p> - -<p>In Nikola’s case unparalleled success -attended this manœuvre, and from the -furtive smiles which passed between -husband and wife I realised that some -mystery was attached to their unions -which I forthwith made it my business, -to solve.</p> - -<p>“I always call her ‘my statue,’” -said the muleteer, laughing, “‘my marble -statue,’” and he slapped her on the -back to show that, at any rate, she was -made of pretty hard material.</p> - -<p>“Can Pygmalion have married Galatea -after all?” I remarked for the moment, -forgetting the ignorance of my -friends on such topics, but a Greek<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -never admits that he does not understand, -and Nikola replied, “No; her -name is Kallirhoe, and she was the -priest’s daughter.”</p> - -<p>Having now broached the subject, -Nikola was all anxiety to continue it; -he seated himself on one chair, his wife -took another, ready to prompt him if -necessary, and remind him of forgotten -facts. I sat on the divan; between us -was the brazier; the only cause for interruption -came from an exceedingly -naughty child, which existed as a living -testimony that this modern Galatea had -recovered from her transformation into -stone.</p> - -<p>“I was a gay young fellow in those -days,” began Nikola.</p> - -<p>“Five years ago last carnival time,” -put in the wife, but she subsided on a -frown from her better half; for Greek -husbands never meekly submit, like English -ones, to the lesser portion of command, -and the Greek wife is the pattern -of a weaker vessel, seldom sitting -down to meals, cooking, spinning, slaving,—a -mere chattel, in fact.</p> - -<p>“I was the youngest of six—two sisters -and four brothers, and we four -worked day after day to keep our old -father’s land in order, for we were very -poor, and had nothing to live upon except -the produce of our land.”</p> - -<p>Land in Sikinos is divided into tiny -holdings: one man may possess half a -dozen plots of land in different parts of -the island, the produce of which—the -grain, the grapes, the olives, the honey, -etc.—he brings on mules to his store -(ἀποθήκη) near the village. Each landowner -has a store and a little garden -around it on the hillside, just outside -the village, of which the stores look like -a mean extension, but on visiting them -we found their use.</p> - -<p>“We worked every day in the year -except feast-days, starting early with -our ploughs, our hoes, and our pruning -hooks, according to the season, and returning -late, driving our bullocks and -our mules before us.” An islander’s -tools are simple enough—his plough is so -light that he can carry it over his shoulders -as he drives the bullocks to their -work. It merely scratches the back of -the land, making no deep furrows; -and when the work is far from the -village the husbandman starts from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -home very early, and seldom returns till -dusk.</p> - -<p>“On feast-days we danced on the village -square. I used to look forward to -those days, for then I met Kallirhoe, -the priest’s daughter, who danced the -<i lang="el">syrtos</i> best of all the girls, tripping as -softly as a Nereid,” said Nikola, looking -approvingly at his wife. I had seen -a <i lang="el">syrtos</i> at Sikinos, and I could testify to -the fact that they dance it well, revolving -in light wavy lines backwards, forwards, -now quick, now slow, until you -do not wonder that the natives imagine -those mystic beings they call Nereids to -be for ever dancing thus in the caves -and grottoes. The <i lang="el">syrtos</i> is a semicircular -dance of alternate young men and -maidens, holding each other by handkerchiefs, -not from modesty, as one -might at first suppose, but so as to give -more liberty of action to their limbs, -and in dancing this dance it would appear -Nikola and Kallirhoe first felt the -tender passion of love kindled in their -breasts. But between the two a great -gulf was fixed, for marriages amongst a -peasantry so shrewd as the Greeks are -not so easily settled as they are with us. -Parents have absolute authority over -their daughters, and never allow them to -marry without a prospect, and before -providing for any son a father’s duty is -to give his daughters a house and a -competency, and he expects any suitor -for their hand to present an equivalent -in land and farm stock. The result of -this is to create an overpowering stock -of maiden ladies, and to drive young -men from home in search of fortunes -and wives elsewhere.</p> - -<p>This was the breach which was fixed -between Nikola and Kallirhoe—apparently -a hopeless case, for Nikola had -sisters, and brothers, and poverty-stricken -parents; he never could so -much as hope to call a spade his own; -during all his life he would have to -drudge and slave for others. They -could not run away; that idea never -occurred to them, for the only escape -from Sikinos was by the solitary caique. -“I had heard rumors,” continued Nikola, -“of how men from other islands -had gone to far-off countries and returned -rich, but how could I, who had -never been off this rock in all my life?</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span></p> -<p>“I should have had to travel by one -of those steamers which I had seen with -their tail of smoke on the horizon, and -about which I had pondered many a -time, just like you, sir, may look and -ponder at the stars; and to travel I -should require money, which I well knew -my father would not give me, for he -wanted me for his slave. My only -hope, and that was a small one, was that -the priest, Papa Manoulas, Kallirhoe’s -father, would not be too hard on us -when he saw how we loved each other. -He had been the priest to dip me in the -font at my baptism; he always smoked -a pipe with father once a week; he had -known me all my life as a steady lad, -who only got drunk on feast-days. -‘Perhaps he will give his consent,’ -whispered my mother, putting foolish -hopes into my brain. Poor old woman! -she was grieved to see her favorite looking -worn and ill, listless at his work, -and for ever incurring the blame of -father and brothers; only when I talked -to her about Kallirhoe did my face -brighten a little, so she said one day, -‘Papa Manoulas is kind; likely enough -he may wish to see Kallirhoe happy.’ -So one evil day I consented to my -mother’s plan, that she should go and -propose for me.”</p> - -<p>Some explanation is here necessary. -At Sikinos, as in other remote corners -of Greece, they still keep up a custom -called προξενία. The man does not -propose in person, but sends an old -female relative to seek the girl’s hand -from her parents; this old woman must -have on one stocking white and the -other red or brown. “Your stockings -of two colors make me think that we -shall have an offer,” sings an island -poem. Nikola’s mother went thus -garbed, but returned with a sorrowful -face. “I was made to eat gruel,” said -he, using the common expression in -these parts for a refusal, “and nobody -ate more than I did. Next day Papa -Manoulas called at our house. My -heart stood still as he came in, and then -bubbled over like a seething wine vat -when he asked to speak to me alone. -‘You are a good fellow, Kola,’ he began. -‘Kallirhoe loves you, and I wish -to see you happy;’ and I had fallen on -his neck and kissed him on both cheeks -before he could say, ‘Wait a bit, young -man; before you marry her you must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -get together just a little money; I will -be content with 1,000 drachmas (£40). -When you have that to offer in return for -Kallirhoe’s dower you shall be married,’ -‘A thousand drachmas!’ muttered I. -‘May the God of the ravens help me!’” -(an expression denoting impossibility), -“and I burst into tears.”</p> - -<p>The men of modern Greece when violently -agitated cry as readily as cunning -Ulysses, and are not ashamed of the -fact.</p> - -<p>“I remember well that evening,” -continued Nikola. “I left the house -as it was getting dusk, and climbed -down the steep path to the sea. I wandered -for hours amongst the wild mastic -and the brushwood. My feet refused to -carry me home that night, so I lay down -on the floor in the little white church, -dedicated to my patron saint, down by -the harbor, where we go for our annual -festival when the priest blesses the waters -and our boats. Many’s the time, -as a lad, I’ve jumped into the water to -fetch out the cross, which the priest -throws into the sea with a stone tied to it -on this occasion, and many’s the time -I’ve been the lucky one to bring it up -and get a few coppers for my wetting. -That night I thought of tying a stone -round my own neck and jumping into -the sea, so that all traces of me might -disappear.</p> - -<p>“I could not make up my mind to -face any one all next day, so I wandered -amongst the rocks, scarcely remembering -to feed myself on the few -olives I had in my pocket. I could do -nothing but sing ‘The Little Caique,’ -which made me sob and feel better.”</p> - -<p>The song of “The Little Caique” is -a great favorite amongst the seafaring -men of the Greek islands. It is a melancholy -love ditty, of which the following -words are a fairly close translation:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">In a tiny little caique</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Forth in my folly one night</div> - <div class="verse">To the sea of love I wandered,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Where the land was nowhere in sight.</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">O my star! O my brilliant star!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Have pity on my youth,</div> - <div class="verse">Desert me not, oh! leave me not</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Alone in the sea of love!</div> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">O my star! O my brilliant star!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I have met you on my path.</div> - <div class="verse">Dost thou bid me not tarry near thee?</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Are thy feelings not of love?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Lo! suddenly about me fell</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The darkness of that night,</div> - <div class="verse">And the sea rolled in mountains around me,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the land was nowhere in sight.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>“Towards evening I returned home. -My mother’s anxious face told me that -she, too, had suffered during my absence; -and out of a pot of lentil soup, -which was simmering on the embers, she -gave me a bowlful, and it refreshed me. -To my dying day I shall never forget -my father’s and brothers’ wrath. I had -wilfully absented myself for a whole day -from my work. I was called ‘a peacock,’ -‘a burnt man’ (equivalent to a -fool), ‘no man at all,’ ‘;horns,’ and any -bad name that occurred to them. For -days and weeks after this I was the most -miserable, down-trodden Greek alive, -and all on account of a woman.” And -here Nikola came to a stop, and ordered -his wife to fetch him another glass of -raki to moisten his throat. No Greek -can talk or sing long without a glass of -raki.</p> - -<p>“About two months after these -events,” began Nikola with renewed -vigor, “my father ordered me to clear -away a heap of stones which occupied a -corner of a little terrace-vineyard we -owned on a slope near the church of -Episcopì.<a id="FNanchor_23_23" href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">23</a> We always thought the -stones had been put there to support the -earth from falling from the terrace -above, but it lately had occurred to my -father that it was only a heap of loose -stones which had been cleared off the -field and thrown there when the vineyard -was made, and the removal of -which would add several square feet to -the small holding. Next morning I -started about an hour before the Panagía -(Madonna) had opened the gates of -the East,<a id="FNanchor_24_24" href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">24</a> with a mule and panniers to -remove the stones. I worked hard -enough when I got there, for the morning -was cold, and I was beginning to -find that the harder I worked the less -time I had for thought. Stone after -stone was removed, pannier-load after -pannier-load was emptied down the cliff,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -and fell rattling amongst the brushwood -and rousing the partridges and crows as -they fell. After a couple of hours’ work -the mound was rapidly disappearing, -when I came across something white -projecting upwards. I looked at it -closely; it was a marble foot. More -stones were removed, and disclosed a -marble leg, two legs, a body, an arm; a -head and another arm, which had been -broken off by the weight of the stones, -lay close by. Though I was somewhat -astonished at this discovery, yet I did -not suppose it to be of any value. I -had heard of things of this kind being -found before. My father had an ugly -bit of marble which came out of a neighboring -tomb. However, I did not -throw it over the cliff with the other -stones, but I put it on one side and -went on again with my work.</p> - -<p>“All day long my thoughts kept reverting -to this statue. It was so very -life-like—so different from the stiff, ugly -marble figures I had seen; and it was -so much larger, too, standing nearly -four feet high. Perhaps, thought I, the -Panagía has put it here—perhaps it is a -sacred miracle-working thing, such as -the priests find in spots like this. And -then suddenly I remembered how, when -I was a boy, a great German <i lang="tr">effendi</i> had -visited Sikinos, and was reported to -have dug up and carried away with him -priceless treasures. Is this statue worth -anything? was the question which -haunted me all day, and which I would -have given ten years of my young life to -solve.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span></p> -<p>“When my day’s work was over, I put -the statue on to my mule, and carefully -covered it over, so that no one might -see what I had found; for though I was -hopelessly ignorant of what the value of -my discovery might be, yet instinct -prompted me to keep it to myself. It -was dark when I reached the village, -and I went straight to the store, sorely -perplexed as to what to do with my -treasure. There was no time to bury it, -for I had met one of my brothers, who -would tell them at home that I had returned; -so in all haste I hid the cold -white thing under the grain in the corner, -trusting that no one would find it, -and went home. I passed a wretched -night, dreaming and restless by turns. -Once I woke up in horror, and found it -difficult to dispel the effects of a dream -in which I had sold Kallirhoe to a -prince, and married the statue by mistake. -And next day my heart stood -still when my father went down to the -store with me, shoved his hand into the -grain, and muttered that we must send -it up to the mill to be ground. That -very night I went out with a spade and -buried my treasure deep in the ground -under the straggling branches of our fig-tree, -where I knew it would not be likely -to be disturbed.”</p> - -<p>Nikola paused here for a while, stirred -the embers with the little brass tweezers, -the only diminutive irons required for -so lilliputian a fire, sang snatches of nasal -Greek music, so distasteful to a western -ear, and joined his wife in muttering -“winter!” “snow!” “storm!” and -other less elegant invectives against the -weather, which these islanders use when -winter comes upon them for two or -three days, and makes them shiver in -their wretched unprotected houses; and -they make no effort to protect themselves -from it, for they know that in a -few days the sun will shine again and -dry them, their mud roofs will cease to -leak, and nature will smile once more.</p> - -<p>If they do get mysterious illnesses -they will attribute them to supernatural -causes, saying a Nereid or a sprite has -struck them, and never suspect the -damp. Nature’s own pupils they are. -Their only medical suggestion is that all -illnesses are worms in the body, which -have been distributed by God’s agents, -the mysterious and invisible inhabitants -of the air, to those whose sin requires -chastising, or whose days are numbered. -Such is the simple <i lang="la">bacillus</i> theory prevalent -in the Greek islands. Who knows -but what they are right?</p> - -<p>“Never was a poor fellow in such -perplexity as I was,” continued Nikola, -“the possessor of a marble woman -whose value I could not learn, and -about whom I did not care one straw, -whilst I yearned after a woman whose -value I knew to be a thousand drachmas, -and whom I could not buy. My hope, -too, was rendered more acute by the -vague idea that perhaps my treasure might -prove to be as valuable as Kallirhoe, -and I smiled to think of the folly of the -man who would be likely to prefer the -cold marble statue to my plump, warm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -Kallirhoe. But they tell me that you -cold Northerners have hearts of marble, -so I prayed to the Panagía and all the -saints to send some one who would take -the statue away, and give me enough -money to buy Kallirhoe.</p> - -<p>“I was much more lively now; my -father and brothers had no cause to -scold me any longer, for I had hope; -every evening now I went to the <i lang="fr">café</i> to -talk, and all the energy of my existence -was devoted to one object, namely, to -get the Demarch to tell me all he knew -about the chances of selling treasures in -that big world where the steamer went, -without letting him know that I had -found anything. After many fruitless -efforts, one day the Demarch told me -how, in the old Turkish days, before he -was born, a peasant of Melos had found -a statue of a woman called Aphrodite, -just as I had found mine, in a heap of -stones; that the peasant had got next -to nothing for it, but that Mr. Brest, -the French consul, had made a fortune -out of it, and that now the statue was -the wonder of the Western world. By -degrees I learnt how relentless foreigners -like you, Effendi, do swoop down -from time to time on these islands and -carry home what is worth thousands of -drachmas, after giving next to nothing -for them. A week or two later, I learnt -from the Demarch’s lips how strict the -Greek Government is, that no marble -should leave the country, and that they -never give anything like the value for -the things themselves, but that sometimes -by dealing with a foreign <i lang="tr">effendi</i> in -Athens good prices have been got and -the Government eluded.</p> - -<p>“Poor me! in those days my hopes -grew very very small indeed. How -could I, an ignorant peasant, hope to -get any money from anybody? So I -thought less and less about my statue, -and more and more about Kallirhoe, -until my face looked haggard again, and -my mother sighed.</p> - -<p>“My statue had been in her grave -nearly a year,” laughed Nikola, “and -after the way of the world she was -nearly forgotten, when one day a caique -put in to Sikinos, and two foreign -<i lang="tr">effendi</i>—Franks, I believe—came up to -the town; they were the first that had -visited our rock since the German who -had opened the graves on the hillside,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span> -and had carried off a lot of gold and -precious things. So we all stared at -them very hard, and gathered in crowds -around the Demarch’s door to get a -glimpse at them as they sat at table. I -was one of the crowd, and as I looked -at them I thought of my buried statue, -and my hope flickered again.</p> - -<p>“Very soon the report went about -amongst us that they were miners from -Laurion, come to inspect our island and -see if we had anything valuable in the -way of minerals; and my father, whose -vision it had been for years to find a -mine and make himself rich thereby, -was greatly excited, and offered to lend -the strangers his mules. The old man -was too infirm to go himself, greatly to -his regret, but he sent me as muleteer, -with directions to conduct the miners to -certain points of the island, and to -watch narrowly everything they picked -up. Many times during the day I was -tempted to tell them all about my statue -and my hopes, but I remembered what -the Demarch had said about greedy -foreigners robbing poor islanders. So -I contented myself with asking all sorts -of questions about Athens; who was -the richest foreign <i lang="tr">effendi</i> there, and did -he buy statues? what sort of thing was -the custom, and should I, who came -from another part of Greece, be subject -to it if I went? I sighed to go to Athens.</p> - -<p>“All day I watched them closely, -noted what sort of stones they picked -up, noted their satisfaction or dissatisfaction, -and as I watched them an idea -struck me—an idea which made my -heart leap and tremble with excitement.</p> - -<p>“That evening I told my father some -of those lies which hurt nobody, and -are therefore harmless, as the priests -say. I told him I had acquired a great -knowledge of stones that day, that I -knew where priceless minerals were to be -found; I drew on my imagination about -possible hidden stores of gold and silver -in our rocky Sikinos. I saw that I had -touched the right chord, for though he -always told us hard-working lads that -an olive with a kernel gives a boot to a -man, yet I felt sure that his inmost ideas -soared higher, and that he was, like the -rest of the Sikiniotes, deeply imbued -with the idea that mineral treasures, if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span> -only they could be found, would give a -man more than boots.</p> - -<p>“From that day my mode of life was -changed. Instead of digging in the -fields and tending the vines, I wandered -aimlessly about the island collecting -specimens of stones. I chose them at -random—those which had some bright -color in them were the best—and every -evening I added some fresh specimens -to my collection, which were placed for -safety in barrels in the store. ‘Don’t -say a word to the neighbors,’ was my -father’s injunction; and I really believe -they all thought my reason was leaving -me, or how else could they account for -my daily wanderings?</p> - -<p>“In about a month’s time I had collected -enough specimens for my purpose, -and then, with considerable trepidation, -one evening I disclosed my plan to my -father. ‘Something must be done with -those specimens,’ I began; and as I -said this I saw with pleasure his old -eyes sparkle as he tried to look unconcerned.</p> - -<p>“‘Well, Kola, what is to be done -with them?’</p> - -<p>“‘Simply this, father. I must take -them to Athens or Laurion, and get -money down for showing the <i lang="tr">effendi</i> -where the mines are. We can’t work -them ourselves.’</p> - -<p>“‘To Athens! to Laurion!’ exclaimed -my father, breathless at the -bare notion of so stupendous a journey.</p> - -<p>“‘Of course I must,’ I added, laughing, -though secretly terrified lest he -should flatly refuse to let me go; and -before I went to bed that night my -father promised to give me ten drachmas -for my expenses. ‘Only take a few of -your specimens, Kola; keep the best -back;’ for my father is a shrewd man, -though he has never left Sikinos. But -on this point I was determined, and -would take all or none, so my father -grumbled and called me a ‘peacock,’ -but for this I did not care.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span></p> -<p>“Next day I ordered a box for my -specimens. ‘Why not take them in the -old barrels?’ growled my father. But -I said they might get broken, and the -specimens inside be seen. So at last a -wooden box, just four feet long and two -feet high, was got ready—not without -difficulty either, for wood in Sikinos is -rarer than quails at Christmas, and my -father grumbled not a little at the sum -he had to pay for it—more than half the -produce of his vintage, poor man! And -when I thought how my mother might -not be able to make any cheesecakes at -Easter—the pride of her heart, poor -thing!—I almost regretted the game I -was playing.”</p> - -<p>The Easter cheesecakes of the island -(τυρόπηττα) are what they profess to -be; cheese, curd, saffron, and flour being -the chief ingredients. They are -reckoned an essential luxury at that -time of the year, and some houses make -as many as sixty. It is a sign of great -poverty and deprivation when none are -made.</p> - -<p>“The caique was to leave next morning -if the wind was favorable for Ios, -where the steamer would touch on the -following day, and take me on my wild, -uncertain journey. I don’t think I can -be called a coward for feeling nervous -on this occasion. I admit that it was -only by thinking steadfastly about Kallirhoe -that I could screw up my courage. -When it was quite dark I took the -wooden key of the store, and, as carelessly -as I could, said I was going to -pack my specimens. My brothers volunteered -to come and help me, for they -were all mighty civil now it became -known that I was bound for Athens to -make heaps of money, but I refused -their help with a surly ‘good night,’ -and set off into the darkness alone with -my spade. I was horribly nervous as I -went along; I thought I saw a Nereid -or a Lamia in every olive-tree. At the -least rustle I thought they were swooping -down upon me, and would carry me -off into the air, and I should be made -to marry one of those terrible creatures -and live in a mountain cavern, which -would be worse than losing Kallirhoe -altogether; but St. Nikolas and the -Panagía helped me, and I dug my statue -up without any molestation.</p> - -<p>“She was a great weight to carry all -by myself, but at last I got her into the -store, and deposited her in her new -coffin, wedged her in, and cast a last, -almost affectionate look at this marble -representation of life, which had been so -constantly in my thoughts for months -and months, and finally I proceeded to -bury her with specimens, covering her -so well that not a vestige of marble<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -could be seen for three inches below the -surface. What a weight the box was! -I could not lift it myself, but the deed -was done, so I nailed the lid on tightly, -and deposited what was over of my -specimens in the hole where the statue -had been reposing, and then I lay down -on the floor to rest, not daring to go -out again or leave my treasure. I thought -it never would be morning; every hour -of the night I looked out to see if there -was any fear of a change of wind, but it -blew quietly and steadily from the north; -it was quite clear that we should be able -to make Ios next morning without any -difficulty.</p> - -<p>“As soon as it was light I went home. -My mother was up, and packing my -wallet with bread and olives. She had -put a new cover on my mattress, which -I was to take with me. The poor old -dear could hardly speak, so agitated was -she at my departure; my brothers and -father looked on with solemn respect; -and I—why, I sat staring out of the -window to see Kallirhoe returning from -the well with her <i lang="el">amphora</i> on her head. -As soon as I saw her coming, I rushed -out to bid her good-bye. We shook -hands. I had not done this for twelve -months now, and the effect was to raise -my courage to the highest pitch, and -banish all my nocturnal fears.</p> - -<p>“Mother spilt a jug of water on the -threshold, as an earnest of success and -a happy return. My father and my -brothers came down to the store to help -me put the box on to the mule’s back, -and greatly they murmured at the weight -thereof. ‘There’s gold there,’ muttered -my father beneath his breath. -‘Kola will be a prince some day,’ -growled my eldest brother jealously, -and I promised to make him Eparch of -Santorin, or Demarch of Sikinos if he -liked that better.</p> - -<p>“The bustle of the journey hardly -gave me a moment for thought. I was -very ill crossing over in the caique to -Ios, during which time my cowardice -came over me again, and I wondered if -Kallirhoe was worth all the trouble I -was taking; but I was lost in astonishment -at the steamer—so astonished that -I had no time to be sick, so I was able -to eat some olives that evening, and as -I lay on my mattress on the steamer’s -deck as we hurried on towards the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> -Piræus, I pondered over what I should -do on reaching land.</p> - -<p>“You know what the Piræus is like, -Effendi?” continued Nikola, after a -final pause and a final glass of raki, -“what a city it is, what bustle and rushing -to and fro!”</p> - -<p>I had not the heart to tell him that -in England many a fishing village is -larger, and the scene of greater excitement.</p> - -<p>“They all laughed at me for my -heavy box, my island accent, my island -dress, and if it had not been for a kind -<i lang="el">pallikari</i> I had met on the steamer, I -think I should have gone mad. The -officers of the custom house were walking -about on the quay, peering suspiciously -into the luggage of the newly -arrived, and naturally my heavy box excited -their suspicions. I was prepared -for some difficulty of this kind, and the -agony of my interview quite dispelled -my confusion.</p> - -<p>“‘What have you there?’</p> - -<p>“‘Δείγματα (specimens),’ I replied.</p> - -<p>“‘Specimens of what?’</p> - -<p>“‘Specimens of minerals for the -<i lang="tr">effendi</i> at Laurium.’</p> - -<p>“‘Open the box!’ And, in an -agony of fright, I saw them tear off the -lid of my treasure and dive their hands -into its contents.</p> - -<p>“‘Stones!’ said one official.</p> - -<p>“‘Worthless stones!’ sneered another, -‘let the fool go; and with scant -ceremony they threw the stones back -into the box, and shoved me and my -box away with a curse.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span></p> - -<p>“I was now free to go wheresoever I -wished, and with the aid of my friend I -found a room into which I put my box, -and as I turned the key, and sallied -forth on my uncertain errand, I prayed -to the Panagía Odegetria to guide my -footsteps aright.</p> - -<p>“The next few days were a period of -intense anxiety for me. In subdued -whispers I communicated to the consuls -of each nation the existence of my treasure. -One had the impudence to offer -me only 200 drachmas for it, another -300, another 400, and another 500; -then each came again, advancing 100 -drachmas on their former bids, and so -my spirits rose, until at last a grand -<i lang="tr">effendi</i> came down from Athens, and -without hesitation offered me 1,000 -drachmas. ‘Give me fifty more for the -trouble of bringing it and you shall have -it,’ said I, breathless with excitement, -and in five minutes the long-coveted -money was in my hands.</p> - -<p>“My old father was very wroth when -I returned to Sikinos, and when he -learnt that I had done nothing with my -specimens; the brightness had gone out -of his eyes, he was more opprobrious -than ever, but I cared nothing for what -he said. My mother had her cheesecakes -on Easter Sunday, and on that -very day Kallirhoe and I were crowned.”</p> - -<p>Thus ended Nikola’s romance. If -ever I go to St. Petersburg, I shall look -carefully for Nikola’s statue in the Hermitage -collection, which, I understand, -was its destination.—<cite>Gentleman’s Magazine.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="THE_LIFE_OF_GEORGE_ELIOT" id="THE_LIFE_OF_GEORGE_ELIOT">THE LIFE OF GEORGE ELIOT.</a><a id="FNanchor_25_25" href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">25</a><br /> - -<small>BY JOHN MORLEY.</small></h2> - - -<p>The illustrious woman who is the -subject of these volumes makes a remark -to her publisher which is at least -as relevant now as it was then. Can -nothing be done, she asks, by dispassionate -criticism towards the reform of -our national habits in the matter of literary -biography? “Is it anything short -of odious that as soon as a man is dead -his desk should be raked, and every insignificant -memorandum which he never -meant for the public be printed for the -gossiping amusement of people too -idle to read his books?” Autobiography, -she says, at least saves a man or -a woman that the world is curious -about, from the publication of a string -of mistakes called Memoirs. Even to -autobiography, however, she confesses -her deep repugnance unless it can be -written so as to involve neither self<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span>glorification -nor impeachment of others—a -condition, by the way, with which -hardly any, save Mill’s, can be said to -comply. “I like,” she proceeds, “that -<em>He being dead yet speaketh</em> should have -quite another meaning than that” (iii. -226, 297, 307). She shows the same fastidious -apprehension still more clearly -in another way. “I have destroyed almost -all my friends’ letters to me,” she -says, “because they were only intended -for my eyes, and could only fall into the -hands of persons who knew little of the -writers, if I allowed them to remain -till after my death. In proportion as -I love every form of piety—which is -venerating love—I hate hard curiosity; -and, unhappily, my experience has impressed -me with the sense that hard curiosity -is the more common temper of -mind” (ii. 286). There is probably little -difference among us in respect of -such experience as that.</p> - -<p>Much biography, perhaps we might -say most, is hardly above the level of -that “personal talk,” to which Wordsworth -sagely preferred long barren silence, -the flapping of the flame of his -cottage fire, and the undersong of the -kettle on the hob. It would not, then, -have much surprised us if George Eliot -had insisted that her works should remain -the only commemoration of her -life. There be some who think that -those who have enriched the world with -great thoughts and fine creations, might -best be content to rest unmarked -“where heaves the turf in many a -mouldering heap,” leaving as little work -to the literary executor, except of the -purely crematory sort, as did Aristotle, -Plato, Shakespeare, and some others -whose names the world will not willingly -let die. But this is a stoic’s doctrine; -the objector may easily retort -that if it had been sternly acted on, we -should have known very little about Dr. -Johnson, and nothing about Socrates.</p> - -<p>This is but an ungracious prelude to -some remarks upon a book, which must -be pronounced a striking success. There -will be very little dispute as to the fact -that the editor of these memorials of -George Eliot has done his work with -excellent taste, judgment, and sense. -He found no autobiography nor fragment -of one, but he has skilfully shaped -a kind of autobiography by a plan which,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span> -so far as we know, he is justified in calling -new, and which leaves her life to -write itself in extracts from her letters -and journals. With the least possible -obtrusion from the biographer, the original -pieces are formed into a connected -whole “that combines a narrative of -day to day life with the play of light -and shade which only letters written in -serious moods can give.” The idea is -a good one, and Mr. Cross deserves -great credit for it. We may hope that -its success will encourage imitators. -Certainly there are drawbacks. We miss -the animation of mixed narrative. There -is, too, a touch of monotony in listening -for so long to the voice of a single speaker -addressing others who are silent behind -a screen. But Mr. Cross could not we -think, have devised a better way of dealing -with his material: it is simple, modest, -and effective.</p> - -<p>George Eliot, after all, led the life of -a studious recluse, with none of the bustle, -variety, motion, and large communication -with the outer world, that justified -Lockhart and Moore in making a -long story of the lives of Scott and Byron. -Even here, among men of letters, -who were also men of action and of -great sociability, are not all biographies -too long? Let any sensible reader turn -to the shelf where his Lives repose; we -shall be surprised if he does not find -that nearly every one of them, taking -the present century alone, and including -such splendid and attractive subjects -as Goethe, Hume, Romilly, Mackintosh, -Horner, Chalmers, Arnold, -Southey, Cowper, would not have been -all the better for judicious curtailment. -Lockhart, who wrote the longest, wrote -also the shortest, the Life of Burns; -and the shortest is the best, in spite of -defects which would only have been -worse if the book had been bigger. It -is to be feared that, conscientious and -honorable as his self-denial has been, -even Mr. Cross has not wholly resisted -the natural and besetting error of the -biographer. Most people will think that -the hundred pages of the Italian tour -(vol. ii.), and some other not very remarkable -impressions of travel, might -as well or better have been left out.</p> - -<p>As a mere letter-writer, George Eliot -will not rank among the famous masters -of what is usually considered es<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span>pecially -a woman’s art. She was too -busy in serious work to have leisure -for that most delightful way of wasting -time. Besides that, she had by nature -none of that fluency, rapidity, abandonment, -pleasant volubility, which make -letters amusing, captivating, or piquant. -What Mr. Cross says of her as the mistress -of a <em>salon</em>, is true of her for the -most part as a correspondent:—“Playing -around many disconnected subjects, -in talk, neither interested nor amused -her much. She took things too seriously, -and seldom found the effort of -entertaining compensated by the gain” -(iii. 335). There is the outpouring of -ardent feeling for her friends, sobering -down, as life goes on, into a crooning -kindliness, affectionate and honest, but -often tinged with considerable self-consciousness. -It was said of some one -that his epigrams did honor to his heart; -in the reverse direction we occasionally -feel that George Eliot’s effusive playfulness -does honor to her head. It lacks -simplicity and <em>verve</em>. Even in an invitation -to dinner, the words imply a -grave sense of responsibility on both -sides, and sense of responsibility is fatal -to the charm of familiar correspondence.</p> - -<p>As was inevitable in one whose mind -was so habitually turned to the deeper -elements of life, she lets fall the pearls -of wise speech even in short notes. -Here are one or two:—</p> - -<p>“My own experience and development -deepen every day my conviction -that our moral progress may be measured -by the degree in which we sympathise -with individual suffering and -individual joy.”</p> - -<p>“If there is one attitude more odious -to me than any other of the many attitudes -of ‘knowingness,’ it is that air -of lofty superiority to the vulgar. She -will soon find out that I am a very commonplace -woman.”</p> - -<p>“It so often happens that others are -measuring us by our past self while we -are looking back on that self with a mixture -of disgust and sorrow.”</p> - -<p>The following is one of the best examples, -one of the few examples, of her -best manner:—</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span></p> -<blockquote> - -<p>“I have been made rather unhappy by my -husband’s impulsive proposal about Christmas. -We are dull old persons, and your two sweet -young ones ought to find each Christmas a -new bright bead to string on their memory, -whereas to spend the time with us would be -to string on a dark shrivelled berry. They -ought to have a group of young creatures to -be joyful with. Our own children always -spend their Christmas with Gertrude’s family; -and we have usually taken our sober merry-making -with friends out of town. Illness -among these will break our custom this year; -and thus <i lang="de">mein Mann</i>, feeling that our Christmas -was free, considered how very much he -liked being with you, omitting the other side -of the question—namely, our total lack of -means to make a suitably joyous meeting, a -real festival, for Phil and Margaret. I was -conscious of this lack in the very moment of -the proposal, and the consciousness has been -pressing on me more and more painfully ever -since. Even my husband’s affectionate hopefulness -cannot withstand my melancholy demonstration. -So pray consider the kill-joy proposition -as entirely retracted, and give us something -of yourselves only on simple black-letter days, -when the Herald Angels have not -been raising expectations early in the morning.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>This is very pleasant, but such pieces -are rare, and the infirmity of human nature -has sometimes made us sigh over -these pages at the recollection of the -cordial cheeriness of Scott’s letters, the -high spirits of Macaulay, the graceful -levity of Voltaire, the rattling dare-devilry -of Byron. Epistolary stilts among -men of letters went out of fashion with -Pope, who, as was said, thought that unless -every period finished with a conceit, -the letter was not worth the -postage. Poor spirits cannot be the -explanation of the stiffness in George -Eliot’s case, for no letters in the English -language are so full of playfulness -and charm as those of Cowper, and he -was habitually sunk in gulfs deeper and -blacker than George Eliot’s own. It -was sometimes observed of her, that in -her conversation, <i lang="fr">elle s’écoutait quand -elle parlait</i>—she seemed to be listening -to her own voice while she spoke. It -must be allowed that we are not always -free from an impression of self-listening, -even in the most caressing of the -letters before us.</p> - -<p>This is not much better, however, -than trifling. I dare say that if a lively -Frenchman could have watched the inspired -Pythia on the sublime tripod, he -would have cried, <i lang="fr">Elle s’écoute quand -elle parle</i>. When everything of that -kind has been said, we have the profound -satisfaction, which is not quite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -a matter of course in the history of -literature, of finding, after all that the -woman and the writer were one. The -life does not belie the books, nor private -conduct stultify public profession. -We close the third volume of the biography, -as we have so often closed the -third volume of her novels, feeling to -the very core that in spite of a style -that the French call <i lang="fr">alambiqué</i>, in spite -of tiresome double and treble distillations -of phraseology, in spite of fatiguing -moralities, gravities, and ponderosities, -we have still been in communion -with a high and commanding intellect, -and a great nature. We are vexed -by pedantries that recall the <i lang="fr">précieuses</i> -of the Hôtel Rambouillet, but we know -that she had the soul of the most heroic -women in history. We crave more -of the Olympian serenity that makes -action natural and repose refreshing, -but we cannot miss the edification of -a life marked by indefatigable labor -after generous purposes, by an unsparing -struggle for duty, and by steadfast -and devout fellowship with lofty -thoughts.</p> - -<p>Those who know Mr. Myers’s essay -on George Eliot will not have forgotten -its most imposing passage:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“I remember how at Cambridge, I walked -with her once in the Fellows’ Garden of Trinity, -on an evening of rainy May; and she, -stirred somewhat beyond her wont, and taking -as her text the three words which have been -used so often as the inspiring trumpet-calls of -men.—the words <em>God</em>, <em>Immortality</em>, <em>Duty</em>,—pronounced, -with terrible earnestness, how inconceivable -was the <em>first</em>, how unbelievable the -<em>second</em>, and yet how peremptory and absolute -the <em>third</em>. Never, perhaps, had sterner accents -affirmed the sovereignty of impersonal and unrecompensing -law. I listened, and night fell; -her grave, majestic countenance turned toward -me like a Sibyl’s in the gloom; it was as though -she withdrew from my grasp, one by one, the -two scrolls of promise, and left me the third -scroll only, awful with inevitable fates.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>To many, the relation, which was the -most important event in George Eliot’s -life, will seem one of those irretrievable -errors which reduce all talk of duty to -a mockery. It is inevitable that this -should be so, and those who disregard -a social law have little right to complain. -Men and women whom in every other -respect it would be monstrous to call -bad, have taken this particular law into -their own hands before now, and com<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span>mitted -themselves to conduct of which -“magnanimity owes no account to prudence.” -But if they had sense and -knew what they were about, they have -braced themselves to endure the disapproval -of a majority fortunately more -prudential than themselves. The world -is busy, and its instruments are clumsy. -It cannot know all the facts; it has -neither time nor material for unravelling -all the complexities of motive, or for -distinguishing mere libertinage from -grave and deliberate moral misjudgment; -it is protecting itself as much as -it is condemning the offenders. On all -this, then, we need have neither sophistry -nor cant. But those who seek something -deeper than a verdict for the honest -working purpose of leaving cards -and inviting to dinner, may feel, as has -been observed by a contemporary writer, -that men and women are more fairly -judged, if judge them we must, by the -way in which they bear the burden of -an error, than by the decision that laid -the burden on their lives. Some idea -of this kind was in her own mind when -she wrote to her most intimate friend -in 1857, “If I live five years longer, -the positive result of my existence on -the side of truth and goodness will -outweigh the small negative good that -would have consisted in my not doing -anything to shock others” (i. 461). This -urgent desire to balance the moral account -may have had something to do -with that laborious sense of responsibility -which weighed so heavily on her -soul, and had so equivocal an effect upon -her art. Whatever else is to be said of -this particular union, nobody can deny -that the picture on which it left a mark -was an exhibition of extraordinary self-denial, -energy, and persistency in the -cultivation and the use of great gifts and -powers for what their possessor believed -to be the highest objects for society and -mankind.</p> - -<p>A more perfect companionship, one -on a higher intellectual level, or of -more sustained mental activity, is nowhere -recorded. Lewes’s mercurial temperament -contributed as much as the -powerful mind of his consort to prevent -their seclusion from degenerating -into an owlish stagnation. To the very -last (1878) he retained his extraordinary -buoyancy.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> “Nothing but death could -quench that bright flame. Even on his -worst days he had always a good story -to tell; and I remember on one occasion -in the drawing-room at Witley, between -two bouts of pain, he sang through -with great <i>brio</i>, though without much -voice, the greater portion of the tenor -part in the <cite>Barber of Seville</cite>, George -Eliot playing his accompaniment, and -both of them thoroughly enjoying -the fun” (iii. 334). All this gaiety, his -inexhaustible vivacity, the facility of his -transitions from brilliant levity to a keen -seriousness, the readiness of his mental -response, and the wide range of intellectual -accomplishments that were much -more than superficial, made him a source -of incessant and varied stimulation. -Even those, and there were some, who -thought that his gaiety bordered on flippancy, -that his genial self-content often -came near to shockingly bad taste, and -that his reminiscences of poor Mr. Fitzball -and the green-room and all the rest -of the Bohemia in which he had once -dwelt, too racy for his company, still -found it hard to resist the alert intelligence -with which he rose to every good -topic, and the extraordinary heartiness -and spontaneity with which the wholesome -spring of human laughter was -touched in him.</p> - -<p>Lewes had plenty of egotism, not to -give it a more unamiable name, but it -never mastered his intellectual sincerity. -George Eliot describes him as one of the -few human beings she has known who -will, in the heat of an argument, see, -and straightway confess, that he is in -the wrong, instead of trying to shift his -ground or use any other device of vanity. -“The intense happiness of our -union,” she wrote to a friend, “is derived -in a high degree from the perfect -freedom with which we each follow and -declare our own impressions. In this -respect I know <em>no</em> man so great as he—that -difference of opinion rouses no -egotistic irritation in him, and that he is -ready to admit that another argument is -the stronger, the moment his intellect -recognises it” (ii. 279). This will sound -very easy to the dispassionate reader, -because it is so obviously just and -proper, but if the dispassionate reader -ever tries, he may find the virtue not so -easy as it looks. Finally, and above -all, we can never forget in Lewes’s case<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -how much true elevation and stability of -character was implied in the unceasing -reverence, gratitude, and devotion with -which for five-and-twenty years he -treated her to whom he owed all his happiness, -and who most truly, in his own -words (ii. 76), had made his life a new -birth.</p> - -<p>The reader will be mistaken if he -should infer from such passages as -abound in her letters that George Eliot -had any particular weakness for domestic -or any other kind of idolatry. George -Sand, in <cite>Lucrezia Floriani</cite> where she -drew so unkind a picture of Chopin, has -described her own life and character as -marked by “a great facility for illusions, -a blind benevolence of judgment, a tenderness -of heart that was inexhaustible; -consequently great precipitancy, many -mistakes, much weakness, fits of heroic -devotion to unworthy objects, enormous -force applied to an end that was wretched -in truth and fact, but sublime in her -thought.” George Eliot had none of -this facility. Nor was general benignity -in her at all of the poor kind that is incompatible -with a great deal of particular -censure. Universal benevolence -never lulled an active critical faculty, -nor did she conceive true humility as at -all consisting in hiding from an impostor -that you have found him out. Like -Cardinal Newman, for whose beautiful -passage at the end of the <cite>Apologia</cite> she -expresses such richly deserved admiration -(ii. 387), she unites to the gift of -unction and brotherly love, a capacity -for giving an extremely shrewd nip to a -brother whom she does not love. Her -passion for Thomas-a-Kempis did not -prevent her, and there was no reason -why it should, from dealing very faithfully -with a friend, for instance (ii. 271); -from describing Mr. Buckle as a conceited, -ignorant man; or castigating -Brougham and other people in slashing -reviews; or otherwise from showing -that great expansiveness of the affections -went with a remarkably strong, -hard, masculine, positive, judging head.</p> - -<p>The benefits that George Eliot gained -from her exclusive companionship with -a man of lively talents were not without -some compensating drawbacks. The -keen stimulation and incessant strain, -unrelieved by variety of daily intercourse, -and never diversified by partici<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span>pation -in the external activities of the -world, tended to bring about a loaded, -over-conscious, over-anxious state of -mind, which was not only not wholesome -in itself, but was inconsistent with -the full freshness and strength of artistic -work. The presence of the real world -in his life has, in all but one or two -cases, been one element of the novelist’s -highest success in the world of imaginative -creation. George Eliot had no -greater favorite than Scott, and when a -series of little books upon English men -of letters was planned, she said that she -thought that writer among us the happiest -to whom it should fall to deal with -Scott. But Scott lived full in the life -of his fellow-men. Even of Wordsworth, -her other favorite, though he was -not a creative artist, we may say that he -daily saturated himself in those natural -elements and effects, which were the -material, the suggestion, and the sustaining -inspiration of his consoling and -fortifying poetry. George Eliot did not -live in the midst of her material, but -aloof from it and outside of it. Heaven -forbid that this should seem to be said -by way of censure. Both her health -and other considerations made all approach -to busy sociability in any of its -shapes both unwelcome and impossible. -But in considering the relation of her -manner of life to her work, her creations, -her meditations, one cannot but -see that when compared with some -writers of her own sex and age, she is -constantly bookish, artificial, and mannered. -She is this because she fed her -art too exclusively, first on the memories -of her youth, and next from books, -pictures, statues, instead of from the -living model, as seen in its actual motion. -It is direct calls and personal -claims from without that make fiction -alive. Jane Austen bore her part in the -little world of the parlor that she described. -The writer of <cite>Sylvia’s Lovers</cite>, -whose work George Eliot appreciated -with unaffected generosity (i. 305), was -the mother of children, and was surrounded -by the wholesome actualities of -the family. The authors of <cite>Jane Eyre</cite> -and <cite>Wuthering Heights</cite> passed their -days in one long succession of wild, -stormy, squalid, anxious, and miserable -scenes—almost as romantic, as poetic, -and as tragic, to use George Elio<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span>t’s -words, as their own stories. George -Sand eagerly shared, even to the pitch -of passionate tumult and disorder, in -the emotions, the aspirations, the ardor, -the great conflicts and controversies of -her time. In every one of these, their -daily closeness to the real life of the -world has given a vitality to their work -which we hardly expect that even the -next generation will find in more than -one or two of the romances of George -Eliot. It may even come to pass that -their position will be to hers as that of -Fielding is to Richardson in our own -day.</p> - -<p>In a letter to Mr. Harrison, which is -printed here (ii. 441), George Eliot describes -her own method, as “the severe -effort of trying to make certain ideas -thoroughly incarnate, as if they had -revealed themselves to me first in the -flesh and not in the spirit,” The passage -recalls a discussion one day at the -Priory in 1877. She was speaking of -the different methods of the poetic or -creative art, and said that she began -with moods, thoughts, passions, and -then invented the story for their sake, -and fitted it to them; Shakespeare, on -the other hand, picked up a story that -struck him, and then proceeded to work -in the moods, thoughts, passions, as -they came to him in the course of meditation -on the story. We hardly need -the result to convince us that Shakespeare -chose the better part.</p> - -<p>The influence of her reserved fashion -of daily life was heightened by the literary -exclusiveness which of set purpose -she imposed upon herself. “The less -an author hears about himself,” she -says, in one place, “the better.” “It -is my rule, very strictly observed, not to -read the criticisms on my writings. For -years I have found this abstinence necessary -to preserve me from that discouragement -as an artist, which ill-judged -praise, no less than ill-judged blame, -tends to produce in us.” George Eliot -pushed this repugnance to criticism beyond -the personal reaction of it upon -the artist, and more than disparaged its -utility, even in the most competent and -highly trained hands. She finds that -the diseased spot in the literary culture -of our time is touched with the finest -point by the saying of La Bruyère, that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -“the pleasure of criticism robs us of the -pleasure of being keenly moved by very -fine things” (iii. 327). “It seems to -me,” she writes (ii. 412), “much better -to read a man’s own writings, than -to read what others say about him, -especially when the man is first-rate and -the others third-rate. As Goethe said -long ago about Spinoza, ‘I always preferred -to learn from the man himself -what <em>he</em> thought, rather than to hear -from some one else what he ought to -have thought.’” As if the scholar will -not always be glad to do both, to study -his author and not to refuse the help of -the rightly prepared commentator; as if -even Goethe himself would not have -been all the better acquainted with Spinoza, -if he could have read Mr. Pollock’s -book upon him. But on this question -Mr. Arnold has fought a brilliant battle, -and to him George Eliot’s heresies may -well be left.</p> - -<p>On the personal point whether an author -should ever hear of himself, George -Eliot oddly enough contradicts herself -in a casual remark upon Bulwer. “I -have a great respect,” she says, “for -the energetic industry which has made -the most of his powers. He has been -writing diligently for more than thirty -years, constantly improving his position, -and profiting by the lessons of public -opinion and of other writers” (ii. 322). -But if it is true that the less an author -hears about himself the better, how are -these salutary “lessons of public opinion” -to penetrate to him? “Rubens,” -she says, writing from Munich, in 1858 -(ii. 28), “gives me more pleasure than -any other painter whether right or wrong. -More than any one else he makes me -feel that painting is a great art, and that -he was a great artist. His are such real -breathing men and women, moved by -passions, not mincing, and grimacing, -and posing in mere imitation of passion.” -But Rubens did not concentrate his intellect -on his own ponderings, nor shut -out the wholesome chastenings of praise -and blame, lest they should discourage -his inspiration. Beethoven, another of -the chief objects of George Eliot’s veneration, -bore all the rough stress of an -active and troublesome calling, though -of the musician, if of any, we may say, -that his is the art of self-absorption.</p> - -<p>Hence, delightful and inspiring as it -is to read this story of diligent and dis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span>criminating -cultivation, of accurate truth -and real erudition and beauty, not -vaguely but methodically interpreted, -one has some of the sensations of the -moral and intellectual hothouse. Mental -hygiene is apt to lead to mental valetudinarianism. -“The ignorant journalist” -may be left to the torment which -George Eliot wished that she could inflict -on one of those literary slovens -whose manuscripts bring even the most -philosophic editor to the point of exasperation: -“I should like to stick red-hot -skewers through the writer, whose -style is as sprawling as his handwriting.” -By all means. But much that -even the most sympathetic reader finds -repellent in George Eliot’s later work -might perhaps never have been, if Mr. -Lewes had not practised with more than -Russian rigor a censorship of the press -and the post office which kept every disagreeable -whisper scrupulously from her -ear. To slop every draft with sandbags, -screens, and curtains, and to limit -one’s exercise to a drive in a well-warmed -brougham with the windows -drawn up, may save a few annoying -colds in the head, but the end of the -process will be the manufacture of an -invalid.</p> - -<p>Whatever view we may take of the -precise connection between what she -read, or abstained from reading, and -what she wrote, no studious man or -woman can look without admiration and -envy on the breadth, variety, seriousness, -and energy, with which she set -herself her tasks and executed them. -She says in one of her letters, “there is -something more piteous almost than -soapless poverty in the application of -feminine incapacity to literature” (ii. -16). Nobody has ever taken the responsibilities -of literature more ardently -in earnest. She was accustomed to -read aloud to Mr. Lewes three hours a -day, and her private reading, except -when she was engaged in the actual -stress of composition, must have filled -as many more. His extraordinary alacrity -and her brooding intensity of mind, -prevented these hours from being that -leisurely process in slippers and easy -chair which passes with many for the -practice of literary cultivation. Much -of her reading was for the direct purposes -of her own work. The young<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -lady who begins to write historic novels -out of her own head will find something -much to her advantage if she will refer -to the list of books read by George -Eliot during the latter half of 1861, -when she was meditating <cite>Romola</cite> (ii. -325). Apart from immediate needs and -uses, no student of our time has known -better the solace, the delight, the guidance -that abide in great writings. Nobody -who did not share the scholars -enthusiasm could have described the -blind scholar in his library in the adorable -fifth chapter of <cite>Romola</cite>; and we -feel that she must have copied out with -keen gusto of her own those words of -Petrarch which she puts into old Bardo’s -mouth—“<i lang="la">Libri medullitus delectant, -colloquuntur, consulunt, et viva quadam -nobis atque arguta familiaritate junguntur</i>.”</p> - -<p>As for books that are not books, as -Milton bade us do with “neat repasts -with wine,” she wisely spared to interpose -them oft. Her standards of knowledge -were those of the erudite and the -savant, and even in the region of beauty -she was never content with any but definite -impressions. In one place in these -volumes, by the way, she makes a remark -curiously inconsistent with the -usual scientific attitude of her mind. -She has been reading Darwin’s <cite>Origin -of Species</cite>, on which she makes the truly -astonishing criticism that it is “sadly -wanting in illustrative facts,” and that -“it is not impressive from want of -luminous and orderly presentation” (ii. -43-48). Then she says that “the development -theory, and all other explanation -of processes by which things -came to be produce a feeble impression -compared with the mystery that lies under -processes.” This position it does -not now concern us to discuss, but at -least it is in singular discrepancy with -her strong habitual preference for accurate -and quantitative knowledge, over -vague and misty moods in the region of -the unknowable and the unreachable.</p> - -<p>George Eliot’s means of access to -books were very full. She knew French, -German, Italian, and Spanish accurately. -Greek and Latin, Mr. Cross tells -us, she could read with thorough delight -to herself; though after the appalling -specimen of Mill’s juvenile Latinity -that Mr. Bain has disinterred, the fas<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span>tidious -collegian may be sceptical of the -scholarship of prodigies. Hebrew was -her favorite study to the end of her -days. People commonly supposed that -she had been inoculated with an artificial -taste for science by her companion. -We now learn that she took a decided -interest in natural science long before -she made Mr. Lewes’s acquaintance, -and many of the roundabout pedantries -that displeased people in her latest writings, -and were set down to his account, -appeared in her composition before she -had ever exchanged a word with him.</p> - -<p>All who knew her well enough were -aware that she had what Mr. Cross describes -as “limitless persistency in application.” -This is an old account of -genius, but nobody illustrates more -effectively the infinite capacity of taking -pains. In reading, in looking at pictures, -in playing difficult music, in talking, -she was equally importunate in the -search, and equally insistent on mastery. -Her faculty of sustained concentration -was part of her immense intellectual -power. “Continuous thought did not -fatigue her. She could keep her mind -on the stretch hour after hour; the -body might give way, but the brain remained -unwearied” (iii. 422). It is -only a trifling illustration of the infection -of her indefatigable quality of taking -pains, that Lewes should have formed -the important habit of re-writing every -page of his work, even of short articles -for Reviews, before letting it go to the -press. The journal shows what sore -pain and travail composition was to her. -She wrote the last volume of <cite>Adam Bede</cite> -in six weeks; she “could not help writing -it fast, because it was written under -the stress of emotion.” But what a -prodigious contrast between her pace, -and Walter Scott’s twelve volumes a -year! Like many other people of powerful -brains, she united strong and clear -general retentiveness, with a weak and -untrustworthy verbal memory. “She -never could trust herself to write a quotation -without verifying it.” “What -courage and patience,” she says of some -one else, “are wanted for every life -that aims to produce anything,” and -her own existence was one long and -painful sermon on that text.</p> - -<p>Over few lives have the clouds of -mental dejection hung in such heavy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -unmoving banks. Nearly every chapter -is strewn with melancholy words. “I -cannot help thinking more of your illness -than of the pleasure in prospect—according -to my foolish nature, which -is always prone to live in past pain.” -The same sentiment is the mournful refrain -that runs through all. Her first -resounding triumph, the success of <cite>Adam -Bede</cite>, instead of buoyancy and exultation, -only adds a fresh sense of the -weight upon her future life. “The -self-questioning whether my nature will -be able to meet the heavy demands upon -it, both of personal duty and intellectual -production—presses upon me almost -continually in a way that prevents me -even from tasting the quiet joy I might -have in the <em>work done</em>. I feel no regret -that the fame, as such, brings no pleasure; -but it <em>is</em> a grief to me that I do -not constantly feel strong in thankfulness -that my past life has vindicated its -uses.”</p> - -<p><cite>Romola</cite> seems to have been composed -in constant gloom. “I remember my -wife telling me, at Witley,” says Mr. -Cross, “how cruelly she had suffered at -Dorking from working under a leaden -weight at this time. The writing of -<cite>Romola</cite> ploughed into her more than -any of her other books. She told me -she could put her finger on it as marking -a well-defined transition in her life. -In her own words, ‘I began it a young -woman—I finished it an old woman.’” -She calls upon herself to make “greater -efforts against indolence and the despondency -that comes from too egoistic -a dread of failure.” “This is the last -entry I mean to make in my old book -in which I wrote for the first time at -Geneva in 1849. What moments of -despair I passed through after that—despair -that life would ever be made -precious to me by the consciousness -that I lived to some good purpose! It -was that sort of despair that sucked -away the sap of half the hours which -might have been filled by energetic -youthful activity; and the same demon -tries to get hold of me again whenever -an old work is dismissed, and a new -one is being meditated” (ii. 307). One -day the entry is: “Horrible scepticism -about all things paralysing my mind. -Shall I ever be good for anything again? -Ever do anything again?” On another,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -she describes herself to a trusted friend -as “a mind morbidly desponding, and -a consciousness tending more and more -to consist in memories of error and imperfection -rather than in a strengthening -sense of achievement.” We have to -turn to such books as Bunyan’s <cite>Grace -Abounding</cite> to find any parallel to such -wretchedness.</p> - -<p>Times were not wanting when the sun -strove to shine through the gloom, when -the resistance to melancholy was not -wholly a failure, and when, as she says, -she felt that Dante was right in condemning -to the Stygian marsh those who -had been sad under the blessed sunlight. -“Sad were we in the sweet air that is -gladdened by the sun, bearing sluggish -smoke in our hearts; now lie we sadly -here in the black ooze.” But still for -the most part sad she remained in the -sweet air, and the look of pain that -haunted her eyes and brow even in her -most genial and animated moments, only -told too truly the story of her inner life.</p> - -<p>That from this central gloom a shadow -should spread to her work was unavoidable. -It would be rash to compare -George Eliot with Tacitus, with Dante, -with Pascal. A novelist—for as a poet, -after trying hard to think otherwise, -most of us find her magnificent but unreadable—as -a novelist bound by the -conditions of her art to deal in a thousand -trivialities of human character and -situation, she has none of their severity -of form. But she alone of moderns has -their note of sharp-cut melancholy, of -sombre rumination, of brief disdain. -Living in a time when humanity has been -raised, whether formally or informally, -into a religion, she draws a painted -curtain of pity before the tragic scene. -Still the attentive ear catches from time -to time the accents of an unrelenting -voice, that proves her kindred with those -three mighty spirits and stern monitors -of men. In George Eliot, a reader with -a conscience may be reminded of the -saying that when a man opens Tacitus -he puts himself in the confessional. -She was no vague dreamer over the -folly and the weakness of men, and the -cruelty and blindness of destiny. Hers -is not the dejection of the poet who -“could lie down like a tired child, And -weep away this life of care,” as Shelley -at Naples; nor is it the despairing mis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span>ery -that moved Cowper in the awful -verses of the <cite>Castaway</cite>. It was not such -self-pity as wrung from Burns the cry to -life, “Thou art a galling load, Along, a -rough, a weary road, To wretches such -as I;” nor such general sense of the -woes of the race as made Keats think of -the world as a place where men sit and -hear each other groan, “Where but to -think is to be full of sorrow, And -leaden-eyed despairs.” She was as far -removed from the plangent reverie of -Rousseau as from the savage truculence -of Swift. Intellectual training had given -her the spirit of order and proportion, -of definiteness and measure, and this -marks her alike from the great sentimentalists -and the sweeping satirists. -“Pity and fairness,” as she beautifully -says (iii. 317), “are two little words -which, carried out, would embrace the -utmost delicacies of the moral life.” -But hers is not seldom the severe fairness -of the judge, and the pity that may -go with putting on the black cap after a -conviction for high treason. In the -midst of many an easy flowing page, the -reader is surprised by some bitter aside, -some judgment of intense and concentrated -irony with the flash of a blade in -it, some biting sentence where lurks the -stern disdain and the anger of Tacitus, -and Dante, and Pascal. Souls like -these are not born for happiness.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This is not the occasion for an elaborate -discussion of George Eliot’s place -in the mental history of her time, but -her biography shows that she travelled -along the road that was trodden by not -a few in her day. She started from that -fervid evangelicalism which has made -the base of many a powerful character -in this century, from Cardinal Newman -downwards. Then with curious rapidity -she threw it all off, and embraced with -equal zeal the rather harsh and crude -negations which were then associated -with the <cite>Westminster Review</cite>. The second -stage did not last much longer than -the first. “Religious and moral sympathy -with the historical life of man,” she -said (ii. 363), “is the larger half of culture;” -and this sympathy, which was the -fruit of her culture, had by the time she -was thirty become the new seed of a -positive faith and a semi-conservative -creed. Here is a passage from a letter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span> -of 1862 (she had translated Strauss, we -may remind ourselves, in 1845, and -Feuerbach in 1854):—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Pray don’t ask me ever again not to rob a -man of his religious belief, as if you thought -my mind tended to such robbery. I have too -profound a conviction of the efficacy that lies -in all sincere faith, and the spiritual blight that -comes with no-faith, to have any negative -propagandism in me. In fact, I have very little -sympathy with Freethinkers as a class, and -have lost all interest in mere antagonism to -religious doctrines. I care only to know, if -possible, the lasting meaning that lies in all -religious doctrine from the beginning till now” -(ii. 243).</p></blockquote> - -<p>Eleven years later the same tendency -had deepened and gone further:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“All the great religions of the world, historically -considered, are rightly the objects of -deep reverence and sympathy—they are the -record of spiritual struggles, which are the -types of our own. This is to me pre-eminently -true of Hebrewism and Christianity, -on which my own youth was nourished. And -in this sense I have no antagonism towards -any religious belief, but a strong outflow of -sympathy. Every community met to worship -the highest God (which is understood to be expressed -by God) carries me along in its main -current; and if there were not reasons against -by following such an inclination, I should go -to church or chapel, constantly, for the sake of -the delightful emotions of fellowship which -come over me in religious assemblies—the very -nature of such assemblies being the recognition -of a binding belief or spiritual law, which -is to lift us into willing obedience, and save us -from the slavery of unregulated passion or impulse. -And with regard to other people, it -seems to me that those who have no definite -conviction which constitutes a protesting faith, -may often more beneficially cherish the good -within them and be better members of society -by a conformity based on the recognized good -in the public belief, than by a nonconformity -which has nothing but negatives to utter. -<em>Not</em>, of course, if the conformity would be -accompanied by a consciousness of hypocrisy. -That is a question for the individual conscience -to settle. But there is enough to be said on -the different points of view from which conformity -may be regarded, to hinder a ready -judgment against those who continue to conform -after ceasing to believe in the ordinary -sense. But with the utmost largeness of allowance -for the difficulty of deciding in special -cases, it must remain true that the highest lot -is to have definite beliefs about which you feel -that ‘necessity is laid upon you’ to declare -them, as something better which you are bound -to try and give to those who have the worse” -(iii. 215-217).</p></blockquote> - -<p>These volumes contain many passages -in the same sense—as, of course, her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -books contain them too. She was a -constant reader of the Bible, and the -<cite>Imitatio</cite> was never far from her hand. -“She particularly enjoyed reading aloud -some of the finest chapters of Isaiah, -Jeremiah, and St. Paul’s Epistles. The -Bible and our elder English poets best -suited the organ-like tones of her voice, -which required for their full effect a certain -solemnity and majesty of rhythm.” -She once expressed to a younger friend, -who shared her opinions, her sense of -the loss which they had in being unable -to practise the old ordinances of family -prayer. “I hope,” she says, “we are -well out of that phase in which the most -philosophic view of the past was held to -be a smiling survey of human folly, and -when the wisest man was supposed to -be one who could sympathise with no -age but the age to come” (ii. 308).</p> - -<p>For this wise reaction she was no -doubt partially indebted, as so many -others have been, to the teaching of -Comte. Unquestionably the fundamental -ideas had come into her mind at -a much earlier period, when, for example, -she was reading Mr. R. W. Mackay’s -<cite>Progress of the Intellect</cite> (1850, i. -253). But it was Comte who enabled -her to systematise these ideas, and to -give them that “definiteness,” which, -as these pages show in a hundred places, -was the quality that she sought before -all others alike in men and their thoughts. -She always remained at a respectful distance -from complete adherence to -Comte’s scheme, but she was never tired -of protesting that he was a really great -thinker, that his famous survey of the -Middle Ages in the fifth volume of the -<cite>Positive Philosophy</cite> was full of luminous -ideas, and that she had thankfully -learned much from it. Wordsworth, -again, was dear to her in no small degree -on the strength of such passages as -that from the <cite>Prelude</cite>, which is the -motto of one of the last chapters of her -last novel:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“The human nature with which I felt</div> - <div class="verse">That I belonged and reverenced with love,</div> - <div class="verse">Was not a persistent presence, but a spirit</div> - <div class="verse">Diffused through time and space, with aid derived</div> - <div class="verse">Of evidence from monuments, erect,</div> - <div class="verse">Prostrate, or leaning towards their common rest</div> - <div class="verse">In earth, <em>the widely scattered wreck sublime</em></div> - <div class="verse"><em>Of vanished nations</em>.”</div> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span></p> -<p>Or this again, also from the <cite>Prelude</cite>, -(see iii. 389):—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent22">“There is</div> - <div class="verse">One great society alone on earth:</div> - <div class="verse">The noble Living and the noble Dead.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Underneath this growth and diversity -of opinion we see George Eliot’s oneness -of character, just, for that matter, -as we see it in Mill’s long and grave -march from the uncompromising denials -instilled into him by his father, then -through Wordsworthian mysticism and -Coleridgean conservatism, down to the -pale belief and dim starlight faith of his -posthumous volume. George Eliot was -more austere, more unflinching, and of -ruder intellectual constancy than Mill. -She never withdrew from the position -that she had taken up, of denying and -rejecting; she stood to that to the end: -what she did was to advance to the far -higher perception that denial and rejection -are not the aspects best worth attending -to or dwelling upon. She had -little patience with those who fear that -the doctrine of protoplasm must dry up -the springs of human effort. Any one -who trembles at that catastrophe may -profit by a powerful remonstrance of -hers in the pages before us (iii. 245-250, -also 228).</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“The consideration of molecular physics is -not the direct ground of human love and moral -action, any more than it is the direct means of -composing a noble picture or of enjoying great -music. One might as well hope to dissect -one’s own body and be merry in doing it, as -take molecular physics (in which you must -banish from your field of view what is specifically -human) to be your dominant guide, your -determiner of motives, in what is solely -human. That every study has its bearing on -every other is true; but pain and relief, love -and sorrow, have their peculiar history which -make an experience and knowledge over and -above the swing of atoms.</p> - -<p>“With regard to the pains and limitations -of one’s personal lot, I suppose there is not a -single man, or woman, who has not more or -less need of that stoical resignation which is -often a hidden heroism, or who, in considering -his or her past history, is not aware that it -has been cruelly affected by the ignorant or -selfish action of some fellow-being in a more -or less close relation of life. And to my mind, -there can be no stronger motive, than this -perception, to an energetic effort that the lives -nearest to us shall not suffer in a like manner -from <em>us</em>.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span></p> -<p>“As to duration and the way in which it -affects your view of the human history, what -is really the difference to your imagination -between infinitude and billions when you have -to consider the value of human experience? -Will you say that since your life has a term of -threescore years and ten, it was really a matter -of indifference whether you were a cripple with -a wretched skin disease, or an active creature -with a mind at large for the enjoyment of -knowledge, and with a nature which has -attracted others to you?”</p></blockquote> - -<p>For herself, she remained in the position -described in one of her letters in -1860 (ii. 283):—“I have faith in the -working out of higher possibilities than -the Catholic or any other Church has -presented; and those who have strength -to wait and endure are bound to accept -no formula which their whole souls—their -intellect, as well as their emotions—do -not embrace with entire reverence. -The highest calling and election is <em>to do -without opium</em>, and live through all our -pain with conscious, clear-eyed endurance.” -She would never accept the -common optimism. As she says here:—“Life, -though a good to men on the -whole, is a doubtful good to many, and -to some not a good at all. To my -thought it is a source of constant mental -distortion to make the denial of this a -part of religion—to go on pretending -things are better than they are.”</p> - -<p>Of the afflicting dealings with the world -of spirits, which in those days were -comparatively limited to the untutored -minds of America, but which since have -come to exert so singular a fascination -for some of the most brilliant of George -Eliot’s younger friends (see iii. 204), she -thought as any sensible Philistine among -us persists in thinking to this day:—</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span></p> -<blockquote> - -<p>“If it were another spirit aping Charlotte -Brontë—if here and there at rare spots and -among people of a certain temperament, or -even at many spots and among people of all -temperaments, tricksy spirits are liable to rise -as a sort of earth-bubbles and set furniture in -movement, and tell things which we either -know already or should be as well without -knowing—I must frankly confess that I have -but a feeble interest in these doings, feeling -my life very short for the supreme and awful -revelations of a more orderly and intelligible -kind which I shall die with an imperfect -knowledge of. If there were miserable spirits -whom we could help—then I think we should -pause and have patience with their trivial-mindedness; -but otherwise I don’t feel bound to -study them more than I am bound to study -the special follies of a peculiar phase of human -society. Others, who feel differently, -and are attracted towards this study, are -making an experiment for us as to whether -anything better than bewilderment can come of -it. At present it seems to me that to rest any -fundamental part of religion on such a basis -is a melancholy misguidance of men’s minds -from the true sources of high and pure emotion” -(iii. 161).</p></blockquote> - -<p>The period of George Eliot’s productions -was from 1856, the date of her first -stories, down to 1876, when she wrote, -not under her brightest star, her last -novel of <cite>Daniel Deronda</cite>. During this -time the great literary influences of the -epoch immediately preceding had not -indeed fallen silent, but the most fruitful -seed had been sown. Carlyle’s -<cite>Sartor</cite> (1833-4), and his <cite>Miscellaneous -Essays</cite> (collected, 1839), were in all -hands; but he had fallen into the terrible -slough of his Prussian history (1858-65), -and the last word of his evangel -had gone forth to all whom it concerned. -<cite>In Memoriam</cite>, whose noble music and -deep-browed thought awoke such new -and wide response in men’s hearts, was -published in 1850. The second volume -of <cite>Modern Painters</cite>, of which I have -heard George Eliot say, as of <cite>In Memoriam</cite> -too, that she owed much and very -much to it, belongs to an earlier date -still (1846), and when it appeared, -though George Eliot was born in the -same year as its author, she was still -translating Strauss at Coventry. Mr. -Browning, for whose genius she had -such admiration, and who was always so -good a friend, did indeed produce during -this period some work which the -adepts find as full of power and beauty -as any that ever came from his pen. -But Mr. Browning’s genius has moved -rather apart from the general currents of -his time, creating character and working -out motives from within, undisturbed by -transient shadows from the passing -questions and answers of the day.</p> - -<p>The romantic movement was then -upon its fall. The great Oxford movement, -which besides its purely ecclesiastical -effects, had linked English religion -once more to human history, and which -was itself one of the unexpected out-comes -of the romantic movement, had -spent its original force, and no longer -interested the stronger minds among the -rising generation. The hour had sounded -for the scientific movement. In 1859, -was published the <cite>Origin of Species</cite>, undoubtedly -the most far-reaching agency<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span> -of the time, supported as it was by a -volume of new knowledge which came -pouring in from many sides. The same -period saw the important speculations of -Mr. Spencer, whose influence on George -Eliot had from their first acquaintance -been of a very decisive kind. Two -years after the <cite>Origin of Species</cite> came -Maine’s <cite>Ancient Law</cite>, and that was followed -by the accumulations of Mr. Tylor -and others, exhibiting order and fixed -correlation among great sets of facts -which had hitherto lain in that cheerful -chaos of general knowledge which has -been called general ignorance. The -excitement was immense. Evolution, -development, heredity, adaptation, variety, -survival, natural selection, were -so many patent pass-keys that were to -open every chamber.</p> - -<p>George Eliot’s novels, as they were -the imaginative application of this great -influx of new ideas, so they fitted in -with the moods which those ideas had -called up. “My function,” she said -(iii. 330), “is that of the æsthetic, not -the doctrinal teacher—the rousing of the -nobler emotions which make mankind -desire the social right, not the prescribing -of special measures, concerning -which the artistic mind, however strongly -moved by social sympathy, is often -not the best judge.” Her influence in -this direction over serious and impressionable -minds was great indeed. The -spirit of her art exactly harmonised -with the new thoughts that were shaking -the world of her contemporaries. Other -artists had drawn their pictures with a -strong ethical background, but she gave -a finer color and a more spacious air to -her ethics, by showing the individual -passions and emotions of her characters, -their adventures and their fortunes, as -evolving themselves from long series of -antecedent causes, and bound up with -many widely operating forces and distant -events. Here, too, we find ourselves -in the full stream of evolution, -hereditary, survival, and fixed inexorable -law.</p> - -<p>This scientific quality of her work -may be considered to have stood in the -way of her own aim. That the nobler -emotions roused by her writings tend to -“make mankind desire the social right,” -is not to be doubted; that we are not -sure that she imparts peculiar energy to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span> -the desire. What she kindles is not a -very strenuous, aggressive, and operative -desire. The sense of the iron limitations -that are set to improvement in -present and future by inexorable forces -of the past, is stronger in her than any -intrepid resolution to press on to whatever -improvement may chance to be -within reach if we only make the attempt. -In energy, in inspiration, in the -kindling of living faith in social effort, -George Sand, not to speak of Mazzini, -takes a far higher place.</p> - -<p>It was certainly not the business of an -artist to form judgments in the sphere -of practical politics, but George Eliot -was far too humane a nature not to be -deeply moved by momentous events as -they passed. Yet her observations, at -any rate after 1848, seldom show that -energy of sympathy of which we have -been speaking, and these observations -illustrate our point. We can hardly -think that anything was ever said about -the great civil war in America, so curiously -far-fetched as the following reflection:—“My -best consolation is that an -example on so tremendous a scale of -the need for the education of mankind -through the affections and sentiments, as -a basis for true development, will have -a strong influence on all thinkers, and -be a check to the arid narrow antagonism -which in some quarters is held to -be the only form of liberal thought” -(ii. 335).</p> - -<p>In 1848, as we have said, she felt the -hopes of the hour in all their fulness. -To a friend she writes (i. 179):—”You -and Carlyle (have you seen his article -in last week’s <cite>Examiner</cite>?) are the only -two people who feel just as I would -have them—who can glory in what is -actually great and beautiful without -putting forth any cold reservations and -incredulities to save their credit for -wisdom. I am all the more delighted -with your enthusiasm because I didn’t -expect it. I feared that you lacked revolutionary -ardor. But no—you are just -as <i>sans-culottish</i> and rash as I would -have you. You are not one of those -sages whose reason keeps so tight a rein -on their emotions that they are too constantly -occupied in calculating consequences -to rejoice in any great manifestation -of the forces that underlie our -everyday existence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span></p> - -<p>“I thought we had fallen on such evil -days that we were to see no really great -movement—that ours was what St. -Simon calls a purely critical epoch, not -at all an organic one; but I begin to be -glad of my date. I would consent, -however, to have a year clipt off my life -for the sake of witnessing such a scene -as that of the men of the barricades -bowing to the image of Christ, ‘who -first taught fraternity to men.’ One -trembles to look into every fresh newspaper -lest there should be something to -mar the picture; but hitherto even the -scoffing newspaper critics have been -compelled into a tone of genuine respect -for the French people and the -Provisional Government. Lamartine can -act a poem if he cannot write one of the -very first order. I hope that beautiful -face given to him in the pictorial newspaper -is really his: it is worthy of an -aureole. I have little patience with -people who can find time to pity Louis -Philippe and his moustachioed sons. -Certainly our decayed monarchs should -be pensioned off: we should have a -hospital for them, or a sort of zoological -garden, where these worn-out humbugs -may be preserved. It is but justice -that we should keep them, since we -have spoiled them for any honest trade. -Let them sit on soft cushions, and have -their dinner regularly, but, for heaven’s -sake, preserve me from sentimentalizing -over a pampered old man when the -earth has its millions of unfed souls and -bodies. Surely he is not so Ahab-like -as to wish that the revolution had been -deferred till his son’s days: and I think -the shades of the Stuarts would have -some reason to complain if the Bourbons, -who are so little better than they, -had been allowed to reign much longer.”</p> - -<p>The hopes of ’48 were not very accurately -fulfilled, and in George Eliot they -never came to life again. Yet in social -things we may be sure that undying -hope is the secret of vision.</p> - -<p>There is a passage in Coleridge’s -<cite>Friend</cite> which seems to represent the -outcome of George Eliot’s teaching on -most, and not the worst, of her readers:—“The -tangle of delusions,” says -Coleridge,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> “which stifled and distorted -the growing tree of our well-being has -been torn away; the parasite weeds that -fed on its very roots have been plucked -up with a salutary violence. To us -there remain only quiet duties, the constant -care, the gradual improvement, the -cautious and unhazardous labors of the -industrious though contented gardener—to -prune, to strengthen, to engraft, -and one by one to remove from its -leaves and fresh shoots the slug and the -caterpillar.” Coleridge goes further -than George Eliot, when he adds the exhortation—“Far -be it from us to undervalue -with light and senseless detraction -the conscientious hardihood of our predecessors, -or even to condemn in them -that vehemence to which the blessings it -won for us leave us now neither temptation -nor pretext.”</p> - -<p>George Eliot disliked vehemence more -and more as her work advanced. The -word “crudity,” so frequently on her -lips, stood for all that was objectionable -and distasteful. The conservatism of -an artistic moral nature was shocked by -the seeming peril to which priceless -moral elements of human character were -exposed by the energumens of progress. -Their impatient hopes for the present -appeared to her rather unscientific; -their disregard of the past, very irreverent -and impious. Mill had the same -feeling when he disgusted his father by -standing up for Wordsworth, on the -ground that Wordsworth was helping to -keep alive in human nature elements -which utilitarians and innovators would -need when their present and particular -work was done. Mill, being free from -the exaltations that make the artist, -kept a truer balance. His famous pair -of essays on Bentham and Coleridge -were published (for the first time, so far -as our generation was concerned) in the -same year as <cite>Adam Bede</cite>, and I can vividly -remember how the “Coleridge” -first awoke in many of us, who were -then youths at Oxford, that sense of -truth having many mansions, and that -desire and power of sympathy with the -past, with the positive bases of the social -fabric, and with the value of Permanence -in States, which form the reputable -side of all conservatisms. This -sentiment and conviction never took -richer or more mature form than in the -best work of George Eliot, and her stories -lighted up with a fervid glow the -truths that minds of another type had -just brought to the surface. It was this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -that made her a great moral force at that -epoch, especially for all who were capable -by intellectual training of standing -at her point of view. We even, as I -have said, tried hard to love her poetry, -but the effort has ended less in love -than in a very distant homage to the -majestic in intention and the sonorous -in execution. In fiction, too, as the -years go by, we begin to crave more -fancy, illusion, enchantment, than the -quality of her genius allowed. But the -loftiness of her character is abiding, and -it passes nobly through the ordeal of an -honest biography. “For the lessons,” -says the fine critic already quoted,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -“most imperatively needed by the mass -of men, the lessons of deliberate kindness, -of careful truth, of unwavering -endeavor,—for these plain themes one -could not ask a more convincing teacher -than she whom we are commemorating -now. Everything in her aspect and -presence was in keeping with the bent -of her soul. The deeply-lined face, the -too marked and massive features, were -united with an air of delicate refinement, -which in one way was the more -impressive because it seemed to proceed -so entirely from within. Nay, the inward -beauty would sometimes quite -transform the external harshness; there -would be moments when the thin hands -that entwined themselves in their eagerness, -the earnest figure that bowed forward -to speak and hear, the deep gaze -moving from one face to another with a -grave appeal,—all these seemed the -transparent symbols that showed the -presence of a wise, benignant soul.” -As a wise, benignant soul George Eliot -will still remain for all right-judging -men and women.—<cite>Macmillan’s Magazine.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="LORD_TENNYSON" id="LORD_TENNYSON">LORD TENNYSON.</a><br /> - -<small>BY PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE.</small></h2> - - -<p class="center">I.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Because Song’s brightest stars have crowned his head,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And to his soul their loveliest dreams unfurled,</div> - <div class="verse">Because since Shakespeare joined the deathless dead,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">No loftier Poet has entranced the world.</div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="center">II.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Because Olympian food, ethereal wine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Are his who fills Apollo’s golden lute.</div> - <div class="verse">Why should he not from his high heaven incline,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To take from lowlier hands their proffered food?</div> -</div></div></div> - - -<p class="center">III.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">Free is the earnest offering! he as free</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To condescend toward the gift they bring;</div> - <div class="verse">No Dead-Sea apple is a lord’s degree,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To foul the lips of him, our Poet-King.</div> - <div class="verse indent22">—<cite>London Home Chimes.</cite></div> -</div></div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="IN_THE_NORWEGIAN_MOUNTAINS" id="IN_THE_NORWEGIAN_MOUNTAINS">IN THE NORWEGIAN MOUNTAINS.</a><br /> - -<small>BY OSCAR FREDRIK, KING OF SWEDEN AND NORWAY.</small></h2> - -<p class="center"><i>Translated, with His Majesty’s permission, by Carl Siewers.</i></p> - - -<p>If you will accompany us on our journey -towards the snow-covered peaks of -the Sogne Mountains yonder, you are -welcome! But quick, not a moment is -to be lost; day is dawning, and we have -a long journey before us. It is still five -stiff Norwegian miles to the coast in -Bergen’s Stift, although we did two yesterday -from the last dwelling in the valley -of Lom. We ought to be under -shelter before dusk; the night might be -“rough” up yonder among the white-capped -old peaks, so therefore to horse, -and forward!</p> - -<p>We are compelled to say good-bye to -the last <i lang="sv">Sæter</i> there on the silent shores -of the deep gloomy mountain lake, a -duty which we perform with no light -heart. How strange the <i lang="sv">Sæter</i> life and -dwellings appear to the stranger! How -poor this long and dark structure seems -at first sight, and yet how hearty and -unexpectedly lavish is the hospitality -which the simple children of the mountain -extend to the weary traveller!</p> - -<p>Milk, warm from the cow, fresh-churned -butter, reindeer meat, and a -couple of delicious trout which we have -just seen taken from the lake below, -form a regal feast indeed; and, spiced -with the keen appetite which the air up -here creates, the meal can only be -equalled by the luxury of reposing on a -soft couch of fresh, fragrant hay.</p> - -<p>On the threshold as we depart, stand -the pretty <i lang="sv">Budejer</i> (dairy maids), in the -neat costume of the people in the Guldbrandsdal -valley, nodding a tender farewell -to us, and wishing us a hearty -“<i lang="sv">Lykke paa Reisen</i>.” Yes, there they -stand, following us with their gaze as we -proceed along the steep mountain path, -till we disappear from view in the rocky -glen. I said “path.” Well, that is the -name assigned to it, but never did I imagine -the existence of such a riding -“ladder,” and it may well be necessary -to have the peculiar race of mountain -horses found here, for a rider to get -safely to his journey’s end.</p> - -<p>Now the road lies through rapid moun<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span>tain -streams, where the roaring waterfall -may in an instant sweep man and beast -into a yawning abyss below, and now -across a precipice, where the lake divides -the mountains, and death lurks a yard -to your left. Again across the steepest -slopes, where Nature appears to have -amused herself by tossing masses of -jagged, tottering rocks in heaps, and -where no ordinary horse’s hoof would -find a safe hold. But if you only watch -these brave and sagacious little animals, -how carefully they consider the slightest -movement and measure the smallest -step, they will inspire you with the greatest -confidence, and you will continue -your journey on their back without the -slightest fear, along the wildest path, on -the edge of the most awe-inspiring -abyss. And should one of these excellent -cobs stumble, which happened once -or twice during our ride, it is only on -comparatively safe ground, where probably -the horse does not consider much -attention is required.</p> - -<p>We now climb still higher; gradually -the sound of cow bells and the soft -melodies from the <i lang="sv">Lur</i>, (the Norse -alpenhorn,) are wafted into space, and -in return, a sharp chilly gust of wind, -called <i lang="sv">Fjeldsno</i>, sweeps along the valley -slopes, carrying with it the last souvenir -of society and civilization. We have -long ago left the populated districts behind, -the mountain Nature stands before -us, and surrounds us in all its imposing -grandeur. The roar of the mighty -Bæver river is the only sound which -breaks the impressive silence, and even -this becomes fainter and fainter as we -mount higher and higher, and the mass -of water decreases and the fall becomes -steeper and steeper, till at last the big -river is reduced to a little noisy, foaming -brook, skipping from rock to rock, -and plunging from one ledge to another, -twisting its silvery thread into the most -fantastic shapes.</p> - -<p>The morning had dawned rather dull, -which in these altitudes means that we -had been enveloped in a thick damp<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span> -mist; but the gusts from the snow-fields -soon chase the heavy clouds away, and -seem to sweep them into a heap round -the crests of the lofty mountains. At -last a streak of blue appears overhead, -and through the rent clouds a faint sunbeam -shoots across the high plateau, one -stronger and more intense follows, a -second and third. It’s clearing!</p> - -<p>Oh, what a magnificent spectacle! -Never will it fade from my recollection; -indelibly it stands stamped on my mind. -Before us lies a grand glacier, the Smörstabsbræen, -from whose icy lap our old -acquaintance the Bæver river starts on -his laborious journey to the Western -Ocean. The bright rays of the noonday -sun are playing on the burnished -surface of the glacier, which now flashes -like a <i lang="fr">rivière</i> of the choicest diamonds, -now glitters clear and transparent as -crystal, and now gleams in green and blue -like a mass of emeralds and sapphires, -the rapid transformation of tint being -ten times multiplied by the play of the -shadow of the clouds fleeting across the -azure heavens. And above the glacier -there towers a gigantic mountain with -the weird name of “<i lang="sv">Fanarauken</i>” (The -Devil’s Smoke), which may be considered -as the solitary vedette of the body -of peaks which under the name of -Horungtinderne forms the loftiest part -of the Jotun or Sogne Mountains. Some -of the slopes of the peaks seem covered -with white snow, while others stand out -in bold relief, jet black in color: somewhat -awe-inspiring, with the cold, pale-green -background which the sky assumes -in the regions of eternal snow. -The crests of the Horungtinderne, some -six to eight thousand feet above the sea, -are steep and jagged, and around them -the snow-clouds have settled, and when -the wind attempts to tear them away they -twirl upwards, resembling smoking volcanoes, -which further enhances the -strangeness of the scene.</p> - -<p>To our right there are some immense -snow-fields, still we are told that there -is very little snow in the mountains this -year!</p> - -<p>Long ago we left the last dwarf birch -(<i>Betula nana</i>), six feet in height, behind -us, and are now approaching the border -of eternal snow. We reach it, spring -from our horses, and are soon engaged -in throwing snowballs at each other.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span></p> - -<p>It is the 15th of August, but the air -is icy cold; it is more like one of those -clear, cool spring mornings, so familiar -to the Northerner, when rude Boreas is -abroad, but far more invigorating and -entirely free from that unpleasant, raw -touch which fosters colds and worse illnesses. -Here disease is unknown, one -feels as if drinking the elixir of life in -every breath, and, whilst the eye can -roam freely over the immense plateau, -the lungs are free to inhale the pure -mountain air untainted.</p> - -<p>One is at once gay and solemn. -Thought and vision soar over the immense -fields and expand with the extended -view, and this consciousness is doubly -emphasised by the sense of depression -we have just experienced under the -overhanging mountains in the narrow -Sæter’s valley. One feels as if away -from the world one is wont to move in, -as if parted from life on earth and -brought suddenly face to face with the -Almighty Creator of Nature. One is -compelled to acknowledge one’s own -lowliness and impotence. A snow-cloud, -and one is buried for ever; a -fog, and the only slender thread which -guides the wanderer to the distant -abode of man is lost.</p> - -<p>Never before had I experienced such -a sensation, not even during a terrific -storm in the Atlantic Ocean, or on beholding -the desert of Sahara from the -pyramid of Cheops. In the latter case, -I am in the vicinity of a populated district -and an extensive town, and need -only turn round to see Cairo’s minarets -and citadel in the distance; and again -at sea, the ship is a support to the eye, -and I am surrounded by many people, -who all participate in the very work -which engages myself; I seem to a certain -extent to carry my home with me. -Whilst here, on the other hand, I am, -as it were, torn away from everything -dear to me—a speck of dust on the -enormous snowdrift—and I feel my own -impotence more keenly as the Nature -facing me becomes grander and more -gigantic, and whose forces may from inaction -in an instant be called into play, -bringing destruction on the fatigued -wanderer. But we did not encounter -them, and it is indeed an exception that -any danger is incurred. With provisions -for a couple of days, sure and reso<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span>lute -guides, enduring horses, and particularly -bold courage and good temper, -all will go well. As regards good temper, -this is a gift of welcome and gratitude: -presents from the mountains to -the rare traveller who finds his way up -here.</p> - -<p>Our little caravan, a most appropriate -designation, has certainly something very -picturesque about it, whether looking -at the travellers in their rough cloaks, -slouched hats and top boots, or our little -long-haired cobs with their strong -sinewy limbs and close-cropped manes, -or the ponies carrying our traps in a -<i lang="sv">Klöf</i> saddle.</p> - -<p>These sagacious and enduring <i lang="sv">Klöf</i> -horses are certainly worth attention.</p> - -<p>I cannot understand how they support -the heavy and bulky packages they -carry, covering nearly the entire body, -and still less how they are able to spring, -thus encumbered, so nimbly from one -ledge to another and so adroitly to descend -the steep, slippery mountain -slopes, or so fearlessly wade through the -small but deep pools—<i lang="sv">Tjærn</i>—which -we so often encounter on our road. -The most surprising thing is that our -<i lang="sv">Klöf</i> horses always prefer to be in the -van, yes, even forcing their way to the -front, where the path is narrowest, and -the abyss at its side most appalling, and -when they gain the desired position they -seem to lead the entire party. What -guides them in their turn? Simply the -instinct with which Nature has endowed -them.</p> - -<p>Life in the mountains, and the daily -intimate acquaintance with the giant -forces of Nature, seem to create something -corresponding in the character of -the simple dwellers among the high valleys -of Norway. As a type I may mention -an old reindeer-hunter, whom we -met in the mountains. Seventy winters -had snown on his venerable locks, serving -only however to ornament his -proudly-borne head. Leaning on his -rough but unerring rifle, motionless as a -statue, he appears before us on a hill at -some distance. Silent and solemn is -his greeting as we pass, and we see him -still yonder, motionless as the rocks, -which soon hide him from our view. -Thus he has to spend many a weary -hour, even days, in order to earn his -scanty living. To me it seemed a hard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span> -lot, but he is content—he knows no better, -the world has not tempted <em>him</em> to -discontent.</p> - -<p>Not far from the highest point on our -road lies a small stone hut, tumbledown, -solitary, uninviting, but nevertheless -a blessed refuge to the traveller who -has been caught in rough weather, and -I should say that the finest hotel in Europe -is scarcely entered with such feelings -of grateful contentment as this -wretched <i lang="sv">Fjeldstue</i> is taken possession -of by the fatigued, frozen, or strayed -traveller.</p> - -<p>We were, however, lucky enough not -to be in want of the refuge, as the -weather became more and more lovely -and the air more transparent as we ascended.</p> - -<p>About half-way across the mountains -we discovered, after some search, the -horses which had been ordered to meet -us here from the other side in Bergen’s -Stift; and to order fresh animals to -meet one half-way when crossing is certainly -a wise plan, which I should recommend -to every one, though I must -honestly add that our horses did not appear -the least exhausted in spite of their -four hours’ trot yesterday and six to-day, -continually ascending. In the -open air we prepared and did ample -justice to a simple fare, and no meal -ever tasted better. And meanwhile we -let our horses roam about and gather -what moss they could in the mountain -clefts.</p> - -<p>After a rest of about two hours we -again mount and resume our journey -with renewed strength. It is still five -hours’ journey to our destination on the -coast.</p> - -<p>We did not think that, after what we -had already seen, a fresh grand view, -even surpassing the former, would be -revealed to our gaze; but we were mistaken.</p> - -<p>Anything more grand, more impressive -than the view from the last eminence, -the Ocsar’s Houg, before we -begin to descend, it is impossible to -imagine! Before us loom the three -Skagastölstinder, almost the loftiest -peaks in the Scandinavian peninsula. -More than seven thousand feet they -raise their crests above the level of the -sea, and they stand yonder as clearly -defined as if within rifle-shot, whilst<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> -they are at least half a day’s journey -distant. To their base no human being -has ever penetrated, their top has never -been trodden by man.</p> - -<p>And they certainly appear terribly -steep; snow cannot gather on their -slopes, but only festoons the rocks here -and there, or hides in the crevices, -where the all-dispersing wind has lost -its force. The mountain has a cold -steel-gray color, and around the pointed -cones snow-clouds move erratically, -sometimes gathering in a most fantastic -manner in a mass and again suddenly -disappearing, as though chased by some -invisible power.</p> - -<p>And around us the dark jagged peaks -of the Horungtinder, alternating with -dazzling snow-fields, which increase in -extent to the north, thus bespeaking -their close proximity to the famous -glacier of Justedalen.</p> - -<p>Does this complete my picture? No; -our glance has only swept the sun-bathed -heights above, but now it is lowered, -sinking with terror into yawning abysses, -and lost in a gloomy depth, without -outlines, without limit! A waterfall -rushes wildly forward, downwards—whither? -We see it not; we do not -know; we can only imagine that it -plunges into some appalling chasm below. -In very favorable weather it is -said to be possible to see the Ocean—the -bottom of the abyss—quite plainly -from this eminence; we could, however, -only distinguish its faint outlines, -as the sun shone right in our eyes. We -saw, half “by faith” however, the innermost -creek of the Lysterfjord. But remember -this creek was rather below than -before us!</p> - -<p>“Surely it is not intended to descend -into this abyss on horseback?” I ask -with some apprehension. “Yes, it is,” -responds my venerable guide with that -inimitable, confidence-creating calmness -which distinguishes the Norwegian. I -involuntarily think compassionately of -my neck. Perhaps the mountaineer observed -my momentary surprise, as this -race is gifted with remarkable keenness; -perhaps not. However, I felt a slight -flush on my face, and that decided me, -<i lang="fr">coûte que coûte</i>, never to dismount, however -tempted. And of course I did not.</p> - -<p>We had, in fact, no choice. We were -bound to proceed by this road and no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span> -other, unless we desired to return all -the way to Guldbrandsdalen, miss all -our nicely-arranged trips around the -Sogne and Nœrö fjords, and disappoint -the steamer waiting for us with our carriage -and traps. And above all, what -an ignominious retreat! No; such a -thought did not for a moment enter our -head. Therefore come what may, forward!</p> - -<p>On a balmy evening, as the rays of -the setting sun tint the landscape, we -find ourselves on the seashore, safe and -sound.</p> - -<p>But to attempt a description of the -adventurous break-neck, giddy descent, -I must decline. I can scarcely review -it in my mind at this moment, when I -attempt to gather the scattered fragments -of this remarkable ride, the most -extraordinary I ever performed. But -one word I will add: one must not be -afraid or subject to giddiness, else the -Sogne Mountains had better be left out -of the programme. Only have confidence -in the mountain horse, and all -will go well.</p> - -<p>Well, had I even arrived as far as this -in my journey, I would unfold to you a -very different canvas, with warmer colors -and a softer touch. I would, in the -fertile valley of Fortun, at 62° latitude -N., conjure up to your astonished gaze -entire groves of wild cherry-trees laden -with ripe fruit; I would show you corn, -weighty and yellow three months after -being sown, in close rich rows, or undulating -oats ready for the sickle, covering -extensive fields. I would lead you -to the shore of the majestic fjord, and -let you behold the towering mountains -reflected sharp and clear in its depth, as -though another landscape lay beneath -the waves; and I would guide your -glance upwards, towards the little farms -nestling up there on the slope, a couple -of thousand feet above your head, and -which are only accessible from the valley -by a rocky ladder. Yes, this and -more too I would show you, but remember -we stand at this moment on the crest -of the mountain, and a yawning gap still -divides us from the Canaan which is our -journey’s end.</p> - -<p>I have therefore no choice but to lay -down my pen, and I do so with a call -on you, my reader, to undertake this -journey and experience for yourself its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -indescribable impressions; and if you -do, I feel confident you will not find my -description exaggerated.</p> - -<p>Ride only once down the precipice between -Optun and Lysterfjord, and you -will find, I think, that the descent cannot -be accurately described in words; -but believe me, the memory thereof will -never fade from your mind, neither will -you repent the toil.</p> - -<p>A summer’s day in the Sogne Mountains -of old Norway will, as well for -you as for me, create rich and charming -recollections—recollections retained -through one’s whole life.—<cite>Temple -Bar.</cite></p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2 id="THE_QUANDONGS_SECRET">THE QUANDONG’S SECRET.</h2> - -<p>“Steward,” exclaimed the chief-officer -of the American barque <i>Decatur</i>, -lying just then in Table Bay, into which -she had put on her long voyage to Australia, -for the purpose of obtaining water -and fresh provisions—“the skipper’s -sent word off that there’s two passengers -coming on board for Melbourne; so -look spry and get those after-berths -ready, or I guess the ‘old man’ ’ll -straighten you up when he does come -along.”</p> - -<p>Soon afterwards, the “old man” and -his passengers put in an appearance in -the barque’s cutter; the anchor, short -since sunrise, was hove up to the catheads, -topsails sheeted home, and, dipping -the “stars and bars” to the surrounding -shipping, the <i>Decatur</i> again, -after her brief rest, set forth on her -ocean travel.</p> - -<p>John Leslie and Francis Drury had -been perfect strangers to each other all -their lives long till within the last few -hours; and now, with the frank confidence -begotten of youth and health, -each knew more of the other, his failures -and successes, than perhaps, under -ordinary circumstances, he would have -learned in a twelvemonth. Both were -comparatively young men; Drury, Australian -born, a native of Victoria, and -one of those roving spirits one meets -with sometimes, who seem to have, and -care to have, no permanent place on -earth’s surface, the <i lang="de">wandergeist</i> having -entered into their very souls, and taken -full possession thereof. The kind of -man whom we are not surprised at hearing -of, to-day, upon the banks of the -Fly River; in a few months more in -the interior of Tibet; again on the track -of Stanley, or with Gordon in Khartoum.</p> - -<p>So it had been with Francis Drury,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -ever seeking after fortune in the wild -places of the world; in quest, so often -in vain, of a phantasmal Eldorado—lured -on, ever on, by visions of what the -unknown contained. Ghauts wild and -rocky had re-echoed the report of his -rifle; his footsteps had fallen lightly on -the pavements of the ruined cities of -Montezuma, sombre and stately as the -primeval forest which hid them; and -his skiff had cleft the bright Southern -rivers that Waterton loved so well to explore, -but gone farther than ever the -naturalist, adventurous and daring as he -too was, had ever been. At length, as -he laughingly told his friend, fortune -had, on the diamond fields of Klipdrift, -smiled upon him, with a measured smile, -‘twas true, but still a smile; and now, -after an absence of some years, he had -taken the opportune chance of a passage -in the <i>Decatur</i>, and was off home to see -his mother and sister, from whom he -had not heard for nearly two years.</p> - -<p>Leslie was rather a contrast to the -other, being as quiet and thoughtful as -Drury was full of life and spirits, and -had been trying his hand at sheep-farming -in Cape Colony, but with rather -scanty results; in fact, having sunk -most of his original capital, he was now -taking with him to Australia very little -but his African experience.</p> - -<p>A strong friendship between these two -was the result of but a few days’ intimacy, -during which time, however, as -they were the only passengers, they naturally -saw a great deal of each other; so -it came to pass that Leslie heard all -about his friend’s sister, golden-haired -Margaret Drury; and often, as in the -middle watches he paced the deck alone, -he conjured up visions to himself, smiling -the while, of what this girl, of whom -her brother spoke so lovingly and proud<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span>ly, -and in whom he had such steadfast -faith as a woman amongst women, could -be like.</p> - -<p>The <i>Decatur</i> was now, with a strong -westerly wind behind her, fast approaching -the latitude of that miserable mid-oceanic -rock known as the Island of St. -Paul, when suddenly a serious mishap -occurred. The ship was “running -heavy” under her fore and main topsails -and a fore topmast staysail, the breeze -having increased to a stiff gale, which -had brought up a very heavy sea; when -somehow—for these things, even at a -Board of Trade inquiry, seldom do get -clearly explained—one of the two men -at the wheel, or both of them perhaps, -let the vessel “broach-to,” paying the -penalty of their carelessness by taking -their departure from her for ever, in -company with binnacle, skylights, hencoops, -&c., and a huge wave which -swept the <i>Decatur</i> fore and aft, from her -taffrail to the heel of her bowsprit, washing -at the same time poor Francis Drury, -who happened to be standing under the -break of the poop, up and down amongst -loose spars, underneath the iron-bound -windlass, dashing him pitilessly against -wood and iron, here, there, and everywhere, -like a broken reed; till when at -last, dragged by Leslie out of the rolling, -seething water on the maindeck, the -roving, eager spirit seemed at last to -have found rest; and his friend, as he -smoothed the long fair hair from off the -blood-stained forehead, mourned for -him as for a younger brother.</p> - -<p>The unfortunate man was speedily -ascertained to be nothing but a mass of -fractures and terrible bruises, such as no -human frame under any circumstances -could have survived; and well the -sufferer knew it; for in a brief interval -of consciousness, in a moment’s respite -from awful agony, he managed to draw -something from around his neck, which -handing to his friend in the semi-darkness -of the little cabin, whilst above -them the gale roared, and shrieked, officers -and men shouted and swore, and -the timbers of the old <i>Decatur</i> groaned -and creaked like sentient things—he -whispered, so low that the other had to -bend down close to the poor disfigured -face to hear it, “For Mother and Maggie; -I was going to tell you about—it, -and—Good-bye!” and then with one<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -convulsive shudder, and with the dark-blue -eyes still gazing imploringly up into -those of his friend, his spirit took its -flight.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The gale has abated, the courses are -clewed up, topsails thrown aback, and -the starry flag flies half-mast high, as -they “commit his body to the deep, to -be turned into corruption; looking for -the resurrection of the body, when the -sea shall give up her dead.” A sudden, -shooting plunge into the sparkling water, -and Francis Drury’s place on earth will -know him no more. Gone is the gallant -spirit, stilled the eager heart for -ever, and Leslie’s tears fall thick and -heavy—no one there deeming them -shame to his manhood—as the bellying -canvas urges the ship swiftly onward on -her course.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Only a Quandong stone, of rather -unusual size, covered with little silver -knobs or studs, and to one end of which -was attached a stout silver chain. Leslie, -as he turned it over and over in his -hand, thinking sadly enough of its late -owner, wondering much what he had -been about to communicate when Death -so relentlessly stepped in. The value -of the thing as an ornament was but a -trifle, and, try as he might, Leslie could -find no indication that there was aught -but met the eye: a simple Australian -wild-peach stone converted into a trifle, -rather ugly than otherwise, as is the case -with so many so-called <em>curios</em>. Still, as -his friend’s last thought and charge, it -was sacred in his sight; and putting it -carefully away, he determined on landing -at Melbourne, now so near, to make -it his first care to find out Drury’s -mother and his sister.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“Drury, Drury! Let me see! Yes -of course. Mother and daughter -brother too sometimes; rather a wild -young fellow; always ‘on the go’ some -where or other, you know. Yes; they -used to live here; but they’ve been -gone this long time; and where to, no -more than I can tell you; or I think -anybody else about here either.”</p> - -<p>So spake the present tenant of “Acacia -Cottage, St. Kilda.” in response to -Leslie’s inquiries at the address, to obtain -which he had overhauled the effecs<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span> -of the dead man, finding it at the commencement -of a two-year-old letter from -his mother, directed to “Algoa Bay;” -finding, besides, some receipts of diamonds -sold at Cape Town, and a letter -of credit on a Melbourne bank for five -hundred pounds; probably, so Leslie -thought to himself, that “measured -smile” of which the poor fellow had -laughingly spoken to him in the earlier -days of their brief companionship.</p> - -<p>The above was the sum-total of the -information he could ever—after many -persistent efforts, including a fruitless -trip to Hobart—obtain of the family or -their whereabouts; so, depositing the -five hundred pounds at one of the principal -banking institutions, and inserting -an advertisement in the <cite>Age</cite> and <cite>Argus</cite>, -Leslie having but little spare cash, and -his own fortune lying still in deepest -shadow, reluctantly, for a time at least, -as he promised himself, abandoned the -quest.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Kaloola was one of the prettiest pastoral -homesteads in the north-western -districts of Victoria; and its owner, as -one evening he sat in the broad veranda, -and saw on every side, far as the eye -could reach, land and stock all calling -him master, felt that the years that had -passed since the old <i>Decatur</i> dropped her -anchor in Port Phillip had not passed -away altogether in vain; and although -ominous wrinkles began to appear about -the corners of John Leslie’s eyes, and -gray hairs about his temples, the man’s -heart was fresh and unseared as when, -on a certain day twelve long years ago, -he had shed bitter tears over the ocean -grave of his friend. Vainly throughout -these latter years had he endeavored to -find some traces of the Drurys. The -deposit in the Bank of Australasia had -remained untouched, and had by now -swollen to a very respectable sum indeed. -Advertisements in nearly every -metropolitan and provincial newspaper -were equally without result; even “private -inquiry” agents, employed at no -small cost, confessed themselves at fault. -Many a hard fight with fortune had -John Leslie encountered before he -achieved success; but through it all, -good times and bad, he had never forgotten -the dying bequest left to him on -that dark and stormy morning in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span> -Southern Ocean; and now, as rising -and going to his desk he took out the -Quandong stone, and turning it over -and over, as though trying once again -to finish those last dying words left unfinished -so many years ago, his thoughts -fled back along memory’s unforgotten -vale, and a strong presentiment seemed -to impel him not to leave the trinket behind, -for the successful squatter was on -the eve of a trip to “the Old Country,” -and this was his last day at Kaloola; -so, detaching the stone from its chain, -he screwed it securely to his watch-guard, -and in a few hours more had -bidden adieu to Kaloola for some time -to come.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was evening on the Marine Parade -at Brighton, and a crowd of fashionably -dressed people were walking up and -down, or sitting listening to the music -of the band. Amongst these latter was -our old friend John Leslie, who had -been in England some three or four -months, and who now seemed absorbed -in the sweet strains of Ulrich’s <cite>Goodnight, -my Love</cite>, with which the musicians -were closing their evening’s selection; -but in reality his thoughts were far away -across the ocean, in the land of his -adoption; and few dreamed that the -sun-browned, long-bearded, middle-aged -gentleman, clothed more in accordance -with ideas of comfort than of fashion, -and who sat there so quietly every -evening, could, had it so pleased him, -have bought up half the gay loungers -who passed and repassed him with many -a quizzical glance at the loose attire, in -such striking contrast to the British -fashion of the day.</p> - -<p>Truth to tell, Leslie was beginning to -long for the far-spreading plains of his -Australian home once more; his was a -quiet, thoughtful nature, unfitted for the -gay scenes in which he had lately found -himself a passive actor, and he was—save -for one sister, married years ago, -and now with her husband in Bermuda—alone -in the world; and he thinks -rather sadly, perhaps, as he walks slowly -back through the crowd of fashionables -to the <i>Imperial</i>, where he is staying: -“And alone most likely to the end.”</p> - -<p>He had not been in his room many -minutes before there came a knock at -the door; and, scarcely waiting for an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span>swer, -in darted a very red-faced, very -stout, and apparently very flurried old -gentleman, who, setting his gold eyeglasses -firmly on his nose, at once began: -“Er—ah, Mr. Leslie, I believe? -Got your number from the porter, you -see—great rascal, by the way, that porter; -always looks as if he wanted something, -you know—then the visitors’ -book, and so. Yes; it’s all right so -far. There’s the thing now!”—glancing -at the old Quandong stone which -still hung at Leslie’s watch-chain. “I”—he -went on—”that is, my name is -Raby, Colonel Raby, and—— Dear -me, yes; must apologise, ought to have -done that at first, for intrusion, and all -that kind of thing; but really, you -see”—— And here the old gentleman -paused, fairly for want of breath, his -purple cheeks expanding and contracting, -whilst, instead of words, he emitted -a series of little puffs; and John, whilst -asking him to take a seat, entertained -rather strong doubts of his visitor’s sanity.</p> - -<p>“Now,” said he at length, when he -perceived signs that the colonel was -about to recommence, “kindly let me -know in what way I can be of use to -you.”</p> - -<p>“Bother take the women!” ejaculated -the visitor, as he recovered his breath -again. “But you see, Mr. Leslie, it -was all through my niece. She caught -sight of that thing—funny-looking thing, -too—on your chain whilst we were on -the Parade this evening, and nearly -fainted away—she did, sir, I do assure -you, in Mrs. Raby’s arms, too, sir; and -if I had not got a cup of water from the -drinking fountain, and poured it over -her head, there would most likely have -been a bit of a scene, sir, and then—— We -are staying in this house, you know.</p> - -<p>We saw you come in just behind us; -and so—of course it’s all nonsense, but -the fact is”——</p> - -<p>“Excuse me,” interrupted Leslie, -who was growing impatient; “but may -I ask the name of the lady—your niece, -I mean?”</p> - -<p>“My niece, sir,” replied the colonel, -rather ruffled at being cut short, “is -known as Miss Margaret Drury; and if -you will only have the kindness to convince -her as to the utter absurdity of an -idea which she somehow entertains that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -that affair, charm, trinket, or whatever -you may call it, once belonged to a -brother of hers, I shall be extremely -obliged to you, for really”—relapsing -again—“when the women once get -hold of a fad of the kind, a man’s peace -is clean gone, sir, I do assure you.”</p> - -<p>“I am not quite sure,” remarked -Leslie, smiling, “that in this case at -least it will not turn out to be a ‘fad.’ -How I became possessed of this stone, -which I have every reason to believe -once belonged to her brother, and which, -through long years, I have held in trust -for her and her mother, is quite capable -of explanation, sad though the story -may be. So, sir, I shall be very pleased -to wait on Miss Drury as soon as may -be convenient to her.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A tall, dark-robed figure, beyond the -first bloom of maidenhood, but still -passing fair to look upon, rose on Leslie’s -entrance; and he recognised at a -glance the long golden hair, and calm -eyes of deepest blue, of poor Drury’s -oft-repeated description.</p> - -<p>Many a sob escaped his auditor as he -feelingly related his sad story.</p> - -<p>“Poor Francie,” she said at last—“poor, -dear Francie! And this is the -old Quandong locket I gave him as a -parting gift, when he left for those terrible -diamond fields! A lock of my hair -was in it. But how strange it seems -that through all these years you have -never discovered the secret of opening -it. See!” and with a push on one of -the stud-heads and a twist on another, -a short, stout silver pin drew out, and -one half of the nut slipped off, disclosing -to the astonished gaze of the pair, -nestling in a thick lock of golden threads -finer than the finest silk, a beautiful diamond, -uncut, but still, even to the unpractised -eyes of Leslie, of great value.</p> - -<p>This, then, was the secret of the -Quandong stone, kept so faithfully for -so long a time. This was what that -dying friend and brother had tried, but -tried in vain, with his last breath to disclose.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was little wonder that Leslie’s inquiries -and advertisements had been ineffectual, -for about the time Drury had -received his last letter from home, the -bank in which was the widow’s modest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span> -capital failed, and mother and daughter -were suddenly plunged into poverty dire -and complete. In this strait they wrote -to Colonel Raby, Mrs. Drury’s brother, -who, to do him justice, behaved nobly, -bringing them from Australia to England, -and accepting them as part and -parcel of his home without the slightest -delay. Mrs. Drury had now been dead -some years; and though letter after letter -had been addressed to Francis Drury -at the Cape, they had invariably returned -with the discouraging indorsement, -“Not to be found,” The Rabys, -it seemed, save for a brief interval yearly, -lived a very retired kind of life on -the Yorkshire wolds; still, Margaret -Drury had caused many and persistent -inquiries to be made as to the fate of -her brother, but, till that eventful even<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span>ing -on the Marine Parade, without being -able to obtain the slightest clue.</p> - -<p>As perhaps the reader has already divined, -John Leslie was, after all, not -fated to go through life’s pilgrimage -alone. In fair Margaret Drury he found -a loving companion and devoted wife; -and as, through the years of good and -evil hap,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">The red light fell about their knees,</div> - <div class="verse">On heads that rose by slow degrees,</div> - <div class="verse">Like buds upon the lily spire,</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>so did John Leslie more nearly realise -what a rare prize he had won.</p> - -<p>At beautiful Kaloola, Mr. and Mrs. -Leslie still live happily, and the old -Quandong stone, with its occupant still -undisturbed, is treasured amongst their -most precious relics.—<cite>Chambers’s Journal.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2 id="DE_BANANA">DE BANANA.</h2> - - -<p>The title which heads this paper is -intended to be Latin, and is modelled -on the precedent of the De Amicitia, -De Senectute, De Corona, and other -time-honored plagues of our innocent -boyhood. It is meant to give dignity -and authority to the subject with which -it deals, as well as to rouse curiosity in -the ingenuous breast of the candid reader, -who may perhaps mistake it, at first -sight, for negro-English, or for the -name of a distinguished Norman family. -In anticipation of the possible objection -that the word “Banana” is not strictly -classical, I would humbly urge the precept -and example of my old friend Horace—enemy -I once thought him—who -expresses his approbation of those happy -innovations whereby Latium was gradually -enriched with a copious vocabulary. -I maintain that if Banana, bananæ, &c., -is not already a Latin noun of the first -declension, why then it ought to be, and -it shall be in future. Linnæus indeed -thought otherwise. He too assigned the -plant and fruit to the first declension, but -handed it over to none other than our -earliest acquaintance in the Latin language, -Musa. He called the banana -<i lang="la">Musa sapientum</i>. What connection he -could possibly perceive between that -woolly fruit and the daughters of the -ægis-bearing Zeus, or why he should -consider it a proof of wisdom to eat a -particularly indigestible and nightmare-begetting -food-stuff, passes my humble -comprehension. The muses, so far as I -have personally noticed their habits, always -greatly prefer the grape to the -banana, and wise men shun the one at -least as sedulously as they avoid the -other.</p> - -<p>Let it not for a moment be supposed, -however, that I wish to treat the useful -and ornamental banana with intentional -disrespect. On the contrary, I cherish -for it—at a distance—feelings of the -highest esteem and admiration. We are -so parochial in our views, taking us as -a species, that I dare say very few English -people really know how immensely -useful a plant is the common banana. -To most of us it envisages itself merely -as a curious tropical fruit, largely imported -at Covent Garden, and a capital -thing to stick on one of the tall dessert-dishes -when you give a dinner-party, because -it looks delightfully foreign, and -just serves to balance the pine-apple at -the opposite end of the hospitable mahogany. -Perhaps such innocent readers -will be surprised to learn that bananas -and plantains supply the principal food-stuff -of a far larger fraction of the human -race than that which is supported -by wheaten bread. They form the veri<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span>table -staff of life to the inhabitants of -both eastern and western tropics. What -the potato is to the degenerate descendant -of Celtic kings; what the oat is to -the kilted Highlandman; what rice is -to the Bengalee, and Indian corn to the -American negro, that is the muse of -sages (I translate literally from the immortal -Swede) to African savages and -Brazilian slaves. Humboldt calculated -that an acre of bananas would supply -a greater quantity of solid food to -hungry humanity than could possibly -be extracted from the same extent of -cultivated ground by any other known -plant. So you see the question is no -small one: to sing the praise of this -Linnæan muse is a task well worthy of -the Pierian muses.</p> - -<p>Do you know the outer look and aspect -of the banana plant? If not, then -you have never voyaged to those delusive -tropics. Tropical vegetation, as ordinarily -understood by poets and painters, -consists entirely of the coco-nut palm -and the banana bush. Do you wish to -paint a beautiful picture of a rich ambrosial -tropical island <i lang="fr">à la</i> Tennyson—a -summer-isle of Eden lying in dark -purple spheres of sea?—then you introduce -a group of coco-nuts, whispering -in odorous heights of even, in the very -foreground of your pretty sketch, just -to let your public understand at a -glance that these are the delicious poetical -tropics. Do you desire to create -an ideal paradise, <i lang="fr">à la</i> Bernardin de St. -Pierre, where idyllic Virginies die of -pure modesty rather than appear before -the eyes of their beloved but unwedded -Pauls in a lace-bedraped <i lang="fr">peignoir</i>?—then -you strike the keynote by sticking in -the middle distance a hut or cottage, -overshadowed by the broad and graceful -foliage of the picturesque banana. -(“Hut” is a poor and chilly word for -these glowing descriptions, far inferior -to the pretty and high-sounding original -<i lang="fr">chaumière</i>.) That is how we do -the tropics when we want to work upon -the emotions of the reader. But it is -all a delicate theatrical illusion; a trick -of art meant to deceive and impose -upon the unwary who have never been -there, and would like to think it all genuine. -In reality, nine times out of ten, -you might cast your eyes casually around -you in any tropical valley, and if there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -didn’t happen to be a native cottage -with a coco-nut grove and a banana -patch anywhere in the neighborhood, -you would see nothing in the way of -vegetation which you mightn’t see at -home any day in Europe. But what -painter would ever venture to paint the -tropics without the palm trees? He -might just as well try to paint the desert -without the camels, or to represent St. -Sebastian without a sheaf of arrows -sticking unperceived in the calm centre -of his unruffled bosom, to mark and emphasise -his Sebastianic personality.</p> - -<p>Still, I will frankly admit that the -banana itself, with its practically almost -identical relation, the plantain, is a real -bit of tropical foliage. I confess to a -settled prejudice against the tropics -generally, but I allow the sunsets, the -coco-nuts, and the bananas. The true -stem creeps underground, and sends up -each year an upright branch, thickly -covered with majestic broad green -leaves, somewhat like those of the canna -cultivated in our gardens as “Indian -shot,” but far larger, nobler, and handsomer. -They sometimes measure from -six to ten feet in length, and their thick -midrib and strongly marked diverging -veins give them a very lordly and graceful -appearance. But they are apt in -practice to suffer much from the fury -of the tropical storms. The wind rips -the leaves up between the veins as far -as the midrib in tangled tatters; so -that after a good hurricane they look -more like coco-nut palm leaves than -like single broad masses of foliage as -they ought properly to do. This, of -course, is the effect of a gentle and -balmy hurricane—a mere capful of wind -that tears and tatters them. After a -really bad storm (one of the sort when -you tie ropes round your wooden house -to prevent its falling bodily to pieces, I -mean) the bananas are all actually blown -down, and the crop for that season utterly -destroyed. The apparent stem, -being merely composed of the overlapping -and sheathing leaf-stalks, has -naturally very little stability; and the -soft succulent trunk accordingly gives -way forthwith at the slightest onslaught. -This liability to be blown down in -high winds forms the weak point of -the plantain, viewed as a food-stuff -crop. In the South Sea Islands, where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -there is little shelter, the poor Fijian, -in cannibal days, often lost his one -means of subsistence from this cause, -and was compelled to satisfy the pangs -of hunger on the plump persons of his -immediate relatives. But since the introduction -of Christianity, and of a -dwarf stout wind-proof variety of banana, -his condition in this respect, I am -glad to say, has been greatly ameliorated.</p> - -<p>By descent, the banana bush is a developed -tropical lily, not at all remotely -allied to the common iris, only that -its flowers and fruit are clustered together -on a hanging spike, instead of -growing solitary and separate as in the -true irises. The blossoms, which, though -pretty, are comparatively inconspicuous -for the size of the plant, show the extraordinary -persistence of the lily type; for -almost all the vast number of species, -more or less directly descended from -the primitive lily, continue to the very -end of the chapter to have six petals, -six stamens, and three rows of seeds in -their fruits or capsules. But practical -man, with his eye always steadily fixed -on the one important quality of edibility—the -sum and substance to most people -of all botanical research—has confined -his attention almost entirely to the -fruit of the banana. In all essentials -(other than the systematically unimportant -one just alluded to) the banana -fruit in its original state exactly resembles -the capsule of the iris—that pretty pod -that divides in three when ripe, and -shows the delicate orange-coated seeds -lying in triple rows within—only, in -the banana, the fruit does not open; -in the sweet language of technical botany, -it is an indehiscent capsule; and -the seeds, instead of standing separate -and distinct, as in the iris, are embedded -in a soft and pulpy substance which -forms the edible and practical part of the -entire arrangement.</p> - -<p>This is the proper appearance of -the original and natural banana, before -it has been taken in hand and cultivated -by tropical man. When cut -across the middle, it ought to show -three rows of seeds, interspersed with -pulp, and faintly preserving some dim -memory of the dividing wall which -once separated them. In practice, -however, the banana differs widely from -this theoretical ideal, as practice often<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -<em>will</em> differ from theory; for it has -been so long cultivated and selected -by man—being probably one of the -very oldest, if not actually quite the -oldest, of domesticated plants—that it -has all but lost the original habit of -producing seeds. This is a common -effect of cultivation on fruits, and it -is of course deliberately aimed at by -horticulturists, as the seeds are generally -a nuisance, regarded from the -point of view of the eater, and their -absence improves the fruit, as long as -one can manage to get along somehow -without them. In the pretty little -Tangierine oranges (so ingeniously corrupted -by fruiterers into mandarins), -the seeds have almost been cultivated -out; in the best pine-apples, and in -the small grapes known in the dried -state as currants, they have quite disappeared; -while in some varieties of -pears they survive only in the form -of shrivelled, barren, and useless pippins. -But the banana, more than any -other plant we know of, has managed for -many centuries to do without seeds -altogether. The cultivated sort, especially -in America, is quite seedless, and -the plants are propagated entirely by -suckers.</p> - -<p>Still, you can never wholly circumvent -nature. Expel her with a pitchfork, -<i lang="la">tamen usque recurrit</i>. Now nature -has settled that the right way to propagate -plants is by means of seedlings. -Strictly speaking, indeed, it is the only -way; the other modes of growth from -bulbs or cuttings are not really propagation, -but mere reduplication by splitting, -as when you chop a worm in two, -and a couple of worms wriggle off -contentedly forthwith in either direction. -Just so when you divide a plant -by cuttings, suckers, slips, or runners: -the two apparent plants thus produced -are in the last resort only separate parts -of the same individual—one and indivisible, -like the French Republic. Seedlings -are absolutely distinct individuals; -they are the product of the pollen of -one plant and the ovules of another, -and they start afresh in life with some -chance of being fairly free from the hereditary -taints or personal failings of -either parent. But cuttings or suckers -are only the same old plant over and -over again in fresh circumstances, trans<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span>planted -as it were, but not truly renovated -or rejuvenescent. That is the -real reason why our potatoes are now -all going to—well, the same place as the -army has been going ever since the earliest -memories of the oldest officer in the -whole service. We have gone on growing -potatoes over and over again from -the tubers alone, and hardly ever from -seed, till the whole constitution of the -potato kind has become permanently -enfeebled by old age and dotage. The -eyes (as farmers call them) are only buds -or underground branches; and to plant -potatoes as we usually do is nothing -more than to multiply the apparent -scions by fission. Odd as it may sound -to say so, all the potato vines in a whole -field are often, from the strict biological -point of view, parts of a single much-divided -individual. It is just as though -one were to go on cutting up a single -worm, time after time, as soon as he -grew again, till at last the one original -creature had multiplied into a whole -colony of apparently distinct individuals. -Yet, if the first worm happened to have -the gout or the rheumatism (metaphorically -speaking), all the other worms into -which his compound personality had -been divided would doubtless suffer -from the same complaints throughout -the whole of their joint lifetimes.</p> - -<p>The banana, however, has very long -resisted the inevitable tendency to degeneration -in plants thus artificially and -unhealthily propagated. Potatoes have -only been in cultivation for a few hundred -years; and yet the potato constitution -has become so far enfeebled by the -practice of growing from the tuber that -the plants now fall an easy prey to potato -fungus, Colorado beetles, and a -thousand other persistent enemies. It -is just the same with the vine—propagated -too long by layers or cuttings, its -health has failed entirely, and it can no -longer resist the ravages of the phylloxera -or the slow attacks of the vine-disease -fungus. But the banana, though -of very ancient and positively immemorial -antiquity as a cultivated plant, -seems somehow gifted with an extraordinary -power of holding its own in spite -of long-continued unnatural propagation. -For thousands of years it has -been grown in Asia in the seedless condition, -and yet it springs as heartily as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -ever still from the underground suckers. -Nevertheless, there must in the end be -some natural limit to this wonderful -power of reproduction, or rather of -longevity; for, in the strictest sense, -the banana bushes that now grow in the -negro gardens of Trinidad and Demerara -are part and parcel of the very same -plants which grew and bore fruit a thousand -years ago in the native compounds -of the Malay Archipelago.</p> - -<p>In fact, I think there can be but little -doubt that the banana is the very oldest -product of human tillage. Man, we -must remember, is essentially by origin -a tropical animal, and wild tropical -fruits must necessarily have formed his -earliest food-stuffs. It was among them -of course that his first experiments in -primitive agriculture would be tried; -the little insignificant seeds and berries -of cold northern regions would only very -slowly be added to his limited stock in -husbandry, as circumstances pushed -some few outlying colonies northward -and ever northward toward the chillier -unoccupied regions. Now, of all tropical -fruits, the banana is certainly the -one that best repays cultivation. It has -been calculated that the same area which -will produce thirty-three pounds of -wheat or ninety-nine pounds of potatoes -will produce 4,400 pounds of plantains -or bananas. The cultivation of the -various varieties in India, China, and -the Malay Archipelago dates, says De -Candolle, “from an epoch impossible -to realise.” Its diffusion, as that great -but very oracular authority remarks, -may go back to a period “contemporary -with or even anterior to that of the human -races.” What this remarkably -illogical sentence may mean I am at a -loss to comprehend; perhaps M. de -Candolle supposes that the banana was -originally cultivated by pre-human gorillas; -perhaps he merely intends to say -that before men began to separate they -sent special messengers on in front of -them to diffuse the banana in the different -countries they were about to visit. -Even legend retains some trace of the -extreme antiquity of the species as a -cultivated fruit, for Adam and Eve are -said to have reclined under the shadow -of its branches, whence Linnæus gave to -the sort known as the plantain the Latin -name of <i>Musa paradisiaca</i>. If a plant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span> -was cultivated in Eden by the grand old -gardener and his wife, as Lord Tennyson -democratically styled them (before -his elevation to the peerage), we may -fairly conclude that it possesses a very -respectable antiquity indeed.</p> - -<p>The wild banana is a native of the -Malay region, according to De Candolle, -who has produced by far the most -learned and unreadable work on the -origin of domestic plants ever yet written. -(Please don’t give me undue credit -for having heroically read it through out -of pure love of science: I was one of -its unfortunate reviewers.) The wild -form produces seed, and grows in Cochin -China, the Philippines, Ceylon, -and Khasia. Like most other large -tropical fruits, it no doubt owes its original -development to the selective action -of monkeys, hornbills, parrots, and -other big fruit-eaters; and it shares -with all fruits of similar origin one curious -tropical peculiarity. Most northern -berries, like the strawberry, the raspberry, -the currant, and the blackberry, -developed by the selective action of -small northern birds, can be popped at -once into the mouth and eaten whole; -they have no tough outer rind or defensive -covering of any sort. But big tropical -fruits, which lay themselves out for -the service of large birds or monkeys, -have always hard outer coats, because -they could only be injured by smaller -animals, who would eat the pulp without -helping in the dispersion of the useful -seeds, the one object really held in -view by the mother plant. Often, as in -the case of the orange, the rind even -contains a bitter, nauseous, or pungent -juice, while at times, as in the pine-apple, -the prickly pear, the sweet-sop, -and the cherimoyer, the entire fruit is -covered with sharp projections, stinging -hairs, or knobby protuberances, on purpose -to warn off the unauthorised depredator. -It was this line of defence that -gave the banana in the first instance its -thick yellow skin; and looking at the -matter from the epicure’s point of view, -one may say roughly that all tropical -fruits have to be skinned before they -can be eaten. They are all adapted for -being cut up with a knife and fork, or -dug out with a spoon, on a civilised dessert-plate. -As for that most delicious -of Indian fruits, the mango, it has been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span> -well said that the only proper way to eat -it is over a tub of water, with a couple -of towels hanging gracefully across the -side.</p> - -<p>The varieties of the banana are infinite -in number, and, as in most other plants -of ancient cultivation, they shade off -into one another by infinitesimal gradations. -Two principal sorts, however, -are commonly recognised—the true banana -of commerce, and the common -plantain. The banana proper is eaten -raw, as a fruit, and is allowed accordingly -to ripen thoroughly before being -picked for market; the plantain, which -is the true food-stuff of all the equatorial -region in both hemispheres, is gathered -green and roasted as a vegetable, or, to -use the more expressive West Indian -negro phrase, as a bread-kind. Millions -of human beings in Asia, Africa, America, -and the islands of the Pacific Ocean -live almost entirely on the mild and succulent -but tasteless plantain. Some -people like the fruit; to me personally -it is more suggestive of a very flavorless -over-ripe pear than of anything else in -heaven or earth or the waters that are -under the earth—the latter being the -most probable place to look for it, as its -taste and substance are decidedly watery. -Baked dry in the green state “it resembles -roasted chestnuts,” or rather baked -parsnip; pulped and boiled with water -it makes “a very agreeable sweet soup,” -almost as nice as peasoup with brown -sugar in it; and cut into slices, sweetened, -and fried, it forms “an excellent -substitute for fruit pudding,” having a -flavor much like that of potatoes <i lang="fr">à la -maître d’hôtel</i> served up in treacle.</p> - -<p>Altogether a fruit to be sedulously -avoided, the plantain, though millions -of our spiritually destitute African -brethren haven’t yet for a moment discovered -that it isn’t every bit as good as -wheaten bread and fresh butter. Missionary -enterprise will no doubt before -long enlighten them on this subject, and -create a good market in time for American -flour and Manchester piece-goods.</p> - -<p>Though by origin a Malayan plant, -there can be little doubt that the banana -had already reached the mainland of -America and the West India Islands long -before the voyage of Columbus. When -Pizarro disembarked upon the coast of -Peru on his desolating expedition, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -mild-eyed, melancholy, doomed Peruvians -flocked down to the shore and -offered him bananas in a lordly dish. -Beds composed of banana leaves have -been discovered in the tombs of the Incas, -of date anterior, of course, to the -Spanish conquest. How did they get -there? Well, it is clearly an absurd -mistake to suppose that Columbus discovered -America; as Artemus Ward -pertinently remarked, the noble Red -Indian had obviously discovered it long -before him. There had been intercourse -of old, too, between Asia and the -Western Continent; the elephant-headed -god of Mexico, the debased traces of -Buddhism in the Aztec religion, the -singular coincidences between India and -Peru, all seem to show that a stream of -communication, however faint, once existed -between the Asiatic and American -worlds. Garcilaso himself, the half-Indian -historian of Peru, says that the -banana was well known in his native -country before the conquest, and that -the Indians say “its origin is Ethiopia.” -In some strange way or other, then, -long before Columbus set foot upon the -low sandbank of Cat’s Island, the banana -had been transported from Africa or -India to the Western hemisphere.</p> - -<p>If it were a plant propagated by seed, -one would suppose that it was carried -across by wind or waves, wafted on the -feet of birds, or accidentally introduced -in the crannies of drift timber. So the -coco-nut made the tour of the world -ages before either of the famous Cooks—the -Captain or the excursion agent—had -rendered the same feat easy and -practicable; and so, too, a number of -American plants have fixed their home -in the tarns of the Hebrides or among -the lonely bogs of Western Galway. -But the banana must have been carried -by man, because it is unknown in the -wild state in the Western Continent; -and, as it is practically seedless, it can -only have been transported entire, in -the form of a root or sucker. An exactly -similar proof of ancient intercourse -between the two worlds is afforded us -by the sweet potato, a plant of undoubted -American origin, which was nevertheless -naturalised in China as early as -the first centuries of the Christian era. -Now that we all know how the Scandinavians -of the eleventh century went to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -Massachusetts, which they called Vine-land, -and how the Mexican empire had -some knowledge of Acadian astronomy, -people are beginning to discover that -Columbus himself was after all an egregious -humbug.</p> - -<p>In the old world the cultivation of the -banana and the plantain goes back, no -doubt, to a most immemorial antiquity. -Our Aryan ancestor himself, Professor -Max Müller’s especial <i lang="fr">protégé</i>, had already -invented several names for it, -which duly survive in very classical Sanskrit. -The Greeks of Alexander’s expedition -saw it in India, where “sages -reposed beneath its shade and ate of its -fruit, whence the botanical name, <i>Musa -sapientum</i>.” As the sages in question -were lazy Brahmans, always celebrated -for their immense capacity for doing -nothing, the report, as quoted by Pliny, -is no doubt an accurate one. But the -accepted derivation of the word <i>Musa</i> -from an Arabic original seems to me -highly uncertain; for Linnæus, who -first bestowed it on the genus, called -several other allied genera by such cognate -names as Urania and Heliconia. -If, therefore, the father of botany knew -that his own word was originally Arabic, -we cannot acquit him of the high -crime and misdemeanor of deliberate -punning. Should the Royal Society get -wind of this, something serious would -doubtless happen; for it is well known -that the possession of a sense of humor -is absolutely fatal to the pretensions of -a man of science.</p> - -<p>Besides its main use as an article of -food, the banana serves incidentally to -supply a valuable fibre, obtained from -the stem, and employed for weaving -into textile fabrics and making paper. -Several kinds of the plantain tribe are -cultivated for this purpose exclusively, -the best known among them being the -so-called manilla hemp, a plant largely -grown in the Philippine Islands. Many -of the finest Indian shawls are woven -from banana stems, and much of the -rope that we use in our houses comes -from the same singular origin. I know -nothing more strikingly illustrative of -the extreme complexity of our modern -civilisation than the way in which we -thus every day employ articles of exotic -manufacture in our ordinary life without -ever for a moment suspecting or in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span>quiring -into their true nature. What -lady knows when she puts on her delicate -wrapper, from Liberty’s or from -Swan and Edgar’s, that the material -from which it is woven is a Malayan -plantain stalk? Who ever thinks that -the glycerine for our chapped hands -comes from Travancore coco-nuts, and -that the pure butter supplied us from the -farm in the country is colored yellow -with Jamaican annatto? We break a -tooth, as Mr. Herbert Spencer has -pointed out, because the grape-curers -of Zante are not careful enough about -excluding small stones from their stock -of currants; and we suffer from indigestion -because the Cape wine-grower has -doctored his light Burgundies with Brazilian -logwood and white rum, to make -them taste like Portuguese port. Take -merely this very question of dessert, and -how intensely complicated it really is. -The West Indian bananas keep company -with sweet St. Michaels from the Azores, -and with Spanish cobnuts from Barcelona. -Dried fruits from Metz, figs from -Smyrna, and dates from Tunis lie side -by side on our table with Brazil nuts -and guava jelly and damson cheese and -almonds and raisins. We forget where -everything comes from nowadays, in -our general consciousness that they all -come from the Queen Victoria Street -Stores, and any real knowledge of common -objects is rendered every day more -and more impossible by the bewildering -complexity and variety, every day increasing, -of the common objects themselves, -their substitutes, adulterates, and -spurious imitations. Why, you probably -never heard of manilla hemp before, -until this very minute, and yet you have -been familiarly using it all your lifetime, -while 400,000 hundredweights of that -useful article are annually imported into -this country alone. It is an interesting -study to take any day a list of market -quotations, and ask oneself about every -material quoted, what it is and what -they do with it.</p> - -<p>For example, can you honestly pretend -that you really understand the use -and importance of that valuable object -of everyday demand, fustic? I remember -an ill-used telegraph clerk in a tropical -colony once complaining to me that -English cable operators were so disgracefully -ignorant about this important<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span> -staple as invariably to substitute for its -name the word “justice” in all telegrams -which originally referred to it. -Have you any clear and definite notions -as to the prime origin and final destination -of a thing called jute, in whose sole -manufacture the whole great and flourishing -town of Dundee lives and moves -and has its being? What is turmeric? -Whence do we obtain vanilla? How -many commercial products are yielded -by the orchids? How many totally distinct -plants in different countries afford -the totally distinct starches lumped together -in grocers’ lists under the absurd -name of arrowroot? When you ask for -sago do you really see that you get it? -and how many entirely different objects -described as sago are known to commerce? -Define the use of partridge -canes and cohune oil. What objects -are generally manufactured from tucum? -Would it surprise you to learn that English -door-handles are commonly made -out of coquilla nuts? that your wife’s -buttons are turned from the indurated -fruit of the Tagua palm? and that the -knobs of umbrellas grew originally in -the remote depths of Guatemalan forests? -Are you aware that a plant called -manioc supplies the starchy food of -about one-half the population of tropical -America? These are the sort of inquiries -with which a new edition of “Mangnall’s -Questions” would have to be -filled; and as to answering them—why, -even the pupil-teachers in a London -Board School (who represent, I suppose, -the highest attainable level of human -knowledge) would often find themselves -completely nonplussed. The fact is, -tropical trade has opened out so rapidly -and so wonderfully that nobody knows -much about the chief articles of tropical -growth; we go on using them in an uninquiring -spirit of childlike faith, much -as the Jamaica negroes go on using articles -of European manufacture about -whose origin they are so ridiculously ignorant -that one young woman once asked -me whether it was really true that cotton -handkerchiefs were dug up out of the -ground over in England. Some dim -confusion between coal or iron and -Manchester piece-goods seemed to have -taken firm possession of her infantile -imagination.</p> - -<p>That is why I have thought that a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span> -treatise De Banana might not, perhaps, -be wholly without its usefulness to the -English magazine-reading world. After -all, a food-stuff which supports hundreds -of millions among our beloved -tropical fellow-creatures ought to be -very dear to the heart of a nation which -governs (and annually kills) more black -people, taken in the mass, than all the -other European powers put together. -We have introduced the blessings of -British rule—the good and well-paid -missionary, the Remington rifle, the red-cotton -pocket-handkerchief, and the use -of “the liquor called rum”—into so -many remote corners of the tropical -world that it is high time we should begin -in return to learn somewhat about -fetishes and fustic, Jamaica and jaggery, -bananas and Buddhism. We know too -little still about our colonies and dependencies. -“Cape Breton an island!” -cried King George’s Minister, the Duke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -of Newcastle, in the well-known story, -“Cape Breton an island! Why, so it -is! God bless my soul! I must go -and tell the King that Cape Breton’s an -island.” That was a hundred years -ago; but only the other day the Board -of Trade placarded all our towns and -villages with a flaming notice to the -effect that the Colorado beetle had made -its appearance at “a town in Canada -called Ontario,” and might soon be expected -to arrive at Liverpool by Cunard -steamer. The right honorables and other -high mightinesses who put forth the -notice in question were evidently unaware -that Ontario is a province as big -as England, including in its borders -Toronto, Ottawa, Kingston, London, -Hamilton, and other large and flourishing -towns. Apparently, in spite of competitive -examinations, the schoolmaster -is still abroad in the Government offices.—<cite>Cornhill -Magazine.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2 id="TURNING_AIR_INTO_WATER">TURNING AIR INTO WATER.</h2> - - -<p>It has not yet been done; but the -following telegrams, received on the 9th -and 16th of April, 1883, from Cracow, -by the Paris Academy of Sciences, show -that chemists have come very near doing -it. “Oxygen completely liquefied; -the liquid colorless like carbonic acid.” -“Nitrogen liquefied by explosion; liquid -colorless.” Thus the two elements -that make up atmospheric air have actually -been liquefied, the successful operator -being a Pole, Wroblewski, who -had worked in the laboratory of the -French chemist, Cailletet, learnt his -processes, copied his apparatus, and -then, while Cailletet, who owns a great -iron-foundry down in Burgundy, was -looking after his furnaces, went off to -Poland, and quietly finished what his -master had for years been trying after. -Hence heart-burnings, of which more -anon, when we have followed the chase -up to the point where Cailletet took it -up. I use this hunting metaphor, for -the liquefaction of gases has been for -modern chemists a continual chase, as -exciting as the search for the philosopher’s -stone was to the old alchemists.</p> - -<p>Less than two hundred and fifty years -ago, no one knew anything about gas of -any kind. Pascal was among the first -who guessed that air was “matter” like -other things, and therefore pressed on -the earth’s surface with a weight proportioned -to its height. Torricelli had -made a similar guess two years before, -in 1645. But Pascal proved that these -guesses were true by carrying a barometer -to the top of the Puy de Dôme near -Clermont. Three years after, Otto von -Guerecke invented the air-pump, and -showed at Magdeburg his grand experiment—eight -horses pulling each way, -unable to detach the two hemispheres of -a big globe out of which the air had -been pumped. Then Mariotte in France, -and Boyle in England, formulated the -“Law,” which the French call Mariotte’s, -the English Boyle’s, that gases are -compressible, and that their bulk diminishes -in proportion to the pressure. But -electricity with its wonders threw pneumatics -into the background; and, till -Faraday, nothing was done in the way -of verifying Boyle’s Law except by Van -Marum, a Haarlem chemist, who, happening -to try whether the Law applied -to gaseous ammonia, was astonished to -find that under a pressure of six atmospheres -that gas was suddenly changed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span> -into a colorless liquid. On Van Marum’s -experiment Lavoisier based his famous -generalisation that all bodies will -take any of the three forms, solid, fluid, -gaseous, according to the temperature -to which they are subjected—i.e., that -the densest rock is only a solidified -vapor, and the lightest gas only a vaporised -solid. Nothing came of it, however, -till that wonderful bookbinder’s -apprentice, Faraday, happened to read -Mrs. Marcet’s Conversations while he -was stitching it for binding, and thereby -had his mind opened; and, managing -to hear some of Sir H. Davy’s lectures, -wrote such a good digest of them, -accompanied by such a touching letter—”Do -free me from a trade that I hate, -and let me be your bottle-washer”—that -the good-hearted Cornishman took -the poor blacksmith’s son, then twenty-one -years old, after eight years of book-stitching, -and made him his assistant, -“keeping him in his place,” nevertheless, -which, for an assistant in those -days, meant feeding with the servants, -except by special invitation.</p> - -<p>This was in 1823, and next year Faraday -had liquefied chlorine, and soon did -the same for a dozen more gases, among -them protoxide of nitrogen, to liquefy -which, at a temperature of fifty degrees -Fahrenheit, was needed a pressure of -sixty atmospheres—sixty times the pressure -of the air—i.e., nine hundred -pounds on every square inch. Why, -the strongest boilers, with all their -thickness of iron, their rivets, their careful -hammering of every plate to guard -against weak places, are only calculated -to stand about ten atmospheres; no -wonder then that Faraday, with nothing -but thick glass tubes, had thirteen explosions, -and that a fellow-experimenter -was killed while repeating one of his experiments. -However, he gave out his -“Law,” that any gas may be liquefied -if you put pressure enough on it. That -“if” would have left matters much -where they were had not Bussy, in 1824, -argued: “Liquid is the middle state -between gaseous and solid. Cold turns -liquids into solids; therefore, probably -cold will turn gases into liquids.” He -proved this for sulphurous acid, by simply -plunging a bottle of it in salt and -ice; and it is by combining the two, -cold and pressure, that all subsequent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -results have been attained. How to -produce cold, then, became the problem; -and one way is by making steam. -You cannot get steam without borrowing -heat from something. Water boils -at two hundred and twelve degrees -Fahrenheit, and then you may go on -heating and heating till one thousand -degrees more heat have been absorbed -before steam is formed. The thermometer, -meanwhile, never rises above two -hundred and twelve degrees, all this extra -heat becoming what is called latent, -and is probably employed in keeping -asunder the particles which when closer -together form water. The greater the -expansive force, the more heat becomes -latent or used up in this way. This explains -the paradox that, while the steam -from a kettle-spout scalds you, you may -put your hand with impunity into the -jet discharged from a high-pressure engine. -The high-pressure steam, expanding -rapidly when it gets out of confinement, -uses up all its heat (makes it all -“latent”) in keeping its particles distinct. -It is the same with all other vapors: -in expanding they absorb heat, -and, therefore, produce cold; and, -therefore, as many substances turn into -steam at far lower temperatures than -water does, this principle of “latent -heat,” invented by Black, and, after -long rejection, accepted by chemists, -has been very helpful in the liquefying -of gases by producing cold.</p> - -<p>The simplest ice-machine is a hermetically-sealed -bottle connected with an -air-pump. Exhaust the air, and the -water begins to boil and to grow cold. -As the air is drawn off, the water begins -to freeze; and if—by an ingenious device—the -steam that it generates is absorbed -into a reservoir of sulphuric acid, -or any other substance which has a great -affinity for watery vapor, a good quantity -of ice is obtained. This is the practical -use of liquefying gases; naturally, -they all boil at temperatures much below -that of the air, in which they exist -in the vaporised state that follows after -boiling. Take, therefore, your liquefied -gas; let it boil and give off its steam. -This steam, absorbing by its expansion -all the surrounding heat, may be used -to make ice, to cool beer-cellars, to keep -meat fresh all the way from New Zealand, -or—as has been largely done at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -Suez—to cool the air in tropical countries. -Put pressure enough on your gas -to turn it into a liquid state, at the same -time carrying away by a stream of water -the heat that it gives off in liquefying. -Let this liquid gas into a “refrigerator,” -where it boils and steams, and draws -out the heat; and then by a sucking-pump -drive it again into the compressor, -and let the same process go on ad infinitum, -no fresh material being needed, -nothing, in fact, but the working of the -pump. Sulphurous acid is a favorite -gas, ammonia is another; and—besides -the above practical uses—they have -been employed in a number of startling -experiments.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the strangest of these is getting -a bar of ice out of a red-hot platinum -crucible. The object of using platinum -is simply to resist the intense heat -of the furnace in which the crucible is -placed. Pour in sulphurous acid and -then fill up with water. The cold raised -by vaporising the acid is so intense that -the water will freeze into a solid mass. -Indeed, the temperature sometimes goes -down to more than eighty degrees below -freezing. A still more striking experiment -is that resulting from the liquefying -of nitrous oxide—protoxide of nitrogen, -or laughing-gas. This gas needs, -as was said, great pressure to liquefy it -at an ordinary temperature. At freezing -point only a pressure of thirty atmospheres -is needed to liquefy it. It -then boils if exposed to the air, radiating -cold—or, rather, absorbing heat—till -it falls to a temperature low enough -to freeze mercury. But it still, wonderful -to say, retains the property which, -alone of all the gases, it shares with -oxygen—of increasing combustion. A -match that is almost extinguished burns -up again quite brightly when thrust into -a bag of ordinary laughing-gas; while a -bit of charcoal, with scarcely a spark -left in it, glows to the intensest white -heat when brought in contact with this -same gas in its liquid form, so that you -have the charcoal at, say, two thousand -degrees Fahrenheit, and the gas at some -one hundred and fifty degrees below -zero. Carbonic acid gas is just the opposite -of nitrous oxide, in that it -quenches fire and destroys life; but, -when liquefied, it develops a like intense -cold. Liquefy it and collect it under<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -pressure, in strong cast-iron vessels, and -then suddenly open a tap and allow the -vapor to escape. In expanding, it -grows so cold—or, strictly speaking, absorbs, -makes latent, so much heat—that -it produces a temperature low enough -to turn it into fog and then into frozen -fog, or snow. This snow can be gathered -in iron vessels, and mixed with -either it forms the strongest freezing -mixture known, turning mercury into -something like lead, so that you can -beat the frozen metal with wooden mallets -and can mould it into medals and -such-like.</p> - -<p>Amid these and such-like curious experiments, -we must not forget the “Law” -that the state of a substance depends -on its temperature—solid when it is -frozen hard enough, liquid under sufficient -pressure, gaseous when free from -pressure and at a sufficiently high temperature. -But though first Faraday, and -then the various inventors of refrigerating-machines—Carré, -Tellier, Natterer, -Thilorier—succeeded in liquefying -so many gases, hydrogen and the two -elements of the atmosphere resisted all -efforts. By plunging oxygen in the sea, -to the depth of a league, it was subjected -to a pressure of four hundred atmospheres, -but there was no sign of liquefaction. -Again, Berthelot fastened a -tube, strong and very narrow, and full of -air, to a bulb filled with mercury. The -mercury was heated until its expansion -subjected the air to a pressure of seven -hundred and eighty atmospheres—all -that the glass could stand—but the air -remained unchanged. Cailletet managed -to get one thousand pressures by -pumping mercury down a long, flexible -steel tube upon a very strong vessel, full -of air; but nothing came of it, except -the bursting of the vessel, nor was there -any more satisfactory result in the case -of hydrogen.</p> - -<p>One result, at any rate, was established—that -there is no law of compression -like that named after Boyle or Mariotte, -but that every gas behaves in a -way of its own, without reference to any -of the others, each having its own “critical -point” of temperature, at which, under -a certain pressure, it is neither liquid -nor gaseous, but on the border-land -between the two, and will remain in this -condition so long as the temperature re<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span>mains -the same. Hence, air being just -in this state of gaseo-liquid, the first -step towards liquefying it must be to -lower its temperature, and so get rid of -its vapor by increasing its density. -The plan adopted, both by Cailletet in -Paris, and by Raoul Pictet (heir of a -great scientific name) in Geneva, was to -lower the temperature by letting off -high-pressure steam. This had been so -successful in the case of carbonic acid -gas as to turn the vapor into snow; and -in 1877 Cailletet pumped oxygen into a -glass tube, until the pressure was equal -to three hundred atmospheres. He -then cooled it to four degrees Fahrenheit -below zero, and, opening a valve, let -out a jet of gaseous vapor, which, while -expanding, caused intense cold, lowering -the temperature some three hundred -degrees, and turning the jet of vapor -into fog. Here, then, was a partial -liquefaction, and the same was effected -in the case of nitrogen. Pictet did -much the same thing. Having set up -at Geneva a great ice-works (his refrigerating -agency being sulphurous acid in -a boiling state), he had all the necessary -apparatus, and was able to subject oxygen -to a pressure of three hundred and -twenty atmospheres, and by means of -carbonic acid boiling in vacuo, to cool -the vessel containing it down to more -than two hundred degrees Fahrenheit -below zero. He could not watch the -condition in which the gas was; but it -was probably liquefied, for, when a -valve was suddenly opened, it began to -bubble furiously, and rushed out in the -form of steam. Pictet thought he had -also succeeded in liquefying hydrogen, -the foggy vapor of the jet being of a -steely grey color; for hydrogen has long -been suspected to be a metal, of which -water is an oxide, and hydrochloric -acid a chloride. Nay, some solid fragments -came out with the jet of vapor, -and fell like small shot on the floor, -and at first the sanguine experimenter -thought he had actually solidified the -lightest of all known substances. This, -however, was a mistake; it was some -portion of his apparatus which had got -melted. Neither had the liquefaction -of oxygen or nitrogen been actually witnessed, -though the result had been seen -in the jet of foggy vapor.</p> - -<p>Cailletet was on the point of trying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> -his experiment over again in vacuo, so -as to get a lower temperature, when the -telegrams from Wroblewski showed that -the Pole had got the start of him. -Along with a colleague, Obszewski, -Cailletet’s disloyal pupil set ethylene -boiling in vacuo, and so brought the -temperature down to two hundred and -seventy degrees Fahrenheit below zero. -This was the lowest point yet reached, -and it was enough to turn oxygen into a -liquid a little less dense than water, -having its “critical point” at about one -hundred and sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit -below zero. A few days after, nitrogen -was liquefied by the same pair of experimenters, -under greater atmospheric -pressure at a somewhat higher temperature.</p> - -<p>The next thing is to naturally ask: -What is the use of all this? That remains -to be proved. The most unlikely -chemical truths have often brought -about immense practical results. All -that we can as yet say is, that there is -now no exception to the law that matter -of all kinds is capable of taking the -three forms, solid, aqueous, gaseous.</p> - -<p>The French savans are not content -with saying this. They are very indignant -at Wroblewski stealing Cailletet’s -crown just as it was going to be placed -on the Frenchman’s head. It was -sharp practice, for all that a scientific -discoverer has to look to is the fame -which he wins among men. The Academy -took no notice of the interloping -Poles, but awarded to Cailletet the Lacaze -Prize, their secretary, M. Dumas, -then lying sick at Cannes, expressing -their opinion in the last letter he ever -wrote. “It is Cailletet’s apparatus,” -says M. Dumas, “which enabled the -others to do what he was on the point of -accomplishing. He, therefore, deserves -the credit of invention; the others are -merely clever and successful manipulators. -What has been done is a great -fact in the history of science, and it will -link the name of Cailletet with those of -Lavoisier and Faraday,” So far M. -Dumas, who might, one fancies, have -said something for Pictet, only a fortnight -behind Cailletet in the experiment -which practically liquefied oxygen. His -case is quite different from Wroblewski’s, -for he and Cailletet had been -working quite independently, just as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span> -Leverrier and Adams had been when -both discovered the new planet Neptune. -Such coincidences so often happen -when the minds of men are turned -to the same subject. Well, the scientific -world is satisfied now that the elements -of air can be liquefied; but I -want to see the air itself liquefied, as -what it is—a mechanical, not a chemical -compound. For from such liquefaction, -one foresees a great many useful -results. You might carry your air -about with you to the bottom of mines -or up in balloons; you might even, -perhaps, store up enough by-and-by to -last for a voyage to the moon.—<cite>All the -Year Round.</cite></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="THE_HEALTH_AND_LONGEVITY_OF_THE_JEWS" id="THE_HEALTH_AND_LONGEVITY_OF_THE_JEWS">THE HEALTH AND LONGEVITY OF THE JEWS.</a><br /> - -<small>BY P. KIRKPATRICK PICARD, M.D., M.R.C.S.</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span></p> - -<p>In these days, when sanitation claims -a large share of attention, and when -questions relating to the public health -are canvassed and discussed on all -sides, it may be of service to ask what -lessons are to be learned from the diet, -habits, and customs of the Jews. It is -not generally known that their health -and longevity are superior to those of -other races, a fact which has been noted -by careful observers from early times in -this and other countries. An experiment, -extending over thousands of -years, has been made as to the sanitary -value of certain laws in the Mosaic -code. The test has been applied in the -most rigid way, and if it had failed at -any period in their eventful history, -their name alone, like that of the Assyrian -and Babylonian, would have remained -to testify to their existence as a -nation. The three deadly enemies of -mankind—war, famine, and pestilence—have -at times been let loose upon them. -They have stood firm as a rock against -the crushing power of oppression, when -exercised at the call of political or religious -antipathy. They have been pursued -with relentless persecution, from -city to city, and from one country to -another, in the name of our holy religion. -Restricted as to their trade, singled -out to bear the burden of special taxation, -confined in the most miserable and -unhealthy quarters of the towns where -they were permitted to dwell, living in -the constant fear of robbery without redress, -of violence without succor, of -poverty without relief, of assaults against -their persons, honor, and religion without -hope of protection; in spite of woe -after woe coming upon them, like the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -waves of a pitiless sea, they have not -been broken to pieces and swallowed -up, leaving not a wreck behind. No -other race has had the fiery trials that -they have gone through, yet, like the -three Hebrew youths in the furnace, the -smell of fire is not found on them. To-day -their bodily vigor is unequalled, -and their moral and mental qualities are -unsurpassed.</p> - -<p>How has it happened that, after being -compassed about for centuries with so -many troubles, they have at the present -time all the requisites that go to form a -great nation, and are, in numbers, energy, -and resources, on a level with their -forefathers in the grandest period of -their history? It is not enough to say -that all this has come to pass according -to the will of God, and that their continued -existence is owing to His intervention -on their behalf. No doubt it is -a miracle in the sense that it is contrary -to all human experience, for no other -nation has lived through such perilous -times of hardship and privation. But -as it was in the wilderness so it has been -in all their wanderings down the stream -of time; the miracle was supplemented -by the use of means, without which -God’s purpose regarding them would -have failed. The blessing of long life -and health, promised to them by the -mouth of Moses, has not been withheld. -Several texts might be quoted, but one -will suffice. In Deuteronomy iv. 40, -we read,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span> “Thou shall keep therefore -his statutes, and his commandments, -that it may go well with thee, and with -thy children after thee, and that thou -mayest prolong thy days upon the earth, -which the Lord thy God giveth thee, for -ever.” With a promise so rich with -blessing, conditional on their obedience, -they have through all the ages been -monuments of God’s faithfulness, and -are to this day in the enjoyment of its -advantages.</p> - -<p>The following statistics, for which I -am indebted to the kindness of Dr. A. -Cohen, who has collected them from -different sources, will serve to prove -their superiority in respect of health and -longevity. In the town of Fürth, according -to Mayer, the average duration -of life amongst the Christians was 26 -years, and amongst the Jews 37 years. -During the first five years of childhood -the Christian death-rate was 14 per cent. -and the Jewish was 10 per cent. The -same proportion of deaths, it is said, -exists in London. Neufville has found -that in Frankfort the Jews live eleven -years longer than the Christians, and -that of those who reach the age of 70 -years 13 are Christians and 27 are Jews. -In Prussia, from 1822 to 1840, it has -been ascertained that the Jewish population -increased by 3-1/2 per cent. more -than the Christian, there being 1 birth -in 28 of the Jews to 1 in 25 of the Christians, -and 1 death in 40 of the Jews to -1 in 34 of the Christians.</p> - -<p>These data are sufficient to verify the -statement that the Jews are endowed -with better health and greater longevity -than Christians. It will therefore be -inferred that some peculiarity exists -which gives them more power of resisting -disease, and renders them less susceptible -to its influence. In virtue of -this property their constitution readily -accommodates itself to the demands of -a climate which may be too severe for -other non-indigenous races. Take as -an example the statistics of the town of -Algiers in 1856. Crebassa gives the following -particulars—Of Europeans there -were 1,234 births and 1,553 deaths; of -Mussulmans 331 births and 514 deaths; -of Jews 211 births and 187 deaths. -These numbers afford a remarkable illustration -of the “survival of the fittest.”</p> - -<p>Their unusual freedom from disease -of particular kinds has been often noticed, -and amounts nearly to immunity -from certain prevalent maladies, such as -those of the scrofulous and tuberculous -type, which are answerable for about a -fifth of the total mortality. Their com<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span>parative -safety in the midst of destructive -epidemics has often been the subject -of comment, and was formerly used -as evidence against them, on the malicious -charge of disseminating disease. -At the present day, and in consonance -with the spirit of the age, the matter -has come within the scope of the scientific -inquirer, with the view of ascertaining -the cause of this exceptional condition.</p> - -<p>A peculiarity of this sort must lie in -the nature of things in the distinctive -character of their food, habits, and customs. -Their more or less strict adherence -to the requirements of the Mosaic -law, and to the interpretation of it given -in the Talmud, are familiar to all who -come in contact with them. To this -code we must therefore look for an explanation -of the facts under review; -and here it may be stated that no prominence -is given to one set of laws over -another. They all begin with the formula, -“And the Lord spake unto Moses, -saying,” thus making no difference in -point of importance between the laws of -worship and those of health. These -latter, therefore, carried with them the -sanctions of religion, and were as much -a matter of obligation as any other religious -duty. It will thus be easily seen -how the interweaving of the several laws -relating to health and worship had the -effect of giving equal permanence to -both, so that as long as the one was observed -the other would be in force. -Though many of the details might appear -arbitrary, a fuller knowledge of -sanitary science has revealed a meaning -not recorded in the sacred text. Moses, -who was versed in all the learning of the -Egyptians, was evidently acquainted -with the laws of health, which he embodied -in his code under divine direction. -Those who are firm believers in -the inspiration of the Scriptures will -have no difficulty in believing that principles, -given by God for the preservation -of the health of the Israelite in -olden times, and to which he is still -obedient with great apparent benefit, -are likely to be beneficial in their effect -on the general community. Truths of -this kind are like the laws of nature, -universally applicable. They never -grow old by lapse of time or effete by -force of circumstances.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span></p> - -<p>This part of the Mosaic code is mainly -concerned with details relating to -food, cleanliness, the prevention of disease, -and the disinfection of diseased -persons and things. The Jews observe -in eating flesh-food the great primary -law, which was given to Noah after the -Flood (Gen. ix. 4): “But the flesh -with the life thereof, which is the blood -thereof, shall ye not eat,” It was enforced -in the Mosaic dispensation (Lev. -xvii. 10), under the penalty of being cut -off for disobedience, and in the Christian -era was confirmed at the Council of -Jerusalem (Acts xv. 20), when the Apostle -James, as president, gave sentence -that the Gentiles who are turned to God -should abstain from blood. To this -day the animal (whether beast or bird) -is killed with a sharp knife in such a -way that the large blood vessels in the -neck discharge the blood most freely, -and so drain the flesh to the utmost extent -possible, and as an additional precaution -the veins, which in certain -places are difficult to empty, are removed -before the part can be used as -food; so that it would appear every -needful measure is adopted to prevent -the ingestion of the forbidden fluid. -On this account game that is shot is not -eaten by the orthodox Jew, as the blood -is retained by that mode of death.</p> - -<p>Before the slain animal is pronounced -kosher, or fit for food, a careful search -is made by experts for any evidence of -disease. These men have to satisfy the -Shechita Board, which takes cognisance -of these matters, that they have a competent -knowledge of morbid structures -before being authorised to affix the official -seal, without which no meat is considered -wholesome. That this practice -is far from being unnecessary may be -gathered from the fact that in a recent -half-yearly report presented to the board -the following particulars occur:—Oxen -slain, 12,473, kosher, 7,649; calves -slain, 2,146, kosher, 1,569; sheep slain, -23,022, kosher, 14,580. These numbers -show that out of 37 beasts slain 14 -were rejected as unsound, and not allowed -to be eaten by the Jew. The -less-favored Christian, not being under -such dietary restrictions, would have no -hesitation in buying and consuming this -condemned meat. It is even alleged -that a larger proportion of diseased ani<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span>mals -than is here stated is exposed for -sale in the Metropolitan Meat Market, -and used as food by purchasers of all -classes. Whether this be so or not, the -fact remains that the Jewish portion of -the community have the sole benefit of -arrangements specially designed for the -maintenance of health. This state of -things demands urgent attention, and -has surely a claim prior to many other -subjects which occupy the time of our -legislators.</p> - -<p>The Mosaic law, in forbidding the -use of blood as food, gives as the reason -that the blood is the life. It follows, -therefore, if the animal be unhealthy its -blood may be regarded as unhealthy. -But as the blood may be diseased without -external or even internal evidence -such as is open to common observation, -the total prohibition of it obviates the -risk that might otherwise be incurred.</p> - -<p>Modern science has discovered in the -circulation of diseased animals microscopic -organisms of different forms, -each characteristic of some particular -disease. They are parasitic in their -nature, growing and multiplying in the -living being, though they are capable of -preserving their vitality outside the -body. Some, like the bacillus, which -is supposed to cause tuberculosis, may -even be dried without losing their vital -properties, and on entering the system -be able to produce the disease proper to -them. Others will develop in dead organic -substances, but increase more -abundantly in living structures. They -are very plentiful in the atmosphere of -certain localities, and settling on exposed -wounded surfaces, or finding their -way into the lungs and effecting a lodgment -in the blood and tissues, they generate, -each after its kind, specific infective -diseases. When the blood becomes -impregnated by any special organism, a -drop may suffice to propagate the disease -by inoculation in another animal. -The mode of entrance of these morbid -germs may be by inhalation, by inoculation, -and by the ingestion of poisonous -particles with the food. Any person -living in unhygienic circumstances, and -whose system is from any cause in a -condition suited for the reception of -these organisms, cannot safely eat meat -which may contain them in the blood. -In the splenic fever of cattle, for in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span>stance, -which is communicable to man, -these germs are exceedingly numerous, -and the same may be said of the other -specific febrile diseases. Eventually -there is a deposit of morbid material in -the tissues, where the process of development -goes on till a great change in -the once healthy structures is effected.</p> - -<p>With the light derived from recent investigation -we are able to understand -the wisdom and foresight of the Mosaic -injunction as well as appreciate its supreme -importance. The Jew, like the -Christian, is exposed to the inroads of -disease when he breathes an infected atmosphere -and eats tainted food, provided -he is susceptible at the time to the -morbific influence, but he is protected -by a dietary rule at the point where the -Christian is in danger. The Jew who -conforms to the law of Moses in this -particular must have a better chance of -escaping the ravages of epidemics than -those who are not bound by these restrictions. -This hygienic maxim goes -far to explain the comparative freedom -of the Jewish race from the large class -of blood diseases.</p> - -<p>The examination of the carcass is also -necessary with the view of determining -the sound or unsound condition of the -meat. At one time it was doubted that -the complaints from which animals -suffer could be communicated by eating -their flesh, but the evidence of eminent -authorities has definitely settled the -question. Such bovine diseases as the -several varieties of anthrax, the foot -and mouth disease, and especially tuberculosis, -are now believed to be transmissible -through ingested meat. It has -been proved that the pig fed with tuberculous -flesh becomes itself tuberculous, -and the inference is fair that man might -acquire the disease if subjected to the -same ordeal. This last disease is very -common amongst animals, and is now -recognised as identical with that which -is so fatal to the human race. It is considered -highly probable that the widespread -mortality caused by this malady -is due in a great degree to the consumption -of the milk and meat of tuberculous -animals. That the milk supply should -be contaminated is a very serious affair -for the young, who are chiefly fed on it. -The regular inspection of all dairies by -skilled officials is imperatively necessary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -to ward off a terrible and growing evil; -just as a similar inspection of slaughter-houses -is demanded in the interests of -the meat-eating portion of the community.</p> - -<p>Temperance is a noteworthy feature -in the habits of the Jews. Their moderation -in the use of alcoholic drinks is -deserving of the highest commendation. -Very rarely are they rendered unfit for -business by over-indulgence in this debasing -vice. In no class of Jewish society -is excessive drinking practised. -The poorest, in their persons, families, -and homes, present a marked contrast -to their Christian neighbors in the same -social position. The stamp on the -drunkard’s face is very seldom seen on -the countenance of a Jew. He is not -to be found at the bar of a public-house, -or hanging idly about its doors -with drunken associates. His house is -more attractive by reason of the thrift -that forms the groundwork of his character. -Domestic broils, so common an -incident in the life of the hard-drinking -poor, are most unusual. When work is -entrusted to him insobriety does not interfere -with the due and proper performance -of it, hence his industry meets -with its reward in the improvement of -his circumstances. This habit of temperance -amid abounding drunkenness, -more or less excessive, is probably one -of the causes of the protection afforded -to him during the prevalence of some -epidemic diseases, such as typhus, cholera, -and other infectious fevers. His -comparative freedom from the ravages -of these terrible complaints has been -chronicled by observers, both mediæval -and modern, and is now a subject of -common remark. The latest instance -of this immunity is furnished by the -records of the deaths from cholera in -the south of France, where it is affirmed -that out of a considerable Jewish population -in the infected districts only -seven fell victims to the disease, a fact -which ought to receive more than a -passing notice in the interests of humanity.</p> - -<p>Another point that may be mentioned -is the provision made by the Jewish -Board of Guardians for the indigent -poor. It has been said that no known -Jew is allowed to die in a workhouse. -When poverty, or sickness involving the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span> -loss of his livelihood, occurs, charity -steps in and bestows the help which -places him above want, and tides him -over his bodily or pecuniary distress. -The mother is also seasonably provided -with medical and other comforts when -her pressing need is greatest. In this -way they are saved from the diseases incidental -to lack of food, and after an -attack of illness are sooner restored to -health than the majority of the poor, -who linger on in a state of convalescence -little better than the ailment itself, -and often sink into permanent bad -health from the scanty supply of the -necessary nourishment which their exhausted -frames require.</p> - -<p>In enumerating the causes which have -made the Jewish people so strong and -vigorous, particular mention must be -made of their observance of the Sabbath. -This day was appointed for the -double purpose of securing a set portion -of time for the worship of God, and of -affording rest to the body wearied with -its six days’ labors. The secularising -of this holy day in the history of the -French nation has demonstrated the -need of a day of rest and the wisdom of -its institution by a merciful Creator, -even before there was a man to till the -ground. Obedience to this primeval law, -renewed amid the thunders of Sinai, -and repeated on many subsequent occasions -by Moses and the prophets, is still -held by the Jews to be as strictly binding -on them as any other religious obligation. -Of the physical blessings derivable -from keeping the Sabbath day -they have had the benefit for many long -centuries when other nations were sunk -in heathenism and ignorant of the divine -ordinance made to lighten their labors -and recruit their strength. In Christian -countries where the Sunday is kept sacred, -or observed as a holiday, another -day of rest in addition to their own Sabbath -is obtained, thus fortifying them -against the crushing toil and nervous -strain of modern life. The loss accruing -from this enforced abstinence from -business worries is more than counter-balanced -by the gain in nerve power -with which periodical cessation from -any harassing employment is compensated. -This is doubtless one of the -factors which have helped to invigorate -both mind and body, and to develop in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span> -them those high qualities for which they -are justly distinguished.</p> - -<p>To sum up—the longevity of the Jew -is an acknowledged fact. In his surroundings -he is on a par with his Christian -neighbor. If the locality in which -he dwells is unhealthy, he also suffers, -but to a less degree. If the climate is -ungenial, its influence tells on him too, -but with less injurious effect. His vigorous -health enables him to resist the -onset of disease to which others succumb. -These advantages are for the -most part owing to his food, his temperate -habits, and the care taken of him in -sickness and poverty. No doubt he is -specially fortunate in inheriting a constitution -which has been built up by attention, -for many centuries, to hygienic -details. His meat is drained of blood, -so that by that means morbid germs are -not likely to be conveyed into his system. -It is also most carefully inspected -so as to prevent the consumption of -what is unsound, hence his comparative -immunity from scrofulous and tuberculous -forms of disease.</p> - -<p>How can the benefits which the Jews -enjoy be shared by other races? In regard -to food, whatever prejudice may -stand in the way of draining the blood -from the animal, it ought surely to be -done when there is the least suspicion -of unhealthy symptoms; but there can -be no doubt about the urgent necessity -for a strict supervision of our meat -markets, so as to prevent the sale of diseased -food. Legislation ought to make -such regulations as will render impossible -the continuance of an evil which, by -oversight or otherwise, is dangerous to -the general health. Temperance is a -virtue within the reach of everybody, -and is now widely practised by all -classes, and the gain in improved health -will soon be apparent in the lessening -of ailments due to drunkenness. Charity -is as much the duty of the Christian -as of the Jew, and it is a dishonor to -the Master whom the former professes -to serve if he shuts up his bowels of -compassion when the poor, who have -always claims upon him, call in vain for -the needed help. They ought never to -be allowed to languish in sickness and -poverty till the friendly hand of death -brings a grateful relief to all their -troubles.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span></p> - -<p>The Bible is regarded by some scientists -as an old-fashioned book; but its -teaching in relation to hygiene, even -they will confess, has not become antiquated. -It must be credited with having -anticipated and recorded for our instruction -and profit doctrines which are now -accepted as beyond dispute in this department -of knowledge. In the Mosaic -law are preserved sanitary rules, the -habitual observance of which by the Jew, -from generation to generation, has made -him superior to all other races in respect -of health and longevity.—<cite>Leisure Hour.</cite></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="THE_HITTITES26" id="THE_HITTITES26">THE HITTITES.</a><a id="FNanchor_26_26" href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">26</a><br /> - -<small>BY ISAAC TAYLOR.</small></h2> - - -<p>The reconstruction, from newly exhumed -monuments, of the history of -the East, has been the great work of -the present century. The startling revelations -arising from the decipherment -of the Egyptian records were followed -by results, still more surprising, afforded -by the buried cities of Assyria and -Babylonia, and by glimpses into the -prehistoric life of Greece obtained from -the excavations of Dr. Schliemann on -the sites of Troy and Mycenæ. If any -one will take the trouble to look into -such a book as Rollin’s “Ancient History,” -and compare it with Duncker’s -“History of Antiquity,” or with the -useful series of little volumes published -by the Christian Knowledge Society -under the title of “Ancient History -from the Monuments,” it will be possible -to estimate the completeness of the -reconstruction of our knowledge. Thus -the legendary story of Sesostris, as recorded -by Herodotus, has given place -to the authentic history of the reigns of -the conquering monarchs of the New -Empire, Thothmes III., Seti I., and -Rameses II., while the Greek romance -of Sardanapalus is replaced by the contemporary -annals of Assurbanipal; and, -more wonderful than all, we discover -that Semiramis herself was no mortal -Queen of Babylon, but the celestial -Queen of the Heavenly Host, the planet -Venus, the morning star as she journeys -from her eastern realm, the evening star -as she passes onward to the west in -search of her lost spouse the sun, and -to be identified with the Babylonian -goddess Istar, the Ashtaroth of the Bible, -whose rationalized myth was handed -down by Ctesias as sober history.</p> - -<p>To these marvellous reconstructions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span> -another of hardly less interest and importance -must now be added. The -most notable archæological achievement -of the last ten years has been -the recovery and installation of the -Hittite Empire as one of the earliest -and most powerful of the great Oriental -monarchies. Dr. Wright, in the opportune -volume whose title stands at the -head of this notice, has established a -claim to have rescued from probable -destruction some of the most important -Hittite inscriptions; to have been the -first to suggest the Hittite origin of the -inscribed stones from Hamath whose -discovery in 1872 excited so much speculation; -and has now added to our obligations -by placing before the world in -a convenient form nearly the whole of -the available materials bearing on the -question of Hittite history and civilization.</p> - -<p>Our readers will probably remember -a signed article on the Hittites, from -the pen of Dr. Wright, which appeared -in this Review in 1882. This article -has been expanded by its author into -a goodly volume, and has been enriched -with considerable additions of new and -valuable material which bring it well up -to the present standard of knowledge. -Among these additions are facsimiles of -the principal Hittite inscriptions, most -of which have already appeared in the -transactions of the Society of Biblical -Archæology, and are now revised -by Mr. Rylands; while Sir C. Wilson -and Captain Conder have contributed a -useful map indicating the sites where -Hittite monuments have been found; -and Professor Sayce adds a valuable -appendix containing the results of his -latest researches as to the decipherment -of the Hittite script.</p> - -<p>Till within the last twenty years all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> -men had been used to think of the Hittites -as an obscure Canaanitish tribe, of -much the same importance as the Hivites -or the Perizzites, with whom it was the -custom to class them. It is true that if -read between the lines, as we are now -able to read it, the Biblical narrative -indicated that while other Canaanitish -tribes were of small power and importance, -and were soon exterminated or -absorbed into the Hebrew nationality, -the Hittites stood on altogether another -footing. The Hittites are the first and -the last of these tribes to appear on the -scene. As early as the time of Abraham -we find them lords of the soil at Hebron; -and in the time of Solomon, and even of -Elisha, they are a mighty people, inhabiting -a region to the north of Palestine, -and distinguished by the possession of -numerous war chariots, then the chief -sign of military power. Though we are -now able to perceive that this is the true -signification of the references to them in -the old Testament, yet it was from the -newly recovered monuments of Egypt -and Assyria that the facts were actually -gleaned, and it was shown that for more -than a thousand years the Hittite power -was comparable to that of Assyria and -Egypt.</p> - -<p>It is only by slow degrees that this -result has been established. The first -light came from Abusimbel, in Nubia, -midway between the first and second -cataracts of the Nile, where Rameses II., -the most magnificent of the Egyptian -kings, at a time when the Hebrews were -still toiling in Egyptian bondage, caused -a vast precipice of rock to be carved -into a stupendous temple-cave, to whose -walls he committed the annals of his -reign and the records of his distant campaigns. -On one of the walls of this -temple is pictured a splendid battle scene, -occupying a space of 57 feet by 24, and -containing upwards of 1100 figures. -This represents, as we learn from the -hieroglyphic explanation, the great battle -of Kadesh, fought with the “vile -people of the Kheta”—a battle which -also forms the theme of the poem of -Pentaur, the oldest epic in the world, -still extant in a papyrus now preserved -in the British Museum. In spite of -the grandiloquent boasts of these records, -we gather that the battle was -indecisive; that Rameses had to retire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> -from the siege of Kadesh, narrowly escaping -with his life; the campaign being -ended by the conclusion of a treaty on -equal terms with the King of the Kheta—a -treaty which was followed a year -later, by the espousal by Rameses of a -daughter of the hostile king.</p> - -<p>About twenty years ago it was suggested -by De Rougé that this powerful -nation of the Kheta might probably be -identified with the Khittim, or Hittites, -of the Old Testament; and this conclusion, -though never accepted by some -eminent Egyptologists, such as Chabas -and Ebers, gradually won its way into -favor, and has been recently confirmed -by Captain Conder’s identification of -the site of Kadesh, where the battle depicted -on the wall at Abusimbel was -fought. From other inscriptions we -learn that for five hundred years the -Kheta resisted with varying success the -attacks of the terrible conquerors of the -eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties, -their power remaining to the last substantially -unshaken. The story is now -taken up by the Assyrian records, which -prove that from the time of Sargon of -Accad—who must be assigned to the -nineteenth century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>, if not to a much -earlier period—down to the reigns of -Tiglath Pileser I. (<span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>, 1130), and for -four hundred years afterwards, till the -reigns of Assur-nazir-pal and Shalmanezer -II., the Khatti of Hamath and -Carchemish were the most formidable -opponents of the rising power of Assyria, -their resistance being only brought to a -close by the defeat of their King Pisiris, -and the capture of Carchemish, their -capital, in 717 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>, by Sargon II., the -king who also destroyed the monarchy -of Israel by the capture of Samaria.</p> - -<p>It seemed strange that no monuments -should have been discovered belonging -to a people powerful enough to withstand -for twelve centuries the assaults of -Egypt and Assyria. At last, in 1872, -certain inscriptions from Hamath on the -Orontes, in a hieroglyphic picture-writing -of a hitherto unknown character, -were published in Burton and Drake’s -“Unexplored Syria.” Dr. Wright, in -1874, published an article in “The British -and Foreign Evangelical Review,” -suggesting that these monuments were -in reality records of the Hittite race. -This conjecture, though much ridiculed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span> -at the time, has gradually fought its way -to universal acceptance, mainly owing to -the skilful advocacy of Professor Sayce, -who, in ignorance of Dr. Wright’s suggestion, -arrived independently at the -same conclusion, and shortly afterwards -identified a monument at Karabel, near -Ephesus, described by Herodotus as a -figure of Sesostris, as the effigy of a -Hittite king. Subsequent discoveries of -Hittite monuments in other parts of -Asia Minor, taken in conjunction with -the Biblical notices, and the Egyptian -and Assyrian records, prove that at some -remote period a great Hittite empire -must have extended from Hebron to the -Black Sea, and from the Euphrates to -the Ægean; while it is now generally -admitted that, to some extent, the art, -the science, and the religion of prehistoric -Greece must have been derived -ultimately from Babylon, having been -transmitted, first to the Hittite city -of Carchemish, and thence to Lydia, -through the Hittite realm in Asia Minor. -It is now believed by many scholars of -repute that the Ephesian Artemis must -be identified with the great Hittite goddess -Atargatis, and ultimately with the -Babylonian Istar; that the Niobe of -Homer, whose effigy may still be seen -on Mount Sipylus, near Smyrna, was -an image of Atargatis, whose armed -priestesses gave rise to the Greek legend -of the Amazons, a nation of female -warriors; that the Euboic silver stand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span>ard -was based upon the mina of Carchemish; -and that in all probability the -characters found on Trojan whorls by -Schliemann, as well as certain anomalous -letters in the Lycian alphabet, and -even the mysterious Cypriote syllabary -itself were simply cursive forms descended -from the Hittite hieroglyphs -used in the inscriptions on the pseudo-Niobe -and the pseudo-Sesostris in Lydia, -and pictured on the stones obtained by -Dr. Wright from Hamath, and by Mr. -George Smith from Carchemish.</p> - -<p>The arguments by which scholars have -been led to these conclusions, together -with the existing materials on which -future researches must be based, have -been collected by Dr. Wright in a handy -volume, which we have great pleasure in -heartily commending to all students of -Biblical archæology as a substantial -contribution to our knowledge.</p> - -<p>When the Turks permit the mounds -at Kadesh and Carchemish, which conceal -the ruined palaces and temples of -the Hittite capitals, to be systematically -explored, and when the Hittite writing -shall be completely deciphered, we may -anticipate a revelation of the earliest -history of the world not inferior, possibly, -in interest and importance, to those -astonishing discoveries which have made -known to this generation the buried secrets -of Babylon, Nineveh, and Troy.—<cite>British -Quarterly Review.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="AUTOMATIC_WRITING_OR_THE_RATIONALE_OF_PLANCHETTE" id="AUTOMATIC_WRITING_OR_THE_RATIONALE_OF_PLANCHETTE">AUTOMATIC WRITING, OR THE RATIONALE OF PLANCHETTE.</a><br /> - -<small>BY FREDERICK W. H. MYERS.</small></h2> - - -<p>Among all the changes which are taking -place in our conceptions of various -parts of the universe, there is none -more profound, or at first sight more -disquieting, than the change which, at -the touch of Science, is stealing over our -conception of <em>ourselves</em>. For each of us -seems to be no longer a sovereign state -but a federal union; the kingdom of -our mind is insensibly dissolving into a -republic. Instead of the <i lang="fr">ens rationale</i> of -the schoolmen, protected from irreverent -treatment by its metaphysical abstraction; -instead of Descartes’ impalpable -soul, seated bravely in its pineal -gland, and ruling from that tiny fortress -body and brain alike, we have physiologist -and psychologist uniting in pulling -us to pieces,—in analyzing into their -sensory elements our loftiest ideas,—in -tracing the diseases of memory, volition, -intelligence, which gradually distort us -past recognition,—in showing how one -may become in a moment a different -person altogether, by passing through a -fit of somnambulism, or receiving a -smart blow on the head. Our past self, -with its stores of registered experience, -continually revived in memory, seems to -be held to resemble a too self-conscious -phonograph, which should enjoy an -agreeable sense of mental effort as its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span> -handle turned, and should preface its -inevitable repetitions by some triumphant -allusion to its own acumen. Our -present self, this inward medley of -sensations and desires, is likened to that -mass of creeping things which is termed -an “animal colony,”—a myriad rudimentary -consciousnesses, which acquire -a sort of corporate unity because one -end of the amalgam has to go first and -find the way.</p> - -<p>Or one may say that the old view -started from the sane mind as the normal, -permanent, definite entity from -which insanity was the unaccountable -aberration; while in the new view it is -rather sanity which needs to be accounted -for; since the moral and physical -being of each of us is built up from incoördination -and incoherence, and the -microcosm of man is but a micro-chaos -held in some semblance of order by a -lax and swaying hand, the wild team -which a Phaeton is driving, and which -must needs soon plunge into the sea. -Theories like this are naturally distasteful -to those who care for the dignity of -man. And such readers may perhaps -turn aside in impatience when I say that -much of this paper will be occupied by -some reasons for my belief that this -analysis of human consciousness must -be carried further still; that we must -face the idea of concurrent streams of -being, flowing alongside but unmingled -within us, and with either of which our -active consciousness may, under appropriate -circumstances, be identified. -Many people have heard, for instance, -of Dr. Azam’s patient, Félida X., who -passes at irregular intervals from one -apparent personality into another, memory -and character changing suddenly as -she enters her first or her second state -of being. Such cases as hers I believe -to be but extreme examples of an alternation -which is capable of being evoked -in all of us, and which in some slight -measure is going on in us every day. -Our cerebral focus (to use a metaphor) -often shifts slightly, and is capable of -shifting far. Or let me compare my -active consciousness to a steam-tug, and -the ideas and memories which I summon -into the field of attention to the -barges which the tug tows after it. Then -the concurrent streams of my being are -like Arve and Rhone, contiguous but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span> -hardly mingling their blue and yellow -waves. I tug my barges down the -Rhone, my consciousness is a <em>blue</em> consciousness, -but the tail barge swings into -the Arve and back again, and brings -traces of the potential <em>yellow</em> consciousness -back into the blue. In Félida’s -case tug and barges and all swerve suddenly -from one stream into the other; -the blue consciousness becomes the yellow -in a moment and altogether. Transitions -may be varied in a hundred -ways, and it may happen that the life-streams -mix together, and that there is -a memory of all.</p> - -<p>Moreover, there seems no reason to -assume that our active consciousness is -necessarily altogether superior to the -consciousnesses which are at present -secondary, or potential only. We may -rather hold that <em>super-conscious</em> may be -quite as legitimate a term as <em>sub-conscious</em>, -and instead of regarding our consciousness -(as is commonly done) as a -<em>threshold</em> in our being, above which -ideas and sensations must rise if we -wish to cognize them, we may prefer to -regard it as a <em>segment</em> of our being, into -which ideas and sensations may enter -either from below or from above; say a -thermometric tube, marking ordinary -temperatures, but so arranged that water -may not only rise into it, by expansion, -from the bottom, but also fall into it, by -condensation, from the top.</p> - -<p>Strange and extravagant as this doctrine -may seem, I shall hope to show -some ground for it in the present paper. -I shall hope, at least, to show not only -that our unconscious may interact with -our conscious mental action in a more -definite and tangible manner than is -usually supposed, but also that this unconscious -mental action may actually -manifest the existence of a capital and -cardinal faculty of which the conscious -mind of the same persons at the same -time is wholly devoid.</p> - -<p>For the sake of brevity I shall select -one alone out of many forms of unconscious -action which may, if rightly scrutinized, -afford a glimpse into the recesses -of our being.<a id="FNanchor_27_27" href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">27</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span></p> - -<p>I shall take <em>automatic writing</em>; and I -shall try, by a few examples from among -the many which lie before me, to show -the operation, <em>first</em>, of unconscious -cerebral action of the already recognized -kind, but much more complex and definite -than is commonly supposed to be -discernible in waking persons; and, -<em>secondly</em>, of telepathic action,—of the -transference, that is to say, of thoughts -or ideas from the conscious or unconscious -mind of one person to the conscious -or unconscious mind of another -person, from whence they emerge in the -shape of automatically written words or -sentences.</p> - -<p>I shall be able to cover a corner only -of a vast and unexplored field. I venture -to think that the phenomena of automatic -writing will before long claim -the best attention of the physiological -psychologist. They have been long -neglected, and I can only conjecture -that this neglect is due to the eagerness -with which certain spiritualists have -claimed such writings as the work of -Shakespeare, Byron, and other improbable -persons. The message given has -too often fallen below the known grammatical -level of those eminent authors, -and the laugh thus raised has drowned -the far more instructive question as to -<em>whence</em> in reality the automatic rubbish -came. Yet surely to decline to investigate -“planchette” because “the trail of -Katie King is over it all,” is very much -as though one refused to analyse the -meteorite at Ephesus because the town-clerk -cried loudly that it was “an image -which fell down from Jupiter.”</p> - -<p>Automatic writing in its simplest form -is merely a variety of the tricks of unconscious -action to which, in excited -moments, we are all of us prone. The -surplus nervous energy escapes along -some habitual channel—movements of -the hand, for instance, are continued or -initiated; and among such hand-movements—drumming -of tunes, piano-playing, -drawing, and the like—<em>writing</em> naturally -holds a prominent place. There<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span> -is incipient graphic automatism when -the nervous student scribbles Greek -words on the margin of the paper on -which he is striving to produce a copy of -iambics. If the paper be suddenly -withdrawn he will have no notion what -he has written. And more, the words -written will sometimes be <em>imaginary</em> -words, which have needed some faint unconscious -choice in order to preserve a -look of real words in their arrangement -of letters. A complete graphic automatism -is seen in various morbid states. -A man attacked by a slight epileptiform -seizure while in the act of writing will -sometimes continue to write a few sentences -unconsciously, which, although -probably nonsensical, will often be correct -in spelling and grammar. Again, -in the case of certain cerebral troubles, -the patient will write the <em>wrong</em> word—say, -“table” for “chair;”—or at least -some meaningless sequence of letters, -in which, however, each letter is properly -formed. In each of these cases, -therefore, there is graphic automatism. -And they incidentally show that to write -words in a sudden state of unconsciousness, -or to write words against one’s -will, is not necessarily a proof that any -intelligence is at work besides one’s own.</p> - -<p>Still further; in spontaneous somnambulism, -the patient will often write long -letters or essays. Sometimes these are -incoherent, like a dream; sometimes -they are on the level of his waking productions; -sometimes they even seem to -rise above it. They may contain at any -rate ingenious manipulations of data -known to his waking brain, as where a -baffling mathematical problem is solved -during sleep.</p> - -<p>From the natural or spontaneous -cases of graphic automatism let us pass -on to the induced or experimental cases. -I will give first a singular transitional -instance, where there is no voluntary -muscular action, but yet a previous exercise -of expectant attention is necessary -to secure the result.</p> - -<p>My friend Mr. A., who is much interested -in mental problems, has practised -introspection with assiduity and -care. He finds that if he fixes his attention -on some given word, and then -allows his hand to rest laxly in the writing -attitude, his hand presently writes -the word without any conscious volition<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span> -of his own; the sensation being as -though the hand were moved by some -power other than himself. This happens -whether his eyes are open or shut, -so that the gaze is not necessary to fix -the attention. If he wills <em>not</em> to write, -he can remove his hand and avert the -action. But if he chooses a movement -simpler than writing, for instance, if he -holds out his open hand and strongly -imagines that it will close, a kind of -spasm ensues, and the hand closes, even -though he exert all his voluntary force -to keep it open.</p> - -<p>It is manifest how analogous these -actions are to much which in bygone -times has been classed as <em>possession</em>. -Mr. A. has the very sensation of being -possessed,—moved from within by some -agency which overrules his volition, and -yet we can hardly doubt that it is merely -his <em>unconscious</em> influencing his <em>conscious</em> -life. The act of attention, so to say, -has stamped the idea of the projected -movement so strongly on his brain that -the movement works itself out automatically, -in spite of subsequent efforts to -prevent it. The best parallel will be -the case of a promise made during the -hypnotic trance, which the subject is -irresistibly impelled to fulfil on waking.<a id="FNanchor_28_28" href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">28</a> -From this curious transitional case we -pass on to cases where no idea of the -words written has passed through the -writer’s consciousness. It is not easy -to make quite sure that this is the case, -and the <i lang="la">modus operandi</i> needs some consideration.</p> - -<p>First we have to find an automatic -writer. Perhaps one person in a hundred -possesses this tendency; that is, if -he sits for half an hour on a dozen -evenings, amid quiet surroundings and -in an expectant frame of mind, with his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span> -hand on pencil or planchette, he will -begin to write words which he has not -consciously thought of. But if he sees -the words as he writes them he will unavoidably -guess at what is coming, and -spoil the spontaneous flow. Some persons -can avoid this by reading a book -while they write, and so keeping eyes -and thoughts away from the message.<a id="FNanchor_29_29" href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">29</a> -Another plan is to use a <em>planchette</em>; -which is no occult instrument, but simply -a thin piece of board supported on -two castors, and on a third leg consisting -of a pencil which just touches the -paper. A planchette has two advantages -over the ordinary pencil; namely, that -a slighter impulse will start it, and that -it is easier to write (or rather scrawl) -without seeing or feeling what you are -writing. These precautions, of course, -are for the operator’s own satisfaction; -they are no proof to other people that -he is not writing the words intentionally. -That can only be proved to others if he -writes facts demonstrably unknown to -his conscious self; as in the telepathic -cases to which we shall come further -on. But as yet I am only giving fresh -examples of a kind of mental action -which physiology already recognizes: -examples, moreover, which any reader -who will take the requisite trouble can -probably reproduce, either in his own -person or in the person of some trusted -friend.</p> - -<p>I lately requested a lady whom I knew -to be a careful observer, but who was -quite unfamiliar with this subject, to try -whether she could write with a pencil -or planchette, and report to me the result. -Her experience may stand as -typical.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span></p><blockquote> - -<p>“I have tried the planchette,” she writes, “and -I get writing, certainly not done by my hand -consciously; but it is nonsense, such as <i>Mebew</i>. -I tried holding a pencil, and all I got was <i>mm</i> -or <i>rererere</i>, then for hours together I got this: -<i>Celen, Celen</i>. Whether the first letter was C -or L I could never make out. Then I got <i>I -Celen</i>. I was disgusted, and took a book and -read while I held the pencil. Then I got -<i>Helen</i>. Now note this fact: I never make H -like that (like I and C juxtaposed); I make it -thus: (like a printed H). I then saw that the -thing I read as <i>I Celen</i> was <i>Helen</i>, my name. -For days I had only <i>Celen</i>, and never for one -moment expected it meant what it did.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Now this case suggests several curious -analogies. First, there is an analogy -with those cases of double consciousness -where the patient in the -“second state” has to learn to write -anew. He learns more rapidly than he -learnt as a child, because the necessary -adjustments do already exist in his -brain, although he cannot use them in -the normal manner. So here, too, the -hidden other self was learning to write, -but learnt more rapidly than a child -learns, inasmuch as the process was -now but the transference of an organized -memory from one stream of the -inner being to another. But, secondly, -we must observe (and now I am referring -to many other cases besides the -case cited) that the hidden self does not -learn to write just as a child learns, but -rather by passing through the stages first -of <em>atactic</em>, then of <em>amnemonic</em> agraphy. -That is to say, first, the pencil scrawls -vaguely, like the patient who cannot -form a single letter; then it writes the -wrong letters or the wrong words, like -the patient who writes blunderingly, or -chooses the letters JICMNOS for James -Simmonds, JASPENOS for James Pascoe, -&c.; ultimately it writes correctly, -though very likely (as here, and in a -case of Dr. Macnish’s) the handwriting -of the <em>secondary self</em><a id="FNanchor_30_30" href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">30</a> (if I may suggest -a needed term) is different from the -handwriting of the <em>primary</em>.</p> - -<p>Once more: the constant repetition -of the same word (which I have seen to -continue with automatic writers even for -months) is more characteristic of aphasia -than of agraphy. And we may just -remark in passing that vocal automatism -presents the same analysis with morbid -aphasia which graphic automatism presents -with morbid agraphy. When the -enthusiasts in Irving’s church first yelled -vaguely, then shouted some meaningless -words many hundred times, and then<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> -gave a “trance-address,” their <em>secondary -self</em> (I may suggest) was attaining articulate -speech through just the stages -through which an aphasic patient will -sometimes pass.<a id="FNanchor_31_31" href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">31</a> The parallel is at -least a curious one; and if the theory -which traces the automatic speech of -aphasic patients to the <em>right</em> (or less-used) -cerebral hemisphere be confirmed, -a singular light might be thrown on the -<em>locus</em> of the second self.</p> - -<p>But I must pass on to one more case -of automatic writing, a case which I select -as marking the furthest limit to -which, so far as I am at present aware, -pure unconscious cerebration in the -waking state can go. Mr. A., whom I -have already mentioned, is not usually -able to get any automatic writing except -(as described above) of a word on which -his attention has been previously fixed. -But at one period of his life, when his -brain was much excited by over-study, -he found that if he held a pencil and -wrote <em>questions</em> the pencil would, in a -feeble scrawling hand, quite unlike his -own, write <em>answers</em> which he could in -nowise foresee. Moreover, as will be -seen, he was not only unable to foresee -these answers, he was sometimes unable -even to comprehend them. Many of -them were anagrams—transpositions of -letters which he had to puzzle over before -he could get at their meaning. -This makes, of course, the main importance -of the case; this proof of the concurrent -action of a secondary self so entirely -dissociated from the primary consciousness -that the questioner is almost -baffled by his own automatic replies. -The matter of the replies is on the usual -level of automatic messages, which are -apt to resemble the conversations of a -capricious dream. The interest of this -form of self-interrogation certainly does -not lie in the wisdom of the oracle received.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,</div> - <div class="verse">But wonder how the devil they got there.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I abridge Mr. A.’s account, and give -the <em>answers</em> in italics.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span></p> -<blockquote> - -<p>“‘What is it,’ said Mr. A., ‘that now moves -my pen?’ <i>Religion.</i> ‘What is religion?’ -<i>Worship.</i> Here arose a difficulty. Although -I did not expect either of these answers, yet, -when the first few letters had been written, I -expected the remainder of the word. This -might vitiate the result. But now, as if the -intelligent wished to prove by the manner of -answering, that the answer could be due to <i>it</i> -alone, and in no part to mere expediency, my -next question received a singular reply. -‘Worship of what?’ <i>Wbwbwbwb.</i> ‘What -is the meaning of wb?’ <i>Win, buy.</i> ‘What?’ -<i>Knowledge.</i> On the second day the first question -was—‘What is man?’ <i>Flise.</i> My pen -was at first very violently agitated, which had -not been the case on the first day. It was -quite a minute before it wrote as above. On -the analogy of <i>wb</i> I proceeded: ‘What does F -stand for?’ <i>Fesi.</i> ‘L?’ ‘;<i>Le.</i>’ ‘I?’ ‘;<i>Ivy.</i>’ -‘S?’ <i>Sir.</i> ‘E?’ <i>Eye.</i> ‘Is <i>Fesi le ivy, sir, -eye</i>, an anagram?’ <i>Yes.</i> ‘How many words -in the answer?’ <i>Four.</i>”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Mr. A. was unable to shift these letters -into an intelligible sentence, and -began again on the third day with the -same question:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“‘What is man?’ <i>Tefi, Hasl, Esble, Lies.</i> -‘Is this an anagram?’ <i>Yes.</i> ‘How many -words in the answer?’ <i>Five.</i> ‘Must I interpret -it myself?’ <i>Try.</i> Presently I got -out, <i>Life is the less able</i>. Next I tried the -previous anagram, and at last obtained <i>Every -life is yes</i>.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Other anagrams also were given, as -<i>wfvs yoitet</i> (Testify! vow!); <i>ieb; iov -ogf wle</i> (I go, vow belief!); and in reply -to the question, “How shall I believe?” -<i>neb 16 vbliy ev 86 e earf ee</i> (Believe -by fear even! 1866). How unlikely -it is that all this was due to mere -accident may be seen by any one who -will take letters (the vowels and consonants -roughly proportioned to the frequency -of their actual use), and try to -make up a series of handfuls <i>completely</i> -into words possessing any grammatical -coherence or intelligible meaning. Now -in Mr. A.’s case all the <i>professed</i> anagrams -were <i>real</i> anagrams (with one -error of <i>i</i> for <i>e</i>); some of the sentences -were real answers to the questions; and -not even the absurdest sentences were -wholly meaningless. In the two first -given, for instance, Mr. A. was inclined -to trace a reference to books lately -read; the second sentence alluding to -such doctrines as that “Death solves -mysteries which life cannot unlock;” -the first to Spinoza’s tenet that all existence -is affirmation of the Deity. We -seem therefore to see the secondary self -struggling to express abstract thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span> -with much the same kind of incoherence -with which we have elsewhere seen it -struggle to express some concrete symbol. -To revert to our former parallel, -we may say that “Every life is yes” -bears something the same relation to a -thought of Spinoza’s which the letters -JICMNOS bear to the name James Simmonds.</p> - -<p>Let us consider, then, how far we -have got. Mr. A. (on the view here -taken) is communing with his second -self, with another focus of cerebral activity -within his own brain. And I imagine -this other focus of personality to -be capable of exhibiting about as much -intelligence as one exhibits in an ordinary -dream. Mr. A. awake is addressing -Mr. A. asleep; and the first replies, -<i>Religion</i>, <i>Worship</i>, &c., are very much -the kind of answer that one gets if one -addresses a man who is partially comatose, -or muttering in broken slumber. -Such a man will make brief replies -which show at least that the <i>words</i> of -the question are caught, though perhaps -not its meaning. In the next place, the -answer <i>wb</i> must, I think, as Mr. A. suggests, -be taken as an attempt to prove -independent action, a confused inchoate -response to the writer’s fear that his -waking self might be suggesting the -words written. The same trick of language—abbreviation -by initial letters, -occurs on the second day again; and -this kind of <em>continuity of character</em>, which -automatic messages often exhibit, has -been sometimes taken to indicate the -persisting presence of an extraneous -mind. But perhaps its true parallel -may be found in the well-known cases -of intermittent memory, where a person -repeatedly subjected to certain abnormal -states, as somnambulism or the hypnotic -trance, carries on from one access into -another a chain of recollections of which -his ordinary self knows nothing.</p> - -<p>In Mr. A.’s case, however, some persons -might think that the proof of an -independent intelligence went much -further than this; for his hand wrote -anagrams which his waking brain took -an hour or more to unriddle. And certainly -there could hardly be a clearer -proof that the answers did not pass -through the writer’s primary consciousness; -that they proceeded, if from himself -at all, from a secondary self such as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span> -I have been describing. But further -than this we surely need not go. The -answers contain no unknown facts, no -new materials, and there seems no reason -<i>à priori</i> why the dream-self should -not puzzle the waking self; why its fantastic -combinations of old elements of -memory should not need some pains to -unravel. I may perhaps be permitted -to quote in illustration a recent dream -of my own, to which I doubt not that -some of my readers can supply parallel -instances. I dreamt that I saw written -in gold on a chapel wall some Greek -hexameters, which, I was told, were the -work of an eminent living scholar. I -gazed at them with much respect, but -dim comprehension, and succeeded in -carrying back into waking memory the -bulk of one line:—ὁ μὲν κατὰ γᾶν θαλερὸν -κύσε δακνόμενον πῦρ. On waking, -it needed some little thought to show -me that κατὰ γᾶν was a solecism for ὑπὸ -γᾶν, revived from early boyhood, and -that the line meant: “He indeed beneath -the earth embraced the ever-burning, -biting fire.” Further reflection reminded -me that I had lately been asked -to apply to the Professor in question for -an inscription to be placed over the -tomb of a common acquaintance. The -matter had dropped, and I had not -thought of it again. But here, I cannot -doubt, was my inner self’s prevision of -that unwritten epitaph; although the -drift of it certainly showed less tact and -fine feeling than my scholarly friend -would have exhibited on such an occasion.</p> - -<p>Now just in this same way, as it -seems to me, Mr. A.’s inner self retraced -the familiar path of one of his childish -amusements, and mystified the waking -man with the puzzles of the boy. It -may be that the unconscious self moves -more readily than the conscious along -these old-established and stable mnemonic -tracks, that we constantly retrace -our early memories without knowing it, -and that when some recollection seems -to have <em>left</em> us it has only passed into a -storehouse from which we can no longer -summon it at will.</p> - -<p>But we have not yet done with Mr. -A.’s experiences. Yielding to the suggestion -that these anagrams were the -work of some intelligence without him, -he placed himself in the mental attitude<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span> -of colloquy with some unknown being. -Note the result:</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Who art thou? <i>Clelia.</i> Thou art a woman? -<i>Yes.</i> Hast thou ever lived upon the earth? -<i>No.</i> Wilt thou? <i>Yes.</i> When? <i>Six years.</i> -Wherefore dost thou speak with me? <i>E if -Clelia el.</i>”</p></blockquote> - -<p>There is a disappointing ambiguity -about this last very simple anagram, -which may mean “I Clelia feel,” or, -“I Clelia flee.”</p> - -<p>But mark what has happened. Mr. -A. has created and is talking to a personage -in his own dream. In other -words, his secondary self has produced -in his primary self the illusion that there -is a separate intelligence at work; and -this illusion of the primary self reacts -on the secondary, as the words which -we whisper back to the muttering -dreamer influence the course of a dream -which we cannot follow. The fact, -therefore, of Clelia’s apparent personality -and unexpected rejoinders do not -so much as suggest any need to look -outside Mr. A’s mind for her origin. -The figures in our own ordinary dreams -say things which startle and even shock -us; nay, these shadows sometimes even -defy our attempts at analyzing them -away. On the rare occasions, so brief -and precious, when one dreams and -knows it is a dream, I always endeavor -to get at my dream-personages and test -their independence of character by a -few suitable inquiries. Unfortunately -they invariably vanish under my perhaps -too hasty interrogation. But a shrewd -Northumbrian lately told me the following -dream, unique in his experience, -and over which he had often pondered.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“I was walking in my dream,” he said, -“in a Newcastle street, when suddenly I knew -so clearly that it was a dream, that I thought I -would find out what the folk in my dream -thought of themselves. I saw three foundrymen -sitting at a yard door. I went up and -said to all three: ‘Are you conscious of a real -objective existence?’ Two of the men stared -and laughed at me. But the man in the middle -stretched out his two hands to his two mates -and said, ‘Feel that,’ They said, ‘We do -feel you,’ Then he held out his hand to me, -and I told him that I felt it solid and warm; -then he said: ‘Well, sir, my mates feel that -I am a real man of flesh and blood, and you -feel it, and I feel it. What more would you -have?’ Now I had not formed any notion of -what this man was going to say. And I could -not answer him, and I awoke.”</p></blockquote> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span></p> - -<p>Now I take this self-assertive dream-foundry-man -to be the exact analogue of -Clelia. Let us now see whether anything -of Clelia survived the excited hour -which begat her.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“On the fourth day,” says Mr. A., “I began -my questioning in the same exalted mood, -but to my surprise did not get the same answer. -‘Wherefore,’ I asked, ‘dost thou speak with -me?’ (The answer was a wavy line, denoting -repetition, and meaning.—‘Wherefore dost <i>thou</i> -speak with <i>me</i>?’) ‘Do I answer myself?’ <i>Yes.</i> -‘Is Clelia here?’ <i>No.</i> ‘Who is it, then, now -here?’ <i>Nobody.</i> ‘Does Clelia exist?’ <i>No.</i> -‘With whom did I speak yesterday?’ <i>No one.</i> -‘Do souls exist in another world?’ <i>Mb.</i> ‘What -does <i>mb</i> mean? ’<i>May be.</i>”</p></blockquote> - -<p>And this was all the revelation which -our inquirer got. Some further anagrams -were given, but Clelia came no -more. Such indeed, on the view here -set forth, was the natural conclusion. -The dream passed through its stages, -and faded at last away.</p> - -<p>I have heard of a piece of French -statuary entitled “Jeune homme caressant -sa Chimère.” Clelia, could the -sculptor have caught her, might have -been his fittest model; what else could -he have found at once so intimate and -so fugitive, discerned so elusively without -us, and yet with such a root within?</p> - -<p>I might mention many other strange -varieties of graphic automatism; as <em>reversed -script</em>, so written as to be read in -a mirror;<a id="FNanchor_32_32" href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">32</a> alternating styles of handwriting, -symbolic arabesque, and the -like. But I must hasten on to the object -towards which I am mainly tending, -which is to show, not so much the influence -exercised by a man’s own mind on -itself as the influence exercised by one -man’s mind on another’s. We have -been watching, so to say, the psychic -wave as it washed up deep-sea products -on the open shore. But the interest -will be keener still if we find that wave -washing up the products of some far-off -clime; if we discover that there has -been a profound current with no surface<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span> -trace—a current propagated by an unimagined -impulse, and obeying laws as -yet unknown.</p> - -<p>The psychical phenomenon here alluded -to is that for which I have suggested -the name Telepathy; the transference -of ideas or sensations from one -conscious or unconscious mind to another, -without the agency of any of the -recognized organs of sense.</p> - -<p>Our first task in the investigation of -this influence has naturally been to assure -ourselves of the transmission of -thought between two persons, both of -them in normal condition; the <em>agent</em>, -conscious of the thought which he -wishes to transmit, the <em>percipient</em>, conscious -of the thought as he receives it.</p> - -<p>The “Proceedings” of the Society -for Psychical Research must for a long -time be largely occupied with experiments -of this definite kind. But, of -course, if such an influence truly exists, -its manifestations are not likely to be -confined to the transference of a name -or a cypher, a card or a diagram, from -one man’s field of mental vision to another’s, -by deliberate effort and as a -preconcerted experiment. If Telepathy -be anything at all, it involves one of the -profoundest laws of mind, and, like -other important laws, may be expected -to operate in many unlooked for ways, -and to be at the root of many scattered -phenomena, inexplicable before. Especially -must we watch for traces of it -wherever unconscious mental action is -concerned. For the telepathic impact, -we may fairly conjecture, may often be -a stimulus so gentle as to need some -concentration or exaltation in the percipient’s -mind, or at least some inhibition -of competing stimuli, in order to -enable him to realize it in consciousness -at all. And in fact (as we have shown -or are prepared to show), almost every -abnormal mental condition (consistent -with sanity) as yet investigated yields -some indication of telepathic action.</p> - -<p>Telepathy, I venture to maintain, is -an occasional phenomenon in somnambulism -and in the hypnotic state; it is -one of the obscure causes which generate -hallucinations; it enters into dream -and into delirium; and it often rises to -its maximum of vividness in the swoon -that ends in death.</p> - -<p>In accordance with analogy, there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span>fore, -we may expect to find that automatic -writing—this new glimpse into our -deep-sea world—will afford us some -fresh proof of currents which set obscurely -towards us from the depths of -minds other than our own. And we -find, I believe, that this is so. Had -space permitted it, I should have liked -to detail some transitional cases, to -have shown by what gradual steps we -discover that it is not always one man’s -intelligence <em>alone</em> which is concerned in -the message given, that an infusion of -facts known to some spectator only may -mingle in the general tenor which the -writer’s mind supplies. Especially I -should have wished to describe some attempts -at this kind of thought-transference -attended with only slight or partial -success. For the mind justly hesitates -to give credence to a palmary group of -experiments unless it has been prepared -for them by following some series of -gradual suggestions and approximate -endeavor.</p> - -<p>But the case which I am about to relate, -although a <em>culminant</em>, is not an -<em>isolated</em> one in the life-history of the persons -concerned. The Rev. P. H. Newnham, -Rector of Maker, Devonport, experienced -an even more striking instance -of thought-transference with Mrs. Newnham, -some forty years ago, before their -marriage; and during subsequent years -there has been frequent and unmistakable -transmission of thought from husband -to wife of an <em>involuntary</em> kind, although -it was only in the year 1871 that -they succeeded in getting the ideas -transferred by intentional effort.</p> - -<p>Mr. Newnham’s communication consists -of a copy of entries in a note-book -made during eight months in 1871, at -the actual moments of experiment. Mrs. -Newnham independently corroborates -the account. The entries had previously -been shown to a few personal friends, -but had never been used, and were not -meant to be used, for any literary purpose. -Mr. Newnham has kindly placed -them at my disposal, from a belief that -they may serve to elucidate important -truth.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Being desirous,” says the first entry in Mr. -Newnham’s note-book, “of investigating accurately -the phenomena of ‘planchette,’ myself -and my wife have agreed to carry out a -series of systematic experiments, in order to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span> -ascertain the conditions under which the instrument -is able to work. To this end the following -rules are strictly observed:</p> - -<p>“1. The question to be asked is written down -before the planchette is set in motion. This -question, as a rule, is not known to the operator. -[The few cases were the question <em>was</em> -known to Mrs. Newnham are specially marked -in the note-book, and are none of them cited -here.]</p> - -<p>“2. Whenever an evasive, or other, answer -is returned, necessitating one or more new -questions to be put before a clear answer can -be obtained, the operator is not to be made -aware of any of these questions, or even of the -general subject to which they allude, until the -final answer has been obtained.</p> - -<p>“My wife,” adds Mr. Newnham, “always -sat at a small low table, in a low chair, leaning -backwards. I sat about eight feet distant, -at a rather high table, and with my back towards -her while writing down the questions. -It was absolutely impossible that any gesture -or play of feature on my part could have been -visible or intelligible to her. As a rule she -kept her eyes shut; but never became in the -slightest degree hypnotic, or even naturally -drowsy.</p> - -<p>“Under these conditions we carried on experiments -for about eight months, and I have -309 questions and answers recorded in my -note-book, spread over this time. But the experiments -were found very exhaustive of nerve -power, and as my wife’s health was delicate, -and the fact of thought-transmission had been -abundantly proved, we thought it best to abandon -the pursuit.</p> - -<p>“The planchette began to move instantly -with my wife. The answer was often half -written before I had completed the question.</p> - -<p>“On finding that it would write easily, I asked -three simple questions, which were known -to the operator, then three others unknown to -her, relating to my own private concerns. -All six having been instantly answered in a -manner to show complete intelligence, I proceeded -to ask:</p> - -<p>“(7) Write down the lowest temperature here -this week. Answer: 8. Now, this reply at -once arrested my interest. The actual lowest -temperature had been 7·6°, so that 8 was the -nearest whole degree; but my wife said at -once that, if she had been asked the question, -she would have written 7, and not 8; as she -had forgotten the decimal, but remembered my -having said that the temperature had been down -to 7 <i>something</i>,</p> - -<p>“I simply quote this as a good instance, at -the very outset, of perfect transmission of -thought, coupled with a perfectly independent -reply; the answer being correct in itself, but -different from the impression on the conscious -intelligence of both parties.</p> - -<p>“Naturally, our first desire was to see if we -could obtain any information concerning the -nature of the intelligence which was operating -through the planchette, and of the method by -which it produced the written results. We -repeated questions on this subject again and -again, and I will copy down the principal questions -and answers in this connection.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span></p> - -<p>“(13) Is it the operator’s brain or some external -force that moves the planchette? Answer -‘brain’ or ‘force.’ <i>Will.</i></p> - -<p>“(14) Is it the will of a living person, or of -an immaterial spirit distinct from that person? -Answer ‘person’ or ‘spirit.’ <i>Wife.</i></p> - -<p>“(15) Give first the wife’s Christian name; -then my favorite name for her. (<i>This was accurately -done.</i>)</p> - -<p>“(27) What is your own name? <i>Only you.</i></p> - -<p>“(28) We are not quite sure of the meaning -of the answer. Explain. <i>Wife.</i></p> - -<p>“The subject was resumed on a later day.</p> - -<p>“(118) But does no one tell wife what to -write? if so, who? <i>Spirit.</i></p> - -<p>“(119) Whose spirit? <i>Wife’s brain.</i></p> - -<p>“(120) But how does wife’s brain know -masonic secrets? <i>Wife’s spirit unconsciously -guides.</i></p> - -<p>“(190) Why are you not always influenced -by what I think? <i>Wife knows sometimes what -you think.</i> (191) How does wife know it? -<i>When her brain is excited, and has not been -much tried before.</i> (192) But by what means -are my thoughts conveyed to her brain? <i>Electrobiology.</i> -(193) What is electrobiology? <i>No -one knows.</i> (194) But do not you know? <i>No, -wife does not know.</i></p> - -<p>“My object,” says Mr. Newnham, “in -quoting this large number of questions and replies -[many of them omitted here] has been -not merely to show the instantaneous and unfailing -transmission of thought from questioner -to operator, but more especially to call attention -to a remarkable character of the answers -given. These answers, consistent and invariable -in their tenor from first to last, did not -correspond with the opinion or expectation of -either myself or my wife. Something which -takes the appearance of a source of intelligence -distinct from the conscious intelligence of -either of us was clearly perceptible from the -very first. Assuming, at the outset, that if -her source of percipience could grasp my -question, it would be equally willing to reply -in accordance with my request, in questions -(13) (14) I suggested the form of answer; but -of this not the slightest notice was taken. -Neither myself nor my wife had ever taken part -in any form of (so-called) ‘spiritual’ manifestations -before this time; nor had we any decided -opinion as to the agency by which -phenomena of this kind were brought about. -But for such answers as those numbered (14), -(27), (144), (192), (194), we were both of us -totally unprepared; and I may add that, so far -as we were prepossessed by any opinion whatever, -these replies were distinctly opposed to -such opinions. In a word, it is simply impossible -that these replies should have been either -suggested, or composed, by the <i>conscious</i> intelligence -of either of us.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>Mr. Newnham obtained some curious -results by questioning “planchette”, on -Masonic archæology—a subject which -he had long studied, but of which Mrs. -Newnham knew nothing. It is to be -observed, moreover, that throughout the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span> -experiments Mrs. Newnham “was quite -unable to follow the motions of the -planchette. Often she only touched it -with a single finger; but even with all -her fingers resting on the board she -never had the slightest idea of what -words were being traced out,” In this -case, therefore, we have Mrs. Newnham -ignorant at once of all three points:—of -what was the question asked; of what -the true answer would have been; and -of what answer was actually being written. -Under these circumstances the -answer showed a mixture—</p> - -<p>(1) Of true Masonic facts, as known -to Mr. Newnham;</p> - -<p>(2) Of Masonic theories, known to -him, but held by him to be erroneous;</p> - -<p>(3) Of ignorance, sometimes, avowed, -sometimes endeavoring to conceal itself -by subterfuge.</p> - -<p>I give an example:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“(166) Of what language is the first syllable -of the Great Triple R. A. word? <i>Don’t know.</i> -(167) Yes, you do. What are the three languages -of which the word is composed? <i>Greek</i>, -<i>Egypt</i>, <i>Syriac</i>. <i>First syllable (correctly given), -rest unknown.</i> (168) Write the syllable which -is Syriac. (<i>First Syllable correctly written.</i>) -(174) Write down the word itself. (<i>First three -and last two letters were written correctly, but -four incorrect letters, partly borrowed from another -word of the same degree, came in the middle.</i>) -(176) Why do you write a word of which -I know nothing? <i>Wife tried hard to catch the -word, but could not quite catch it.</i>”</p></blockquote> - -<p>So far the answers, though imperfect, -honestly admit their imperfection. There -is nothing which a <i>second self</i> of Mrs. -Newnham’s, with a certain amount of -access to Mr. Newnham’s mind, might -not furnish. But I must give one instance -of another class of replies—replies -which seem to wish to conceal -ignorance and to elude exact inquiry.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“(182) Write out the prayer used at the advancement -of a Mark Master Mason. <i>Almighty -Ruler of the Universe and Architect of -all worlds, we beseech Thee to accept this our -brother whom we have this day received into the -most honorable company of Mark Master Masons. -Grant him to be a worthy member of our brotherhood; -and may he be in his own person a perfect -mirror of all Masonic virtues. Grant that -all our doings may be to Thy honor and glory, -and to the welfare of all mankind.</i></p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span></p> -<p>“This prayer was written off instantaneously -and very rapidly. For the benefit of those -who are not members of the craft, I may say -that no prayer in the slightest degree resembling -it is made use of in the Ritual of any Masonic -degree; and yet it contains more than -one strictly accurate technicality connected with -the degree of Mark Mason. My wife has -never seen any Masonic prayers, whether in -‘Carlile’ or any other real or spurious Ritual -of the Masonic Order.”</p></blockquote> - -<p>There was so much of this kind of -untruthful evasion, and it was so unlike -anything in Mrs. Newnham’s character, -that observers less sober-minded would -assuredly have fancied that some Puck -or sprite was intervening with a “third -intelligence” compounded of aimless -cunning and childish jest. But Mr. -Newnham inclines to a view fully in accordance -with that which this paper has -throughout suggested.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“Is this <i>third intelligence</i>,” he says, “analogous -to the ‘dual state,’ the existence of which, -in a few extreme and most interesting cases, is -now well established? Is there a latent -potentiality of a ‘dual state’ existing in every -brain? and are the few very striking phenomena -which have as yet been noticed and published -only the exceptional developments of a -state which is inherent in most or in all -brains?”</p></blockquote> - -<p>And alluding to a theory, which has -at different times been much discussed, -of the more or less independent action -of the two cerebral hemispheres, he -asks:—</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>“May not the untrained half of the organ -of mind, even in the most pure and truthful -characters, be capable of manifesting tendencies -like the hysterical girl’s, and of producing at -all events the <i>appearance</i> of moral deficiencies -which are totally foreign to the well-trained -and disciplined portion of the brain which is -ordinarily made use of?”</p></blockquote> - -<p>In this place, however, it will be -enough to say that the real cause for -surprise would have been if our secondary -self had <em>not</em> exhibited a character in -some way different from that which we -recognize as our own. Whatever other -factors may enter into a man’s character, -two of the most important are undoubtedly -his store of memories and his -<em>cænesthesia</em>, or the sum of the obscure -sensations of his whole physical structure. -When either of these is suddenly -altered, character changes too—a change -for an example of which we need -scarcely look further than our recollection -of the moral obliquities and incoherences -of an ordinary dream. Our -personality may be dyed throughout -with the same color, but the apparent -tint will vary with the contexture of -each absorptive element within. And -not graphic automatism only, but other<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span> -forms of muscular and vocal automatism -must be examined and compared -before we can form even an empirical -conception of that hidden agency, which -is ourselves, though we know it not. -In the meantime I shall, I think, be -held to have shown that, in the vast -majority of cases where spiritualists are -prone to refer automatic writing to some -unseen intelligence, there is really no -valid ground for such an ascription. I -am, indeed, aware that some cases of a -different kind are alleged to exist—cases -where automatic writing has communicated -facts demonstrably not known to -the writer or to any one present. How -far these cases can satisfy the very rigorous -scrutiny to which they ought obviously -to be subjected is a question which -I may perhaps find some other opportunity -of discussing.</p> - -<p>But for the present our inquiry must -pause here. Two distinct arguments -have been attempted in this paper: the -first of them in accordance with recognized -physiological science, though with -some novelty of its own; the second -lying altogether beyond what the consensus -of authorities at present admits. -For, <em>first</em>, an attempt has been made to -show that the unconscious mental action -which is admittedly going on within us -may manifest itself through graphic automatism -with a degree of complexity -hitherto little suspected, so that a man -may actually hold a written colloquy -with his own waking and responsive -dream; and, <em>secondly</em>, reason has been -given for believing that automatic writing -may sometimes reply to questions -which the writer does not see, and mention -facts which the writer does not know, -the knowledge of those questions or -those facts being apparently derived by -telepathic communication from the conscious -or unconscious mind of another -person.</p> - -<p>Startling as this conclusion is, it will -not be novel to those who have followed -the cognate experiments on other forms -of thought-transference detailed in the -“Proceedings” of the Society for Psychical -Research.<a id="FNanchor_33_33" href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">33</a> And be it noted that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span> -our formula, “Mind can influence mind -independently of the recognized organs -of sense,” has been again and again -foreshadowed by illustrious thinkers in -the past. It is, for instance, but a more -generalized expression of Cuvier’s <i>dictum</i>, -“that a communication can under -certain circumstances be established between -the nervous systems of two persons.” -Such communication, indeed, -like other mental phenomena, may be -presumed to have a <em>neural</em> as well as a -<em>psychical</em> aspect; and if we prefer to -use the word <em>mind</em> rather than <em>brain</em>, it -is because the mental side is that which -primarily presents itself for investigation, -and in such a matter it is well to -avoid even the semblance of <em>theory</em> until -we have established <em>fact</em>.</p> - -<p>Before concluding, let us return for a -moment to the popular apprehensions to -which my opening paragraphs referred. -Has not some reason been shown for -thinking that these fears were premature? -that they sprang from too ready an -assumption that all the discoveries of -psycho-physics would reveal us as smaller -and more explicable things, and that the -analysis of man’s personality would end<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span> -in analysing man away? It is not, on -the other hand, at least possible that -this analysis may reveal also faculties of -unlooked-for range, and powers which -our conscious self was not aware of possessing? -A generation ago there were -many who resented the supposition that -man had sprung from the ape. But on -reflection most of us have discerned that -this repugnance came rather from pride -than wisdom; and that with the race, -as with the individual, there is more -true hope for him who has risen by education -from the beggar-boy than for him -who has fallen by transgression from -the prince. And now once more it -seems possible that a more searching -analysis of our mental constitution may -reveal to us not a straitened and materialized, -but a developing and expanding -view of the “powers that lie folded -up in man.” Our best hope, perhaps, -should be drawn from our potentialities -rather than our perfections; and the -doubt whether we are our full selves -already may suggest that our true subjective -unity may wait to be realized -elsewhere.—<cite>Contemporary Review.</cite></p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="SCIENTIFIC_VERSUS_BUCOLIC_VIVISECTION" id="SCIENTIFIC_VERSUS_BUCOLIC_VIVISECTION">SCIENTIFIC <i>VERSUS</i> BUCOLIC VIVISECTION.</a><br /> - -<small>BY JAMES COTTER MORISON.</small></h2> - - -<p>To judge from appearances, we are -threatened with a new agitation against -vivisection. The recent controversy -carried on in the columns of the <cite>Times</cite> -revealed an amount of heat on the subject -which can hardly fail to find some -new mode of motion on the platform, or -even in Parliament. It is evident that -passions of no common fervor have been -kindled, at least, in one party to the controversy, -and efforts will probably be -made to work the public mind up to a -similar temperature. The few observations -which follow are intended to have, -if possible, a contrary effect. The question -of vivisection should not be beyond -the possibility of a rational discussion. -When antagonism, so fierce and uncompromising, -exists as in the present case, -the presumption is that the disputants -argue from incompatible principles. -Neither side convinces or even seriously -discomposes the other, because they are -not agreed as to the ultimate criteria of -the debate.</p> - -<p>It is evident that the first and most -important point to be decided, is: -“What is the just and moral attitude of -man towards the lower animals?” or to -put the question in another form: -“What are the rights of animals as -against man?” Till these questions -are answered with some approach to -definiteness, we clearly shall float about -in vague generalities. Formerly, animals -had no rights; they have very few -now in some parts of the East. Man -exercised his power and cruelty upon -them with little or no blame from the -mass of his fellows. The improved -sentiment in this respect is one of the -best proofs of progress that we have to -show. Cruelty to animals is not only -punished by law, but reprobated, we -may believe—in spite of occasional brutalities—by -general public opinion. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span> -point on which precision is required is, -how far this reformed sentiment is to -extend? Does it allow us to use animals -(even to the extent of eating them) -for our own purposes, on the condition -of treating them well on the whole, of -not inflicting upon them unnecessary -pain; or should it logically lead to complete -abstention from meddling with -them at all, from interfering with their -liberty, from making them work for us, -and supplying by their bodies a chief article -of our food? Only the extreme sect -of vegetarians maintains this latter view, -and with vegetarians we are not for the -moment concerned; and I am not -aware that even vegetarians oppose the -labor of animals for the uses of man. -Now, what I would wish to point out is, -that if we do allow the use of animals -by man, it is a practical impossibility to -prevent the occasional, or even the frequent -infliction of great pain and suffering -upon them, at times amounting to -cruelty; that if the infliction of cruelty -is a valid argument against the practice -of vivisection, it is a valid argument -against a number of other practices, -which nevertheless go unchallenged. -The general public has a right to ask -the opponents of vivisection why they -are so peremptory in denouncing one, -and relatively a small form of cruelty, -while they are silent and passive in reference -to other and much more common -forms. We want to know the reason of -what appears a very great and palpable -inconsistency. We could understand -people who said, “You have no more -right to enslave, kill, and eat animals -than men; <i lang="la">à fortiori</i>, you may not vivisect -them.” But it is not easy to see -how those who do not object, apparently, -to the numberless cruel usages -to which the domesticated animals are -inevitably subjected by our enslavement -of them, yet pass these all by and fix -their eyes exclusively on one minute -form of cruelty, singling <em>that</em> out for exclusive -obloquy and reprobation. Miss -Cobbe (<cite>Times</cite>, Jan. 6) says, “The whole -practice (of vivisection) starts from a -wrong view of the use of the lower animals, -and of their relations to us.” -That may be very true, but I question if -Miss Cobbe had sufficiently considered -the number of “practices” which her -principles should lead her to pronounce<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span> -as equally starting from a wrong view of -the use of the lower animals, and of their -relation to us.</p> - -<p>It is clear that the anti-vivisectionists -are resolute in refusing the challenge -repeatedly made to them, either to denounce -the cruelties of sport or to hold -their peace about the cruelties of vivisection. -One sees the shrewdness but -hardly the consistency or the courage of -their policy in this respect. Sport is a -time-honored institution, the amusement -of the “fine old English gentleman,” -most respectable, conservative, -and connected with the landed interest; -hostility to it shows that you are a low -radical fellow, quite remote from the -feeling of good society. Sport is therefore -let alone. The lingering agony -and death of the wounded birds, the -anguish of the coursed hare, the misery -of the hunted fox, even when not aggravated -by the veritable <i lang="fr">auto da fé</i> of -smoking or burning him out if he has -taken to earth, the abominable cruelty of -rabbit traps; these forms of cruelty and -“torture,” inasmuch as their sole object -is the amusement of our idle classes, -do not move the indignant compassion -of the anti-vivisectionist. The sportsman -may steal a horse when the biologist -may not look over a hedge. The constant -cruelty to horses by ill-fitting harness, -over-loading, and over-driving -must distress every human mind. A -tight collar which presses on the windpipe -and makes breathing a repeated -pain must in its daily and hourly accumulation -produce an amount of suffering -which few vivisectionists could equal -if they tried. Look at the forelegs of -cab horses, especially of the four-wheelers -on night service, and mark their -knees “over,” as it is called, which -means seriously diseased joint, probably -never moved without pain. The efforts -of horses to keep their feet in “greasy” -weather on the wood pavement are horrible -to witness. To such a nervous animal -as the horse the fear of falling is a -very painful emotion; yet hundreds of -omnibuses tear along at express speed -every morning and evening, with loads -which only the pluck of the animals enables -them to draw, and not a step of -the journey between the City and the -West End is probably made without the -presence of this painful emotion. Every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span> -day, in some part of the route, a horse -falls. Then occurs one of the most repulsive -incidents of the London streets, -the gaping crowd of idlers, through -which is heard the unfailing prescription -to “sit on his head,” promptly carried -out by some officious rough, who has -no scruples as to the “relations of the -lower animals to us.” Again, in war -the sufferings and consumption of animals -is simply frightful. Field-officers—some -of whom, it appears, are opposed -to vivisection—are generally -rather proud, or they used to be, of -having horses “shot under them.” But -this cannot occur without considerable -torture to the horses. The number of -camels which slipped and “split up” -in the Afghan war has been variously -stated between ten and fifteen thousand. -In either case animal suffering must -have been on a colossal scale. Now the -point one would like to see cleared up -is, why this almost boundless field of -animal suffering is ignored and the relatively -minute amount of it produced in -the dissecting-rooms of biologists so -loudly denounced.</p> - -<p>But what I wish particularly to call -attention to is the practice of vivisection -as exercised by our graziers and breeders -all over the country on tens of thousands -of animals yearly, by an operation -always involving great pain and occasional -death. In a review intended for -general circulation the operation I refer -to cannot be described in detail, but -every one will understand the allusion -made. It is performed on horses, cattle, -sheep, pigs, and fowls. With regard -to the horses the object is to make -them docile and manageable. The eminent -Veterinary-Surgeon Youatt, in his -book on the Horse (chap. xv.), speaks -of it as often performed “with haste, -carelessness, and brutality:” but even -he is of opinion “that the old method -of preventing hæmorrhage by temporary -pressure of the vessels while they are -seared with a hot iron <em>must not perhaps -be abandoned</em>.” He objects strongly to -a “practice of some farmers,” who, by -means of a ligature obtain their end, but -“not until the animal has suffered sadly,” -and adds that inflammation and -death frequently ensue.</p> - -<p>With regard to cattle, sheep, and -pigs, the object of the operation is to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span> -hasten growth, to increase size, and to -improve the flavor of the meat. The -mutton, beef, and pork on which we -feed are, with rare exceptions, the flesh -of animals who have been submitted to -the painful operation in question. In -the case of the female pig the corresponding -operation is particularly severe; -while as to fowls, the pain inflicted -was so excruciating in the opinion of -an illustrious young physiologist, whom -science still mourns, that he on principle -abstained from eating the flesh of -the capon.</p> - -<p>Now there is no doubt that here we -have vivisection in its most extensive -and harsh form. More animals are -subjected to it in one year than have -been vivisected by biologists in half-a-century. -It need not be said that anæsthetics -are not used, and if they were or -could be they would not assuage the -suffering which follows the operation. -It will surely be only prudent for the -opponents of scientific vivisection to inform -us why they are passive and silent -with regard to bucolic vivisection. -They declare that knowledge obtained -by the torture of animals is impure, unholy, -and vitiated at its source, and they -reject it with many expressions of scorn. -What do they say to their daily food -which is obtained by the same means? -They live by the results of vivisection -on the largest scale—the food they eat—and -they spend a good portion of -their lives thus sustained in denouncing -vivisection on the smallest scale because -it only produces knowledge. It is true -that they are not particular to conceal -their suspicion that the knowledge -claimed to be derived from vivisection -is an imposture and a sham. Do they -not, by the inconsistencies here briefly -alluded to, their hostility to alleged -knowledge, and their devotion to very -substantial beef and mutton, the one -and the other the products of vivisection, -expose themselves to a suspicion -better founded than that which they -allow themselves to express? They -question the value of vivisection, may -not the single-mindedness of their hostility -to it be questioned with better -ground? Biology is now the frontier -science exposed for obvious reasons to -the <i lang="la">odium theologicum</i> in a marked degree. -The havoc it has made among<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span> -cherished religious opinions amply accounts -for the dislike which it excites. -But it is difficult to attack. On the -other hand, an outcry that its methods -are cruel, immoral, and revolting may -serve as a useful diversion, and even -give it a welcome check. The Puritans, -it was remarked, objected to bear-baiting, -not because it hurt the bear, -but because it pleased the men. May -we not say that vivisection is opposed, -not because it is painful to animals, but -because it tends to the advancement of -science?</p> - -<p>The question recurs, What is our -proper relation to the lower animals? -May we use them? If so, abuse and -cruelty will inevitably occur. May we -not use them? Then our civilisation -and daily life must be revolutionised to -a degree not suggested or easy to conceive.—<cite>Fortnightly -Review.</cite></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span></p> - - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2><a name="NOTES_ON_POPULAR_ENGLISH" id="NOTES_ON_POPULAR_ENGLISH">NOTES ON POPULAR ENGLISH.</a><br /> - -<small>BY THE LATE ISAAC TODHUNTER.</small></h2> - - -<p>I have from time to time recorded -such examples of language as struck me -for inaccuracy or any other peculiarity; -but lately the pressure of other engagements -has prevented me from continuing -my collection, and has compelled me to -renounce the design once entertained of -using them for the foundation of a systematic -essay. The present article contains -a small selection from my store, -and may be of interest to all who value -accuracy and clearness. It is only necessary -to say that the examples are not -fabricated: all are taken from writers -of good repute, and notes of the original -places have been preserved, though it -has not been thought necessary to encumber -these pages with references. The -italics have been supplied in those cases -where they are used.</p> - -<p>One of the most obvious peculiarities -at present to be noticed is the use of the -word <em>if</em> when there is nothing really -conditional in the sentence. Thus we -read: “If the Prussian plan of operations -was faulty the movements of the -Crown Prince’s army were in a high degree -excellent.” The writer does not -really mean what his words seem to imply, -that the excellence was contingent -on the fault: he simply means to make -two independent statements. As another -example we have: “Yet he never -founded a family; if his two daughters -carried his name and blood into the families -of the <i>Herreras</i> and the Zuñigos, -his two sons died before him.” Here -again the two events which are connected -by the conditional <em>if</em> are really -quite independent. Other examples follow:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span> -“If it be true that Paris is an -American’s paradise, symptoms are not -wanting that there are Parisians who -cast a longing look towards the institutions -of the United States.” “If M. -Stanilas Julien has taken up his position -in the Celestial Empire, M. Léon de -Rosny seems to have selected the neighboring -country of Japan for his own -special province.” “But those who are -much engaged in public affairs cannot -always be honest, and if this is not an -excuse, it is at least a fact.” “But if a -Cambridge man was to be appointed, -Mr.—— is a ripe scholar and a good -parish priest, and I rejoice that a place -very dear to me should have fallen into -such good hands.”</p> - -<p>Other examples, differing in some respects -from those already given, concur -in exhibiting a strange use of the word -<em>if</em>. Thus we read: “If the late rumors -of dissension in the Cabinet had been -well founded, the retirement of half his -colleagues would not have weakened Mr. -Gladstone’s hold on the House of Commons.” -The conditional proposition -intended is probably this: if half his -colleagues were to retire, Mr. Gladstone’s -hold on the House of Commons -would not be weakened. “If a big -book is a big evil, the <cite>Bijou Gazetteer -of the World</cite> ought to stand at the summit -of excellence. It is the tiniest geographical -directory we have ever seen.” -This is quite illogical: if a big book is -a big evil, it does not follow that a little -book is a great good. “If in the main -I have adhered to the English version, -it has been from the conviction that our -translators were in the right.” It is -rather difficult to see what is the precise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span> -opinion here expressed as to our translators; -whether an absolute or contingent -approval is intended. “If you -think it worth your while to inspect the -school from the outside, that is for -yourself to decide upon.” The decision -is not contingent on the thinking it worth -while: they are identical. For the last -example we take this: “... but if it -does not retard his return to office it -can hardly accelerate it.” The meaning -is, “This speech cannot accelerate and -may retard Mr. Disraeli’s return to -office.” The triple occurrence of <em>it</em> is -very awkward.</p> - -<p>An error not uncommon in the present -day is the blending of two different -constructions in one sentence. The -grammars of our childhood used to condemn -such a sentence as this: “He was -more beloved but not so much admired -as Cynthio.” The former part of the -sentence requires to be followed by <em>than</em>, -and not by <em>as</em>. The following are recent -examples:—“The little farmer [in -France] has no greater enjoyments, if so -many, as the English laborer.” “I find -public-school boys generally more fluent, -and as superficial as boys educated -elsewhere.” “Mallet, for instance, records -his delight and wonder at the -Alps and the descent into Italy in terms -quite as warm, if much less profuse, as -those of the most impressible modern -tourist.” An awkward construction, almost -as bad as a fault, is seen in the following -sentence:—“Messrs.—— having -secured the co-operation of some of -the most eminent professors of, and -writers on, the various branches of science....”</p> - -<p>A very favorite practice is that of -changing a word where there is no corresponding -change of meaning. Take -the following example from a voluminous -historian:—“Huge pinnacles of bare -rock shoot up into the azure firmament, -and forests overspread their sides, in -which the scarlet rhododendrons sixty -feet in <em>height</em> are surmounted by trees -two hundred feet in <em>elevation</em>.” In a -passage of this kind it may be of little -consequence whether a word is retained -or changed; but for any purpose where -precision is valuable it is nearly as bad -to use two words in one sense as one -word in two senses. Let us take some -other examples. We read in the usual<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span> -channels of information that “Mr. Gladstone -has issued invitations for a full-dress -Parliamentary <em>dinner</em>, and Lord -Granville has issued invitations for a full-dress -Parliamentary <em>banquet</em>.” Again we -read: “The Government proposes to -divide the occupiers of land into four -categories;” and almost immediately -after we have “the second class comprehends ...”: -so that we see the -grand word <em>category</em> merely stands for -<em>class</em>. Again: “This morning the <i>Czar</i> -drove alone through the Thiergarten, -and on his return received Field-Marshals -Wrangel and Moltke, as well as -many other general officers, and then -gave audience to numerous visitors. -Towards noon the <i>Emperor Alexander</i>, -accompanied by the Russian Grand -Dukes, paid a visit....” “Mr. Ayrton, -according to <cite>Nature</cite>, has accepted -Dr. Hooker’s explanation of the letter -to Mr. Gladstone’s secretary, at which -the First Commissioner of Works took -umbrage, so that the dispute is at an -end.” I may remark that Mr. Ayrton -is identical with the First Commissioner -of Works. A writer recently in a sketch -of travels spoke of a “Turkish gentleman -with his <em>innumerable</em> wives,” and -soon after said that she “never saw him -address any of his <em>multifarious</em> wives.” -One of the illustrated periodicals gave a -picture of an event in recent French -history, entitled, “The National Guards -Firing on the People.” Here the change -from <em>national</em> to <em>people</em> slightly conceals -the strange contradiction of guardians -firing on those whom they ought to -guard.</p> - -<p>Let us now take one example in which -a word is repeated, but in a rather different -sense: “The Grand Duke of -Baden sat <em>next</em> to the Emperor William, -the Imperial Crown Prince of Germany -<em>next</em> to the Grand Duke. <em>Next</em> came the -other princely personages.” The word -<em>next</em> is used in the last instance in not -quite the same sense as in the former -two instances; for all the princely personages -could not sit in contact with the -Crown Prince.</p> - -<p>A class of examples may be found in -which there is an obvious incongruity -between two of the words which occur. -Thus, “We are more than doubtful;” -that is, we are <em>more than full</em> of doubts: -this is obviously impossible. Then we<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span> -read of “a man of more than doubtful -sanity.” Again we read of “a more -than questionable statement”: this is I -suppose a very harsh elliptical construction -for such a sentence as “a statement -to which we might apply an epithet -more condemnatory than <em>questionable</em>.” -So also we read “a more unobjectionable -character.” Again: “Let the -Second Chamber be composed of elected -members, and their utility will be -<em>more than halved</em>.” To take the <em>half</em> -of anything is to perform a definite operation, -which is not susceptible of more -or less. Again: “The singular and -almost <em>excessive impartiality</em> and power -of appreciation.” It is impossible to -conceive of excessive impartiality. Other -recent examples of these impossible -combinations are, “more faultless,” -“less indisputable.” “The high antiquity -of the narrative cannot reasonably -be doubted, and almost as little its -<em>ultimate</em> Apostolic <em>origin</em>.” The ultimate -origin, that is the <em>last beginning</em>, of anything -seems a contradiction. The common -phrase <em>bad health</em> seems of the same -character; it is almost equivalent to -<em>unsound soundness</em> or to <em>unprosperous -prosperity</em>. In a passage already quoted, -we read that the Czar “gave <em>audience</em> to -numerous <em>visitors</em>,” and in a similar -manner a very distinguished lecturer -speaks of making experiments “<em>visible</em> -to a large <em>audience</em>.” It would seem -from the last instance that our language -wants a word to denote a mass of people -collected not so much to hear an address -as to see what are called experiments. -Perhaps if our savage forefathers -had enjoyed the advantages of courses -of scientific lectures, the vocabulary -would be supplied with the missing -word.</p> - -<p><em>Talented</em> is a vile barbarism which -Coleridge indignantly denounced: there -is no verb <em>to talent</em> from which such a -participle could be deduced. Perhaps -this imaginary word is not common at -the present; though I am sorry to see -from my notes that it still finds favor -with classical scholars. It was used -some time since by a well-known professor, -just as he was about to emigrate -to America; so it may have been merely -evidence that he was rendering himself -familiar with the language of his adopted -country.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span></p> - -<p><em>Ignore</em> is a very popular and a very -bad word. As there is no good authority -for it, the meaning is naturally uncertain. -It seems to fluctuate between <em>wilfully -concealing</em> something and <em>unintentionally -omitting</em> something, and this vagueness -renders it a convenient tool for an unscrupulous -orator or writer.</p> - -<p>The word <em>lengthened</em> is often used instead -of <em>long</em>. Thus we read that such -and such an orator made a <em>lengthened</em> -speech, when the intended meaning is -that he made a <em>long</em> speech. The word -<em>lengthened</em> has its appropriate meaning. -Thus, after a ship has been built by the -Admiralty, it is sometimes cut into two -and a piece inserted: this operation, -very reprehensible doubtless on financial -grounds, is correctly described as <em>lengthening</em> -the ship. It will be obvious on -consideration that <em>lengthened</em> is not synonymous -with <em>long</em>. <em>Protracted</em> and <em>prolonged</em> -are also often used instead of -<em>long</em>; though perhaps with less decided -impropriety than <em>lengthened</em>.</p> - -<p>A very common phrase with controversial -writers is, “we <em>shrewdly</em> suspect.” -This is equivalent to, “we -acutely suspect.” The cleverness of the -suspicion should, however, be attributed -to the writers by other people, and not -by themselves.</p> - -<p>The simple word <em>but</em> is often used -when it is difficult to see any shade of -opposition or contrast such as we naturally -expect. Thus we read: “There -were several candidates, <em>but</em> the choice -fell upon—— of Trinity College.” -Another account of the same transaction -was expressed thus: “It was understood -that there were several candidates; -the election fell, <em>however</em>, upon—— of -Trinity College.”</p> - -<p>The word <em>mistaken</em> is curious as being -constantly used in a sense directly contrary -to that which, according to its formation, -it ought to have. Thus: “He -is often mistaken, but never trivial and -insipid.” “He is often mistaken” -ought to mean that other people often -mistake him; just as “he is often misunderstood” -means that people often -misunderstand him. But the writer of -the above sentence intends to say that -“He often makes mistakes.” It would -be well if we could get rid of this anomalous -use of the word <em>mistaken</em>. I suppose -that <em>wrong</em> or <em>erroneous</em> would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span> -always suffice. But I must admit that -good writers do employ <em>mistaken</em> in the -sense which seems contrary to analogy; -for example, Dugald Stewart does so, -and also a distinguished leading philosopher -whose style shows decided -traces of Dugald Stewart’s influence.</p> - -<p>I shall be thought hypercritical perhaps -if I object to the use of <em>sanction</em> as -a verb; but it seems to be a comparatively -modern innovation. I must, -however, admit that it is used by the -two distinguished writers to whom I alluded -with respect to the word <em>mistaken</em>. -Recently some religious services in London -were asserted by the promoters to -be <em>under the sanction</em> of three bishops; -almost immediately afterwards letters appeared -from the three bishops in which -they qualified the amount of their approbation: -rather curiously all three used -<em>sanction</em> as a verb. The theology of the -bishops might be the sounder, but as to -accuracy of language I think the inferior -clergy had the advantage. By an obvious -association I may say that if any -words of mine could reach episcopal ears, -I should like to ask why a first charge is -called a <em>primary</em> charge, for it does not -appear that this mode of expression is -continued. We have, I think, second, -third, and so on, instead of <em>secondary</em>, -<em>tertiary</em>, and so on, to distinguish the -subsequent charges.</p> - -<p>Very eminent authors will probably -always claim liberty and indulge in peculiarities; -and it would be ungrateful to -be censorious on those who have permanently -enriched our literature. We -must, then, allow an eminent historian -to use the word <em>cult</em> for worship or superstition; -so that he tells us of an <em>indecent -cult</em> when he means an <em>unseemly -false religion</em>. So, too, we must allow -another eminent historian to introduce a -foreign idiom, and speak of a <em>man of -pronounced opinions</em>.</p> - -<p>One or two of our popular writers on -scientific subjects are fond of frequently -introducing the word <em>bizarre</em>; surely -some English equivalent might be substituted -with advantage. The author of -an anonymous academical paper a few -years since was discovered by a slight -peculiarity—namely, the use of the word -<em>ones</em>, if there be such a word: this occurred -in certain productions to which -the author had affixed his name, and so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span> -the same phenomenon in the unacknowledged -paper betrayed the origin which -had been concealed.</p> - -<p>A curious want of critical tact was displayed -some years since by a reviewer -of great influence. Macaulay, in his Life -of Atterbury, speaking of Atterbury’s -daughter, says that her great wish was to -see her <em>papa</em> before she died. The reviewer -condemned the use of what he -called the <em>mawkish word papa</em>. Macaulay, -of course, was right; he used the -daughter’s own word, and any person -who consults the original account will -see that accuracy would have been sacrificed -by substituting <em>father</em>. Surely -the reviewer ought to have had sufficient -respect for Macaulay’s reading and -memory to hesitate before pronouncing -an off-hand censure.</p> - -<p>Cobbett justly blamed the practice of -putting “&c.” to save the trouble of -completing a sentence properly. In -mathematical writings this symbol may -be tolerated because it generally involves -no ambiguity, but is used merely as an -abbreviation the meaning of which is obvious -from the context. But in other -works there is frequently no clue to -guide us in affixing a meaning to the -symbol, and we can only interpret its -presence as a sign that something has -been omitted. The following is an -example: “It describes a portion of -Hellenic philosophy: it dwells upon eminent -individuals, inquiring, theorising, -reasoning, confuting, &c., as contrasted -with those collective political and social -manifestations which form the matter of -history....”</p> - -<p>The examples of confusion of metaphor -ascribed to the late Lord Castlereagh -are so absurd that it might have -been thought impossible to rival them. -Nevertheless the following, though in -somewhat quieter style, seems to me to -approach very nearly to the best of those -that were spoken by Castlereagh or -forged for him by Mackintosh. A recent -Cabinet Minister described the error -of an Indian official in these words: -“He remained too long under the influence -of the views which he had imbibed -from the Board.” To imbibe a -view seems strange, but to imbibe anything -from a Board must be very difficult. -I may observe that the phrase of -Castlereagh’s which is now best known,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span> -seems to suffer from misquotation: we -usually have, “an ignorant impatience -of taxation”; but the original form appears -to have been, “an ignorant impatience -of the relaxation of taxation.”</p> - -<p>The following sentence is from a voluminous -historian: “The <em>decline</em> of the -material comforts of the working classes, -from the effects of the Revolution, had -been incessant, and had now reached an -alarming <em>height</em>.” It is possible to ascend -to an alarming height, but it is -surely difficult to decline to an alarming -height.</p> - -<p>“Nothing could be more one-sided -than the point of view adopted by the -speakers.” It is very strange to speak -of a point as having a side; and then -how can <em>one-sided</em> admit of comparison? -A thing either has one side or it has -not: there cannot be degrees in one-sidedness. -However, even mathematicians -do not always manage the word -<em>point</em> correctly. In a modern valuable -work we read of “a more extended point -of view,” though we know that a point -does not admit of extension. This curious -phrase is also to be found in two -eminent French writers, Bailly and -D’Alembert. I suppose that what is -meant is, a point which commands a -more extended view. “Froschammer -wishes to approach the subject from a -philosophical standpoint.” It is impossible -to <em>stand</em> and yet to <em>approach</em>. -Either he should <em>survey</em> the subject from -a <em>stand</em>-point, or <em>approach</em> it from a <em>starting</em>-point.</p> - -<p>“The most scientific of our Continental -theologians have returned back -again to the relations and ramifications -of the old paths.” Here <em>paths</em> and -<em>ramifications</em> do not correspond; nor is -it obvious what the <em>relations</em> of <em>paths</em> -are. Then <em>returned back again</em> seems to -involve superfluity; either <em>returned</em> or -<em>turned back again</em> would have been better.</p> - -<p>A large school had lately fallen into -difficulties owing to internal dissensions; -in the report of a council on the subject -it was stated that measures had been -taken to <em>introduce more harmony and good -feelings</em>. The word <em>introduce</em> suggests -the idea that harmony and good feeling -could be laid on like water or gas by -proper mechanical adjustment, or could -be supplied like first-class furniture by a -London upholsterer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span></p> - -<p>An orator speaking of the uselessness -of a dean said that “he wastes his sweetness -on the desert air, and stands like an -engine upon a siding.” This is a strange -combination of metaphors.</p> - -<p>The following example is curious as -showing how an awkward metaphor has -been carried out: “In the <em>face</em> of -such assertions what is the puzzled -<em>spectator</em> to do.” The contrary proceeding -is much more common, namely -to drop a metaphor prematurely or to -change it. For instance: “Physics -and metaphysics, physiology and psychology, -thus become united, and the -study of man passes from the uncertain -light of mere opinion to the region of -science.” Here <em>region</em> corresponds very -badly with <em>uncertain light</em>.</p> - -<p>Metaphors and similes require to be -employed with great care, at least by -those who value taste and accuracy. I -hope I may be allowed to give one example -of a more serious kind than those -hitherto supplied. The words <em>like lost -sheep</em> which occur at the commencement -of our Liturgy always seem to me singularly -objectionable, and for two reasons. -In the first place, illustrations -being intended to unfold our meaning -are appropriate in explanation and instruction, -but not in religious confession. -And in the second place the illustration -as used by ourselves is not accurate; -for the condition of a <em>lost sheep</em> -does not necessarily suggest that conscious -lapse from rectitude which is the -essence of human transgression.</p> - -<p>A passage has been quoted with approbation -by more than one critic from -the late Professor Conington’s translation -of Horace, in which the following -line occurs:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“After life’s endless babble they sleep well.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Now the word <em>endless</em> here is extremely -awkward; for if the babble never ends, -how can anything come after it?</p> - -<p>To digress for a moment, I may observe -that this line gives a good illustration -of the process by which what is -called Latin verse is often constructed. -Every person sees that the line is formed -out of Shakespeare’s “after life’s fitful -fever he sleeps well.” The ingenuity -of the transference may be admired, but -it seems to me that it is easy to give -more than a due amount of admiration;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span> -and, as the instance shows, the adaptation -may issue in something bordering -on the absurd. As an example in Latin -versification, take the following. Every -one who has not quite forgotten his -schoolboy days remembers the line in -Virgil ending with <i lang="la">non imitabile fulmen</i>. -A good scholar, prematurely lost to his -college and university, having for an exercise -to translate into Latin the passage -in Milton relating to the moon’s <em>peerless -light</em> finished a line with <em>non imitabile -lumen</em>. One can hardly wonder at the -tendency to overvalue such felicitous appropriation.</p> - -<p>The language of the shop and the -market must not be expected to be very -exact: we may be content to be amused -by some of its peculiarities. I cannot -say that I have seen the statement which -is said to have appeared in the following -form: “Dead pigs are looking up.” -We find very frequently advertised, -“<em>Digestive</em> biscuits”—perhaps <em>digestible</em> -biscuits are meant. In a catalogue -of books an <cite>Encyclopædia of Mental Science</cite> -is advertised; and after the names -of the authors we read, “invaluable, -5<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i>”: this is a curious explanation -of <em>invaluable</em>.</p> - -<p>The title of a book recently advertised -is, <em>Thoughts for those who are Thoughtful</em>. -It might seem superfluous, not to -say impossible, to supply thoughts to -those who are already full of thought.</p> - -<p>The word <em>limited</em> is at present very -popular in the domain of commerce. -Thus we read, “Although the space -given to us was limited.” This we can -readily suppose; for in a finite building -there cannot be unlimited space. Booksellers -can perhaps say, without impropriety, -that a “limited number will be -printed,” as this may only imply that -the type will be broken up; but they -sometimes tell us that “a limited number -<em>was</em> printed,” and this is an obvious -truism.</p> - -<p>Some pills used to be advertised for -the use of the “possessor of pains in -the back,” the advertisement being accompanied -with a large picture representing -the unhappy capitalist tormented -by his property.</p> - -<p>Pronouns, which are troublesome to -all writers of English, are especially embarrassing -to the authors of prospectuses -and advertisements. A wine company<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span> -return thanks to their friends, “and, at -the same time, <em>they</em> would assure <em>them</em> -that it is <em>their</em> constant study not only -to find improvements for <em>their</em> convenience....” -Observe how the pronouns -oscillate in their application between -the company and their friends.</p> - -<p>In selecting titles of books there is -room for improvement. Thus, a <cite>Quarterly -Journal</cite> is not uncommon; the -words strictly are suggestive of a <cite>Quarterly -Daily</cite> publication. I remember, -some years since, observing a notice -that a certain obscure society proposed -to celebrate its <em>triennial anniversary</em>.</p> - -<p>In one of the theological newspapers -a clergyman seeking a curacy states as -an exposition of his theological position, -“Views Prayer-book.” I should hope -that this would not be a specimen of the -ordinary literary style of the applicant. -The advertisements in the same periodical -exhibit occasionally a very unpleasant -blending of religious and secular elements. -Take two examples—“Needle-woman -wanted. She must be a communicant, -have a long character, and be a -good dressmaker and milliner.” “Pretty -furnished cottage to let, with good -garden, etc. Rent moderate. Church -work valued. Weekly celebrations. -Near rail. Good fishing.”</p> - -<p>A few words may be given to same -popular misquotations. “The last infirmity -of noble minds” is perpetually -occurring. Milton wrote <em>mind</em> not -<em>minds</em>. It may be said that he means -<em>minds</em>; but the only evidence seems to -be that it is difficult to affix any other -sense to <em>mind</em> than making it equivalent -to <em>minds</em>: this scarcely convinces me, -though I admit the difficulty.</p> - -<p>“He that runs may read” is often -supposed to be a quotation from the -Bible: the words really are “he may -run that readeth,” and it is not certain -that the sense conveyed by the popular -misquotation is correct.</p> - -<p>A proverb which correctly runs thus: -“The road to hell is paved with good -intentions,” is often quoted in the far -less expressive form, “Hell is paved -with good intentions.”</p> - -<p>“Knowledge is power” is frequently -attributed to Bacon, in spite of Lord -Lytton’s challenge that the words cannot -be found in Bacon’s writings.</p> - -<p>“The style is the man” is frequently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span> -attributed to Buffon, although it has -been pointed out that Buffon said something -very different; namely, that “the -style is of the man,” that is, “the style -proceeds from the man.” It is some -satisfaction to find that Frenchmen themselves -do not leave us the monopoly of -this error; it will be found in Arago; -see his <cite>Works</cite>, vol. iii. p. 560. A common -proverb frequently quoted is, “The -exception proves the rule;” and it seems -universally assumed that <em>proves</em> here -means <em>establishes</em> or <em>demonstrates</em>. It is -perhaps more likely that <em>proves</em> here -means <em>tests</em> or <em>tries</em>, as in the injunction, -“Prove all things.” [The proverb in -full runs: <i>Exceptio probat regulam in -casibus non exceptis</i>.]</p> - -<p>The words <i lang="la">nihil tetigit quod non ornavit</i> -are perpetually offered as a supposed -quotation from Dr. Johnson’s epitaph -on Goldsmith. Johnson wrote—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry"><div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">“Qui nullum fere scribendi genus</div> - <div class="verse indent10">Non tetigit,</div> - <div class="verse">Nullum quod tetigit non ornavit.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It has been said that there is a doubt as -to the propriety of the word <i lang="la">tetigit</i>, and -that <i lang="la">contigit</i> would have been better.</p> - -<p>It seems impossible to prevent writers -from using <i lang="la">cui bono?</i> in the unclassical -sense. The correct meaning is known -to be of this nature: suppose that a -crime has been committed; then inquire -who has gained by the crime—<i lang="la">cui bono?</i> -for obviously there is a probability that -the person benefited was the criminal. -The usual sense implied by the quotation -is this: What is the good? the -question being applied to whatever is -for the moment the object of depreciation. -Those who use the words incorrectly -may, however, shelter themselves -under the great name of Leibnitz, for -he takes them in the popular sense: see -his works, vol. v., p. 206.</p> - -<p>A very favorite quotation consists of -the words “<i lang="la">laudator temporis acti</i>;” but -it should be remembered that it seems -very doubtful if these words by themselves -would form correct Latin; the <i lang="la">se -puero</i> which Horace puts after them are -required.</p> - -<p>There is a story, resting on no good -authority, that Plato testified to the importance -of geometry by writing over his -door, “Let no one enter who is not a -geometer.” The first word is often -given incorrectly, when the Greek words<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span> -are quoted, the wrong form of the negative -being taken. I was surprised to -see this blunder about two years since -in a weekly review of very high pretensions.</p> - -<p>It is very difficult in many cases to -understand precisely what is attributed -to another writer when his opinions are -cited in some indirect way. For example, -a newspaper critic finishes a paragraph -in these words: “unless, indeed, -as the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> has said that it -is immoral to attempt any cure at all.” -The doubt here is as to what is the statement -of the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite>. It -seems to be this: <em>it is immoral to attempt -any cure at all</em>. But from other considerations -foreign to the precise language -of the critic, it seemed probable that the -statement of the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> was, -<em>unless, indeed, it is immoral to attempt -any cure at all</em>.</p> - -<p>There is a certain vague formula -which, though not intended for a quotation, -occurs so frequently as to demand -notice. Take for example—“... -the sciences of logic and ethics, -according to the partition of Lord Bacon, -are far <em>more extensive than we are -accustomed to consider them</em>.” No precise -meaning is conveyed, because we -do not know what is the amount of -extension we are accustomed to ascribe -to the sciences named. Again: “Our -knowledge of Bacon’s method is much -less complete than it is <em>commonly supposed</em> -to be.” Here again we do not -know what is the standard of common -supposition. There is another awkwardness -here in the words <em>less complete</em>: -it is obvious that <em>complete</em> does not admit -of degrees.</p> - -<p>Let us close these slight notes with -very few specimens of happy expressions.</p> - -<p>The <cite>Times</cite>, commenting on the slovenly -composition of the Queen’s Speeches -to Parliament, proposed the cause of the -fact as a fit subject for the investigation -of our <em>professional thinkers</em>. The phrase -suggests a delicate reproof to those who -assume for themselves the title of <em>thinker</em>, -implying that any person may engage in -this occupation just as he might, if he -pleased, become a dentist, or a stock-broker, -or a civil engineer. The word -<em>thinker</em> is very common as a name of -respect in the works of a modern dis<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span>tinguished -philosopher. I am afraid, -however, that it is employed by him -principally as synonymous with a <em>Comtist</em>.</p> - -<p>The <cite>Times</cite>, in advocating the claims -of a literary man for a pension, said, -“he has <em>constructed</em> several useful school-books.” -The word <em>construct</em> suggests -with great neatness the nature of the -process by which school-books are sometimes -evolved, implying the presence of -the bricklayer and mason rather than of -the architect.</p> - -<p>[Dr. Todhunter might have added -<em>feature</em> to the list of words abusively -used by newspaper writers. In one -number of a magazine two examples occur: -“A <em>feature</em> which had been well -<em>taken up</em> by local and other manufacturers -was the exhibition of honey in various -applied forms.” “A new <em>feature</em> -in the social arrangements of the Central -Radical Club <em>took place</em> the other evening.”]—<cite>Macmillan’s -Magazine.</cite></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span></p> - - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2 id="LITERARY_NOTICES">LITERARY NOTICES.</h2> - -<blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Dictionary of English History.</span> Edited -by Sidney S. Low, B. A., late Scholar of -Balliol College, Oxford, Lecturer on Modern -History, King’s College, London; and F. S. -Pulling, M. A., late Professor of Modern -History, Yorkshire College, Leeds. New -York: <i>Cassell & Company, Limited</i>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The first thought that suggests itself upon -taking up Messrs. Cassell & Company’s “Dictionary -of English History” is “why was -this important work not done long ago?” The -want of such a book of reference is not a new -one but has been long felt by students and -amateurs of history. Indeed there is hardly a -man or woman who has not at some time or -other felt the need of furbishing up his or her -historical knowledge at short notice. One -may hunt the pages of a history by the hour -and not find the date or incident he wants to -know about. The editors of this stout volume, -Sidney J. Low, B.A. and F. S. Pulling, M.A., -have made the successful attempt to give a -convenient handbook on the whole subject of -English history and to make it useful rather -than exhaustive. The present work is not an -encyclopædia, and the editors are aware that -many things are omitted from it which might -have been included, had its limits been wider, -and its aim more ambitious. To produce a -book which should give, as concisely as possible, -just the information, biographical, bibliographical, -chronological, and constitutional, -that the reader of English history is likely -to want is what has been here attempted. The -needs of modern readers have been kept in -view. Practical convenience has guided them -in the somewhat arbitrary selection that they -have been compelled to make, and their plan -had been chosen with great care and after -many experiments. It should be said that -though the book is called a Dictionary of Eng<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span>lish -History that the historical events of Scotland, -Ireland and Wales are included. The -contributors for special articles, have been -selected from among the best-known historical -writers in England, and no pains have been -spared to make this book complete in the field -it has aimed to cover.</p> - -<p>That high authority, the London <cite>Athenæum</cite>, -has the following words of praise for this -work:—</p> - -<p>“This book will really be a great boon to -every one who makes a study of English history. -Many such students must have desired -before now to be able to refer to an alphabetical -list of subjects, even with the briefest possible -explanations. But in this admirable dictionary -the want is more than supplied. For -not only is the list of subjects in itself wonderfully -complete, but the account given of each -subject, though condensed, is wonderfully complete -also. The book is printed in double -columns royal octavo, and consists of 1119 -pages, including a very useful index to subjects -on which separate articles are not given. -As some indication of the scale of treatment -we may mention that the article on Lord -Beaconsfield occupies nearly a whole page, -that on Bothwell (Mary’s Bothwell) exactly a -column, the old kingdom of Deira something -more than a column, Henry VIII. three pages, -Ireland seven and a half pages, and the Norman -Conquest three pages exactly. Under the -head of ‘King,’ which occupies in all rather -more than seven pages, are included, in small -print, tables of the regnal years of all the English -sovereigns from the Conquest. There is -also a very important article, ‘Authorities on -English History,’ by Mr. Bass Bullinger, -which covers six and a quarter pages, and -which will be an extremely useful guide to any -one beginning an historical investigation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span></p> - -<p>“Many of the longer articles contain all that -could be wished to give the reader a concise -view of an important epoch or reign. Of this -Mrs. Gardiner’s article on Charles I. is a good -example. Ireland is in like manner succinctly -treated by Mr. Woulfe Flanagan in seven and -a half pages, and India by Mr. C. E. Black in -six, while the Indian Mutiny of 1857-8 has an -article to itself of a page and a half by Mr. -Low. Institutions also, like Convocation, -customs like borough English, orders of men -such as friars, and officers like that of constable, -have each a separate heading; and the -name of the contributors—including, besides -those already mentioned, such men as Mr. -Creighton, Profs. Earle, Thorold Rogers, and -Rowley, and some others whose qualifications -are beyond question—afford the student a -guarantee that he is under sure guidance as to -facts.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">Personal Traits of British Authors. -Wordsworth, Coleridge, Lamb, Hazlitt, -Leigh Hunt, Procter.</span> Edited by Edward -T. Mason. New York: <i>Charles Scribner’s Sons</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ibid. Byron, Shelley, Moore, Rogers, -Keats, Southey, Landor.</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ibid. Scott, Hogg, Campbell, Chalmers, -Wilson, De Quincey, Jeffrey.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>Mr. Mason, the compiler of these volumes, -has a keen sense of that taste which exists in -all people (and certainly it is a kind of curiosity -not without its redeeming side) which -prompts a hearty appetite for personal gossip -about appearance, habits, social traits, methods -of work and thought concerning distinguished -men. Yet there is another side to the question, -however interesting such information may -be. This is specially in gossip about authors. -The literary worker puts the best part of himself -in his writings. Here all the noble impulses of -his nature find an outlet, and in many cases he -thinks it sufficient to give this field for his -higher traits, and puts his lower ones alone into -action. No man is a hero to his valet. A too -near acquaintance, and that is just what the -editor of these volumes seeks to give us, is always -disillusioning. The conception which -the author gives of himself in his books is often -sadly sullied and belittled, when we come to -know the solid body within the photosphere of -glory, which his genius radiates. Yet it is as -well that we should know the real man as well -as what is commonly known as the ideal man. -It enables us to guard against those specious -enthusiasms, which may be dangerously aroused -by the brilliant sophistries of poetry or rhetoric.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span> -Knowing the actual lives and habits of great -men is like an Ithuriel spear, often, when we -study teachings by its test. But putting aside -the desirability of knowing intimately the lives -of great authors on the score of literature or -morals, it cannot be denied that such information -is of a fascinating sort. Mr. Mason has -gathered these personal descriptions and criticisms -from all sorts of sources. Literary contemporaries, -accounts of friends and enemies, -the confessions of authors themselves, family -records, biographies, magazine articles, books -of reminiscence—in a word every kind of material -has been freely used. Authors are shown -in a kaleidoscopic light from a great variety of -stand-points, and we have the slurs and sneers -of enemies as well as the loving admiration of -friends. Descriptions are pointed with racy and -pungent anecdotes, and it is but just to say that -we have not found a dull line in these volumes. -Mr. Mason has performed his work with excellent -editorial taste. There is a brief and well-written -notice appended to the chapter on each -author, and a literary chronology, the latter of -which will be found very useful for handy reference. -These racy volumes ought to find a wide -public, and we think, aside from their charm for -the general reader, the literary man will find -here a well-filled treasury of convenient anecdote -and illustration, which, in many cases, will -save him the toil of weary search. In these -days of many books, such works have a special -use which should not be ignored.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">Italy from the Fall of Napoleon I. in -1815, to the Death of Victor Emmanuel -in 1878.</span> By John Webb Probyn. New -York: <i>Cassell & Company, Limited</i>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>“Italy from the Fall of Napoleon I., in 1815, -to the Death of Victor Emanuel, in 1878,” by -John Webb Probyn, is just ready from the -press of Cassell & Company. In noticing this -important work we can do no better than to -quote from the author’s preface. “The purpose -of this volume,” writes Mr. Probyn,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span> “is -to give a concise account of the chief causes -and events which have transformed Italy from -a divided into a united country. A detailed -history of this important epoch would fill volumes, -and will not be written for some time to -come. Yet it is desirable that all who are interested -in the important events of our time -should be able to obtain some connected account -of so striking a transformation as that -which was effected in Italy between the years -1815 and 1878. It has been with the object -of giving such an account that this volume has -been written.” Mr. Probyn lived in Italy -among the Italians while this struggle was -going on, and he writes from a close knowledge -of his subject.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">Harriet Martineau</span> (<span class="smcap">Famous Women -Series</span>). By Mrs. F. Fenwick Miller. Boston: -<i>Roberts Brothers</i>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>The distinguished woman who forms the -subject of this biography is less known and -read in America than she should be, and it is -to be hoped that this concise, lucid and well-written -account of her life and work will awaken -interest in one whose literary labors will merit -perusal and study. Miss Martineau was one -of the precursors of that movement for the -larger life and mental liberty of her sex, which -to-day has assumed formidable proportions, and -indulged, we need hardly say, many strange -vagaries. Miss Martineau began to write at -an early age and soon began to impress herself -on the public mind, though it was for a -long time suspected that she was a man. The -whole tone of her mind and intellectual sympathies -was eminently masculine, though on -the emotional and moral side of her nature she -was intensely feminine. An early love disappointment, -as has been the case with not a -few literary women, shut her out from that -circle of wifehood and motherhood in which -she would have been far more happy than she -was ordained to be by fate. Yet the world -would have been a loser, so true is it that it -is often by virtue of those conditions which -sacrifice happiness that the most precious fruits -of life are bestowed on the world. It would -be interesting to follow the literary career of -Miss Martineau, if space permitted, as her life -was not only rich in its own results but interwoven -with the most aggressive, keen and significant -literary life of her age. To the world -at large Miss Martineau, who had a philosophical -mind of the highest order, is best known -as the translator of Comte, of whose system -she was an enthusiastic advocate. Her translation -of Comte’s ponderous “Positive Philosophy,” -published in French in six volumes, -which she condensed into three volumes of -lucid and forcible English, is not merely a -masterpiece of translation, but a monument of -acumen. So well was her work done, that -Comte himself adapted it for his students’ use, -discarding his own edition. So it came to pass -that Comte’s own work fell out of use, and -that his complete teachings became accessible -only to his countrymen through a retranslation -of Miss Martineau’s original translation and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span> -adaptation. Remarkable as were her philosophical -powers, her work in the domain of -imagination, though always hinging on a -serious purpose, was of a superior sort. A keen -and successful student of political economy, -she wrote a series of remarkable tales, based -on various perplexing problems in this line of -thought and research. In addition to these, -her pathetic and humorous tales are full of -charm, and distinguished by a style equally -charming and forcible. She might have been -a great novelist had not her fondness for -philosophical studies become the passion of -her life. She was an indefatigable contributor -to newspapers and magazines on a great variety -of subjects, though she generally wrote anonymously. -It was for this reason that her -literary labors, which were arduous in the extreme, -were comparatively ill-paid, and that -life, even in her old age, was no easy struggle -for her. The work, among her voluminous -writings, on which her fame will probably -rest as on a corner-stone, is “A History of -the Thirty Years Peace.” This is a history of -her own time, pungent, full of powerful color, -though often sombre, impartial yet searching, -characterized by the sternest love of truth, and -couched in a literary style of great force and -clearness. She showed the rare power of discussing -events which were almost contemporary, -as calmly as if she were surveying a -remote period of antiquity. The <cite>Athenæum</cite> -said of this book on its publication: “The -principles which she enunciates are based on -eternal truths, and evolved with a logical precision -that admits rhetorical ornament without -becoming obscure or confused.” Another remarkable -work was “Eastern Life,” the fruit -of research in the East. In this she made a -bold and masterly attack on the dogmatic beliefs -of Christianity. The end and object of -her reasoning in this work is: That men have -ever constructed the Image of a Ruler of the -Universe out of their own minds; that all -successive ideas about the Supreme Being have -originated from within and been modified by -the surrounding circumstances; and that all -theologies, therefore, are baseless productions -of the human imagination and have no -essential connection with those great religious -ideas and emotions by which men are constrained -to live nobly, to do justly, and to -love what they see to be the true and right. -The publication of this book raised a storm of -opprobrium, for England was then far more -illiberal than now. Yet it is a singular fact -that, in spite of her free-thinking, Harriet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span> -Martineau had as her intimate friends and -warm admirers some of the most pious and -sincere clergymen of the age. She died in -1876 at the age of seventy-four, after a life of -exemplary goodness and brilliant intellectual -activity, honored and loved by all who knew -her, even by those who dissented most widely -from her beliefs. She was among those who -ploughed up the mental soil of her time most -successfully, and few, either men or women, -have written with more force, sincerity and -suggestiveness on the great serious questions -of life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<blockquote> - -<p><span class="smcap">Weird Tales by E. T. W. Hoffman.</span> New -Translation from the German, with a Biographical -Memoir, by J. T. Beally, B.A. -In two volumes. New York: <i>Charles Scribner’s -Sons</i>.</p></blockquote> - -<p>Hoffman, the German romancer, to most -English readers who know of him, is a <i>nomen -et preteria nihil</i>, yet in his own land he is a -classic. His stories are mostly short tales or -novelettes, for he appears to have lacked the -sustained vigor and concentration for the -longer novel, like our own Poe, to whom he -has been sometimes likened in the character -of his genius. Yet how marvellously unlike -Poe’s are the stories in the volumes before us! -The intense imaginativeness, logical coherence -and lofty style which mark Poe are absent in -Hoffman. Yet, on the other hand, the latter, -who like his American analogue revels in -topics weird and fantastic, if not horrible, relieves -the sombre color of his pictures with -flashes of homely tenderness and charming -humor, of which Poe is totally vacant.</p> - -<p>Hoffman, who was well born, though not -of noble family, received an excellent education. -He studied at Königsburg University, -where he matriculated as a student of jurisprudence, -and seems to have made enough proficiency -in this branch of knowledge to have -justified the various civil appointments which -he from time to time received during his -strange and stormy life, only to forfeit them -by acts of mad folly or neglect. He was by -turns actor, musician, painter, litterateur, civil -magistrate and tramp. Gifted with brilliant -and versatile talents, there was probably never -a man more totally unbalanced and at the -mercy of every wind of passion and caprice -that blew. Had he possessed a self-directing -purpose, a steady ideal to which he devoted -himself, it is not improbable that his genius -might have raised him to a leading place -in German literature. Yet perhaps his talents<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span> -and tastes were too versatile for any very great -achievement, even under more favorable conditions. -As matters stand he is known to the -world by his short tales, in which he uses freely -the machinery of fantasy and horror, though -he never revolts the taste, even in his wildest -moods. Yet some of his best stories are -entirely free from this element of the strained -and unnatural, and show that it was through -no lack of native strength and robustness of -mind, that he selected at other times the most -abnormal and perverse developments of action -and character as the warp of his literary textures. -Hoffman’s stories are interesting from -their ingenuity, a certain naïve simplicity -combined with an audacious handling of impossible -or improbable circumstances, and a -charming under-current of pathos and humor, -which bubbles up through the crust at the most -unexpected turns. We should hardly regard -these stories as a model for the modern writer, -yet there is a quality about them which far -more artistic stories might lack. It is singular -to narrate that some of his most agreeable and -objective stories, where he completely escapes -from morbid imaginings, are those he wrote -when dying by inches in great agony, for he, -too, like Heine—a much greater and subtler -genius—lay on a mattrass grave, though for -months and not for years. The stories collected -in the volumes under notice contain those -which are recognized by critics as his best, and -will repay perusal as being excellent representations -of a school of fiction which is now -at its ebb-tide, though how soon it will come -again to the fore it is impossible to prophecy, -as mode and vogue in literary taste go through -the same eternal cycle, as do almost all other -mundane things.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2 id="FOREIGN_LITERARY_NOTES">FOREIGN LITERARY NOTES.</h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">Paul Ivanovich Ogorodnikof</span>, who died -last month at the age of fifty-eight, was destined -for the army, but, being accused of participation -in political disturbances, was confined -in the fortress of Modlin. After his release he -obtained employment in the Railway Administration, -whereby he was enabled to amass a -sum sufficient to cover the cost of a journey -through Russia, Germany, France, England, -and North America, of which he published an -account. He was subsequently appointed -correspondent of the Imperial Geographical -Society in North-East Persia, and on his return -home he devoted his exclusive attention to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span> -literature. His most interesting works, perhaps, -are “Travels in Persia and her Caspian -Provinces,” 1868, “Sketches in Persia,” 1868, -and “The Land of the Sun,” 1881. But he -was the author of various other works and -numerous contributions to periodical literature, -and in 1882 his “Diary of a Captive” was -published in the <cite>Istorichesky Vyestnik</cite>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> opening of the new college at Poona, -India, which took place recently under the -most favorable auspices, is noteworthy as -marking the first important attempt of educated -natives in the Bombay presidency to take -the management of higher education into their -own hands. The college has been appropriately -named after Sir James Fergusson, who has -always taken a great interest in the measures -for its establishment, and during whose tenure -of office as Governor of Bombay (now drawing -to a close) such marked progress has been -made in education in that presidency.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> first part of the second series of the -Palæographical Society’s facsimiles, now ready -for distribution to subscribers, contains two -plates of Greek <i>ostraka</i> from Egypt, on which -are written tax-gatherers’ receipts for imposts -levied under the Roman dominion, <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> -39-163; and specimens of the Curetonian palimpsest -Homer of the sixth century; the Bodleian -Greek Psalter of about <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 950; the -Greek Gospels, Codex T, of the tenth century; -and other Greek MSS. There are also plates -from the ancient Latin Psalter of the fifth century -and other early MSS. of Lord Ashburnham’s -library; Pope Gregory’s “Moralia,” in -Merovingian writing of the seventh century; -the Berne Virgil, with Tironian glosses of the -ninth century; the earliest Pipe Roll, <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> -1130; English charters of the twelfth century; -and drawings and illuminations in the Bodleian -Cædmon, the Hyde Register, the Ashburnham -Life of Christ, and the Medici Horæ lately -purchased by the Italian Government.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Prince B. Giustiniani</span> has placed in the -hands of the Pope, in the name of his friend -Lord Ashburnham, a precious manuscript from -the library of Ashburnham House. It contains -letters by Innocent III. written during -the years 1207 and 1209, and taken from the -archives of the Holy See when at Avignon at -the beginning of the fifteenth century. The -letters are fully described in the <cite>Bibliothèque -de l’École des Chartes</cite>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">One</span> of the late General Gordon’s minor -contributions to literature is a brief memoir -of Zebehr Pasha, which he drew up for the in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span>formation -of the Soudanese. General Gordon -caused the memoir to be translated into Arabic, -and we believe that copies of it are still in -existence. It was written during the General’s -first administration of the Soudan.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> memoirs of the late Rector of Lincoln -will appear shortly, Mrs. Mark Pattison having -finished correcting the proofs. Much difficulty -has been experienced in verifying quotations, -frequently made without reference or clue to -authorship. In one or two instances only the -attempt has been reluctantly abandoned in -order not indefinitely to delay publication. -Mrs. Mark Pattison leaves England in February -for Madras, where she will spend next -summer as the guest of the Governor and Mrs. -Grant Duff at Ootacamund. Her work on industry -and the arts in France under Colbert is -now far advanced towards completion.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">A “national”</span> edition of Victor Hugo’s -works is about to be brought out in Paris by -M. Lemonnyer as publisher, and M. Georges -Richard as printer. The plan of this new edition -has been submitted by these gentlemen to -M. Victor Hugo, who has given them the exclusive -right to bring out, in quarto shape, the -whole of his works. The publication will consist -of about forty volumes, which are each to -contain five parts, of from eighty to a hundred -pages. One part will appear every fortnight, -or about five volumes a year, and the -first part of the first volume, which will contain -the <cite>Odes and Ballads</cite>, is to appear on February -26, which is the eighty-third anniversary of the -poet’s birth. The price will be 6 frs. per part, -or 30 frs. per volume, so that the total cost of -the forty volumes will be close upon £50. -There will be also a few copies upon Japan -and China paper of special manufacture, while -the series will be illustrated with four portraits -of the poet, 250 large etchings, and 2,500 line -engravings. The 250 large etchings will be by -such artists as Paul Baudry, Bonnat, Cabanel, -Carrier-Belleuse, Falguière, Léon, Glaize, -Henner, J.-P. Laurens, Puvis de Chavannes, -Robert Fleury, etc., while the line engravings -will be by L. Flameng, Champollion, Maxime -Lalanne, and others.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> festival at Capua in commemoration of -the bi-centenary of the birth of the distinguished -antiquary and philologist, Alessio Simmaco -Mazzocchi, which should have been held last -autumn, but was postponed on account of the -cholera, was celebrated on January 25. The -meeting in the Museo Campano was attended -by a large number of visitors from the neigh<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span>boring -towns and from Naples, and speeches -were delivered by the Prefect (Commendatore -Winspeare), Prof. F. Barnabei, and several -others.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dr. Martineau’s</span> new book, “Types of -Ethical Theory,” will be issued in a week or -two by the Clarendon Press. The author -seeks the ultimate basis of morals in the internal -constitution of the human mind. He first -vindicates the psychological method, then develops -it, and finally guards it against partial -applications, injurious to the autonomy of the -conscience. He is thus led to pass under review -at the outset some representative of each -chief theory in which ethics emerge from metaphysical -or physical assumptions, and at the -close the several doctrines which psychologically -deduce the moral sentiments from self-love, -the sense of congruity, the perception of -beauty, or other unmoral source. The part of -the book intermediate between these two -bodies of critical exposition is constructive.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Spelling Reform Association of England -have adopted, as a means of encouraging -the progress of their cause, a new plan specially -calculated to secure the adhesion of printers and -publishers. They offer to supply experienced -proof-readers free of cost, who are prepared to -assist in producing books and pamphlets “in -any degree of amended or fonetic spelling.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Some</span> interesting materials towards a memoir -of the late Bishop Colenso have been derived -from an unexpected source. A gentleman in -Cornwall heard that a bookseller in Staffordshire -had for sale a collection of the bishop’s -letters. This coming to the knowledge of Mr. -F. E. Colenso, the latter purchased them at -once, and found that they consisted of letters -ranging from 1830 to the middle of the bishop’s -university career. The collection also includes -two letters from the bishop’s college tutor -which show the high estimation in which the -young man was held by those who were -brought into contact with him at Oxford.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is understood that the late Henry G. -Bohn’s collection of Art books, though comparatively -few in number—said to be less than -800—forms a perfectly unique library of reference, -and in many languages. We hear -that it includes splendidly bound folio editions -of engravings from the great masters in almost -every known European gallery. Mr. Bohn’s -general private library—a substantial but by -no means extensive one considering his colossal -dealings with books—is not likely to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span> -sold. It may not be generally known that he -lent nearly 1,400 volumes to the Crystal Palace -Exhibition some years ago, and lost them -all in the fire there.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Messrs. Tillotson and Son</span>, of the <cite>Bolton -Journal</cite>, who are the originators of the practice -of publishing novels by eminent writers simultaneously -in a number of newspapers in England, -the United States, and in the colonies, -announce that they intend shortly to publish, -instead of a serial novel of the usual three-volume -size, what they call an “Octave of Short -Stories.” The first of these tales, “A Rainy -June,” by “Ouida,” will appear on February -28th. The other seven writers of the “Octave” -are Mr. William Black, Miss Braddon, -Miss Rhoda Broughton, Mr. Wilkie Collins, -Mr. Thomas Hardy, Mr. Joseph Hatton, and -Mrs. Oliphant.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dr. C. Casati</span>, who has just published a -work in two volumes entitled <cite>Nuovo rivelazioni -sui fatti in Milano nel 1847-48</cite>, is preparing for -the press an edition of the unpublished letters -of Pietro Borsieri, the prisoner of the Spielberg, -together with letters addressed to him by -several of his friends, among whom were Arrivabene, -Berchet, Arconati, and Della Cisterna. -The correspondence contains many particulars -relating to the sufferings of these patriots in the -Austrian prisons, and to the privations suffered -by Borsieri and his companions in -America. Dr. Casati will contribute a biographical -sketch of Borsieri and notes in illustration -of the letters.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the meeting of the Florence Academia -dei Lincei (department of historical sciences) -on January 18, it was announced that no -competitors having presented themselves for -the prize offered by the Minister of Public Instruction -for an essay on the Latin poetry published -in Italy during the eleventh and twelfth -centuries, the competition will remain open -until April 30, 1888.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Edward Odyniec</span>, the Polish poet and journalist, -and friend of Mickiewicz, died in Warsaw -on January 15. He was born in 1804, and -was educated at the University of Wilna, where -he was a member of the celebrated society of -the Philareti. His period of poetic activity -falls chiefly in the time of the romantic movement -in Poland. His odes and occasional -poems were printed in 1825-28, and many of -them have been translated into German and -Bohemian. His translations from Byron, -Moore, and Walter Scott are greatly admired<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span> -in Poland. He also published several dramas -on historical subjects. Odyniec was editor, -first of the <cite>Kuryer Wilanski</cite>, and afterwards of -the <cite>Kuryer Warszawski</cite>, and was highly esteemed -as a political writer. He was personally -very popular in Warsaw, and his funeral was -attended by many thousands of people.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dr. A. Emanuel Biedermann</span>, Professor -of Theology in the University of Zürich, died -in that city on January 26. He was born at -Winterthur in 1819, studied theology at Basel -and Berlin 1837-41, and in 1843 was elected -Pfarrer of Münchenstein in the Canton of -Basel-land. In 1850 he was made Professor -Extraordinarius of Theology in the University -of Zürich, and in 1864 Professor Ordinarius of -“Dogmatik.” His <cite>Christliche Dogmatic</cite> (Zürich, -1864) is the best known of his theological -writings. In connection with Dr. Fries he -founded in 1845 the Liberal ecclesiastical -monthly, <cite>Die Kirche der Gegenwart</cite>, out of -which the still extant <cite>Zeitstimmen</cite> was developed.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="chapter"></div> -<h2 id="MISCELLANY">MISCELLANY.</h2> - - -<p><span class="smcap">An Aerial Ride.</span>—The recent ascents, first -at Berlin, then at Baden, of Herr Lattemann, -who is the inventor and constructor of an entirely -novel miniature balloon, “Rotateur,” -are remarkable, if foolhardy, performances. -The intrepid aëronaut rises in the air merely -suspended to a balloon by four ropes to a -height of 4,000 feet. The Rotateur has the -form of a cylinder, with semi-spherical ends -and a horizontal axis. It holds about 9,300 -cubic feet of ordinary gas, just enough to lift -the weight of a man, without car, anchor, or -other apparatus, about 4,000 feet. The balloon -may be revolved round its horizontal axis -by two cords attached at the periphery of the -cylinder. The aëronaut is able by these cords -to turn the valve, placed below, through which -the gas is taken in and allowed to escape, when -desired, round either the sides or to the top. -This circular hole, as soon as the balloon is -filled, is stretched out by a thick cane to such -an extent longitudinally as to close it almost -entirely, only leaving a narrow slit, through -which, it is asserted, no gas can escape. If -the aëronaut desires to let off the gas, he turns -the cylinder balloon round its axis by manipulating -the cords, the opening is moved to the -side or top, and the cane removed by sharply -pulling the cord attached to it, so that the opening -becomes circular again, and allows the gas -to escape. This is the new valve arrangement<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span> -—the egg of Columbus—patented by Herr -Lattemann. For up to the present time the -valve was the Achilles heel of the balloon, -because it was placed at the top, sometimes -failing to act, at others not closing air-tight. -Herr Lattemann in his ascents wears a strong -leather belt, through the rings of which two -ropes are drawn, and by which he fastens himself -to the right and left of the balloon net. -He thus hangs suspended as in a swing. Two -other ropes, attached to the balloon, and passing -through other rings in his belt, end in -stirrups, into which the aërial rider places his -feet. At his earlier ascents Herr Lattemann -used a saddle, which he has now discarded, -preferring to stand free in the stirrups. As -soon as the aëronaut has balanced himself in -his ropes, the signal “Off!” is given, and the -balloon sails away. Herr Lattemann has -hitherto been entirely successful in his ascents, -which last about half an hour.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Condition of Schleswig.</span>—A graphic -description is given in an article written by a -correspondent of the <cite>Times</cite> in Copenhagen of -the treatment to which the Danish inhabitants -of Schleswig are subjected by the Germans. -All the efforts of the authorities governing the -duchy tend to the goal of crushing, and, if possible, -exterminating the Danish language and -Danish sentiment. The Danes in Schleswig -cling with characteristic toughness to their -language and to the old traditions of their -race; they hate the Germans; they groan under -the foreign yoke of suppression. Resisting -all temptations and all menaces from Berlin, -they still turn their regards and their love -toward the Danish King and the Danish people, -and they swear to hold out, even for generations, -until the glorious day comes, as it is -sure to come in the fulness of time, when the -German chains shall be broken. It would be -a very trifling sacrifice for Prussia, that has -made such enormous gains and risen to the -highest Power in Europe, to give those 200,000 -or 250,000 Danish Schleswigers back to Denmark, -the land of their predilection. The -northern part of Schleswig is of no political or -strategical importance to Prussia, and the -proof of this is that the fortifications in Alsen -and at Düppel are being levelled to the ground. -Several instances of these petty persecutions -are given by the correspondent. The names -of towns and villages have been Germanized; -railway guards are not permitted to speak -Danish; in the public schools primers and -songs and plays are to be in German, and the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span> -children are punished if they speak among -themselves their maternal language; history -is arranged so as to glorify Germany and disparage -Denmark; the Danish colors of red -and white are absolutely prohibited; in short, -from the cradle to the grave, the Danish -Schleswiger is submitted to a process of eradicating -his original nature and dressing him up -in a garb which he hates and detests. This -petty war is carried on day after day under the -sullen resistance and open protests of the -Schleswigers, and proves a constant source of -hatred and animosity between two nations destined -by nature to be friends and allies. Of -late the Prussian functionaries in Schleswig -have entered upon a system of positive persecution -that passes all bounds. Last summer -several excursions of ladies and girls from the -Danish districts in Schleswig were arranged -to different places, one to the west coast of -Jutland, another to Copenhagen; they came -in flocks of two or three hundred, were hospitably -entertained, enjoyed the sights and the -liberty to avow their Danish sentiments, and -then they returned to their bondage. Such of -them as did not carefully hide the red and white -favors or diminutive flags had to pay amends for -their carelessness. But the great bulk of them -could not be reached by the law, for, in spite -of all, it has not yet been made a crime in -Schleswig to travel beyond the frontier. With -characteristic ingeniousness, the Prussian functionaries -then hit upon a new plan, and visited -the sins of the women and girls upon their husbands, -fathers, or brothers. If these turned -out to have, after the cession, optated for Denmark, -and to be consequently Danish citizens -only sojourning in Schleswig, they were peremptorily -shown the door and ordered to leave -the duchy within 48 hours or some few days. -An edict authorizes any police-master to expel -any foreign subject that may prove “troublesome” -(<i>lästig</i>), and this term is a very elastic -one. If the male relatives were Prussian subjects -no law could be alleged against them, -but among these such as filled public charges, -particularly teachers and schoolmasters, have -been summarily dismissed. In this way, farmers, -small traders, artisans, dentists, school -teachers, and so forth, whose wives or sisters -or daughters did take part in the excursion -trips, have been mercilessly driven away and -deprived of their means of living. New cases -of such expulsions are recorded every day. A -system of the most petty persecution is at the -same time enforced against those who cannot -be turned out.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Chinese Notions of Immortality.</span>—A -writer in a recent issue of the <cite>North China -Herald</cite> discusses the early Chinese notions of -immortality. In the most ancient times -ancestral worship was maintained on the -ground that the souls of the dead exist after -this life. The present is a part only of human -existence, and men continue to be after death -what they have become before it. Hence the -honors accorded to men of rank in their lifetime -were continued to them after their death. -In the earliest utterances of Chinese national -thought on this subject we find that duality -which has remained the prominent feature in -Chinese thinking ever since. The present life -is light; the future is darkness. What the -shadow is to the substance, the soul is to the -body; what vapor is to water, breath is to -man. By the process of cooling steam may -again become water, and the transformations -of animals teach us that beings inferior to man -may live after death. Ancient Chinese then -believed that as there is male and female principle -in all nature, a day and a night as inseparable -from each thing in the universe as -from the universe itself, so it is with man. In -the course of ages and in the vicissitudes of -religious ideas, men came to believe more -definitely in the possibility of communications -with supernatural beings. In the twelfth century -before the Christian era it was a distinct -belief that the thoughts of the sages were to -them a revelation from above. The “Book of -Odes” frequently uses the expression “God -spoke to them,” and one sage is represented -after death “moving up and down in the presence -of God in heaven.” A few centuries -subsequently we find for the first time great -men transferred in the popular imagination -to the sky, it being believed that their souls -took up their abode in certain constellations. -This was due to the fact that the ideas of -immortality had taken a new shape, and that -the philosophy of the times regarded the stars -of heaven as the pure essences of the grosser -things belonging to this world. The pure -is heavenly and the gross earthly, and therefore -that which is purest on earth ascends to -the regions of the stars. At the same time -hermits and other ascetics began to be credited -with the power of acquiring extraordinary -longevity, and the stork became the animal -which the Immortals preferred to ride above -all others. The idea of plants which confer -immunity from death soon sprang up. The -fungus known as <i>Polyporus lucidus</i> was taken -to be the most efficacious of all plants in guard<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span>ing -man from death, and 3,000 ounces of silver -have been asked for a single specimen. Its -red color was among the circumstances which -gave it its reputation, for at this time the five -colors of Babylonian astrology had been accepted -as indications of good and evil fortune. -This connection of a red color with the notion -of immortality through the medium of good -and bad luck, led to the adoption of cinnabar -as the philosopher’s stone, and thus to the -construction of the whole system of alchemy.</p> - -<p>The plant of immortal life is spoken of in -ancient Chinese literature at least a century -before the mineral. In correspondence with -the tree of life in Eden there was probably a -Babylonian tradition which found its way to -China shortly before Chinese writers mention -the plant of immortality. The Chinese, not -being navigators, must have got their ideas of -the ocean which surrounds the world from -those who were, and when they received a -cosmography they would receive it with its -legends.—<cite>Nature.</cite></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">An Approaching Star.</span>—One of the most -beautiful of all stars in the heavens is Arcturus, -in the constellation Boötes. In January last -the Astronomer Royal communicated to the -Royal Astronomical Society a tabulated statement -of the results of the observations made at -Greenwich during 1883 in applying the method -of Dr. Huggins for measuring the approach and -recession of the so-called fixed stars in direct -line. Nearly 200 of these observations are -thus recorded, twenty-one of which were devoted -to Arcturus, and were made from March -30 to August 24. The result shows that this -brilliant scintillating star is moving rapidly -towards us with a velocity of more than fifty -miles per second (the mean of the twenty-one -observations is 50.78). This amounts to about -2,000 miles per minute, 180,000 per hour, 4,320,000 -miles per day. Will this approach -continue, or will the star presently appear -stationary and then recede? If the motion is -orbital the latter will occur. There is, however, -nothing in the rates observed to indicate -any such orbital motion, and as the observations -extended over five months this has some -weight. Still it may be travelling in a mighty -orbit of many years’ duration, the bending of -which may in time be indicated by a retardation -of the rate of approach, then by no perceptible -movement either towards or away from us, -and this followed by a recession equal to its -previous approach. If, on the other hand, the -4,500,000 of miles per day continue, the star -must become visibly brighter to posterity, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span> -spite of the enormous magnitude of cosmical -distances. Our 81-ton guns drive forth their -projectiles with a maximum velocity of 1,400 -feet per second. Arcturus is approaching us -with a speed that is 200 times greater than -this. It thus moves over a distance equal to -that between the earth and the sun in twenty-one -days. Our present distance from Arcturus -is estimated at 1,622,000 times this. Therefore, -if the star continues to approach us at the -same rate as measured last year, it will have -completed the whole of its journey towards us -in 93,000 years.—<cite>Gentleman’s Magazine.</cite></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Germans and Russians in Persia.</span>—A correspondent -of the <cite>Novoje Vremja</cite> recently had -an opportunity of ascertaining some interesting -facts from a naval officer who is in the service -of the Shah, and whom he met on board a Persian -steamer in the Caspian Sea. The Persian -cavalry is organized and commanded by Russian -officers, while the artillery is commanded -and instructed by Germans. The Persian soldiers, -however, dislike their German superiors, -who treat them very badly and are arrogant -to a degree with the native officers. On the -contrary, the Russians are generally popular—so -it is said. There is the worst possible feeling -between the Russians and the Germans, who -seize every opportunity of annoying each other. -A short time ago their military manœuvres -were held, attended by the Shah and the whole -Corps Diplomatique. The infantry made a -splendid show, and the cavalry, too, was much -admired, but the firing of the artillery was execrable, -and, as ill-luck would have it, the German -Consul was wounded in the foot. The -Shah was furious, whereupon the German -officers called out that the ammunition had -been tampered with by the Russians. At once -the Shah ordered an inquiry to be made, the -only consequence of which was to give mortal -offence to the Germans. But it is, perhaps, -not necessary to go quite so far as Teheran to -find traces of the profound antagonism existing -between Russians and Germans. Czar and -Kaiser may embrace to their hearts’ content, -but, strange to say, wherever their subjects -meet abroad they quarrel. At the market town -of Kowno, in the Russian Government district -of Saratoff, a sanguinary encounter took place a -few days ago between German settlers and Russian -peasants, who had come from the neighborhood -for the annual fair. As many as ten were -killed and thirty wounded. The outbreak -of a large fire interrupted the fighting, otherwise -the list would have been far more considerable.</p> - - -<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1_1" href="#FNanchor_1_1" class="label">1</a> -But the loveliest lyrics of Tennyson do not -suggest labor. I do not say that, like Beethoven’s -music, or Heine’s songs, they may not -be the result of it. But they, like all supreme -artistic work, “conceal,” not obtrude Art; if -they are not spontaneous, they produce the effect -of spontaneity, not artifice. They impress -the reader also with the power, for which -no technical skill can be a substitute, of sincere -feeling, and profound realization of their subject-matter.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2_2" href="#FNanchor_2_2" class="label">2</a> -Mr. Alfred Austin, himself a true poet and -critic, has long ago repented of <em>his</em> juvenile -escapade in criticism, and made ample amends -to the Poet-Laureate in a very able article published -not long since in <cite>Macmillan’s Magazine</cite>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3_3" href="#FNanchor_3_3" class="label">3</a> -I have just read the Laureate’s new plays. -They are, like all his best things, brief: “dramatic -fragments,” one may even call them. -“The Cup” was admirably interpreted, and -scenically rendered under the auspices of Mr. -Irving and Miss Ellen Terry; but it is itself a -precious addition to the stores of English tragedy—all -movement and action, intense, heroic, -steadily rising to a most impressive climax, -that makes a memorable picture on the stage. -Camma, though painted only with a few telling -strokes, is a splendid heroine of antique -virtue, fortitude, and self-devotion. “The Falcon” -is a truly graceful and charming acquisition -to the repertory of lighter English drama.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4_4" href="#FNanchor_4_4" class="label">4</a> -See Virgil, <i>Ecl.</i> viii.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5_5" href="#FNanchor_5_5" class="label">5</a> -Napier’s <i>Scotch Folk-lore</i>, p. 95.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6_6" href="#FNanchor_6_6" class="label">6</a> -<i>The Folk-lore of the Northern Counties and -the Border</i>, by W. Henderson, pp. 106, 114. -Ed. 1879.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7_7" href="#FNanchor_7_7" class="label">7</a> -Napier, p. 89.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8_8" href="#FNanchor_8_8" class="label">8</a> -<i>Ibid.</i> p. 130.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9_9" href="#FNanchor_9_9" class="label">9</a> -Henderson, <i>Border Folk-lore</i>, p. 35.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10_10" href="#FNanchor_10_10" class="label">10</a> -Henderson, <i>Border Folk-lore</i>, p. 35.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11_11" href="#FNanchor_11_11" class="label">11</a> -<i>Ibid.</i> p. 35.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12_12" href="#FNanchor_12_12" class="label">12</a> -<i>Miscellanies</i>, p. 131. Ed. 1857.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13_13" href="#FNanchor_13_13" class="label">13</a> -Brand’s <i>Pop. Antiqs.</i> i. p. 21.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14_14" href="#FNanchor_14_14" class="label">14</a> -<i>Border Folk-lore</i>, pp. 114, 172, 207.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15_15" href="#FNanchor_15_15" class="label">15</a> -Kelly’s <i>Indo-European Folk-lore</i>, p. 132.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16_16" href="#FNanchor_16_16" class="label">16</a> -Brand, vol. i. p. 210.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17_17" href="#FNanchor_17_17" class="label">17</a> -Kelly, p. 301.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18_18" href="#FNanchor_18_18" class="label">18</a> -Brand, i. 292.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19_19" href="#FNanchor_19_19" class="label">19</a> -Henderson, p. 116.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20_20" href="#FNanchor_20_20" class="label">20</a> -Lowell has written a good sonnet on this -belief. See his Poems.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_21_21" href="#FNanchor_21_21" class="label">21</a> -Cockayne’s <i>Saxon Leechdoms</i>, &c. (Rolls -series), vol. ii. p. 343.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_22_22" href="#FNanchor_22_22" class="label">22</a> -<i>Anatomy of Melancholy</i>, Part III. section -2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_23_23" href="#FNanchor_23_23" class="label">23</a> -This church was originally the temple of -Pythian Apollo, and stands much as it originally -did.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_24_24" href="#FNanchor_24_24" class="label">24</a> -The peasants believe still that the Madonna -opens gates, out of which her son issues on -his daily course round the world—an obvious -confusion between Christianity and the old -Sun-worship.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_25_25" href="#FNanchor_25_25" class="label">25</a> -<i>George Eliot’s Life.</i> By J. W. Cross. -Three volumes. Blackwood and Sons. 1885.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_26_26" href="#FNanchor_26_26" class="label">26</a> -<i>The Empire of the Hittites.</i> By <span class="smcap">William -Wright</span>, B.A., D.D. James Nisbet and Co.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_27_27" href="#FNanchor_27_27" class="label">27</a> -A distinguished French <i>savant</i>, writing in -the <i>Revue Philosophique</i> for December 1884 -has described some ingenious experiments for -detecting the indications of telepathic influence—of -the transference of thought from mind to -mind which may be afforded by the movements -communicated to a table by the unconscious -pressure of the sitters. Dr. Richet’s investigations, -though apparently suggested, in part -at least, by those of the Society for Psychical -Research, have followed a quite original line, -with results of much interest.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_28_28" href="#FNanchor_28_28" class="label">28</a> -In a paper on “The Stages of Hypnotism” -in <i>Mind</i> for October 1884, Mr. E. Gurney, describes -an experiment where this persistent influence -of an impressed idea could in a certain -sense, be detected in the muscular system. -“A boy’s arm being flexed” (and the boy having -been told that he <i>cannot</i> extend it), “he is -offered a sovereign to extend it. He struggles -till he is red in the face; but all the while his -triceps is remaining quite flaccid, or if some -rigidity appears in it, the effect is at once -counteracted by an equal rigidity in the biceps. -The idea of the impossibility of extension—<i>i.e.</i>, -the idea of continued flexion—is thus acting -itself out, even when wholly rejected from -the mind.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_29_29" href="#FNanchor_29_29" class="label">29</a> -M. Taine, in the preface to the later editions -of his “De l’Intelligence,” narrates a case of -this kind, and adds, “Certainement on constate -ici un dédoublement du moi; la présence simultanée -de deux séries d’idées parallèles et indépendantes, -de deux centres d’action, ou si -l’on veut, de deux personnes morales juxtaposées -dans le même cerveau.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_30_30" href="#FNanchor_30_30" class="label">30</a> -It is obvious that in an argument which -has to thread its way amid so much of controversy -and complexity, no terminology -whatever can be safe from objection. In using -the word <i>self</i> I do not mean to imply any -theory as to the metaphysical nature of the self -or ego.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_31_31" href="#FNanchor_31_31" class="label">31</a> -It is worth noticing in this connection that -in one case of Brown-Séquard’s an aphasic -patient <i>talked in his sleep</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_32_32" href="#FNanchor_32_32" class="label">32</a> -“Mirror-writing” is not very rare with -left-handed children and imbeciles, and has -been observed, in association with aphasia, as -a result of hemiplegia of the right side. If (as -Dr. Ireland supposes, “Brain,” vol. iv. p. 367) -this “Spiegel-schrift” is the expression of an -<i>inverse verbal image</i> formed in the <i>right hemisphere</i>; -we shall have another indication that the -<i>right hemisphere</i> is concerned in some forms of -<i>automatic</i> writing also.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_33_33" href="#FNanchor_33_33" class="label">33</a> -Records of carefully conducted experiments -in automatic writing are earnestly requested, -and may be addressed to the Secretary, Society -for Psychical Research, 14 Dean’s Yard, Westminster.</p></div></div> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h3>Transcriber’s Notes</h3> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations -in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and -punctuation remains unchanged.</p> - - -<p>The following corrections have been made:</p> - -<p>Queensberry for Queensbury in THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. Ios for Iosos in -A ROMANCE OF A GREEK STATUE. mattress for mattrass (a form of glass -distillation aparatus) in the review of WEIRD TALES BY E. T. W. HOFFMAN.</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--FOREIGN LITERATURE *** - -***** This file should be named 53212-h.htm or 53212-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/2/1/53212/ - -Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Les Galloway 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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